#and he doesn't get hung up on challenges

[ohkate]

Mickey Milkovich is not dumb.

[gurugirl]

DILF | older!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.

A/N: This was requested + this! Also, please think before you judge Y/n. She is very bold and confident in this. Maybe even a little pushy but Harry likes it (even if at first he doesn't give that impression). Also he's single so this isn't cheatrry!

Word Count: 6,580

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light)

. .

"That one. Total dilf. He looks grumpy. Bet you can't crack him."

Y/n laughed at her friend and looked down at her red-painted nails before narrowing her gaze on the attractive older man who was seated at the corner of the bar alone. He was nursing a whisky and he did look rather sullen. Unapproachable even.

"Why him?"

"Because he's hot. And I'm curious to see if you can get him to smile at least," Warren raised her brows, "I dare you."

Y/n tilted her head and assessed him. He was nice and big, taking up a decent amount of space at the bar, broad shoulders and back hunched as he leaned his muscular forearms on the wood of the bar top. Meaty hands placed on either side of his lowball glass. Thick brown waves on top of his head with a bit of silver coming in at the temples. But the handsome features on his face really set him apart. His granite jawline gave way to stubble that stretched over his skin and shaded in the spaces around his pink lips.

If she could "crack" him she wasn't sure she'd want just a smile. He looked yummy enough to eat.

Drinking down the last of her martini she pointed at Warren and then Tara, "Fine. Give me twenty minutes and I'll have him eating from the palm of my hand."

Tara laughed, "If you say so…"

She placed her heeled feet down on the floor and brushed her hands over her dress, "Oh, I do say so. Just watch and learn, ladies."

Y/n wasn't quite that confident, but she wasn't about to say no to dare. And she could hold her own when it came to flirting. She liked getting a little attention and if she could garner this one's interest it might be fun.

She sauntered up to the bar behind the man and noticed the way his t-shirt stretched over his lats and tapered loosely down at his waist. The guy was fit. And lucky her, there was an open stool next to him.

Sliding onto the seat she waved at the bartender to order another drink. She'd need all the courage she could get, in whatever form she could get it.

Tapping her long nails on the lacquered wood she felt nerves thrumming through veins before turning toward the man finally. He hadn't seemed to take note of her yet, which honestly was unusual in most cases. Maybe she thought too highly of herself but men tended to notice her right away. She appreciated the challenge, though.

Reaching her hand into his space to greet him, she pushed down her nerves to sound steady as she spoke, "I'm Y/n."

She watched his brow furrow as he turned to look at her hand and then up at her eyes, his expression, which she expected would soften once he looked at her, was unamused. A single light overhead lit the tops of their heads as a shadow cast over the side of his face and he didn't make a move to shake her hand, "And I'm old enough to be your dad."

A surprised scoff fell from her lips as she moved her hand away from him. She wiggled in her seat and crossed her leg over her thigh toward him, gulping down the initial rejection with as much grace as she could muster, "I think you're jumping to conclusions about my intentions. But so what if you're older than me? I don't mind. We're both adults, right?"

An unimpressed grunt rumbled from his throat before he took another sip of his whisky and he looked away from her toward the TV that hung not far away from where they sat.

The bartender placed her olive martini down on the bar in front of her, "It'll be on Y/n Y/l/n. I already have an open tab."

A sip of the salty drink felt warm down her throat. So he was going to be a bit tough to crack. She turned to look at her friends who were grinning in her direction.

Straightening her back to feel more confident she tried again, "So you're not gonna tell me your name even?"

Without looking at her, he licked his lips and ticked his jaw, "Y/n, I think it's past your bedtime."

She smiled at that. He'd said her name, which meant he'd been listening, "My bedtime is whenever I say it is, not when some grouchy stranger says."

He puffed out an amused laugh through his nose, "I am a stranger. Which means you should be cautious, little girl. Your dad didn't teach you about things like that?" He turned to look down at her again, and that time she saw the soft green color of his eyes as the light hit his face just right.

But now she was really determined. She smiled brightly at him and let her eyes coast over his tattooed arm and then back up to his face, "Are you telling me you're dangerous?"

He still didn't smile as he shook his head like he was surprised by her gall, "Do your parents know what you're up to tonight?"

"I'm 24. Graduated from college, live on my own, pay my bills, have a full-time job. You seem to be awfully worried about my parents. I can take care of myself just fine."

Just then another person sat down next to the man Y/n was trying to whittle away at. He poked his elbow at him, "Who's this?"

"Don't know. Someone who's about to go back to her table with her little girlfriends."

Biting her lip she traced the rim of her martini glass with her fingertip, keeping her eyes set on the handsome tattooed one, "Not even a smile. Just one? Please?"

"Like I already said, I'm way too old for you."

The other man leaned over and reached to tap Y/n's shoulder, "Hey. Forget about Harry, here. You can bring me home with you if you're looking for a daddy tonight."

She frowned and looked him up and down to asses. He was late 40s perhaps, wearing a local band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a backward cap to make himself appear a little more youthful. "No thanks. You'd know if I was interested in you."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at her retort. She was definitely too young but he liked her spunk.

"Now, Harry…" she said his name slowly as she leaned a little closer, "I've got your name thanks to your friend. Can I have a smile?"

"Why?" He stared down at her, the caress of his gaze felt infinite and she found her skin convecting in its wake. He might be hard to crack but this one would be worth it, she determined.

She sighed and slid her finger dangerously close to his wrist as he looked down at her nail and watched her trail it near his arm, "I just hoped to see you smile is all. Too handsome to have such a sour scowl on your face."

"And you're hardly old enough to be so confident to walk up to a strange man at a bar."

She laughed and tilted her head, "You planning on doing something bad to me, Harry?"

And that. That pulled a reaction out of him that spread over his features slowly as he shook his head in disbelief, "Darlin', you wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her eyes widened slightly. Now she was definitely not giving up. Y/n wasn't one to fail and Harry might be making her work hard for it but she couldn't imagine it wouldn't be worth it in the end.

"Is that a challenge or something?" She softly scraped her nail over his tattooed wrist and Harry watched her red nail work over his skin.

His resolve was fading fast. She could tell he wasn't going to keep denying her. And why should he? If he was single, which he appeared to be, what was the harm in having a little fun with someone younger? Y/n didn't mind. And he certainly shouldn't either.

"If it were a challenge you'd know it. Lots of other guys here, Y/n. Go enjoy your night with someone closer to your own age."

She sighed in annoyance. But he hadn't moved his arm away from her and she was going to take that as a sign.

Dragging the toe of her shoe into his shin she grinned, "I don't want to enjoy my night with someone my own age. Not tonight anyway. I think you've convinced me that I need to test out this theory of yours. That you think I can't handle you. Cause I bet I can."

With his eyes piercing into hers, he took another sip of his drink. She thought she might have just convinced him to give her a smile at the very least because it looked like he was weighing his options. And if she could get him to smile she might have luck with the rest.

He tilted his chin upward for a moment, eyes aimed at the ceiling like he was calling on a higher power for strength, "Go back to your friends, Y/n. Any other man here would love to have your company."

"But you wouldn't love to have my company?"

"I mean… I'm still here," the other man raised his hand and leaned into Harry, "Honey we could have so much fun. Any man who'd turn you down is either battin' for the other team or more likely," he chuckled and pushed his shoulder into Harry's teasingly, "He can't get it up anymore."

Y/n's mouth dropped open at that and Harry turned to look at the man. She wished she could see the look on his face, "Sit the fuck back down, John. She already told you she's not interested in you."

"Yeah, and you're not interested in her so what's it matter to you? Look at her, Harry. Practically begging you. Young and bubbly… Tight—"

Harry's hand covered John's throat as he pushed him away, nearly making his stool topple over, "Get the fuck outta here. You had too much whisky tonight."

"Aww… come on Harry… I was just jokin'!"

She watched as he stood from his stool and looked down at John, "And you thought that was funny? You like making jokes about women like that?"

The man put his hands up in surrender, "I'm out. Here…" he threw a wad of cash on the bar top before he moved past Harry and then looked at Y/n, "My apologies if I offended you."

They watched as John left the bar quickly and then Harry sat back down before he waved at the bartender and signaled for the check, "Just the one whisky neat."

"You're leaving already? Night's still young, Harry."

He sucked at his teeth as he scraped his gaze over her face and down to her cleavage. She smiled when she watched the path his eyes had taken.

The bartender handed him the bill and Harry leaned over to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

She scooted closer to him, "You headed home?"

He nodded, but not necessarily in answer to her question, it was more of an appraisal kind of nod. He was still silent as he pulled cash out of his wallet.

"Thanks for that, by the way. I'm sure John's a nice guy and all but he's not really my type. And I'm sure he was wrong about you."

That got his attention. Harry flicked his gaze back to hers, "Wrong about me?"

She smiled, "The part where he said you couldn't get it up. You're not that old. I'm sure you still can. Right?"

He clenched his jaw and breathed out of his nostrils like he couldn't believe she'd asked him such a thing. He handed the bartender his cash with a nod before he stood up from his stool.

"Huh. Since you're so quiet about it maybe he was right," she goaded, pressing her lips together to flatten her smile as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Harry placed a palm down on the bar top next to her hand and leaned over her, "You're out of your depth here, Y/n."

"Now, you don't really know that do you? Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're awfully pushy. Not used to hearing no, are you?"

Y/n watched as the edge of his mouth lifted in amusement and she widened her eyes and pointed, "You're almost smiling."

He shook his head and looked around the bar before pinning his gaze back to hers, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. But your luck has run out with me, princess."

Harry stood to his full height and Y/n decided to try one last time, "So it's true then. What he said."

He stopped and turned to look back at her, a slow burning heat behind his gaze, "Couldn't be further from the truth."

She smiled and slid off her stool to stand in front of him. His height was impressive, "Prove it."

The line of his jaw hardened, turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension. His eyes simmered as he weighed his options. Finally, a hint of a smile stretched over his mouth. A small one, but still.

"I don't need to prove anything to silly little girls."

"Good thing I'm not a silly little girl. I'm a grown woman, Harry."

Y/n knew she was pushing it. She'd never needed to throw herself at any man before. But because of that, she wasn't used to rejection either. Maybe it was a good lesson for her ego. She knew her big fault was how entitled she could act sometimes. But that was partly thanks to how she was raised. It's better to act like a man to get what you want in life, her dad told her. And so far, that had been true. Some women balked at her confidence and her bold attitude. She wasn't demure or sweet enough. And men would often refer to her as a bitch or say that she was trying too hard.

She'd work on her ego another time. But right now? She was focused on winning this battle.

"What do you want with someone like me anyway? Hm? I'm old, Y/n. What's in it for you?"

Blinking her eyes she shook her head, "You're not old, first of all. Secondly, you're really attractive. It doesn't need to go much deeper than that, does it? I just think you're handsome. And I do kind of like a challenge."

"I can see that you like a challenge. It's the only reason I haven't walked out that door yet. Kind of relentless."

She smiled, "So it's working?"

Another half-smile worked its way up his mouth as he laughed in disbelief, "Are you surprised that it is?"

His pupils coasted over her figure and then back up to her face. The warmth of his gaze singed her skin like an open flame.

"I guess I just didn't know how difficult it'd be with you."

He licked his lips, "Difficult. You have no idea. But looks like you're about to find out. Go tell your friends what's going on. Meet me out front."

Y/n watched him turn and walk away. She was shocked. For a minute she thought he wasn't going to go for it at all.

Shaking off the sudden surprise of having gotten to him she settled up with the bartender and then stopped at the table with her friends. They were just about to give her condolences for having oversold her ability but she interrupted. "He's waiting for me outside. Location is on. Don't wait up!"

Harry was leaning against a black car in the parking lot when she stepped out of the doors. The moment he saw her he pushed himself off the car and opened the passenger door for her.

It was going to be tricky to maintain the kind of confidence she'd been feigning with him up until then but there was no part of her that didn't want to find out what he could show her.

She watched as Harry sat down in the driver's seat and started up his car. He took up too much space in the seat. His big hand wrapped around the leather steering wheel while his other encased the shift stick. Even the way he drove was turning her on.

She was pleased that she'd wormed her way under his skin and that he'd given in. She'd try her best to make it worth his while. Reaching across the console she put her hand on his thigh and he glanced down quickly before setting his gaze back on the road.

Now, Harry had slept with younger women a couple of times. He generally preferred someone closer to his age because he liked the confidence and experience that came with age. Women in their 20s were often in a different stage of life and that was fine –normal even, but it just usually wasn't a match for him. Not sexually and not mentally.

But Y/n was unusually confident for being so young. Persistent. He liked it, he couldn't lie. Whether or not she really had much else going for her beyond confidence, he guessed he'd find out. Well, she was very cute too. She did have that in her favor.

And Y/n at least seemed like she knew what she wanted. It was flattering as well. Being approached by such a pretty young thing. He figured the moment he told her to go back to her friends she'd give up but she was just fiery enough that she wasn't deterred.

When she ran her nail over his wrist he knew he was screwed. She was just close enough that he could smell her perfume and then she nudged her shoe into his shin and all he could think about was that she really wanted to be shown a good time and if anyone could it was him.

Harry knew his way around a woman's body. They were all different and he liked finding all the buttons and things that made them purr. In his experience, though, the younger the woman, the less she knew her own body. He didn't know if Y/n was just talking a big game but he was about to find out.

He stayed quiet as she ran her hand down his thigh and he shifted as the car accelerated past the green light. He'd see if she'd do anything with her hand but maybe she'd just pet at him like a novelty toy. He didn't expect—

"This is okay?" She asked him, her tone sultry as she palmed at his crotch.

He licked his lips, "Have at it."

His cock fattened up nicely with not much effort on her part. Proof that he definitely could get it up. Plucking at his button she looked from his face to her fingers as she leaned further over the console to reach her hand into his open pants to help him with the awkward angle of his dick. He seemed to appreciate that as he shifted under her palm.

Rubbing over his heather grey briefs she peeled down the elastic band the slightest to get a peek. The dark shade of pink on his tip matched the muted raspberry of his lips. She slid the pad of her middle finger over the slit and he softly inhaled through his teeth.

She wouldn't be able to give him roadhead like she wanted. It was impossible with the stick shift in the way. But she could wrap her fingers around his shaft and feel him under her palm until they got wherever they were going.

"Mmm… It's so big, Harry. Knew you would be. Might be the biggest I've seen in person. Can't tell yet, though. Have to wait to see when we've got these off."

Harry pushed a laughed breath through his nose. She was a bold thing. Her assertiveness was a turn-on. He didn't like meek and shy. Not when it came to sex.

When she spit into her palm and smeared it down his length, the best she could, he parted his lips and stepped on the gas. She was already exceeding any expectations he had for her. Maybe she'd prove him wrong.

Her nail scraped the underside of him and she moaned, "Really want it in my mouth."

He gulped harshly and ticked his jaw, "Just be patient. I'll let you put it in your mouth soon enough."

"And where are we going? Your place?"

He nodded, "Just a few minutes away."

She squeezed around him and pulled upward slowly. She knew already, he was well above average and she was going to have to work to give him a proper blowy.

His house was a one story, the driveway at the front with a garage attached. He lifted his hand and pushed on a device that was clinging to his sun visor and the garage door began to open. There was a covered motorcycle along the back wall and then the garage door closed after he shut off the engine.

She moved her hand away and unbuckled herself as he got out. When she reached down to pick up her little purse she realized her panties were already wet. She grinned as she stepped out, adjusting her dress before closing the door, and then followed behind him as he led her into a dark hallway.

When he turned on the lights she took it all in. Hardwood floors led into a dining area and then a kitchen. Hung on the walls were photos of himself with two children and then more framed photos with just the kids.

"Do you have kids?"

"I do. Boy and a girl. 7 and 10."

"You're not married are you?"

He laughed, "If I were you'd have known. Wouldn't have been out in the first place if I had a wife waiting for me at home."

She nodded as he turned on the kitchen light and pulled out two glasses before filling them with water.

"Divorced?"

Handing her a glass he squinted, "Yes."

She took a sip. He was a man of few words she'd gathered. She looked around the kitchen. Wood cabinets, an outdated laminate countertop, stainless steel appliances. The space could use some updating but it was large and he had a big pantry.

Sitting the glass down on the counter she watched him closely. His pants were still unbuttoned. She eyed the space at his crotch as he placed his own glass down next to hers.

"It's not gonna suck itself."

She laughed and looked up at him. He had a genuine smile on his face that time. The first real smile she'd seen from him all night. A healthy row of clean teeth, a dimple…

"Hmm… I think you're right. Let's see what we've got…"

She moved in front of him and placed her hands on his pants to push them away but before she could inch them down he wrapped his meaty hand around the back of her neck and drew her into his chest. His mouth was warm and soft. His tongue tasted like the whisky he'd been drinking.

Letting go of his pants she held onto his biceps as he used his free hand to push her hips against his. Still nice and hard. He ran his tongue over her lips and she moaned into his mouth. He worked his warm lips down to her jaw and then he licked upward on her neck, the wet patch was cool on her skin from the air in the kitchen. He did it again and her knees almost gave out. She hadn't been licked like that before.

He kissed over her clavicle and then drew his tongue over her flesh. Her heart was thrumming quickly and she squeezed his strong arms when he rutted against her.

"You good at sucking cock, Y/n?" He pushed his nose against her jawline and the hot breath from his words scattered over the skin on her neck.

"I want to be," she spoke breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed as he mawed at her throat.

He parted from her neck and looked down at her, half-lidded gaze and spit-slicked lips, "Go on."

Instantly she dropped to her knees as her fingers worked deftly at pulling his pants down and then his underwear. She'd sucked a handful of dicks so she knew a couple of moves.

Getting her hand around his thick shaft proved to be a small challenge. To say he was thick… understatement. Long too. His tip was smooth, mushroomed with ridges along the length that she hoped she'd get to feel later on. His was the kind of cock that women dreamed of.

Looking up at him she licked her palm and used her spit to pump him slowly. Another glob over his tip for good measure. Then she pressed a kiss to the base of him, just over his sac, and screwed her eyes upward to watch his expression as she licked his balls, one side at a time. She wound her tongue all around to wet him before sucking at one side, pulling it into her mouth and he let out a ragged breath, his dark pupils spreading inky until the soft green had almost vanished.

He liked it.

She worked around the other side, sucking him in again and swirling her tongue softly underneath the tender bits. He gripped the counter behind himself.

Pulling off she straightened her back and licked upward, feeling every delicious thick ridge along his shaft until her tongue met his smooth crown. Laving every crevice of his tip, she dipped her tongue into his slit and then ran it under the frenulum before she wetted every inch of his glans.

Her mouth was watering when she parted her lips around him and flitted her gaze upward. He was watching her with a slack jaw as she took him a little deeper. He cradled the back of her head and moaned.

"Just suck the tip…."

She blinked up at him and pulled her lips just over the lip, swirling and suckling around him like he wanted.

