#couldn’t get out and it was too small and it felt like the walls were closing in on me

[tteokdoroki]

˗ˏˋ 💎  JJK MEN AS OVERPROTECTIVE GIRL DADS gojo, sukuna & geto .ᐟ

⋆˙ ᯓ★  about ! “a little girl’s first love will always be her father." three scenarios in which the daughters of three jjk men introduce their boyfriends to their fathers. ( 5.7K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. video banner. not beta read. sfw, fluff, angst if you squint, no-curses!au, mentions of pregnancy, children and babies, the children have no names, some family issues, married life, domestic bliss, husband + father!jjk men, mother + fem!reader.

sonic says ! hello everyone !! i wanted to try my hand at some head canons and scenarios, i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so put a pause on working on kinktober to write it lol!! hope you enjoy <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ 

ᯓ★ SATORU GOJO:

before meeting you, satoru gojo had never been fond of a family dinner. 

in his childhood home — they were cold and quiet, pockets of clattering cutlery would cut through painstaking silence and distract from the loud emptiness of the seat at the head of the table where his own father was supposed to be. his mother, often solemn and sunken in the shoulders, never spoke. never cooked and slipped small bites to her son in between preparation or steps.

they had staff for that, they had staff for everything.

to keep the household clean and together. to keep him fed and breathing. to keep him alive. all requirements felt almost clinical, the environment in which he was raised almost like the white walls of a hospital — without a trace of love needed for a child like satoru gojo needed to thrive. 

even if he had all the money in the world, he hadn’t a drop of love. he wasn’t ever sure if he was capable of the warm and fuzzy emotion, didn’t know if it was something his heart could ever open up to — sealed in by layers of cool, cold concrete and cement. kept in a safe without a key. at least until you miraculously found it and melted the thick layers of ice blocking satoru’s veins. you brought back colour to his cheeks and light to his eyes, taking up the space in his heart where his family had left a swirling, black void. 

to satoru, you were a saving grace. his everything… and he swore he’d never be like his father; who left his wife unhappy and empty, like a abandoned shell. he promised; he’d do much better than his parents ever did. especially when you found out you were pregnant, even more so when your little girl came into the world with plentiful white curls and lashes, screaming at the top of her teeny tiny lungs. 

at the time, you were sure you’d never seen satoru gojo so in love ( and so teary eyed too ) — but you knew what becoming a parent meant to him. what it meant for the new life you now shared.

but now, having met you and married you and created life with you — satoru had found a new appreciation for family dinners. they were a sacred event, a special time for him to keep up with the lives of his children and let them know he was there. present. 

it wasn’t a time to be imposed on and certainly not by meddlesome boyfriends brought home by sixteen year old daughters.

“so kid, what’s your 401K look like?” 

satoru carries a look of disdain, his nostrils flared, blue eyes narrowed and perfect pink lips curled in an unhappy frown. 

the young boy opposite him, a little scrawny and awkward, shrinks underneath the white haired man’s intense gaze — if you squinted, you could probably see him shaking like a little leaf in the intense wind from across the table “um… i don’t know?”

“hear that little guy? no 401K… how’s he meant to take care of your sister. yeah, yeah.

you’re right, i’ll give him a chance,” he mutters to the baby boy snoozing happily in his arms under his breath, engaging in a one sided conversation before switching his focus back to his daughter’s…sorry excuse for a partner. “okay then… finances, clearly not. academics and common sense —“ pausing,  the white haired father of two clicks his tongue, pushing it into the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek as if to feel his next words out in his mouth. “do you even know what a bouquet of flowers is, kid? a corsage? gojo women don’t play about their flowers, yanno.” 

“sir—“

without giving the boy a chance to speak, gojo drops his intrusive gaze under the table and back up again — pointing an accusatory finger at his little girl’s partner. “your top button’s undone and your shoe laces are untied. you might wanna fix that! if you care about my daughter’s safety!” he turns his nose up all petulant like a picky toddler being forced to eat his veggies, he even sticks his tongue out for good measure. gojo’s eccentric movements nearly jostle his sleepy son in place. the baby whines and gurgles a little bit, only soothed by a pat to his back from dad — who repositions him to snooze over his shoulder.

in a silent, quieter gesture, satoru uses two fingers to point between his eyes and the boy’s. almost as if to say ‘i’m watching you.’

catching him in the act, the eldest gojo daughter bounces into the room carrying plates of steaming hot food, exhaling with worm down patience evident in her body language. “daddy please, you don’t act like this normally. stop messing around.” rolling her eyes, she sets the dishes down, freeing up her hand to smack the back of her dad’s clearly empty skull. just like her mother.

“well sooooorrry for being a good dad and caring about your wellbeing! who you’re dating! who you’re bringing into our bloodline!” gojo rebuttals with petish grunts, unable to cradle the back of his injured head like he does with his son.  

and as if by magic, you, his beautiful and loving and gorgeous wife appear with dinner plates in hand to double down on a scolding the white haired man. amused, you also swat at your husband’s head and tut down at him. “satoru? what are you doing?” there’s something about the way you tease and tell gojo off that always makes his heart race, even after all these years of marriage and raising his kids. he loves you, his family so much. he almost keens into your touch like a pathetic dog, until your daughter starts gagging at the sight — slipping into her set. you were supposed to be watching the baby. not interrogating the poor kid.” 

“we’re having a heart to heart, babe,” gojo swoons, clearing his throat as his head bobs in the direction of his daughter’s boyfriend. “jimbob here was just telling me about his 3.4% grade point average.”

“it’s hiro sir! and uh… 3.5% sir.” the boyfriend in question chirps shyly.

you know that your husband feels… almost threatened by another man entering your daughter’s life — they’ve been practically inseparable since the moment she first opened her eyes. to give up the duty of loving and protecting her and pass it onto someone else is probably what scares him the most. “that’s pretty good hun!” you comment absentmindedly, hoping to pull satoru away from the conversation.

“no it’s not! our daughter has a 4.0%.”

“s-she was failing in math, i was tutoring her.” the boyfriend hopefully interjects again, whispering next when the baby stirs at the dining table. “i hope that makes up for my 401K sir. i-i also work part time to save for college and—!” 

“haha — no i wasn’t!” the younger gojo girl tenses in place, elbowing her date in the ribs not so discretely from under the table. it’s this interaction that makes her father smile, only briefly, before you scowl his way.

“i thought you told them we met at a tutoring session.” 

“you were failing?” you raise a brow, taking your own seat beside her father. 

“see! this boy failure is a bad influence on our daughter!” a glare settles on the slopes of satoru’s angelic features, mirrored by your child’s unimpressed expression across the table. in his arms, your youngest fusses about as if he senses the mounting tension at the table — earning a bounce or two from daddy, who turns your way all matter-of-factly like. “see, this why he doesn’t have a 401K”

“why would a teenager have a 401k, satoru!” comes your exasperated sigh.

“i had one when i was his age.” satoru shoots back and the kid sinks nervously in his seat. the poor boy looks as though he wants to disappear, squirming in place like he’s no better than a worm on a bait hook — it’s torture being interrogated and inspected by someone so close to the person you love most, but even he knows how important satoru’s approval is to your daughter.

she wouldn’t say it now, not when she was all grown up and finding her way out in the world — but she idolised gojo, all of her fondest memories are painted in his colours. shades of sapphire and azure like his vivid eyes, snowy white from his hair that almost rivals the clouds in the sky — the backdrop to days spent riding her father’s shoulders through the big wide world, racing down grassy green hills and wasting the hours away. she wouldn’t admit it here, today, but she never wanted to leave those memories. leave her father behind in her youth — it was written on each dip and curve and highlight on her youthful face, she wanted her father to move into this next phase of life with her too.

“daddy, you were a trust fund baby with shit grades and no prospects until you met mum,” she huffs but her words hold no malice, even if the sass brims over the edge of her tone like an emotionally charged, overflowing glass of water. you’d chide her for cursing — but you know she means well, stubbornly expressing her desire for approval to her man child of a father. “a loser, if you will.” 

gojo slumps, the rosey petals of his plump lips pushing into an age old pout. “how could you say that about dear old dad?” he whines, as though he’s a wounded animal. 

“well she’s not wrong, baby. you were a loser satoru, you still are.” the words are fond and light hearted on your tongue, a similar state to the wisps of a smile that trace over your own lips. leaning in close, you tickle the nose of the gurgling baby boy in his arms, heart heavy with affection — grateful that the one interaction you had with your husband all those years ago ( when he was a scrapier and misunderstood ) led you both to the beautiful chaotic family you have together now. “a hot one at least.” 

“gross.” your daughter groans and buries her embarrassed gaze in the spread of food on the neatly laid table — grabbing a plate and piling it high to cope.

her boyfriend chuckles nervously, wanting nothing more but to eat and do the same. desperate to hide from gojo’s intimidating aura, but too afraid to cross another one of his ridiculous invisible lines. “i think that’s very sweet mrs gojo!”

the brief moment of peace in the war of dad v boyfriend is then interrupted by the white haired man’s temper tantrum, realising that his only daughter is still in the room. “don’t push it kid.” the father of your children all but wails and finds something else about the young couple to pick apart. “you’re sitting too close together! move apart!” 

“daddy—!”

“w-what?”

“i said move it or lose it kid, before i keel over and die of heartbreak.” “betrayal. my own daughter, leaving me for someone else.” 

the two separate, shifting their chairs away from one another despite never actually being too close. you share an empathetic look with your eldest, empathetic to your husband’s actions. you both knew he wouldn’t handle the meeting well, but this was beyond your whilst dreams. the young couple’s hands remain intertwined under the table cloth as the meal begins properly, and when satoru notices, he doesn’t comment — biting down hard on his unhappy tongue. he knows all too well what it’s like to love against the odds, his father in law hardly wanted him around you. it’s not like he wasn’t aware how bad he was for you, how your standards might have even dropped for the man to be with him. but you loved satoru with your entire being, wholly and against all of your own parent’s wishes. 

in a way, the dinner tonight reminds him of himself meeting your father for the first time — how he had to work for his approval too. prove that he was more than just a spoilt brat. too caught up in the memories, the odd sense of loss threaded between his every breath and the love he holds for his daughter settled in his lungs — gojo almost kissed the way you whisper to him adoringly, head drooping to rest on his shoulder mostly to look at your baby but partly to comfort him. “you’re being dramatic satoru. look at them, don’t you just love young love.” 

and he does, he looks, really looks — softly staring across the table and through the haze of his own judgement, noticing how happy his little girl looks all wrapped up with her boyfriend. all he’s ever wanted is to keep her smiling, give her a life that his parents couldn’t give him, he feels all of his resentment and fear or losing his daughter melt away like a plain sheet of paper dissolving in water. he loves her too much to not let her be happy, his baby. his little girl. 

“no, not at all,” satoru finally relents with a wobbling voice and silvery tears that dot his vision — shaking his head back and forth to stop them from dropping onto his sleeping son gathered in his arms. “w-why would you say that? god, is it allergy season? my eyes are killing me. they’re not cute at all, why would you say that i’m crying?” 

your teenage daughter glances over, relief evident in all of her identical gojo features. “no one mentioned you crying, daddy.” she coos softly in an attempt to console satoru.

it doesn’t work, he starts dry heaving and sobbing. which is new for her, he hasn’t cried this hard since her baby brother was born.

the kid scrambles into his pocket and damn near stumbles over the table in order to hand your white haired lover a tissue. “i don’t think you’re crying sir!” 

“shut up!” gojo sniffles dramatically, putting on his best theatre kid act and drapes himself ( and the baby ) all over you. “shit, is this cushioned tissue? three ply?” pale, deft fingers swipe at the blue pools of eyes which well with tears while the kid nods over enthusiastically — desperate to please his girlfriend’s guardian. “good stuff this is… but this doesn’t mean i approve of you for my daughter!”

“gojo!” 

“whaaaaat!? he doesn’t have a 401K!”

ᯓ★ RYOMEN SUKUNA:

if you’d told sukuna, almost a decade and a half ago, that he would end up with a life shrouded in domestic bliss — he would have laughed in your face. maybe even called you a cunt whilst telling you to fuck off. back then, when he was younger and the spirit of ambitious fire burned brightly in his veins as though he had petroleum for blood, the pink haired man never dreamed of settling down. buying a house. getting married. or having kids.

he was as untameable as a wild horse, with only one goal in mind. to open up his restaurant and get his family out of that shithole town by all and any means. he’d cross whatever rivers he had to, climb whatever mountains he needed to — push past societal hurdles that judged him for the pink in his hair and the thick ink on his body. ryomen sukuna did not care. not about anyone else, only about his goals.

at least, until he met you. 

in many ways, you were a blessing to the world where sukuna was a curse. his complete opposite, the day to his night. though the worlds and lives you came from were completely different — 

nowadays, the man is a little softer around the edges and weaker in the heart — they say that’s what true love does to you.

a set of keys jingle at the front door, followed by the dull thud of trainers on the shoe rack and footsteps on the mahogany wood floor. sukuna hardly looks up from the article he’s reading — something about the best recipes for autumnal vegetables. who would have thought, ryomen sukuna, reading up on gardening. he would tell anyone who asked it was for his restaurant, not because he actually enjoyed it. would make him look soft. 

“hey, i’m home!” the voice that calls to him is sweet and youthful, a dulcet symphony that tugs paternally at the pink haired man’s heart strings. “is ma here?” 

sukuna smiles to himself behind the newspaper, inhaling its fresh ink scent. “in the kitchen, workin’,” he replies absentmindedly, listening to his daughter skid down the hall after dropping her backpack. “oi squirt, you ain’t slick. you know what day it is, report card. now.” 

there’s a dramatic sigh that follows footsteps trailing back into the living room. sukuna’s daughter, his pride and joy clings onto the doorframe with a scowl that could very well rival his own, ruby red eyes twinkling with annoyance — she’s in a rush to chat with her mother after school, he knows, but he can’t help but to tease her just a bit. “s’in my bag, can i go now?” she whines impatiently but takes off at the first gentle nod from her father in reply. 

but the pink haired parent’s peaceful evening is quickly turned upside down at the discovery he makes in the bottom of his pride and joy’s bag. no matter how much time has passed, how many decades have gone by in which he’s been a father — nothing could prepare him for this new challenge, the new wave of emotions that come with having a tween daughter and swirl hotly in his chest.

“what the fuck is this?” he announces with a foul snarl, slipping into the kitchen where his girls chitchat idly over a test batch of cookies sukuna had made earlier in the day. for his restaurant of course. not because he’s a doting husband or loving father. he’s got an image to uphold and it’s not one of domestic bliss. 

his daughter chirps, not looking up from the sweet treat she picks apart and pops into her mouth — seated on the kitchen island while you work away on your laptop. “what’s what, daddy?” her innocent nonchalance about the older sukuna’s discovery almost makes him pop a vein. “also, ma told you to stop saying the f-word. so, swear jar.”

the hulking man with the contrastingly soft pink pokes his tongue into the soft epithelium of his cheek, his jaw ticks and a playful frustration tingles throughout all four of his limbs. the swear jar was something you’d brought into play as soon as [daughter name] had learned how to talk, afraid that your rough and rugged husband’s potty mouth would rub off on her young impressionable mind. every time a cursed word falls from between ryomen sukuna’s lips, a couple hundred yen is popped into the jar as punishment. the thing was practically full by your baby’s third birthday, so you’ve been putting it down as her college fund ever since.

paper rustles between deft and tattooed fingers as sukuna reveals not a report card, but a crinkled note like the kind passed back and forth between distracted kids in the middle of that one class before lunch. “don’t play dumb with me, squirt.” ryomen holds the note up to the light so that both of his girls can see, blood diamond eyes squinting so he can inspect it better. somebody get this guy his glasses. “‘do you want to go out with me? tick for yes, cross for no.’” he reads out loud, each word leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, his frown so deep that lines of disapproval form on his well-aged face.

thoughts of the once all-important report card vanish into thin air, the relaxed aura in the room replaced with a palatable tension that not even your husband’s finest knives could cut. your precious baby girl shoots up from the counter to scramble with her dad over the note in hand. he holds her back with a large palm to the forehead.

“oh my god! you weren’t supposed to see that! daddy, give it here. please!”

“fat chance, squirt,” the tattooed man retorts. “you passin’ notes in class? that why you’re hidin’ your report card?” 

“you can have my report card, when you give that back!”

with the two standing side by side, the resemblance strikes you as clear as day. they share the same hair, same scowl and same rugged intonation to their voices. they’re both yours, your entire world under one roof. before they can blow said root off, you stand between the elder and younger sukuna — turning to your husband with hooded eyes and a gentle hand on the centre of his broad chest. “oh ryo,” you coo in flirtation, slowing his train of thought as you sneakily swipe the crushed paper from his grip. “shut up ‘n let me see that.”

your daughter gags behind you at the display of affection, contrasting with the amused smirk you share with your long time lover. after all this time, marriage and the perfect kid, you’re still able to make a fool out of him — make sukuna’s heart skip a beat and a heat he refuses to acknowledge crawl up the back of his neck. he’s gone soft, for you and his family. for now, for you, he relents on taunting his precious little girl. 

casting your gaze over the note, you grin at the pink-ink chicken scratch scribbled across the page. it’s sweet and endearing, reminding you of young love. “did atsushi finally ask you out?” you ask tenderly, handing the paper back to your daughter who cuddles it to her chest like the  physical version of a precious memory. 

a bashful expression lines the contours of her face, seeping into features you’d recognise from your husband on her. sukuna would argue that she has the shape of your eyes and your beauty too — but all you see is a culmination of love. “ma you were so totally right, playing hard to get really works!” 

she gushes dreamily over her crush like it’s puppy love, biting her lip and bouncing on the spot. 

“like a charm, every time.” comes your entertained response, much to your husband’s dismay.

“you weren’t playin’ hard to get with me…” sukuna questions rather than states, trying to piece together parts of the gossip that he’s missed. an anxiety corners the beat of his heart at the thought of his daughter dating, something in which the burly man never thought he would be afraid of. the world had been hard on sukuna; he only worries that it’s not as safe for his pride and joy as it were for him.   “never mind that; the brat asked you out with a piece of paper?  y’better not have said yes. we have standards here.” 

his words make you roll your eyes with the hint of a smile. ryomen almost reminding you of your own father around the time you’d met him.

your daughter scrunches her nose petulantly, gearing herself up for a witty reply. “well ma married you, so her standards can’t be that high.” she snaps, earning a stifled laugh from you and an unimpressed grunt from her hardheaded dad. “and no, i didn’t. told him he needed to ask me out  properly. face to face. with words. he said to meet him on the running track tomorrow at lunch for a surprise!”

pulling her into a hug, you kiss her round youthful cheek. “oh baby, i'm so happy for you!”

