#bringing back the reporter series

[coffeeco001]

Reporter: So I've heard-

Andrew, turning to Neil: They can HEAR us? Josten did you know the reporter can hear?

Neil, wide eyed in shock: What the hell?

Reporter: Mr. Minyard the last time we spoke you said-

Andrew, taking a step forward to look at the reporters face: We've MET? I know you? That's not possible. I've never seen you before.

Neil: He never forgets a face.

Reporter: You told me that you and Neil-

Andrew: You know his name???

Neil, whipping out his phone: I'm calling the piggys, we are being stalked.

Reporter, almost crying: Can we just do the interview, we are live right now..

Andrew: An interview? Live? You want to put me on TV? You sure about that? What are you, a reporter or something?

Reporter, motioning to cut the take: I need to go lie down.

[thelostconsultant]

Puppy love

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: During his karting days, you were one of his opponents, but outside the track he was just a stupid boy who fell in love with a pretty girl. Now, after all those years, you meet again in the paddock, and he doesn't want you to leave.

note: Yes, Jos is an asshole in this (too).

“Have you seen who jumped in to do the interviews?” Charles asked with a wicked smile when he stopped next to his rival after the race. Max hadn’t really paid attention to these details until now, but now that he was informed there was something he should probably know, he looked around to see where the reporter was. “I haven’t talked to her since your dad ruined her career. But she seems truly happy now.”

That’s when his eyes fell on you, the girl who had been haunting him in his dreams for long years, the one who was glowing while talking to the cameraman. He wanted to object, he wanted to say “my dad didn’t ruin her career, she just decided to quit,” but the way you had left certainly hinted at a possible connection between the two events. Because his father’s outburst took place a week before he found out you weren’t coming back to race, and you didn’t even try to contact him ever again. 

What made it real hard was the fact he knew you were left heartbroken, and it wasn’t racing that you missed. His mother called your parents to ask them about you, and they said you had been crying in your room for days, but when the option for a call from Max came up, they were quick to shut it down. They said it would be easier for you to move on if he didn’t show up in your life again, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for everything that happened. 

If he hadn’t fallen in love with you, if he hadn’t met you on a vacation, if his father hadn’t found out he loved someone, maybe you would still be racing. He remembered your bright smile that was present even after a tough race, and your good mood that was often highly contagious. The boys you raced against loved you dearly, mostly because you brought a different energy into their little boys’ club.

“Max, you’re next,” he was told all of a sudden. 

He wasn't ready to face you, but there was no escape. What he had to do now was force a smile on his face and act like he was talking to someone else, someone whose presence didn't affect him half as much as yours did. But the moment he stopped in front of you and noticed a strange glint in your eyes, he had to focus on breathing in and out while you asked your first question.

After the camera was turned off, he cautiously watched you to see if you were planning to approach him, or if you seemed open to the possibility of him doing that. When you looked at him with a smile and said goodbye to the cameraman, he walked over to you with his hand folded behind his back.

“It's nice to see you here,” he said with a small, cautious smile. You nodded, but Max could see behind the cheerful look on your face, he could tell you were tense. “If I'm bothering you, just say it.”

You took a deep breath, and soon your smile changed, and it was now showing a lot more sadness. “It's been a while, that's all. Talking to you in person brings back different memories,” you admitted.

“Good or bad ones?”

Following a shrug, you folded your arms over your chest and looked down at your shoes. “Compared to the ones that come back when I see you or Charles on TV? Bad,” you finally replied. 

Max gulped upon hearing this, feeling guilty despite knowing he had done nothing wrong, that whatever happened back in the day was the result of a series of decisions made by your parents. If it was up to him, he would have kept in touch with you, doing his best to see where this puppy love would lead the two of you. Maybe you would have broken up after he got into F1, maybe you would be married by now. It was a question he had no answer to.

The best he could do now was trying to make you understand this, making you see that he wanted to fix things now, even if you would be nothing more than friends. Sure, he had no idea how much you had changed over the years, but he knew there was only one way to find out. “I know it means very little after all these years, but I’m sorry,” he said to break the deafening silence.

You nodded, then to his surprise, took a step closer to him. “I know it wasn’t your fault. My parents told me what happened exactly eventually.”

He watched you closely, trying to figure out if you were interested in a proper conversation, maybe later in private. But before he could speak up, Charles walked over to the two of you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a big smile on his face. “It’s been so long,” he said happily, earning a shy smile and a barely visible shake of your head from you.

Max bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed by the sudden appearance of the Ferrari driver, but the main problem was a vivid memory from his childhood. While him and Charles had gone for blood on the track and didn’t have the best relationship off it either, you and the Monegasque were on very good terms, with you even visiting him and his family in his home. It didn’t bother him until his brain finally caught up with his feelings and he realized he had a crush on you, because then he felt intense jealousy every time his rival laid a finger on you, even if it was nothing more than a friendly pat on the shoulder.

You then suddenly moved to give him a hug, and seeing the way Charles wrapped his arms around you made his blood boil, even if he knew deep down that he had no right to be jealous. But it was painfully obvious that the two of you were talking to each other, keeping your voices down as much as you could in the noise around you, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about.

Then he finally let go of you and said goodbye, although the two of you agreed to have dinner in Italy next week to catch up. Max took a deep breath and thought about what to say, but before he could come up with anything, an official came over to drag him to the cooldown room, so all he could do was apologize and say goodbye, wishing he could see you again next week. According to Charles you were supposed to be there in Monza, which meant he would have the chance to talk to you.

To properly talk to you and possibly find out more about your life after you quit racing.

He knew in the cooldown room they were supposed to talk about the race, but all he could think about was asking Charles what you talked about, what was so secretive that no one else could hear it? So, in the end he didn’t say much, he just watched the recap of the race and discussed what he saw if it was standing out. Even while standing on the podium, his eyes scanned the crowd under them, trying to find you as if he was playing Where’s Wally?

On the way home, he spent his time browsing your social media accounts, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never checked them. On X, you were posting about F1 news, commenting on them as a journalist, while on Instagram you focused on sharing more personal posts, like photos of your holiday, your hobbies, or yourself in the paddock. There had been so many of those, how come he hadn’t met you before?

Having a glimpse into your life felt so nice that he hadn’t realized he had scrolled back a few years. Well, not until it turned out he accidentally liked a few of your old photos. If you hadn’t seen the notifications, he wouldn’t have noticed that. But you saw them and weren’t shy to send him a DM about it.

The next few days passed with him regularly checking his DMs to see if you wrote to him again, if you changed your mind and decided to have dinner with him, but there was nothing, so he was forced to wait for the perfect opportunity to talk to you in the paddock in Italy. How he would find you in the flurry of people was a mystery, although he had a fleeting idea that maybe their PR team could help him get a hold of you. Not like that could work, a request like this would certainly give them a stroke, assuming he was planning to give a random interview.

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed you at the press conference, talking to some of the drivers behind the cameras. Your eyes were shining brightly, your smile lit up the room around you, and Max felt like he had been taken back to his childhood when all the boys at their karting races swarmed around you to get a scrap of your attention. But those were hormone-driven teenagers, while these guys were grown men, many of them in serious relationships, so he knew it wasn’t entirely the same situation.

This time Max made sure he could stick around after the interviews, hoping to get a hold of you once you were done. He approached you after everyone left and you decided to chat with someone from the crew. He cleared his throat nervously, subconsciously expecting you to yell at him, to tell him to leave you alone. But your poker face was perfect, because you turned to him with a kind smile and acted like you were ready to have a pleasant chat with him. The crew member left you alone, so only the two of you were left there. 

“You either don’t understand the word no, or you just learned to completely ignore it because you always get what you want,” you said with a sigh, the smile long gone by now. 

He let the last part of the comment go past his ear, instead he just took a deep breath and began to massage the back of his neck. “Can’t we have a pleasant conversation? Just put everything aside, forget about our shared past, and let’s treat this as a chance for a fresh start.”

You watched him with a thoughtful hum for a while, then nodded. “All right. What would you like to talk about?” you asked with a curious look in your eyes. 

“Us.”

“There’s no such thing as us.”

“Too bad, because that’s exactly what I want,” he was quick to inform you, mentally kicking himself for being this straightforward, even if it was true. Because he wanted to see if you would be interested in the 2.0 version of your relationship, the chance to see how your young love would work out in your adult lives. “Are you seeing anyone?”

For a moment you hesitated, but then you shook your head. “No. I don’t really have the time for that,” you replied honestly. Before Max could speak up again, though, you began to talk once more. “But I’m a reporter here, dating a driver would be… unethical. I can’t play favorites,” you explained. 

Max took a quick look around, then gently placed a hand on your cheek. “We can figure that out later. Let’s focus on step one, which is going on a first date. Tonight? We can turn to room service to help us out if you don’t want to meet somewhere public,” he told you. 

“So you want me all to yourself in your hotel room?” you asked with a teasing smile. 

He was sure as hell he blushed, because the idea of what you were suggesting hadn’t occurred to him. Having you alone in his hotel room wasn’t something he consciously planned out, he only wanted to meet you somewhere away from the curious eyes. “It’s not like that,” he told you defensively. 

“I know, don’t worry. Send me the when and where,” you said as you patted his shoulder. “See you later, Max.”

Nodding, he watched as you walked away from him. He didn’t say a word–no, he couldn’t say a word. His brain was too busy replaying the way his name rolled off your tongue, that sweet, soft tone of your voice as you said goodbye. With his mind still lost in a pink haze, he returned to their motorhome to gather his things and call it a day. He couldn’t wait to meet you, that was all he could focus on. 

A few hours later he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his foot nervously tapping on the floor while he waited. You could be here any minute, and waiting was the worst part. Well, maybe the conversation wouldn’t be that much better, but he could still hope for the best. So when half an hour later there was a knock on his door, his lips curled into a wide smile and he rushed over there to let you in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was held up in the media center,” you apologized the moment the door closed behind you. 

Max had to take a deep breath to calm himself. You being close to him again brought back feelings he thought he had long forgotten, and he wanted to give you a kiss, a soft kiss to test the waters with you. But he had to behave, he had no idea where the two of you were standing right now. “It’s okay, don’t worry. So, dinner?” he asked after a short break, giving you a smile. 

Food seemed to get you in the mood to chat, because as the two of you enjoyed the various dishes he ordered, you started to tell him about your life after everything that had happened back then. You finished high school like a normal kid, went to college to study journalism, and you managed to get jobs at various places that were related to motorsports, especially F1. That was your dream, to once work with this world, but you were quick to clarify knowing he made it here didn’t give you the idea. 

He tried to hide the cocky smirk that wanted to show up on his face, because he was sure what you said weren’t true. A voice in the back of his mind told him you wanted to see him again, that you wanted to get back what had been taken from the two of you all those years ago. After all, why wouldn’t he think that? It didn’t take much convincing to get you to meet him tonight. And if he was delusional? At least it was a nice thought. 

It was then his turn to talk, so he told you stories that you had probably never heard, about himself, about the grid, about everything, really. If you asked questions about his family, you focused on his sister and mother, but you were mostly interested in his cats and hobbies. As you told him, you couldn’t understand how he ended up being such a cat dad, but it certainly suited him. 

“Charles said he doesn’t get murderous thoughts about you several times a day lately,” you suddenly noted with a short laugh. 

Clearing his throat, Max tilted his head to the side. “You talked to him?” he asked casually. 

You nodded and took another bite of your pasta. “Yeah, we had dinner yesterday. I remember how the two of you were back then, I was wondering what the situation was now,” you said with a shrug. 

A wide grin crept on his face upon hearing this. “So you asked him about me.”

“It was just one question, don’t get too cocky,” you pointed out with a roll of your eyes. “But I’m glad you kinda get along now. It’s nice to see that.”

Max flashed a smile at you, then returned his attention to his dinner. For a while you both ate in silence, but then you got rid of the plates and he found himself wondering what to do next. So he just looked down at his hand and moved it closer to yours, letting his little finger brush against yours as if you were back in your teenage years. You let out a laugh when you noticed, and you looked at him with a kind smile. You weren’t as cold as you had been earlier today, now you seemed to have warmed up to him, ready to give him a chance to show you what he wanted. 

So, he took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss you, cautiously moving his lips against yours to make sure he didn’t scare you away. It took you a few seconds, but you eventually eased into the kiss, one of your hands even moving up to his face to keep him close. He couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle that drew a questioning hum out of you. Max shook his head, then he dived in to kiss you again, but at the same time he let his hand wander under your shirt, even though he could have expected what happened next. 

Because you pulled away and pushed his hand away from your body. “Stop, don’t… I shouldn’t even be here, I should just go, and��”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do this, don’t push me away. I’m sorry. If you want to slow down, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do, okay?” he asked you, his voice desperate. For a minute or two you remained completely silent, you were just watching him with doe eyes, as if you were trying to process what just happened. “Please, just stay,” he said quietly.

You hesitantly took his hand and gulped loudly as you gathered your thoughts. “Listen, it’s complicated. I already told you, I shouldn’t date drivers, but,” you began, but fell silent without finishing the sentence. 

Max cupped your face and rested his forehead against yours. “One step at a time, all right? We’ll figure out if this could even work between us, then we’ll decide how to move on,” he said with a soft smile. When you nodded, he kissed your nose. “Good. Do you want to stay with me and cuddle a little, or would you rather go?”

“We just cuddle, right?” you asked with a thin voice. When he nodded, you let out a soft sigh. “Okay, just for a little while, then I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t leave. The next morning he woke up to you sleeping soundly with your head on his chest, snoring softly while you were lost in your dream world. Max couldn’t stop grinning, he was way too excited and happy to keep a straight face. It felt so nice, so natural, that he wondered how long you would be against it. You clearly wanted this as much as he did, but if you needed time, he was willing to give it to you.

As you lay there, he remembered that vacation all those years ago, when your parents not-so-accidentally bumped into his mom. His first date in a local cinema, watching a movie that was dubbed and neither of you could fully understand it. His first kiss in that movie theater with a girl that was special enough to catch his attention. The way you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder one night when your parents talked a little too long in a restaurant on the beach. 

And he was hell-bent on going back to that town to experience everything again as adults. All he needed was you softening enough to let him take care of you in front of the whole world.

[girlokwhatever]

okokokok soooooooo bringing it back to battle of the blondes. let’s set the scene shall we? there’s a wnba event where all three are present and they’ve all interacted with reader separately(reader could be apart of the event or a media reporter). everyone’s blonde big 3 are raving about reader to each other (without realize it’s the same person) and when they find out they’re all talking about reader…..the battle begins (def might have to be a mini series but fs has potential)

thoughts? or prayers ig?

-🫧

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ battle of the blondes,,

paige bueckers x fem!reader, emily engstler x fem!reader, kate martin x fem!reader

*just gonna call reader peach bc i don’t want to make an oc, its used like twice for plot purposes.*

oh you’ve really done it now.

you’re attending a WNBA event, something pivotal that would launch your career to the next level if it went well, and you might ruin it for yourself just by the way you’re ogling some of the women.

three women in particular.

you really needed this to go well. like, really needed it. you were planning on becoming a social media manager for one of a few teams you’ve spoken to and you were using tonight to prove yourself. it’d been going really well and you captured such great content for a few different teams but as soon as you saw them, your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. just looking at them made you nervous.

kate martin was the first one to approach you, smile wide with a toothy grin that made you blush. she was nervous.

she spotted you as soon as she walked into the space, easily recognizing you from some of the work you’ve done with the aces. she even heard talk that you’d be the new content manager, something she could only pray was true.

she found her way to you quickly. but as soon as you were within arms length and already smiling at her, she realized she had no idea what she was going to say to you. she had no plan, no cheesy pick-up line, and she definitely had zero chill.

“hi kate! you wanna film some content?”

yes. but not in the way you were talking about.

“i mean, should i? i don’t know, i just saw you and wanted to say hey.” oh god, she was definitely sweating through her undershirt.

“oh okay, well it’s good to see you. how’ve you been?”

kate moves closer to you now, leaning down slightly as you talk so she can hear you better. it’s so she can hear you, not because she wants to be as close to you as possible. definitely not. that’s why when her hand hovers over your spine, gently pressing into you it’s not a big deal because she just can’t hear you.

“oh y’know, i’ve been good. i haven’t seen you at any practices recently. i’ve missed you!” she’s saying it with a friendly tone, leaning down and fanning her breath over your ear. her words immediately make you blush, a silly smile spreading on your face. she never fails to flatter you.

“aw really? i’ve missed you too money martin.”

the blonde laughs and you physically feel it. it isn’t until her body shakes your own that you realized you’re leaning into one another. it immediately makes you freeze, eyes scanning the room for disapproving glances because you need to be on your best, most professional behavior.

you don’t find what you’re looking for, extremely thankful that everyone else’s attention is elsewhere. you push away from kate slightly, turning to stand in front of her. her hand reluctantly drops from your spine but her smile never falters because at least you’re still here.

“so.. i’ve heard some rumors you might be the new media manager for the aces?”

“oh yeah, well, i don’t know. i’ve been seeing a couple teams recently.”

“oh?” oh. it’s definitely not kate’s favorite news. she felt like she really bonded with you and she wanted to have you around more, but the lack of confirmation was a little disheartening. you were so talented; all of your photos looked amazing and everyone loved them. plus, you were a sight for sore eyes. really though, kate looked at you like you were the prettiest girl she’s ever seen. but that’s because you were.

“are you jealous that other teams get my attention too?” you joke, poking your finger on her shoulder gently.

kate’s blushing uncontrollably, turning the same shade as her red suit. she feels like her body might be on fire simply because of your playful teasing. she’s so fucking whipped.

“oh, i- i mean, no, of course not. like you’re great so y’know, i’ll miss you and stuff. yeah.” kate curses herself for stumbling over her words, red cheeks turning crimson. you laugh it off though, smiling that big smile you’re known so well for.

“i’m just messing with you kate. i still don’t know where i’ll end up, wish i could tell you.”

she’s about to say something else, maybe compliment your pretty dress or the way your hair is done but she can’t because someone is calling her name. she pretends like she can’t hear it and continues looking at you, but you’re already looking in the direction of the voice calling out to the blonde. kate internally groans, closing her eyes to roll them in annoyance.

“well, i’ll see you around katie. it was really nice getting to talk to you.”

katie. were you giving her a nickname? the simple thought erupts butterflies in her stomach like she’s never felt before. you make her feel like a love-struck teenager again.

“yeah, yeah. i’ll see ya.” she runs her hand down your arm, gently squeezing once she reaches your palm. it feels wildly intimate for your surface level friendship but kate wants you to know. she needs you to. she can’t even help herself anymore, looking back to smile at you as she disappears into the crowd.

you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you’re at a work event, not a tinder date. a few more people approach you after that and vice-versa for some media photos and videos. you take pictures of breathtaking outfits, film funny videos and short interviews, and mingle with team management and owners.

you’re in the middle of conversation with a new york liberty media manager when you feel a familiar presence behind you, a gentle hand gliding over the small of your back.

emily engstler smiled at you as you turned away from the previous and forgotten conversation. you were immediately at ease just by looking at her, pulling her into a swift embrace.

“oh my god emily, it’s so good to see you.”

“i could say the same. there’s so many people here i’m glad i spotted you.”

emily was part of the team you’d been working with the past few weeks, filming videos and pictures of the washington mystics players to put up on their social media. you two bonded very easily and quickly and it made your job much more fun, so you really grew a keen liking for her.

she felt the same, maybe a little something more than friendly though.

“how are you? having fun?”

“oh yeah, loads of fun. everyone is so sweet.” it wasn’t a lie; other than the soft but increased patter of your heart because of how good she looked, you were doing great.

“yeah? i’m glad. you look really nice by the way. i’ve never seen you dressed up like this.”

“i could say the same about you. i’m so used to seeing you all sweaty, this is a big difference.”

on the surface emily is calm and collected. she laughs lightly at your comment because it’s true, but it also leaves her a little flustered because hopefully no one heard that out of context. but a tiny part of her hopes someone did.

“do you want me to snap some pictures of you in your suit?” you offer, pointing to the camera resting around your neck.

now she’s even more flustered. she nods and moves to stand against the wall, giving you her best model-level smile as you take her picture. when you show her the pictures she almost cringes at how noticeably flushed she is. it’s all because of you and your cute dress and your even cuter smile-

“are you alright em?”

em. fuck. she’s totally done for as soon as you utter the nickname. it’s not even anything special, everyone fucking calls her that. but it sounds different coming from you. it doesn’t help that you grip her bicep just hard enough to make her a little dizzy.

“oh yeah. can we retake those? i look like a tomato.”

“for sure. i’m sorry- i think i messed up the lighting setting on the camera or something.”

she poses again, flashing you that same breath-taking smile. her hands buries itself deep in her pocket to hide the clamminess.

you can’t help but adore her from behind your device. your eyes linger on her face, watching as her eyes trace your movements as you pull the camera away. she’s much more pleased with the results this time, leaning in to affirm your media skills. emily complimented you endlessly as you showed her shots from earlier in the day too, trying to navigate her way into your heart.

“so, do you know if you’re signing with the mystics or..?”

“oh, no i don’t, not for sure anyways. i don’t think i’m supposed to tell you this but it’s definitely been talked about with management and stuff. i think they really like me.”

“how could they not?”

emily tried to keep her spirits high and wandering mind positive. if you were signed with the mystics it’d make things a lot easier for emily. things like making very clear moves on you to a possible and eventual romantic relationship, something she was interested in having with you.

she watches you smile at her comment and it only warms her heart further. she noticed you do this thing when you smile and she absolutely fucking loves it- you always tilt your head a little to the left when you smile, shrugging sometimes when it’s because of a compliment. she watches you do it now, only admiration flooding her mind and body language.

“you gotta stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like that. it’s driving me crazy”

you almost go breathless because she’s making you so nervous- was she flirting? it was making your head spin and her cheeky smile doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

you’re about to reply with some nonsense but thankfully the moment saves you, a teammate of emily’s grabbing her attention.

“hey guys! emily c’mere, there’s someone from my college team i want you to meet.”

she reluctantly waves you goodbye as she vanishes back into the crowd of people that’s only grown since she arrived. now you’re left to stand on your own, still flustered by the tall blonde when another one walks towards you, hand gently coming down on your shoulder to grab your attention.

paige bueckers greeted you with a warm smile, a genuine one that reached to her eyes. your eyes went wide with excitement upon seeing her, a smile like her own painting your features excitedly.

“paige! i had no idea you’d be here.”