"Fuck. Just like that." His hand at the back of her head was easy. He didn't push or pull. It was more like a pleased gesture as his fingertips flexed around her skull gently.

Y/n would have liked to have gone deeper. Wanted to show him her best work. But he seemed rather happy with what she was doing.

She bobbed a couple of times, only to slide her lips back to his tip. Her pace was slow when she began to stroke his length with a little twisting motion.

He was big. She knew she could take more but in a way, she was grateful that that was all he was asking for.

A groan fell from his chest and he bucked forward, his cock slipping down her tongue and she sucked, drawing more of him in as she moved her hands away.

"Goddamnit, you're good."

She took that as permission to go deeper. Relaxing her jaw she closed her eyes and held her breath, pushing down to her limit. She filled her throat with his cock the best she could and gurgled around his tip.

He coughed out a moan and then thumbed at her cheek, "Alright, that's good."

She pulled off of him. His heavy cock aimed right at her face when she sat back on her knees and looked up at him, "I can do better than that."

He laughed and put his hand out for her to take, helping her stand up, "I bet you can. Come on."

Harry kept her hand in his as he led her to his bedroom. It was just past the dark living space and he turned on a floor lamp on the opposite side of the room from the bed. When he turned back toward her he cupped her face and kissed her again.

She pressed her hand into his warm, hard chest and he reached around the back of her dress to pull the zipper downward, his fingers dragging down her skin as he went. His touch sent a tremor down her spine as continued kissing her wetly.

He stepped back, helping her out of her dress until it fell to the floor. His eyes raked over her body and he smoothed his hands over her hips and up to her bra-covered breasts. He stepped in closer, walking her backward toward his bed. He put his hands back on her hips and nudged her to sit before he reached down to lift her leg up by her calf, removing her heels, one at a time.

Y/n's thong was drenched. She stared at him while he placed her shoes side by side at the foot of the bed and then he placed his big palms on her thighs, pushing her legs open, "Lie back."

She let her back hit the mattress as Harry got to his knees on the floor. An arm reached under her thigh as he spread her apart and then she felt her panties being pulled at until her her wet pusslips were right in his face. He groaned and felt a hand slide up the inside of her thigh. He pressed his mouth over her mons and looked up at her before he opened his mouth wide and drew his tongue through her crease making her gasp.

"Get your bra off."

She pushed herself up slightly and worked at the clasp of her bra between moans as Harry continued licking at her pussy. When she pulled her arm through the flimsy material he lifted his head and reached around her back, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed and he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!"

Y/n's finger and her long nails pushed into Harry's hair and scraped at his scalp as he licked and pulled at each nipple. He buried his face between her tits and let out a low sound, like he was murmuring something to her but only her breasts were allowed to hear it.

When he sunk back down he pushed at her so she'd lie back and he started in on her clit, one hand holding her panties to the side as he devoured her glistening cunt.

She kept feeling like she was going to slide off the edge of the bed but Harry's grip on her kept her still. His tongue and his lips were magic as he drew her to her end. She yanked at his hair and babbled his name on repeat as her spine bowed off the bed when she came.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavy when she felt her body being pushed upward. She popped her eyes open and watched him roll a condom over his shaft before he kneed back up onto the bed next to her. He was stark naked. His body was insane. Thick muscle and masculine everything. Tattoos scatter over his arms and chest.

Fuck, she muttered under her breath.

"Flip over, for me," his deep voice was husky as he motioned toward her to move.

She rolled to her stomach and she felt his fingers slide between the band of her panties and her hips as he pulled them down her legs.

"Ass up a little. I want to see all of you, Y/n."

She grinned and turned to look at him over her shoulder as she lifted her hips and spread her thighs. His lips were parted as he grabbed her ass and squeezed, making her cheeks spread apart. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and then dipped in, kissing her pussy from behind before licking upward over her ass.

She squealed quietly and bit her lip, still watching him behind her as he lifted, a lopsided grin on his face. He gazed at her as he fisted the base of his cock and slid the head up and down her soaked folds before he tipped his hips to push in just the tip.

"Gorgeous. Gonna look even better wrapped around cock. You like anal?"

"Never tried it."

He licked his lips and pressed his lips together as he looked at the spot where his dick was pressed against her cunt, "Figured. S'alright. Pussy's my favorite anyway."

"We could try… if you want."

He looked back into her eyes, a cocky smile on his face, "Your little hole would need to be trained. And that takes time. So, there will be no anal tonight. Not gonna try and hurt you. But that's a cute thought."

He canted his hips inward, eyes on hers and her mouth dropped open when she felt her entrance splitting open for him. She was tight, but so slick, it only took a few slow thrusts until he was buried in with a low grunt. He pulled back and then pushed his entire length into the hilt.

"Fuck—fuck!" She cried and stuffed her face into the blankets.

"Too much?"

"No! It's so good. You're just so big…" She began to send her hips back against him and Harry slowly fucked in to match her pace. His eyes were everywhere. On her puss getting split open on his cock, the curve of her lower back, the swell of her ass.

He just knew she'd look so sweet with her ass stuffed too, but good things like that couldn't be rushed which was a shame.

Every thrust was gushy wet. Y/n bubbled out small moans every time his dick brushed deep into her guts. It was better than she imagined. The way he filled her to the brim was going to turn into an addiction. She'd never slept with any man that had her wanting seconds before they'd even finished.

"Oh my god…" she mewled into the comforter.

"Fuck, I know, baby…"

She fit him like a glove, it was perfect. He went in a little faster, balls thudding against her skin rhythmically making her bounce forward as she spread around his girth. When he ground in she arched her back deeply and let out a soft groan, her hands fisted at the blanket and Harry reached around and smeared his fingertips over her clit.

It had her panting and pushing into him feverishly. She'd needed the friction on her throbbing button and he'd found it easily, thick, rough fingerprints slicking back and forth as he rutted in and in. It sent electrical sparks over her limbs.

"Like that? Needs her clit touched? Shit baby, act like you've never been touched by a man right here before…" he plucked at her like he was playing the guitar and she began to fade, her moans getting caught in her chest.

He could feel her walls tightening around him as he drove in deep.

"Fuck, Harry— fuck!"

He grinned as he watched her shudder, "Give it up, Y/n. There you go…"

She began to pulse around him, a constant stream of nonsense falling from her lips as he stroked against her channel and pushed deep into her tummy, his fingers still working her clit with ease.

Just as her body had tipped and oxygen returned to her lungs he pulled out and she felt him taking her hips and turning her around to her back. Harry grabbed her ankles and lifted until each was settled over his shoulders and pushed back inside of her, cock drilling down to her core making her teeth chatter at the way he split her down the middle.

Harry leaned over her, cock buried deep as she watched her pretty face twist up with pleasure. Plapping into her, her tits wobbled as his balls tightened against his body. The harder he plunged in, the more her legs shook. Soon, her ankles had slipped down and her feet hit the mattress as he continued drilling into her. His face was flushed hot, lips parted, muscles tensed.

Reaching up to his neck she smoothed her fingers over his warm skin and he lowered his chest down to hers and kissed her. That filthy tongue ran over her lips and he sloppily sipped at her between sucking at her lips. Her brain had turned to jelly.

She felt his hand on her outer thigh squeezing and brushing as he fucked down into her. "Mmm… fuck, Y/n, m'gonna come…"

He trembled over her, thick thighs pressed down and flexed as he rutted in and in and in, and then… he stilled. A deep, guttural moan vibrated through his chest down into hers.

She sighed when she felt him throbbing, pumping into his condom. Her fingers caressed the muscles over his back and she gasped when he bucked in harshly, once more as he emptied the last of his come into the rubber wrapped around his cock.

He slowed his kisses until they were lazy little pecks and then he looked down at her, his chest heaving. She was already grinning up at him.

"What?"

She blinked her eyes, "That was fun."

He puffed out a breath, "I guess that's a good way to describe it."

Harry was a gentleman as he pulled out slowly and helped her off the bed and led her to his bathroom. He helped her clean up and listened to her tell him about her job —just reminding him that she was an adult after he commented on her being so young again.

When she picked her dress up off the floor and started to step into it, Harry frowned, "What are you doing?"

She stopped and raised her brows. "Getting dressed. Was gonna call an Uber. I'm sure you don't want a stranger in your house all night," she laughed.

Harry pulled at her hand, making her drop her dress, "What kind of men have you been hanging out with that let you leave in an Uber at 2 am? You'll stay here."

She opened her mouth and then closed it in surprise before tilting her head in confusion, "Really? I just assumed—"

"You'll stay the night here. There's no way in hell you're getting an Uber at this time of night. It's dangerous."

She grinned and shrugged, "Well then… can I have a shirt or something to sleep in?"

He placed his warm hands on her hips, "You can have a t-shirt if you like. I prefer to sleep naked myself."

"Oh yeah? I usually do too as a matter of fact."

He held her out in his arms and eyed her naked frame, "Looks like we're both good to go then. We'll get you sorted in the morning. I'll give you a ride home then."

"I think you just want to keep me here with you," she chuckled.

Harry shook his head and released her hips before he popped her on the bottom with his palm. She bleated out a laugh.

"Get your ass in bed before I change my mind."

"Yes, sir."

. .

→ PART 2 ←

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[slapmeshigaraki]

౨ৎ "Are you scared, sweetheart?" ౨ৎ

♡ warnings: meanie!sylus x reader, spit, gunplay, daddy, condescension, improper evol use lmao, actually pretty tame ngl the dirty talk is kinda gross though, sylus is out of character in this in case that bothers you

♡ a/n: okay i lied and said i wasn't posting this until later in the week, but i finished editing it early so... idk happy valentine's day i guess. another old fic that i just edited. enjoy pretties !!

♡ Sylus doesn't ask you for much other than to leave him alone for a few hours on Sundays so he can clean his gun collection, but after a few interruptions too many, he decides that you can stick around just this once. Afterall, maybe you can help? ♡

“What is it?” he said after letting out a deep sigh, not bothering to look up at you through the lenses of his glasses. They sat loosely against the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his lap, softly polishing one of his most prized possessions: a gun. You weren’t sure whose death he’d pictured on the other end of it, but he treated it like the last bite of dessert, savoring it, keeping it hidden away for a special occasion. No one could touch it, look at it, breathe on it, except him. When Luke and Kieran gave you your first tour of the house, they wouldn’t even walk you down the hallway of the safe, scared that ‘Boss would smell your scents when he returned.’ It wasn’t until months later when he’d decided that your firearm wasn’t up to par any longer that he’d invited you in to 'shop' for a new one. That’s when you saw it, hung up on the wall in a glass case so high that only he could reach. It was wrapped in a fine silk fabric, a pristine black cherry gun whose make or model was so far beyond your pay grade that you’d never heard of it before.

Every Sunday he disappears into the safe for hours before dinner. He was not to be disturbed. It was the only thing that he was really particular about, but he needed it just to clear his head—some solace after a long week. So, the fact that you were interrupting him for the third time with a knock on the door was grating, to say the least.

“Nothing I just-“

“Is something on fire, darling?”

“No, Sylus.”

“Has someone managed to break into the house?”

“No.”

“Has Mephisto spontaneously combusted, leaving a feather lodged into one of your eyes?”

“No.”

“So, you can clearly see that I’m busy? Then I’ll ask again, what is it that you need?” His eyes still wouldn’t meet yours, eyebrows furrowing as he spoke, his tone strained.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted rice or mashed potatoes for dinner, but since you’re so caught up in tending to an inanimate object, I’ll decide for you.” He was snippier than usual, the darkening of his voice making it obvious he was not in the mood for witty banter.

“Be careful there, sweetheart. I’d hate for that pretty mouth to get you into trouble.”

“Or what? Will you get trigger happy and let that precious gun go off? No, of course not because we must keep it clean for a hypothetical threat that doesn’t fucking exist.”

“Kneel.” It wasn’t a question or a suggestion. It was a command, an order barked at an underling.

“Go fuck yourself,” You said, venom in your voice as you made a move back towards the door, hand clenched around the golden handle.

“If you make me get up to come catch you sweetheart, you’ll be sorry.” His eyes met yours for the first time, a fiery crimson illuminating your line of vision. His gaze was dark, challenging you to disobey him. When Sylus told someone to do something, they did it and you were no exception. You might bite back once in a while, but he always knew that you’d do what he told you to at the end of the day.

So, you kneeled, perhaps too slowly because it wasn’t before long that your knees were forced to buckle beneath you, Sylus making good use of his evol to bind your ankles together. The cool marble tile flooring chilled your flesh as your heartbeat ran wild, your mouth getting wetter with each second, practically drooling as if you were waiting to sink your teeth into your favorite meal. In the same breath, your hands were bound as well, moved behind your back against your will and stuck together like glue.

“Go on, crawl to me.” There was amusement staining his expression, a sinister smirk plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong, pretty girl? Can’t you get to me? A big strong girl like you with such a dirty mouth, surely you can move just a few feet on your own.” You relaxed your legs, letting your knees spread apart to rest them.

“I can’t…” You mumbled under your breath, unable to meet his glare any longer.

“Speak up, pet. You were so loud a few moments ago. Speak to me with that same tough voice now that you can't run away from me.” His slender fingers kept moving, cleaning the trophy with such grace. It was rhythmic, methodical, and calculated. It made you wet just to watch him, reminding you of how easily those same fingers could make you fall apart in his arms.

“I can’t move.”

“You can’t move?” he whined, pouting, mocking you without remorse.

“Well, I want you kneeling in front of me. So how do you suggest you get over here, sweetie?”

“Sylus…” You pled, which was slightly better than flat out begging.

“Tsk tsk, where are our manners?” The same red mist that bound your wrists and ankles now curled around your throat, not hesitating to squeeze abruptly, threatening to rob you of all of your air altogether.

“Please sir, help me.” Without letting another second pass, you were pulled into the air and inched over to him by the mist, roughly thrown back to the ground before him. His legs were spread in his seated position, gun resting on one, the other resting between your thighs.

“Thank you,” You said, hanging your head to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Aw, so polite. See what happens when you ask nicely? See how sweet I can be when you aren't a fucking brat?” With that, his foot adjusted, the tip of his perfectly polished leather shoe gently pressed against your core. You struggled not to writhe against him, desperately needing some form of friction to soothe the ache between your legs.

“Look at me, darling.” You did. The fervent desire in your eyes obvious, bottom lip bloody from biting it so hard, restraining yourself from any more unnecessary commentary.

“You look so needy like this, my foot pressed against your cunt, pouting underneath me. You look like you want to ask me for something? What is it, baby? Do you need something from your daddy, hm?” A whine fell from between your lips against your control as you tensed your legs, begging them not to move without permission.

“Please can I- can you fuck me please?”

“Can I fuck you? Do you think that I should dirty myself--” the hold on your neck tightened once more, “by fucking someone so pathetic that they’re getting off at the thought of grinding on my leg? Someone who can’t go a few hours without my attention shouldn’t get my cock inside of them. Someone like that shouldn’t get to feel my cum filling them up and spilling out of their tight little holes. They shouldn’t get to feel daddy’s tongue cleaning them up, kissing and sucking every inch on their pretty little pussy, should they?” You couldn’t get yourself to say no, but you knew yes wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so you stayed quiet. The cool sensation of metal burned your skin in an instant, tilting your jaw up, forcing your vision toward to ceiling, your eyes getting lost in the gold detailing of the mural above. Silence filled the space between you two, the only sound to be heard was the quickening of your heartbeat and the flip of the gun’s safety that was pressed against your flesh. A lump grew in your throat at the noise. You could feel the sole of his shoe pressing into you even more, gently moving back and forth as you bit your lip again.

“Let me hear you, baby. Tell daddy how good it feels, go on.”

“Th- Thank you daddy. That feels so good.”

“Say ‘thank you daddy for making my cunnie feel good.” You whined at the request, embarrassment causing tears to prick and sting at the corners of your eyes.

“You don’t want to use your words? How ungrateful.” It wasn’t long before the coolness against your jaw was gone. You dropped your gaze to look at him once again. The man before you was starved, his face void any sign of amusement. You wondered if this is what his prey felt when he looked at them, a lamb waiting to be eaten by the lion, forced to let him play with his food before he could be thoroughly satiated. He put the barrel of the gun against your lips now, his thumb languidly dancing on the trigger.

“Open up for me. Let me see that pretty tongue.” You hesitantly stuck your tongue out, the spit that had been building up in your mouth finally free to drip onto the metal as he pushed the barrel against the back of your throat. Your eyes widened at the sensation, the realization that his prized possession was being soiled by your drool far too humiliating. The tears flowed freely now. Your cheeks grew damp as you cried out against the obstruction in your mouth.

“Aw sweetheart, are you crying? Do you want to push your hips against me? Will that make your cunnie feel better?” You nodded, sniffling softly as you shifted uncomfortably, the realization that you couldn’t move at all finally catching up with you.

“Go ahead, hump my leg. You have permission. Make yourself feel good for daddy.” You tried to do as he asked, moving your hips slowly back and forth, the ache only growing in between your legs, but all you could think about was how dirty that gun was getting your mouth. Sobs fell from your lips now. His face contorted slightly at your cries.

“M-s-sorry daddy,” You struggled out, words muffled by the metal. He slowly pulled the gun out of your mouth,

“Are you scared, sweetheart? Is that why you’re dirtying this pretty face with tears, hm?” You felt his skin for the first time against yours, his free hand gently caressing your cheek, thumb making small circles on your flesh.

“No I just… I hate that I’m getting your gun dirty. I know how much you care about it. I’m sorry I just can’t stop drooling on it.” His fingers softly pressed under your eyes, catching the tears.

“Your spit is the sweetest thing I could use to clean this gun. It’s just an inanimate object, huh?" he said, being sure to use your choice of words exactly.

"Don’t cry pretty girl.” As he spoke, your wrists and ankles fell freely, the stress on your throat lifting as the red mist fell away.

“Come up here,” he said, fingers beckoning for you to stand and sit in his lap, your back pressed against his warm and muscular chest. Hooking his arm under your knee, he spread your legs apart, resting your ankle over the arm of the chair. His fingers wasted no time finding their way beneath your skirt, softly pulling the satin fabric of your panties to the side as he slipped a finger inside of you without warning.

“Oh my god,” You moaned out desperately as he hummed in amusement.

“I’m jealous. Your god is getting all of the praise, but I’m the one that's making this pussy leak all over my fingers. That doesn’t seem very fair now, does it?”

“Fuck, daddy thank you.” His pace quickened, every inch of his long and slender fingers making you gasp and writhe beneath his touch as you bucked against his palm.

“You are very welcome sweet girl. Next time you want daddy’s attention, you can just ask and we can skip all the theatrics, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Aw, ‘yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy.'” Such pretty words from such a dirty mouth. The same mouth that stained my gun, isn’t that right?” he said. You threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, your wetness forming a spot on the fine fabric of his pants as you felt his cock growing beneath you. It only made you squirm more at the thought of its thickness filling you up after being empty throughout this whole ordeal.