“well i ain’t! show me the damn kid, need to see what kind of pitiful brat wants to ask out my little girl,”  sukuna crosses his arms and grumbles to himself, black ink tattoos flexing menacingly as he does so. almost as if he’s preparing to threaten the kid before even meeting him. “whatever happened to askin’ for permission to court or whatever. he should have been on my doorstep asking for your hand.” 

“firstly you would have said no, and secondly this isn’t the olden days, dad. nobody does that anymore.” your cheeky daughter chides him loudly, her words slipping over her snarky little tongue. like father like daughter, the way they snip and snap at one another has an uncanny resemblance.

tilting your head upwards towards your fuming husband, you laugh breathlessly in a way that washes away his anger.“she’s right ryo; though my dad hardly approved of you either.” you say softly. even now, you make him feel weak in the knees and dizzy in the mind, like he’s so anything for you. whoever dates his daughter should feel the same about her.

“i freakin’ earned it, didn’t i? 

“just barely.”

sukuna huffs but settles a hand on your waist from behind and his head atop yours. he needs to soothe himself somehow, his daughter is growing too fast. “stop ganging up on me and lemme see the damn kid.” 

“here, isn’t he cute.” 

lips downturned, sukuna craned his neck to look at your daughter’s phone from over your shoulder — scrutinising the instagram page that she’s opened now offering the kid his only child has taken an interest in like a lamb at the slaughterhouse. “brat looks like a noodle.” haughty laughter fills the kitchen, reverberating against the bones and organs in ryomen’s chest and buzzing right though your back. “you’re right i woulda said no as soon as he fuckin’ turned up!” 

two sets of scolding eyes similar in shape, belonging to the two girls he loves the most swivel around to face the pink haired man disapprovingly.

“ryomen sukuna!” 

“daddy!”

“yeah yeah, i know. swear jar.”

ᯓ★ SUGURU GETO:

“my love, were you aware that our little munchkin has a boyfriend?”

suguru looks up from the bubbling pot of child friendly pasta sauce on the stove. if it were just the two of you having dinner tonight, like it was merely three (nearly four) years ago — he would have planned for a more adventurous meal. perhaps sought out a bottle of fine aged wine for you both to enjoy on the balcony and even gotten a dessert to sweeten the date in. but now, you both had more than two hungry tummies to worry about, and bottles of wine could only be purchased when the little one was off with her uncle satoru.

“no, i wasnt. i don't believe that’s come up in discussion before,” your dark haired lover turns his narrow gaze to the giggly little girl swaddled in your arms — her chubby cheeks and dark, curious eyes just peeking out of the fluffy duck-themed towel you’ve wrapped her in. bath time is usually after bed, but someone got into the paint pots at nursery school and managed to get blotches of blue streaked through her hair and under her fingernails. “care to elaborate sweetheart?”

suguru taps the wooden sauce spoon against the side of the pot and swipes his hands on a nearby tea towel before allowing them to rest on his hips, look of faux irritation settling on the contours of his face and slopes of his features. thin brows draw together like closed gates in the middle of his forehead — the expression earning airy light and squealed laughter from your baby girl.

“nuh uhhh! not my boy-fend!” she babbles her way through the big girl word, missing a few syllables here and there, but geto still grins with pride — happily leaning forward to press enthusiastic kisses to his little angel’s damp forehead. “no boy-fend papa!

bouncing your daughter slightly, you cock your hip out to hold her weight and cheekily roll your eyes. “such a daddy’s girl, lying to him already? he’ll let you get away with anything if you keep that up,”  though you muster up a pout to rival the toddler’s, the uncanny resemblance warming the cockles or your husband’s heart, your tone is playful and adoring — it’s lilt full of love for the baby girl you made together. you pinch her chubby cheek, waggling it from side to side as more of her childlike laughter tangles with the scent of pasta in the air.  “we bumped into the fujioka boy and his mother at the gates this morning, he held her hand all the way up to the classroom. it was quite cute. you had to be there, love.” 

“i’m sure,” he responds, gentle mirth and protectiveness swirling in dark framed eyes.

you relay the information to your husband as though it’s hot gossip fresh from the press, whispering over your dark-haired daughter’s head not so secretly. even with the hair and eyes to match suguru’s, she’s still just as much your carbon copy as she is his — he tends to say all of her spirit comes from you, not to mention the way she laughs and smiles.

shaking her head between you, both — your baby chimes in brightly. “noooo mama!! boys are gross, i don’ hold hands with boys.”

this time suguru manoeuvres to pinch her other chubby cheek, clicking his tongue as he does so. “not even papa?” he pretends to pout, crouching down with his hands on his knees to coo into her sweet little face. 

“nuhhh, papa isn’t gross!! papa is my favourite boy!” she quickly tacks on with a dribbly smile.

“that’s right. i’ll be the only boy in your life always, just you and i princess,” your husband reaffirms with a firm shake of his head and presses a promise in the form of a kiss to your daughter’s nose. her chubby little hands, still wet from bath time, smack either side of suguru’s face and keep him close — close enough for her to plant a soggy smooch onto his forehead affectionately. a wet kiss only a father could love. “that settles it, i’m no longer sharing my kisses. papa says no boyfriends until you’re ninety.”

once your two loves are done sharing their candied affections, you seat your daughter on the edge of the kitchen table to allow geto the room to finish up with dinner. the comforting symphony of baby babbles and kitchen utensils clanking and food boiling fills the steamy air, it makes you smile. it feels like home. “oh come on suguru, they’re only three. don’t you think it’s the tiniest bit adorable?” you say with a sing-songy voice, entertaining both your little one and her father.“they even share their animal crackers during break time and crayons when it’s time to colour, one of the supervisors told me.”

with his back now to you as he stirs through the pasta sauce one final time, you hardly miss the way suguru’s shoulders tense at the mention of the little boy your girl has taken a liking to. he wouldn’t dare frown about it in front of her, what upsets daddy upsets baby too. that’s why he’s always smiling for her, and you find the man’s subtle jealousy endearing. it’s always supposed to be suguru and his princess, with no room for anyone else ( aside from you, of course ) 

“nope, no boyfriends. no amount of cuteness can convince me otherwise.” voice falling tight and flat, suguru reaches into the cupboards for plates and bowls to dish up his lovingly prepared home cooked meal, slamming them into place at the table with a little less patience than before. 

the idea of some… little boy chasing after his daughter’s heart? over his dead body.

“boy-fends are gross!” but your daughter is forever a daddy’s girl, furrowing her brow and crossing her tiny arms in an act of defiance — supporting her papa’s cause. boyfriends are bad! 

fuelling her excitement and even more support for papa — food is served shortly by your husband, who plates up as best as he can with toddler safe dinnerware. you adjust your little girl into her high chair at the table, giggling to yourself softly when she cranes her neck to keep an eye on suguru. “does that mean papa’s gross? he’s technically mama’s boyfriend.”

“husband, love, there’s a difference.” 

three plates of hot, aromatic spaghetti are organised in a table — each a domestic reminder of the family suguru geto has been blessed with. in that moment, he thinks he would be happy if he spent the rest of his life as just the three of you. briefly his mind wonders to setting a fourth place at the table in a decade or so’s time, once his daughter truly is old enough to date. the very thought makes him feel ill. 

round, doe eyes dart between you and suguru as you take your seats either side of your darling daughter at the table — she mimics you both with fumbling little fingers that reach for her baby fork and concentrates as she attempts to repeat your husband’s words. “can i have a husbsband-love?”

you laugh and kiss her cheek, helping her to gather a bite of pasta on the full end of her fork. “husband. just husband, my love. make sure you blow on your food please!” she follows your instructions with a comical air, cheeks puffing and breath huffing while you explain why her father is a second away from blowing his top. “good girl. husband’s aren’t for babies, baby. and i think papa might not like it if you got one now.”

“if you got one ever!” suguru interjects, eyes narrowing while he fights with his lips to avoid a scowl. “the answer is still no, princess. no husbands and no boyfriends until papa is old, cold and in the ground.” 

now that your hands are free, you grab the nearest tea towel and wind it up in your grip — launching its tail end at geto as though to swat at  him. he jumps in surprise and your daughter shrieks in amusement as she begins babbling again. “don worry, papa!. fujioka is  no my boy-fend!!” she says over food in her mouth and happy tummy. geto wipes over her face again. she’ll definitely need another bath later. “hasegawa is!!”

the pair of you share a look and this time, you really think suguru might just throw in the towel. 

how could he compete with pre-school love and paint pots shared over playtime gossip? 

“two boyfriends? oh god, love… i think need some air.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[pandapetals]

Juno

worst wolverine/logan x afab!reader - i guess angst, inspired by sabrina carpenter's song juno, mentions deadpool but not in fic, logan being nice, no y/n used, no reader description, human reader, cute ending, age gap

After saving the universe with Wade, Logan decides to be a better guy especially after he sees you.

read on Ao3

He was the worst Wolverine until he wasn’t—at least in this universe. Logan had been given a second chance, one he hadn’t expected, and this time, he was determined to take full advantage of it. He wasn’t used to being the “nice guy,” but hell, after all the lives he’d lived, the bloodshed, and the mistakes, he figured it was about time he tried something different. Something better.

So, he did his best to get along with Wade, despite how many times he considered cutting the guy in half just to get a moment of silence. He tolerated Wade’s endless banter, his chaotic sense of humor, and even his wild group of friends. Logan also made an effort with Laura, doing his best to be some kind of father figure to her, even if he had no idea how to be one. He was a nice— nice-ish —gruff guy now, or at least he was trying to be.

That’s why, when he saw you for the first time, walking out of the apartment across the hall, he decided to pull out all the stops. You weren’t someone he could easily ignore, and that realization hit him harder than he cared to admit.

Logan had noticed you right away—young, maybe mid-twenties, with that kind of light in your eyes that only came from people whose weight of the world hadn’t yet worn down. There was something about you that drew him in, something about the way you carried yourself that made him pause. You were different from the kind of people Logan was used to. You were good in a way that felt foreign to him—bright, untainted, and impossibly out of reach but he couldn’t help himself.

So, he tried. He’d grunt a greeting whenever you passed him in the hallway, offering a half-smile that probably looked more like a grimace. He’d hold the door open for you, although he never bothered with that kind of thing for anyone else. Every time your paths crossed, Logan made sure to do something to get your attention—something small, something that felt almost ridiculous for a guy like him, but it mattered.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him—so soft, so genuine—that caught him off guard. Or maybe it was how you seemed so unbothered by his rough exterior like you weren’t intimidated by the man who was once feared across the multiverse. You just treated him like a person, and somehow, that made him want to be better.

One afternoon, Logan was leaning against the wall outside his apartment, a cigar between his lips, lost in his usual cycle of brooding thoughts when he heard your door open. Instinctively, his gaze flicked toward you. There you were, dressed casually, a bag slung over your shoulder as you fumbled with your keys. He pulled the cigar from his mouth, watching as you turned and met his eyes, giving him that same bright, unassuming smile that never failed to catch him off guard.

“Hey, Logan,” you said, your voice light and friendly like you’d known him forever.

Logan grunted in response, nodding slightly. “Hey.”

He wasn’t good at small talk. Never had been but for some reason, he found himself lingering there, his eyes following you as you locked your door and made your way down the hall toward the elevator.

“You headed somewhere?” he asked, surprising himself with the sudden question.

You paused, glancing back at him with a soft smile. “Just running some errands. Nothing exciting.” You looked him over for a moment, your eyes twinkling with something like amusement. “What about you? You always hanging out in the hallway like this?”

Logan smirked slightly, taking a slow drag of his cigar before answering. “Only when I’m bored. Which is most of the time.”

You chuckled, a sound that felt too easy, too natural coming from someone like you. It made Logan’s chest tighten, though he wasn’t sure why. “Maybe you need to find a new hobby,” you teased, tilting your head at him. “Something less... brooding.”

He couldn’t help but huff a laugh at that. “Brooding’s kind of my thing,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Not exactly easy to shake.”

“I can see that,” you said, your smile widening. “But, you know, there’s more to life than standing around with a cigar, looking all intense.”

Logan’s smirk grew, despite himself. You had a way of making him feel... lighter. Like he didn’t have to carry the weight of everything all the time, he shrugged. “Old habits die hard.”

You gave him one last lingering smile before heading toward the elevator. Logan watched you go, his eyes trailing after you as the doors slid shut behind you, leaving him alone again. Except, this time, something was different. The silence didn’t feel quite as heavy, quite as suffocating. He felt... less like the man he’d been, and more like the man he could be.

Over the next few weeks, Logan found more excuses to cross your path. He’d be leaving his apartment just as you were coming home, offering you a quiet nod and a gruff “hello” that somehow always led to a brief, easy conversation. He’d make sure to be around whenever you passed through, catching glimpses of your smile and feeling that strange warmth in his chest every time you acknowledged him.

One evening, you surprised him by knocking on his door. Logan opened it to find you standing there, your hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket, a shy smile on your lips.

“Hey,” you said, rocking on your heels a little. “I was about to order some takeout. Thought maybe you’d want to join me. Since, you know, I’m sure you have better things to do than hang around in the hallway.”

Logan blinked, taken aback. No one ever just invited him to hang out—especially not someone like you. He wasn’t sure how to respond at first, the words caught somewhere between his usual gruff demeanor and the part of him that was genuinely touched by your offer.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice softer than usual. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

You smiled that bright, easy smile that made his heart do something strange in his chest. “Great. Chinese okay?”

Logan nodded, stepping aside to let you guide him into your apartment. Logan couldn’t help but think how absurd this would have seemed just a few months ago—him, in a normal apartment, about to have takeout with someone like you. Maybe that was the point of this second chance. To be something different. To be something better.

Maybe you were part of that better.

As you settled onto his couch, flipping through the takeout menu, Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, feeling that familiar tug deep inside him. You were young, full of life, and he was... well, he was trying. 

With a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Logan sat down beside you on your couch, the takeout menu loosely held in his hand. His eyes softened as they landed on you, but he couldn’t help the flicker of distraction that pulled his gaze toward your apartment. Something about being in your space, seeing the personal touches that made it you, tugged at him in a way he couldn’t quite put into words.

“You really don’t mind me being here?” he asked suddenly, his fingers instinctively raking through the spiked hair. His tone was light, almost teasing, but the question had a layer of insecurity that caught even him off guard.

You laughed, that bright, warm sound that always made him feel lighter, more at ease. “No, I like you being here especially since you act all tough but really you’re cute.”

He shook his head, chuckling as he leaned back against the couch, still holding the menu loosely in one hand. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly, “you like me anyway.”

Logan didn’t deny it. He just glanced at you, his gaze soft, almost unreadable in its intensity, before letting out a quiet, almost reluctant laugh. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “Yeah, I do.”

For a moment, you both fell into an easy silence, the kind that only happens when two people are comfortable with each other. 

Logan, never one to sit still for too long, found himself glancing around your apartment again. There was something about being in your space that fascinated him—maybe it was because your life felt so different from the chaos he was used to. It was quieter, softer, more... grounded.

His eyes landed on a vintage record player sitting on a small table near the window. A stack of vinyl records was neatly arranged beside it, the top one showing the faded cover of some old jazz album. Logan’s brow furrowed in mild curiosity.

“You actually use that thing?” he asked, nodding toward the record player, a faint smirk on his face.

You glanced over at it, smiling fondly. “Of course I do. There's something about vinyl that just sounds... different. Better, in a way. It’s like you can feel the music, you know?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at you like he was seeing you in a whole new light. “Didn’t peg you for the vinyl type.”

You chuckled softly, leaning back into the couch. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Logan.”

That made him pause, something stirring in his chest. The idea that there were layers to you he hadn’t uncovered yet intrigued him. He glanced down at the menu in his hands, but his focus was still on you. He was here, sitting in your apartment, fumbling over a takeout menu, and all he could think about was how different his life felt now compared to just months ago.

You nudged him with your foot, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Come on, focus. What do you want to order?”

Logan grunted, shifting his attention back to the menu, but his mind kept drifting—first to the record player, then to the framed photos on your bookshelf, and then, inevitably, back to you. There was something about this—this quiet moment, the simplicity of choosing takeout and sitting on a couch with someone who made him feel less... lost. Something that felt like it mattered.

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, you settled on Chinese food. Logan called in the order, and while you waited for it to arrive, you slipped off the couch and walked over to the record player.

“Wanna see what you’ve been missing?” you asked, already pulling out a record and carefully placing it on the turntable.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Impress me.”

You smiled as the crackle of the needle hitting vinyl filled the room, followed by the warm, melodic tones of a classic jazz tune. The music washed over the space, and for a moment, Logan just listened, his eyes locked on you as you swayed lightly to the rhythm.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said softly, leaning back into the couch as he watched you.

“I try,” you teased, sending him a wink before joining him again on the couch.

As the music played, the two of you settled back into comfortable conversation, the warmth between you growing with each shared glance, each quiet laugh.

Weeks passed after that night, and before long, the easy camaraderie between you and Logan had deepened into something more. It wasn’t like he’d planned it—he’d never planned anything in his life. Somewhere between stolen glances in the hallway, lazy evenings spent listening to vinyl records, and quiet mornings where he found himself waking up next to you, Logan had fallen for you.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t something he had to agonize over. It was just... right. Like this was how it was supposed to be.

You didn’t push him, and maybe that was why it worked. You gave him space when he needed it, but you were there when he came to you—no judgment, no expectations. You let him be himself, and in return, he found himself wanting to be better for you.

As you lay beside him one lazy Sunday afternoon, your head resting on his chest while the soft sound of rain pattered against the window, you felt something shift between you. It wasn’t just the comfort of being together—it was the weight of something unspoken that had been building for weeks.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him. Logan’s eyes were closed, his arm draped casually around your waist, but you could tell he wasn’t asleep. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, grounding you in the warmth of the moment.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice soft, hesitant.

He grunted in response, opening one eye to glance down at you. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’d been thinking about this for a while now, but you hadn’t been sure how to bring it up. But here, now, in the quiet of your shared space, it felt like the right time. “I was thinking... maybe it’s time we took the next step.”