“y’know i had to show up to see my fav.”

you’d worked with her before, interning with uconn’s media team last year during your last year of college. she was growing to be a big star in college basketball so you worked with her a lot. it was always a fun time, especially since she’s so photogenic.

“i know you’re working with all the pro teams now but i still think you should come back to uconn for my last year.” she teases, squeezing your shoulder as a gentle reminder that she’s still there and still so close to you.

“oh yeah? you gonna win this year?”

“you already know.”

she shoves her hands in her pockets because she realized she can’t stop touching you. even on the retreat, her smirk is relentless and unwavering within your banter together. confidence exudes from her very being and it’s unbelievably attractive, at least she hopes it is.

she’s trying to swoon you.

“really though, what team are you gonna be working with by next year? i need to know where i’m gonna end up.”

you laugh at that, a beautiful laugh that sweeps through your whole body. it’s music to paige’s ears, face heating up at your reaction but she never falters. she’s smiling and laughing with you because your energy is contagious to her, intoxicating enough to where she’s okay with becoming an addict if it means she can be like this forever. with you.

“wouldn’t you like to know.”

“yeah i would actually.”

“can’t tell you.”

“why not?”

“because i don’t know. change of subject though, let me do my job and take some pictures of you.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

she confidently finds her way in front of the backdrop, posing in a way you can only describe as incredibly fucking hot. she switches her pose a few times and you capture a multitude of pictures from each moment, admiring her beauty and ease.

she swiftly finds her way back to you after a few moments, not able to deny the magnetic energy that keeps pulling her to you. as you show her some of the pictures her hand loops around your torso, pulling you out of the way of passersby, but also just so she can keep close to you.

it feels like it’s been ages since the draft, which is the last time paige saw you. she wants to soak you in now because she doesn’t know when she’ll see you again. the thought sends a pang through her heart but paige is absolutely determined to make a more.. official, move on you tonight. she pulls back to look at your face, cogs in her head turning to look for the perfect thing to say when someone whisks you away.

you bid your sweet, honey-laced farewell before you’re gone in a flash. paige understands, you’re here to work. she strolls away aimlessly, spotting a few familiar faces seated at a table in the distance.

that’s how the three blondes found themselves all at the same table, all gushing about the same person without a clue.

it started with paige talking to caitlin, who eventually dragged kate into the conversation alongside emily. paige talked about you, a nameless mention of the most beautiful girl ever. she gushed to the other blondes about how happy she was to see you again, how pretty you looked, and how sweet you acted.

“i didn’t get to talk to her for long unfortunately but im still so glad i got to see her. she’s so amazing.” paige spoke confidently, leaving your identity anonymous to the rest of the girls at the table. caitlin pushes kate teasingly at the topic, piping up to add to the conversation.

“kate’s little crush is here too. won’t stop talking about her.”

“uh yeah, i saw her when i first got here. i haven’t seen her since though, i think she’s really busy y’know.” kate’s blushing, nowhere in her nightly plans did she intended to spill her guts to everyone about her massive crush on you.

“oh yeah kate, keep it modest. don’t tell them what you told me, about how pretty she looks and how talented she is and how her hair is up so nicely in a cute little half updo-”

“dude!”

“fine, fine.” caitlin’s eyes drift to the other blonde across the table, motioning to her, “what about you? anyone special here tonight?”

emily nervously clears her throat and sinks into the chair. she can’t help but smile at the simple thought of you. the word vomit comes immediately and she can’t even help it.

“oh yeah. i mean, i guess. i’ve kinda liked her for a little while and i got to talk to her earlier. she’s really cool. bro, she’s got this thing she does when she smiles- i swear it’s gonna kill me someday. i’m fucking whipped.”

“same.”

“same.”

kate and paige speak in unison, almost alarmingly. caitlin’s eyes flicker between her friends, then to aaliyah as she approaches the table. she occupies the space between emily and paige, grabbing the shoulders of both her former and current teammate.

“paige did you see peach?”

“yeah, i talked to her a little while ago.”

“did you, emily?”

“yeah i did.”

liyah winks at emily, knowing of the crush her teammate has for her friend. it makes emily blush which immediately catches paige’s eye- it’d be impossible to miss emily’s big smile at the mention of your famous nickname shared between close friends. kate doesn’t catch on, too embarrassed from caitlin’s intrusive speech to think properly.

“wait, what was that?” paige is quick to question, wanting nothing more than for her suspicions to be proven wrong.

“nothing?”

“oh my god.” caitlin breaks through the short silence. she’s pieced it all together. caitlin throws her head back in laughter almost manically because, this drama is too fucking good.

“what?” kate asks, confused as to why everyone looks so concerned.

“you guys all have a crush on the same person.”

everyone’s eyes widen; in fear, horror, shock, jealousy, disbelief, you name it. paige finds you amongst the crowd talking to a woman and can’t help but feel possessive over you. you’re hers. a similar thought seems to run through the other two blondes as well. they all grimace, faces turning sour with discontent.

“wait, you guys have a crush on peach too?” kate doesn’t even want to know the answer, heart sinking past the floor when the other blondes nod in confirmation. she wants to throw up, but more than that she wants to find you and confess her admiration towards you in hopes that you feel the same.

she has to get to you before the others.

she stands up and darts across the room as casually as possible. caitlin watches in shock because she’s never seen her close friend act this way, but there’s a first for everything.

“fuck.” paige mutters, pushing away from the table to follow kate’s trail to you. emily does the same. all the blondes have departed from their previous spots, now only concerned with the trivial task of finding you and getting you alone.

it’s no use though, all immediately arriving within the same second. your attention is inevitably drawn to all three of them as they stand before you with pleading eyes.

“guys? is everything alright?”

“no.” kate mutters, eyes shamelessly wandering over your figure with her bottom lip pulled snugly between her teeth.

“what’s.. what’s going on?”

everyone is silent, glancing around at one another before paige bravely breaks the stale silence. “we all like you peach. a lot. basically, you need to pick one. if any of us.”

“oh.”

˚ ༘♡🍓⋆｡˚🏀✧˖°🌼ʚɞ♡🍀

this was 3.1k words…. my longest fic

i really hope it lives up to the hype 😣

yall need to tell me who you want peach to end up with……. maybe all?! 😏

also this long ass fic is not spell checked

[pathologicalreid]

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

[gghostwriter]

A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation. 

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team. 

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was. 

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in. 

No, he needed to. 

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze. 

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers. 

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks. 

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him. 

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him. 

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on. 

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?” 

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions. 

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone. 

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that. 

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm. 

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior. 

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same. 

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over. 

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho. 

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door. 

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call. 

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI. 

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid. 

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team. 

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.” 

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.” 

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically. 

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?” 

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else. 

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor. 

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone. 

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end. 

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back. 

Check. 

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake. 

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days. 

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be. 

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?” 

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.” 

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career. 

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger. 

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed. 

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need. 

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber. 

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer. 

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t. 

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time. 

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?” 

A light rustle replied. 

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.” 

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door. 

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home. 

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.” 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late. 

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle. 

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.” 

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.” 

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[candy69gurl]

PERIOD PAIN HEALER !!

PAIRING Step dad!Gojo Satoru x f!reader, Step dad!Toji Fushiguro x f!reader, Step dad!Nanami Kento x f!reader, Step dad!Geto Suguru x f!reader, Step dad!Sukuna x f!reader, Step dad!Shiu Kong x f!reader, Step dad!Hiromi Higuruma x f!reader, Step dad!Kamo Choso x f!reader [seperate]

SYNOPSIS It's understandable that the month's arrival brings with it a series of unpleasant sensations and discomfort that nobody enjoys experiencing. However, things aren't so unpleasant when you have someone to support you through this time, such as your caring stepdad, who is more than willing to assist you in any way possible..

WARNING stepcest, pre-established relationship, comfort, nipple sucking & playing, orgasm through nipple playing, bloody pussy eating, use of four arms for pleasure (sukuna), cock warming, p in bloody v, fingering, use of bad nicknames (geto), clit rubbing, soft sex, clit rubbing with cock

NOTE In my experience, having an orgasm during your period reduces cramps. I wrote it while on my periods lol. I'm just a girl (with daddy issues) ... Some people may find the contents unpleasant. Simply block and move on; please do not make disparaging remarks about me or report my post; if you do, prepare to get trolled by my moots. Please read the warnings and do not do this at home (duh). Reposting cause tumblr removed it.

◈ SATORU GOJO

Gojo's eyes widen as he catches the sight of you clad in one of his oversized T-shirts, your small frame barely managing to contain its folds. You look like a lost little rabbit, shivering slightly, bouncing on your toes as you pace nervously near the bathroom door.

"Hey, hey," Gojo murmurs, brows furrowing as he takes in the sight before stepping closer. His thumb brushes lightly across your cheek, coaxing you to meet his gaze. "What's goin' on, sweetheart?"

His voice is soft, comforting - a stark contrast to his usual cockiness. You look up at him, your eyes filled with uncertainty, and he feels a pang in his chest. Something's clearly off, and he knows he needs to get to the bottom of it.

"Are you alright?" he presses gently, concern coloring his voice as he reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The gentle pressure of his fingers seems to calm you somewhat, and you nod, averting your gaze.

"Yes...", you mumble, but it sounds more like an excuse than the truth.

He tilts your chin upward, "Don't lie to daddy," he whispers softly, searching your eyes for any hint of distress. There's a tenderness in his voice that surprises you both - unusual for the usually arrogant man. Swallowing hard, he adds, "Tell me what's wrong."

Despite yourself, you find yourself opening up, the words spilling forth: "It's just... uh... cramps, and I feel uneasy."

He kneels on his knees, lifting up your top and leaning in to kiss your vulnerable tummy before softly massaging the area. The touch is firm yet soothing, causing you to relax slightly despite the lingering pain.

"That's better, isn't it?" he remarks, a hint of warmth creeping into his voice. You nod syly not breaking eye contact with him. Gojo's expression softens, and he pulls you into a warm embrace. "Ah, I see.. That feels good.. ," he says, rubbing your back soothingly. "Don't worry about it. Let's take care of you, okay?"

As he gently leads you to your room, Gojo's mind races with ways he can help ease your discomfort. He doesn't want you to suffer, not when he could do something about it.

Once settled on the soft cushions, he slowly slides his hands up and down your abdomen, his other hand cupping one of your breast gently in his large palms. You gasp slightly at the sensation, the nipple tingling under his skilled touch. Gently, he rolls it between his thumbs and forefingers, eliciting a moan from deep within you. This causes him to smirk devilishly and lean in closer.

His warm breath caresses your chest as he whispers, "They hurt too, don't they?"

"Y-yes, a bit," you confess shyly.

His smile broadens, and without further ado, he bends his head down and captures one of your nipples in his mouth. A jolt of pleasure shoots through you as he sucks lightly, increasing the pressure gradually, making you squirm involuntarily. His other hand moves from your abdomen to massage the other breast, his thumb occasionally flicking against the engorged nub.

The sensation is uncomfortable and pleasurable simultaneously, bringing forth an array of mixed feelings within you. He lifts his head briefly, looking into your flushed face with a knowing smile. "This should help alleviate some of the discomfort, my dear. Just let go and enjoy it." He returns to his task, sucking harder on your nipple while tweaking the other, sending waves of sensation cascading through your body.

You can't help but give in to the intense feelings coursing through you, your back arching slightly as he continues his ministrations. Your breathing becomes ragged, and you grip the sheets beneath you, trying to stay grounded in reality.

You find yourself reaching climax unexpectedly, your entire body trembling under his touch. "D-daddy cumming," your lips move to form an involuntary moan, and he looks up, satisfaction written across his features.

He releases your nipple, running his thumb over your mouth before pulling you closer. His voice is velvety smooth as he murmurs, "You came just by me sucking your nipples? Guess you are really sensitive now"

With a satisfied hum, he pulls away, drawing you into his embrace. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest. "There you go," he mutters, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach as you lean into him. The rhythmic motion quickly lulls you into a sense of comfort, easing the last of your tension.

"Feeling good now?" he asks his crystalline blue eyes turning soft only for you. You nod shyly, closing your eyes momentarily, your heartbeat decreasing.

"Get some rest now, sweetheart. When you wake up, the discomfort will be gone. I'll make sure to stock up on those chocolate candies you love, kikufuku or something similar. That should help cheer you up, yeah?" He speaks into your hair, his voice low and soothing. "And remember, I'm always here for you, no matter what."

Slowly, your eyelids grow heavy, and soon enough, sleep claims you. In his arms, you drift off to dreamland, cradled by his warmth and strength. He watches over you until you're peacefully asleep, then rises from the bed with a content smile, leaving you undisturbed.

◈ TOJI FUSHIGURO

As the pangs begin, you find yourself in agony, groaning softly and clutching your lower abdomen tightly, the whole day you are in your room, you even missed dinner. Suddenly, you hear footsteps to your room, you look up to see your stepdad, Toji, walking into your room with a concerned expression on his face. "What's wrong? Tired of being a brat?" he asks, moving closer to you.

"My period started," you mumble, unable to hide the pain from your voice. "It's so sudden and painful."

Toji, raises an eyebrow in surprise before responding gruffly, "Why do ya always whine about these little things? It happens to everyone! Get over it!" He waves dismissively, leaving you feeling hurt and ignored. Your heart sinks as tears start to form in your eyes, "Don't cry now, I swear I can't tolerate ya's mood swings during these days," he observes you closely for a moment, noticing the genuine distress in your eyes.

After witnessing your pain and tears, Toji's cold exterior crumbles slightly, replaced by tenderness and guilt. Though he is annoyed by how weak and whiny you are, he can't bear to watch his little step daughter suffering. Gently, he props onto your bed, the bed jumping slightly with his weight, as he pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. He starts to rub your stomach in soft, slow circles, attempting to alleviate some of the pain.

"Sorry," his voice husky with regret, "I didn't mean to be harsh. Let me make it up to you." His hand gradually moves from your stomach to your neck, his thumb gently tracing circles on your tender skin. The sensation mixes with the pressure of his touch, bringing a sense of comfort and relaxation that slowly takes over your body.

"Just close your eyes and rest," he whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Let me take care of you." As if in a trance, you obey his instructions, allowing his words and touch to lull you into a state of calmness. His hands continue their gentle rhythm, kneading your stomach and caressing your neck, his lips occasionally brushing softly against your cheek.

As you drift off to sleep in Toji's caring embrace, you find solace in his presence and the gentle caresses that soothe your body. The tension in your muscles slowly dissipates, and eventually, exhaustion claims you. Time passes unnoticed as you both rest, your breathing deepening and evening out into peaceful slumber.

However, as night falls, your cramps return with a vengeance, waking you up from your peaceful slumber with a gasp. You wriggle uncomfortably, your hands instinctively clutching your stomach as pain courses through you. Your eyes flutter open to find Toji also awake, concern etched upon his features. He watches you intently, his own face contorted with worry as he observes your discomfort.

He repeats this motion multiple times, his tongue tracing intricate patterns across your sensitive skin, each movement accompanied by soft, reassuring whispers. His hands reach for yours, pulling them away gently from your stomach. "Shh, don't worry," he murmurs, concern evident in his voice. "I know it hurts, but we don't have any heating pads or medication here. What if I try something else?" He looks at you expectantly, a glint of determination in his eyes.

You nod hesitantly, unsure of what else could possibly help. Slowly, he shifts his position, leaning closer to you. His gaze locks onto your stomach, his expression intense as he focuses on the task at hand. Then, without warning, Toji presses his lips to your stomach, the warmth of his breath sending waves of relief throughout your tense muscles. His tongue darts out, lightly flicking at your skin, causing a shiver to race down your spine. Surprised, you let out a small moan, your body reacting to his unexpected touch.

You get caught off guard by Toji's sudden move, you let out a soft squeak as he swiftly removes your shorts and panties. Embarrassment washes over you, but his determined gaze leaves no room for protest. He glances at your blood-covered pad, a hint of curiosity in his green eyes, as if studying the sight for the first time.

Before you can recover from the shock of his actions, he holds you firmly but gently in place, his hands strong on your hips, pinning you to the bed.

"Please...don't do anything.. It's weird," you stammer, your eyes wide with surprise and embarrassment, but there's a hint of desire there too - this wasn't exactly an unwelcome sensation.

"Shhh," he hushes you, his voice rough with desire. "This might help, trust me." And with that, he lowers his head, his mouth approaching your bloody core.

As soon as his mouth touches you, the sensation is overwhelming. The warmth of his lips combined with the wet heat of his tongue sends shivers down your spine. His movements are neither tentative nor shy, rather they're hungry and bold, as if he's been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Blood colors his lips and chin as he continues to feast on you. Despite the circumstances, a strange mixture of pleasure and embarrassment fills you.

"It feels so...weird but good," you confess, biting your lip as pleasurable shivers rack your body.

Toji lifts his head, his gaze locked on yours, "Good?" he queries, his voice thick with lust. His eyes reflect a primal satisfaction that overwhelms any semblance of shame or guilt. Your response seems to ignite something within him, and he dives back in with renewed vigor, his tongue delving deeper, his hunger growing stronger. The scent of your blood mingled with your natural arousal fills the air, heightening the intensity of the experience.

With Toji's relentless attention, it doesn't take long for you to reach your climax. Your body arches involuntarily, a gasp escaping your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you. He feels it too, the tremors beneath him signaling your release. His tongue never stops its steady pace, guiding you through the peak of your ecstasy until you finally collapse back onto the bed, panting heavily.

Toji pulls away with a satisfied hum, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before looking up at you with half-lidded eyes. "That should help the cramps," he states, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

But instead of leaving, he crawls up alongside you, pulling you into another tight embrace. "Rest now, kay?," he whispers, nuzzling your neck as he speaks. "We'll deal with anything else tomorrow."

Despite the unusual circumstances, you find comfort in his arms once again. His chest rises and falls steadily next to yours, his heartbeat a calming rhythm that lulls you back into slumber. The night stretches ahead, quiet and peaceful, with nothing but the two of you sharing the same space.

◈ NANAMI KENTO

As the door creaks open, you know right away it's Nanami stepping in. The scent of his cologne wafts towards you, signaling his arrival. You glance up from the couch and look towards the hallway, anticipating his arrival.

"Hey, honey," he greets softly, voice carrying a hint of weariness. "How are you doing?"

You give him a weak smile, trying to hide the pain you feel from your period. "Just dealing with some cramps, dad," you reply, trying to sound as casual as possible. "No big deal."

He nods, offering you a sympathetic look as he walks closer, then removes his jacket & glasses and places his work bag on the coffee table. "Well, let's see if there's anything I can do to help you out," he says, reaching out to gently brush your hair aside.

"Oh, don't worry about me, dad," you assure him quickly, attempting to put on a brave face despite the discomfort. "It's not that bad. But thank you for asking."

Nanami raises an eyebrow at you, studying your expression carefully. "Don't try to lie to me, sweetheart, I can see your toes curling from the pain" he says gently. "I understand how painful these periods can be. Here, come. Let me help you, okay?", he says gesturing you on his lap.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling embarrassed about showing your weakness in front of him. However, Nanami's concern is evident in his eyes and you can't resist the urge to lean into his comforting embrace. As you sit on his lap, he wraps his arms around you tightly, providing you with warmth and support.

"There you go," he murmurs softly, rubbing your back in circular motions. "Do you want some painkillers? Maybe a hot pad? Or anything that will lessen your pain?" he offers.

Your body responds instinctively to his touch, moving closer to him unconsciously. You feel yourself grinding against him slightly and gasp, realizing what you've done. Your cheeks flush red with embarrassment, but Nanami remains composed.

"Easy now," he says quietly, placing his hand on your hips to steady both of you. "We'll take care of this quickly, okay?"

Feeling guilty for making him hard, you reach for his pants, running your fingers along the outline of his erection through the fabric. It's hard and warm beneath your touch and you pause before slowly stroking it.

"Will you feel good, if it's in you?", he asks; he is genuinely concerned about your well being more than his own.

You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your face once again."Yes, please... I think it would help," you admit shyly.

Nanami looks at you thoughtfully for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright, then," he says decisively, lifting you up, freeing his member.

Nanami's thumb pushes aside your panties, his other hand positions his shaft at your entrance. He slowly slips into your bloodied cunt, the crimson fluid and your arousal making it easier for him to slide through your gummy walls. You gasp softly at the sensation, your eyes fluttering closed as he stretches your insides.

For a few moments, neither of you moves; his hands resting firmly on your waist, his breath warm on your neck. Then, your hips begin to buck involuntarily against him, seeking deeper penetration. The combination of pain and pleasure sends shivers down your spine.

Your red fluids seeps into his tan-coloured trousers, making them brown. But that's not his concern now. "That's it," Nanami murmurs approvingly, adjusting his grip on your hip as you move. "Let it out, baby girl. Let everything out."

Slowly, he begins to thrust into you, setting a rhythm that matches your movements. His hands roam across your body, finding your nipples and rubbing them lightly. The pleasure intensifies, culminating in soft moans escaping from your lips.

As Nanami's thrusts become more forceful, so does your breathing. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you and soon enough, you feel the edge of release drawing near.

"Daddy.. A-ah.." You whisper hoarsely, gripping onto him tightly as your orgasm builds up. You're on the verge of losing control, feeling every nerve ending ignite.

A final powerful thrust sends you over the edge, your body trembling and you arching into him. A cry escapes your lips, muffled against his shoulder as you let it all out - all the pent-up frustration, discomfort, and desire colliding together in an intense climax.

Nanami holds you close, riding out your orgasm until the last ripple subsides. Once you're stable, he pulls out his blood-coated shaft slowly, leaving you slightly empty but content.

"There you go," he whispers reassuringly as you leans onto his chest. "That should help ease the cramps."

You lean into him, panting heavily as your mind starts to clear. The tension from the day dissolves away, replaced by a sense of satisfaction.

"Thank you, Daddy," you murmur gratefully, your voice shaky yet sincere.

Nanami smiles gently, kissing your temple. "Anything for my little girl," he promises softly.

◈ GETO SUGURU

Your stepfather, Suguru, has always been distant but kind when necessary, and you knew that he will help you with this matter as well. He takes care of all your needs, giving you various stuffs to help you go through your periods. Despite your gratitude, the fact remains that he despises non-sorcerers.

“You should be grateful I take care of such filth. Monkeys are disgusting creatures", he says while rubbing your back gently.

"Sorry for being a burden..", you reply, your eyes getting teary once again.

His face softens slightly as he continues comforting you, trying to make sure you feel better despite his true thoughts about you,

“Don’t worry about being a burden. It’s my duty to take care of you too, after all. Now focus on feeling better, monkey.”