“Relax for me.” This was the only warning you got before you felt that same cool metal slide between your folds, the ridges of the firearm serving as a new source of friction to grind on before Sylus slid his finger out of your walls, replacing it with the tip of the gun against your entrance. He felt you tense up immediately in his grasp.

“No no no,” he said, thumb gently caressing your inner thigh, his touch burning you with ease.

“Relax baby. Let daddy’s pussy open up for him, hm? I just want that sweet little hole’s juices to cleanse my gun thoroughly.” Your mouth hung open, moans escaping as he spoke. Your head rested against his shoulder, hair messily rubbing against his shirt. He pressed his soft lips against your forehead.

“That’s it, puppy. Gooood fucking girl, you're taking it so well for me, huh sweetheart?” his fingers found your clit once more, melting away any tension. Slowly, the tip of the gun pushed its way between your tender walls, your flesh clenching around it tightly, making it hard for him to slide it in and out of you.

“That’s a greedy pussy, isn’t it— holding onto anything that it can, my fingers, my cock, my tongue, my gun. She just wants to be filled, hm? She just loves daddy so much that anything he puts inside, she doesn’t want to let go of?”

“Y-yes daddy, she loves you. Please please please keep touching her.” So, he did. Slowly but surely, he pushed the metal in and out, salivating as he watched the way your flesh gripped on to the tip before he’d shove it back inside.

“Fuck--you wanna cum for me? Gonna make a big mess all over daddy’s gun, sweetheart? How fucking filthy,” You nodded as Sylus’s rough hands gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. Without warning, his spit filled your open mouth, slowly dripping from between your lips, coating your chest.

“Don’t swallow it. Keep my spit in your mouth when you cum for me. Stick your tongue out and cum all over me like a good little puppy,” He sped up even more now, the tip of the gun pushing against that spot inside of you that made your body heat up like white lightning that was trapped in a bottle and begging to be let out. He hit that spot over and over again, making your head fuzzy as he held your gaze captive with his scarlet eyes.

“Daddy—fuck—please, I don’t think I can take it.” You panicked, your hand desperately reaching for his wrist, hoping for some freedom from the incessant pleasure only for the mist to trap you once again, binding your hands up above your head and around Sylus’s neck, pressing your bodies even closer together.

“Shit—you’re so wet, you’re making a puddle in my lap. Are you gonna squirt around my gun, baby?” He said, emphasizing his point with a sharp push of the metal against you g-spot.

“No I- I can’t. It’s too embarrassing please don’t make me.”

“Come on, listen to your daddy and let go all over me. Squirt, cum, cry, I don’t care, but I’m gonna pull it all out of you either way. So, give it to me, it’s mine. I worked so hard for it,” he said, fingers finding their way into your open mouth, but you didn’t dare close your lips around them, just letting the spit drip down onto yourself and he bullied your pussy over and over again until you just couldn’t take it anymore. Tears streamed from your eyes once more as you let go. Your wetness spilled all over his lap, pulling guttural screams from your throat that were muffled by his hands.

“Good girl, that’s it. Come on, let go for daddy, baby. Poor baby, so pent up. It must feel so good to let go now, huh?” Streams of ‘yes’ and ‘thank you’ echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as you squirmed against his grasp. He pressed his full lips to your face again as he pulled his finger and his firearm from your holes slowly. You watched him with tired eyes, as you were covered in your own wetness. The gun dripped with your juices, but he wasted no time putting the metal to his own mouth this time, flattening his tongue against the barrel of the gun and licking it clean.

“You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart. Maybe you should let you help me clean my guns more often.” Dazed, and far too exhausted to protest, you closed your eyes, resting your head against him once again, your hands finally free. He pressed small kisses against your sweaty face, gently brushing any hair from your skin before you spoke up again.

“T-thank you, Sylus.”

“The pleasure is all mine, pretty girl.”

[bloodnight-blaze]

“ kiss me under the mistletoe! ”

ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, and sylus w a gn!reader.

synopsis: the holidays are long over, but that doesn't stop you from hanging up a mistletoe as an excuse to kiss your boyfriend.

notes: listen.... listen okay.... i can't wait until december to write this i have to get it out now.... lengths of each section may vary but i tried to keep it to an 8 paragraph maximum.

warnings: canon is vague so you decide, inaccurate timing of mistletoe i guess, very short and sweet and self-indulgent, just a lot of fluff and a lot of kissing, reader wears lipstick in raf's part bc i am desperate to cover that man in lipstick stains, zayne is a menace, sylus is also a menace, pet names used: cutie (r), sweetie (s).

XAVIER — is very confused when he wakes up from a nap to see mistletoe dangling in his face. Last he checked, it was the middle of January so he's fairly certain he didn't sleep the entire new year away. Though, it's not something that's entirely out of the question.

Behind the mistletoe he saw your smiling face, and you pull the plant away from him as he sits up, planting yourself right next to him and looking at him expectantly.

Xavier knew what the mistletoe meant, he just didn't quite understand why you were using it now, weeks after Christmas.

You don't seem at all concerned by the timing of this, just smiling at his confusion and raising the mistletoe up a bit as you speak, "This is the part where you kiss me, y'know,"

And while he might have some questions, he's never been one to deny you what you want.

A small huff of amusement, and then he's leaning in and pressing a soft kiss against your lips. You eagerly kissed back, barely able to contain the giddy smile on your face when the kiss breaks.

The smile on your face, coupled with the look of satisfaction in your gaze has him pulling you onto his lap, pressing a few more quick kisses to your lips before he's burying his face in your shoulder and letting out a small sigh.

His heart felt so warm, and even though he just woke up from a nap, he wouldn't mind falling back asleep like this. Which is exactly what he plans on doing, by the way, so any plans you had after your silly little idea are immediately canceled.

ZAYNE — would pretend not to notice it at first. He's not being mean, he just thinks the little frustrated pout you get when he acts like the mistletoe has always been there is cute, so he can't help himself. He's also curious to see just how far you'd go to get a kiss from him without having to ask.

It even becomes a game, of sorts, with Zayne sometimes acting as though he'd finally kiss you when standing under the mistletoe only to instead pat your head or press a kiss to your cheek.

You took his teasing as a challenge, and soon enough you somehow hung up mistletoe in all of the doorways in both your home and his. You even went as far as to hang one in the doorway of his office at the hospital.

A few of his coworkers had questioned him about it, and he couldn't stop the look of fondness that bleeds through his usual calm and collected demeanor, simply telling them that it wasn't any of their concern.

It all coalesces one night, maybe two or three weeks into trying to get a kiss under the mistletoe with him. He showed up at your apartment with dinner only to find you sitting at the kitchen counter, all the mistletoe you had put up set in a pile. Your arms were crossed, and you were glaring down at the plants as if they'd insulted you in some way.

"I give up," You say, a bit dejected. And Zayne feels a bit bad, admittedly, as he sets your dinner on the counter next to all the mistletoe. He doesn't really understand why you're trying to get an excuse to kiss him when you can just do it, but he'll humor you.

With a small sigh, he grabs one of the mistletoes and dangles it above your head. It's enough to get you to perk up, and you brighten immediately when he presses a kiss to your lips. It was quick, and when he pulled away, he mutters a soft, "Satisfied?"

"Hardly," You exhaled, but he covered your mouth with his hand before you could kiss him again, his lips quirking up in a slight smile at the frustrated sound that comes from you. You weren't getting anymore kisses until you ate dinner, no matter how pretty you looked with your puppy-dog eyes.

RAFAYEL — probably wouldn't even realize you had put mistletoe in the entryway of his home. At the very least, when he does notice it, he'll be far more interested in figuring out what shades of pant he could make with the plant rather than anything else.

You can't say you're shocked when you hurry back to his place after running a quick errand to find him crushing the mistletoe. You curse yourself for not buying a backup in case this scenario happened, but there wasn't much you could do.

That doesn't mean you were any less determined, however. The mistletoe may not longer be a plant, but it was in the paint he was making, and therefore the rules still applied, so.

Deciding to be patient, you would wait until Rafayel actually used the paint to make your move. The painting hung on his wall proudly when it was finished, a satisfied smile on his face as he watched you admire it for a few moments, "So? Would you say this is my new masterpiece, cutie?"

And you feign deep thought for a moment before you pull him down into a kiss. It wasn't heated, but it did last for a good second before you pulled away. Bewilderment in his eyes and a pretty blush dusting his ears and cheeks, you smile and simply nod to the painting on the wall, "Mistletoe."

It takes him a few moments to process your word, and his brows furrow slightly, "It's not even December," He says, though he certainly wasn't complaining when you pull him in for another kiss.

You kiss him until his face is covered in lipstick stains, and your lipstick was smeared. His breaths came out in small pants, a dazed look in his eyes when you finally pull away.

"...You're trying to kill me," He quietly accuses after catching his breath, and you can only laugh.

SYLUS — is rather amused when he steps into your apartment to see a thing of mistletoe dangling in the entranceway. He knew you were planning something from the moment you told him to stop by your place.

His amusement only grows when he sees you standing under the mistletoe, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible as he takes his jacket and shoes off. He doesn't need to ask questions, he's not a fool.

The mistletoe was there for a reason, one so glaringly obvious he couldn't help but feel a bit smug knowing that you were trying to find sneaky ways to kiss him. He was flattered, truly, but you didn't need to go to such lengths.

His hands were on your waist in an instant, and you don't miss the gleam in his eyes as he looks at you. Oh, he was never going to let you forget about this moment, and you were half tempted to pull away before he could get the chance to actually kiss you.

His lips capture yours before you can actually distance yourself from him, and it was much more gentle than you were probably expecting it to be. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, and yet he controlled himself enough to not make you uncomfortable.

"You don't need to use a plant to kiss me, sweetie," He murmurs against your skin after breaking the kiss, instead taking to pressing light kisses against your jaw and neck.

The attention had your mind faltering for just a moment, and you grumble out a quiet 'whatever' before lightly pushing him away from you. You had to cover his mouth with your hand just to get him to stop kissing you. Not that it worked, because he just presses one against your palm, his gaze never leaving yours.

You're the one who wanted a kiss, even going as far as to bringing out mistletoe in the middle of January to achieve your goal. He's just simply giving you what you were asking for.

[fairsweetlonging]

system wardrobe malfunctions and small scenario pushers: exteme edition au

after his qi deviation, shen qingqiu starts working on slowly building up relations with his fellow peak lords and disciples; saving liu qingge in the caves, spoiling luo binghe rotten, freely praising his students, inviting the sect leader over for tea, he's a whole new person!

and yet... his friendliness levels aren't going up.

he knows it's a bit icky to judge his relations with other people based on numbers an alien entity is giving him, but he needs them to survive, and he swears that once he's above a certain threshold (somewhere between "civil" and "friendly", he figures), he will mute every and all notifications regarding it.

but they're just not going up. since his deviation he's at least managed to claw his way from "hostile" to "tolerant" with most of them, but some are somehow still stuck in the "aloof" section! they wouldn't even care if he died!

he just doesn't know what he's doing wrong; he understands these things take time, but it feels so bad when people refuse to sit next to him or sigh when they're assigned a mission with him, especially since it's not his fault.

now, it so happens that, one day, the system hears his woes and takes pity on him.

【 user seems to experience difficulty increasing character favor levels 】

you could say that

【 would host like to utilize our special deluxe package to activate 'The Path of Blossoming Hearts and Unspoken Affections' free of charge? ₊˚⊹♡ 】

though shen qingqiu isn't trustful of the system's antics, he can't deny that so far they have helped him well enough, and since it's free of charge with no penalties, wouldn't it be a waste not to use it? the title is a bit dubious, but was the original shen qingqiu not known for his frozen heart? for never sparing a single nice word to anyone? this could be his chance to let it blossom without the system nagging on his characterization.

【 accept optional mission? [yes]/[no] 】

he picks [yes].

two weeks later, he wishes he hadn't.

the package is devided into small scenarios that mostly appear at random, ranging from small dialogue challenges where he has to pick the right option (he really doesn't like those, the dehumanization of it makes his skin crawl), to the equivalent of two rivals getting locked in a room together.

the first few scenarios are minor and not very impactful, to the point where he's finished three of them and his favor count with qi qingqi has increased a whopping +2 (still "aloof") and that of wei qingwei +5 (still "tolerant").

his fourth scenario, however, reminds him of exactly why he should never accept gifts from strange screens floating in the sky.

he's on a nighthunt with liu qingge to slay a mirebeast that's been terrorizing travelers—an amphibious creature with thick, slimy skin, a crocodile tail and a leech-like mouth that shoots mucus when threatened... and shooting mucus it did.

while his clothes can easily be cleaned with a cleaning talisman, he never feels truly clean himself unless he actually bathes. luckily, there's a beautiful, glass-like pond nearby that's surrounded by natural demonic-repellent vegetation, a win! he's just draped his clothes over a nearby branch and submerged himself in the water, when the system rings out.

【 heads up! small scenario "Stolen Silks and Sunlit Waters" is about to begin! penalty: none. wishing user good luck (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) 】

hold up—stolen what.

stolen silks. his silks. stolen by a mossy-jade stag that happens to scratch its huge antles on the exact tree he hung his clothes on, which rattles the branch and causes his robes to fall exactly onto its head, spooking it into a gallop as it disappears into the forest.

how. how does that even happen.

shen qingqiu is just about to get out of the water when of course liu qingge chooses that exact moment to stomp into the glade looking for him, even though he should have been miles away to the village to ensure the people the beast is dead.

for anyone looking in from the outside, it's not a bad picture: shen qingqiu, with his hair pulled up and away from his slender neck, submerged to his (very bare!) pale shoulders in golden sunlit waters, surrounded by lotus flowers and lily pads. to liu qingge, this must be a terrible view, apparently—shen qingqiu can think of no other reason that would cause his face to flush so bright red.

liu qingge tosses his outer robe on the grass between them and turns resolutely around. it's only a bit insulting—is shen qingqiu not pretty enough to try and sneak a look at? even just a glimpse? meanwhile liu qingge is trying really hard to mentally recite the ethics sutra to not fixate on the sound of shen qingqiu getting out of the water (naked!!) or the rustle of fabrics as he wraps liu qingge's robe around his (naked!!!!) body. when liu qingge turns around he flushes an even darker shade as he sees shen qingqiu's bare legs and feet sticking out from under the robes.

"thanking shidi," says shen qingqiu, who notices none of this, as he pulls the robe a little closer around him, "for coming to this one's untimely rescue."

liu qingge grunts, turns, and walks away.

【 congratulations! liu qingge's favor increased. character satisfaction points +50. please continue to work hard! 】

shut up

【 ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა 】

they return to the sect victorious, but very embarrassed. the mirebeast gets all the blame. where his clothes are? well—uh, gone. the mucus dissolved them. yes he knows that's not how mucus works but it did this time okay?!!

yue qingyuan acts a bit strange seeing shen qingqiu wearing liu qingge's outer robes. he almost qi deviates when he finds out his shidi is wearing absolutely nothing under it. it's all very dramatic. apparently the sect is made up of people who shower with their clothes on or something.

【 ⁺‧₊˚bonus scenario!!˚₊‧⁺˖ interactive dialog quest: pick the best suited options to win additional favor points! 】

i don't like where this is going

"shidi?" yue qingyuan asks, looking at him with those big worried puppy eyes.

【 choice A: (demure) this shidi is cold. will you not invite me in at least?

choice B: what are you looking at?! mind your own business stupid old man!

choice C: i'm in love with liu qingge 】

WHAT

if he was drinking tea he would have spat it out, and then coughed himself to death. what the hell kind of options are these!!

【 system has based these options on what will earn (or lose!) user the most points. please pick one. 】

[ admin notes: option A will earn +60 points. option B will neither increase nor decrease points. option C will decrease -100 satisfaction points and increase +200 heartbreak points ]

shen qingqiu silently curses the system. option B is way out of line, even for the original shen qingqiu, who probably would insult yue qingyuan, but not with so little class. he doesn't even consider option C an actual option. and, well, he is cold. and wet. and almost naked. he would like a warm bath and some clothes. A it is then.

he doesn't like the way yue qingyuan's face light up when he grits out the dialog.

【 congratulations! yue qingyuan's favor increased. character satisfaction points +60! keep up the good work! 】

he can't keep doing this much longer.

unfortunately, he does have to keep doing this for much longer.

he's just about to go to bed when someone knocks on the door. luo binghe is already sleeping so he goes himself. just as he's about to open the door the system rings out—but it's too late.

shen yuan is used to wearing old tshirts to bed and no pants (he hates the feeling of his legs being restricted while he sleeps), so he doesn't really care when the only equivalent of this in pidw is a silk nightgown. his mother wore them, his sister wore them. hell, one of his brothers once bought one for fun and ended up using it for months. it's florally embroidered with puffy sleeves and reaches to his knees, that's decent enough, right?

【 heads up! small scenario "Dreamy Encounters at Dusk" is about to begin! good luck! 】

he has no idea what that's supposed to mean and he doesn't care. he opens the door, and it's mu qingfang. not... that unusual, but still.

"can this master help you?"

it takes mu qingfang a moment to remember what he's here for, it seems, because he stares at shen qingqiu for a good few seconds before raising an eyebrow like he's caught him doing something wrong.

"does shen-shixiong always answer the door like this?"

shen qingqiu glares back. "only when unsolicited guests come stumbling around my porch in the middle of the night."

"fair enough."

apparently he's here on behalf of yue qingyuan, who had asked him to do a post mission check up as soon as he was available, which is now. which yue qingyuan had apparently forgotten to relay to shen qingqiu himself. awesome.

he invites mu qingfang in (he can hardly close the door on him, it's late for him too!), and sits through the usual poking and prodding.

the system is prodding, too.

【 would user like some advice on how to maximize point earning? 】

no

【 ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) system is only trying to help!! 】

i really don't need your help with this, thanks. i can keep a conversation on my own.

【 optional system booster: not mandatory. user may choose to decline this quest.

option 1: this one appreciates your care. the hardship is... unexpected. (look away shyly). i find it difficult to accept help sometimes, even when i need it.

option 2: i'm in love with you.

option 3: stand up and pretend to faint into his arms 】

shen qingqiu is about to spit blood—what the HELL is this!!! why do all your options make you look bipolar HUH??? and what's this about professing my love to people?!! why is that always an option??! this isn't a dating simulator, stupid system, they'll think i'm crazy!

【 all these options result in an increase of character satisfaction points (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 】

HOW

【 (ó﹏ò｡) user seems misinformed about character preferences. [mu qingfang] likes to take care of people! 】

... i decline the quest. booster. whatever. i'll figure it out myself. and stop talking about him like he's some one dimensional character!

they hear stumbling coming from the little side room, then the creaking of floorboards. binghe peeks through the door, hair sleep-ruffled and his robes pulled on over his sleeping clothes.