Logan’s fingers stilled for a moment, and you could feel him processing your words. He didn’t pull away or tense up the way you thought he might. Instead, he shifted slightly, turning to face you more fully.

“What do you mean?” His voice was soft and careful, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

“I mean...” You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I want to be with you. Completely.” 

Logan blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment as he absorbed what you were saying. You searched his face, waiting for him to pull back, to tell you this was too much, too fast. But instead, he surprised you.

His hand came up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion. “I’m sure. I know what I want, Logan. And I want you. All of you.”

For a moment, Logan just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find any hesitation, any doubt. But when he didn’t find any, a slow, genuine smile spread across his face—the kind of smile you didn’t see often, but when you did, it melted your heart.

“If that’s what you want... then yeah. I want that too,” he said quietly, his voice rough but full of warmth.

Relief and joy washed over you, and without thinking, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. His hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, the warmth between you growing into something more.

You felt the weight of his body as he shifted over you, the heat of his skin against yours as the rain continued to fall softly outside. And in that moment, with Logan’s arms wrapped around you, everything felt right. The future, whatever it held, didn’t feel so uncertain anymore.

You had each other and that was enough.

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: FLASHBACK TIME !!!!!

prev

authors note: guys ive lowkey been picturing things as i would direct them in a film or music video so 😭 if my writing angle feels off then thats why. but i hoped u enjoyed anyway !! if u still arent on the tag list, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <33

you stepped out of the sleek black car, your heels clicking against the pavement as you’re greeted by a wall of flashing lights and the low hum of the press. the red carpet at the love, simon premiere was buzzing with excitement, packed with celebrities and industry professionals.

this wasn’t your first time walking a carpet, but it was different tonight—there was something in the air, an energy you couldn’t quite place, but it felt like just another event to get through.

you paused in front of the photographers, striking a few effortless poses. to everyone else, you looked like you were in your element—smiling, waving, and giving the cameras exactly what they wanted.

but inside, you were already thinking about when you could leave. you were there because the director was an old colleague from your recent work on tempest, your breakout role. it was your agent’s idea to make an appearance, to be seen and keep your name in the buzz, but you hadn’t really planned to stay long. just the premiere, maybe the afterparty, and then home.

as you moved down the carpet, a journalist caught your attention. “y/n, over here! a quick word?”

you nodded, stepping toward the microphone with a gracious smile. the flashing bulbs intensified as you answered questions about your latest projects, your outfit for the night, and how excited you were to see the film.

“you’ve been busy with tempest—how’s that going?” one interviewer asked.

you offered a polite smile. “it’s been great. we’re still filming season two, so it’s been pretty nonstop, but i’m thrilled to be here tonight to support this movie. i’ve heard such good things about love, simon.”

you kept your responses short but engaging, giving just enough without going too deep. after a few more quick exchanges, you excused yourself, nodding to your team as you made your way inside.

the grand theater lobby was filled with more celebrities and industry insiders, everyone dressed to the nines and mingling, but you were already scanning the room for a drink. maybe a glass of champagne woule make the night pass quicker.

your mind was preoccupied, already drifting toward the idea of heading inside early, when you felt yourself bump into someone. you glanced up, ready to offer a quick apology, but the words froze in your throat the second your eyes locked with his.

he was tall—taller than you expected—with broad shoulders, and his hair was just slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it all night. he’s startled at first, like he wasn’t paying attention either, but the moment his gaze met yours, there’s a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. maybe recognition. maybe awe.

his lips parted slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but he didn’t. instead, he just stared, clearly a little stunned. for a second, you felt like the noise of the room faded into the background, like it was just the two of you standing there.

“sorry about that,” you said first, stepping aside to give him room, your voice casual despite the strange pull you felt from his gaze.

he blinked, shaking his head quickly. “no, no, it’s my fault. wasn’t paying attention.” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered, and then finally added, “i’m drew, by the way. starkey— drew starkey.”

there was something familiar about the name, but it didn’f immediately click. “nice to meet you, drew,” you replied with a small smile. you glanced past him, ready to move on, but he didn’t make it easy. he was still looking at you, like he was trying to memorize your face, like he’d just seen something—someone—he didn’t want to forget.

“you’re—” he began, but then cut himself off, a little embarrassed. “i mean, i know who you are.”

you raised an eyebrow, curious now. “oh yeah?”

he nodded quickly. “yeah, you’re amazing on tempest. my sisters are obsessed with the show, but i started watching it, too, and— yeah, you’re great.”

his words tumbled out fast and you couldn’t help but be a little charmed by how genuine he sounded. he wasn’t smooth like some of the other people you’d met that night—he wasn’t trying to impress you with industry talk or big names. he was just . . . honest.

“well, thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm a little. “that means a lot.”

there was a brief pause, and you could see him struggling for what to say next. the thing was, it wasn’t awkward—it was kind of endearing. finally, he let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “sorry, i didn’t mean to fangirl or anything.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “don’t worry, you’re fine.”

he was still standing there, not moving away, and for some reason, you didn’t feel like walking off either. maybe it was the way he was looking at you, like he couldn’t believe he was even talking to you. it’s a look you’d seen before, but it felt different coming from him. there’s no agenda behind it. just . . . admiration.

“so,” you started, trying to keep the conversation going, “what brings you to the premiere?”

he blinked, like he’d forgotten why he was even there. “oh, uh, i’m actually in the movie.”

and that was when it clicked. drew starkey. you heard the name before, seen it in casting lists, but seeing him in person, you hadn’t put it together until now.

“right,” you said, nodding slowly. “that’s why you looked familiar.”

he chuckled softly, but there was still that slight blush on his cheeks. “yeah, that’s me.”

the conversation flowed a little easier after that. you asked him about the movie, and he asked you more about tempest, genuinely interested in your work, not just going through the motions like so many others do at those events. he was funny, too, in a shy, unassuming way that caught you off guard.

as the crowd around you thickened, his eyes never left yours, like he was completely captivated. you weren’t sure how long you stood there talking, but it was long enough for you to forget about slipping out early.

and then, before you knew it, the lights were dimming, signaling that the movie was about to start. he glanced toward the theater doors, then back at you, almost hesitant.

“well, i guess we should head in,” he said, sounding a little disappointed that your conversation was being cut short.

“yeah,” you agreed, though part of you didn’t want the night to end either. as you both moved toward the entrance, something pulled at you to say more, to affirm the spark that had ignited between you. you abruptly stopped in your tracks. he turned to face you, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“i’ll catch you at the afterparty?” you told him, your voice light and teasing. you watched his face break into a genuine smile, the kind that made his entire demeanor shift from nervous to gleeful.

with that, you turned and headed toward the theater doors, the buzz of chatter and laughter enveloping you. you could feel drew’s gaze lingering on you as you walked away.

you knew you weren’t on the cast so it would have been unexpected if you showed up. but you knew that he’d be there.

as you navigated through the crowd, you couldn’t help but glance back one last time, and in that instant, you caught drew watching you, his expression soft and hopeful. a faint smile tugged at your lips, and finally, you disappeared into the crowds of guests entering the theater, but the memory of his gaze stayed with you.

the afterparty was a vibrant swirl of lights and laughter, complete opposite to the behavior of the premiere just hours ago. you stood with leila, theo, and gia, the four of you navigating the home.

after a few minutes, you spotted him across the room, laughter dancing in his eyes as he talked to a small group. you excused yourself from your own conversation, weaving through the crowd until you found yourself standing beside him.

and soon, time seemed to slip away as you both dived into deeper conversations about your lives, your careers, and the dreams you’d harbored since childhood. drew opened up about his recent experiences filming, and you found yourself sharing the struggles and triumphs of your own journey in the film industry. every moment spent together felt natural, as if you’d known each other for much longer than just a few hours.

by the end of the night, the party winder down and guests began to trickle out. you exchanged numbers, both of you eager to see each other again. and you did. time and time again.

you paced around your apartment as you gestured animatedly. throwing your hands in the air, your eyes widened with passion, as if you were trying to grasp an idea that was just out of reach. drew leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching you intently with a soft smile playing on his lips.

“i just wanna have some time to go out there and have some fun,” you were telling him, “be there in the moment, explore la. not with any paparazzi there to demand photos of me or take them when i have my guard down. just me and the city.”

as you spoke, your gaze shifted toward the window, where the sun peeked through the window across your living room. you imagined yourself outside, feeling the sun on your skin, surrounded by the pulse of los angeles.

spinning around quickly, your face lit up like you’d just had a revelation. “like starstruck!”

“starstruck?” drew echoed as he squinted his eyes, trying to grasp your idea.

“yeah, you know that one movie on disney? christopher and jessica are running around los angeles in that one scene—” you continued.

“—before they get their car caught in that mud and christopher ditches her at the beach,” he interjected with furrowed brows, knowing full well how the scene played out.

you stopped abruptly, narrowing your eyes at him. you tilted your head, “you wouldn’t ditch me, would you, star?”

drew shook his head, “no way.”

satisfied with his answer, your expression brightened again, and you nodded vigorously. “good. then come on.”

you grabbed your keys from the table and practically dragged him out of your apartment. the door clicked shut behind you, and you led the way down the corridor.

as you made your way into the parking garage, your laughter rung out, echoing off the concrete walls. when you reached your car, you slid in and grabbed your sunglasses from its compartment to slide them on.

drew chuckled as he put his seatbelt on, shaking his head in disbelief. “you really have a plan for everything, don’t you?”

“only when it comes to having fun,” you replied, your grin widening as you pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to shield his face. “don’t worry, they’ll never see us coming,” you assured him, your laughter infectious as you started the engine and pulled out of the parking garage.

and over the course of a year, you and drew became inseparable. what started as stolen moments during movie premieres and secret hangouts morphed into a deep, unshakeable friendship.

laughter echoed in your shared memories—late-night talks sprawled on the floor of your apartment, spontaneous adventures through the streets of los angeles, and lazy mornings spent in bed, wrapped up in each other's warmth.

as the seasons shifted, so did the nature of your connection. the boundaries blurred, and your heart raced at the thought of what could be. but you both chose to keep it light, enjoying each moment without the weight of labels.

then one evening, everything changed. it was a night like any other. the winter air was crisp as you and drew strolled through the twinkling streets of los angeles. you were coming back from a cozy evening out, the laughter still lingering between you as you recounted the highlights of the night.

as you walked, the sound of distant pops drawed your attention. you paused mid-sentence, eyes widening as bursts of color lit up the night sky. fireworks!

the brilliant reds, blues, whites, and purples filled the air. a smile spread across your face as you turned to him, the shared excitement pulling you closer together.

“this is so cute,” you said, leaning into drew’s side to admire the display. you were momentarily lost in the beauty, the chaos of colors exploding above you like confetti.

but then you spotted something in the midst of the fireworks—words began to form in the night sky, each letter crafted from the brilliant light.

‘will you be my girlfriend?’ the phrase appeared among the colors, messy yet somehow legible.

you read it, confusion washing over you at first. someone was asking someone else through fireworks? but as you turned to drew, you noticed his gaze, expectant and hopeful. the realization quickly sunk in.

your mouth gaped open in shock, your heart pounding as you processed what was happening. you looked back up at the sky, needing to confirm that this moment was real, that the words were genuinely meant for you.

but you turned back to drew, and without thinking, you nodded. before you knee it, you were jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck, and holding him tightly. he caught you effortlessly, and you could feel his warmth seep into you as he hugged you back, pulling you close.

you could feel the happiness reflected there, and for the first time, it felt official—no more questions, no more uncertainty. you were exactly where you wanted to be.

and just two years later, you and drew found yourselves on the set of hellraiser, a project neither of you anticipated becoming a part of when you first met. it’s actually funny how it all unfolded.

initially, you weren’t even considering taking the role. after all, you were still knee-deep in filming tempest. the thought of juggling both projects seemed overwhelming, and you were ready to prioritize your current work over anything new.

when drew secured his role in some film, he kept the details to himself, not wanting to distract you from your current commitments. he didn’t mention the movie by name, and you didn’t press him for details; you respected his space and didn’t want to add to your own frustration about whether to accept the new opportunity.

“you should really consider it,” he urged, his voice filled with genuine belief in your talent. “this could be a great chance for you, babe, and imagine how much fun you could have! you’re almost done finishing tempest this month. after that, you’ll have plenty of time for your new project.”

you weighed his words, feeling torn. you loved the idea of the role, but the reality of juggling two major projects felt daunting.

yet, after a long talk about chasing new opportunities and taking risks, you found yourself swayed by his excitement and your own desire for growth. finally, you decided to go for it, officially signing on for the project.

what you didn’t realize, until the casting announcements were made, was that you and drew would be filming in the same movie. when you heard the news, you actually went insane. you felt like the universe was rewarding you for taking that leap of faith. the two of you would not only be working together but doing so on a film that promised to be both challenging and thrilling.

as filming began, the reality of being on set with drew hit you both like a wave. the two of you were navigating the intricate dance of being both co-stars and romantic partners, which brought its own set of challenges.

you found joy in the little things—the shared lunches, the whispered jokes during scenes, and the late-night talks about the original film. every day, you felt grateful to have him by your side, knowing that while the world outside the set may have been chaotic, your little bubble was filled with warmth, support, and your boyfriend. not everyone was able to be in your position.

but it wasn’t the same anymore. at least a year later. you were in another city, staying in yet another hotel room, the kind where the silence hung heavy in the air, almost suffocating. the glow of the city lights outside filtered through the curtains, casting a soft haze over everything.

you rested your back against the cool surface of the wall as you stared out into the city through the window. it was strange—the city was vibrant, loud, yet all you felt was isolation. your reflection stared back at you, tired eyes searching for something, anything, to hold on to.

you let yourself imagine drew standing beside you, his arm slipping around your waist, the warmth of his presence easing the ache that had settled deep inside.

but it was just a fantasy. he wasn’t there. not really. not the way you needed him to be.

he was somewhere else, in another city, on another set. networking. working. living his own life. you both were—careers that had taken off in opposite directions, always moving, always busy, always apart. your schedules were like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together anymore, no matter how hard you tried to force them.

sometimes he would surprise you, show up in whatever city you were in, standing at your door with that smile that used to make your heart race. but even then, it wasn’t enough. when he was there, it felt like you were lying next to a stranger, like everything you shared before felt like a distant memory.

your mind wandered as you stared out the window, trying to remember what it used to be like. the way you used to laugh together, the way he used to look at you like you were the only person in the world. but those moments felt so far away now, like they belonged to another lifetime. your careers were taking off, yes, but your relationship was falling apart.

you tried everything to get him to spend more time with you. it wasn’t just the long phone calls or the quiet hopes you'd whisper when he promised he’d visit, but you actually took action.

you started reaching out to his manager, a move that felt so cold, so far removed from the days when it was just you and him figuring things out together. now, it was emails and calls, hoping to align your schedules like some kind of business transaction.

you’d ask if there was a window, any gap at all, where you could see each other, trying to make sense of his packed days and your own commitments. it felt impersonal, like you were just another appointment penciled into his calendar, waiting to be confirmed.

there were weeks when you’d sit down with your team, trying to move things around, freeing up your time in the hope that his manager would find a slot that worked. you bent over backward, squeezing your own projects tighter so maybe, just maybe, you’d have a few days together. but it always ended the same.

another ‘maybe next time’ or a polite suggestion from his side to ‘keep him updated’—as if he wasn’t even aware of how much you were trying to hold everything together.

what shattered you was seeing him with his costars. scrolling through social media and seeing him hanging out with them after long days on set. grabbing dinner with them, laughing with them, being the drew you used to know—but never like that with you anymore.

he made time for them, he’d pay them visits, go out for drinks, be himself. but not with you. why not with you?

you couldn’t understand it. and that was the worst part. you weren’t jealous of his work or his friends, but it hurt seeing him give them what you so desperately wanted. time. effort. attention. those small moments of connection.

you tried bringing other people into the mix, hoping it would be less pressure for him. leila and theo became your go-to when you were feeling desperate. you’d invite them out, framing it like a casual group hang, knowing that maybe if drew wasn’t faced with just you, he’d be more likely to show up.

you thought maybe he'd feel less cornered, less pressured. and so you'd reach out, asking leila to join you and casually suggesting that maybe drew could come along too. a movie, dinner, anything. you tried to make it seem easy, no big deal.

but he never gave a direct answer. it was always a dance—drew would respond with something vague, something about being busy, or how he’d love to but he wasn’t sure, and he’d get back to you. he’d redirect the conversation, shifting topics before you even realized what had happened. it wasn’t malicious, but it left you feeling hollow, like he wasn’t even aware of how long he’d been doing it, how much he’d been dodging your efforts to pull him closer.

and you couldn’t help but feel bad, feel like you were trying so hard for someone who wasn’t even putting in half as much as you were. it wasn’t like he didn’t care—he was just so wrapped up in his own world, his work, that he didn’t see how hard you were fighting to keep your relationship alive.

you were trying to reach him, but it felt like he was always just out of reach, just beyond the point where you could hold on.

it wasn’t anger you felt toward him, but this deep, aching sadness. because no matter what you tried, it felt like you were the only one trying at all—did he even like you anymore?

and then suddenly, it snapped.

like a taut string pulled too tight for too long, it finally gave way. all the moments you fought so hard for, the endless nights spent hoping, came crashing down in an instant. his words weren’t loud or angry; they were quiet, almost too calm. it was like the end had been sitting between you both for months, waiting to be spoken into existence.

“what?”

your voice was small, a cracked whisper filled with disbelief. you’d heard him—of course, you’d heard him—but it felt so unreal. your heart ached, like it was physically breaking apart, but your mind couldn’t fully process it. it felt like you were standing outside of yourself, watching this unfold, wondering if this was really happening.

“why?” you managed, your voice barely holding together as your eyes searched his face for something, anything that would make sense of this. you saw his regret, the sadness behind his eyes, but there was no answer that would make this hurt any less. his lips parted like he wanted to explain, but there were no words to fix this.

he reached for you, like he thought he could make it better somehow, but you took a step back, your hand instinctively wiping away the tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

all the effort, all the time you had spent trying to make things work, fighting for what you thought was love—it felt like it had all been wasted. your chest tightened as you stared at him, the silence between you thick and unbearable.