"S'top being mean...", you speak nuzzling your head against his chest.

Surprised by your sudden reaction, he quickly puts aside his arrogance and focuses entirely on relieving your pain. A smile forms on his lips, albeit reluctantly, as he pats your head gently, secretly enjoying the momentary affection. “I’m not being mean, child. Just stating the truth. But since you asked nicely, I’ll stop for now.”

You relax in his embrace, yet flinch occasionally when cramps pain you. Gently rubbing your lower abdomen in a circular motion, he asks, “Are you okay? This shouldn’t hurt this much.”

As he continues his ministrations, his hands accidentally brush against your clit, causing a shiver to run through your body, you bite your lip trying to stop an incoming moan. Noticing this, he hesitates for a second, but then decides to continue, figuring that it might provide some relief. “Just let me help you here…” he murmurs softly

Cautiously, he reaches down and begins removing your underwear, making sure not to aggravate your delicate area further. Once it's off, he gently massages your exposed bud.

“This should help ease your discomfort,” he whispers reassuringly, his fingers lingering on your most sensitive spots.

"P-please, your hands are getting dirty..", your hands moving to stop his. He chuckles dryly at your protest, his expression darkening slightly as he maintains his touch.

“Believe me, I’ve dealt with far worse than this. Now try to relax, monkey.” with that, he continues stroking you, occasionally brushing against your entrance as well.

You gasp softly, trying to contain your growing arousal. The contradiction between his harsh words and gentle touch creates a strange mix of emotions within you.

“Please, don't call me that," you plead, your voice barely audible.

He stops abruptly, his gaze hardening as he meets yours. “There’s nothing wrong with the truth. Now, monkey focus on breathing and letting go of this pain.”

Without warning, he slides two fingers inside you, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. His eyes lock onto yours, watching your reactions intently as he starts moving them rhythmically.

“This might be uncomfortable at first, but it will help more than you think.”

Despite your embarrassment, the sensation is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. His skilled fingers create waves of pleasure mixed with pain. You squirm beneath his touch, unsure how to react to your conflicting emotions.

He watches your reactions carefully, his eyes filled with a mixture of satisfaction. "Good girl. Relax and enjoy it. This will make you feel better."

His rhythmic thrusts start to increase, matching the intensity of your growing arousal. You can't help but moan softly, your body responding to his touch despite your reservations.

"That's right. Let it out," he encourages, his voice lowers into a growl, his eyes narrowing slightly as he feels your walls tighten around his digits.

“Feel free to make noise, monkey. You need this release” The deeper he plunges, the stronger your reactions become. Your breath hitches, and you can't help but wrap your legs around his wrist, pulling him closer.

He grins wickedly, twisting his fingers inside you ever so slightly as he continues thrusting. His fingers dance in a way that brings an unusual sense of ecstasy and discomfort simultaneously.

Despite his choice of words, there’s something strangely comforting about his dominance. You find yourself lost in the sensations, your protests fading away until all that remains is the rhythmic movement of his fingers and the occasional muffled moan escaping your lips.

Ignoring the sight of his fingers coated with your crimson fluid everytime he moves out of you, he intensifies his movements, focusing on your pleasure rather than the messiness. Despite his usual contempt, his interest seems to peak with every drop of blood coating his fingers.

“Such a good girl. Love you sweetheart.. Let it all out.” His deep voice echoes in your ears like a chant, urging you to give in to the sensations. As your climax draws near, his words resonate louder in your mind, guiding you towards the peak.

The orgasm hits you like a wave, overwhelming your senses as he skillfully drives you to the edge. Your body trembles beneath him, your nails digging into whatever they could find purchase in, and you cry out.

His expression turns feral as you reach your high, a hint of triumph glimmering in his eyes. When your orgasm subsides, he pulls his fingers out slowly, licking them clean.

Your eyes and mouth, both widen at his action.

"Still feeling pain?", he asks, his demeanor chaning back to normal.

You take deep breaths, trying to regain your composure. Despite the lingering discomfort, there's a newfound sense of warmth within you, thanks to his touch.

“N-no not anymore... Thank you, daddy”, you thank him, your hands reaching for his, attempting to intertwine your fingers with his..

His eyes meet yours, a flicker of surprise passing through them before he smirks. “Of course, my little monkey. After all, it's my responsibility to take care of you too, isn't?", He pinches your cheek, and you nod, tilting back your head to rest.

◈ RYOMEN SUKUNA

Ryomen enters the room, his usual stoic expression barely shifting as he takes in the sight of you, holding your stomach from the cramps. "Uraume," he growls, gesturing towards the you. "Assist her." Turning his gaze back to you, he studies you for a moment before speaking again. "Your monthly curse approaches, huh? I suppose it can't be helped. Uraume will help you with the pain. Stay still, and try not to-"

"P-please.. I need you", you protest, wanting to be comforted only by him.

"Hmm, I see" Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the request. He slowly moves closer, examining your face before pulling you close to him gently.

With a sigh, he concedes. "Very well, your pleading is... entertaining. Lie down, and we shall see if I can ease your suffering."

He helps you onto the soft tatami mat, gently placing a pillow underneath your head. He reaches out to untie your obi, revealing your delicate undergarments. Carefully, he lifts them aside and lowers his head towards you then begins to lick and nibble at your flesh, blood droplets landing on his tonue.

"S-stop i-its dirty!", you protest, try to push his massive head away from your core.

He grins devilishly, his eyes gleaming in delight as he grasps your legs firmly with his two powerful arms. While his third hand expertly kneads your breast, his 'mouth' forms from the fourth one, closing over your nipple possessively. He sucks gently, causing your body to arch involuntarily.

"Hmph, you taste delicious. Just like ripe fruit..." He hums, his breath hitting your core. You feel yourself becoming flushed, his actions both embarrassing yet exhilarating. Despite your protests, you can't deny the pleasure coursing through you.

As his lips trace delicately across your skin, you begin to feel a warm sensation building within you. Your breathing becomes ragged, and your hips buck subconsciously. Slowly, his skilled hands and mouth bring you closer and closer to the edge. Finally, you let out a muffled cry, your release washing over you.

Once you've caught your breath, he pulls away, satisfaction radiating from his gaze. "There, much better. Your monthly pain curse should subside now." He smirks, wiping his mouth clean before standing up. "You may rest, dear. Remember, I am here to assist you whenever you need, even with such trivial matters."

With a final glance at your flushed face, Ryomen licks his lips slowly, his eyes lingering on your twitching body for just a moment longer. Then, to your astonishment, he leans in and presses his lips against your stomach.

"Goodnight, my dear." He says, disappearing into the shadows with a soft rustling of robes, leaving only the faintest.

◈ SHIU KONG

"Hey there, kiddo," he asks softly, setting down his cigarette on the table. "How are you feelin' today?" He knows your cycle started yesterday and he just wanna make sure you're alright. "Need anything from me? Want some ice cream?" he suggests with a crooked smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"N-NO", you nearly yell at him but soon realise you shouldn't have; your mood swings are getting the best of you.

"Alright, alright." He chuckles, raising his hands defensively. "I wasn't gonna force you to eat ice cream if you don't want to.. Just making an offer."

He stands up, crossing the room to sit next to you. His large hand gently rests on your shoulder. "Just let me know if you need anything, okay?" His eyes widen at the sudden appearance of tears, concern filling his face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest.

"What's goin' on, huh? What's got you all upset?" He strokes your hair gently, trying to offer comfort. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I won't judge you."

The warmth of his embrace seeps into your bones, "Just cramps..", you reply, your voice slightly shaken by your emotions.

"Ah, that's rough," he says, nodding understandingly. "Let me grab you some painkillers, then. And maybe a heating pad to help ease those cramps."

As he gets up, he adds, "Try to relax, alright? We'll get through this together."

The way he says 'we' makes your heart skip a beat, but you push the thought away, focusing on the relief of his words.

"C-can you just stay here and", you pull his hand and direct it around your abdomen where it aches, "please massage it?"

Surprised, Shiu looks down at your hands, then back into your eyes. "Of course," he murmurs, resting one hand on your tummy and the other on your thigh. His fingers press gently, moving in slow circles. "Is this okay?"

His palm warms against your skin, alleviating some tension. You let out a shaky groan, giving in to his touch and allowing him to make you feel better.

He swallows hard, adjusting his grip, pressing deeper into your abdomen. The heat from his hand spreads, easing some of the pain.

"Better?" he whispers, concern etched onto his face. "Don't worry," he continues, glancing away nervously. "I've dealt with enough curse users in my career to handle a little cramping."

As his hands move rhythmically across your stomach, his eyes catch yours, lingering for just a moment too long. They try to ignore the electric charge between them.

"Yes..." you answer breathlessly, closing your eyes. "That feels good..." Your body responds to his touch, and you can't help but wish it would last forever.

Shiu shifts his patterns, from rubbing your abdomen to sliding through your shorts to rub against your clad clit. You are too absorbed in pleasure to notice his hand slipping through your shorts. When you come back to your senses, your eyes follow the movement of his hands.

"I said I'd help with the cramps, not..." he trails off, glancing away sheepishly. "Sorry, didn't mean to get carried away", tries to take his hands off you, when you stop him.

"N-no daddy, feels good", you speak timidly, not making eye contact with him.

He freezes for a second, his eyes widening. He chuckles, though it sounds shaky. "Guess you got a bit carried away too, huh?" With a smirk, he resumes his massage, adjusting his hand to provide more pressure to your clit. He leans closer, his free hand coming to cup your cheek.

"You alright?" he asks, concern coloring his voice. "This isn't making things worse, right?" You shake your head, still avoiding his glances. "Well, well," he chuckles, his fingers continuing their dance. "Seems like someone's enjoying this more than they should."

He rubs his thumb agains your lips. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna do anything you don't want. Just trying to make you feel better."

His touch grows bolder, his hand removing your shorts and panties to rub your clit bare. Your body flinches on direct contact.

His hand pauses, his eyes meeting yours. The look in his eyes is a mix of surprise and exhilaration. "Shall I continue?" he asks, concern filling his tone.

"Yes... yes please," you whisper, blushing furiously.

His eyebrows raise, but he nods slowly. "Okay, just let me know if it's too much, alr?" His fingers resume their movement, rubbing your swollen clit with renewed vigor. You moan softly, leaning into his touch.

He takes advantage of your vulnerability, his other hand sneaking under your shirt to caress your breast. His fingers brush against your nipple, and you gasp, arching into his touch. A shiver runs down your spine, your thighs parting naturally to accommodate his hand.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he whispers, his hand moves downwards, exploring your stomach, hips, and thighs.

Then, you finally cry out, your legs trembling as an orgasm rips through you, more crimson fluid oozing from within you. Shiu freezes, his eyes wide, "Whoa, whoa, easy there, kiddo," he mutters.

He stops his ministrations, allowing you to recover from your climax. When you finally regain control, he lets out a quiet laugh. "Didn't expect that," he admits, shaking his head slightly. "But hey, if it feels good, then I guess I did a good job"

"Y-yes felt good.. T-thanks dad..", you admit swallowing hard.

"I'm glad, really," he replies, his hands returning to your stomach. His eyes finally meeting yours again.

"But you know," he says hesitantly. "If you ever need a hand... helping you out, you can count on me, right girl?" He smiles, cupping your jaw. "Just remember that."

◈ HIGURUMA HIROMI

Upon returning from work, Hiromi notices his little girl curled up in bed, clutching her abdomen in obvious discomfort. Immediately, concern fills his usually stoic expression. He gently approaches you and examines your face, trying to gauge the severity of your pain.

"Darling," he whispers softly, trying not to startle you. "Are you unwell?" His hand rests lightly on her forehead, feeling for any signs of fever.

You shift in your sleep whispering, "Period pain"

Hiromi's brow furrows with worry, realizing what might be causing your discomfort. He reaches out to grab a pillow and gently places it under your knees to ease the pressure on your lower abdomen.

"I'm so sorry," he says, tenderly. "Didn't expect this to happen today. Let me make you something warm and comforting to help ease the pain."

He stands up to leave for kitchen when you stop him by his hands. "P-please you don't need to do anything.."

He looks down at you, his heart aching for the discomfort you must be experiencing. He understands your desire to handle things independently, but as your stepdad, he feels responsible for taking care of you.

"No matter how grown-up you try to be," Hiromi says softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, "You're still my little girl, and I want to help you feel better." He kneels beside the bed again and takes your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Tell me what will make you feel better"

"You..", you reply instantly and involuntarily.

Hiromi looks at you confused by your request," Me?"

Words stuck in your throat as you swallow hard while speaking again, "inside me.."

Hiromi's eyes widen slightly at your unexpected words. He releases a quiet breath, trying to process what you are asking of him. There's a moment where confusion lingers in his gaze before understanding dawns upon him.

"I... I understand," he says in a measured tone. "But are you sure about this?"

His fingers trace gentle circles on the back of your hand, offering both comfort and support. "It's alright if you're uncomfortable discussing it. We can find another way to help with the pain."

You speak again slowly, not meeting his gaze. "Please.."

Hiromi swallows hard, a mix of emotions churning in his chest. Surprise, worry, and protectiveness all coalesce into a single determination. He knows he can't force himself onto you, no matter how much he wants to ease your pain. But he also recognizes your need for comfort and relief.

"Alright," he agrees quietly, rising from the bed to move to the foot of it. "Let's get you more comfortable first."

With utmost gentleness, Hiromi eases you onto your back, making sure you're lying flat and secure on the bed. He removes your remaining clothing, ensuring you're comfortable throughout the process. Once you're settled, his fingertips brush against your skin, eliciting a shiver from you.

"Sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Just trying to make you as comfortable as possible."

He prepares himself, taking off his garments and discarding them on the floor, "Ready?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

A tremulous nod is your response, your eyes locked with his. Hiromi smiles softly, reaching for your legs. He spreads them apart gently, his touch tender yet purposeful.

"We'll take this slowly," he promises, his thumbs brushing the inside of your thighs. Your thighs shake slightly, but he stops immediately. "If at any moment you feel pain or discomfort, please tell me, okay?"

You give a small nod, and he continues, his fingers tracing along your inner thighs before eventually finding their way to your core. A nervous flutter courses through you, but he remains patient and gentle.

"Just relax," he instructs as he directs himself between your legs.

Hiromi enters you slowly, taking his time to allow your body to adjust to his presence. He moves with careful precision, each thrust deliberate and unhurried. A deep sense of tenderness fills him as he looks into your eyes, gauging your reaction. Your breath hitches with each movement, but there's no sign of distress.

"How are you doing?" he asks softly, his pace matching the rhythm of your breathing.

"Good..so good.. It's so deep and it's.. a-ah", you flinch at his sudden and rough thrust.

Hiromi winces slightly at your discomfort, stopping instantly. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to cause you pain." He pulls out slowly, his expression full of concern.

"No, it's fine..." you breathe out. "Don't stop..."

He studies your face for a moment, making sure you're truly okay. When he sees your nod, he begins again, moving slower than before.

As his movements continue, his shaft becomes coated with your menstrual blood. Despite the unusual circumstance, Hiromi pushes those thoughts aside and focuses solely on providing comfort and relief. Each stroke is filled with tender care, designed to bring warmth and pleasure rather than discomfort.

Your eyes close, your body arching ever so slightly with each thrust. The room is filled with nothing but the sounds of your soft moans and his steady breaths.

As the minutes pass, Hiromi can feel your body responding to his touch, the subtle changes telling him you're nearing your climax. His own heart races, feeling a strange mixture of pride and protectiveness. All he desires is to provide you with comfort and release.

"That's it," he whispers, his tempo increasing ever so slightly. "Let go, darling. Let the pleasure wash away your pain."

Suddenly, your body tenses, a wave of ecstasy washing over you. Hiromi matches your intensity, his own breath catching in his throat as he feels your muscles clench around him. With one final surge, he follows you over the edge, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

As your orgasm subsides, Hiromo collapses onto your chest, his heart pounding heavily against yours. He kisses your forehead softly, his breath ragged. "There you go," he murmurs.

"Thank you for trusting me," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I hope this helped alleviate your pain."

You look up at him, a grateful smile gracing your lips. "Thank you, it does not pain anymore"

Smile washes over Hiromi's face as he realizes his actions have indeed brought you relief. He pulls out slowly, carefully cleaning up afterwards. Once done, he helps you get cleaned and comfortable, tucking you in tightly.

Hiromi wraps you in his arms, feeling your gratitude like a soothing balm on his soul. He holds you close, stroking your hair gently as you snuggle against his chest. The silence between you speaks volumes about the bond shared - one of love, protection, and unspoken understanding.

"Get some rest now," he says softly, his voice lulling you further into relaxation.

◈ CHOSO KAMO

As a stepfather, Choso is there for you in times of need. Right now, you're going through your period, and he's ready to help take care of you. He's not bold or confident, but he knows how important it is to support you during this time.

Being a curse, Choso is indeed curious about the human body. As he helps you with your period, he finds himself fascinated by your menstrual cycle. He wants to comfort you and learn more about this natural process, taking care of you while gently studying your body.

Gently, Choso holds you close as you lay on his thighs, the cramps making you hiss occasionally. His fingers lightly trace circles over your stomach, attempting to provide comfort as he absorbs the rhythm of your pain. The unfamiliar feeling of caring for someone heals a part of him, even though it's something as simple as relieving period cramps.

"Are you okay?" Choso whispers softly, concern lacing his voice. "I've never experienced something like this before... I want to help, but I'm not sure what to do." He continues stroking your stomach, trying to find some relief for you and hoping his touch brings comfort amidst the discomfort.

You force a smile, saying you're fine, but Choso can tell you're not. Your words don't match the tension in your body. He carefully moves closer, placing his hands between your legs, gently caressing your stomach in a slow, soothing motion.

"May I try massaging your lower abdomen?," he suggests, cautiously approaching your abdomen. His fingers are warm and soft, hesitating slightly as he seeks your permission. "It might help with the cramps," he adds, his dark purple eyes filled with concern. He's never done this before, but he wants to help you feel better. He's always been interested in human bodies and their functions, but now he's learning more intimately.

Reluctantly, you nod, allowing Choso to continue massaging your lower abdomen. His fingers move slowly, tracing gentle patterns that might bring you some relief. As he works his fingers, you instinctively start grinding against his hand, seeking more friction to ease your discomfort. Choso notices this, but doesn't stop.

As his fingers reach closer to your core, you let out soft moans that he interprets as pleasure rather than pain. He sees how much you enjoy it, and decides to use his other hand too, cupping your hip to guide you into proper position. He studies your reactions, understanding that the sensation seems to bring you relief. The curves of your hips and the heat of your body under his hands make him feel both excited and responsible for your well-being.

"Is this helping?" he asks, his voice low and husky, portraying a hint of excitement. "I'm not sure if I'm doing this right, but I think it might be working." He watches your movements closely, guided by your responses. Every moan, every small sound of pleasure fuels his curiosity and makes him wonder how else he could make you feel good.

Despite his confusion and innocence, Choso can't ignore the growing attraction between you both. His cock starts to stiffen, pressing against his clothes. He groans softly trying to hide his arousal but you soon turn your head to reveal his massive bulge pressing against your head.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, embarrassed by his reaction. "This wasn't supposed to happen..." He's unsure how to handle the situation, partially aroused and partially concerned for you. "Should we stop?"

"P-please, let me grind against it", with a mix of surprise and nervousness, you beg him to let you grind against his erection. Choso's heart races; this isn't what he expected. Reluctantly, he places your head on the pillow, positions himself between your legs and undoes your pants, revealing your bloodied and swollen pussy. His eyes widen, he has never seen something like this.

He pulls out his own hard cock making sure he does everything to make you feel better. Carefully, he guides the head of his cock to your throbbing clit, rubbing it back and forth in small motions. Your contractions push your wet folds onto the tip of his shaft, leaving a trail of blood. Choso can't help but groan, feeling the warmth and wet folds rubbing against his member.

Choso looks into your eyes, seeking consent or dismissal. What he sees is desire, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Swallowing hard, he feels a strange mixture of arousal and responsibility. Choso's pace increases as both of you moan heavily. He keeps rubbing his cock against your clit, feeling your wetness increase with each thrust.

Soon, you climax, shaking in his grasp, and he can't hold back anymore. Aching to release his own tension, Choso spills his cum onto your belly, still rubbing his cock against your clit. The warmth of your body and the sight of his seed spreading over your skin overwhelm him. "I'm—I'm sorry," he mumbles, pulling away. "That wasn-"

You interrupt him with "T-thank you.."

Choso's face turns bright red, but he can't deny the gratitude in your voice. Confusion clouds his mind, but he appreciates your Thank you.

"Y-you're welcome..." He stammers, trying to catch his breath. Despite everything, he feels satisfied knowing he brought pleasure to you. "Do you feel better now?"

"Y-yes so much", you admit.

After a moment, Choso kisses your cheeks gently, surprised at how soft and warm they feel. He stands up, helping you to your feet as well. "Let's clean up," he says quietly, guiding you towards the bathroom.

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[peachyscenes]

nine to five | office workers!enhypen x fem!reader

notes: SMUT!! so mdni and proceed with caution/at your own risk! porn with some plot. you 🫵, my dear reader are in fact the same person for the rest of this piece/mini-series (not sorry lol). enhypen are pervs! like freaky pervs! decelis corp is lowkey highkey a sex service company lol. you must really need this job but it's ok because same. inspired by both enha's new music video AND the intern mini-series by @lomlhwa (literally CHEF'S kiss)

reblogs are appreciated!!

Welcome to Decelis Corporation! As the new member of the creative department, you're tasked with developing new ideas to help promote the company and bring in new investors! Though the creative department is not as big as the other departments, you and your seven teammates are just as capable and incredibly skilled! Though, no one told you just how skilled they were... And unfortunately you made the mistake of not reading the fine print when signing the contract...

All members are welcome to explore the services provided by Decelis! By signing this contract, you are consenting to every and all services at your own expense (refer to the employee handbook for the list of services)! Please note that services outside of office hours will not count as overtime unless a request has been submitted by the team leader!

Thank you for joining Decelis Corporation! We hope to have you for a while!

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII

PART I: Heeseung, Office Manager/Team Leader

He was very friendly when you first came into the company. Heeseung was one of the first people to really show you the ropes of the office. He told you where the good coffee was and where to buy lunch if you didn't bring any from home. He also helped you with deadlines if the other guys (Sunghoon) decided to leave you with the bulk of the shared work. Heeseung is a good guy.

What you're not aware of, is his lingering stare when you're too close to another team member. Or when you wear your pencil skirts rather than your dress pants. Or when you decide to dress more casually in jeans and bend down to find the pen you just dropped.