"shizun?" he asks, worried, "what's wrong? why is mu-shishu here?"

【 ⁺‧₊˚bonus scenario!!˚₊‧⁺˖ interactive dialog quest: pick the best suited options to win additional favor points! 】

oh god, not again.

【 option A: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. go back to sleep.

option B: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. (invite him to sit next to you during the examination)

option C: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. mu-shidi is just keeping me company tonight. 】

huh. so you can give meaningful options that i would actually consider picking?

【 ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜ 】

[admin notes: option A will decrease -100 points for luo binghe. option B will increase +20 points for luo binghe. option C will decrease -300 points for luo binghe, and increase +20 points for mu qingfang. option A & C increase luo binghe jealousy levels with 400 points].

[d1stalker]

I Want You [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Logan is jealous of you and Scott's friendship, not knowing your true feelings.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only please. fem/afab!reader. brief argument, logan being stubborn comme d'hab, making out, oral, riding, you get the idea ;)

WC: 2.9k - MASTERLIST

The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the X-Mansion grounds. You find yourself on the patio, leaning against the railing, watching as the last rays of sunlight dip below the trees. The tranquility of the moment is soothing, a brief escape from the chaos that often fills your days.

Your mind drifts to earlier that day, when you and Scott had been working together in the training room. He's always been a good friend—someone you can rely on when you need advice or a steady hand in a crisis. Scott had patiently helped you fine-tune your abilities, offering encouragement and constructive feedback.

"You're really getting the hang of it," Scott had said with a smile as you both took a break, sitting on the edge of the training mat. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks, Scott," you had replied, grateful for his support. "Couldn't have done it without your help."

He had shrugged, a modest grin on his face. "We make a good team. It's nice to have someone who gets it, you know?"

You had nodded, feeling the warmth of genuine friendship between you. Scott was like the brother you never had, someone who understood the challenges you faced and never judged you for them.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching breaks your reverie. You recognize them immediately—Logan.

"You and Summers seem to be gettin' pretty close."

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow at his accusatory tone. "Scott? We're just friends, Logan. You know that."

He crosses his arms over his chest, scowl deepening. "Doesn't look like it from where I'm standin'."

Frustration bubbles up inside you, and you can’t help but let it spill over. "And where exactly are you standing? Lurking in the shadows, jumping to conclusions?"

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. "I'm just callin' it like I see it."

"You don't see anything," you retort, matching his intensity. "You're too busy looking for problems that aren't there."

He steps closer, his presence imposing but familiar. "I see the way he looks at you."

You roll your eyes, exasperated. "And how do I look at him, Logan?"

"Like he hung the damn moon," Logan mutters, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

"That's rich coming from the guy who's too stubborn to see what's right in front of him," you snap back, heart pounding.

He pauses, taken aback by your words. "What do you mean by that?"

You take a deep breath, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. "I mean, I'm not in love with Scott. I'm in love with you. But you're too busy being jealous and stubborn to notice."

He blinks, surprise flickering across his features. His defenses falter for a moment, and you see the real him beneath the rugged exterior. "Me? Why the hell would you—"

"Because you're you, Logan," you interrupt, voice softer now. "You're gruff and infuriating, but you're also brave and kind. You see through the facade I put up, and you make me want to be better."

He looks at you, his hardened exterior cracking. "I thought I wasn't good enough for you,” he says, quietly. 

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. The contact is electric, as always, grounding both of you in the moment. "You don't get to decide that for me. I've made my choice."

He stares at you, a mix of disbelief and longing in his eyes. "All this time... and I was just bein' a damn fool."

"Yeah, you were,” you say with a smile, the tension between you dissipating. 

Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. "Guess I should apologize for actin' like a jerk, huh?"

You nod, teasingly. "That would be a good start."

He takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes with a sincerity that makes your heart race. "I'm sorry, darlin'. I was stupid, and I let my jealousy get the best of me."

You smile, feeling the last remnants of your anger melt away. "Apology accepted, but you're gonna have to make it up to me."

Tthe familiar glint returns to his eyes as he smirks. "Oh, I will. Count on it."

A comfortable silence falls between you. The night air is cool and refreshing, and you can hear the distant sounds of laughter from inside the mansion.

"Why didn’t you ever say anything?" Logan asks, his voice quieter now, almost tentative.

"I guess I was scared," you admit. "Scared of ruining what we have, of pushing you away. You’re not exactly easy to read."

He chuckles softly. "Yeah, well, you're not the only one who’s scared. I’m not good at this...feelin’ stuff. Always thought it’d get in the way."

"It doesn’t have to," you say, hoping your words convey the sincerity you feel. "You don’t have to do this alone, Logan. We can figure it out together."

He nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You share a moment of quiet understanding. For once, there’s no need for words. You both know what this means.

"Come on," Logan says suddenly, breaking the silence. "Let’s get outta here for a while."

"Where to?" you ask, curiosity piqued.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he shrugs. "Anywhere but here. I hear there’s a nice little spot by the lake where the stars look like they’re close enough to touch."

You laugh, "Alright, lead the way.”

---

The walk to the lake is peaceful, the cool night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The sound of your footsteps on the gravel path blends with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. You and Logan walk side by side, your fingers occasionally brushing against each other, only feeding the tension that seems to be growing as each moment passes.

When you reach the lake, the water shimmers under the starlight, a breathtaking view that makes you catch your breath. Logan finds a spot on the grassy bank, and you settle down beside him, lying back to gaze up at the sky.

"It's beautiful here," you whisper, feeling the tranquility of the moment seep into your bones.

Logan nods, his gaze fixed on you instead of the stars. "Yeah, it is."

His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It's a comforting sound, grounding you in the reality of this moment.

You tilt your head up to look at him, meeting his eyes. There's a softness there that you haven't seen before, a vulnerability that makes your heart swell. "I've wanted this for a long time, Logan."

He smiles, a rare and genuine expression that lights up his features. "Me too. Guess I was too stubborn to admit it."

You chuckle softly, reaching up to trace your fingers along the line of his jaw. "I like this side of you."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he's not careful. The world around you fades away as Logan leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It's slow and tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but quickly deepens into something more urgent and heated.

You shift closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly as his hand slides up your back, pulling you even closer. Your fingers weave into his hair, anchoring yourself as the kiss intensifies, leaving you breathless.

Breaking away briefly, his forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath. "You sure about this?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You nod, your own breath coming in short gasps. "Absolutely."

With a growl of approval, Logan captures your lips again, the kiss filled with a hunger that leaves you dizzy. He shifts, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his back, guiding you to straddle his hips. His hand traces down your side, sending shivers of anticipation through you. The world around you feels distant and unimportant, the only thing that matters is the man with you and the way he makes you feel.  

As the kiss deepens, you lose yourself in the moment, the passion and intensity of it all consuming you. Slowly, you rock back and forth, grinding your hot core against his growing bulge. Something akin to a growl releases from his throat, as his hands tighten their grip on you.

Breaking the kiss, Logan trails his lips down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your skin. You tilt your head back, allowing him to continue his journey, savouring the sensation of his mouth against you. He hooks his fingers into the hem of your shirt, pausing to look up at you. With deliberate slowness, he slides your shirt up and over your head, discarding it with a flick of his wrist. He takes a moment to admire you, his hands tracing the curves of your waist with a gentle reverence.

“Wow,” he breathes, his voice rough with emotion. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

His eyes roam over you appreciatively, lingering on your bare skin. His words and gaze make your heart race and heat flood your cheeks.

“Says you,” you murmur, feeling a heady mix of vulnerability and desire under his gaze.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers, flipping you over so you’re now on your back as he hovers above you. “I’ve thought about this moment more times than I can count.”

He begins to kiss the valley between your breasts, hands never ceasing their exploration of your body. Your grasp finds the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest. Your fingers trace over his muscles, delighting in the way they ripple beneath your touch.

Logan grins, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he moves even lower, his kisses trailing down your stomach. Each touch is electric, leaving a path of heat in its wake. His fingers find the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs. With your pants discarded, Logan settles himself between your thighs, his hands gently parting them to make room for himself. His touch is firm yet gentle, and you shiver in anticipation as he leans in, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin.

He starts with soft kisses along your inner thighs, teasing you with his lips and the occasional scrape of his teeth. The feeling sends a thrill through you, making your heart race and your body ache for more. Finally, Logan focuses his attention on your centre, his mouth moving with expert precision as he tastes you. The first touch of his tongue is like fire, a sensation so intense that it steals your breath away. You gasp, your hands finding their way to his hair, anchoring yourself to him as the pleasure begins to build.

He works you with a practiced ease, his tongue tracing patterns that have you arching into him, seeking more of the exquisite sensations he’s giving you. He alternates between gentle flicks and firmer strokes, finding a rhythm that leaves you trembling beneath him. Your soft moans and gasps fill the night air, mingling with the sound of the lake and the distant rustle of leaves. Logan responds to your every sound, adjusting his movements, his sole focus on drawing out your pleasure.

As the tension coils within you, winding tighter with each deft movement of his tongue, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release. Logan senses your impending climax, his efforts doubling as he brings you closer and closer to the brink. With a final flick of his tongue at your clit with gentle, firm pressure, he pushes you over the edge, sending you spiraling into ecstasy. The world dissolves around you as the waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

Logan stays with you through it all, his touch gentle and reassuring as you come down from your high. He presses a soft kiss to your thigh before moving back up to lie beside you, gathering you into his arms as you catch your breath. “Logan,” you whisper, feeling a warmth that’s more than just physical spreading through you.

He smiles, a satisfied, tender expression on his face as he brushes a stray hair from your cheek. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

You shift slightly, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The sight of him, hair tousled and eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and desire, stirs something within you. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

Responding eagerly to your initiation, the kiss deepens as your hands explore each other with a renewed sense of curiosity and hunger, as if he didn’t just make you finish with his mouth. You push him gently onto his back, straddling his hips as you trade positions once again, trailing kisses down his chest, savoring the way his muscles tense under your touch.

Your hands make quick work of his belt and jeans, tugging them down to reveal the hard length of him. He’s beautiful. Logan’s breath hitches as you take him in your hand, stroking him with a slow, deliberate rhythm that draws a low groan from his lips.

You lower yourself further, your lips and tongue exploring every inch of him, tasting and teasing until his hands are tangled in your hair, guiding you with a mix of urgency and need. The sounds he makes, the way he reacts to your touch, only spurs you on, and you take him deeper, reveling in the way his body responds to yours.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasps, his voice strained with pleasure, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smile against him, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, the heat in his eyes matching the fire burning within you. “Well, don’t go dying on me now,” you tease, moving back up to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you settle over him. You barely break the kiss as you grab his length and slowly sit down on it. The pleasure of being filled by him draws a gasp from your lips, and a hearty groan vibrates underneath you.

You brace yourself against his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your palms, as you begin to move. The rhythm starts slow and steady, each movement deliberate as you rise and fall, taking him deeper with each movement of your hips. Soon enough, you feel him begin to thrust up into you, matching your pace, pounding into you even deeper than before. 

Logan’s grip on your hips tightens, guiding you as you pick up the pace, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The sound of your breathy sighs and his low groans fill the air, mingling with the gentle rustle of the leaves and the lapping of the lake against the shore.

His eyes remain locked on yours, a dark and heated gaze that stokes the fire within you. You feel the tension coiling tight, winding with each movement until it’s all-consuming, a need that demands release.

“I’m close,” you gasp, leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss. 

The tension within you builds to a crescendo, a tidal wave of sensation that sweeps you away. With one final movement, you tumble over the edge, your release crashing over you in a symphony of pleasure that leaves you trembling in his arms.

He follows soon after, a low, guttural moan escaping him as he finds his own release, his hands finding and squeezing your breasts while his body shudders beneath you.

When the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and you smile against his skin, feeling a sense of peace and contentment that only comes from being with him.

The night air cools the heat between you, and you nestle against Logan’s side, feeling safe and cherished in the aftermath of your shared passion. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, soothing and grounding you as you bask in the warmth of his embrace.

“Wow,” you whisper, a soft laugh escaping you as you meet his gaze, the stars reflected in his eyes. “That was…”

“Incredible,” he finishes for you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve got me all figured out, darlin’.”

You chuckle, feeling the warmth of his words settle in your chest. “I think we’ve got eachother figured out.”

“Yeah, we do,” Logan agrees, pulling you closer, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

As the night stretches on, you find comfort and peace in Logan’s embrace, knowing that this is just the beginning of something beautiful and real. You’ve found a home in each other’s arms—a place where you truly belong.

---------

A/N: this is my first time ever writing smut yikes lol please leave feedback!

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Masterpost and Prologue

dead on main fic, intro + four chapters.

Summary: The Red Hood starts off his righteous campaign with a lot of nerve but no legal identification that will let him behind the wheel of a car. Public transportation really doesn't have the panache he needs to start off as a fearsome crime lord, so he needs a driver. He finds Danny Fenton, a grungly college student trying not to be noticed by any government agencies or vigilantes.

to subscribe to this post, on mobile open the notes and click the bell on the upper right hand corner of the post. on desktop, open the notes at the bottom and press the bell on the right edge of the notes.

Links will be added to chapter list as the story posts. Chapter one will go up on July 14th. Updates are approximately every other day.

LINKS/ chapter count

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

prologue

“No, Habibi,” Talia said calmly into the phone. “I will not falsify you an American non-commercial driver's license for motor vehicles. If you cannot prove yourself to Gotham without American motor vehicle operating permissions, you will never prove yourself. Rise above this challenge.” Talia covered the phone for a second but he could hear her talking to someone else about tile options.

“It's an unnecessary challenge,” Jason argued, doing his level best not to let his tone go up. It was undignified to whine. He was a man now. “The important parts of the challenge are the tactical planning and the skills.”

Talia sounded like she was filing her nails. “Tactically plan to take the bus. Or walk. Walking is free and healthy.” 

Jason made an indignant sound but she mercilessly hung up. The worst! She made the top three of his worst mother figures, easily.

“She's just doing this so I can't go drinking.” He scowled into the air. “I don't even want to!” His voice broke mid whine, which was an insult to add to all the injuries visited upon him by the cruel whims of women who weren't even his legal guardian. He was an adult in most countries!

The worst part was that Talia didn't care about underage drinking. She just didn't want to hear shit about enabling him from Bruce when he eventually figured out that Jason was alive, 19, and in Gotham. His passport claimed he was 21 because it had to for him to travel alone, but she knew damn well no one used their passport as ID in bars. 

He couldn't just go get a license. Jason sulked viciously and threw himself into fixing his plans to accommodate for this. 

He was legally dead and living under a fake name. If he tried to sign up for the driving exam, it'd be too much scrutiny on his paperwork. But he was not taking the bus around as a crime lord. It lacked panache. More importantly, it didn't go where he wanted it to go.

Fine. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to download Uber. 

That was how Jason wound up wiping a mob lieutenant’s blood off of his hand onto his pants so that he could use the guy's touch screen phone. Victor Woodward's account put in a request for a ride to the Gotham police headquarters. He killed time kicking ass in all the Words with Friends games that Victor had ongoing, which was really gonna surprise anyone who normally played with that boob. Victor’s last ever play was ‘cat,’ for fuck’s sake.

A few minutes later, a skinny teenager pulled up in his clanker and opened the door. Jason put on a smile and hefted his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder. 

“Hi! Victor?” The guy, Danny, waved his phone at Jason.

“That's me!” Jason lied breezily. “Can I put this in the trunk?” 

“Go for it.” Danny popped the trunk open from inside the car. He watched Jason with his big blue doe eyes.

For an instant, Jason thought that Danny might have seen something. Paranoia reared up. Was there blood visible? Was it easy to tell that the shapes in the bag were heads?”

The moment passed. Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.” 

Jason got in the car and let satisfaction wash over his body as the weirdly timid kid pulled them out into traffic at a snail’s pace. Whatever. They wouldn’t get stopped for a traffic violation when the driver was cautious.

He’d done it. His debut as the terrifying Red Hood, hunter of the wicked and bane of the Batman, was launched. And he didn’t need a license to do it.

[halfmoonaria]

her own undoing

pairing: cairo sweet & female reader

summary: for the first time, one of cairo's actions doesn't go as planned; backfires and leaves her to face the consequences.

word count: 8.0k

author’s note: tell me if smth is confusing

You and Cairo had been inseparable for as long as you could remember.

The kind of friendship where one person's name always followed the other, like an inevitable pairing.

Cairo and you. You and Cairo. It was a constant, a certainty, even when everything else felt like it was shifting.

You'd been there through it all: the days when Cairo's sharp wit earned her more enemies than friends, the times her wild schemes left you both in trouble, and the moments when she leaned too far into chaos, dragging you along for the ride.

People called her trouble, said she was too much, too intense, too unpredictable.

But where they saw a storm, you'd always seen something else—an unrelenting force of nature, sure, but also someone who could light up a room when she wasn't burning it down.

It wasn't always easy, being her best friend. Cairo had a way of taking up all the space in the room, leaving little for anyone else. But you didn't mind—not really. You liked the way her presence made everything feel bigger, brighter, more alive. And when her edges got too sharp, cutting into anyone who dared get too close, you stayed. You always stayed.

That loyalty had been tested before, but never like this.

Lately, Cairo had been different.

Sharper, somehow. Restless in a way that felt dangerous, even for her. It started with the way she spoke about Mr. Miller, the high school English teacher who barely acknowledged Cairo's sharp intellect and sharper tongue. She claimed he was condescending, always brushing her off when she tried to speak up in class. But there was something else behind the way she lingered on his name—something more personal.

When she finally told you her plan, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath you.

She was going to seduce him. That was her big idea. She'd said it with that confident smirk of hers, like it was all a joke, daring you to challenge her.

She claimed it was for her college admissions essay, said she had nothing interesting to write about and needed something that would "stand out." But you knew better. Cairo wasn't interested in crafting the perfect essay. No, she was still hung up on the fact that she was a virgin.

You'd tried to talk her out of it, to reason with her, but Cairo wasn't someone you could reason with once her mind was made up. And when her plan backfired—when Mr. Miller brushed her off and scolded her for being inappropriate—it sent her into a spiral.

Cairo never got scolded. Never got told no.

Her parents were always gone, too preoccupied with their own lives to bother enforcing rules or boundaries. So when Mr. Miller did what no one else ever dared to do, she couldn't take it. It wasn't just rejection. It was humiliation. And Cairo wasn't built to handle that.

The bitterness festered, twisting her anger into something sharper, uglier. She started talking about him like he was an enemy, plotting ways to "teach him a lesson" or "knock him off his pedestal."

At first, you'd tried to brush it off, telling yourself it was just another one of her phases. But tonight, as you stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching her scribble furiously on a crumpled piece of paper, you realized this was different.

Cairo thought her plan was flawless.

Perfect, even. She'd spent hours rehearsing every angle, every word, until she could see it unfolding as clearly as a scene in one of those old noir films she loved.