“get away from me,” you whispered, your voice stronger now, though your heart was shattering inside. you waved him off, refusing to let him touch you, refusing to let him see you break any more than you already had.

he hesitated, his hands dropping to his sides as the distance between you widened, both physically and emotionally. it wasn’t just the breakup that hurt—it was everything. all the time you’d given, all the compromises, all the moments you’d spent wishing for more.

you turned around, not wanting him to see the fresh tears that blurred your vision, not wanting him to see how deeply this cut. it wasn’t just about losing him; it was about losing the version of yourself that had believed, that had hoped for something different. something better.

“good luck on everything, drew.”

the words left your mouth before you could stop them, bitter and sharp. it felt like a punch to your own chest, but you had to say it. you had to remind yourself that maybe his career was the priority now, not you. and you needed to remind him of that, too.

even as your throat tightened, and your body threatened to break down entirely, you forced yourself to keep walking.

you didn’t look back. not when the tears started falling faster, not when your hands shook as you unlocked your car door, not even when you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back like a weight you didn’t want to carry anymore.

the sobs finally broke free once you were inside, gripping the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. he didn’t chase after you, didn’t say another word. he just watched you leave, and that somehow hurt more than anything else.

as you drove away, tears streaming down your face, the weight of it all finally settled in. you didn’t want to hear his excuses, didn’t want to hear whatever reason he thought justified this. you just wanted to go home, to get away from the pain that now felt too familiar, and to leave behind the pieces of your heart that had shattered at his feet.

and just like that, the year of silence between you began.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @cl4uus @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy @darkreymbow @congratsloserr @skyslowalking @ivy-34 @behindviolettwrites @allthoughtsmindfull @lovelylupin04 @ecstqzy @dasguccier

[anniebeemine]

vacation-s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: just family fluff

Spencer thought his hotel days were over when he left the BAU, but the reality was far from it. He hadn’t kept an official count, but at this point, he was certain that he’d spent more nights in hotel rooms than in his own bed during his lifetime. The ache in his body from lumpy mattresses and too-thin pillows had become a familiar companion, one he woke up with once again this morning.

As he blinked his eyes open, he rolled over, his body groaning in protest. The stark white sheets clung to his legs, and he could feel the stiffness from yet another night on a subpar bed. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he padded quietly to the bathroom, the cold tile underfoot another unwelcome reminder that he wasn’t home.

When he stepped back into the room, the sight that greeted him made it all worth it. There lay you—his beautiful, gorgeous wife—still fast asleep. He couldn’t help but smile as he took you in. There was a bit of drool on your lip, and your hair was a tangled mess that he knew you’d curse over in about an hour when you tried to comb it out. A soft snore came from you, the kind that was peaceful and endearing, the type that only someone who truly loved you would find adorable.

Spencer stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching you, his heart swelling with a quiet contentment. Even after all these years, seeing you like this—so relaxed, so at peace—filled him with a sense of warmth he couldn’t put into words.

He shifted his gaze to the other bed, where his two children, Daniel and Marissa, lay in a chaotic sprawl. The twins had somehow managed to starfish over each other in their sleep, arms and legs tangled like they couldn’t decide whether to be attached or push each other away. Their small faces were still flushed from the excitement of the night before, remnants of laughter still etched into their expressions.

He had fallen asleep listening to their giggles, their hushed whispers carrying through the room. There was a small wall between the two beds, and to them, it had seemingly acted as a barrier that prevented their parents from hearing their mischievous late-night conversations. Of course, Spencer and you had known exactly what they were up to, but neither of you had the heart to break it up. After a night of swimming in the hotel pool and a sugar rush from vending machine snacks, it felt like a harmless indulgence.

Spencer’s smile softened as he remembered the sound of their laughter. It had filled the room, bright and full of life, the kind of sound that made the ache from his job, his travels, and those lumpy mattresses fade into the background.

He tiptoed back to his bed, careful not to wake anyone. Sliding under the covers, he glanced over at you again, his heart full. Despite the exhaustion, the unfamiliarity of yet another hotel room, and the ache in his muscles, this—being here with you and the kids—was what mattered. It wasn’t the bed that made a home; it was the people in it.

Spencer leaned back against the pillows, watching as the early morning light filtered through the curtains. He knew that in a little while, the room would be filled with the sound of your voice, grumbling as you untangled your hair, and the twins’ excited chatter as they planned whatever adventure they’d get into next.

But for now, in this quiet moment, everything was perfect.

Spencer felt himself slowly drift back to sleep, the warmth of the bed and the sound of your soft snores lulling him into a light doze. His mind relaxed, slipping into the peaceful in-between where everything was calm, where the aches from the hotel mattress disappeared, and it was just him and his family.

But that peace didn’t last long.

He woke to the blaring sound of a children’s show playing on the TV, the shrill theme song snapping him out of his slumber. Daniel, his oldest, stood next to the remote, wide-eyed and frozen like a deer in headlights. As soon as he caught Spencer’s bleary gaze, he fumbled with the buttons, managing to mutter, “I’m sorry,” as he quickly set it to mute.

From beside him, you stirred, your eyes still closed but your voice carrying a sleepy warning. “He better not have woken up the baby.”

As if on cue, the unmistakable sound of little miss cranky pants, Liza, echoed through the room. She screeched loudly, her tiny arms reaching out from the hotel-provided crib, clearly unhappy with the sudden lack of quiet. Spencer chuckled softly under his breath as Daniel winced, already knowing what was coming.

Daniel made a valiant attempt to help, reaching into the crib to lift his baby sister, but at only seven, he was still learning the ropes. His small arms struggled under the weight, and Liza’s face immediately contorted into one of discomfort—maybe even disgust. She was not pleased with her brother’s lack of finesse.

Marissa, always the problem-solver, quickly jumped in to help. The two of them worked together, lifting their sister from the crib with a series of grunts and awkward tugs until they finally managed to settle her down on the queen bed. The three of them lay there contently, Daniel and Marissa giggling softly as Liza nuzzled against them, her earlier frustration quickly forgotten in the comfort of her siblings’ embrace.

Spencer watched the whole scene unfold, his heart swelling with pride at how naturally the kids cared for one another. Even though he and you were right there, the twins had taken it upon themselves to handle their baby sister, and he loved seeing that bond grow between them.

You muttered something again, your eyes still closed but your voice half-aware now. “I should probably go downstairs and get them some breakfast.”

Spencer leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll go get something. You stay here and rest.”

You hummed in response, grateful for the offer but still half-asleep, while Spencer quietly gathered his keys and slipped on a pair of sneakers. He tiptoed out of the hotel room, the soft click of the door closing behind him signaling the start of his little mission.

The drive to the nearest fast food place was quick, the streets still quiet in the early morning. Spencer placed the order, his mind already back in the hotel room, his heart aching to return to you and the kids. It was funny how much he’d changed—years ago, he would’ve dreaded this sort of thing. The noise, the chaos, the constant movement that came with being a parent. But now, it was his greatest joy.

By the time he returned with the food, the kids would be up and fully awake, you probably wrangling them into some semblance of order while Liza demanded to be held. He couldn’t wait to see their faces light up when he walked through the door, bags of breakfast in hand, ready to start the day.

And as he pulled back into the parking lot, Spencer smiled, knowing that even though his hotel days weren’t quite over yet, as long as he had you and the kids with him, it didn’t really matter.

Spencer returned to the hotel room, the warm aroma of breakfast filling the air as he carefully balanced the bags in his hands. As expected, the kids were already wide awake and bouncing with excitement. Daniel and Marissa were sprawled out on the bed, playfully poking Liza, who was now much calmer, her earlier cries forgotten.

“Daddy’s back!” Marissa squealed as she noticed him, hopping off the bed and rushing over to grab one of the bags from him. Daniel was close behind, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food.

You stirred in bed, finally sitting up with a groggy smile. “Saved the day again, I see,” you teased, stretching your arms above your head.

Spencer grinned and leaned over to press a kiss to your lips before handing you a cup of coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

“Always,” you replied gratefully, taking a sip and sighing contently. The twins were already digging into their breakfast, barely able to contain their excitement for what the day held.

As the family sat together, the room filled with the chatter of their morning routine. Liza babbled in her high chair, her tiny hands reaching for the small bits of breakfast Spencer had cut up for her. Daniel and Marissa were exchanging stories about their dreams from the night before, their voices a flurry of energy.

After breakfast, you all began the process of getting ready for the day. The familiar chaos of wrangling kids into clothes, brushing teeth, and packing bags for the day began. Spencer moved between the beds, folding tiny outfits and zipping up backpacks, while you made sure Liza had everything she needed.

“Are we almost ready?” you called from the bathroom as you pulled a brush through your hair, the inevitable tangles from the night before giving you a bit of trouble.

“Just about!” Spencer replied, glancing over at Daniel and Marissa, who were now fully dressed and pulling their shoes on. “Are you guys excited for today?”

“Yes!” they both shouted in unison, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Do you think Uncle Derek will play soccer with us?” Daniel asked, his voice bubbling with hope.

“Probably,” Spencer chuckled, knowing full well that Derek would never turn down a game of soccer with the kids. “You guys have been practicing so much, you might even be able to beat him this time.”

Marissa grinned, clearly proud of her skills, and Daniel’s face lit up with determination. The twins were in the thick of their travel soccer season, and weekends like this had become the norm—constantly on the go, shuttling between games, practices, and tournaments. If it wasn’t soccer, it was travel hockey or dance competitions. Every season brought something new, and while it was exhausting at times, Spencer secretly loved every minute of it. Watching his kids pour their hearts into their activities made all the travel and chaos worth it.

Once everyone was dressed and ready, Spencer glanced over at the packed suitcases by the door. He hoisted one onto his shoulder and smiled down at Liza, who had waddled over to him, her tiny fingers clutching the sleeve of his jacket.

“Are you ready to go see Uncle Derek?” he asked her softly, scooping her up into his arms.

Liza gurgled in response, a wide grin spreading across her face as she grabbed onto his collar.

“You heard her,” Spencer said with a smile, turning toward the twins. “Let’s get going!”

The room was filled with excited chatter as Daniel and Marissa scrambled to grab their backpacks, eagerly talking about all the things they planned to do with Uncle Derek. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Derek had always been a favorite of the kids, and any chance to visit him was met with sheer joy.

As the family made their way down to the lobby, Spencer carried Liza on one hip, the suitcase in his other hand. You followed close behind with the twins, each of them tugging at your arms as they excitedly discussed their plans for the day. Despite the hectic pace of travel and the constant shuffle between hotel rooms, these moments—these weekends spent as a family, watching their kids grow and bond with the people they loved—made it all worth it.

And as they stepped out into the crisp morning air, Spencer felt that familiar warmth fill his chest. He might still be living out of a suitcase, but with his family by his side, every day was an adventure worth having.

[siren-141]

Hi hi! Could we do 777 with Simon Riley pretty please!!

With lots of love!!

-Mika🩷🥭

hey there, I'm so sorry that I'm just now getting around to this 😭😭 thank you so much for the request, I loved writing these. it's super late but this one concludes my summer challenge :) enjoy 🖤

warnings: none really lmao. unrequited love that's not actually unrequited. is this considered fluff?? summer sleepover

bad friends – black honey

It had been a long week. It had been raining, dark grey clouds covering the sky for what felt like the whole week, casting a shadow over the base. Everyone was beat down and the energy was low, everyone tucking themselves away in their own spaces. That’s how you wound up running yourself a piping hot bath, with your favorite eucalyptus candle lit in the corner.

Stepping into the tub, you slowly lowered yourself into the water. You could see the steam coming up from the surface past the bubbles, even in the dim light. This was ultimate relaxation for you – something you didn’t often have time for.

It had been about 15 minutes of relaxation, soft music playing in the background. Your eyes were shut, and all the tension was gone from your body.

“You should really lock your door,” a voice called out in your room. You didn’t even bother to open your eyes, knowing that voice from anywhere.

“I could hear your heavy footsteps down the hall, Simon. Not very Ghost-like when it’s 11pm on a night off.”

You smiled to yourself, taking a relaxing deep breath. Nothing about your team startled you – you were too used to them and their ways, that almost nothing would shock you.

Simon closed – and locked – your main door behind him. Walking around the dimly lit room, he took in the atmosphere. He looked around at the fake ivy plant on top of your dresser and the scattered pictures you had hung up of different landscapes and events you’d gone to, studying your space with a piqued interest. He could hear your phone playing in the bathroom, and took note of what kind of music you liked during a time like this.

“Just came in to check on you. Been kind of an off week for everyone, seems like,” he commented, walking further into your room, admiring the small homemade painting you had hanging near your bathroom door. It was a beautiful landscape, with lush grass and crystal blue skies, the sun filtering throughout the painting. Nothing like the usual scenery that your team was used to, no – something peaceful to look at at the end of each night, something to look forward to. He couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

“‘m fine, just figured I’d take advantage of the night off,” you answered him, and completely instinctually, he looked towards the sound of your voice. That was his mistake.

Your voice drowned out and time seemed to slow for him. Your bathroom door was only cracked about four inches open, but those four inches seemed like the cracked gates of heaven. He looked at you, really looked at you. You laid there in the tub, soap suds covering your body and almost spilling out of the tub, your head leaned back against the shower wall. Your eyes were closed, but you looked utterly at peace. Every expanse of skin that showed through – your shoulder peeking above the tub, your neck that was exposed from your hair being pulled up, the tops of your knees that raised just over the water because the tub was too short, even for you – he committed it all to memory. He could stare at you like this forever: a renaissance painting in his own mind.

“...right?” Time started again at your prompt, and he quickly concentrated on what you had just said. You know you don’t have to check on me, right?

“‘course I do,” he grunted, turning away and shaking his head. “I check on everyone. ‘ts my job.”

Simon Riley, always the caretaker. Ghost might put up a front that he’s ruthless, emotionless, and that he doesn’t care – the first of it true – but Simon was another story. This team relied on trust and empathy for one another, whether it was obvious or not: you couldn’t run if you all hated each other. Each of you had unintentionally carved out a small part of your hearts for one another to fit in, and once you were there, there was next to nothing that could remove it. Simon might have his walls up, armed guards positioned at the top of them ready to shoot at anything that might get too close, but small gestures like this was all that was needed to see that he truly cared.

You sighed, partially from the relaxing scent of your candle drifting your way, and partially from exasperation of the stubborn man in the next room. “You should worry less about us sometimes and focus all that energy on yourself, Si. When was the last time you did something for yourself?”

The question rang in his head and all he could think about was you.

“You’ve gotta start taking care of yourself, big guy.” He sits on your bed, staring at the wall in front of him or looking around the contents of your nightstand – anywhere but through the four-inch crack of your door.

It’s silent for a moment, but it’s a comfortable silence. A few minutes go by, and he can hear the water sloshing around before you pull the drain cover and let the water drain out.

You finally make an appearance. Standing in the doorway, you had finally turned the big light on in your bathroom, having gotten dressed in your night clothes. Combing your hair out with your fingers, you looked at him with your eyebrow raised. His big frame sat on your bed, making it look so small, and you could tell he looked tired.

“I meant what I said, Simon. You deserve to take care of yourself.”

Turning around, you walked back into the bathroom, door now swung all the way open. Simon followed, crossing the small space to lean against the door frame. He was so much bigger than you, head almost hitting the top of the frame and shoulders so wide that he took up almost the entire width. He watched as you went through each bottle of your four-step skincare routine, slathering serum onto your face evenly.

He broke the silence.

“You’re beautiful.”

Of course your mind began to race, heart rate picking up immediately. You’d had feelings for the guy for quite a while now, but what would it do to the team dynamic if anyone acted on it? You couldn’t take the risk. That was the excuse you told yourself – you couldn’t risk the team being awkward. In reality? You’d always just shut off that part of you – the part of your brain that would wonder things like when are you going to find someone and imagine your dream man: why does he look just like Simon and do you really want to be alone or are you just telling yourself that

So you do what you always do when situations similar to this come up – you laugh. You play it casual and you laugh it off.

Smile wide, you don’t miss a beat as you continue to stare in your bathroom mirror, rubbing in the face cream as your third step. “My hair is a mess and I’m slugging my face right now, but okay!”

You try not to think about it, thinking that maybe it was just a late night, thinking that he had forgotten about it just as quickly as he had brought it up. You finished slathering the overnight mask onto your face, washed your hands, and as you turn to leave the bathroom without really looking, you bump into him, who didn’t even budge.

His finger gently hooks under your chin, just barely missing the line where your skincare serum starts, and lifts your head.

“I meant what I said,” he holds your eye contact until he can see that you’re fully focused on him now and that your thoughts aren’t racing like they were a minute before. He needs you to be fully present when he talks to you. “You’re beautiful.”

Your breathing is shallow, and you can almost hear your heart beating through your ears; feel the blood pumping a little extra hard throughout your veins. You couldn’t break eye contact right now if you tried – he captivated you, every one of your senses utterly surrounded by him.

He leaned down slowly, bridging the gap between you two, and your eyes closed in nervous anticipation. He was still in that moment, and you could almost feel his lips on yours before he turned his head, pressing a slow and gentle kiss to your cheek. He can hear your small gasp, breath finally finding you again, and he lingers there, eyes closing to remember this moment.

Leaning back, his hand drops back to his side and he looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes that have nothing but yearning in them. “I’d better let you get to sleep. Remember to lock your door.”

Simon crosses the room and hears your small goodnight back to him as he pulls the door shut behind him, waiting silently on the other side until he hears the lock click.

That night, you stayed up for another two hours, feeling utterly lovesick. And this time, it felt good.

[sageluvsjoel]

Lost and Found

part two to; a different kind of miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic! daughter

Requested HERE

masterlist

summary: A couple years after Joel had accepted and learned to adapt to his daughters autism, he loses his temper with her and she disappears

genre: hurt to comfort, post outbreak, fluff at the end

wc: 1.4k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

It had been an exhausting week, one of those stretches of days where everything seemed to go wrong. Winter was coming early to Jackson, the temperatures already biting through the air, and Joel was on edge. Supplies were running low, and the town was trying to organize runs to gather essentials before the weather turned too harsh. He’d been so focused on making sure everyone was prepared—on doing something—that he hadn’t noticed how much it was weighing on him.

And, of course, his little girl, now ten years old, had her own struggles. Lately, she’d been more withdrawn, more prone to sensory overloads. Jackson was a safe place, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t noisy, chaotic, and unpredictable—three things that sent her into a spiral. Joel knew this. He understood her in a way he hadn’t a few years ago, but that didn’t mean it was always easy.