Heeseung was a starer with many thoughts about you.

He knows you didn't read the fine print of the company contract. You have this innocent look on your face that's unaware of the multiple uses of the break room on your floor. You smile at him so prettily, completely oblivious to the wolfish stares he and the others give you. You look at him with admiration, and it gets him hard when he's reading through the weekly reports that Sunoo emails him.

Today is no exception. You're wearing your hair in a ponytail and you're sporting glasses instead of your contacts.

"Why the glasses?" he hears Jungwon ask.

"I- I was running late..." you replied, looking a bit embarrassed. You miss the way Jungwon smirks at you, but Heeseung doesn't. And he doesn't like it.

"Jungwon." You both straighten up at the sound of the leader's voice. Heeseung steadily walks towards you both, eyes locked on the younger man. "Did you send me the spreadsheet for this week?" Jungwon's eyebrows rise up as a sudden epiphany hits him at the mention of the spreadsheet. he sputters out a half-apology, going back to his desk to start it.

"Y/n?"

You turn towards Heeseung, and you resemble a deer caught in headlights. Heeseung has to suppress the thought of you on your knees for him when you look at him with your wide eyes.

"The higher-ups really liked your report from last week," he starts off. Your eyes twinkle at the news. You also seem to relax a bit compared to when Jungwon was spoken to.

"Really?"

Heeseung nods, taking a step closer towards you.

"They were wondering if you could stay overtime to make some calls about your proposals."

That spark in your eye is gone at the mention of having to stay past office hours. Heeseung's eyebrow raises at the change in mood.

"You don't want to? I already filled out the overtime form for you, I just need a confirmation..."

"It's not that I don't want to... It's just that, Jungwon asked if I wanted to eat dinner with him later..."

Heeseung feels his eye twitch.

"And I hate the thought of staying here on my own late at night. It's kinda creepy..."

There's a bit of silence between you two and you think he might tease you but instead, he flashes you a smile. It's the same one he gave you on your first day when he welcomed you.

"I'll stay with you. I have to work on some things anyways."

Your first overtime shift was when you realized that maybe you should've read the fine print.

Heeseung's kisses were hungry. You were worried about being caught but according to him,

"Overtime means no disruptions. It's on page 15 of the handbook."

He has you perched on one of the desks in your department. His hands felt like fire. His lips were addicting. You felt like you were about to explode if he kept grinding his hardened cock against your leg.

"S-slow down, Hee," you bite your lip to swallow down a moan. He simply smirks at you before kissing down your neck. You whimper when you feel his teeth nibble around the area.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting, baby. Been wanting to fuck you since day one." He harshly bites down on the side of your neck, and you're so sure that you're going to have to wear one of your turtlenecks tomorrow.

Heeseung's hand starts trailing from your thigh to your clothed pussy. The material of your dress pants feels rough against your clit when Heeseung cups you.

"H-hold on Hee! We don't even know each other!"

He clicks his tongue before letting out a sigh.

"Y/nnie... You've been working here for 3 months now... Of course we know each other!"

"B-but we never hang out outside of work-!"

Heeseung cuts you off by leaning in to kiss you, this time shoving his tongue into your mouth. You immediately reciprocate his kiss and move your own tongue against his. He pulls away and puts his forehead against your own, a laugh escapes him.

"You say you don't know me, but you're kissing me back so well. You want this Y/nnie~"

You let out a whine, the hand on his chest uselessly pushing him away. Heeseung proceeds to unbutton your dress pants before slowly pulling down the zipper. He holds eye contact with you as he does this, smiling even wider when you make no effort to really stop him.

"Tell me something Y/n." He shoves his hand down your underwear, immediately feeling your wet cunt, spreading your lower lips to gather your wetness on his fingers. "Have you ever thought of me doing something to you?" He adds a single finger inside your aching pussy.

"N-no!" you look away from him, too embarrassed to have let him have his way with you. Your answer doesn't seem to please him, because Heeseung then adds another finger, moving them in and out of your cunt and reaching spots that you haven't been able to. Your face falls at the sensation, and you're using every fiber of your being to not give into him.

"You're lying baby, I see the way you look at me." Heeseung's fingers pick up the pace, the sloshing sound of your cunt is so erotic and almost immediately you give up trying to stay quiet.

"Hee-Heeseung! Oh my God~" Your toes curl when he hits a particular spot, head thrown back as you quickly give up fighting against him. You unconsciously spread your legs more for him, and he can only laugh at you.

"Such a slut, baby." You clench at his words, eyes rolling back as he continues. "What will Wonie say when he finds out I fucked you on his desk?"

You can barely hear what he's saying, too focused on his fingers deep in your cunt. Your jaw hangs open as his fingers begin to get rougher.

"D-don't stop! Fuck! M'almost close Hee!" You're moaning like a mantra, too far gone because of him.

"You gonna come for me baby?"

You nod, mind going numb to truly respond to him.

He feels your pussy begin to spasm and he helps you ride out your orgasm by rubbing his thumb against your clit. Heeseung doesn't stop until you're whining at the overstimulation and pushing his hand away. You feel some seconds pass and you forget what you're about to say to him because he makes you stand from the desk and pushes you to your knees. You look up at Heeseung and he's looking down at you as he unbuckles his belt.

"We're gonna make use of your pretty ponytail, hmm?" He doesn't even fully remove his pants, instead he pushes them and his underwear down enough to free his cock. It's not girthy, but it's long. "Give it a kiss?"

You hesitantly lean in to peck the tip. It feels hot again your lips. You look back up at him and Heeseung rolls his eyes.

"You gotta put it in your mouth now, baby."

You swallow the lump that's stuck in your throat before leaning in to suck his tip into your mouth. Heeseung lets out a sigh, nodding his head to encourage you to take more of him. You slowly take as much of his length as you can, you feel his tip at the back of your throat and you can't help the gag that arises. He's not even halfway in. l

"Careful baby, don't want you to choke. Breathe f'me." You nod, and slowly take in more of him. Heeseung lets out a groan when he looks down at you. He regrets leaving his phone on his desk when your nose touches his abdomen.

You slowly begin to bob your head along his cock, careful to not gag around him. Drool begins to drip down your jaw and onto your neck. Heeseung lets out a moan. You feel the grip on your ponytail tighten and let out a whine when Heeseung begins to control your pace to a faster one.

"Look so pretty like this... Jay's gonna be so jealous." You don't register what he says, too focus on how turned on you are. Your glasses start to fog up at Heeseung's ministrations. Your face sports a sheen layer of sweat. The sounds that emit from you make you feel dizzy.

Heeseung sees the way you look and grins when he feels your hands grip onto his leg.

"You like my cock?" His grin spreads when he sees your eyes roll. "Keep going baby, gonna come real soon."

Your thighs start to rub together to relieve some of the tension. Heeseung notices and forces his leg between your thighs, placing his dress shoe against your cunt.

"Use me baby."

You grind your cunt against his shoe, your moan vibrating on his cock. Heeseung's breathing begins to stagger the more you continue. His hold on your ponytail tightens as his pace becomes sloppy.

"Gonna come, I want you to swallow, ok?" You try your best to nod, too indulged by the relief he's given you. Heeseung bobs your head once, twice, and you feel his cum release into you mouth. He keeps your head still as he empties himself out, breathing hard to calm himself down. After some seconds, Heeseung removes his hand from your hair and his foot from between your legs, you whine out in protest at the loss, but he simply leans down to catch your jaw, tilting your head up.

"Swallow baby." You do as he says, and he lets out a low groan when your tongue comes out to clean around your lips.

Heeseung helps you stand on your feet before turning you around, pushing your chest against the surface of the desk.

You finally get a good look at the desk and your eyes widened in realization of Heeseung's words from earlier. Right in front of you is Jungwon's framed photo of him and your team leader. You're about to protest when you feel your pants being pulled all the way down and Heeseung's own belt hitting the floor.

"This is Jungwon's desk Hee! We have to go somewhere else-!" For the second time, Heeseung cuts you off by landing a smack on your ass. You feel a glob of spit fall on your opening and his tip rubs itself against you to gather his spit and your own wetness.

"Don't mention his name."

He pushes into you in one go, your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Heeseung beings to pound into your pussy, his grip on your hips are sure to leave a mark. You try to hold yourself up on your elbows, but his hand pushes your head on the desk to keep you down.

"Pussy so fucking good." He throws his head back, reveling in the feeling of your pussy. You whimper as he lands a hard smack on your ass again.

"Heeseung! S-slow down!" You shut your eyes at his brutal pace. Your airways feel constricted the more he fucks you.

You want to tell him that this isn't right. Not only are you soiling Jungwon's desk, he's not listening to you at all. But the sick little side of you has always wanted this. You've thought about Heeseung before. Thought about how he'd be like in bed, about the feeling of his cock, if he was vocal or quiet. You've had many thoughts about Heeseung, you're just too shy to act on it.

"Such a whiny baby, Y/nnie. Y'feel that?" He takes your hand and trails it down to press it against your stomach. His cock bulges out slightly, making you feel dizzy at how deep he is.

"Who's fucking you?"

Your brain is barely functioning, too cock-drunk to answer him. Heeseung's hand lingers to your throat to squeeze it before pulling you up against his chest by your neck.

"Answer me baby, who's fucking you so good?"

"Y-you! You Hee! Fuck! So good!"

Your moans are incoherent, as he speeds up his pace. His thrusts begin to get more sloppy.

"Please let me come inside. Let me eat your pussy with my cum."

You clench around his cock at his words. Heeseung's hand on your hips move to rub your clit. Your legs begin to tremble and finally, you came, spasming around him. Heeseung thrusts into you a couple more times before finally coming as well.

You shudder at how warm his cum feels inside you. He stays inside for a bit and you're grateful, too spent to really move and let him move. His hands find purchase on your hips again, rubbing them as if to soothe you.

"So.... You're still gonna let me eat you out right?"

[oikasugayama]

YOU CATCH HIM M@STURBAT!NG pt. 3

MDNI, this is a NSFW series for adults

pt. 1 Fyodor, Poe, Chuuya | pt. 2 Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai | pt. 3 Ranpo, Akutagawa, Ango | pt. 4 Sigma, Mori, Tetcho | pt. 5 (finale) Atsushi, Nikolai

Ranpo

you get a weird voicemail from Ranpo in which he was whimpering and saying "please, please, [y/n]," and then there was some fumbling with the phone and it cut off.

you're worried, of course you are, thinking maybe someone had taken him or hurt him and he needed your help, so you rush to his dorm and pound on the door, calling his name

you press your ear to the door and hear some muffled voices suddenly cut off, then hard footsteps approaching.

when ranpo throws the door open, his face is flushed, his hat and glasses are no where to be seen but his eyes are wide open, pupils dilated. you glance down and notice his clothes are disheveled, his shirt not tucked in, his fly undone, he's not wearing any shoes.

"WHAT" he snaps.

"i-- i thought you were-- you sent me a voicemail, it sounded like you were hurt or something??"

his face falls and simultaneously gets significantly redder, he steps back slightly and tries to think of what to say. that's when you spot his open laptop on the table beside a box of tissues and some lotion

"oh fuck," you say, looking from it to him. "holy shit, you were-- oh my god i'm so sorry!!"

he panics, trying to block your view "what? no-- no, i can explain, i was--"

"wait, was that voicemail in the middle of you masturbating?? dude, you said my name"

"seriously, it's-- no, i didn't, it was a misunderstanding!!"

"you know, you're a terrible liar, ranpo. brilliant mind, but a terrible liar."

Akutagawa

god he looks hot in this gif

Mori sends you to get Akutagawa for an impromptu meeting, which you have a sinking feeling is about your conduct with Akutagawa during the last mission. you nearly missed a target because you were, ahem... busy... in an alley together.

the first place you look for akutagawa, obviously, is in his own office, but he isn't there. in the hallway you run into Gin, so you ask if she knows where her brother is, and she says he was looking for you not long ago, so you decide to check your own office.

as soon as you crack the door open you hear the wet noise of his precum-damp hand pumping his cock. since you started hooking up, he's been finding you nearly every day to get his load off, it's no surprise that he's doing it here without you.

"akutagawa," you hiss, slinking into your office and locking the door behind you. "mori wants us to meet him now, probably about this exactly thing. i don't think we can keep doing this."

his hand stops and he glares at you, frowny mouth turning further to a scowl.

"mori may be the head of the organization, but he can't tell me who i can fuck. come here."

you take a second to decide, but when akutagawa stretches his free hand out to you, you rush to accept it. his expression brightens, no longer scowling but now smirking.

"good girl. mori can wait, can't he?"

"yes," you nod, sinking to your knees in front of him.

you meet with mori only after the taste of akutagawa's cum fills your mouth

Ango

You work into your lunch break, trying to finish a report that your boss needs asap. when you finally finish, you rush to ango's office to drop it off. you throw the door open without knocking, walk in several steps, and only then do you notice a few things:

he's not at lunch, he's still sitting at his desk.

his dick is out, in hand.

he's staring at you, in shock, with a slightly grumpy look on his face.

"sir!"

"close the fucking door," he demands, and you oblige quickly, trying to slip out as well, but he stops you. "ah, ah-- you stay. just close the door, and lock it while you're at it."

you do and slowly turn around to face him, and you can't help but to watch the way his fingers tease the head of his cock, brushing across the slit, feeling every contour of the tip.

"is that the finished report?"

"yes sir..."

"bring it to me."

you walk on shaky legs toward him, and his hand goes back to stroking himself as you get closer. you try to lay the report on his desk, but she shakes his head and reaches his free hand out. you give it to him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"why are you shaking?"

you try to stutter out a response, settling on "i don't know what to do."

"i find that hard to believe," he says slowly, turning toward the empty space beside his chair. "you always know what to do. that's why you're my best assistant."

the praise isn't anything new, he's always far nicer to you than anyone else he works with. you should have known the day he would hit on you or ask you out would come, but you never expected it to happen at work, and not like this.

"yes sir..." you say, slowly rounding his desk until you're standing in front of him. you drop to your knees and he sighs contentedly, leaning his head back against his chair and closing his eyes.

"good girl," he moans when your mouth touches him. "the best."

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.3 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 1 | pt.2 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - spencer likes the girl from the convenience store

warnings - awkward conversations and long silences, both of them being hopeless romantics, allergies/sickness

genre - fluff!!! college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

a/n - thank you for the love and support on this series. it goes without saying i appreciate all of you all 🫶 thank u @raevyng for the cameo. sorry this is short, it’s either i upload this part or i make y’all wait for another week - i like you guys too much to do that.

“good job on you’re stem cell report, y/n. it was very informed and unique. i liked the, now who was it… william blake quote you included!” the teacher spoke before a class of 60. it was back to teaching new information before the next assessment, you were just about finished typing the professor’s notes before she spoke up. the mention of your name nearly made you jump.

a few of the students looked back up at you, some looking around because they had no clue who you were. you liked it better that way.

you also had no idea who william blake was.

“oh- um. thanks.” you say barely above a whisper. professor raena simply smiled and pushed back her shoulder length bob from her face. she started talking again, so did your friend.

“thanks? the professor who’s known to call out people for their incompetence more than smile in the classroom just praised you. that’s all you had to say?”

maybe logan wasn’t your friend per say. maybe she was just someone who sat next to you the first class and also happened to be your neighbour. she was stubborn and straight-forward, insanely intelligent and also smelt great. but she was caring, and gave you tough love when you needed it.

you glanced at her and smiled awkwardly, “i didn’t have much time to think about an answer.”

“i spend most of my time thinking about what i’d say to professor raena if she ever complimented me.”

“that’s because your-“ you suddenly muffle a cough into your hand, “obsessed with her.” you bring out a small packet of tissues from your bag and wipe your nose, nose reddening. logan leans slightly away from you and you roll your eyes.

“you’re not going to catch anything, it’s just allergies.” you lean back and try to continue typing notes but logan continues,

“you should go home, have some medicine, get some sleep.”

“i can’t, i’ve got work.” you whispered, a man in front of you turning around to shoot you with a side eye.

“you’ve told me multiple times that your manager wouldn’t care if you stole from the store. i’ve also told you many times i also don’t care.”

“yeah well… i like working there, that’s all.”

she rolls her eyes again, and waves you off, her long brown hair blocking her disappointed expression from you.

you stayed loyal to your job for two nights, for nothing. sure you got paid, and sure you got to steal some strawberry milk to ease your throat for a couple of minutes, but it felt boring. you actually started to file through the month old magazines you sold for double the price of a new one. you almost made it a third day without dying of allergies (and another secret feeling of sickness you constantly ignored), before you decided you were over it.

you stood up, flipped the door sign so the word ‘open’ faced you, and turned off half of the fluorescent lights before someone was suddenly in the corner of your eyes. spencer was opening the door so quickly you thought you were being robbed, you wouldn’t have seen him if not for the bell ringing on his entry.

“y/n.” he panted, watching your fingers hover over the last light switch. there was two lights left flickering softly above the front door and the check out desk. he looked stoic in the light, dressed in a grey sweater a little too big for him (like his mother had bought it for him telling him he’d grow into it) and black slacks. he seemed to have gotten a trim, his hair just under his ears now. “you don’t close until 1.”

he was confused, eyes wandering with a light hint of relief. like he was happy he didn’t miss you.

“yeah.” is all you said before you turned away from the light switch and returned to the register, assuming he would get his usual. but he didn’t keep walking, he just turned his body to face you. his eyes were expectant, delirious in a way like he needed something from you.

it was silent before the tension literally forced you to speak, “um. i need to close the store before i pass out. so i can uh… get home alive.” you look down and realise the pile of tissues before you was making a mountain, quickly grabbing them and stuffing them in an over filled bin.

“um.” a cat caught his tongue, he looked down to his feet.

spencer was sitting in his desk chair, scrolling on his government provided computer through forums and websites on ‘how to ask out a girl.’ not realising a majority of his team was reading them as well. he heard a small, familiar giggle behind him, quickly closing the tab and turning his head to be met with many other faces. jj slapped garcia on the shoulder with a smile, who’s hand was over her mouth, morgan and emily also smiling. spencer sighed and was about to cover for himself before morgan stepped in,

“look, pretty boy. no websites or article is ever going to teach you how to ask out a girl. they know nothing.”

emily joined, “yeah, none of those things are going to work. i mean, one of those said ‘don’t take no for an answer’. that’s straight up harassment.” she chuckled. morgan walked forward and placed a hand on spencer’s shoulder.

“all you have to do is talk. learn to what she likes, and be confident.”

“that’s easy for you to say.” spencer mumbled.

“who is this girl anyways? who’s taking our genius away from us?” garcia asked, today her hair was adorned with green themed pieces and a small pink flower clip.

spencer couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth perk up when he thought about the girl who worked at the convenience store. the girl who’s report honestly impressed him. the girl who knew his total without looking at the register. the girl who called him good looking without noticing, like it slipped off of her tongue with no second thought. “just someone.”

you were not just someone.

“yeah you should get home. you look terrible.” spencer’s eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow, “no i mean- not terrible- you never look or have ever looked terrible- i just meant today- no you- like you’re sick and obviously- i mean you don’t obviously look terrible- it’s just uh…” he nodded at himself after he noticed a smile creeping onto your face. “you know what i mean.”

“i know i look terrible, thank you.” he was slowly walking up to the register.

“you really should go home, i shouldn’t keep you here because of some coffee.”

you eyes stung and were puffed in redness, you nose dried yet running, eyebrow lines permanent from warding off a migraine. any other customer you would stay for, but you felt less guilty with him. not because you didn’t care, because you knew he did.

“yeah, thank you.” you grabbed your bag, put your empty water bottle into it and walked over to the lights, turning off the last ones, leaving you both in darkness. spencer was waiting for you, quite creepily as he was basically just a block of void. “you sure you don’t need your 3 minute lasagne?” you joked, and he smiled.

“no, this is fine.”

this? them? you thought this man was articulate.

you opened the door with a key-accessed button that automatically locked it after it closed, and walked into the warm streetlight with spencer.

“bye spencer.” you looked up to him only to find his eyes already on you. his face was plain of emotion, except maybe it was just the lighting that made you think he looked disappointed. not at you, at himself. he was silent, hands making their way into his pockets. it was a habit, you had learned. “what’s wrong spencer?” you asked softly, sniffling immediately after.

it was cold, the wind let a stray piece of hair cross your stuffy features.

“do you like old bookstores, y/n?”

you blinked, taken aback. “yeah. i like old bookstores.” you huddled into your sweater, a darker grey compared to his with a large font displaying your university.

“okay, goodbye y/n. see you tomorrow.” he hurried off into his car and you followed him with you eyes in curiosity.

you were already walking away before he could turn around and ask you something, he felt like he had missed his chance. but there would be more. spencer closed his eyes in frustration and took a breath, starting his car before texting the team’s group chat.

“Attempt One failed. 😐👎”

there was a string of messages after but he didn’t read them. all he could think about was the percentage of people who die alone, and then the percentage of people who are like you.

the next night he appeared at the normal time, around nearly 11pm. but he wasn’t the only one, logan was there with you, studying behind you on the floor.

she was bored, and needed to get out of her room, and the only person she knew well enough was you. there in her mens pyjama pants and an over-sized shirt that read ‘RIP Princess Diana’ with a photo of owen wilson on it, her computer warmed her lap and made a soft whirling sound the in the background.

“hi y/n.” spencer waved, he felt bad about last night. you were barely walking straight when you left and he could tell you wouldn’t get out of your ‘work clothes’ (whatever you wanted to wear with a vest over it) before falling onto your mattress, and he drove away. he didn’t even offer to take and walk you home, let alone give you a ride. but his hands were sweating and his heart thumping in his ears, and he couldn’t think straight.

“oh, hi spencer.” you turned from your own textbook splayed on the counter beside you to see spencer and his tall self. a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him.

he wasn’t meeting you eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows for a second before telling him his total with a sniffle.

“i’m sorry for not driving you home,” he lifted his head, a piece of chocolate brown hair crossing his left eye, “or walking you home. or making sure you made it home safe.”

you widened your eyes slightly and sat still before spencer cleared his throat and continued, “i was nervous, about being around you. and my friends- my colleagues- told me i need to be more confident around you so.”

logan had stopped writing, glancing through her bangs up at you both. your mouth was slightly agape before you realised how stupid you looked and how awkward you were making it.