Her testimony would be bold, damning, unforgettable. She'd finally show everyone—him—what happened when someone underestimated her. The satisfaction of it burned low in her chest, warm and steady, as if victory were already hers.

She sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, her pen moving across the page in sharp, deliberate strokes. The smoke from her cigarette curled lazily above her head, the faint scent of tobacco mixing with her perfume.

Satisfaction flickered across her face, subtle but unmistakable, as though she'd already won a game nobody was even playing.

The room was quiet except for the scratch of her pen, a rhythm she found oddly soothing amidst her growing anger.

The sound of your voice broke through the stillness like a slap.

"Cairo, what are you doing?"

Cairo's pen stilled mid-word. For a moment, she didn't move, her hand hovering above the page as she weighed her options.

Pretend not to hear you? Act like nothing was out of the ordinary? The anger in your tone suggested neither would work, and something sour twisted in her stomach. Slowly, she placed the pen down, flicking ash from her cigarette with a casualness she didn't feel.

"I'm completing my admissions essay," she said, her voice smooth and detached, rehearsed to sound nonchalant.

Her words were clipped, her tone dismissive, as if your presence were a minor inconvenience—just another interruption in her meticulously crafted plan. But even as she spoke, Cairo could feel the fragile edges of her control fraying.

Then she heard it: your footsteps.

Each step closer made her chest tighten, a quiet panic rising beneath her practiced exterior. She focused on the cigarette between her fingers, watching the smoke curl upward in lazy tendrils, as though ignoring the tension in the room might make it disappear.

You stepped further into the room, your movements deliberate, each step purposeful and calculated. Your gaze swept over the bed—the scattered papers, the chaotic but purposeful arrangement of her notes. Everything about it felt off, and your expression told Cairo that you knew it.

"Cairo, don't bullshit me."

The directness of your words made her freeze, the cigarette trembling slightly between her fingers. You'd never spoken to her like that before, not with that sharpness. It threw her off balance in a way she wasn't used to.

You were the constant. The one who stayed when everyone else called her too much, too strange. The one who always agreed, who always supported her.

The one who wasn't supposed to look at her like that.

"What's going on?"

She fought to keep her expression neutral, forcing a smirk that felt far less convincing than usual. "What's it look like?"

It was a weak defense, and she knew it. So did you.

Your jaw tightened, and there was something in your eyes she couldn't quite place—concern, maybe, but also something sharper, like betrayal. You stepped closer, and Cairo's heart began to race—not with fear, but frustration.

Why couldn't you just let it go? Why did you have to question her, of all people?

"It looks like you're planning something," you said, your tone measured but edged with something bitter. Your gaze moved over the bed again, taking in the crumpled pages, the sharp handwriting, the chaos she'd created in pursuit of perfection.

"Something that's going to blow up in your face."

The accusation stung, sharper than she expected. For a split second, her smirk faltered, the confidence she wore like armor slipping just enough to reveal the unease beneath it.

She quickly forced it back into place. "I'm testifying against him," she said, the words deliberate, carefully chosen, like she was reciting lines from a script.

But your reaction shattered her attempt at calm.

The flicker of disbelief in your expression sparked a strange, hollow satisfaction in her chest. Let you be shocked. Let you struggle to process it. Maybe then you'd understand.

"Testifying?"

She nodded, the motion sharp and deliberate, as though solidifying her decision. Standing, she began to pace, her thoughts spiraling in tandem with each step. Her movements were restless, her anger—a low, simmering thing—flared brighter when she caught the way your concern clouded your face.

"In front of the school board," she clarified, her tone detached, as if she weren't actively dismantling someone's life. She flicked ash from her cigarette, her gestures deliberately careless.

You blinked, the weight of her words settling in as you tried to reconcile what you were hearing with the person you thought you knew. "Are you serious?" you asked, your voice softening, though tension still underpinned your words. "Do you know what that'll do to him?"

There it was—your care, your empathy, spilling out in the way it always did. Cairo's chest tightened, her stomach twisting with a volatile mix of resentment and shame. She didn't need you to care about him. She needed you to see her. To understand why this mattered.

"He underestimated me," she said, her voice dropping lower, her pacing slowing. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the floor, her fingers curling tighter around the cigarette. "I overestimated him."

Your silence hit her harder than she expected, the weight of it unbearable. She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, the way your lips pressed into a thin line, your arms crossed, your expression unreadable.

The disappointment lingering in your eyes was louder than anything you could've said, and it cut deeper than she wanted to admit.

"So, what?" you said finally, your voice firmer now. "This is revenge? Because he didn't fall for your game?"

The words landed like a blow, a direct hit to a nerve she hadn't realized was exposed. Her smirk tightened into a thin, rigid line, and her hand trembled slightly as she stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on her desk.

"It's justice," she said, forcing the word out, as if saying it enough times could make it true.

"Justice?" Your disbelief carried a sharper edge now, and you took a step closer, your voice rising with frustration. "Cairo, this isn't some movie. You're playing with someone's life."

Her nails dug into her palm as your words sank in. Flames of anger licked at her chest, fueled by a suffocating mix of guilt and defiance. You were supposed to understand. You were supposed to agree, like you always had.

That was your role. That was what made everything work.

"You don't get it," she said, her tone softening, though it was laced with something almost pitying. "You never have."

"No," you shot back, your voice steady and unwavering. "I don't. Because this isn't you. At least, I didn't think it was."

The remark sliced through her defenses, sharp and unrelenting, leaving her raw in a way she hadn't felt in years. For a long moment, she could only stare at you, her heart pounding against her ribs. Anger swirled with shame, tangling into something unrecognizable, and for the first time, she felt the edges of control slipping from her grasp.

"You've always had such a sweet way of looking at the world," she said finally, her voice turning mocking to hide the crack in it. "It must be exhausting."

"And you've always been too proud to admit when you're wrong," you countered, your tone colder now, the words landing with precision. "But this? This is cruel, Cairo. Even for you."

Her mask cracked at that, the smirk falling away as the anger simmering beneath the surface began to boil over. But she refused to let it show. Instead, she turned her back on you, pacing toward the bed as her fists clenched at her sides.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," she said, her voice colder now, mechanical in its delivery.

But the weight of her own words hit her almost immediately, settling heavily in her chest, suffocating her in a way she couldn't escape. The truth was, you knew her better than anyone. You always had. And that was the part that scared her the most.

Cairo's jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, burning hotter with every second that passed. You weren't supposed to talk to her like this. Not you. Everyone else could think she was too much, could roll their eyes and call her dramatic, but not you.

You were supposed to get it. To get her. That had always been the unspoken rule between you. You didn't argue with her schemes, didn't question her decisions—no matter how reckless or wild they seemed. You were the steady one, the loyal one, the one who always stuck by her side when no one else would.

She'd always relied on that. Counted on it, even. But now, standing in her room with your arms crossed and that look on your face—the one that said you thought she was wrong—it felt like the ground was shifting under her feet.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice quieter now but still firm, still pushing.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. The words themselves weren't what set her off; it was the tone. Like you thought you knew better. Like you thought she was being ridiculous.

"You don't understand," Cairo snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She turned away from you, pacing to the other side of the room as if putting distance between you would help her think.

The truth was, she didn't know how to explain it. She'd never had to before—not to you. You'd always just gone along with whatever she said, even when it didn't make sense. It was part of why she needed you, part of why she'd kept you so close all these years.

But now, you were standing there with that stubborn look on your face, and it was like every time someone had told her "no" or "you can't" was flooding back all at once.

Like when her parents had laughed off her dreams of going to college out of state, saying she'd never survive without them. Or when that teacher in middle school had told her she'd amount to nothing if she didn't learn to sit still and follow the rules.

But this was worse. Because it was you.

"You're supposed to have my back," she said finally, her voice lower now but no less angry. She turned to face you, her eyes blazing. "That's what you've always done."

You didn't flinch, didn't even blink. "Not if it means watching you ruin someone's life," you said, your tone calm but unwavering.

Cairo felt something snap. Her vision blurred at the edges, her thoughts coming so fast she couldn't hold onto any of them.

"Why do you care so much about him?" she almost shouted, her voice breaking slightly. She hated the way it sounded, raw and desperate, but she couldn't stop herself. "He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone!"

"And that's supposed to make this okay?" you shot back, your own voice rising now. "Because he didn't care for your attempt of seduction, it's fine to ruin him? That's not justice, Cairo—that's you being a bully."

The word hit her like a slap. A bully. She'd been called a lot of things in her life—manipulative, selfish, too intense—but bully wasn't one of them. She stared at you, her chest heaving, her nails biting into her palms so hard she thought they might break the skin.

For a moment, she didn't say anything. She couldn't.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her face a storm of emotions she couldn't contain.

She wanted to scream, to drag you into her world and force you to see things her way; like you always had. But all you did was stand there, your arms crossed, your expression hard and unrelenting.

The silence stretched too long, filled with the sharp scent of cigarette smoke and the suffocating weight of her frustration. She could feel her fury boiling over, pushing against the edges of her control.

"I can't believe you're acting like this," she said finally, her voice trembling, half with rage and half with disbelief. "After everything I've done for you."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Everything you've done for me?" The disbelief in your voice cut deep, sharper than she expected. "You mean dragging me into your messes? Covering for you every time you screw something up? Cairo, that's not loyalty—that's enabling."

Her face twisted, a mix of anger and something dangerously close to hurt. "You're seriously turning this on me?"

You shook your head, stepping back toward the door. "I'm not turning anything on you. I'm just—" You stopped, exhaling sharply, like you didn't know how to say what you needed to. "I'm just done with this, Cairo. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She'd heard them before, from teachers, from her parents, from so-called friends who didn't stick around. But hearing them from you? It felt like the world was tilting off its axis.

She watched as you reached for the doorknob, her stomach twisting into knots. "So that's it?" she said, her voice low, deadly. "You're just going to walk away?"

You hesitated, your hand resting on the knob, but you didn't turn back. "Yeah," you said finally. "I am."

The door clicked shut behind you, and the sound echoed in the vast emptiness of the room. Cairo stood there, frozen, staring at the space you'd just occupied. For a moment, she felt nothing at all, just the numbness that came with realizing she was truly, utterly alone.

The mansion around her seemed to close in, its dark corners and cold walls pressing against her like a physical weight. No parents. No friends. No one but herself and the stale, ever-present scent of cigarette smoke.

And that was when it hit her—the rage.

Her hand slammed against the edge of the desk, sending a stack of papers tumbling to the floor. You were supposed to get her. You were supposed to agree. That was how this worked. You were the one who told her it was all fine, the one who stood by her side no matter how crazy things got.

But you didn't. You didn't tell her it was a great idea. You didn't tell her she was right. And that betrayal—it burned hotter than anything she'd felt before.

If she couldn't ruin Mr. Miller, she'd ruin you instead.

The thought was so clear, so sharp, it was like a switch flipped in her brain. You thought you could walk away from her, leave her to stew in this? Fine. But she wasn't going to let you come out of this unscathed.

Cairo knelt down, her hands shaking as she gathered the scattered papers from the floor. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if each page she picked up solidified her resolve. By the time she stood, the fire in her chest had consumed every shred of doubt.

You would regret this. She would make sure of it.

___

It wouldn't be hard. Cairo knew that much.

In a school like yours—like hers—people believed anything as long as it was juicy enough to distract from their own boring lives. A small-town high school in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, didn't offer much in the way of excitement. So when there was even the faintest whiff of scandal, people ran with it.

She thought of how last year, someone started a rumor that Sarah Bishop was pregnant. By third period, half the school had already decided the father was her ex-boyfriend, and by lunch, they'd pinned it on a senior she'd never even spoken to. The truth didn't matter. Sarah's denial didn't matter. The story was too good to let go of, and Cairo had watched, half-amused, as it unraveled Sarah's life for weeks.

Or the time someone claimed Mr. Thompson had been fired for sleeping with a student. He hadn't even been fired—just transferred to another district—but that didn't stop the whispers, the snickering in the hallways. It didn't stop people from glancing at random students, wondering who the lucky—or unlucky—one was.

People were starving for something to talk about. It didn't even have to be plausible. It just had to stick. And if there was one thing Cairo Sweet was good at, it was making things stick.

Her mind whirled with possibilities, her anger sharpening every detail into focus. The pieces were already there, waiting for her to assemble them into the perfect story. The kind that wouldn't just ruin your reputation but would linger, infecting every interaction you had at that school.

Cairo sat back on the edge of her bed, the cigarette still clutched in her fingers, her lips curving into a slow, bitter smile. She'd light the match and watch it burn.

And you? You'd have no idea what hit you.

So the next morning, Cairo walked to school with purpose, the cold air biting at her cheeks as her plan solidified in her mind.

She hadn't slept, her thoughts running wild, feeding on her anger until it consumed her entirely. By the time she reached the gates, her smile was sharp and satisfied, her rage buried deep beneath the cool detachment she wore like armor.

Winnie was waiting near the courtyard, leaning against a bench and scrolling through her phone. Cairo approached her casually, though the fire in her chest burned hotter with every step. Winnie wasn't just any friend—she was the one with the loudest mouth, the one who lived for drama, thrived on it. If anyone could spread a rumor faster than wildfire, it was her.

It hadn't taken much for Cairo to spin the story, just enough details to make it believable but tantalizing enough to keep people guessing. She'd started with a nonchalant mention of Mr. Miller's sudden absence, dropping hints that she'd heard "something big." Winnie's interest was immediate, her phone slipping into her pocket as she turned her full attention to Cairo.

And then Cairo had delivered the blow, the rumor she'd carefully constructed in the sleepless hours of the night. You and Mr. Miller. A secret relationship. A scandal so twisted it explained everything—why he wasn't at school anymore, why he'd been fired.

She'd painted the picture vividly, her words dripping with calculated disgust: the late meetings, the whispers behind closed doors, the final confrontation that led to his downfall.

Cairo had been deliberate, choosing every word to strike at the heart of what would horrify and captivate the school's gossipy, bored population. Sleeping with a teacher wasn't just scandalous—it was unforgivable. And it fit perfectly into the narrative she wanted to create. It was your fault he was gone. You'd ruined him. You'd dragged everyone into your mess.

Winnie's eyes had widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock before she'd quickly recovered, leaning closer to hear more. Cairo had fed her just enough to make it irresistible, dropping hints about where you'd supposedly met him and how it had all unraveled.

The beauty of it was that it didn't need to be true. It only needed to sound like it could be.

By the time Cairo walked away, she didn't even have to look back to know the wheels were already in motion. Winnie would tell someone else, who would tell someone else, and by lunch, the whole school would be buzzing with whispers and sideways glances.

It was the perfect plan, Cairo thought, her hands buried deep in her coat pockets as she made her way to class. A masterpiece of manipulation, tailored to destroy you in the same way you'd tried to dismantle her.

She didn't need to say another word. The damage was already done.

She didn't feel doubt either. Normal people might've cringed or hesitated when they heard whispers echoing through the halls—heard your name paired with Mr. Miller's in hushed, scandalized tones.

Normal people might've felt a pang of guilt at the sight of you walking into school, oblivious to the tidal wave of rumors about to crash over you. But Cairo wasn't normal. She never had been, and she knew it.

Her parents used to tell her as much, back when they still tried to parent her. "You've always been different, Cairo," her mother would say, her voice careful, measured, like she was trying not to provoke something. And her father? He didn't say much at all, but his absence spoke louder than any words could. They were always gone, always "working," always finding new reasons not to be around.

She wasn't stupid. She'd started to wonder if work was just an excuse. Maybe they didn't know what to do with her. Maybe they couldn't stand to be around her.

But that was fine. Cairo didn't need them. She didn't need anyone.

She convinced herself of that now as she strolled through the hallway, catching snippets of conversation, fleeting glances at the chaos she'd created.

"Did you hear—?"

"...Mr. Miller?"

"I always thought she was kind of weird..."

It should've stung, hearing them talk about you like that. But it didn't.

Because this was how things had to be.

In Cairo's world, there were no compromises, no apologies, no middle ground. There was only winning or losing. And if you weren't with her, you were against her.

She thought about the way you'd stood there yesterday, daring to question her, to challenge her. You were supposed to agree with her. That's what friends did, wasn't it? That's what YOU were supposed to do. You were supposed to see her plan for what it was—brilliant, unstoppable—and back her up without hesitation.

But you didn't.i

And now, you saw what happened when you didn't.

For Cairo, this wasn't revenge—it was balance. It was restoring the natural order of things. You'd crossed her, so she had to ruin you. That was the only way she knew how to handle betrayal. She didn't understand how to argue it out or let it go. She only knew how to burn it to the ground.

She'd done it before. She could still remember the look on Taylor Myers' face when Cairo had spread that rumor about her stealing from the drama club fundraiser.

Taylor had cried in the bathroom for weeks. She'd eventually left school altogether. But Cairo hadn't felt bad then, either. Taylor had deserved it.

She'd said something snide to Cairo in class, and Cairo had responded the only way she knew how: with fire.

This wasn't any different. If anything, it was worse. You hadn't just made a snide comment—you'd betrayed her. You'd questioned her.

So she would ruin you, just like she ruined everyone else who dared to cross her.

And maybe, in the quiet moments, when she thought too hard about why she was like this, she felt a flicker of unease. But she buried it deep, under layers of pride and rage.

Because what else could she do? This was who she was.

Now, Cairo was leaning against her locker, one hand gripping the metal door while the other fidgeted with the zipper of her jacket. The hallway was loud with overlapping conversations, but her focus was elsewhere. She wasn't paying attention to her surroundings—not really. She was waiting. For you.

And then she saw you.

You walked through the corridor, your head held a little lower than usual, your gaze flitting uncertainly between the clusters of students you passed. You didn't look at Cairo. Not even once. But everyone else? You couldn't avoid them.

The whispers were pointed now, no longer concealed behind cupped hands or turned backs. Someone standing by the water fountain said something loud enough for you to hear, their voice laced with mockery.

A group of girls by the lockers looked you up and down, their expressions curled into sneers.

One of them muttered something—just a single word—but it was enough to send a ripple of laughter through their group.

And you? You just kept walking, your lips pressed tightly together, your face betraying what you were trying so hard to hide. Confusion. Hurt.

Cairo's stomach twisted.

She didn't want to feel it, but she did—a pang of something sharp and uncomfortable, cutting through the armor she'd built around herself. For a moment, her mask nearly slipped. For a moment, she remembered exactly who she had done this to.

It wasn't just anyone. It wasn't some random classmate who'd made an offhand comment she didn't like. It wasn't an enemy or a stranger.

It was you.

Her best friend.

And for the briefest of moments, the fire in her chest faltered, replaced by something she couldn't quite name. Regret? Doubt? She didn't know.

All she knew was that the look on your face—the way you blinked back whatever emotions were welling up, the way you kept moving even as the whispers grew louder—made her stomach churn.