She had a routine—one she relied on to get through the day. That routine kept her grounded, kept her focused. But life in Jackson didn’t always allow for perfect routines, and today had been a prime example of that. Joel had asked her to do something simple—help him clear a path outside their house so they could prepare for the coming snow. She’d been reluctant, focusing intently on the puzzle she was working on, her mind miles away from the task he wanted her to do.

At first, Joel had been patient. He always tried to be patient now. But with everything else gnawing at him, his frustration had bubbled over.

“I need you to listen, alright?” Joel had snapped, his voice harsher than intended. “I’ve asked you five times now, and you’re just sittin’ there like I’m talkin’ to a wall!”

She had flinched, her small body going rigid as her fingers hovered over the puzzle pieces. Joel immediately regretted his tone. But it was too late—the damage had been done. She closed herself off, retreating into her own world, her face expressionless, her eyes downcast. Before he could soften his words or try to reach her again, she was gone—out the door, moving fast.

“Hey!” Joel called after her, but she didn’t stop.

He’d thought she needed space, so he let her go, figuring she’d come back when she was ready, as she always did. The town wasn’t big, and she often found quiet places to be alone when she felt overwhelmed.

But hours passed, and she didn’t come back.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted streets of Jackson. By the time dinner came and went, you and Joel were growing increasingly worried.

"Have you seen her?" you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice as you looked out the window. The sky was bruised with dusk, and there was no sign of her.

Joel shook his head, trying to keep his own fear from showing. “She’ll turn up. She just needs some time. You know how she gets.”

But as the hours stretched on, and the cold deepened, doubt started to gnaw at him. He’d checked the usual spots—the quiet corners of town where she liked to hide when she needed to be alone—but there was no sign of her. And with each empty space he searched, the knot of fear in his chest tightened.

You grabbed his arm, your face pale. “Joel, what if she’s… what if something happened?”

It was the question he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t deny the possibility any longer. He had seen too much, lost too much, to take anything for granted in this world.

“I’m gonna get Tommy,” Joel said, his voice strained, the panic rising in his throat. “We’ll start searchin’ in pairs, see if anyone’s seen her.”

Tommy didn’t ask questions when Joel showed up at his door, his face drawn and tight with worry. Within minutes, half the town was mobilized, everyone searching every corner of Jackson, calling her name.

The minutes dragged on, turning into an hour, then two. The cold was biting now, the wind picking up as night settled fully in. Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each passing minute heightening the terror that something had happened to her.

Had she wandered too far out of town? Had something—or someone—gotten to her?

The questions battered his mind, a relentless barrage of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrible than the last. He tried to keep it together, tried to stay focused on the search, but the weight of it—the thought of losing her—was suffocating. It was his fault. He’d yelled at her. He’d made her run.

You found him pacing near the stables, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice trembling, “we’ll find her.”

But Joel barely heard you. His mind was already lost in a sea of guilt and fear. “What if… what if somethin’ happened to her? What if she’s out there, and it’s my fault because I couldn’t keep my temper in check? I should’ve never—”

Before he could spiral any further, a voice crackled over Tommy’s radio. “Hey, we think we found her.”

Joel froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed the radio. “Where?”

“She’s in the old storage shed behind the library. Looks like she’s just sittin’ there.”

Joel didn’t wait for a response. He was running before Tommy could finish speaking, his boots crunching through the snow as he sprinted toward the shed. You were right behind him, both of you breathless and frantic.

The door to the shed was slightly ajar, and inside, huddled in the corner, was your daughter. She was sitting cross-legged, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring down at the ground, completely still.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t panicking. She was just… sitting there, lost in her own world, oblivious to the chaos she had left behind.

Joel fell to his knees beside her, his heart hammering in his chest as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.”

She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” she said quietly. “I just… needed to be alone.”

Joel’s heart ached at the simplicity of her words, at the quiet truth of them. She hadn’t run away because she was scared or in danger. She had run because she was overwhelmed, because the world had gotten too loud, and she needed space to breathe.

And he had panicked because he hadn’t understood that, because he had let his fear take over.

You knelt down beside her, brushing a hand through her hair. “You scared us, sweetheart,” you said gently, your voice shaking. “We were worried something had happened to you.”

Her brow furrowed, her expression soft with confusion. “I was just sitting here. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of his relief crashing over him like a wave. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re alright. That’s all that matters.”

You pulled her close, and Joel wrapped his arms around both of you, holding on like he was afraid to let go. For a long time, none of you spoke. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind outside, the quiet hum of the world moving on.

When you finally stood up, Joel kept a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. “Next time, you tell me if you need space, alright? I’ll give it to you. Just… don’t disappear on us like that again.”

She nodded, her face still calm, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

As you led her out of the shed and back toward home, Joel couldn’t shake the lingering fear in his chest. The world was still dangerous, still unpredictable. But as long as they were together—as long as he understood her, truly understood her—he knew they’d be okay.

She was his miracle, and he would never lose her again.

dividers by @kodaswrld

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[blackenedsnow]

Hey there! I love your writing. I was wondering if you could write something where Michael Myers is super possessive and protective of the reader. The reader is normally really independent and tough, but they get into a situation where they actually need help—maybe they’re being stalked or harassed by someone, and Michael steps in?

silent guardian

WARNING: Possessiveness, stalking/harassment, violence, gore, toxic protectiveness, mention of murder.

PAIRING: Michael Myers x Reader

NOTE: Take you for your request! Enjoy!

SUMMARY: You're used to handling things on your own. You've always been independent and strong, never needing anyone’s help—until someone starts stalking you. At first, you think you can deal with it, but the situation escalates beyond your control. Michael Myers, lurking in the shadows, has always kept a watchful eye on you, and now, when you truly need help, he's more than ready to step in.

You had always prided yourself on your independence, on being the kind of person who could handle whatever came their way. You never needed anyone to protect you, and you certainly didn’t need anyone watching over you like some fragile thing. Life had thrown its fair share of challenges your way, but you'd learned to fight through them on your own terms.

That was before the stalking started.

At first, it was just unnerving—someone watching you too closely, lingering in places you couldn’t see, leaving a trail of anxiety wherever you went. But lately, things had escalated. You’d started noticing small signs, messages left behind, your name scrawled on your car window in the condensation, items in your home moved just slightly out of place.

You tried to brush it off, convincing yourself you could handle it. After all, you weren’t one to be scared so easily. But the weight of someone constantly lurking in the background was starting to wear on you, making you jump at shadows and lock every door twice.

It was only when the situation came to a head that you realized just how far out of control things had gotten.

You were on your way home late one night, cutting through a dark alley you had taken a hundred times before, when you heard the footsteps behind you. They weren’t subtle. Whoever was following you wanted you to know they were there.

Your heart raced, your breath catching in your throat as you quickened your pace, trying to lose whoever it was. But no matter how fast you walked, the footsteps stayed right behind you, the presence growing closer with each second.

Fear gnawed at you, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You turned a corner, hoping to lose them in the winding streets, but they were relentless. Panic set in as you reached a dead-end, and for the first time in a long while, you felt trapped.

Before you could react, the figure appeared at the mouth of the alley, stepping out of the darkness.

Your instincts screamed at you to run, but there was nowhere to go. Just as the shadow moved toward you, something else stirred in the darkness—something much larger, much more dangerous.

Michael. Though, you didn't know it yet.

He stepped out from the shadows like a force of nature, his massive form blocking the alleyway. The stalking figure stopped dead in their tracks, fear flickering in their eyes as they realized who and what they were up against.

Michael didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The air around him was thick with menace, his silent fury directed entirely at the person who had dared to follow you.

Without warning, Michael lunged, grabbing the stalker by the throat with one hand and slamming them against the wall. The sound of the impact echoed through the narrow alley, but Michael didn’t stop there. His grip tightened, cutting off any chance of escape for the unfortunate soul who had crossed his path.

You watched, frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. Michael’s eyes, under the mask, cold and empty, locked onto the stalker with a single-minded intensity, as if this person’s fate had already been decided.

In a matter of seconds, the threat was neutralized, the stalker left gasping for air on the ground, barely conscious. Michael didn’t spare them a second glance.

He turned to you then. The intensity was still there, but now it was different—possessive, protective. He stepped closer, and despite everything, despite knowing the monster he was, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

You weren’t alone.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there in the darkness, the weight of the situation settling in. You had always been the strong one, the independent one, but here, in the shadow of someone who lived for violence, you realized that even you needed help sometimes. And Michael—whether out of obsession, possessiveness, or something darker—had always been watching, always ready to step in when you needed him most.

He didn’t speak, didn’t ask if you were okay. That wasn’t his way. Instead, he reached out, his hand roughly grabbing your arm.

A strange comfort settled over you. In his twisted way, Michael had become your protector.

And in that moment, you didn’t mind being his.

[kitsuga]

two left feet. {Elliott x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Elliott has prophetic (?) dreams. 

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Tags: fluff, you ever have prophetic dreams? i do, elliott seems the type to have them too. look at him, reminder i am both blessed and cursed with the possibility of ooc bc mods have been installed in my brain for far too long, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, elliott x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, elliott

Word Count: 2,375

A/N: Written on: February 24, 2023 

I!! Think!! Hes!!! So!!!! Cute!!!! I don’t think I like the ending on this one but to be fair im gonna let it slide and pretend it doesnt exist, why not lKJSFHIUEF 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was cold in the stoney area Elliott found himself in; deep below the surface, he thought to himself—damp, cold, and full of unsettling shadows hidden in corners. Small flames lead his way down the makeshift corridor, but he was weary to follow—what would find him at the end of it? With no exit found behind him, he pressed forward. 

The flames started to die out as he walked past, their lives cut short without a second thought—except, he thought about it. Why were they blowing out so suddenly? A chill started to climb up his spine as he made his way down towards what looked like an open area; it was darker than where he had been, only a few dancing flames had sat within the room.  

This room was bad news, Elliott thought to himself. Everything in his body was screaming to run, that there was danger around, but he couldn’t. With his feet planted in place, his eyes darted from flame to flame, straining to see what horrors they would illuminate. The hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end as sounds started around the room; quiet at first before steadily growing louder, menacing, echoing off the stones. Shadows peeled themselves off the walls, contorting to hideous figures; sharp shrills came from somewhere deeper. The knot in Elliott’s stomach grew tighter, almost causing him to hunch over with fear.  

Creatures he thought he’d never be able to even dream of started to show themselves in the dim lights, just as frightening as they sounded. Horrifying sights, he thought to himself; dripping, oozing, some even rigid and sharp—creatures with faces so frightening he couldn’t fully comprehend what it was his eyes were trying to focus on. They moved with malevolence, each action full of venom; Elliott found himself begging in silence that he kept out of their sights. 

They started to merge together, moving towards something lying on the ground just within the remaining candle’s flames. It was balled up, hardly moving; the figure was... human, Elliott thought. What were they doing there? Were they alright? They needed to get up—needed to get out. The monstrosities grew ever closer, and his anxiety was on the rise; he tried calling out to the person, trying to will the air from his lungs to say something—anything—but nothing was productive. Even if something had come out, his voice would be lost amongst the terrifying noises that echoed among the walls, falling on deaf ears.  

The growing sense of urgency made him jittery as he tried and tried again to call out, but the moment his eyes adjusted and caught a glimpse of just who lay in the monster’s trap, his heart sank to his stomach. 

“Farmer...?” 

Elliott managed to whisper, his voice trembling while their name felt heavy with dread. He tried to move his feet, reach out to them. He tried calling out to them again and again, voice raising and wavering each time. The shadows started to move in, but he could only watch as they swoop in on their prey. With his heart in his throat and lead in his feet, he reached out for the Farmer who lay there unresponsive. 

“Farmer!” He shouted. “Farmer! Get up! Farmer, please!”  

He got desperate, screaming their name now as the shadows pounced at the person he cared about. 

“FARM--” 

“-ER!”  

Elliott woke up with a start, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears, jumping out of his chest and into his throat all at once. His breath was heavy, shaky, and felt as though he couldn’t catch it—his chest rose and fell with pain. Elliott’s clothes stuck to him, drenched in a cold sweat. His mind started running a mile a minute, no coherent thoughts were able to keep up. Was it a dream? It had to have been; he looked around the room and registered that it was his own. Trying to stabilize his breathing, he tried to brush his hair from his face and slowly lay back down.  

It was a dream! It was a dream. It was... a dream. Elliott bolted out of bed, alarmed that it had been a dream. It wasn’t a prophetic one, right? It couldn’t have been. Was it? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought. He was being ridiculous! Surely it was just a nightmare, and he should go back to bed. This is what he tried to soothe himself with as he drew back his blanket and attempted to crawl back into bed. 

But... what if it wasn’t? He jumped out of bed once again and rushed around his room—he should just go check on them! No, he NEEDED to go check on them. He felt around the dark room to grab his jacket from the back of his chair and struggled to put it on in a rush, tripping and falling against the front door as he also attempted to put on his shoes. Outside was quiet—even the waves were drowned out by the sound of his racing heart and his breath trying to catch up as he took off running, struggling to keep his footing in the sand. He ran much faster as his feet hit solid ground, sprinting through the familiar path to their farm. Weaving through paths of hard-earned crops and practically jumping over the rickety, old wooden steps of the porch, his fist pounds at their front door. He continues to knock, and knock, and knock, beating at the old wood so hard he could hear it over the static playing in his ears. 

Are they there? They have to be. It’s the middle of the night; oh, please be there, he thought to himself. Please be safely in your own bed, comfortable and warm—where they should be. He began to knock again before he was cut off, the door in front of him opening slowly to reveal the very person he was so desperate to see; they stood there in their pajama’s, a fist rubbing one eye while the other attempted to blink away the drowsiness and process the need to wake up. They were here, they were safe, they were... adorable. Elliott hunched over, holding his stomach, and let out the heaviest breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  

“Elliott...? Are you alright?” Farmer asks, voice drenched in sleep. “What’s wrong?” 

It took a few moments of trying to calm down and regulate his breathing before Elliott had stood back upright. He looked at them carefully, taking in every inch of them to ease his mind and soothe his heart, as their body was bathed in the gentle moonlight. 

“...Ahem,” Elliott cleared his throat and attempted to straighten his shirt. “Hello, Farmer.” 

They studied him with half-lidded eyes. Their shoulders hung with sleep still wrapping them like the warm blanket they had left in their bed. After a few moments, and a few hoots from an owl in the distance, they broke the silence of the night once again. 

“Are.... you okay?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

Elliott felt the corners of his lips turn upwards, but not of joy or relief. He was certainly feeling very awkward, now. How in the world was he going to explain this behaviour to them! His smile starts to grow, becoming more and more disconcerting; sweat fell from his brow though his body had certainly had enough time to calm down. He started to clear his throat again, moving to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to find the words to say. Come on, Elliott! You’re a writer! Certainly, you can think of a story to excuse this behaviour away? He watched as the Farmer looked him up and down, squinting a bit at him before they opened their mouth to speak. 

“Well... you were banging at my door is if your life depended on it... in the middle of the night.” 

“Ah... yeah...” Elliott managed to stammer out. 

“Then, your jacket is inside out--” Elliott promptly looked down to see the inside of his jacket pockets where they certainly should not be. “--and you’re also in your pajamas.” He certainly was. 

“Well, you see...” He started. 

Farmer looked down and stared, causing Elliott to follow suit. He took a look at his feet and felt the heat of a blush creep up the back of his neck the longer the silence drew on between the two of them. The distant hoot of an owl called out again before Farmer stuck their hand out and pointed at his previously mentioned feet. 

“You have two different shoes on.”  

The silence of the night swallowed the two of them whole once again. 

Elliott heaved a heavy sigh and slowly, almost with a shaky hand with how embarrassed he was feeling now, wiped the cold sweat off of his face and spoke through a crooked—and awkward—smile. 

“Ah. So I do.” 

“It’s like you have two left feet.” 

“That is not the same thing, they are simply different shoes—they're meant for the correct feet.” 

Elliott looked up at them through his eyelashes, his embarrassment practically melting away the instant he saw a bright smile on their lips. Of course they tried to make him feel better about it all, it was just who they were; it was something he truly adored about them, after all. Their soft, melodic giggle echoed through the still night, wrapping him with the comfort he had practically begged for just moments ago—it was such a welcomed warmth that he had almost forgotten what it was that had him so worried in the first place; the daunting fact crashed against him like a wave as he remembered and the blush of embarrassment crept up his neck once again. 

“Ahem... Well,” Elliott cleared his throat once again—it was going to be sore by the morning if he kept it up, “you see, there’s this tradition of... waking... people up... frantically... to...” 

Farmer cut him off with an unconvinced look and by gently putting their hand up to motion him to drop the horrible acting. 

“You’re a writer. You couldn’t come up with something better than whatever you were about to give me?” That’s what Elliott had been telling himself, too, only hearing the Farmer say it aloud struck his heart like an arrow. 

“Alright, fine.” He took a large breath, held it, and let it out in a quick meditation. “Believe in what you will, but there are times when dreams may be... prophetic.” 

“...Go on.” 

“It comes in as a sort of déjà vu at times, you see.”  

“Elliott.” 

He threw his hands up into the air as an indication that he had given up trying to beat around the bush. Holding those same hands out to the Farmer, he looked at them with such heavy concern and care in his eyes, he started to tear up. He fought back those very tears as Farmer gently put their hands in his own, instantly, without being prompted. Softly, quietly, as though the night itself would carry his words to the moon and reveal his secrets, he confessed. 

“I had a nightmare—about you.” He started, rubbing his thumbs across the Farmer’s knuckles and keeping eye contact with them. “I... needed to make sure you were alright. I was truly... truly frightened. I thought you had been hurt, or worse—if I had lost you.” 

Elliott leaned in closer to them, his voice now hardly above a whisper. 

“What would I ever do without you?” 

The Farmer looked back at him, their sleep still holding a shade over their eyes, though Elliott could see the gears in their head start to process. It was their turn for their skin to heat up a little, get a little embarrassed, feel a little awkward and lost for words. They opened and closed their mouth a few times, going to say something but changing their mind; finally, they settled on simply giving him a warm, comforting smile, leaving his slight confession for a time when they were more lucid.  

“Thank you, Elliott.” They whispered back. “For caring so much about me; for checking on me. I’m alright, I promise.” 