“oh- no it’s okay spencer, you don’t have to say sorry. i was- i’m fine. um,” you tilt your head with the corner of your lips quirking up with little resistance, “you talk about me to your friends?”

spencer nodded, put his hands in his pockets and thought for a second. he wished there was a better place to do this, a better person to take over for him.

all you have to do is talk.

spencer is great at talking.

“did you know that you could be scrolling for seven weeks before you can reach the end of ‘how to ask a girl out’ results on google? i was scrolling for a long time but then my friends told me to just talk and be confident, but i’m only good at one of those thing. so i was trying to ask you out last night but then i- well i failed basically, it isn’t my strong suit,” he took a breath, “so basically i’m saying sorry for not asking you out and not driving you home.”

it was silent, even a customer stopped humming.

“and also your allergy medication isn’t strong enough for your symptoms.” he glanced down to a white and blue box by your hand. you looked down, seeing logan in the corner of your eyes, hand covering her face.

“spencer-“

“dude just ask her out.”

spencer’s face dropped, and he looked over the counter to find another woman sat down, a cringed out expression on her face. his nervousness increased after he realised this wasn’t as private a conversation as he thought. wiping his hand on his vest, he continue with a gulp,

“no i can’t. not here, um. i’ll see you on monday. and i promise i’ll uh- be better? i’ll try again, so. okay see you on monday.” he quickly took his groceries and walked off quite speedily. you watched him walk away and then once he was out of sight, you simply stared at the box of allergy medication on the counter.

logan groaned in the background and said something about growing balls, but it was tv silence for you.

you didn’t know how to go out with someone, your last relationship was in your first year of high school with a guy who thought baby’s came out of a woman’s bum. not that spencer meant he wanted a relationship, no it could just be a friend ‘going out’. totally not romantic.

you slump and stuff your face in your hands. you didn’t care if you hadn’t dated for however long, he didn’t seem to be a man-whore at all. you just cared about how you were actually going to say yes to a man you’ve only talked to inside of an off-brand convenience store on the night shift.

you muffle a scream before the same silent customer placed a carton of milk on the counter.

“$2.50.” you grumble.

you carried logan’s computer bag as she took out a box of strawberry pocky on the sidewalk. the store was locked, the air was crisp, the light was flickering. you didn’t say much until logan couldn’t stand it anymore.

“you know when you’re this silent it’s actually pretty nice, i like peaceful walks home.” you nodded, and continued your racing thoughts with your line of vision stuck on the concrete as you both walked the block to your apartments. she sighed, “but it’s odd. you love talking. a guy likes you and you go mute?”

“his name is spencer, he does something dangerous for a living, he likes old books and drinks a lot of coffee. he gets home late at night, looks skinny but can lift a box of flour above his head with ease. he’s insanely smart and reads poetry, and helped me with my stem cell report.”

you look over at logan who looks a little disgusted but mainly confused.

“he helped me lift that box of flour without me asking. i have no idea who william blake is. i have no idea how he managed to put poetry in a biology report, and i have no idea how he can admit he’s going to ask me out and then not ask me out. his favourite colour is purple, his favourite fruit is grapes but he buys apples because they’re cheaper. and his name is… spencer.”

logan stopped in her tracks, making you copy. you flung out of whatever trance you were stuck in and raised an eyebrow at logan, “what?”

“what? oh no i don’t know, maybe you’ve just never told me about a man you happen to know a lot about, and yet don’t know anything about. you sound insane- not in the ‘loony-bin way’, in the romcom way. it’s disgusting.”

you both continued to walk, climbing the stairs to the foyer of your building before she took back her bag and gave you the pocky, mumbling, “you need these more than me.”

the elevator ride was mostly silent, and that continued before you both unlocked your apartment doors right beside each other.

“you need to ask him out, if he doesn’t do it first.” she entered her apartment before you could speak, let alone think.

suddenly your apartment felt lonely.

so did spencer’s.

he was cross legged on his plush couch on a call with penelope garcia, she was squealing every second minute trying to create a plan for spencer to ask someone out.

“spence, you’re making this very hard. how am i supposed to be your coach if i only have half a team?”

“you can find someone’s address with half a fingerprint, i think you’ll be fine.” he takes a bite of his 2 minute bolognese.

“that takes the fun out of it. i can only give you tips if i know her personality.”

spencer sighed, and thought for a second, he could practically hear penelope’s growing smile knowing she had won.

“her names y/n.” garcia squealed. “she’s smart and pretty. and her favourite colour’s purple and she studies biology. she knows my groceries off my heart and she’s allergic to pollen. she works late at night at the convenience store two blocks away from my apartment building, and she likes old book stores. she’ll be introverted around an extroverted person, but extroverted around an introverted person. she can read my expressions faster than anyone else, she tries out different hairstyles when nobody’s in the store, and she’s funny.” spencer smiles to himself, “she’s pretty.”

“you mentioned that, lover boy.”

pt.4

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @trashmonstersara @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @amortencjja @anuncalledbridge @belsreid @redmurderbaby @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @ilikw @screechingphantommaker

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 1 | Bucky

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 ,Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You were exhausted. Having just returned from covering another incident, you were familiar with the grueling reality of being a journalist in a foreign country.

Limited access compared to local reporters made the job even more challenging. Despite your fatigue, this was the career you had chosen and loved.

When you arrived at your apartment, you noticed a woman waiting for you. She was shorter and bustier than you, with curly, short red hair. The woman approached you with a confident stride.

“Hello. My name is Natasha,” she introduced herself, handing you a business card.

You glanced at the card, noting her affiliation with the Secret Service.

Is this for real?

“Yes. How may I help you?” You asked, confusion evident in your voice as you fumbled with your keys at the doorknob.

“I’m here to bring you back home,” Natasha replied.

“Why?” you asked, still trying to process why a Secret Service agent would be looking for you.

“Because your husband is looking for you,” Natasha said.

You froze, your mind struggling to make sense of what you had just heard. Turning slowly, you looked at Natasha, your face betraying a hint of incredulous amusement. “I’m sorry? You must be mistaken. I’ve been divorced for years.”

“Yes, I know the story,” Natasha said, her tone steady.

“Goodbye then,” you said quickly, attempting to close the door. The mention of your ex-husband was something you had left behind, and you wanted nothing to do with it.

“The divorce was never finalized,” Natasha said firmly.

“What?” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in disbelief. You had signed the documents, or so you thought. You swung the door open wide and saw two more men standing beside Natasha, their presence making it clear you were outnumbered—three to one.

“Seems like you’ve come to understand the situation,” Natasha said. “I’ll explain everything, but for now, you need to follow me.”

What she meant by following her quickly became apparent as the men gently but firmly guided you toward a car.

Inside, you hoped Natasha would provide answers, but she continued making calls, leaving you in a state of growing frustration.

Upon arriving at the airport, you realized it was not a regular one but a private jet facility.

“Let’s go,” Natasha said, gesturing toward the plane’s stairs.

As you climbed aboard, you noticed Natasha following closely behind. An air steward offered you a tray with a cup of jasmine tea. You took a sip, the delicate aroma providing a brief moment of comfort.

“Let me guess, this is his plane?” you asked, your tone tinged with suspicion.

“Yes,” Natasha nodded.

As the plane took off, the tension in the cabin was palpable.

“You still haven’t said a word,” you remarked, trying to break the silence.

“Because of the timing and for precautions,” Natasha said, her expression serious. “You won’t like what I’m going to say.”

“Tell me something I don’t hate more. You know how much I despise my ex-husband and his family,” you snapped, the bitterness clear in your voice. The memories of their interference and disdain for your background still stung deeply.

“Your husband is going to be the candidate for Vice President,” Natasha said, her voice steady despite the gravity of the news.

“...What?” you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you processed the information.

Natasha didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she pulled out a tablet and handed it to you. On the screen, you saw a video of your ex-husband. He stood proudly in a suit, smiling and raising his arms as the crowd erupted in cheers.

The title beneath the video read, “James Barnes: The Youngest Candidate for Vice President.”

You gasped, your disbelief palpable. “This is a joke.”

“Hundreds of supporters don’t think it’s a joke, ma’am,” Natasha replied, her tone matter-of-fact.

“And the reason I’m here is because he needs you,” she continued.

You clenched your fists in anger. The reason for your resentment was clear: his ambition and his family’s obsessive involvement in politics. Their relentless meddling had been one of the key reasons for your separation.

“Turn this plane around,” you demanded, your voice strained. You didn’t understand why, but exhaustion was overtaking you, and your eyes felt heavy.

Natasha glanced at her watch, a hint of sympathy in her gaze. “You must be feeling sleepy.”

You widened your eyes and looked at the tea cup, realizing its effects. You shot Natasha a glare, frustration mixing with fatigue.

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am,” Natasha said, accepting a blanket from the air stewardess.

You wanted to protest, but the energy drained from you. As your vision dimmed, you felt a wave of drowsiness. You closed your eyes and succumbed to sleep.

Natasha watched you as you fell asleep, then carefully draped the blanket over you. She turned to her colleagues with a resolute expression. “Tell him to pick up his wife.”

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

You slowly regained consciousness, your head feeling heavy and foggy. As you blinked open your eyes, the reality of your surroundings became clear: you were still on the airplane, but it had stopped moving. The plane had arrived, and you were still groggy from the drugs.

“Welcome home,” a familiar voice said.

You widened your eyes, trying to focus on the figure before you. There, standing with a knowing smile, was your ex-husband, Bucky.

His smile seemed almost out of place given the situation, and you found it impossible to return it. You struggled to sit up, your limbs feeling leaden.

“Of course,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “The last thing I needed was to wake up and see your smug face.”

Bucky’s expression remained impassive. “Careful now. You wouldn’t want to offend the future Vice President.”

“Future Vice President, huh?” you shot back, your irritation flaring. “Is that why you dragged me back here? You need a trophy wife to complete your perfect image?”

“You’re not just a trophy wife,” Bucky said, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re a crucial part of my public image. A divorce would be a PR disaster.”

“Is that right?” you snapped. “You’re using me as a prop, aren’t you? You couldn’t just leave me alone. Some of us have lives outside your political games.”

“You think this is bad?” Bucky said, frustration seeping into his voice. “Imagine what would happen if the public found out about our separation. It’s all about maintaining appearances.”

“You’re still the same,” you said, your anger flaring.

Bucky’s expression hardened. “Let’s be honest here. You wouldn’t have left if you didn’t think I was using you. But if you think this is a game, you’re wrong. I need you to play along until the election.”

“And if I refuse?” you challenged.

“One year,” Bucky said, his gaze steady. “Until the election is over. Then I’ll give you anything you want. Just play the part of a happy wife until then.”

You knew why he needed you. His political career depended on maintaining a perfect public image. Only a few people were aware of your separation, so you had to pretend to be a happy married couple to avoid public scrutiny.

As you struggled to stand, Bucky stepped forward to help you. His touch was steady but impersonal. Both of you exited the jet, greeted by a throng of press and cameras. The narrative they were fed was clear: the Vice Presidential candidate picking up his sick wife.

With the press closing in, you turned to Bucky and said, “I see you’ve thought this through. Dragging me back here like a prized possession. What’s next? A public appearance where we hold hands and share a tearful reunion?”

Bucky met your gaze with a calm but resolute expression. “It’s not just about appearances. The election is critical, and I need stability. Having you here will help maintain that.”

“You’re the only one I could turn to. I need you,” he said.

The words “I need you” echoed with the same urgency he once used, the very words that had drawn you to him. But now, they felt hollow.

Bucky’s expression remained unchanged. He had no apologies to offer, and the facade of your ‘happy marriage’ had to remain intact.

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[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Hi, random thought but YK how in the first movie in Spiderman into the multiverse and Peter Parker was fighting. During the scene, it showed him stopping a full on huge moving machine- so like... Imagine spiderman!reader surprising everyone with their strength 😧

[That is a great ask! ALSO, Happy Birthday Jason Todd!]

《BATBOYS and SPIDER!S/O》 Mini Series

[1/?]

╭╭(╭◕‿◕╮)╮╮ ♡ /|\ ^._.^ /|\

Bruce Wayne:

Typing down the mission report for the Leauge. Batman heard you scurrying about behind him.

"Where... Did I..? Is it- No...?" You mumble, carefully moving a few things around.

"What did you loose." Batman stated, eyes focused on the big screen.

"My new pen, I bought it just to help finish paperwork!" You mumble worried, jumping up on a near by wall as you crawl above. Looking down below carefully.

Suddenly, you hop down, walking up behind him. Causing him to pause momentarily as you lean down. Wait-

"Found it! It was underneath you!"

You beam up at him as he looks down at you from his seated position. Easily hoisting the chair with one hand. Politely lowering him back down.

"Thanks B!" You lean to his side happily.

-

Dick Grayson:

It was supposed to be a simple patrol... NOT fight off a few henchman from Killer Croc!

Spidey-sense out of control, you duck down from one of the goons swings. Barely dodging out of the way in time-

*CRASH!*

A bottle crashes down on your shoulder, bits of glass still wedge between your skin and suit

The air becomes thick as the goons freeze at the loud noise.

Even Nightwing mid-remark, gapes at the wound.

...

Ignoring the look Nightwing gave you, you drag the criminals by the scruff of their shirts to the officer.

Giving them your report on what happend, you shoot out a web. Winicing at your injury, you ready yourself for web-slinging. Before a hands grasps your shoulder.

"Please..."

He murmers hopefully, tone a bit guilty.

"... Fine." You relent, watching him grin as he goes to grab his bike.

-

Jason Todd:

With a pep-in-your-step, Jason eyes you. Seeing your bright smile like he expected, but what caught him off gaurd were the bags on BAGS you held in your grip, walking with ease.

Bruce had sent piles of gifts to your doorstep and mailbox for Jasons birthday. Many items to the point you knew that could make many trips bringing them inside. But you would not Jason even lift a finger to help on this special day!

While most friends, or boyfriends wouldn't let their s/o carry so much stuff. You stated with glee you would happily hold his things!

"Jason! Look at all of this! Aww!" You gush, holding the items with ease as you place them down by his side. The young man's lips turn up slightly, gazing fondly at you.

"Jason!" You swoon aloud, shoving the gifts so you could sit by his side. Puppy-eyed, begging him to let you smother his face with kisses.

-

Tim Drake:

Yawning, you scratch your neck as you eye Tim snuggled into your tummy's side. Raising a brow, you poke him. Laughing as he merely scooted closer.

Sticking your tounge at him, you poke at him one last time before he wakes up.

"Mornin'!"

Red Robin smiles, a bit more comforted with you beside him. He moves away, analyzing his area before noticing the keypad to the cell.

"O-Kkkkkaaay- How the hell do we get out of here." Glancing around the small prison cell, you notice a keypad as well.

"Oh, easy-peasy."

"You know the code?"

"Yup! Beep bo bop!" You narrate the bottons, but it glowed red. Showing it wasn't the right answer.

Smiling, you shove your fist through as the wires and glass break due to the impact.

-

[A little something for my Jason Todd fans out there! Happy bday Jason Todd!]

[chidorrrita]

・❥・I'm your puppet

You bring up the idea of L using you to distress. He agrees. Absolute filth follows.

: ̗̀➛ l lawliet x gn!reader

: ̗̀➛ cw: smut (pretty obvious), heavy degradation, slight praise, breeding, slapping, slight cum eating, being called pretty little thing and slut, reader is a freak for L

: ̗̀➛ wc: 1000+

: ̗̀➛ a/n: two posts in a week, who would have guessed. anyways please enjoy the degenerate activities here. 

L positions you in the way he wants, pulls you up by your throat, long fingers curling around constricting your breaths, until your body is pressed against his, as his hips snap against the fat of your ass causing a “pap pap” sound to echo throughout your room. 

He’s relentless in his search for pleasure, paying you no mind, as his hand begins to squeeze your throat, the other snakes its way to seize your hip in a bruising grip, and hot pants and low grunts escape his chapped lips as they brush against your ear. Your mind turns to mush, no longer able to distinguish pain and pleasure as it creates a sinful mix tricking you into begging for more. All that comes out is a series of babbles, drool dripping down onto your chest, and L smugly laughs at your pathetic self. Too drunk off this moment to say or do anything as he bends you over, forcing your head into a pillow, to hit that sweet spongy spot inside. You let out a scream of delight as if he understood your pleads, and in return clench around his cock deliciously. He lets out another grunt, deep from within his chest, and smacks your ass letting the sting linger before smacking it again with just as much force. It sends your body jolting forward, too much for your broken mind to handle, and you try to squirm from his grasp, but he drags you back to where you belong. Taking his cock like you were made for this, made to be ruined by him. 

Muffled mewls and a feeble excuse of thrusting yourself back on his dick makes his mind lose focus. Normally crippled by the weight of his cases, L kneels taller now, filled with thoughts of fucking you full. He pulls out, just kissing your hole with his flushed tip, until ramming himself back in, setting a brutal pace on your body. You couldn’t be more delighted. 

It was your idea to help him distress. A method, other than eating a concerning amount of sweets, to relax him. 

You picked at the threads on your sweater as you watched him reach for another stack of macarons after downing two boxes. His fingers danced across his keyboard, quickly typing out a report in some language you can’t discern, before he spots you shyly inching over. 

L stuffs a strawberry macaron in his mouth before asking “woul’ ‘o’ ‘ike o’e” offering you a vanilla one. 

“No it’s okay” you say trying to hide a chuckle bubbling its way out. “I was actually wondering how your job is going.”

He continues to violently chew, “ ‘qui’e ‘ell,” he swallows thickly, “why do you ask?”

“Well,” you peer down to your socks, rubbing your toes against the carpet, “I was just worried if you were stressed. You’ve eaten almost three boxes of those.”

“Sugar keeps the brain awake,” he states matter-of-factly as he goes to grab another one.

Your hand stops his, holding it in place, and he looks up to you slightly confused with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth. He’s trying to read you.

“Maybe you should rest a while. Let your brain reset, you know?” His gaze shifts to his laptop. The report is nearly finished, and it has been weeks since he could sleep for more than an hour. He can never fully rest on a job like he can when he’s with you. His mind is plagued by images of known friends and nameless faces calling him, but you keep them at bay. Perhaps resting will do him some good. 

His voice softens to barely a whisper, “that would be good,” until he corrects himself “then I can continue working.”

“I’ll help you distress.”

L starts to get ready for bed, gingerly changing into his pj’s which really only consists of taking off his pants, and begins to slip into bed until he notices your apprehensive self still standing at the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing, nothing,” but you still remain at the door.

His eyes squint in suspicion, letting silence question you instead of him. You quickly relent. “I mean… Well I feel bad now.”

More silence.

You sigh, frustrated at the fact your will power breaks so easily for him. “I was going to ask if you wanted to have sex to distress, but then you were actually going to sleep and now-”

“I would very much like to have sex with you.” 

“-I feel like an asshole- wait what?”

“I said I would like to have sex.”

The air in the room turns thick with the smell of sweat and sex cut by your pornagraphic moans, and L’s harsh pants, and the sound of his heavy balls hitting your ass. 

The position he has you in makes him hit even deeper than you could imagine, leaving you incapable of moving let alone thinking, but no need to think. A pretty little thing like you doesn’t need to think when you have L as your lover. He knows what you need is to be a good little slut and take his cum.

Your hoarse voice says “‘is too much. Can’t take it.” between moans, legs shaking underneath L’s thighs.

He accentuates each word with a thrust. “Yes.” “You.” “Can.” forcing the bed frame to hit the wall. 

He bends over your hunched frame, lips leaving sloppy wet kisses against your neck until he reaches your neck and he whispers “be good for me,” and you cum.

Stars dance around the corner of your vision as a soundless scream escapes you, and your hole tightens around L’s cock making him hiss. He drops to his elbows, succumbing to only shallow thrusts until it’s all too much and he cums filling your hole and pushing it back in with his cock. He stays until he softens and falls out, and his eyes fall on your thighs. His cum is smeared across your inner thighs, dripping down between your ass and on to the bed. He scoops it back up and pushes it in, not wanting to waste a single drop, and you moan at the intrusion. 

He takes his cum covered fingers to your parted lips, already familiar with routine, and you wrap them around his fingers, tongue swirling to get every last bit. You release them with a ‘pop,’ eyes waiting patiently for your reward, and he obliges, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. 

He gets up to get a towel and begins to get you cleaned up, kissing each bruise he left, and massaging your sore limbs. 

“You did so well for me.”

“Would you say you’re sufficiently relaxed?”

“Yes, very relaxed. Thank you.”

He kisses your head, and tucks you into bed smiling to himself. How he ever got you to be his lover, he will never know, but he is forever grateful you are.

[missnxthingg]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬, 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫 . (𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼 𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵) - 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 - Little throwback to Lando's win in Miami for the sake of the story. I think we all Lando girlies need to relieve this for a moment 🧡 raise a hand if you miss this moment (bc I surely do).

original chapter | series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

yourusername

London, England

yourusername Enjoying some time with my best friend at home 💖

landonorris wonder who gave her that dollhouse 🤔

landonorris my pretty girls, i miss you

↪ yourusername stop whinning and go enjoy ur trip, dickhead (we miss u too) ↪ landofan4 friendship goals fr

ln4stan Ollie is the cutest omg

yourmomusername What lovely ladies! I love you

↪ yourusername we love you, momma

username1 we need to see this duo with lando again

f1gossip

f1gossip Lando Norris is enjoying King's Day with his friend, Martin Garrix, in Amsterdam, and ended up getting his nose injured. What do you think happened?

username1 did he get into a fight????

username2 for fuck sake, we have a race in a week!

username3 omg bless y/n so she can try making his image better for the media in miami

username4 i NEED to know what happened with him

username5 @.yourusername mother, feed us with info, please! 🥺

yourusername added to their stories

Caption: He's well and alive, might kill him later for the scare (just a glass cut, no fighting)

landonorris added to their stories

Caption: This is an apology for making her so concerned about a nose cut

landopriv added to their stories

Caption: Gave her the scare of her life @.yourusername and made up to her after a cuddling afternoon, brunch, NBA game and tomorrow the beach

↪ yourusername replied to your story: all forgiven after the pampering 💘 ↪ landopriv: love you, idiot

yourusername added to their stories

Caption: Who let this idiot bring a camera along with him? Keep him away from me. Every time I blink: FLASH!

↪ landonorris: you're no fun 🙄

yourusername

Miami, Florida

yourusername Miami on film 🏖

landonorris you're as hot as miami, baby

↪ username1 OH MY FUCKING GOD ↪ username2 boy is down bad for her ���� ↪ username3 Lando can't even pretend he isn't in love with her anymore ↪ yourusername police he has escaped again

username4 do you guys think he took the photos or that she stole his camera?