But then she reminded herself why she'd done this.

You had tried to scold her. You hadn't supported her like you were supposed to. You hadn't told her it was a great idea. You hadn't agreed with her.

That was your mistake.

So no, her mask didn't fully slip. The flicker of guilt was smothered before it could grow. She gripped the edge of her locker tighter, her knuckles turning white, and forced herself to hold onto the anger. Because that was easier. That was familiar.

By the time you disappeared into your next class, the churning in her stomach had faded. All that remained was the satisfaction of knowing she'd taught you what happened when you didn't side with her.

And maybe, just maybe, that satisfaction wasn't as comforting as it should've been.

But as Cairo slammed her locker shut, the faint echo of your face lingered in her mind—confused, hurt, and vulnerable. It was only a matter of time, she thought.

She could already picture it: you standing in front of her, eyes wide with regret, voice trembling as you apologized.

You'd tell her you were sorry. That you should've supported her. That you hadn't meant to go against her.

The thought soothed the last trace of unease in her chest, replacing it with a cruel sort of satisfaction.

Because you'd come crawling back. You always did.

___

By the time next day arrived, Cairo had barely slept. She had laid on her bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling as the hours stretched on endlessly. Every time her eyelids grew heavy, her mind would jolt her awake again, replaying fragments of the day she wished she could forget.

She had tried to blame the restlessness on the scratch in her throat, the raspy cough brought on by the cigarettes she'd burned through in a desperate attempt to calm herself down. But deep down, she knew it wasn't the smoke.

It was the silence.

An entire day had passed without speaking to you—a record. She hadn't spoken to you during lunch, in the hallways, or even through text. She had told herself it didn't matter, but the silence had gnawed at her insides until she felt hollow.

What had unsettled her most, though, was the memory of you in the corridor. She could still see the look on your face, clear as day—the confusion, the flicker of hurt, as people stared at you, whispering openly. They hadn't even tried to hide it, glaring or laughing as you'd walked by. And you?

You had looked around at everyone but her, clearly searching for answers, completely unaware of the storm Cairo had unleashed.

That was what had kept her up all night. You didn't know.

She had rolled over onto her side, burying her face in her pillow as if that could smother the thoughts clawing at her. She had tried to remind herself why she'd done it.

You hadn't agreed with her. You had scolded her, told her she was wrong, tried to stop her. You were supposed to understand her, supposed to stand by her, but instead, you'd turned against her.

Still, it hadn't gone away. By the time she'd finally fallen asleep, it had been far too late, and the restless hours she'd managed hadn't done much to help. When she'd woken up, the unease had clung to her chest, heavy and unrelenting, like it was a part of her.

It was a feeling she couldn't describe, though that wasn't new. She had lived with that kind of nameless heaviness since she was seven. But this? This was different.

When she had walked into the corridor where your lockers were, it had only gotten worse.

Students were clustered in groups, leaning against walls, whispering and giggling behind their hands. Some pointed toward a single locker, their laughter spilling out in bursts. Others simply walked past, sparing a glance and then smirking as they moved on.

Cairo hadn't thought much of it—until she had gotten close enough to see what they were laughing at.

It was your locker.

A single piece of paper had been taped across the front, its letters bold and jagged.

SKANK.

Cairo's breath had caught for a moment, but she had quickly swallowed it down. She had felt something twist in her stomach, but she had forced her expression to remain blank as she passed by.

Students were still pointing and snickering, some snapping pictures on their phones, others nudging each other and whispering even louder when they saw you walking in.

Cairo quickly walked to her locker, which was further down the corridor. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she yanked the door open and pretended to sift through her things. She didn't want you to think she was the one who had done it.

Of course, technically, she was—the rumor she had planted had led to this, even if she hadn't physically taped that paper to your locker. Still, she couldn't stand the idea of you connecting her to it, of you knowing.

She kept her back turned, keeping her movements deliberate and unhurried, but the noise behind her—the laughter, the whispers—was impossible to tune out. She was itching to look, to see what you were doing. And eventually, she did.

Turning just slightly, she let her eyes find you again.

You were still standing in front of your locker, frozen, staring at the word scrawled across the paper as if trying to understand how it had gotten there.

Your brows were furrowed, your lips pressed tightly together, and your shoulders trembled just enough to be noticeable. It was the way your chin tilted ever so slightly upward, like you were trying to hold yourself together, that hit Cairo the hardest.

Your eyes were glassy, shimmering with unshed tears that you refused to let fall. The confusion on your face was heartbreaking—because it was clear you didn't know why this had happened. You didn't know who had done it, or why.

It broke something in Cairo, watching you like that.

Her mask—the cool, detached exterior she had perfected over the years—almost shattered completely.

She tried to remind herself of why she'd done this. You hadn't agreed with her. You had scolded her. You had stood in her way, when you were supposed to stand with her. And this—this was what happened to people who didn't.

But none of it felt like enough anymore.

You turned your head, scanning the hallway for any signs of who might have done it. But everyone avoided your gaze. Some were glaring or whispering behind their hands, others laughing outright, and the rest simply turned away the moment you looked in their direction.

And then your eyes landed on her.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop.

Cairo could feel her chest tighten as she held your gaze. She could see the question there, unspoken but loud enough to hear in her head: Was it you?

And for a split second, Cairo thought about stepping forward. About saying something, anything, that might erase the look on your face, the crack in your voice that would inevitably follow if you spoke.

But she didn't.

Instead, she forced her façade to stay in place, locking down the guilt threatening to spill over. Her jaw tightened as she turned back to her locker, shoving a book inside with more force than necessary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw you finally move. You ripped the paper from your locker, crumpling it in your fist. Your movements were quick and sharp, but not angry—just desperate, like you were trying to erase it before anyone else could see.

And then you yanked open your locker, shoving the crumpled paper inside before slamming it shut. The clang of the metal door echoed down the hallway, cutting through the noise like a knife.

Cairo didn't look at you again. She couldn't.

By the time lunch rolled around, the rumor Cairo had started had taken on a life of its own. The cafeteria buzzed with hushed voices, none of them low enough to be discreet. Cairo could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating—a storm she had set loose but couldn't control.

Sliding into her usual seat, she kept her head low, poking at the sandwich on her tray as the conversations around her hit her like punches to the gut. None of it sounded like what she had told Winnie. Not even close.

"I heard she's pregnant with his kid," a girl at the next table whispered, her tone a mix of disgust and disbelief. "That's why he left. He's, like, running from the responsibility."

"Pregnant?" another voice chimed in. "No way. I heard she was doing it for better grades, but it got out of hand, and he had to leave because it was a whole thing with the administration."

"She's probably slept with all the male teachers," someone muttered nearby, barely hiding their laughter. "Wouldn't be surprised if that's how she got through high school in the first place."

Cairo's stomach churned.

Every new twist, every new grotesque fabrication, felt like a weight pressing down on her chest. None of this was what she had said. She had been deliberate, precise, sticking to just enough to make it believable. She had wanted to hurt you, yes, but she hadn't expected it to spiral this far, this quickly.

And now? Now it was everywhere.

She clenched her fists under the table, her knuckles whitening as she stared down at her untouched lunch. Cairo never panicked. She didn't know how. Chaos was her playground; she was the one who thrived in it, the one who created it. But now, for the first time, she felt like the chaos was swallowing her whole.

This wasn't what she'd wanted. She didn't want people to think you were pregnant, or that you'd been sleeping with other teachers, or any of the other twisted lies that were spreading like wildfire.

Her breath hitched when she overheard another snippet of conversation from the table behind her.

"She probably blackmailed him," a boy said, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. "That's why he left so fast. She's got dirt on all of them, I bet."

Cairo's pulse was racing, her chest tight with something she couldn't name. Guilt? Fear? She didn't know, and she didn't want to. All she knew was that she'd started something she couldn't stop, and now it was spiraling out of control.

Her hands trembled as she picked up her sandwich, forcing herself to take a bite. The dry bread caught in her throat, but she swallowed it down, refusing to let anyone see her crack. She was Cairo Sweet, after all. She didn't panic. She didn't feel bad.

But then she thought about you. About the look on your face that morning. About how you had stared at her, confused and hurt, like you were searching for answers in her eyes.

And suddenly, she wasn't so sure about any of it anymore.

She sat frozen at her table, staring blankly at her tray. She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there when she noticed you enter.

You held a tray of food against your hip, walking with a calmness that almost seemed defiant. Your expression was blank, almost disinterested, as though the entire day hadn't been spent tearing you apart in the cruelest ways imaginable.

Cairo's chest tightened at the sight, her eyes glued to you as you scanned the room. She could see what you were looking for—somewhere, anywhere you could sit by yourself.

And for a moment, it seemed like you'd found it. Your gaze lingered on a bench in the far corner, away from the noise, the eyes, the whispers.

But before you could take another step toward the corner bench you'd spotted, someone's voice sliced through the air, louder than the rest.

"That Y/N slut slept with Mr. Miller," the voice sneered, dripping with mockery. "Heard she's pregnant, too. Maybe that's why she's always looking so bloated."

The words hung there, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear, and Cairo's heart stopped.

Your head turned sharply toward the source, and Cairo saw the way your shoulders stiffened, your tray trembling in your hands. They didn't see you—too wrapped up in their laughter, too oblivious to the pain they were causing—but Cairo saw everything.

And then, your gaze shifted. You turned your head, scanning the crowd, and Cairo's stomach dropped.

You were looking for her.

When your eyes finally found hers, it was like a punch to the chest. Cairo froze, every muscle in her body locking up as if she'd been caught in a spotlight.

She didn't dare look away, even though she wanted to. Even though she couldn't stand the way you were staring at her.

Your eyes were glassy, tears brimming just enough to make the cafeteria lights reflect in them. But they didn't fall. Your jaw was clenched tight, your lips pressed into a trembling line as if holding back the urge to scream.

And the look you gave her—it was like a knife twisting in her gut.

You knew.

Cairo's breath hitched as she felt your gaze bore into her, relentless and unyielding. It was the same look you'd given her when you were kids, the time she'd blamed you for stealing cookies from the jar in front of her parents. Back then, it was a childish betrayal, the kind that faded by the next day.

This wasn't.

This was anger and hurt, disbelief and something that felt far worse: recognition. You looked at her as if she had been the one to put the note on your locker. And in a way, you weren't wrong.

Cairo's lips trembled, and she quickly bit the inside of her cheek to steady herself. It was ridiculous. Cairo Sweet didn't panic. She didn't regret. She didn't crack.

But now, under your gaze, she felt like she was crumbling.

You didn't say a word. You didn't need to. The way you stared at her, as if she were a stranger, said more than words ever could.

And then, without breaking eye contact, you turned on your heel.

Cairo's breath caught as she watched you stride to the nearest trash can. Your movements were sharp, deliberate, each step like a hammer driving a nail into her chest. When you reached it, you dumped your entire tray of food into the bin with a force that made it clang loudly, drawing the attention of half the room.

You didn't hesitate. You didn't pause. You just walked out, your head held high despite the tears threatening to spill.

Cairo sat frozen, her lungs struggling for air as the cafeteria noise gradually swelled back around her. People whispered and laughed again, oblivious to the storm raging inside her.

Her mind was spinning, replaying everything in an endless loop. She had wanted to hurt you, to punish you for standing in her way, for not agreeing with her plan.

But now, watching you walk out of the cafeteria—broken but still carrying yourself with a dignity she'd tried so hard to strip away—she realized something she couldn't ignore.

Cairo sat frozen, her lungs still fighting for air as the cafeteria roared back to life around her. The noise felt distant, muffled, like she was underwater. People were still laughing, still whispering, still twisting the knife deeper into the wound she had created. But Cairo didn't hear them. Not really.

Her mind spun in endless circles, replaying the way you'd looked at her—the tears in your eyes, the sharpness of your jaw, the weight of your silence. It was unbearable. It was suffocating.

And it was entirely her fault.

She had wanted to hurt you. She could admit that now, if only to herself. She had wanted to knock you down a peg, to remind you that you weren't perfect, that you didn't always get to be the one who was right. You'd stood in her way, called her out, refused to see things her way. And for that, she had wanted you to feel what it was like to lose.

But this?

This wasn't what she had expected.

Cairo had told herself it would be harmless. A rumor, a few whispers—something petty and fleeting that would blow over in a week. She had convinced herself it was just words, just noise, nothing that would stick. You'd get mad, maybe confront her, and she'd roll her eyes and shrug it off. You'd forgive her eventually. You always did.

But instead, she had lit a fire she couldn't control.

The rumor had spread like poison, twisting into something grotesque and unrecognizable. It wasn't just about Mr. Miller anymore. It was about everything they could find to tear you down. They'd taken her words and turned them into weapons, each one sharper than the last.

And you were the one left bleeding.

Cairo's chest tightened as guilt clawed at her throat. She had wanted you to feel small, to feel the sting of being wrong. But now, she realized what she had actually done. She hadn't just hurt you. She had handed you over to the wolves and stood back while they tore you apart.

And for what?

Why had she done it?

Because she was angry? Because she wanted to be right? Because it was easier to blame you than to admit that maybe, just maybe, she was the one in the wrong?

The truth hit her like a punch to the gut. She hadn't done it for any grand reason. She'd done it because she was selfish. Because she was scared. Because when you'd looked at her that day, challenging her, standing your ground, she'd felt small. And she hated feeling small.

But now, sitting there in the chaos she had created, Cairo felt smaller than ever.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. She wanted to fix it. She wanted to take it all back, to rewind the clock to that day in the hallway, to the moment she'd let her anger get the better of her. But it was too late.

The damage was done.

Cairo's stomach churned as she thought of the look in your eyes, the way you had walked out of the cafeteria with your head held high, even as everything around you crumbled. You were stronger than she'd ever given you credit for. Stronger than her.

And yet, she had broken something between you that could never be repaired.

She had expected to feel triumphant, to feel vindicated. Instead, all she felt was hollow.

The laughter around her grew louder, grating against her skin, and she wanted to scream, to tell them all to shut up, to stop talking about you like you were some kind of joke. But she didn't. She couldn't.

Because this was her fault.

Cairo clenched her jaw, her nails biting into her palms as the guilt twisted deeper. She had pushed you too far, dragged you into something you hadn't deserved, all because she couldn't control herself. She had ruined you, and in doing so, she had ruined herself.

This wasn't what she had wanted.

And as she sat there, drowning in the weight of her own actions, Cairo realized something that terrified her more than anything else.

She didn't know how to stop it.

[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris still doesn't fuck with the relationship labels — but that doesn't stop him from showing everyone that shy!reader is his.

it's supposed to be another fun frat party — overflowing with music, alcohol, drugs, and money. chris should be having the time of his fucking life, but without you tucked into his side as you usually are, he's not having fun at all.

he's restless; his leg bounces continually, and his jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth together, watching you across the room, engrossed in conversation with one of his frat brothers.

it was an unusual sight — seeing shy, little you animatedly chatting with someone other than him. but since you discovered that this particular frat boy shared the same interests as you, it was clear that you found a new friend... and chris hated that.

his irritation bubbles beneath the surface, prodding his tongue against his cheek, a humourless laugh escaping him as he shakes his head in disbelief each time he catches a glimpse of your excitement; the way your eyes light up as you gush about something you're interested in, and how his frat brother nods along with a grin.

"what's up with you?" nate asks, clamping his hand on chris' shoulder from behind, voice laced with curiosity. chris shrugs him off, irritation flashing deeper across his face and nate scoffs, glancing over at matt who has been lounging beside him this entire time. "what the fuck has gotten into him?"

matt takes a slow hit from his joint and lazily nods his head over in your direction. nate follows his gaze, a low sound of understanding rumbling from his chest.

"as much as i would love f'you both to rock someone's shit tonight, that kid is harmless — literally. don't think he even knows what a fuckin' pussy looks like—"

chris isn't listening, not when there's a loud ringing in his ears, drowning out nate's voice as he watches his frat brother lay a hand on your arm, gently guiding you from a group of rowdy drunk people who stumble by. it was a simple and kind gesture, but the sight of another guy touching you twists something deep inside him, chris see's red.

chris pushes himself up from the couch, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, nostrils flaring as he beelines straight for you, shoving through the crowds of sweaty bodies, ignoring the ones that try and get his attention. he's behind you in seconds, looming like a shadow, breathing down your neck as he fixes his glare on his frat brother, who raises an eyebrow at chris' sudden appearance.

"oh, hey—"

"leave."

the guy gapes, startled by the raw intensity of chris' voice. "wait, wha—"

"did i fuckin' stutter or somethin'? do you... do you wan' me to say it louder f'you?" chris asks as he leans in closer, his chest pushed against your shoulder, eyes narrow into a dangerous glare. "fuckin'. leave. now... or d'you wan' me to make you?"

the challenge hung in the air, thick with tension, and chris' jaw remains set tight; muscles coiled like a spring. he doesn't even flinch when you spin around to face him, your own eyes wide at the sudden possibility of a fight happening.

panic surges through you as you shake your head quickly, curling your fists around the front of his shirt, desperation lacing your voice as you plead his name.

but he pays no mind — his focussed lock on his frat brother, who mutters an apology before hastily retreating elsewhere, the fear evident in his expression. chris watches him leave, the intensity in his gaze unwavering.

when his eyes finally flit to you, his tongue prods at his cheek, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. you can see the storm brewing within him and your heart races, clinging to him with wide and frantic eyes, searching for reassurance.

"chris..." you breathe out his name, your voice trembling with concern. "you.. why would you—"

but before you can finish, he steps closer, his hand gripping the back of your neck, pulling you forward with a force that takes your breath away. his lips crash against yours, hard and demanding, and you gasp against his mouth, arms frozen at your sides, eyes wide in surprise.

it probably wasn't the most please sight from a outsiders perspective — him fierce and harsh, you bewildered and unmoving. but this was the second time he's kissed you during your complicated relationship... if you could even call it that.

the feeling of his tongue sliding into your mouth is what finally brings you back to reality. you instinctively go to reciprocate the kiss, your heart warming at the thought of having his lips on yours for longer than just a few fleeting seconds. but, of course, your hopes are shattered when he pulls away from you, leaving you breathless.

his hand, which had rested on the back of your neck, now slides around to grip your jaw, holding you in place as he stares at you.

"don't look too pleased, kid," chris murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he pats your cheek. "jus' lettin' everyone know who you belong to, yeah?"

© STURNIOZ

[rafecameronsversion]

baby, no attachment || j.m

summary - jj tells you that you're belong right next to , but denies what you have the next day. was it all casual?

warning - f!reader, angsty, the pain that comes with casual relationships.

should i make a part 2? ☺️☺️ comment if so! y'all idk how to make my stuff longer, i hate how short my works r

the night before was beautiful, jj had seen a part of your soul. sat on the docks by kildare, with your legs hitting the water. jj was right next to you, the night unfolded with soft whispers and lingering touches.

you were talking about the suffocations of being from a kook family, the expectations, the standards, and how they control you. it got too much sometimes, and you can't help but feel like you don't belong.

jj looked at you fondly, a confused expression on his face. "i don't get it..." he started, running his hand through his hair.