The Farmer’s smile turned into a larger one, with a little more pep in their step as they turned away from the door frame and faced the dark inside of their house. They held onto one of Elliott’s hands and gestured into the dark with the other, their eyes silently wishing for a certain answer as they looked into his own. 

“Now that you’re here, do you want some tea? You’re free to crash on my couch for the night, since it’s so late. I don’t know what happened in that dream of yours, but... maybe it’ll help you sleep knowing I’m okay.” 

Elliott’s eyes grew wide, but only for a moment, before the relief and thankfulness had smoothed his being. Right. They were okay. They were okay, and that was the best thing he could ask for at this point. They were here, in front of him, in the comfort of the rickety old wooden place they called home—not in some frightening, dark, dangerous cave. They were here—with him—he could feel the warmth of their skin and they gently held his hand and guided him through the door, into the comfort of their home. They were safe, and for that, he was thankful.  

A promise-- he silently made to himself as he watched the hot tea pour into the cup in front of him—to pay closer attention to their safety. A promise to protect what is loved, and a promise to do whatever was needed to keep any prophetic dreams at bay.  

A promise... to think things through a little more instead of panic; he gave a miserable smile as the Farmer started to give a genuine laugh at his two different shoes now that they were a bit more awake to truly appreciate the ridiculousness of his outfit. The sound, however, brought him his much-needed peace.  

Surely, he’d see them in a much better dream this time. 

[buck-yyyy]

why are two of my worst fears receding gums and losing my hair and not like- death or snakes like normal people

[fairy-angel222]

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

He’s so cocky at first, smirking when you bottom down on his length. “Think you can handle it baby? Take your time if you need to kay? I know it might be too much f’ you.” He chuckles.

You raise a brow in amusement. “Oh i can handle it baby, can you?” Was what you’d first said. And that question hadn’t changed since.

His lips parted in breathy groans and heavy breathing as his hands find your waist. Lips red and swollen from biting them as his eyes looked up at you almost pleadingly. “F-fuck baby.. you’re— shit, going so f-fast. Wanna slow d-down hmm?”

You smile widely, back arching as you lean down to kiss his jaw softly. Giving a false hum in thought. “Mmm.. you can take it.” He lets out the most cry like moan, head falling back into his pillow as his hips jerk upwards. Body trembling lightly when his eyes met yours.

“Shit— please baby. You d-don’t know how fucking- haah.. how fucking tight she’s grippin’ me right now.” He was referring to the way your snug walls stroked up and down his length with every harsh bounce of your hips. “I’m gonna— o-oh fuck, gonna cum again.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the crack in his voice. Your head tilted to the side as you coo teasingly. “Yeah? Gonna be a good boy n cum f’ me baby?”

He chuckles shakily, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as his cock twitches inside you. “God i fucking love you— ahh, even when you’re milking my cock like you hate m-me.” His senses were heightened, ears picking up the every squelch on your sopping pussy and his cock feeling every ridge of your gummy walls.

He lost it when you began rolling your hips sensually. Your thighs sticking to his at the mere amount of slick that joined you two. Your wetness and his cum seeping between your folds and down his girth, turning your skilled movements sloppy as you rut your hips.

You brought a hand to his face, using your nail to brush his hair off of his sweaty forehead. “C’ mon.. let it all out.” You smiled sweetly, eyes holding a dark glint when his eyes turn teary. Small beads of water pooling at his lids before he’s crying out your name.

Overly sensitive cock aching as he spills yet another load into you. Pumping the thick white substance till you’re pumped full. The rest of the substance spurting back onto him at the lack of space.

You let out a moan, “Wow baby- there’s so much. Might.. might just be your biggest load yet.” You were getting tired, but you’d never let him know that. You swear you hear him whimper when you capture his lips with yours slowly beginning to rock your hips again.

“Shit— don’t think- d-don’t think i can give you any more baby. Feels like my cock’s gonna f-fall off.” He panted, trying to keep himself together when he felt you jerking him off with your smug walls again. A small tremble raking through his body each time your ass landed back down.

His hand left your waist to cover his reddening face. Unable to hide the cherry shade of his ears and neck as he whimpered yet again. Choking out a string of moans with tears staining his cheeks when you shush him gently, “‘S only one more baby, give me one more.”

You were the only one with the ability to truly break Satoru if you tried.

[dragonsholygrail]

oh to be a mouse hybrid toyed with by a cat hybrid who just wants to see you squirm in every way

Ooh when the Cat Hybrid’s owners told him they were getting him a new little friend, you, a Mouse Hybrid were by far the last thing he was expecting.

He wanted another cat to mess with, to play with… to mate with. But he couldn’t stop himself from noticing your plump round form scurrying about the house or the constant skittish look in your eye as you surveyed your new home. Perhaps you would do.

From that day on he would terrorize you mercilessly. Chasing you around the around the house when your owners were gone, saying he was gonna devour you when he finally got his claws into you. Backing you into corners just to see the delicious terror in your eyes. Plopping his large form right on top of you so that you couldn’t escape him even as you scrambled desperately to get away.

It was never ending and as much as you wanted to say you hated it, it felt far too good. The Cat hybrid severely underestimated you, forgetting you too were a hybrid with all the same perks. You could smell his desire in the air every time he chased you. And you had grown addicted to the scent. To feel so wanted and yearned for, especially during the chase, nothing else could compare.

He would only ever mess with you when he felt like it so you figured you might need to give him a little push. Using yourself as bait you use your owners creaky stairs to your advantage. As soon as the first step creaks, the Cat hybrid’s head snaps up from where he’s perched. His eyes meet your wide ones for only a moment before you’re bolting down the stairs.

As soon as you hear the pounding of paws behind you, you smirk wickedly knowing your plan had worked. Cute little squeaks leave your mouth as you run throughout the house, narrowly trying to avoid being caught. He should’ve realized how much you like this. You’re much faster than him after all.

After rounding the next corner you wait a moment for him to catch up. Seeing a flash of fur and then you’re off. The Cat Hybrid pauses for a moment as he realizes what you had just done. What you’ve actually been doing this entire time.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he chases you at lightning speed. He’s catching up to you in no time and by the look of genuine alarm in your eye he knows this wasn’t a trick. Instead of his usual antics he pounces on you, sending you both tumbling to the floor.

“You messin’ with me, little mouse?” He growls in your ear, his body pinning you to the hard wood floor. You don’t even bother to squirm, your heart beating out of your chest as you stare up at him.

Before you can even blink he’s shoving his hand down your pants and swiping his fingers through your folds, your slick drenching them with how aroused you are. He chuckles lowly, rumbling purrs vibrating into your chest and straight to your core.

“So this has been a game to you, huh? A bit of foreplay before I inevitably snap and fuck you dumb.”

You find you can’t even answer, panting breaths escaping you as you rock with his hand that’s slowly rubbing against all the right places. He devilishly smiles and pushes two fingers deep inside you, causing your hips to jolt as you cry out.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ve done it. I’ve snapped,” he says with a menacing snarl as he pumps his fingers roughly against your walls, his claws just barely scraping them and setting your nerves on fire.

You try and be as good as you can, staying perfectly still for him as he fucks you with his fingers, but your small reaction only seems to infuriate him further. He picks up pace, licking and nipping at your throat until you too break and your moans echo throughout the empty house. A secret smirk plays on lips.

That is until the Cat Hybrid plays a trick of his own. Pumping his fingers inside you, drawing you closer and closer till you’re just about to fall off that edge when he suddenly stops and withdraws. You whine, squirming now as you begin to beg for more.

“I see through you now, sweet prey. You won’t be winning this one.”

You only start to realize your mistake as he starts fucking you with his cock, the large length stretching you so good. The natural curve hitting the soft spot inside you perfectly. Then he starts doing to you exactly what he did with his fingers. Bringing you up to the edge and then pulling you right back.

He’s as merciless as he is when terrorizing you and in a way he’s doing just that but in a whole new way that drives you more insane than the chasing ever did. Eventually you’re a sobbing mess, your tears and your arousal forming two separate puddles on the floor with how in need you are right now as he starts up again.

You jump as the sudden sensation of his wet nose nuzzling into your neck, his purrs even louder now. You immediately cling to him, meeting his thrusts and trying to chase your growing orgasm before it’s taken away again.

“Do you think you’ve earned the right to cum for me now?” The Cat Hybrid asks and you whine, nodding rapidly.

You feel his grin against your skin before he pulls out and starts slamming his cock deep inside your cunt. His intent clear before he even says a word. But when he does it’s like music to your ears.

“I agree. Cum for me, mate.”

This time as you get closer and closer to the finish, he doesn’t stop. Instead, his hands slips down and rubs tight circles into your clit. Your orgasm breaks through almost instantly and you scream as you milk his cock for all it’s worth, sending him right into ecstasy with you.

But the sound of the car door doesn’t leave either of you much time to bask in pleasure coursing through you. Luckily the Cat hybrid takes the lead, maneuvering you both as he curls around you, keeping you stuffed full of his cock but hiding any of the evidence. You’re too weak to do anything but shift into how he molds you. Making it appear as if you two are asleep and cuddling in the hall.

“Aw, look at them. Finally getting along,” you hear your owners say who are none the wiser to what’s really going on.

Cat Hybrid bf rocks his hips, snapping them back inside you quietly and forcing a squeak from your throat. He chuckles under his breath and nuzzles into you, not planning on moving away from you for hours. Wondering how many more orgasms he can rip from your tight pussy.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

[cherry-leclerc]

can’t you see ☆ mv1

genre: redbull!driver, enemies to lovers, smut, lando and danny playing cupid lol, protective!max (although he won’t admit it), mean!max, sub!max, dom!reader

word count: 3.2k

In between your mutual dislike with your teammate, Lando and Daniel try their best to make you and Max uncover some hidden feelings.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, riding, sucking on fingers

req!...quick one, but ahh first maxie drabble. eekk :)

“What a fucking asshole.”

Daniel’s eyes bulge out as he hands you a cup of coffee. It had been an extremely long day. Perhaps not the best idea to keep it going, but it seemed like the FIA didn’t give a shit about that. You were past being upset. You were seething. 

“Uh…Yeah. I mean I get it. I’m tired, too. This red flag came at the worst time-”

Briskly, you take the cup from him, cutting him off. “It’s not the red flag, it’s Max.” Ever since you joined Formula 1 as the first female to drive for Red Bull, you had felt welcomed by everyone. Everyone but your actual teammate. You had thought maybe it was because he had small balls and couldn’t handle the fact that you were driving alongside him, but when you confronted him about it, he only growled. 

As if you would ever cross my fucking mind.

Squinting, you point accusingly at the Australian. “You ought to stop being his friend.” He loudly laughs as he throws his head back. 

“You say that every time.”

Making a face, you shoot back. “And you never choose!”

“You’re both my friends. No one is winning custody.” 

“You’re older than both of us combined.”

“Hey!”

Hey, a low voice replies. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A shiver runs down your spine. Max leans up against the nearest wall as he ignores you and keeps his eyes on his friend. You wave your hand up in front of him a couple of times for good measure before your mouth drops open when he acts as if you were Casper the Friendly Ghost. 

“We were just talking abou- Ouch!” Daniel shrieks in pain when you pinch him. Faking a smile, you turn to the Dutchman. We were actually in the middle of something here. Nothing. He just keeps looking past you. Running a hand through his hair, he starts talking about how this all ‘ruined my flow’ and how he was going to have to ‘try to fix the FIA’s mistakes’. You have to laugh.

“Is something funny to you?”

You look around the room as you theatrically shudder. Sipping on the hot beverage, you hum and close your eyes. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he crosses his arms in frustration. Cold weather, Danny. Do you think there’s a place nearby that sells homemade chicken soup?

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“If we find one, then maybe we can invite Lando and-” Suddenly, he reaches out for your cup and hot drops hit your hand. You hiss in pain. “What’s your problem, dickhead?”

Now, a normal reaction would be to be a decent human being and apologize. Offer up their own cup of coffee, perhaps. Not Max. Throwing it into the nearest trash bin, he turns to you. And he actually has the audacity to look upset.

“Why didn’t you let me overtake you? I don’t know if you don’t know this because you’re new or something like that, but here, when we are instructed to do something - we do it.”

Narrowing your eyes, you step closer. “So what? I don’t let you by one time and suddenly I’m the bad guy? Let me remind you that that’s all I’ve done for you this season.”

“Maybe when you’re someone’s number one driver then you won’t have to do shit like this, but until then,” he angles himself lower to you, “...It kinda looks like you have to.”

“Oh. No.” Daniel winces as he sips quietly on his hot drink. He can physically see your wheels turning as you glare back at the Dutchman. Your cheeks have turned light pink as you refrain yourself from yelling in front of all the Alpha Tauri engineers. Max scrunches his nose.

“Cute.”

You’re about to explode and let all hell loose, but just then, the red flag is over. Huffing, you grab your helmet as you walk away without sparing a single goodbye. Daniel frowns. “You need to stop treating her like that.” Max scoffs. Treating her how? The Australian inches closer as he lays a large hand on his friend's shoulder. “Like you don’t care.”

As soon as the race picks back up, you’re in the zone. You have to work twice as hard to overtake anyone in your way, considering most drivers were on new tires, but eventually you worked your way through. Drops of rain hit your visor as you slow down in sector 2. 

“Should I be worried about the rain?”

“Nothing to be worried about, just keep it up.”

You nod, even though Christian can’t see you. As you get closer, you can see Max’s rear wing. He’s fast - zooming, almost - but that only made you want it even more. Defend. I repeat, defend for a 1-2 finish. “Yeah. No.” Entering the DRS zone, you press down on the throttle as you try all tactics to catch up with the 3x World Champion. Fat drops of water hit the Red Bull as you squint in order to not get lost with the commotion. What are you doing? Defend. “I am defending.” You press harder. “Except I’m defending my spot. Not his.”

It’s almost as if he knows what you’re about to do. Quickly, he scans his sideview mirror as he curses when he sees  that you weren’t slowing down. It looks like the two Red Bulls are going head-to-head! Probably not the best idea at the moment considering the tough weather, Crofty announces. Passing Max by, you can’t help but cheer as you try to imagine his reaction. 

“Not what we were picturing, but very well executed. He will be defending now.”

It wasn’t planned to get stung by a boiling hot coffee, of course it wasn’t, despite the bickering between you two. It wasn’t planned to take time to scratch your burnt hand. And it most definitely was not planned to crash.

Plunging into the wall, you groan, curses flowing past your lips. Are you okay? “Yes. I’m okay.” Lifting your visor, you shyly wave at the grandstands. Would you mind going over to check on Max? He’s currently not responding. Your heart stops. Jumping off your seat, you climb out of your car as you turn and sure enough, Max’s Red Bull is ruined. 

“Are you alright?”

Throwing a thumbs up, he lifts himself out of his car to wave at the fans. He turns to you, dark blue helmet still over his head. “What the fuck was that all about?” You narrow your eyes.

“What do you mean? I got an itch.” And though he wears his helmet, you can’t help but notice the crinkles by his eyes. Your stomach flips. It's because of the crash. That’s all it is. You clear your throat. “What happened to you? You were driving well.” Professionally, he slides his gloves off as he waves over at the safety car.

“I had to check on you one way or another, right?”

Dumbfounded, you're faced with his back as he walks away.

-

“He’s into you, can’t you see it!”

“No. Jesus, don’t even say that.” Lando raises his brows as he throws his legs on top of your bed. Daniel hums from underneath the covers. He’s right, though. Pulling the sheets off, you scowl. “Don’t give me reasons to kick you both out.” Throwing yourself onto the mattress, you smile widely. “Soooo, what’s new?”

It’s all you three are ever good for. Pure gossip. Chewing hard on a piece of pizza, you gag. Daniel cackles as he reaches for the last slice. Hey! What if I wanted that? He cocks his head. Fine, you mumble.

“All I wanted was a warm soup.”

A gentle knock echoes through the room as you all turn to face it. Go and open it, Daniel hisses. Wha- No! You go open it, Lando whispers back. Bunch of babies, you murmur as you untangle yourself from your blanket. Swinging the door open, you freeze. Standing tall is Max with a paper bag at  hand.

“Hey.”

Peeking out into the hallway, you stare back confused. “Hey?”

Almost timidly, he kicks his feet up against the wall with a small smile. He extends his arm out, signaling for you to take the mysterious bag. I don’t want any problems, you choke out, feeling skeptical. His blue eyes grow wide.

“Oh. No, don’t worry!” He opens the bag and takes out a small container. Leaning forward, you feel blood rising up to your cheeks. “It’s just soup.”

After an awkward exchange, he leaves. Inhaling the delicious scent, you let out a dreamy sigh.

“He so likes her.”

-

“We might have been wrong.”

Lando tilts his head, curly strands bouncing at the motion. Daniel hurriedly takes a seat next to the Brit as he smacks his large hands on the table. “What do you mean, mate?”

Daniel scans the room quickly before shaking his head. “I mean, that I just heard them two. They were going at it.” Lando blushes as he lets out an awkward laugh. I don’t even want to know. The Australian bites back a smile as he continues. “Not like that. Yet. What I mean is that they’re back to square one. He’s being a complete dick.”

“Alright. Looks like we have to knock some sense into him.”

-

Go, Daniel mouths once Max enters the debrief room, eyes entertained on his phone screen. Pushing past the Dutch, Charles jogs over to where you sit next to George. “Hey!” Greeting him back with a warm smile, you pat to the open seat. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite after this. Maybe some chicken soup?” You beam.

“I love a good soup!”

Rapidly, Max’s ears perk up as he hears your conversation with the Monegasque. He was well over the rivalry, but with this? He would not second guess bringing it back. He clenches his jaw as he notices you nodding along with Charles. Strolling over to the small group, he shoots a bitter grin.

“Did you see Christian’s message about our last minute meeting?”

“Hello to you, too.” Checking your phone, you look back confused with a pout. “No. I haven't received anything.”

“Yeah, well, there’s one-”

“No, there's not.” Flickering your eyes behind your teammate, you’re even more lost. With hands on his hips, Christian taps his shoe as his eyes flicker between his two Red Bull drivers. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. There’s no meeting.” He sends a small wink at Charles before walking off to the rest of the team principles. Max slumps.

“Ha. Guess it got canceled or something like that…”

Rushing over Lando and Daniel, Charles hunches over as he starts blabbering. “Did it work? Please tell me it worked - God - I think I almost shit myself. Tell me it fucking wo-”

The Brit points discreetly to where Max paces the room, orbs trained on you like a guard dog.