↪ username5 he definitely took them! we saw him carrying the camera everywhere and they were at the beach earlier

f1

f1 LANDO NORRIS WINS HIS FIRST GRAND PRIX

landofan HE DID IT GUYS!

mclarengirly OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE

ln4bitch oh man we just know he's gonna party HARD

yourusername I've never been more proud 🥺

↪papayafan y/n please tell lando we love him! 🧡 ↪lanfan4 give him the biggest kiss and the tighest hug for me

landonorris

landonorris WWE FUCKIJG DID IT. P1

username1 WE DID IT LANDO!

username2 Longest time coming! Congratulations, Lan 🧡

username3 My man!!! LFG

yourusername I AM THE PROUDEST

yourusername love you so much, you idiot. P FUCKING ONE! 🧡

↪landonorris i love you more, muppet ❤ ↪username4 your honor, i love them ↪username5 MOM AND DAD ARE GIVING PDA

f1gossip

f1gossip Lando Norris and his best friend, Y/N L/N, partying together in Miami after his win. Some people that were at the party reported on our DMs that they didn't keep away from each other all night and were missing from the party for a while. Do you think they celebrated it in a more special way? 💋👀

username1 Lord, I'm ready for them to be a couple

username2 i saw they leaving the club hand in hand last night, guys! they were alone and very much in a hurry to get out of there

↪username3 how do you know if you're telling the truth? ↪username2 you can check my profile, i was at the paddock today and after the gp, my friend and i followed them around town to party too!

username4 i saw this dude that swore they were kissing in the back of the club ln, but it's not something i can 100% confirm

↪username5 Can we please stop speculating on their friendship? They both have expressed they hate when people start forcing a relationship onto them.

username6 at this point, i'm just waiting for y/n's special post for lando on insta

yourusername

Miami, Florida

yourusername I knew you were special on the first time I saw your muppet face in my office. I've been your biggest fan ever since; rooting and praying for this day to finally come. I've never been so proud of you, Lan. Longest time coming to this moment. I love you so much, my grand prix winner – even though you got me so drunk we missed our flight today. Now enjoy some podium pics I took yesterday + a cute one from the hottest duo in Miami last night.

tagged: landonorris

landonorris I love you so much! Can't imagine life without my partner in crime. You being there made everything even more special

↪yourusername Stop or I'll cry again ↪landonorris Will be an honour to make you cry for me twice 😂

username1 GUYS WAKE UP Y/N POSTED ABOUT LAST NIGHT

username2 name a prettier friend duo, i'll wait

↪landonorris me too ↪yourusername me three

yourmotherusername Olivia has been non stop since the finish line! She can't wait to see her favourite uncle ❤ Congratulations, Lando

↪landonorris thank you so much, mrs l/n ❤ and tell ollie uncle lan loves her very very much ↪username3 now we're gonna have to wait until ollie and lando reunion after miami 😭 ↪yourusername promise to come back with pictures

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

[kamaluhkhan]

LONG HOT SUMMER NIGHT

pairing: luke castellan x fem!poseidon!reader word count: 8.4k chapter summary: it's the summer solstice and olympus is throwing a party! thalia notices the tension between you and luke, poseidon gives you some relationship advice and you punch the god of desire in the face. warnings: angst! jealous reader. lots of drinking. complicated relationships. reader dealing with ptsd + survivor's guilt (post-titan war). mention of injuries + blood. creepy guy pushing reader to hook up. ending is a bit steamy but no actual smut. spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 also reader is in a band called the midnight sirens and is born on the summer solstice! author's note: thank you so much for all the love for part 1!! summer is almost over and this is very much a summer series BUT summer's not over yet !!! hope y'all enjoy this one too and thanks 4 reading 💙

part 1 | series masterlist

♪: long hot summer night by jimi hendrix

mail to: 

Luke Castellan Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill 3.141 Farm Road Long Island, New York 11954

LUKE! 

I’m sitting in my kitchen right now, watching Percy make us blue blueberry pancakes and hoping he doesn’t burn down my kitchen while doing so. I caved and agreed to take him to Disneyland while he’s here and breakfast was part of the deal, but I think I might regret it later. 

We went surfing yesterday. It was Percy’s first time, but he was (unsurprisingly) amazing at it. I still can’t get over how beautiful the beaches are and the waves — gods, the waves are unreal. You’d seriously love it here. It’s like every day is summer. You have to come visit. PLEASE come visit!!!!

- [your initial]

P.S. The band and I are working on some new music, which means I won’t make it to camp again this summer. I’m sorry ;( Fingers crossed I’ll make it next year. 

P.P.S. hi luke! happy to report that i did not burn down my sister’s kitchen. anyways, can’t wait to kick your ass in sword-fighting this summer. xoxo, percy

THREE YEARS LATER 

the first time you visited olympus, you had been sent on a quest to retrieve zeus’ stolen lightning bolt, bringing luke and charles beckendorf along with you. you had missed the summer solstice deadline, but still tried to reason with the king of the gods when presenting the symbol of power, maybe calling him out once or twice along the way. before zeus could strike you down for your boldness, poseidon stepped in. the war between them was averted in fear of a much larger, looming threat; an ominous introduction for what was to come in the next chapter of your life.

another time, the gods debated whether or not they should kill you, some seeing you as a threat to their future. that was the day you accepted your destiny, not wanting your brother percy or your cousin nico to deal with the weight of the great prophecy. 

your last visit to olympus was on your 18th birthday, after helping to defeat kronos and his army. you made the gods swear to stop neglecting their kids and to allow all demigods, regardless of whether their parent was an olympian or not, to have a home at camp half-blood; to treat their children as children rather than heroes as pawns in their twisted games.

needless to say, it’s quite strange, being back here under very, very different circumstances, where the gods invited camp half-blood’s senior counsellors and staff to join in their summer solstice festivities.

it’s not every day you’ll be invited to a party on olympus; you’re determined to have a good time, to have fun. there’s already an abundance of music, dancing, food, or alcohol, and the night is just getting started.

you’re happy to be there with new and old friends, but you’re ecstatic when you see that thalia grace is there, too. 

“immortality looks good on you, t!” you compliment, raising your voice slightly over the music.

thalia preens, and you bask in her silver glow. 

“bet you wish you took the gods up on their offer, huh,” she teases. then, her eyes widen. “oh - shit! it’s your birthday! happy birthday!” 

thalia tackles you with another hug; even after all these years, she still smells like pine trees. she grabs two goblets of honeyed wine and hands one to you as you catch up. you eagerly gulp the sweet drink, until you’re reaching for another while listening to her stories about adventures she’d been on with the hunters of artemis. 

about halfway through her story about fighting off a manticore during a snow storm, a nymph appears with a platter of the ripest of fruit – sweet plums and fresh figs, tantalising pomegranates, succulent grapes and crisp apples. 

“oh my gods, this is the best apple i’ve had in my entire life!” thalia exclaims after indulging in a taste, herself giddy from a few goblets of wine. “where’s luke? he’s gotta try this — he’s always reminding us to eat more fruit. luke!” 

you hadn’t kept track of luke, at least not on purpose. you assumed he’d been off partying with van or his siblings, and, probably, avoiding you. wherever he was, thalia calls his name twice more and, like a ghost, luke appears. 

“i’m here, t.” luke’s voice is a deep, steady rumble floating above the music. his cheeks are slightly flushed, either from the heat or the drinks. likely both. “what’s up?”

“you need to try this.” thalia shoves the apple in his mouth before luke can respond. 

luke takes a bite, and some juice drips down his chin. you, in a honey-soaked haze, think about running your tongue over to catch it, but he beats you to it, wiping it away with the back of his hand. 

probably for the best.

“holy shit. yeah, it’s good.”

thalia, a sparkle in her eyes, urges you to try it as well. from across the makeshift triangle the three of you had formed, luke tosses the apple your way. you catch it effortlessly, and sink your teeth into it. 

you’ve almost overwhelmed by the burst of flavor. the fruit is just the right amount of tart to balance out the sweetness, and it’s damn near the best crunch you’ve ever experienced.

“good is an understatement,” you say after another bite. a distant memory crosses your mind. “i wonder if these are the same ones we almost got killed by a hellhound for.” 

thalia shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “all because luke said we needed more vitamin c.”

“i was just looking out for us!” luke guffaws. “how was i supposed to know that persephone owned an apple orchard in connecticut?”

you pat his shoulder, the three of you smiling at the memory. “let’s call it an honest mistake.”

“well if annabeth had been with us by then, i’m sure that she wouldn’t have made that same honest mistake.” 

“okay, but she’s the daughter of athena —”

you let luke and thalia slip back into their playful bickering as if no time has passed. you listen and continue eating that glorious apple, enjoying how the golden glow of your shared past fills whatever distance might have grown between the three of you. 

somewhere down memory lane, luke’s amber eyes flick towards you.

“hey, you’ve got some….” without another word, luke suddenly reaches over to brush away a trail of juice with his thumb before sticking the finger in his mouth to savour the taste. he holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel a familiar kind of heat rush through your body — not from alcohol or summer sun, but from luke. 

it’s such an intimate gesture that you almost forget that you’re at some extravagant party on mount olympus, where gods and half-bloods and a whole bunch of other mythological creatures are celebrating the start of summer by essentially getting drunk together, until thalia clears her throat. 

“okay, well, seems like the two of you might want some alone time.”

luke’s cheeks grow more flushed than before, and his eyes widen as if realizing what he’d done.

“oh, we don’t need —”

“we’re not —”

you and luke both stumble over your words; thalia just smiles knowingly. 

“i’m gonna go flirt with that nymph,” she announces, pointing across the grand marble pavilion.

“i thought — doesn’t artemis sort of frown upon that sort of thing?” you ask.

“she makes exceptions on holidays. besides, i’m her favourite. you guys have fun.” thalia winks at you and walks away.

you glance at luke and, gods, there’s so much history between you. 

the time you jumped into an ocean full of sirens to save luke from drowning? you have a scar running down your forearm where one of them scratched you as you struggled to get luke towards the surface. 

or when you took turns holding up the sky while on a quest to save lady artemis and defeat the titan atlas? it’s evident in the matching streaks of grey that you each have running through your hair. whenever you see your reflection in the mirror, you remember how you couldn’t save your cousin bianca di angelo earlier that day, and how nico has had to grow up without a sister because of a promise you broke.

how about when you, luke, and one of your best friends were sent on a mission to destroy the princess andromeda, the headquarters of kronos’ army? only the two of you survived, and sometimes you can still feel luke squeezing your hand pike he did during charles beckendorf’s burial shroud ceremony while you both cried.

or when luke took a sword between the ribs for you because he, somehow, knew the one spot the curse of achilles left you vulnerable? he can only slouch for so long before the bones there start to ache.

so, yeah. there’s way too much history, and so many tangled threads, and now really isn’t an ideal time to unravel it all. 

“i’m gonna go find my dad,” you blurt out and disappear into the crowd with no real intention of finding your father. 

the once sweet apple now tastes rotten on your tongue; you rid yourself of it in exchange for some more wine. you’re determined to have fun — no pain or heartache or grief. 

you’ve all had enough of that for three lifetimes. 

summer — age 14

“sorry your birthday was ruined.” 

luke exhaled sharply when you pressed a disinfectant-soaked cloth to the wound on his leg.

“hold still,” was all you mumbled in response, brows knitted together as you wrapped the cut in gauze. 

once you were done with his leg, you moved on to luke’s hands, burned by poisonous acid. the four of you had run into a hydra earlier that night. you managed to wound it enough so you could all get away, but not before a few injuries were sustained. 

you were uncharacteristically quiet as you worked. you only met luke’s gaze to warn him before pouring some nectar on his wounds. you let luke hold your hand, tightly, as the liquid dripped through his fingers and down to yours, first right, then left. the pain was instant, seering almost as much as the hydra acid, but it was over quickly. the last thing you did was bandage each hand before getting up. 

“i’m…i’m gonna check on thalia and annabeth. i’ll take first watch.”

luke caught your hand before you got away.

“wait. you’re bleeding.” he pointed to the cut on your brow. you had been so preoccupied in making sure everyone else was safe that you let crimson liquid drip down your face. it probably stung, too, based on your grimace.

luke wiped away the blood with his sleeve, used nectar to disinfect the wound, and dressed it with a fresh bandage, working silently as you did.

“it’s still your birthday,” luke finally said once he was done. “you get some rest; i’ll take first watch.”

you gave him a small, strained smile before checking on the others. 

later that night, you stayed up with luke anyways. 

seemingly out of nowhere, you handed him your portable cassette player. luke stared at it for a moment, unwilling to comprehend just what you were offering and, more importantly, why. 

you and luke had grown accustomed to sharing things: flannels, socks, makeshift beds and scavenged food. but this —

it was your aunt’s. 

you never met your mother, who’d left you as a baby, and of course, poseidon was too busy tending to his underwater kingdom to step in as a parent. your aunt raised you as her own. and then you lost her, too. 

you kept her cassette player buried deep in your bag with some mixtapes she had made and ones you’d stolen throughout the years. when it wasn’t your turn to keep watch, luke would sometimes catch you with headphones on, looking up at the stars. 

luke liked to think he knew you well; all those subtle elements that made you — the crack of your knuckles, the cadence of your voice, the slope of your nose, the dreams of your childhood. engraved in his own personhood. bones and all. 

and, still: he didn’t know you, not entirely. 

you’d only allowed luke to listen with you once, maybe twice. he’d never forget what it was like: knees pressed together and heads just as close to keep the wires from stretching too far; you gushing about the magic of jimi hendrix, recounting memories that echoed through gentle guitar riffs; luke yearning for one more song to play, for another a wistful smile of yours to appear. luke, wishing to linger in your private oasis a beat longer before you pushed him out again and closed the door behind him. 

the one lock luke couldn’t crack: your grief, and how you carried on so buoyantly despite its weight.

well, there you were, presenting the key to luke as an offering. a sacrifice for something luke would never ask of you. 

“this….” luke swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to look at you. he turned the device over in his bandaged hands, the metal smooth, though well-worn. “you can’t just —”

leave. you can’t just leave. you can’t just —

“hey.” 

your hand over his, forcing him to stop spiralling and look at you. 

right away, luke regretted it. a small sliver of him, however delusional, had hoped that you were joking. 

you weren’t. behind you, there was an empty space where you had previously wedged your sleeping bag. your backpack was already strapped around your shoulders, fully packed. 

“i need to leave, luke. we can’t stay together. it’s too dangerous.”

“you don’t need to —”

“there’s more of us, now,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away to rest on your thigh. “four demigods together isn’t ideal. we’ve been attracting more monsters. more deadly monsters.”

“that would happen, anyways. it always has whether it’s the four of us, the two of us, or….” 

luke stopped his sentence short, not even wanting to give you the idea to go out on your own, even though you’d probably been thinking about leaving for some time. 

you made reckless decisions sometimes, but this didn’t seem to be one of them.

“well, it’s happening more.” your voice was steady, too steady. luke imagined you rehearsing just what to say to counter the inevitable backlash. 

luke shook his head. “i’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“you almost died because of me,” you clipped. you lifted a hand to touch the bruise on luke’s jaw, but let it drop just as quickly. “you know that children of the big three cause more trouble. maybe we managed it when it was the two of us, but now, there’s more to consider. a child of poseidon and a child of zeus, travelling together. it’s like we’re asking to be killed. it’s too dangerous.”

“that’s our life,” luke snapped. “you can’t just run from it.” from us.

you faltered, looking back to where annabeth and thalia were sleeping peacefully. 

oh. he must have said that last part out loud, too. 

“you know i’m right,” is all you said.

luke could only shake his head again. because, fine, you weren’t entirely wrong. it was more dangerous — but it was danger luke hoped you’d all face, together. 

“i’ve made up my mind,” you added, an anchor in the sand.

“don’t leave.” luke’s words came out as a prayer. if he offered something, maybe you’d stay.

you paused to take a shaky breath. “this isn’t goodbye, luke. i swear to poseidon…fuck, i swear to all the gods that this isn’t goodbye.”

luke couldn’t speak. there were tears bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill. 

“so, keep this for me,” you whispered, once again placing your hand on top of luke’s. his fingers gripped your cassette player tightly, like it was the only piece of driftwood leftover from a shipwreck, keeping him from sinking into the cold, dark nothing. “you’ll give it back when we see each other again.”

a promise. 

“fine,” luke conceded, though he wanted to scream at you. he wanted to argue like little kids — petty, loud, meaningless, back and forth until tears streamed down cheeks and throats were raw. 

but, you were leaving, one way or another. luke didn’t want this shared memory to be tainted if it might be your last.

“you have to take this, then. give it back when we see each other again.”

luke removed the chain from around his neck, the one that held the key to his childhood home. he placed it around yours, instead.

he didn’t need the key now, but his mother had given it to him when he was six. before he knew what it meant to be the son of hermes, god of thieves. 

call him sentimental, but luke had kept it. just in case he ever got lost. 

“if you’re ever back in connecticut, you have a home.”

“yeah, okay.” you smiled softly. 

it fell just as quickly. 

“take care of them,” you told him. “of yourself, too. i’ll see you again when it’s safe.”

luke didn’t ask when it would be safe, because the truth is that it might never be.

“because you want your cassette player back?” luke joked, instead trying to lighten the mood, to capture one last moment of brightness.

you laughed softly to not wake the others. 

“yeah. that too.”

you pressed your forehead to his, something you hadn’t done since you were kids. 

“i’ll see you again,” you repeated.

without another word, you got up and jogged away. luke shut his eyes, refusing to see you become nothing but a shadow. 

(you looked back several times, but he couldn’t see through the darkness.)

now

call the gods out on their bullshit (you encourage it), but if they have one thing going for them, it’s that the olympians know how to throw a party. 

the night grows darker, yet somehow becomes more lively. demeter and persephone had supplied a generous amount of fresh, decadent fruit, and dionysus an even more generous amount of wine. apollo starts a karaoke corner and you’re just tipsy enough to agree to sing a duet with him in order to break the ice. apparently, he’s a big midnight sirens fan and had seen your band when you headlined at glastonbury festival. you smile to yourself, imagining your bandmates’ faces if you told them that the god of music had watched you perform.

as you hand the microphone to a giggling dryad, the sound of your name washes over like gentle waves on a shore.

“if it isn’t my sweet, summer child!” your father brings you in for a hug and an ocean breeze engulfs you — salt and sand and sun. 

“hi dad,” you exhale as you pull away. 

you hadn’t seen each other in a while, but poseidon looks the same. he’s dressed in a turquoise hawaiian shirt and birkenstocks with a crown of seashells on his head. there’s a cocktail umbrella in his glass, a slice of pineapple wedged onto the rim. you’re about to ask him how he managed to secure a pina colada and where you might find one, too.

“that was quite the performance!” poseidon takes an eager sip of his drink, green eyes sparkling like sea glass in the sun. “i must tell you: your newest album is all the rage in atlantis. the nereids and merpeople can’t seem to get enough of it and, truthfully, i find myself playing it on repeat as well. you’re quite talented.” 

you try not to let your shock slip through, instead smiling and asking how things are in his underwater kingdom, but you’re….touched at your father’s unexpected praise.

the gods aren’t perfect, and your father is no exception. they’re divine beings who have time to conceive children, but not to raise them. there’s a long history of them abandoning, mistreating, and manipulating their own offspring. of course, being the prophecy child, it became practically impossible for your father to ignore you; you’re sure that being dubbed the saviour of olympus gives him bragging rights with his immortal family. even with their sworn promise to change, it’s impossible not to resent the gods in some ways. 

still, you feel comforted by your father's presence at times — when you catch the perfect wave on your surfboard, for example, or when you sit on your fire escape during a storm after a bad day. it’s been like that pretty much all your life: poseidon there in spirit, not in practice. despite everything, he’s watched over you, and percy, throughout the years.

and here poseidon is now, grinning at you like you’re his pride and joy. 

“enough about aquatic politics.” he pats your shoulder enthusiastically after telling you about the struggles of keeping humans from overfishing. “i came over to wish you a happy birthday. and to give you this.” 

poseidon reaches into the pocket of his shirt and hands you something you’d long thought gone: a leather cord with several clay beads and a silver key.

“i found it off the california coast,” he explains. “i kept meaning to get it to you, but i suppose time has a way of getting away from us, immortal or not.”

a warmth grows in your chest as you run your thumb over your old camp necklace, bright and full. it had fallen off one day when you’d gone surfing, and you assumed it was lost to the ocean. you'd been given a fresh leather cord when you arrived at camp earlier this summer, but it felt empty. hollow.

“thanks, dad.” 

you smile at him as you put on the necklace; it feels like coming home. your father then asks you about your summer so far.

you tell him all about your life as of late, until you catch a glimpse of luke with van on a marble bench at the other end of the pavilion. van is sitting in luke’s lap, and they lean over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek. 

you freeze mid-way through your sentence.

sensing the shift in mood, poseidon frowns. he turns his head to follow your gaze.

“ah.” poseidon turns back to you and clears his throat. “now, i don’t mean to pry, but i saw you earlier with the castellan boy.”

you flush at the fact that your moment with luke was witnessed by your own father. “dad —”

“did you know in ancient greece, throwing someone an apple and having them catch it is considered a marriage proposal?”

“i’m pretty sure that was disproven,” you scoff.

poseidon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “which one of us was actually there, hm?” and though you roll your eyes, you can’t argue with that. “i just wanted to know if there was a wedding happening in the near future.”

you almost choke on the last remnants of your wine. “dad.”

“i’m kidding. i’m kidding! mr. castellan seems otherwise occupied.” 

“yeah, it does seem that way,” you grumble.

poseidon puts a hand on your shoulder, firm but reassuring. “regardless: if you find someone who would go to tartarus and back with you, someone who would fight alongside you every step of the way, you hold on to them. there’s only so much time you mortals have on this earth.”

you sigh — easier said than done — but your father is trying, so you manage a nod.

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

“now, i better go — ” poseidon looks over your shoulder, where the air behind you starts to feel staticky. “it seems a disagreement is brewing between zeus and hades. they always get into it whenever dionysus makes the wine a bit too strong. brother, put away the lightning bolt —” and he rushes away to prevent another divine conflict from arising.

left to your own devices, you venture over to the food table, finding an array of fresh and dried fruit, breads, cured meat, fresh oysters and, of course, more wine. you grab a goblet and a few dried figs.

“careful, i heard dionysus made the wine extra strong tonight,” someone warns, creeping up beside you. the voice is soft and alluring, and you feel something tug at your heart. 

you do a double take when you turn to them; the person is devilishly handsome, a golden aura paired with a golden smile. 