"you've got it all, don't you?" he asked, eyeing you up and down. you smiled at him lightly, nudging him in the side.

"do i?" you challenged, looking into his blue eyes as you leaned forward slightly. he chuckled lightly at your jab, as you continued to speak. "because it doesn't feel like it. not when i have these expectations on who i should be, held above my head, told what to want."

jj's jaw tightened, he knew it all too well. the feeling of wanting freedom, albeit his prison was a different kind. he shook his head no, wrapping his arm over your shoulder. "then, you don't belong there."

you looked at him for a moment, a soft smile lingering on your face. "hm... and where do i belong?"

the question hung heavy in the air, an unspoken tension that lies between the two of you. he had a smile on his face, pulling you closer with his arm on your shoulder. he kissed your forehead before looking into your eyes.

"here. with me."

the night before had panned out so perfectly, so beautifully. you can't help but feel anger, anger that curled in your chest like smoke from the dying bonfire. you didn't know where you stood with him— and maybe that was the problem.

the boneyard was alive, a blur of kooks and pogues dancing and laughing like there wasn't a barrier between them. your friends surrounded you, their sharp, mocking voices cutting through the night

"loser" you're best friend called you with a laugh, as she noticed you looking around for a certain blond. "hanging around him? he's a lowlife!"

you ignored her, pretending her words didn't sting. jj made you feel real—like you weren't just another strung up kook with a curated life. what you had with him was real... or so you thought.

quickly excusing yourself to find a drink, you slipped through the bustling crowd, rubbing your hands over your arms for some comfort. you scanned around, looking for familiar faces, hoping to find his. and then you did. jj stood by the keg, his blond hair messy and his easy grin lighting up the night.

his friends, john b and pope, laughed loudly as their voices carried over the music. jj leaned casually against the keg, a beer in hand. he looked like he belonged—a slap in your face that this was his world, and you were an intruder.

"yo, what's the deal with you and that kook...y/n?" he asked, teasing. you stood there frozen, with your heart pounding.

jj didn't answer right away, taking a sip of his beer instead and looking away.

pope chimed in, agreeing. "yea, isn't she like, out of your league?"

jj rolled his eyes at that, his smirk faltering. "we're not together." he said casually, his voice cool. "jus' talk to her sometimes."

the laughter around them died slowly, his friends looked at him with disbelief in their faces.

"what?" jj groaned, shifting uncomfortably under his friends weird faces. "m'serious! there's nothing between us."

you stood there appalled, frozen as you watched the scene. you felt your heart drop, at how easy he could brush you off like everything was nothing. you turned away before you could hear anything more, before any of them could see you from afar.

the lump in your throat grew as you walked away, you could hear them talking behind you but you didn't look back.

what you didn't know was john b slapping jj on the head, because he spotted you right as you walked away. "shit, man! she heard everything!"

[buryhny]

One Night Stand ; 46 ⋆.

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

☆ jungkook x y/n ☆ contains smut, fluff and angst ☆ chapter forty six ; wc | 5.3k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

It's a week later, and you start to feel anxious, with all the sudden changes in your body. You feel your bump much lower into the pelvis, and it causes so much discomfort in your spine that you choose to stay in bed most of the time. You've been feeling soft contractions, and it's scaring you because you're not fully ready to... deliver your child.

You've been feeling exhausted even when you've done nothing, and the trip to the bathroom has become twice as frequent as it was. You know, you just know it's time.

The baby is coming soon.

Jungkook's been noticing your silence and lack of energy. Usually, you would be waiting for him at the door and jumping into his arms when he enters, but the past week has been different, and he's had to walk upstairs to meet you lying on the bed, watching the blank ceiling.

He would be lying if he says he's not worried because he's goddamn worried. Sometimes he just doesn't know what to do and how to help you because you don't tell him, and when you do, he doesn't know what he can do to help relieve your pains.

You've cried one night about how annoying it is to walk to the washroom 50 times at night, and he was so upset about how he could do anything. I mean... what can he do about that anyway?

The nursery is done, and it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen. You're excited to have your baby here and feed her while seated on the lovely comfy rocking chair that's purple and place her in her crib that's decorated in pastels, butterflies, and bows.

Jungkook helped you with arranging all the clothing. He wanted to see everything you've got for the little one when he wasn't there for you, and he felt emotional about it. But when you handed him the little jumpsuit that had a bunny family, it cheered him up.

He laughed when you told him the father bunny looked like him. "It sure does, I'm guessing it's the muscles-" "No, Jungkook. It's the teeth! Get over yourself." You hit his arm, and he chuckled as he hung the suit in the baby closet.

Even though you wanted a water birth, you've been doing your research and talking to your doctor. You both have come to the conclusion of delivering at the hospital as it's just a safer choice. Jungkook can obviously have everything for a water birth, have the systems set up here, his bathtub enough for a delivery,

but somehow the feeling of being in a hospital just makes it safer. He'd taken the biggest room with the best services so you can be comfortable. He'd done everything for your well-being, and now all that's left is for the baby to be here.

Everything was ready... mostly. The only ones not ready were Jungkook and you. You've been feeling extra worried, which had made you feel withdrawn from Jungkook, but he doesn't mind. He doesn't show you that it affects him. He knows you need time;

he sees it. You're always caressing your bump and talking to it, asking questions like the baby is answering you, but it relieves some of your stress when you talk to the bump. You're focusing on your body and the changes, taking time to get used to the pains and unusual feelings.

And Jungkook gives you the space you need—sometimes, you don't want him cuddling you. You push him away, feeling suffocated, and though he stays silent, it stings. Still, he understands it's just your mood swings because by morning, he wakes up to your pout and whispered apologies.

It's all just signs that the due date is closer, very, very close.

There are certain moments that linger in your heart, memories you find yourself revisiting often, ones that truly define your pregnancy. Lately, with your bump growing heavier, Jungkook watches you closely, always ready to help. Sometimes, you resist his assistance, but other times... it's the greatest gift.

;

One of the sweetest moments happened during a movie night. Right in the middle of a suspenseful scene, Jungkook suddenly paused the screen, making you frown in confusion.

"What-" "Stand up," he instructed, while you remained nestled against him on the couch. "Huh?" With a sigh, he got up, gently pulling you along with him.

"What's wrong, Jungkook?" you asked, looking around as he moved behind you. "Shhh," he whispered, wrapping his arms around you in a familiar back hug. But this time, his hands settled beneath your bump, lifting it ever so slightly—instantly relieving all the weight.

The sigh that escaped your lips was so dramatic, Jungkook burst out laughing. You melted into his chest, closing your eyes, savoring the rare sensation of lightness.

"Does it help?" he asked softly.

"What do you think?" you murmured. "Mmm, I feel like I'm flying."

Jungkook chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to your temple as his hands caressed your belly. Your hands found his, fingers lacing together as warmth spread through you. You hadn't asked him to do this—he simply chose to, and it felt incredible.

"Feels really good?" he teased. "So, so good," you sighed dreamily.

He made a small movement to step away, but you whined in protest, making him laugh. Without hesitation, he stayed, holding you a little longer—giving you a moment to simply breathe.

;

Jungkook loves to try new things that could ease your stress and lighten your mood, whether it's by cooking you a meal (mostly pasta), taking you out whenever you can because almost all the time you have zero energy, or just letting you rant about how long you've been pregnant and how it seems endless.

The two of you rarely fight; the arguments don't last a day because he knows it's your moods, and you know that it isn't his fault to begin with. Jungkook had also been secretly preparing to share your beautiful relationship with the world. He doesn't want you to be a secret or a mistake; he wants everyone to see how proud he is to be yours.

He's been thinking about it for a while, and he knows it's going to be something truly special. He also never mentioned what your mom had told him before he left. Now that a couple of weeks have passed, he doesn't feel as stressed about it as he did before.

But he still wants to tell you—just to hear your perspective on it. He'd been trying to find a good time, but you're always dealing with mood swings, so he keeps quiet.

;

"Baby, did you have dinner?" Jungkook asks as he walks out of the washroom with a towel around his bottom. He'd prepared some pumpkin soup and pomegranate juice for you since you didn't want to eat anything. You shake your head, eyes glued to your phone. He tsks and throws his towel on the bed, taking out sweats from the closet.

"No towels on the bed, Jungkook."  "I know, ma'am."

He tosses his towel over the bathroom handle and walks back to you, grabbing the plate and setting it on his lap. "You need to eat." "I will, I will, just gotta pick something—" You keep scrolling on your phone, making him curious. He leans in to take a peek, only for his face to twist into a frown.

"Wait... you're picking baby names without me?!" he shrieks, clearly offended that you'd didn't include him in this. A chuckle leaves your lips when you place your head on his shoulder.

"I'm not doing this without you. I just thought I could select some of the names I like, so when you select yours, we could discuss it," you mumble, and Jungkook sighs.

"Alright, read out the names you've chosen." You sit upright in excitement. "Okay! So I chose five that I think are super cute, but we can check the other names too—"  "Read me yours."

You clear your throat and then begin. "Jua, Misoo, Yuna, Bora, and Yuri." You say with a wide smile on your lips. "I think they go so well with your name, like, Jeon Jua, Jeon Misoo—oh my god! I love that one. Jeon Yuna is fine, Jeon Yuri is sooo cute! Jeon Bora is so lovelyyyy!! I think I like—" 

"Misoo. Misoo is the one," he whispers. His eyes sparkle, like he's heard something extraordinary. When he heard 'Jeon Misoo,' that's when everything else shut, and he heard nothing—just that name echoing in his head. It's like love at first sight but with a name. 

He whispers the name again, savoring the way it rolls off his tongue. There's something about that three-letter word—he loves everything about it. And deep in his heart, he just knows. This is the one.

"It's perfect," he murmurs, his voice filled with certainty.

You smile softly, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. Seeing how much he already adores the name makes you happy. If he feels this way about just a name, you can only imagine how overwhelmed with love he'll be when the baby finally arrives. Jungkook giggles suddenly, making you giggle too.

Jungkook hadn't thought about names and the details; he wanted to do it all once the baby is here, but he can't control himself either—not when it's so interesting and fun. Naming a child is so serious, though. You're giving the baby an identity, and Jungkook kinda feels anxious about it, but when he looks at you and sees how carefree and excited you are, he feels relaxed too.

The two of you make the right couple: if one is anxious, the other is relaxed; one is stubborn, the other... tolerates it. It's insane how he found someone like you when he swore he would find a woman the exact opposite of you. Jungkook feels his heart beating extra fast when his mind keeps repeating the name in his head—Misoo. Misoo.

He even came up with a nickname in the span of seconds: Bingsu! Shaved ice, so sweet, delicious, milky—just like you. He knows the little one is going to look like you; she better, because you're just the cutest, way way cuter than he is. His mind is filled with nicknames, and it's not helping when you're adding to it.

"She's gonna be a mini you, Jungkook, and I just know she's gonna be a little bunny!!" You squeak like a child, and he giggles. "I pray she gets your teeth too... oh my god—I'm gonna faint—"

"We can talk about everything once the little one is here," he says, making you laugh. "First, have your dinner," he mutters, and you push yourself to sit beside him as he feeds you the soup.

His eyes stay focused on the soup as he stirs it, making it less hot for you so you can gulp it faster. You notice how cute he looks when he's focused; his cheeks show up, and... you feel guilty for avoiding him the past few days.

"I know I've been quiet lately, and you probably feel like I'm not giving you enough time, but it has nothing to do with you, okay?" you start, making Jungkook frown like he's got a question mark on his forehead.  "What makes you think I feel that way?" he asks, his focus on you when he turns to you fully.

Jungkook likes to watch you—when you eat, sleep, laugh, or just all the time. But with how quiet you've been and how irritated you've been feeling lately, he thinks he should give you some time and space, so it's why he focuses on everything else except you.

"I don't know... you've been quiet," you say, your fingers twirling around the drawstrings of his sweatpants. He chuckles. "I've been quiet?" he asks, to which you gently nod. "Yeah, you never look at me now." The pout on your lips looks so scrumptious, Jungkook thinks he might faint.

He never gets tired of seeing those lovely lips, especially when they're in a pout. "Baby..." he hums, feeding you a spoonful of soup before he places it on the coffee table. He holds your palms and gets closer to you.

"Baby, I always look at you."

"Not like you used to." He giggles at how adorable you look when you act like a kid. His heart clenches like a sponge. "I just... thought you might need some space when you're dealing with... everything," he mumbles. It makes you sadder that he says it with such softness, like he just wants you to be okay.

"I know... but you don't have to," you whisper, nodding toward the soup to show you'll drink it yourself. But he keeps feeding you anyway. Now that it's cooler, you drink faster, but your body feels off—like it's gearing up for something big. A dull ache settles in your lower back, and your belly tightens in waves, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

It's not exactly painful, just... different, like your body is testing the waters. Your legs feel restless, your skin too warm, and no matter how much you shift, you can't seem to get comfortable. The weird, heavy feeling only builds, creeping lower, making your breath hitch. Something's coming—you can feel it.

He nods at your words and smiles, more of a smirk. "I know, I know, it's just that I want you to know that it's okay to take your time. The baby is gonna be here, so—" Jungkook keeps talking, but you didn't realize when the words faded away. All you can focus on is the uneasy feeling, like your body is off balance.

You shake it off by trying to listen to his words while he stirs the soup. Your mind clashes with thoughts, but you tell yourself that it's nothing. It can't be, right? There's a week left to your due date.

But the dull ache in your lower back just gets worse, and nothing is able to distract your thoughts anymore. Your entire body seizes with a sharp, unbearable pain. You double over, gripping your belly, your breath hitching as you come forward from the couch.

Jungkook frowns and holds your palm. "What's the matter?" You chuckle and look away. "It's... nothing. I keep feeling contractions, and I panic." You let out a nervous laugh. Jungkook, on the other hand, feels worried for you.

Since he's the only support you've got, he wants to be prepared at any time, and when you're unsure of what you're feeling, he's scared it could be any minute.

"Do you want to call Sohee?"

"No, no, I'm fine, really." You caress his palm and open your mouth for more soup. Jungkook sighs and stirs the soup, preparing himself to speak about your mother or at least about the idea of marriage.

"Y/N..." he begins, his voice unusually rough, making you tilt your head in curiosity. He rarely uses your name so seriously.

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinking about... making us public," he admits, sounding noticeably nervous. "And officially taking you off the office roster since you won't be back for a... really long time—" he chuckles softly.

"I— I'd never stop you from working—"

He raises a hand, signaling that he means it. "I'll never tell you what to do. You don't have to lift a finger, but if you ever want to, you're always welcome to be my chairwoman," he murmurs, making you laugh. "But for now, I would have to take your name off, if that's okay with you, and... and I want everyone to know about us. I just want them to know I have someone, and that person is you." You nod, and he smiles. You know he has more to say, so you stay quiet.

"I also... had been wanting to tell you this for a long time..." His eyes search around, and it makes you much more curious as to why he's hesitant.

"Your mom told me this... um... she told me a few things before we left... it didn't sound very nice, but she's worried about... your family name." Your eyes roll when you hear him speak. Of course, your mother had to say some stuff.

"She's worried for you, alright, she wants to make everything... legitimate, was the word she used, and I know she only cares for y—"

"She cares more about what people would say," you interrupt. Your face shows clear signs of anger and annoyance. "Mom isn't worried for me. If she did, she wouldn't say this. If she was, she'd tell us to take our time." You speak firmly. "Mom wants to do the best for her family. She wants a man who listens to everything people say, someone who does not do what he loves, and someone ideal for her ginormous family."

Jungkook sees your face turning red as you speak. "She has a problem with everything, Jungkook. Tattoos, this and that, she's never satisfied, so please don't take her words to your heart." You get closer to him and place a hand on his thigh. Remembering how quiet he was during the flight and after coming back home, this was eating him up—your mother's words.

"This journey is ours, and we chose it, and we will continue to make our own decisions. No one influences us or forces us to do anything. Marriage? We do it when we want to—if we want to—"

"Don't say that," he says immediately when you say the word "if." "D-don't say it like that." He feels his heart tearing when you say it like... it is nothing.

"Jungkook... you know what I mean, right?"

He nods. You know you meant it differently because marriage isn't important, papers aren't important, and a ring isn't going to change anything. But he can't help but think of someone else putting that ring on for you, and it breaks him.

"I know, darling, but... it is something I want," he whispers.

You smile softly. "I know... me too..." you whisper back, getting closer to him. "I just want us to take time, to settle, to... learn and grow together. I don't want to rush it; this isn't important to me. What's important is learning how we want this family to be before we... put it in papers."

Jungkook agrees. He just accepted his baby wholeheartedly, so there's no need to rush into marriage when it isn't even a pillar for your relationship right now.

"Yeah. I want that too." You both nod and then laugh. "So... can I make it official at the office?" "That I'm leaving... quite officially?"

"And that you're my girlfriend." Your eyes sparkle when he says that, and he giggles at it.

"Yes! I'd like that."

;

Jungkook obviously wasn't going to make it an announcement to the whole building; he only passed it on to the marketing team since you were the head of graphic design back then.

"Y/N will not be back, so, Park, this position is permanently yours. I hope you'll be much more dedicated now," he says, and Jimin's eyes widen before he frowns.

"But why...? I thought she was gonna be back soon... wanted to annoy the shit outta her," he whispers the last few words. Jungkook side-eyes Hoseok, who stands beside him. Hoseok knows exactly why, so he hides his smile.

"Oh no, I hope she's okay?" Rose asks with concern.

"She's doing well, don't worry... she's happy with me," Jungkook mutters before he leaves.

Jimin frowns and removes his tucked hands from his pockets. "What the heck did I just hear? Did you guys hear him say 'happy with me,' or was it just me?"

Rose's mouth gapes before she stomps her heel on the floor. "I knew it! Wasn't it weird when she disappeared from the business party that night? Mr. Jeon was not there too?! Oh my god— and all those rumors? So they were true, they are a couple?!!!" She claps her hands and looks at the rest of the staff members.

Hoseok chuckles and nods. "Yeah, they are..." He's genuinely happy for you, even if a small part of him once wished he had a chance with you. But he'd never admit that—not now, not ever. He knows he'll never find anyone quite like you, but seeing

you so happy with Jungkook and your little family is enough for him. He's just grateful to have you as a friend because you're an incredible one. And though you're an even better girlfriend, if friendship is all he can have, he'll gladly take it.

He's excited to meet your baby whenever he gets the chance, secretly hoping she looks like you. And when he thinks back to the moment he was the first to find out her gender, he can't help but feel deeply touched. That moment alone speaks volumes about the bond you share, and he'll cherish it forever.

"Oh my goodness! Such a power couple! Y/N is so beautiful, and Mr. Jeon? Fine as hell!" Rose speaks and giggles.