“It’s definitely working.”

He smacks a one hundred dollar bill onto a large hand. 

“And thank you for the help, too, Mr. Horner.”

-

Despite the attempts to get you and Max together, nothing seemed to work. The blue eyed boy would appear to start registering his feelings, and at the last minute, would completely chicken out. It would be an outright lie to say that this didn’t entertain the Alpha Tauri and McLaren boys, but they also knew that they had to continue their fairy godparent duties.

“Watch it!”

Crashing onto the couch inside of the Red Bull Hospitality, Max’s face bounces against it. He groans in pain before throwing a harsh stare at his friends. Lando stiffles a giggle as Daniel raises his arms up in defense. Getting seated, the Dutch looks back with a sour expression. 

“What’s this hostile situation about?”

Lando panics as he turns to his mate. The Aussie licks his lips, patting his lap. “Look, we’ve noticed a few things-” What things? He huffs. “Maybe if you would just let me finish-” That’s what she said! He glares at Lando who slaps a hand over his mouth, tears from unreleased laughter painting his blue eyes. “As I was saying…We’ve noticed your behavior towards a special little someone…”

“Towards Heidi? Shit. I didn’t think it’d be that noticeable.”

Lando clicks his fingers rapidly before pointing at the Red Bull driver. “He’s trying to not talk about it because he knows where this is going!” No, I’m not, Max shrieks as his voice cracks. Blushing, he pushes his hat lower to his face.

“You like her!”

“You know I like Heidi! She’s good for you-”

“You know that’s not who we’re talking about.”

It’s silent for a while. Standing up, Daniel goes to sit next to the 26 year old. Running a hand over his face, Max’s sighs as he looks up. “I’m not…used to feeling this way, okay?” 

“That’s totally fine, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like a piece of gum stuck at the bottom of your shoe. She’s amazing. Could have anyone - and I mean anyone - but she likes you. I don’t know why or how, but she likes you.” Daniel scoots away when Max narrows his eyes.

“She doesn’t like me.”

Jumping over the coffee table, Lando plops down. “Yes! She does. Ask me how I know.” A bored expression slashes Max’s face as he asks anyway. How, Lando? How do you know? “Because she’s always fighting with you.”

Daniel clicks his tongue as he slowly squints his brown eyes. “I don’t think you’re making the point you think you’re making, mate.” The Brit waves him off.

“I’m dead serious. When she gets upset, she always walks away because she claims to not want to waste her time on stupid arguments. But with you,” he pushes his index finger against the Red Bull polo, “With you she never - ever - walks away. Sure, you’re both at each others throats, but that only means one thing.” He leans against the sofa as he takes a sip of the open energy drink. 

“She doesn’t mind wasting time on you.”

-

After some more convincing, the duo had managed to raise the 26 year olds confidence. They could be wrong. Embarrassingly wrong, but how would he ever know if he never tried? Taking in a deep breath, he finds himself knocking on your door.

“More soup?”

Sheepishly, he shakes his head. His heart skips a beat as he notices how laid back you seem. How relaxed you were. He was going to ruin all that. He was going to say something that would change everything and things might never be the sa-

“Wanna come in?”

Handing him a plate of cut up watermelon, you take a seat in front of him, legs tucked beneath your butt. What are you doing out so late at night, Mr. Max Verstappen? He sets the plate down as he forces himself to mold into his chair. 

“I’ve never hated you.”

You blink. Clearing his throat, he looks down to his lap as he fiddles his fingers. “I know I’ve been such a bad teammate - I know - but I promise that it never had to do with you.”

“Okay. So…then what did it have to do with?”

He lets out a croaky laugh as he shuts his eyes. “That’s the tough part…” Opening his blue eyes, he finds you staring back, waiting for an answer. “I feel the opposite of hate…towards you.” He hates the way your face doesn’t change and you remain still. He hates when you shrink back and chew on your lip.

But he could never find himself hating the moment you climb onto his lap.

“T-that’s not what I came here for-”

“I know.” You slide your hands against his stubble. “Your confession was…adorable. Had trouble saying those words out loud, right? Because you,” you strum your finger against his chest, “...You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart.”

Now he’s frowning as he tries to unravel your words. A giggle bubbles up your throat, eyes crinkling shut. His breath hitches. “I feel things…” Your heart twirls with the way his voice sounds. Sure you do, Maxie- 

Grabbing your face with his left hand, he kisses you. It’s hot, feverish, and impatient.

It’s him.

Whimpering, you grind against him as he groans underneath you. Forcing himself to pull away from your warm lips, he cocks his head to the side. “Was that enough proof?”

“I might need more.”

It’s such a moment of pure adrenaline, that you can’t even pinpoint the moment your hatred towards him had turned into lust. All you know is that it felt so good to be riding him. Squeezing your hips, he lifts you up as he lets out a strained moan. The sound itself makes you drip even more. 

You had always loved his voice. How croaky it was. But you never imagined that it would turn your entire world upside down to hear him moaning your name like a prayer. Oh, fuck. Holy shit. Pushing his hands down, he opens his eyes as he looks back, weak and concerned. He worries you might have suddenly regretted all of this. That you would walk away and never want to talk to him ever again. But he’s already kissed you. He’s already been inside of you. 

He would beg you to stay in order to make you keep it that way.

“B-baby.” He whimpers with the way you dig yourself against him before circling your hips. Slow. “It’s okay if you want to stop-” You slide his fingers into your mouth. He swears he could finish with such a pretty sight.

“I don’t want to. I just want you to say sorry for everything you’ve ever done to me.”

“I already said I never meant any of it! You’re absolutely everything to me.”

Your core grows tighter with his affirmations. Holding onto his broad shoulders, you continue your sinister rhythm. “Maybe. But I still want one.”

“I’m so-”

Rubbing your bare tits against his chest, he shudders as he harshly pinches your thigh. Try again. “I said I’m so-” Pulling all the way out, you slide back down onto his cock. “Oh - don’t fucking do that.”

“Try again.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry.”

A satisfied smile slides onto your plump lips as you nod before kissing him and riding him the way you know he deserves. With one last hop, you both finish as he moans into your neck. Your fingers push his sweaty, blondish strands away before pressing your lips against his cheek. He smiles weakly.

“I like you, too.” You look down before returning your attention. “But I can’t be with you.”

“Wh-”

“Max. Let’s be realistic here. I’m a girl in Formula 1. You don’t know how hard I’ve worked to get here. I’ve had to do twice the work simply because I’m not a man.” You roll your eyes. “People are going to hate me. Call me names - God, I can already hear them.”

He never thought his heart could actually hurt for someone. You were really messing him up. He gingerly rubs small circles against your cheek.

“I’ll ruin whoever says anything bad about you, but please give this a chance. I’ve never wanted someone as bad as I do you. Please.”

And yes, there will be nasty comments. Hateful interpretations about your relationship. But that never really mattered as long as you had him. 

[hazelfoureyes]

A boiling frog (Alastor x Reader smut)

saw someone talk about “boiling frog syndrome”, when a situation becomes dire so slowly you don’t realize how dangerous it is until it’s too late, like a frog slipping into death as the cold water comes to a boil, never trying to leap out. Made me think of Louisiana frog legs and, of course, our self obsessed deer demon. my longwinded ass used restraint and went for a PWP (I hope…. No, theres still plot. I’m a slut for plot. Sorry?)

Your companionship was peppered onto Alastor so gently and slowly he didn’t realize he was too far gone until he was hopelessly dependent on your attention. He decides the only remedy is to drown you in his.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x fem reader, cunnilingus, biting, work attire, realistic descriptions of yet another job I once had, fingering, mentions of my favorite alcoholic beverage, southern shit, filing, that asshole in room 127

Minors DNI

When you first arrived at the hotel, Alastor was pleased to have some help. Charlie informed him of your experience on earth managing apartments and how you would be taking on the role of ‘Resident Relations Manager’. Any issues, complaints, or room adjustments would go to you first. Marvelous. As his underling, you often came to him with your own gripes and stories of the latest drama around the hotel. It became a sort of ritual to meet at the bar after work, talking about the day’s trivial matters over two fingers of rye and a cassis orange. One morning you joined him for coffee in the sunroom he added shortly after your arrival, silently enjoying the view. Then you returned the next day. At some point you started filling his mug and bringing it to the chair he always used. Neither of you spoke, which he found refreshing.

The group dinners were never his scene, the familiarity they bore was uncomfortable and dangerous to his plans. But he overheard your laughter as you and Angel teased each other about what could or couldn’t be defined as a kink. When he joined the table, he was pleasantly surprised at the in-depth conversations you sparked among the band of hopeless fools he’d come to enjoy.

So when he entered the sunroom one morning to see his cup, but not you, it ruffled his fur, so to speak. At dinner, he heard from Charlie you were eating in your office. The bar was full of residents and yet empty all the same when you never arrived.

Three days was all it took. Three days of not seeing you. When he walked past the bar at 9pm to see just Angel and Husk, he continued onward until in the safety of the darkened hall. Licking his teeth, he found himself getting angry. Annoyed that he was promised, by your actions, interesting conversation and like-minded company. His fists curled out of frustration, lights strobing as he stalked down the hall.

But that melted into something even more upsetting, he felt… worried. Not that his smile showed it, passing Vaggie with a nod of his head.

When did you manage to creep into his mind? Like an overlord taking territory, you had taken space in his thoughts with ruthless speed. Never one to be passive in competition, he realized he needed to take drastic measures to catch up to you. He knew of many ways to get *ahead, but he found an ambush always worked like a charm.

Alastor’s shadows gathered before he rose from the floor of your office.

You were standing near a filing cabinet, looking intently at something, “Hello there Alastor, to what-“ you turned the page, not looking at him, “do I owe the pleasure?” You hadn’t actually lifted your head from the file until you felt a hand in the small of your back. You flinched and took a step away, turning around to ask what he was doing when you noticed you weren’t in your office anymore.

The large hole in the wall that led into an endless swamp of a forest hinted at whose room this was.

Closing the file with one hand, you gestured around the room, “Is there a reason I’m here?”

He motioned for you to sit on the bed, and when you laughed he used the microphone to corral you to the edge. “You’ve been busy, as of late.”

“Swamped.” Usually your puns would get atleast a chuckle from your boss, but this time he passed right over it.

“I realized today we haven’t had one of our usual chats in quite a while. What’s been keeping you oh-so-occupied?” He pushed down on your shoulders until you came to rest on the bed.

Nervously, you scooted back a little from him, “Well, so many new residents has meant so many petty little issues. This guy on the 34th floor is angry that the man who killed him is on 37– Alastor?!” He had knelt down and lifted your ankle, slipping your shoe off.

“And?”

“What are you doing?”

“Isn't it obvious?" He picked up the other ankle, "Listening. Continue.”

You laughed breathlessly, “wha-,” but the way he looked up at you seemed to catch your tongue, “uhm, so- yeah so he doesn’t think his killer deserves redemption-,” the other shoe was taken off, neatly set besides its twin. You took a deep breath to try and calm down, “and even if he does, he shouldn’t be—,”Alastor’s hand slipped up your right thigh, fingers taking your stocking and rolling it down. His gaze on your face never wavering.

“Keep going.” The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just suggesting it.

“-be on a higher floor.” He peeled the left stocking down, delicately pulling it over your toes.

You forgot to breath for a second. Instinctively you brought your knees together.

“That is quite annoying! What ever will you do?” That toothy grin widened as he looked up at you. His hand began to massage the sole of your right foot.

“Huh? Do what?”

“About the man on 34’s complaint”, his hand then moved up to your calf, he hummed, “what supple flesh, my dear.”

“Thank you?” Should you be scared or horny? Was he tenderizing his dinner? He looked up at you expectantly. “I told him if the angels return, higher floors would be the most dangerous.”

"Ha! Quite a clever response! Did it placate him?" He raised your right knee to his mouth, placing his lips above the joint. You felt his breath over your inner thigh as he let out a soft huff of a laugh, a reaction to your confused face. You were absolutely panicked; frozen. That wild look you were giving him, if he could he would drown himself in those eyes. Alastor felt his own excitement build, a twitch pressing his cock against the zipper of his dress pants. What a delicious reaction. His long hands crawled under your work skirt, nails grazing your skin as he grabbed the sides of your panties, "It's rude to leave someone waiting, dear."

You shook your head, crawling backward on the bed, "Okay, I get it. Ha ha, you managed to frazzle me."

A darkness fell over his face, "I don't think you do get it." He opened his mouth and dragged his teeth over the skin of your inner thigh, "You've neglected me quite rudely! Most people wouldn't dare such a thing and yet you don't even seem slightly concerned about it."

Rude? "Alastor, oh my god. What did I do? I've been at work every morning on time, if not early. I have been staying up late to make sure the resident files are up to date. I've been meeting with Charlie like you wanted about-,” He brought the panties down your thighs.

"It is what you haven't been doing, mon cher.” He pulled them clear of one leg, leaving them to hang off the ankle of the other leg. "I've been drinking my coffee alone in the sunroom, do you think I had the set of rocking chairs delivered for my own amusement? Dinner has been monotonous without your conversation. And what about our nightly gossip at the bar?" When he lifted your leg and hooked your knee over his shoulder, you fell back on your elbows to keep from lying flat.

"Listen-- Alastor!" His name was squeaked out as a bite stung you, dangerously close to your now naked pussy.

"Sir." He chided.

"Sir?!" He pushed your skirt up, exposing you, "Sir. I don't really like people going down on me."

"That's odd.” His hands gripped your thighs and dragged your ass to the edge of the bed, your pussy now inches from his face. His eyes rolled from left to right, “I don’t remember asking.” Your other leg was pulled over his shoulder, causing you to finally fall onto your back.

A long, wide tongue licked from mid thigh to the place where your legs met your crotch. You felt the heat of his mouth before he finally made contact with your core, one long lick from entrance to clit.

You buried your face inside the file, inhaling the smell of ink and paper with each pant. Your heart was pounding, the rush of blood from your head to your lap left you dizzy and seeing spots.

“Ah ah! I need your full attention.” He took the file and tossed it to the side. He needed to see your face, this was pointless if he couldn’t watch you go dumb in his mouth.

He had started this wanting to ensure you would be thinking about him as much as he had been you, but the way you couldn’t even speak when he touched you shifted his mission. Now, he wanted to win. Maybe he would be bothered by the absence of your presence in the sunroom, but you’d lie awake at night pained by the absence of his tongue in your cunt.

“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” Your face was beet red.

“Good. I’ve never been very fond of sharing my toys.” His nose grazed your already throbbing clit as he sunk his tongue into you. Reflexively your thighs pressed against his ears, his head keeping you from closing them entirely. His tongue seemed to lick at your walls as if reaching for something, the sensation wet and warm. You whined, embarrassed at how you were twitching against his lips.

You could feel his smile widen, thumb pressing down on your clit. Gripping the sheets you tried to ease away, the pressure too rough. His nails dug into your left leg, keeping you from making any real difference.

As he dragged his tongue along your walls you felt something you normally didn’t when getting eaten out; the beginning tension of an orgasm slinking into your stomach.

When his mouth left your cunt you gasped, the air stinging at your wet hole and thighs.

“Starting from the morning, tell me exactly what you did today that was so important you didn’t feel the need to entertain me with your company. If your mouth stops moving, so will mine.” He brought his lips to your other thigh, nipping at the skin.

“I made your coffee but got a call about a resident.” His finger pressed against your entrance before breaching.

“Oh, it has been awhile. I thought you were just being modest”, he laughed, your embarrassed expression spurring him forward. He hadn’t expected you to be so tight on just a single digit.

“She feels unsafe, there’s a jackal demon on her floor who keeps”, his finger curled, hitting that bundle of nerves that made your eyes cross, “who is giving her really scary looks.” He bit down again, breaking the skin. You yelled, yanking your leg back but he didn’t release you. “Alastor- please. This is cruel enough.”

“You haven’t even begun to see me be cruel.” He lapped at the wound, finger in you slowly dragging out before entering again. Still bent, it would hit your spongey g-spot with every move. “After that?”

“I had a meeting with Charlie. About the different growth activities.” Eyes closed, you could feel your pleasure slowly inching up that peak. “I needed to organize the files first, so I ate at my desk again.”

His lips cupped your clit as he began to suck. Your hips rose off the bed and his mouth went with you.

“It’s a lot of paperwork, you won’t let me use a computer for it.” His hand pulled back as a second finger joined. The way your cunt was gripping his fingers, he couldn’t imagine how much you’d hiss around his cock. His hips rutted against the air beside the bed, out of your view.

You put your arm over your eyes to hide yourself in some way, breath hitching when his fingers began pumping in and out of you. The moans tumbling from your mouth made Alastor’s grip on you tighten further. His cock leaking into the front of his pants.

When his tongue stopped flitting over your clit you groaned a complaint.

“Ffuuuck, Alastor. D- Uh, Room 127 hates the view o-,” your jaw clenched around the words, “something something blah blah blah —nngh” your head went back, your hips now fully grinding into his mouth. You needed more friction, your orgasm rolling just to the precipice.

His tongue slowed.

“He- he uh, I said he could move,” his fingers curled, pressing over and over into your g-spot, “when he stops being such an asshole. fuck me, please don’t stop—,” you reached down for his head and took a fist full of hair, earning you a surprised moan from him.

Alastor removed his hand from your leg to palm his clothed erection. His nose buried into your bush as his own breathing picked up.

So close.

“-and now I’m here and you’re here,” your words breathy, “and I’m gonna cum—I’m so close, so close,” your lips tingled from the way you were panting.

You choked out a moan as your orgasm reached its climax and pleasure wracked your body. Your grip on his hair stinging, your pussy sucked his fingers in with so much need he closed his eyes and let himself cum against his palm at the thought of his cock in their place. He felt the warmth soak into his pants.

Both of your hands came to your face, too embarrassed to speak.

Alastor placed your shoes and tights beside you, and rested both of his elbows on either side of your head. His weight pressed into you, and you finally looked at him. He was resting his chin on his cradled hands, staring down at you.

With a smug grin and raised his eyebrows he said, “Apology accepted.” He pushed off of you, bringing both fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean with a wet ‘pop’. “See you in the sun room at 8am! Bring that cheery smile I’ve come to enjoy!” He sunk back into the shadows and was gone.

You looked around, you were back in your office. He’d transported you seamlessly from lying on his bed to lying on your desk.

“Yes, sir.”