(you will soon find out that the god flirting with you is the son of ares and aphrodite, the latter of which takes the appearance of whoever the onlooker loves. as it turns out, her son appears in the same way. 

all this to say: it doesn’t mean anything that this god looks like luke castellan to you. 

it doesn’t mean anything at all.)

“i’m eros.”

“hey. i’m —”

“i know who you are, savior of olympus.” eros winks at you. “i just never realized you were so beautiful.”

your cheeks heat up as you take a sip of your drink.

oh, shit. 

okay. the literal god of desire and pleasure is flirting with you. 

you’re flattered, really, and maybe the wine has gotten to your head, but you’re not eager to turn him away.

“well, i’ve definitely heard about you, and the rumors do not do you justice,” you quip, painting on a flirtatious smile.

eros puffs out his chest, clearly pleased. 

over the next few minutes, you decide that eros can hold a decent conversation, asking you the classic first date questions about your likes and dislikes, and he’s cute enough that you wouldn’t mind things going further. 

(he might be a god, but he’s no luke. you push that thought away, and force yourself to flirt with helios. eros. right, eros.)

eros leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze drop every so often to the deep v-neck of your shirt.  

“no way! 13 going on 30 is a classic,” you argue. you nudge your shoulder into eros’s playfully, and let the contact between you linger. eros, the inspiration for cupid himself, has angel wings, and you feel them brush softly against your burning skin. 

“it’s totally overrated!” eros exclaims. “also, the childhood friends to lovers trope gives people false hope.”

“it’s not false hope. it’s about the buildup to their happily ever after,” you reason, swallowing some wine to dislodge the lump in your throat.

eros shakes his head. “trust me, baby, it’s all about the instant attraction. that’s where the excitement is.” 

he’s so close now, you can smell the sharp alcohol on his breath. not wine, but something stronger.

“oh? what do you mean by that?” you lean impossibly closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

eros smirks, placing a hand on your thigh. “want me to demonstrate?” 

not even a second after you whisper a yes, eros crashes his lips onto yours, and you will yourself to kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body. 

you’re making out with the god of desire and passion, so, objectively, it’s a good first kiss: soft around the edges and firm where it needs to be.

sure — you feel nothing, no real spark, but it’s almost enough to fill the hole in your heart in the shape of a certain son of hermes. 

the son of hermes who has moved on and is in a loving relationship with a perfect emotionally available partner. 

so, it’s fine. 

this, this thing with eros, is fine. 

you’re fine.

eros pulls away first, but keeps a hand on your cheek.

“let's get out of here.” 

he grabs your wrist before you have a chance to answer. you stand up, let him weave you through the crowd towards the stairs of the pavilion. apparently, his room is just through the garden. 

as he tugs you along, he looks back at you, smiling. under the glow of the stars, eros looks just like luke, except it’s becoming harder to ignore that he isn’t luke and that makes you feel all sorts of nauseous. your camp necklace weighs on your chest and, in particular, the silver key that you’d kept for all those years burns through your skin. 

lightheaded, you pull away from eros’ grip just as you reach the top of the stairs and place a hand on the column next to you to steady yourself.

eros turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just…keep talking here.”

eros grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.” his tone is ever-so-gentle, but there’s an edge behind his words. 

this time, your voice comes out more assertive. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“come on, baby, don’t you wanna experience what real passion is? this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that a million girls would kill for. you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” he brags, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose, god or not. 

“i don’t care,” you snap, struggling to break free from his grip. “and i’m not your baby.”

“okay, whatever,” eros rolls his eyes, but quickly plasters on an arrogant grin. “we’ll go somewhere private and i’ll call you whatever you want.”

he manages to drag you down two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage and use your strength to rip out of his grip, forcing eros to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he snaps, whipping his head around once more. 

he looks nothing like luke, now.

“just stop, eros.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little kid. so much for being the savior of olympus. “trust me, i know what people want, so you don’t have to be shy. i promise to be the best you’ve ever had —”

“eros, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s percy, giving eros one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. percy, your little brother who talks to lonely fish at the aquarium; who, if you cut open, would bleed blue m&m’s; who would never let anyone, god or otherwise, hurt someone he loves. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my sister.”

“mind your own business, kid,” eros hisses. “we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you down another step, but you stand your ground.

annabeth, no longer the scared little seven year old you, luke, and thalia found behind a dumpster, is also glaring at liam from the top of the stairs. one of her hands rests firmly on her belt, where she keeps her dagger. 

“i’d back off, if i were you,” she warns. “wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“just mind your own business,” eros snarls.

“they said leave her alone,” thalia asserts, walking over once she sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” she clenches her hand into a fist.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?” 

“just let her go,” percy orders. “my sister can do a lot better than a minor god with a major god complex.” 

eros growls, baring his teeth at percy. “you impertinent little shit.”

as soon as eros lunges for your brother, you tug one of his wings towards you, hard. he whips around and you take the opportunity to punch him in the face. he doubles over, golden ichor gushing from his nose.

“i’d be careful if i were you, baby,” you seethe. “you wouldn’t want to go up against the demigods who led an army against kronos and won. unless, of course, humiliation is a kink of yours.” you laugh humorlessly at the way eros scowls at your words. “to each their own,” you continue. “but i’m not in the mood to fuck an entitled creep with angel wings to compensate for his tiny dick. you better fucking respect that, and leave us alone while you’re at it.”

eros’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only entitled, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a few blows to their ego. 

call it stupidity or arrogance, but his only response is a punch delivered right back to your face. 

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but percy manages to reach out and catch you before you fall down the stairs. he holds you as thalia and annabeth create a barrier between you and eros. you hear them shouting at eros over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is suddenly all fuzzy. percy tries his best, but you slump your body weight into his and he almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” luke’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. “from what i remember, you were too much of a coward to even step foot on the battlefield, so i’d listen to her if you know what’s good for you.” in a haze, you guess that luke is directing his sharp words towards eros, before turning to the others and instructing: “you guys take care of this — find clarisse if you need back up.”

somehow, you find yourself over in a small secluded temple, sitting on a window bench overlooking the clouds as luke sits next to you.

like most of olympus, the building is made of marble with gold accents; this one has roses engraved on the walls, and the space smells like flowery perfume. it’s much quieter than the pavilion, though you can hear laughter and music in the distance. it’s cooler, too, but not by much; even without all the body heat, you're left with sticky summer air, and luke’s breath on yours, sweet with wine and ripe fruit, as he carefully examines your injury.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three. 

you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him after all) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

“thought the curse of achilles would protect you from nosebleeds.”

“guess it doesn’t protect against —” what did percy call eros? “ — minor gods who have major god complexes,” you recite.

luke looks slightly amused. “that’s a shame,” he hums. “would have been nice to get one birthday without being injured.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the dull ache from your nose.

“you remembered.”

“of course i remember,” luke almost scoffs like the mere suggestion of forgetting what day you were born is an insult to his very character. he meets your gaze, and you could melt when he offers you that lopsided smile of his, painfully familiar. “happy birthday, aquagirl,” and it’s the softest he’s spoken to you in a while. just like old times.

he remembers. 

somewhere within him, luke holds on to fragments of you.

he wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of his silk white button-down now stained crimson. “how’s your hand?” he asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

“i guess all those years away didn’t change anything. still willing to put a god in their place, huh?”

all those years away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, and you’re worried that it might burst the comfortable bubble you and luke had drunkenly stumbled into. 

thankfully, luke continues:

“the kids really take after you.”

he says as a joke, mostly, but there’s a sincerity in those deep brown eyes of his, too. something you also hadn’t seen from him in a while. 

the kids, who you’d in some ways raised together when monsters were trying to kill you and the gods didn’t care enough to stop it. 

the family you and luke had built together despite being born into the world of greek tragedies. 

“as if annabeth wasn’t threatening to pull the dagger you gave her, skywalker,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “besides, they’re not kids anymore.”

“yeah.” he pauses. “neither are we.” 

luke’s fingers trace your camp necklace, brush against your collarbone. the breath hitches in your throat.

here you are again, at the edge of something real and very scary, and you fear luke is going to push the two of you over. 

but he doesn’t. instead, luke suggests, jokingly: “maybe we should start a fight club at camp.” 

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s hoping to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it. before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re practically ignoring each other.

where you’re fine, but really. 

you snort. “chiron and mr. d would love that.”

“like they’d ever find out!” luke explains. “you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together. 

luke laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too. 

and that’s the thing that really, truly gets you. 

try as you might to ignore it, some days it’s hard to forget the pain and heartache and grief. 

you still feel like your life is a battlefield; you still see the ghosts of everyone you couldn’t save even though people call you a savior; you still have those scars, inside and out, that seemed healed but ache every once and a while. 

but that isn’t all. 

sometimes it hurts more thinking back to the good times and knowing, deep down, you can never go back.

summer — age 13

“ugh — you think with all their power, the gods could help stop global warming,” you groaned, swatting away a mosquito that tried to land on you. “do you think they have air conditioning on olympus?”

“oh, for sure,” luke quipped. he gave you a lopsided smile, his curls sticking to his forehead, drenched in sweat. 

it was the summer solstice, the longest and the hottest day of the year so far. the two of you had found a perfectly good hideout, but luke insisted that this place would be worth the move. 

he’d been leading you down side streets for what felt like forever. the sun had already set, and you were very close to passing out from the heat, until luke finally stopped at a door behind an alley, with a sign reading CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. 

luke knelt down to do whatever son-of-hermes lock magic he had to do to get the door open. he flipped a switch, and you winced at the sudden overwhelming brightness. 

the destination was different than the hideouts you usually sprung for: those small, hole-in-the-wall type places. instead, this space was big and bright, filled with arcade games and fun posters and neon colours. the type of place a kid might have a party or where a group of normal teenagers might spend their friday night. 

“what…what is this?”

“you thought i forgot, didn’t you?” luke smirked at you. he sat down on the colourful carpet, taking out some snacks, a small plastic bag with coins, a wrapped box, and a plastic blue crown, and gestured for you to join.

you did, in fact, think that luke had forgotten your birthday. 

birthdays were bittersweet for children of gods, who were constantly reminded that any year could be their last, their youth cut short by monsters or prophecies or a fatal flaw. all the two of you usually did on either birthday was split any sweet treat you could get your hands on. 

it wasn’t a big deal, really, to skip that tradition of yours. there were much more urgent things to worry about, like finding food and water and shelter, and not being devoured by monsters. 

you did think it was strange that luke hadn’t so much as said happy birthday to you all day, but you knew that he loved you.

(like a friend loves a friend. nothing else, no matter how much your stomach fluttered at the thought of him.) 

“i wanted to surprise you,” luke explained once you claimed your spot next to him. he reached over to place the crown on your head. “i found this place a few days ago during a food run. it reminds me of where we had your —”

“eighth birthday party, yeah.” you smiled at the memory of running around and feeding quarters to every machine and trying every game, of your classmates singing happy birthday to you off-key before you all stuffed your faces with sickly sweet confetti cake. 

truthfully, you never thought about having another celebration like that again.

but, it was five years from that faded childhood memory, and luke was presenting you with something you didn’t even realize you had needed: the chance to be a kid again.

“so,” luke got up, a wide smile on his face. he held the plastic bag in one hand, extending the other to you. “which do you wanna play first?”

you started with space invaders, then moved on to dragon’s lair and pac-man. you took a break before street fighter ii so that luke could ceremoniously light a candle and present a cupcake that had been tossed around in his bag (but you were still very, very grateful for), along with fresh batteries for your portable cassette player. he had made you a mixtape too, though you couldn’t figure out how. 

your last stop was a photobooth. you vowed to keep those pictures — a collection of you and luke together, smiling bright and colourful, goofing off and laughing — for the rest of your life.

now

those moments from past summers are like popsicles melting in the sun: tangible for a limited time before leaving you with a sickly sweet mess of what once was. 

you think about what happened earlier, how percy, annabeth, and thalia stepped in to protect you, still the brave kids you had once known so well. how luke is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve silently agreed to give each other the cold shoulder. 

maybe luke is right. maybe all those years away didn’t change anything. 

except — once you leave this temple and the alcohol leaves your system, it won’t be the same. 

none of you are kids anymore, if you ever even were. 

“why’d you go for eros, anyway?” luke asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes his sleeve from your nose since the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. most gods are assholes. and you’re…” luke places a hand close to your leg, pinky finger brushing your thigh. “you.”

“i went for eros because….well, honestly, i don’t think i cared who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with luke is running out. 

luke’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts. 

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s close enough that he’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on luke’s — messy and urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you move to straddle his waist. you taste wine on his tongue, and maybe a hint of sweet pears, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him. luke’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“luke,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

luke wipes away the blood with his thumb. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s an echo of footsteps on the marble floor. a flower nymph, there to leave an offering and let you know that, while aphrodite encourages acts of love, she prefers it doesn’t happen in her place of worship. 

you realize that aphrodite also might not look so fondly at you kissing someone else in her place of worship after publicly rebuking her own son.

luke untangles himself from you, and you know that he’s been jolted back to reality, too. 

and, just like that, another moment has melted away.

your father was right. time has a way of slipping away for us, immortal or not.

summer — age 18

“hey, you awake?”  

“yeah,” you replied softly. sleep hadn’t been easy, in the days and weeks and months leading up to that final battle with kronos and his army. 

and once it was all over? 

you rested your head on luke’s shoulder, sword discarded at your feet and armour half-removed, as argus, the hundred-eyed security guard of olympus, drove a school bus with a dozen or so demigods back to camp.

“why’d you turn down their offer?” luke whispered.

oh.

"why...why do you ask?"

"i don't know." luke paused. "just curious, i guess."

you closed your eyes and replayed that moment on olympus when you refused the gift of immortality. the look of shock written on the gods’ faces. and on luke’s.

“i don’t care about living forever,” you told him bluntly.

forever seemed too long, especially for someone who was prophesied to die at 18.

you tilted your head up to meet luke’s gaze, and his messy curls brushed against your forehead. evidence of the battle was clear on his face: caked-on dirt and blossoming bruises and dried blood. 

behind him, outside the bus window, the world was flying by. a child who had fallen off their bike being comforted by a friend. two people sharing an mp3 player and a pair of earbuds. an elderly couple walking their dog.

“you once told me that this was our life,” you continued, gesturing towards the weapons and battle-worn kids, some quiet, others crying, many injured. “what if it didn’t have to be?” 

luke furrowed his brow. “do you mean….are you talking about leaving?”

you shrugged. running from monsters for your entire childhood then being the child of the great prophecy was a lot.

a break might be nice.

there was so much about the world, the one you’d fought and bled to protect, that you wanted to experience. 

maybe something closer to a normal life.

“would you ever leave camp?” you wondered, not really answering luke's question. 

“no,” luke replied instantly. his fingers started fiddling with the beads on his necklace. “i can’t just walk away, not after everything.”

“yeah, i get that.” and you did; you really, truly, did. the guilt of wanting to leave camp curled in your stomach like a venomous snake. you took a shaky breath. “let’s talk about this later, yeah? i’m tired, and we have the rest of — ”

the rest of the summer slipped away in the blink of an eye. gone, before you even had a real chance to say goodbye.

you closed your eyes and held on to luke, as if gripping his arm would anchor you to something you weren't ready to let go of, but in some ways needed to move on from.

it was no use, though. 

by the end of august, you’d be gone too. 

now 

you learned early on that the curse of achilles doesn’t protect you from hangovers.

you wake up the morning after the celebration on olympus with a deep, throbbing pain lodged in your temple and an uncomfortable swirling in your gut. parties and late nights at bars are common on tour, which means migraines are, too, so you have a routine to make sure you’re not out of commission for too long.

except this time, the aspirin and blue gatorade and dry toast don’t work. the sting in your brain and uneasiness in your stomach doesn’t go away, even after a few days. you haven’t been able to sleep, either.

desperate for a cure, you consult lou ellen, head counsellor of the hecate cabin, who you’d unexpectedly grown close to in the past few weeks. she mixes something for you, while asking if there’s something that’s been weighing on you.

you couldn't keep it in anymore; you tell her about the summer solstice and luke.  

later, with nothing but your thoughts and percy’s snoring occupying your time post-curfew, you grab your phone and flip it open, deciding to finally reach out to luke, when you get a text from him.

luke is already on the beach when you arrive, looking out onto the water. 

“hey,” you greet as you sit next to him on the sand, but not too close. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell anyone that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, word travels fast around camp, and i don’t want van finding out. it’s not like it meant anything.”

the throbbing in your brain becomes a sharper sting, the uneasiness in your stomach a tidal wave of nausea.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to luke’s stoic demeanor.

luke shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with eros happened…we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.” 

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing?” the word tastes bitter in your mouth.

luke turns away before he answers. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he sighs. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. whatever you came here for, it's not here for you. there's nothing to go back to. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —" 

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, luke.” 

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay luke’s words as you crawl into bed, holding back tears so as to not disturb percy. finally, you swallow a generous amount of whatever concoction lou ellen had brewed up for you.

drifting off into your own sleep, you decide that you don’t love luke anymore. not as a friend, not as a.....

nope. 

according to luke, there's not even anything to go back to.

nothing.

nothing.

[aajjks]

The conqueror (XXIII.)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader

warnings: yándèrè, DÁRK TRÍGGÈRÍNG THÈMÈS, dárk óbsèssíòn, cràzy júngkòòk, dèprèssíón, 18+ thèmès, íntènsè thèmès, kórèàn tràdítíòns, àttèmpt át súícídè, NÓNCÔN KÍSSÍNG, TÓUCHÏNG, lüst, sèxúàl thèmès,

note. YALLLL This chapter is my best one yet I am so proud. Also, just a warning I have copy pasted some of the Korean traditional stuff from Google so I’m just telling you guys in advance and if you have any questions ask or anything to tell me just come into my inbox because this chapter is a terrifying. And sooooo sexy 🥵🥵🥵 undeniably, sexy… I have no words, but please please please share your feedback. OK I love you guys. Enjoy.

series masterlist

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

The air feels heavy, oppressive, as if the entire palace is holding its breath in anticipation of this day. Your wedding day. The day your life is to be bound forever to the man you hate most in this world. You sit in your chambers, unable to bring yourself to look in the mirror. The room is alive with movement, court ladies bustling around you, adjusting every detail of your appearance as though they’re preparing a lamb for slaughter.

The silk of your hanbok feels suffocating, its intricate embroidery weighing you down. The deep crimson and golden hues, symbols of purity and virtue, mock you with every thread. This is not a union of love. This is a chain, cold and unyielding, tying you to a man who thrives on blood and power.

“Perfect, my lady,” the seamstress finally declares, stepping back to admire her work. Her smile is full of pride, but it feels hollow.

Nothing about today is perfect.

“How fortunate you are to marry the king,” Na-yeon whispers close to your ear, her tone laced with a smugness that makes your stomach turn. “Most women would kill to be in your place.”

You don’t respond. Your throat feels tight, your heart heavy. Most women don’t know the truth about him. Most women haven’t seen the darkness that festers behind his piercing gaze. If they did, they’d run far, far away.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper weakly, your voice cracking. The court ladies exchange glances but obey, bowing before quietly filing out of the room. All except Na-yeon. She lingers, always watching, always ready to report back to him.

“You should feel honored,” she says, her voice soft but sharp, like the blade of a knife. “This is the greatest moment of your life.”

You swallow hard, fists clenched in your lap. “The greatest moment of my life?” you repeat bitterly. “This is the worst moment of my life. I’d rather die.”

For a fleeting second, her expression falters, but it’s gone just as quickly. She straightens, smoothing the front of her hanbok. “You mustn’t say such things, my lady. The king wouldn’t like to hear that.”

You glare at her. “Let him hear it. I don’t care anymore.”

But even as the words leave your mouth, you feel the weight of them settle in your chest. You’ve felt the consequences of his anger before. You know better than to provoke him. And yet, part of you doesn’t care.

You’re desperate, grasping at any semblance of control, even if it means testing his patience. You wish that you had died last night when he had attempted to take your own life, but then….

Na-Yeon had caught you. She has been like a shadow and now you’re here.

The palace courtyard is alive with activity, the sound of drums echoing through the cold morning air. The ceremonial guards stand in perfect formation, their armor gleaming under the pale sunlight.

Nobles and officials gather in clusters, their voices hushed as they exchange whispers about the grand occasion.

You’re led through the courtyard by a procession of attendants, their hands firm on your arms as they guide you toward the altar. You want to run, to scream, but your body betrays you. Your legs move mechanically, your feet dragging across the stone path as though weighed down by chains.

The altar looms ahead, a grand structure draped in silk banners and adorned with offerings of fruit, rice, and incense. At its center stands Jungkook, his figure imposing, cloaked in the rich robes of a king. His dark eyes find yours immediately, piercing through the crowd, and your breath catches.

There’s something about the way he looks at you—intense, unyielding, predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine. He’s been waiting for this moment, and the satisfaction in his expression is unmistakable.

As you approach, the murmurs of the crowd fall silent. All eyes are on you now.

“Bow,” one of the court ladies hisses under her breath.

You hesitate for only a moment before lowering yourself to the ground, your knees pressing against the cold stone. Your head dips forward in a deep bow, a gesture of submission that makes your stomach churn.

Jungkook steps forward, his movements slow, deliberate. You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of it suffocating.

“Rise,” he commands, his voice deep and resonant.

“AND… you, the court lady… never ever talk to my wife like that, or I will have your tongue for breakfast.” Jungkook growls and the lady immediately cowers in fear, he glares daggers into her head.

You watch and you hear everything.

He’s so scary.

You obey, standing on shaky legs as he towers over you. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes tell you everything. You belong to him now.

The ceremony begins with the gabae, the presentation of gifts. Silk, gold, jewels—each item is placed before you with great ceremony, a display of wealth and power that feels more like a taunt than a gesture of goodwill.

Jungkook watches you intently, his gaze never wavering. You can feel the heat of it, burning into your skin, as though he’s daring you to object. But you don’t. You can’t.

Next comes the pyebaek, the bowing ritual. You kneel once again, this time before Jungkook and the royal elders. Your movements are stiff, your body trembling with each bow. The elders nod in approval, their expressions impassive, while Jungkook watches with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs under his breath, so low only you can hear. The word feels like a brand, searing into your skin.

The final ritual is the joongin, the sharing of food. A tray of offerings is placed before you—steamed rice, dried fish, and fruits carefully arranged in intricate patterns. Jungkook picks up a piece of fruit, holding it out to you.

“Eat,” he commands.

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the food. Your hands tremble as you take the fruit from him, the act feeling more symbolic than it should. As you take a bite, the crowd erupts into applause, their cheers echoing across the courtyard.

It’s done. You are now his queen.

The celebrations continue long into the evening, but you barely notice. Your mind is numb, your body moving on autopilot as you’re led through the motions of the day. Smiling when prompted, nodding when addressed—it’s all a blur.

As the sun sets, the palace is bathed in the warm glow of lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of incense and wine, the sounds of laughter and music filling the halls. But you don’t feel joy. You feel hollow.

Later that night, Jungkook finds you in your chambers. He’s shed his ceremonial robes for a simpler, darker outfit, but his presence is just as commanding.

“Come,” he says, extending a hand toward you.

You don’t move. Your feet feel rooted to the ground, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he warns, his voice low, dangerous.

Reluctantly, you take his hand. His grip is firm, almost possessive, as he leads you toward the royal chambers.

The night stretches ahead of you, long and uncertain. You don’t know what awaits you behind those doors, but one thing is certain: your life, as you knew it, is over.

•••

Hours later… you are even more terrified.

The air in the bridal chamber is thick with tension. The flickering candlelight casts long, trembling shadows across the walls, the golden dragons embroidered on the silk bedding almost seeming to writhe. You stand frozen in the center of the room, your hands fidgeting with the delicate fabric of your wedding hanbok. Your heart pounds in your chest like a caged animal, the cold sweat on your back soaking through the layers of expensive silk.

The heavy door creaks open behind you, and you flinch. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, each one a deliberate announcement of his presence. King Jungkook—no, your husband now—steps into the room, his dark robes flowing behind him, the faint scent of musk and sandalwood following him.

He stands tall, broad shoulders and a powerful frame outlined by the flickering light. His strong jaw clenches slightly, and his dark, piercing eyes drink you in. His presence is suffocating, his physique commanding. The ceremonial attire does little to hide the strength beneath the fine fabric, his toned chest visible through the parting of his robe. His raven-black hair falls slightly into his eyes, framing his perfect like features. He is devastatingly beautiful, and that terrifies you.

“You look breathtaking,” he says, his voice low and husky, carrying an edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

You take a small step back, the edge of the bed pressing against the back of your legs.

His eyes narrow at the movement, but he doesn’t comment. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, the sound filling the silence like a judge sealing your fate.

Jungkook moves toward you slowly, his gaze fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey. Your mouth feels dry, your throat tight as you take another step back, only to have your knees buckle slightly when you bump into the bed.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my queen,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively soft. “Tonight is ours. No one will disturb us.”

You open your mouth to respond, to beg or plead, but the words die on your lips when he reaches out. His hand is warm as it brushes against your cheek, his thumb tracing your trembling lower lip. The touch is almost tender, but the hunger in his eyes betrays him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?” he whispers, his tone dark with an undercurrent of desperation. His thumb presses slightly against your lip, as if testing your resolve. “How many nights I’ve dreamed of you, Y/N?”

“Y-Your Majesty—”

“Jungkook,” he interrupts, his tone firm, almost commanding. “You are mine now, my queen. No more formalities.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. The warmth of his body radiates against your trembling form, his scent intoxicatingly rich and masculine. You can feel the raw strength in his presence, the way his chest rises and falls, the way his arms flex as he reaches for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his lips hovering just above yours. “Do you know what it does to me? Seeing you like this? Knowing you’re finally mine?”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours in a kiss that steals the air from your lungs. It is not gentle. It’s forceful, claiming, a declaration of his dominance. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his other hand gripping your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Your hands press against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it’s futile. His chest is solid, the muscles beneath the silk unyielding. You feel the raw power in his body, a strength that both intimidates and overwhelms you.

“Stop,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, your resistance only seems to fuel his desire.

“Stop?” he repeats, his voice low and laced with frustration as he finally pulls back. His dark eyes bore into yours, the hunger in them burning brighter than ever. “Why do you keep running from me, Y/N? I am your husband now. Your king. You belong to me.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you force them back, refusing to let him see you cry. “Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I—I can’t—”

“FUCK, YN.”

He screams and you flinch, for a moment as he hears his voice through the walls of this chamber, he almost feels bad as he stares at you

You’re so terrified, a crying mess, but God knows, it’s only turning him on more.

Why are you so fucking frustrating?

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening as he stares down at you. His gaze flickers to your trembling hands, your heaving chest, and then back to your tear-filled eyes. For a moment, something unreadable flashes across his face—hurt, perhaps, or maybe just irritation.

“I’ve given you everything,” he says, his voice cold now, but still laced with that obsessive edge. “I’ve built a kingdom for you. Killed for you. And yet you still flinch when I touch you.”

You don’t respond, unable to find the words.

His hand moves to your waist again, sliding around to the small of your back as he pulls you against him. His other hand trails up your arm, his touch light but possessive. The contrast between his strength and his touch sends a chill down your spine.

“You’re so delicate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So fragile. But you’re mine. Do you understand that, Y/N?”

You shake your head slightly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “No,” you whisper. “I don’t want this. I never wanted this.”

His grip tightens for a moment, his jaw clenching as he exhales sharply. The air between you grows colder, the tension suffocating.

“You’ll learn,” he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll learn to love me. To need me. Because no one else will ever have you.”

He leans in again, his lips brushing against your neck this time. You feel the heat of his breath, the light scrape of his teeth against your skin, and you shudder.

But then, he stops.

For a long moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. He pulls back, his eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. His expression hardens, and he lets out a low growl of frustration.

“You’re not ready,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Not yet.”

His hands fall away from you, and he steps back, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with barely-contained frustration. “I could take you right now,” he says, his voice cold. “But that wouldn’t satisfy me. Not like this.”

You stare at him, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he glares at you. “You insult me with your fear, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and venomous. “But you’ll come to me willingly one day. You’ll beg for my touch.”

He turns abruptly, his dark robes swirling around him as he moves toward the door. Before leaving, he pauses, his hand on the handle.

“Remember this, Y/N,” he says without looking back. “You’re mine. In this life and the next.”

The door shuts behind him with a finality that makes your knees buckle. You collapse onto the bed, trembling, your mind spinning with fear and confusion.

The silence of the room is deafening, but it doesn’t give you no comfort. You know this isn’t the end—merely the beginning of a life trapped in the clutches of a man whose obsession burns hotter than any love ever could.

[cyberesc]

THE BOY IS MINE. (PART 2)

pairing: Prohero!Bakugo x Prohero!Reader

rating: slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader needs a break tbh

note: I forgot where I was originally going with this story when I wrote this a few years ago since part 2 was only 70% done in my drafts, hope this was a good read ! it was fun writing dialogue for Hitomi, might bring her back for a new series🤐

part 1

You don't know when it happened, but somehow, your very existence seemed to aggravate Hitomi, for reasons you couldn’t understand. Your coworkers noticed it, even your assistant made a passing comment, but they urged you not to take it personally. Still, the cold stares, the subtle digs, and the way she tried to one-up you at every turn, it all started to wear on you. What you didn’t know was that her attitude stemmed from the time she spent in one-on-one training sessions with Bakugo.

The list of things Bakugo is good at is so long it would be stupid to write about, so it was obvious that he would be the perfect mentor. His sharp eyes caught every mistake, his feedback was brutally honest, and his results were undeniable. Hitomi knew this and respected him for it. But there was something else that ate away at her during those sessions, something that made her resentment towards you grow stronger with each passing day.

It started with the small comments Bakugo would make, things he probably didn’t even realize he was saying out loud. “Y/N always nails this move on the first try,” he muttered once, when Hitomi fumbled during a drill. Or, ���You’re gripping too tight—Y/N knows how to balance strength with control.” At first, Hitomi tried to brush it off, telling herself that Bakugo was just using you as an example to push her to do better, after all you were in the top rankings of Japan for a reason. But the more it happened, the more it grated on her. It wasn't just that you were good—it was that you seemed to be the benchmark against which she was measured.

The worst part, the part that truly made her snap, came during a routine training session. Hitomi was testing the mobility of her suit after some recent upgrades, moving through the drills with the precision she had honed under Bakugo’s guidance. He observed her as usual, his sharp eyes catching every nuance, every mistake.

But then, as she finished a complex maneuver, he made a comment that made her blood run cold. “You’ve got the power, but you’re hesitating,” Bakugo remarked, his tone almost distracted. “They would’ve read that shift in a heartbeat, made the move smoother.” he continued under his breath.

He didn’t even look at her when he said it. The reference was subtle, but Hitomi knew exactly who he meant. He talked about you enough for her to pick up on the unspoken comparison.

It wasn’t just that he compared her to you; it was that, in his mind, you were the standard she could never reach. The unattainable.

In that moment, it solidified for Hitomi: no matter how hard she trained, no matter how perfectly she executed every move, she would always be second to you in his eyes. His words echoed in her head, taunting her, and she knew then that she wasn’t just competing with a fellow hero. She was battling against the idealized version of you that Bakugo seemed to hold onto, an impossible shadow she could never escape.

It wasn’t rare for Dynamight to be paired with lower-ranking heroes on missions or patrols, but you happened to be his frequent partner. You weren’t sure if it was because your quirks worked well together or because you could read each other in any situation. Little did you know, Bakugo’s unconscious behavior around you was something even his assistant had picked up on. He didn’t lose his temper as easily when you were around, and on the rare occasions he did, it was never directed at you. He even made subtle nods at reporters before blasting off with you by his side. Almost every mission you collaborated on ended successfully, a fact that wasn’t lost on the agency.

Hitomi had noticed, too. She watched the way Bakugo seemed more grounded when you were around, how he sometimes deferred to your judgment without argument, and how he never seemed to mind your presence. That’s what made her resentment so sharp—it was one thing to compete with you in training, but another thing entirely to see that you were already a fixture in the life of the hero she admired—the man she wanted.

Your first mistake, if you could even call it that, was during a debriefing session. Hitomi had suggested a strategy, one that was sound but flawed in a way only experience could detect. You pointed it out, offering a correction in a calm, professional manner. It wasn’t meant to be demeaning, but to Hitomi, it felt like a public embarrassment. And Bakugo, instead of defending her, nodded in agreement with you, reinforcing the gap between her and you in his mind.

Another time, in the break room, she overheard a conversation where Bakugo was praising your tactical instincts. He never did that for anyone else, not even her—the one he had personally trained to analyze and fight just like him. She had been mentored by the best, molded to think and act with the same precision and intensity that Bakugo himself embodied. So, it came as a shock when she realized that everything she did, using everything she had learned from him, wasn’t good enough to hold his attention.

From then on, every interaction with you became a painful reminder that you held a place in Bakugo’s life that she couldn’t touch. So, she decided to carve out her own space, to prove that she could be the one who stood by his side.

The tension between you two only grew, feeding off these moments until it became a palpable force within the agency. And as much as you tried to stay above it, to focus on your work and ignore the subtle hostility, it was impossible not to notice. The whispers of office gossip, the way Hitomi would shoot you a look whenever Bakugo acknowledged you in a meeting—it all added up, and it all pointed to the truth you were too kind to see: Hitomi wasn’t just competing with you. She wanted to take everything you had, including Bakugo.

Hitomi’s resentment towards you was not something she could easily suppress. It wasn’t just about competition; it was personal. And when she realized that Bakugo saw you as a benchmark she could never reach, it drove her to desperate measures. If she couldn’t directly compete with you on the field, she would try to outmaneuver you in the court of public opinion.

So she set up a rumor to shift the narrative. It began subtly, with carefully orchestrated moments designed to seed the idea in the media. She made sure to be seen with Bakugo frequently, arranging coincidental encounters that were just intimate enough to spark curiosity. It was all carefully planned to catch the eye of the paparazzi.

The crucial moment came when Hitomi arranged for an image to be captured. A staged photo, one that would make it look like she and Bakugo were involved in a romantic relationship. The key was using a lookalike, someone who bore a striking resemblance to Bakugo, someone subtle enough to create a convincing illusion without risking his actual reputation.

The resulting photo, taken from a distance, showed Bakugo— or allegedly Bakugo—with his arm around Hitomi’s shoulders.

She meticulously chose the location of Bakugo’s favorite konbini, a spot he frequented to fuel up between patrols. This particular konbini was a well-kept secret among a few close friends and had become a sort of personal refuge for him. By selecting this location, Hitomi aimed to make a statement—a pointed message aimed directly at you.

The magazine’s social media team spread the image far and wide, igniting a storm of speculation and gossip. Fans and media alike began buzzing about the potential romance, analyzing every interaction between Bakugo and Hitomi for signs of affection. The craze was relentless, and soon, it became a trending topic. Headlines everywhere echoed the same speculation, and Hitomi basked in the growing buzz.

It was a clever ploy. With Bakugo’s name and your connection to him constantly in the limelight, it created a smokescreen that obscured the truth and shifted public perception. By the time you and Bakugo were confronted with the rumor, it had already gained enough traction to cause serious damage. Hitomi had successfully planted the seeds of doubt, making it seem like she was the one who had captured Bakugo’s attention.

Hitomi’s actions were not just about rivalry. She was trying to erase your presence and position herself as the ideal partner, hoping that by winning over those around Bakugo and creating a convincing narrative, she could finally gain what she felt she deserved.

Hitomi’s plan was working, and you were now caught in the crossfire of a fight you hadn’t even realized you were part of. And that’s where it all began to unravel.

After your checkup at the agency’s infirmary, the reality of your situation set in. The injury was severe enough that your boss decided to put you on desk duty until you were fully recovered. It was frustrating, but you had little choice but to comply.

Today, you found yourself seated at your desk, sifting through paperwork and mission reports. The mundane tasks offered a welcome distraction from your physical pain, but it did little to quell the storm of emotions that raged within you.

The agency’s hallways bustled with activity, heroes and sidekicks moving about in their usual hurried fashion. You were doing your best to stay out of everyone’s way, trying to blend into the background. You were engrossed in organizing a stack of reports when there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up.

“Hey, Y/N!” The cheery, singsong voice of Hitomi reached your ears, and you tensed. You had hoped to avoid any direct communication with her, but it seemed luck wasn’t on your side today.

You looked up slowly, forcing a neutral expression onto your face as she approached you with a case file under one arm and a newspaper clutched in her hand. Her gaze flicked over to you with an expression that was anything but friendly.

“How can I help you?,” you said curtly, not in the mood for small talk.

“I thought you might want to see this,” she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. She tossed the newspaper onto your desk and placed the case file beside it.

Looking down, your heart sank as you read the newspaper’s headline: “ANOTHER HERO BITES THE DUST! PRO HERO Y/H/N CAN’T HANDLE THE HEAT!” The article was filled with damning criticisms and snide remarks, painting you in a poor light due to your mess up.

Hitomi smirked as she noticed your reaction. “You know how it is. The media loves to stir up drama. Thought you’d appreciate the heads-up.” She gave you a patronizing wave and turned to leave.

The moment she was gone, you let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the newspaper and crumpling it in your hands. With a grimace, you tossed it into the trash can, trying to ignore the sting of humiliation that the article left behind.

It had been a week since the billboard incident, and despite your best efforts to avoid Bakugo, it was inevitable that you would cross paths eventually. You had spent those days focusing on your hero work, throwing yourself into your duties with an intensity that left you exhausted by the end of each day. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight in your chest.

Boring days of recovery were soon over. The bandages were finally coming off, and you were able to inspect your hero suit in preparation for your first patrol since the incident. The repairs were almost complete, and you hoped that getting back to work would help distract you from the recent turmoil.

As you were adjusting your suit in the testing room, you heard the door swing open. Hitomi walked in with her repaired support gear, her humming coming to a halt at the sight of you.

“Hey Y/N!” She greeted

You nodded in greeting, quickly attaching the support items to your suit to avoid a conversation.

She didn’t seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm. “I saw you around the other day but didn’t get a chance to chat. You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?” Her tone was laced with false sweetness, and you could sense the underlying hostility.

“Paperwork kept me busy,” you replied, adjusting the straps to your suit . You really didn’t want to have this conversation.

Her smile widened, as she took a step closer. “Well, you know how it is around here. There’s always something to keep us busy,” she said, her tone light. “I guess it’s why they say people like us need someone who understands the grind, right? Someone who gets how demanding this work can be.”

You felt a subtle tension in her words, but you weren’t sure where she was going with this. “Yeah, it’s a tough job.”

Hitomi’s eyes flickered with a hint of something more as she leaned in slightly. “Exactly. That’s why it’s so important to have someone who can keep up, someone who’s… on the same level. Makes things easier, don’t you think?”

There was an undercurrent to her words that you couldn’t ignore, but you weren’t ready to engage with it. “I suppose,” you replied cautiously.

She tilted her head, her smile never wavering. “Like Bakugo, for instance. He really needs someone who understands him, someone who’s in sync with him. It’s funny how the media picks up on these things.”

Your chest tightened, the implication of her words hitting you like a ton of bricks. “The media?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Oh, you know how they are,” she said with a casual shrug. “Always speculating about who’s with who, who’s spending time together… Sometimes they’re not too far off, though.” She chuckled softly, but there was a sharp edge to the sound. “But I guess that’s just part of being in the spotlight.”

You raised a brow at her words as she continued.

“You know—people talk. They notice who spends time together, who seems… close. But anyway, it’s a shame you’ve been avoiding Bakugo. But I guess it’s for the best.”

Realizing what she was insinuating, you could feel the tension building in your chest. “What are you getting at, Hitomi?”

She maintained that infuriatingly casual tone. “Oh, nothing specific. Just making an observation. But…let’s be real, Y/N. You were never really in the running, were you?”

You bit down on your tongue, recalling the lessons from your time as a sidekick at Endeavor's agency. Back then, you were trained to handle criticism and bounce back quickly. Being a hero meant facing harsh judgment from reporters and the press, and you had learned to develop a thick skin. You’d been through the wringer as a rookie, chewed up and spit out, and had come out stronger for it. Hitomi wasn’t the first to try and get under your skin, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Your resolve was solid, and you weren’t about to let her words shake you now.

Seeing that you had no reaction, she pressed on, her tone turning more aggressive. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re even still around here. I mean, after that slip-up the other night, it’s a miracle you didn’t get yourself killed. Maybe you should stick to the sidelines and let the real heroes do the work.”

Something inside you snapped. The pain and frustration that had been building up for days suddenly burst free, and you opened your mouth to retort—but before you could say a word, a familiar voice cut through the air, sharp and angry.

“What the hell did you just say?”

You both turned to see Bakugo standing a few feet away, his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at the sidekick. His presence was like a storm cloud rolling in, the atmosphere around him crackling with barely contained fury.

The sidekick’s confident demeanor faltered, her eyes widening in surprise and a hint of fear. “D-Dynamight! I was just—”

“You were just what?” Bakugo interrupted, stepping closer. “Talking shit to Y/H/N? Your superior?”

She stammered, clearly panicking. “I-I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—”

Bakugo’s expression darkened, his voice low and deadly calm. “You should know better than to run your mouth about things you don’t understand.”

The sidekick’s eyes darted between you and Bakugo, realizing she was in serious trouble. “But—”

Bakugo spoke over her, his patience completely gone. “You’ve got some nerve, talking like you know a damn thing about me or Y/N.”

You were frozen in place, watching the scene unfold in disbelief. Even after avoiding him for so long and keeping your distance, Bakugo was defending you—unrelentingly—and it was clear that he wasn’t going to let Hitomi off the hook.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since you got here. Cause of what? All the delusional crap you read in a magazine? That ends now.”

The sidekick paled. “I’m sorry, Dynamight, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it. Now get the hell out of here.” he growled, not giving her a chance to finish.

You could hear when her heart broke, she glanced at you one last time, a look you read that you’ve won. Without another word, she bolted from the room, her confidence completely shattered. The moment she was gone, Bakugo turned his attention to you, his expression softening slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

You stared at him, still reeling from what had just happened. “Bakugo, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone gentler than before. “Don’t apologize for her being a damn idiot.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” you said quietly. “I just… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

You looked down at your feet, your voice barely above a whisper. “About the rumors… I thought it was true.”

Bakugo let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you did. Those vultures love to stir up shit for clicks. None of it was true. I’m not dating her—or anyone.”

You felt lighter from his words but quickly pushed down the hope that tried to rise in your chest. “But why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he muttered, looking almost sheepish. “I told you before, I wasn’t interested in dating. And I figured you’d know I wouldn’t get involved in that kind of crap.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of relief and lingering hurt. “I… I didn’t want to assume anything. And after what I saw… I guess I thought I had misread everything between us.”

Bakugo’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You didn’t misread anything. I know what I said before—But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, dumbass.”

The warmth of his hand on your shoulder, the sincerity in his eyes—it was too much. Your resolve crumbled, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I thought you were just stringing me along.”

Bakugo’s heart ached at the sight of your tears, and without hesitation, he gently pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “’m sorry… I can be a total idiot sometimes, but I’d never screw with you on purpose.”

He rested his chin on your head. “So, don’t let that bullshit get to you.”

You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself relax into his embrace. “I missed you,” you mumbled into his hero suit, the words escaping before you could stop them.

He let out a soft huff, his hand moving to the back of your head, holding you close. The sound of his heart skipping a beat was unmistakable. “Missed you too, idiot. We’ll figure this out, okay? Just… don’t shut me out again.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the weight that had been pressing down on you finally start to lift. “Okay.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Look, I’m not great at this, but… I want to try. With you.”

Your breath hitched, hope flaring back to life in your chest. “Really?”

Bakugo nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah. We can take it slow, figure things out…but I’m not letting you walk away.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Katsuki.”

He smiled, his dimples appearing at the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

You leaned into him, feeling the last remnants of doubt melt away. As he pulled back, you felt his breath against your skin. His eyes flickered down to your lips, with an unspoken question hung in the air. Without overthinking it, you leaned up on your toes, closing the small distance between you.

Bakugo hesitated for the briefest of moments, then closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was tender. Everything he couldn’t say with words was poured into that kiss—every frustration, every ounce of care, every unresolved feeling that had been simmering between you for so long.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, the warmth of his embrace grounding you. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you might slip away. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s. His eyes were still half-lidded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks—a rare sight for him.

“Damn idiot,” he muttered softly, his voice laced with affection. “Should’ve kissed me sooner.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

He huffed, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Guess I’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Before you could respond, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one deeper, more confident—like he was staking his claim. And you kissed him back with equal fervor, knowing that, this time, you weren’t going to let anything or anyone come between you.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed in his arms, content and more at ease than you had felt in weeks. The uncertainty that had plagued you was gone. And for now, that was more than enough.

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