*get it? He wanted to “get ahead”… head. The slang for cunnilingus ? I’ll see myself out

༻Masterlist༺

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, headlock🤤, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of fluff at the end

A/n: as promised, as soon as I came out of the cinema I started working on this! It’s not as nasty as I wanted it to be, but I’ll work on that🩷

Your bedroom smelled strongly of sex and sweat, loud moans along with praise mixed with degrading were bouncing off the tall walls, surely gaining the two of you a few noise complaints the next day. You were splayed in the middle of your huge queen-sized bed, head pressed into soft pillows and ass high up in the air as your boyfriend was dogging the shit out of you, making sure that your pussy was raw and thoroughly fucked.

You’ve been at it for hours - your sheets were wet with sweat and other bodily fluids, your ass felt hot from all the spanks Miguel generously delivered. Your throat felt sore from all the moaning and previous face-fucking, musky taste of Miguel’s cock still lingered on your tongue. You felt like a rag doll in your lover’s strong arms, too tired to move by yourself, but too greedy for pleasure to actually stop this sweet torture.

Miguel yanked your hips up higher, getting a firm grip on your waist; he shifted a bit, placing one foot on the mattress for better range of movements. A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your kiss-swollen lips as brunette absolutely ravaged you - he pounded your poor dripping pussy with so much vigor that your body shifted forward with each thrust, heavy balls slapping against your clammy skin with loud smacking sounds. Miguel’s large hands moved to smack your pretty ass so it jiggled in his palms, relishing to grab and mold your pliable flesh afterwards.

- Just look at this greedy pussy, taking every inch of me like a cock-hungry slut. Bet you were thinking about it whole day long, huh? - Miguel rasped above you, his filthy words caused heat rising up to your cheeks as you buried your face even deeper into soft pillows, but they couldn’t hide your reddened ears form his sharp eyes.

Miguel leaned down, one massive arm sliding underneath your neck, so that your chin was tucked right in the hollow of his elbow; a few moments later your face was squished in between male’s bulking bicep and a thick forearm, trapped in a firm headlock. He put most of his body weight onto your small body, pounding your dripping cunt into the bouncy mattress, stretching you out on his mighty girth, making your eyes roll back in intense pleasure. You felt Miguel’s free hand slipping underneath your tummy, finding your throbbing needy clit in no time and massaging it brutally with rough fingertips, matching the roughness of his hips slamming into you from behind.

- Oh baby, you’re drooling, - Miguel tutted in feigned pity, his hot lips brushing the shell of your ear, making hairs on the back of your neck rise.

His words brought you out of heavy haze of pleasure, bringing some consciousness to your foggy mind. And, indeed, your chin felt cooler because of your drool covering it, some even dribbled down onto Miguel’s arm, getting in between your chin and his inner elbow. Your hands came to his arm around your neck, fingers digging into firm muscles, leaving crescent-shaped marks on scarred skin.

- Mig..uel, I’m-

- Shhh, my love. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you, - Miguel shushed you softly, his hips slapping against your ass with even more vigor, making you momentarily forget whatever it was that you wanted to say.

He hissed as he felt your velvety walls clenching around him, the suckle of your pussy sent his hips bucking and forcing his cock impossibly deeper into your cunt. A familiar coil makes itself knows in the pit of your stomach - a telltale sign of your next orgasm approaching rapidly.

- Oh fuck bunny, fuck fuck fuck. Gonna fill that pussy with my cum, full and nice, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? - Miguel rambled next to your ear as his pace became faster and sloppier.

- Pl..ease. Fuck, need.. it. ‘m so close, - you managed to stutter through

Your body prickled with desire and heat, Miguel’s fingers worked diligently on your clit along with his massive cock spreading you open, thick cockhead mushing against all of your sweet spots - he very soon had you cumming all around him, wringing a mind-blowing orgasm out of your exhausted body, your release leaving a noticeable white ring on the base of his dick.

A string or curses and quiet whimpers reached your ears as Miguel’s snapped his hips into yours quickly before stilling completely. Strong shudder ran through male’s massive body and, with a final moan, he shoot his thick cum inside of your fluttering heat, flooding your insides with his warmth.

Miguel went slack against your back, his body mounding against yours as he laid atop of you, making you squeak quietly under his weight. He chuckled airily as he rolled off you to the side, sliding his softening cock out of your bruised pussy. You whined at the feeling of emptiness, warm sperm dripped out in a small dribble, staining your slit and sheets underneath you. Miguel scooped you up in his big arms and maneuvered you to lay on top of his heaving chest, thick fingers tangled in your messy hair, massaging your scalp lovingly.

You took a deep breath, cuddling deeper into your lover’s neck, wrapping one arm around his broad shoulders. Your eyelids felt too heavy and Miguel felt too comfy to lay on, so you were fighting off sleep as much as you could.

- Go to sleep baby, I’ll clean everything up, - you heard a soft murmur, warm lips kissing your forehead in a comforting manner. You hummed in acknowledgment, getting more comfortable in Miguel’s arms.

- Love you, - you whispered tiredly, sleep heavy on your lids.

- Love you too angel

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love🩷🩷

[rose-pearls]

The perils of love

Summary: being in love with Luke seemed to be a bad idea as you realise that he doesn't seem to be interested. But as you get ready to move on from love entirely your father decides to appear and two people fall for you.

Main Taglist : @avada-kedavra-bitch-187, @nyx2021, @thestarspangledcaptain, @kmc1989 (open)

Part 2

Luke Castellan, everyone knew him at camp either for his sword skills or just his kind smiles for every camper that walked into the Hermes cabin. You had fallen for him the moment you met him, sweet brown eyes and a kind smile had you into a puddle. 

You had been twelve, wandering around the Hermes cabin, waiting desperately for your parent to claim you but the days went by, and you still were there. The little girls crush however didn’t went by but grew stronger every day you saw the boy who slowly turned into a man that had all the girls going crazy over him.  

He had been kind to you but there was always a look that you couldn’t decipher, until today that was.

“So, where is your number one fan Luke?”, you hear Chris say in a teasing tone and after a moment you hear Chris say your name, as if to make it clear it was you. 

“I don’t know and frankly I don’t have the time to care right now,” Luke says after letting out a sigh, but you felt your chest tighten at the words. Chris snorts at the words and you don’t expect what he says next.

“You know that there is a betting pool as to when the both of you are going to date,” you don’t know how Luke reacts, as you are practically one with the wall, but you hear him snort.

“Please, she is a sweet girl, but I would never date her. I don’t know how to explain it but sometimes she can just be a little-”, he seems to be trying to find his words and as you wait for it you feel tears brimming in your eyes at his previous statement.

“Clingy? I mean she is practically everywhere you are.”, the words are like a bullet to your heart, particularly when you hear Luke agree.

“I know right, I mean I know that she is still part of the Hermes cabin as she hasn’t been claimed yet but still,” you try to blink the tears away, not willing to cry as you hear the words being said by the man you had always looked up to. 

“Maybe she will never be claimed, I mean after three years,” Chris says, and you can hear the grimace in his voice, he says it with such carelessness as if you haven’t been thinking about the same thing every night for the past three years, wondering what was wrong with you.

“We’ll see what happens I guess, but maybe it would be good for her to be in another cabin,” Luke says, he looks like he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, but Chris adds one last phrase to their conversation.

“Or better for you,” there is a quiet hum of agreement and that is the only thing you need before leaving the cabin quietly, the book that you had come for quickly forgotten.

You knew it was pitiful, the fact that they all seemed to know that you liked the Hermes boy and that they all pitied you for it. Because in the end the boy would never go for you, he had a hundred girls waiting for him and yet here you were hoping for the impossible.

Tears are brimming in your eyes, but you quickly brush them away, not wanting to cry after what had happened, you needed to be strong now. It was time for you to get over that stupid crush and get on with your life, maybe if you trained more your godly parent would finally recognize you and claim you.

“What are you doing here all alone?”, you suddenly hear someone say behind you and you turn around to find Annabeth looking at you with worried eyes.

“Thinking, the lake always seems to sooth me,” you say, the words coming a bit weaker than you intended them too. The girl simply nods at your words before sitting down next to you.

“What about you?”, you quietly ask her, and she lets out a sigh.

“Needed to get out a little bit, I can only strategise so much before going crazy,” she says with a small smile, and you can’t help but smile at her words.

“I’m sure your strategy will be incredible, as always,” you tell her and she simply nods, looking too far into her thoughts.

“Chiron is thinking of splitting up the Hermes cabin,” she suddenly says, and you turn to look at her in surprise.

“Really? How so?”, you can’t help but ask, wondering if this is maybe your chance to get a bit away from a certain Hermes boy.

“He thinks that the unclaimed children and children of minor gods should get the chance to chose in which team they want to be,” she looks conflicted, and you can understand why, this could mean less people for the blue team, her team.

“It seems like a kind gesture,” you can’t help but say and Annabeth nods in agreement.

“It is, although he could’ve said it sooner, now we all need to find a different strategy and we are going crazy with figuring out who will be on our team,” she seems overwhelmed, and you can’t help but put your hand on her shoulder trying to calm her down.

“Hey, calm down it will all be alright,” you tell her, and she takes a deep breath before slowly nodding in agreement.

“I know, I just don’t want to lose,” she says with a pout, and you can finally see the twelve-year-old she really is, that childlike excitement at the thought of capture the flag.

The both of you are deep in thought before her voice breaks the silence, her voice small as she talks.

“Which team are you choosing?”, it was probably a valid question to ask, you were unclaimed so you could technically choose which team to be on, but you just couldn’t get the previous conversation you had heard out of your head.

“The fact that you aren’t saying anything makes me think that you are going to go on the red team,” it seems like she is trying to tease you but there is some sort of hurt woven into her words.

“Don’t take it personally,” you can’t help but say, as much as you would’ve liked staying on the blue team you just couldn’t bear to be that close to Luke after what you had heard. You didn’t know what you would be doing tonight as you were sleeping in the same cabin as always, but he wouldn’t pay attention to you not unless you went to him.

“Did something happened with Luke?”, the carefully asked question makes you look at Annabeth with wide eyes, she had an understanding look in her eyes and you couldn’t help but curse the fact that she was Athena’s daughter.

“Nothing happened, I just realised that maybe I should get to know other people and that maybe it would get me out of my comfort zone,” there are a lot of things unsaid, Annabeth knows it too. Luckily, she doesn’t know of the conversation you had heard, or the fact that the words had cut you deeper than you could’ve ever thought they would. 

“You should probably tell Chiron and the red team, I heard that they were planning a strategy evening to talk about what they were going to do tomorrow,” you try to find anger in Annabeth’s eyes but there is only understanding and a lingering sadness that seems to disappear as you get up.

“Good idea, I will be doing that right now. Good luck on the strategy and don’t drive yourself crazy Annabeth you will do great,” you tell her, and a sweet smile appears on her lips as she nods slowly making you smile at her.

“Don’t be a stranger!”, she yells as you are about to leave, and you turn around to smile at her.

“I won’t!”, she looks reassured at the words before turning back to the water, leaving you to go towards Chiron office. 

--

“A little birdie told me you were on the red team,” you hear someone say and turn around to find Clarisse smirking at you.

“Would that little birdie be Chiron?”, you ask, feeling breathless after trying to stab the dummy about a hundredth time with your sword.

“I don’t reveal my sources princess,” she says with a smirk while you feel your cheeks heat up, you tell yourself it’s because of the work out you just did.

“We have a meeting tonight, after dinner at the Ares cabin,” she says while looking around the rink before picking up a sword.

“I’ll be there,” you tell her, expecting the girl to leave you alone but she just comes closer to you.

“After that there is a movie night and a sleepover, one of the Aphrodite kids managed to convince Chiron to allow it,” the words leave you confused for a moment, how would you even have a movie night with all these people.

“Only a few people are invited for that part,” she clarifies, and you feel breathless at the sight of her warm brown eyes, seemingly forgetting about other brown eyes.

“How come I am invited?”, you can’t help but ask, wondering why the Ares girl suddenly seemed sweet to you when she was practically attacking anyone else. 

“Don’t ask too many questions or you’ll be uninvited princess,” the nickname rolls of her tongue in a way that makes your cheeks go red, once again.

“Fine I’ll stop asking questions and just come with my pajama’s,” you tell her, and a satisfied grin makes his way on her lips.

“Good, now back to serious stuff you were holding your sword the wrong way,” she says like it’s a fact, as if she was pointing out that the sky was blue.

“No, I wasn’t!”, you can’t help but say looking at her with wide eyes.

“Yes, it is, let me help you fix it. I need the best people on my team after all,” you get ready to object but as you feel her get behind you putting her hand over yours on the sword to put your hand correctly you find yourself speechless.

The next hour is spent fighting against each other, but you can’t stop laughing as Clarisse tells you stories of her siblings to try and distract you, which ultimately works as you often end up on your ass. You don’t even seem to notice another pair of brown eyes looking at you, farther away, brows furrowed as he looks at the scene in front of him.

--

“Welcome to the exclusive sleepover,” you hear a soft voice say and you turn around to find Silena smiling kindly at you, two glasses in her hands before giving one to you.

“Thank you, guess they really were exclusive as I had never heard of them before,” you say, feeling a bit nervous as you look around the room only to find Clarisse in a heated discussion with another Aphrodite girl.

“Clarisse only invites people that she trusts or likes, which isn’t many, but she does cares for them,” Silena smiles at the Ares girl in front of you and you can’t help but do the same, Clarisse always seemed to be angry but in that moment, she seemed far more softer.

“I’m glad she trusts me,” you say, somehow missing the look Silena gives you, a look of confusion as you seem to have missed her clue on Clarisse liking you.

Clarisse had always been discrete about it, but Silena had caught her looking at you far too often to not know about it. Her fingers always seemed to itch when you were sword fighting, as if she was itching to get your posture right and to be able to touch you even for just a few seconds. You only had eyes for the Castellan boy, or it seemed that way until yesterday when Chiron told them that you would be on their team. Silena didn’t ask much of her mother but in that moment, she couldn’t help but ask her mother for help to get the both of you together. Clarisse deserved her happy ending and you deserved someone who would love you for who you were.

She gets woken from her thoughts as she hears Clarisse talking to you, there is a nervousness in her gestures as she pushes her hair behind her ear, but you don’t seem to realize it as you recount a story. Silena quietly gets up from her spot, and sends and encouraging look towards Clarisse, who seems a bit more at ease now. 

--

Capture the flag is a mess, more than the last time but you try not to let your mind wander too long. A boy that you think is from the Hephaestus cabin runs towards you and you sigh in annoyance before starting to fight against him, quickly ‘killing’ him and making him surrender. 

You had been tasked with trying to find the blue flag, but it seemed as if Annabeth had found a really good spot this time, and she had put more people in defense. After a while you wondered if you had the wrong hunch until you saw something blue flickering in the reflection of your sword. As you turned to look behind you, you saw the blue flag but weirdly there was no one around it.

“This feels like a trap,” you can’t help but whisper under your breath as you try to hide behind the bushes but a blade against your neck makes you stop in your steps.

“Sorry, but I need to do this,” you hear someone say and you turn around to find a sheepish Percy looking at you.

“Hi Percy,” you say with a kind smile and the boy smiles back, looking reassured that you aren’t mad or swinging your sword at him.

“How are you doing?”, you can’t help but ask, you hadn’t seen him since he had been claimed by Poseidon, but the boy seemed healthy.

“Good, well as good as you can when you learn that your father is one of the big three’s and that your life will be a hellhole,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and you can’t help but snort.

“Still as sarcastic I see,” you can’t help but say while laughing and a sheepish grin forms itself on his lips.

“Can’t help it,” he says while shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s a shame you aren’t on our team,” he says quietly, and you smile softly, the two of you had talked a lot when he had arrived, and you felt close to him.

“Maybe next time,” you tell him and the boy smiles at the answer before asking you a question and the two of you talk for a moment before you hear a battle cry and see the red team suddenly making their way in the clearing, the blue team also appearing.

Percy and you look at each other with wide eyes before you take out your sword.

“If you don’t say anything about this, I won’t say anything,” Percy nods quickly and the both of you break away from the tree you were behind before joining your team as Percy joins his.

An Apollo girl comes running towards you, but you quickly manage to disarm her, others following behind her, but you are in such a haze that you don’t realize how close you are getting to the flag. That is until you are met with a familiar blade, Luke’s. 

The boy is looking at you, slightly out of breath from the fighting just like you.

“You can always abandon now sweetheart,” he says and can’t help but blush slightly at the familiar nickname. 

“No chance Castellan, give me your worst,” this seems to make the boy laugh before he quickly wields his swords, yours clashing against his in familiar movements. You had fought many times against Luke as he had taught you how to fight but you had a new trick up your sleeve that Clarisse had taught you. She had told you that his left leg was his weakness, a bruise that had never really fully recovered. 

So, when the opportunity presents itself, you wield your sword against his left leg, making sure not to hurt him too much. But as you hit the spot Luke winces in pain and his sword leaves his hand. You don’t think at that point and simply continue straight to the flag, whispering a soft ‘sorry’ as you go to the Hermes boy.

You manage to take the flag before seeing Percy coming towards you with his sword, you expect the hit, but he seems transfixed, looking at something above you. There is a loud silence, on a battlefield that was filled with battle cries just a second ago.

Chiron’s voice suddenly comes up, suddenly saying your name.

“Daughter of Zeus, king of the gods,” the rest of his words are lost as you look up, only to see the symbol of Zeus above your head, your father’s symbol.

You didn’t know how to feel, you had been waiting for so long but now that it was happening you just felt lost. Why was he claiming you right now?

“Congratulations! Seems like we are cousins now,” you suddenly hear Percy say, he has a bright smile on his lips, but there is also sadness in his eyes. It takes you a few seconds to understand why, you were now a child of the big three, which meant your life was about to be a hellhole as Percy had said.

“Always though there was something familiar between the two of us,” you try to say in a teasing tone, but it falls flat, Percy nodding in understanding.

As you turn around to look at the rest of the camp you see Luke looking at you with wide brown eyes, as if he was seeing you for the first time. You turn your gaze towards Clarisse who is looking at you with a proud smile and something else that you can’t quite understand.

There was surely a lot of trouble coming but not the one you were expecting, it would be far more complicated than monsters or a father that decided to appear after fifteen years. Matters of the heart were after all the most complicated of all, particularly between a daughter of Zeus, a daughter of Ares and a son of Hermes.