"Kill me already!" Park screams as he runs from the scene.

Jungkook had finally said it. Not only were the rumors cleared, but it felt good knowing that everyone was genuinely happy for him. Just this evening alone, he'd received fourteen congratulations—and he loved it.

Despite his cold, arrogant façade—the ideal CEO persona—at the end of the day, he was just a puppy. And he still couldn't believe how much everything had changed. His life was something completely out of the ordinary now. But that's life—always unpredictable.

His gaze drifts to the desk where you used to sit months ago, and a small smile tugs at his lips. He loved seeing your outfits, always looking forward to them, even if he was nonchalant.

,

Jungkook had stopped stressing about the idea of marriage. He understood that both of you needed time, and he needed it too. There was no rush to put a ring on it when you were still in the early stages of your relationship. Even though you'd been together for almost a year, your status had only been "girlfriend and boyfriend," so jumping straight into marriage in a month didn't feel right.

It didn't matter if it took years; he wanted it to happen when it felt right for both of you, when your relationship had matured enough. Sure, you lived together and had a baby, but rushing into marriage didn't seem like the right move.

So, he let go of the pressure, pushing those thoughts aside. After a few weeks, he finally felt like he could breathe again, free from that weight.

Now he's making use of all his time, enjoying the bump. He didn't have the chance to feel it grow, but now he's got his last opportunities to feel the kicks and movements before the baby is here.

;

The both of you had been to many parks and had spent several nights together in the car or by the lake, talking about all the random stuff you two could think of.

Jungkook had always wanted to go stargazing in an open space, but he never really had the chance—not when his past was filled with the wrong people. So when you brought up the idea, your excitement was impossible to ignore. You could barely sit still, practically dragging him out of bed and downstairs to the backyard, eager to take in the night sky together.

His backyard was beautiful, yet rarely used unless it was for the pool. "Come onnn!" you whined, pulling at his hand.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, giving in. Before stepping outside, he grabbed a blanket, knowing you'd appreciate not getting dirt on yourself. Sliding the door open, he led you out, spreading the blanket on the grass before helping you settle down.

Both of you sighed contentedly, gazing up at the vast sky above. Not long after, Bam followed your scents and curled up beside you, making you both laugh softly. You glanced at Jungkook and raised your eyebrows at him. He glanced back and then turned to your side. "You're supposed to stargaze... the stars are up there." You point at the sky.

"But you're prettier than the stars," he whispers, making you blush.

"That I know." He laughs. God, he loves it when you say that.

"Stargaze now, Jungkook... look up there. That's why we came here," you murmur, and he faces the sky again.

"The sky is so magical."

"It is," he hums, looking at the indigo, black-painted area. The stars, golden and diamond-like, twinkle like the twinkling stars they are. The cool breeze makes you both grow goosebumps and laughter. There's silence—a nice, comfortable silence. The kind that doesn't feel empty but rather full, wrapped in the warmth of simply being together.

Neither of you speaks, but there's no need to. Just lying there, side by side, breathing in the cool night air, is enough.

Jungkook glances at you for a moment, watching the way your eyes reflect the starlight. He smiles to himself before looking back up.

"How does the world look so... miraculous... like look—" you point randomly. "That's a triangle and that looks like a fish."

"Fish?" he frowns, how did you see a fish in the stars?

"Yeah, there! Right there." You point at the sky. He does not know where exactly, but he most definitely does not see a fish. "Jungkook!! Right here—oh god, come closer to me." He does, shifting closer to you so his shoulders touch yours.

"Right there. Look at my finger." He does, he looks at your finger and then the sky. There's no sign of a fish—but okay, he's not gonna say no.

"Oh wow, it—is a fish! That's so coo—"

"Don't have to lie to me, baby, I know you can't see it." He giggles at this, even more when he sees you jokingly roll your eyes. "I can'ttt, it... doesn't make sense to me!"

"You're just boring." You push him away and he does not stop giggling. Jungkook sighs and looks up again... maybe he does see something, but not a fish... but lines, yeah, lines he can see.

"What's in your bucket list?" he asks, and you hum as you think about it.

"I've always wanted to achieve my work accomplishments in five years, but... things have changed, and I think my bucket list has changed and is still pending?" you say, your voice soft as you share the thought.

Jungkook listens intently, a sense of guilt settling in his chest. He feels responsible for some of the changes in your life, but he pushes those thoughts aside. He promises himself that he will give you everything you deserve—not through his wealth or influence,

but through his love and support, in the way you need it, on your own terms. He will be there, quietly but steadfastly, for all the things you're yet to achieve with your own powers.

"What about you?" you ask, looking at him this time. He glances at you and smiles. "I've always just wanted to experience love, and though that's... weird to be in a bucket list, it doesn't matter now because I've got it all... and more... I don't think I want anything else in life," he murmurs and looks up at the sky, admiring how beautiful the world looks with love.

Your gaze does not leave his; you love how... open he's become to you and how much he needed this. Though it didn't start out well, you're so glad to be with him and for him.

"But you must have something? Maybe a... vacation? Or like an activity?" you ask.

"MMMM..." he hums and thinks about it. "I've traveled enough and more, Y/N. There's no dream vacation anymore, but..." he looks at you and wiggles his eyebrows. "I do hope to visit Jeju Island... with you." This makes you blush. You hit his chest, and the both of you giggle. "We can check it off the list... soon."

;

Every day became a guessing game, every moment was filled with uncertainty if the baby would be in your arms today... tomorrow... the day after? It was just days of waiting, both with excitement and nervousness. The bags are packed; they're left at the backseat of Jungkook's car so you both don't have to rush in the middle of the night.

And you're just... waiting. The contractions seem to get worse by each day, preparing you for the final labor. And you're upset that these may be the last few days you'll have a pregnant belly (although you also feel so done with life, carrying the weight around that seems like forever).

Jungkook doesn't miss a single moment. He leaves for work earlier than usual and comes home early just to spend more time with you. Bam has grown so much since the day you first met him; it's crazy how big he's gotten in just a month. But despite his size, he's only become sweeter, more caring, and even more attached to you.

Dogs just know, and Bam definitely does. He never leaves your side, his protectiveness growing stronger by the day, even following you to the washroom. He no longer jumps on you, waiting patiently for you to pet him without causing any discomfort.

His intelligence is just another reason you feel safe when Jungkook isn't around. Jungkook feels the same; he trusts Bam more than most people because this dog is truly special. Growing up alongside your pregnancy, Bam understands exactly what to do, always gentle, cautious, and full of love for you.

Jungkook is always excited when he's done his job at work. He packs up and leaves with the widest smile on his face, and it leaves the staff wondering what's so exciting for him at home, but now they know, it's you! They still have no idea about the pregnancy, but the rumors that started months ago, after you fainted and got sick during meetings, suddenly seem like they might be true after all.

Jungkook always gets a sweet treat for you on the way home, and today he decided to get some warm chocolate chip and red velvet cookies with a tub of vanilla ice cream. He'd also planned on watching another pregnancy movie with you—'Juno'—and he's overjoyed to spend the Saturday night with you.

When Jungkook comes back home, he usually runs straight to his bedroom to see you. He'd meet Bam and you laying on the bed, scrolling through your phone or reading a book, and then you would gasp and open your arms saying, "Jungkook!! You're back!"

and Bam would bark. Jungkook would remove his coat, wash his hands, and then hug you, kiss you on your temple, and ask, "What's the FYP today?" You would answer something like, "Just another mukbanger's behind-the-scenes video, showing how difficult it is to... just eat." And he would laugh.

But surprisingly, today, he was met with an empty bed. His brows furrowed at the unusual sight. "Y/N?" he called out. Silence.

His heart gave a nervous thump. He scanned the room, but there was no sign of you. "Y/N??!!" His voice was louder now, laced with growing concern. His heartbeat drummed faster, a sinking feeling settling in his chest as he hurried out of the bedroom.

Then, a sudden bark echoed through the quiet rooms. His head snapped toward the washroom, where Bam stood by the door, whimpering anxiously as he looked at his owner to follow him. Jungkook didn't think—

he just moved. In one swift motion, he pushed the door wider, his breath catching in his throat at the sight before him.

There you were, curled up on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, looking pale and fragile under the dim bathroom light.

next chapter ⇢

hey guys! how did you like this chap?! I tried working on all the ideas you guys had so hope it was good enough? can you guess what happens next??

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[crimsonspring]

"my star, that's not what i had meant." xavier's voice, as always, is as gentle as can be. she's over-consumed with anger, grasping at straws in attempts to validate her desperate want to scream at him, so she tries to think of a time when he'd raised his voice at her, and she can't. not even by a singular decibel.

xavier, a man so fitting of his angel-like features, was the kindest and gentlest soul she's ever known. even during their biggest fights, (she wonders if he'd even consider them fights, because he never fights back) he'd only ever gently explains his thoughts as she snaps and throws her arms up in frustration. this time, it's no different.

"oh come on, xavier. you meant exactly what you said - you don't think i can do it!" she speaks accusingly, deep lines of upset drawn in between her brows as she frowns. "you said "i don't think it's a good idea to involve yourself in this mission," did you not?" xavier opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it soon after. because she was right, she had quoted him verbatim.

she scoffs, shaking her head as she glares at her lover. "and yet, your name was the first one i saw when they released the list of hunter confirmed for the mission! do you see me as less, xavier? i know i'm not as experienced as you are, but i'm still a good hunter!"

xavier has his head hung low, blonde strands covering his guilt ridden blue orbs. he feels guilty, there's no question about it. yet, the small selfish part of him, ruled by the memory of his dying lover's body turning cold in his own arms, makes no way for regret to reside in his body. till this day, though a long time since the memory was birthed, there isn't a day where the feeling of his legs growing numb from staying frozen in place, fearful of any minuscule movement that will reinforce the fact that she has died, doesn't haunt him.

it was not as though he isn't aware of her capabilities as a hunter. she was talented beyond words. the way she moved and danced with the swords and weapons against the wanderers like the battlefield was a stage for her very own recital - her skills captivates him every time he had the honour of sharing the battlefield with her.

but he won't lie, ever since doctor zayne himself had pulled him aside secretly after he had accompanied her to her monthly appointment to advise him to be cautious of her overexerting herself physically at work due to her heart condition (and though neither doctor zayne nor she has given him much clue about the true urgency of her condition, he cannot help but be haunted by the fear and frustration in the cardiac surgeon's eyes), the fear has kept him up on more nights than he thought possible.

he's still silent, unsure how he'd like to go about this. as worried as he is, he bets it's an even more difficult experience for her to go through. her condition was something they barely talked about, she often shrugs off the topic every time it was brought up. xavier understands that she fears it too - almost to the point that she overcompensates for it by being too fearless. xavier wishes they could just simply talk about their fears together, but he doesn't know how to.

"so? nothing else to say now?" she almost challenges him, scoffing yet again in disbelief as she finally pulls her glare away and crosses her arms. xavier actually has a million and one things that he wishes to say, the bulk of it being apologies and the truth that's been weighing so heavily in his heart.

xavier is soft spoken, his body often the pen that writes the words he wishes to speak. "i.." he begins, then shakes his head as he steps in front of her, and so naturally, gets on his knees. an arm wraps around the back of her knees, and his free hand captures one of her own. he finds strength in the warmth of her skin, a reminder and reassurance that she was still alive and well - and he shan't squander this chance.

"i apologise, my heart." he sighs, grateful when she doesn't pull away. there is still stiffness and hesitance in her body and he doesn't blame her for that, understands that she's upset. nervously, he looks up at her, a little desolate when he sees her purposefully looking away. he takes her hand to his lips, where they press a soft kisses on each of her fingers. he doesn't know the intent is to comfort her, or himself. though he enjoys the imprints of her skin against his own, would tattoo the art lines of her fingerprints onto every inch of his body if he could.

"without a doubt in my heart, i know you're the bravest woman alive. enthrals me to no end how you're so beautiful, so talented and so intelligent all at the same time. all the marvels in the world stored in you." his eyes never once strayed away from her face, and you could see the twinkling in his eyes as he continues to watch her like she was the embodiment of the flowers that bloom in spring - and this garden was a place he'd be the most devoted pilgrim for. and with the honour of being the one she loves, how could this soldier not want protect his beloved treasure?

"but in all honesty, i'd been a bit worried since your last appointment. you've never truly told me what happened, so i don't know how to gauge things." he continues his explanation, still on his knees as he continues to press his kisses against her skin. this part of the explanation though, sends a shiver down his own spine as he recollects the reality of the situation. his star might not be okay, and he doesn't know what to do to cure her, except to just protect her. pulling his eyes away from her, he whimpers and presses his forehead against her abdomen. "i'm just scared."

the prince of philos is on his knees. a man with enough power to rule a planet, but in his eyes, that will all go to shame - rendered useless - if he can't find a way to save her.

"i understand that you don't feel comfortable with telling me what's going on.. but i know that it's not good. i don't know how to make you feel better, so i figured at least, i could do my best to keep you from harms away." he feels her fingers comb through his blonde locks, and he impossibly nuzzles closer to her, his arms tightening around her torso. "if you tell me what i can do, my love, i'll do it."

"i swear to you. tell me what i can do. tell me what you need, and i'll travel a million times around the world for it."

[rosesareredrosa]

There's a Difference

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Mattheo thinks he is not worth it and thinks he will hurt y/n because of his past but y/n doesn't think so shes ready to take a risk

w/c: 924

You shouldn’t love me.

Mattheo’s voice was laced with a mix of defiance and resignation as he spoke the words that had been haunting him for weeks. The dim light from the torches cast flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the hard edges of his jaw and the turmoil in his dark eyes. He stood just a few feet away from you, his usual confidence faltering as he forced himself to look away.

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him slip away so easily. “Well, why not?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder as if he could find an escape route hidden in the stone walls of the Hogwarts corridor. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, before he finally turned his attention back to you. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely let anyone see.

“I’m not worth it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I’m going to end up doing is hurting you.”

You could hear the sincerity in his words, the fear that drove them. But you weren’t one to be easily scared off, especially not by Mattheo Riddle. The boy who was always so confident, so untouchable, now stood before you with all his walls down. You took a step closer, refusing to let him push you away.

“Is that a promise,” you challenged, “or are you just afraid?”

The question hung in the air between you, daring him to confront the truth he was trying so hard to deny. Mattheo’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled with the emotions he usually kept locked away. No one had ever called him out like this before. He was used to people either fearing him or idolizing him, but you… you were different. You saw right through his carefully constructed facade, and that terrified him more than anything.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “But that’s all I know how to do. It’s in my blood, Y/N. It’s who I am.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept that as the end of the conversation. “That’s not who you are, Mattheo. It’s who you think you have to be. There’s a difference.”

His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign that you understood the darkness he carried, that you knew what you were getting yourself into. “You don’t know what you’re saying. My father… the things I’ve seen… the things I’ve done…”

You took another step closer, until you were standing directly in front of him, your eyes locked onto his. “I know who you are, Mattheo. I see the way you fight against what you think you have to be. I see the good in you, even if you don’t.”

His breath hitched, the walls he had spent years building up around his heart beginning to crumble under the intensity of your gaze. For a moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, you were right. But then the fear crept back in, reminding him of all the reasons why he had to keep you at arm’s length.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice shaking, “I can’t let you get close. If something happened to you because of me…”

You reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m not afraid of you, Mattheo. I’m not afraid of what could happen. What scares me is the thought of you shutting me out, of you letting your fear dictate your life.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if drawing strength from your words. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe,” you replied softly, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Or maybe I just see something worth fighting for.”

Mattheo’s eyes fluttered open, and in that moment, the battle within him finally reached its peak. He could keep fighting against his feelings, pushing you away until you had no choice but to give up on him, or he could take the risk and let himself be vulnerable, let himself love you the way he so desperately wanted to.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Mattheo closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, as if he was pouring all of his fear, his hope, his love into that single moment. You responded immediately, your hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as if you could hold him together by sheer force of will.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, but the tension that had been hanging over you was gone, replaced by a sense of calm that neither of you had expected.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” Mattheo said quietly, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a fierce determination. “Then we’ll hurt each other. But we’ll also heal together.”

He let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. “You’re too good for me,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

Mattheo chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worth it after all.

[starlitsprout]

In Case of Emergency

(Spencer Reid x Medic! Reader)

Warnings: violence, blood, cursing, and eventual smut 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

word count: 2K

Amidst an increase of injuries out in the field, a new team member is assigned to the BAU. A medic. Tasked with keeping the team alive, but when an unexpected threat challenges her ability to think on her feet, the team is forced to rethink their assumptions of their newest member.

Next | Previous | Beginning

Chapter One: The Newbie

The bullpen was unusually quiet that morning. A rare moment of stillness between cases. Hotch had just finished a conference call and was making his way back to speak with the team when a loud voice cut through the silence engulfing the bullpen.

"I swear, we need someone to fix the coffee machine in here," Garcia said loudly, emerging from her cave. "Caffine is the most important thing for a team that basically runs off it."

Morgan chuckled and raised his mug. "You're not wrong. That's why I got it fixed this morning, babygirl." He winked at her, leaning back in his chair.

"You sweet, sweet angel sculpted by the gods, I could kiss you!" Garcia cheered excitedly, making her way to the newly fixed machine.

"I wish you would've said something earlier before I paid an arm and a leg getting a coffee at that over-priced hipster place," Rossi said, sipping on his drink.

The team shared a laugh, and as the banter died down, Hotch's voice, steady and serious, spoke out. "Alright, everyone, conference room."

Everyone gathered around the table in the conference room, sitting down and shifting their attention to Hotch, who set down a folder on the table in front of them.

"Now, I know everyone has been feeling the weight of the recent cases. There have been a lot of injuries." Hotch took a pause, his gaze flicking briefly to the members of the team. "And a few close call, which bring me to the reason for this meeting."

A beat of silence hung in the air, with some of the members of the team shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

"We've been assigned a new team member," Hotch spoke, his voice flat but carrying weight. "We've been relying on on-call paramedics too much, and frankly, in light of the increased number of injuries, it's time we had one more consistently available."

The room fell into a stunned silence.

"A medic? Like, full-time medic?" Prentiss asked with a frown, unsure of the new addition.

"Exactly," Hotch replied. "She'll be accompanying us on cases, assessing injuries, and providing immediate care when needed. Think of it as one less thing to worry about when things go south."

"That doesn't sound bad," Morgan said with a shrug. "It would be better than waiting 30 minutes for someone to patch us up."

The team nodded in agreement, but a sense of uncertainty still wafted through the air.

Hotch notices this and holds up a hand to calm the team's nerves. "I understand that you all might have some concerns. But her credentials speak for themselves. She's highly qualified, top of her class, and has a specialty in trauma medicine along with combat experience. She'll be a great asset to us."

Before anyone could respond, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

You stepped out, a figure so unexpectedly delicate in appearance that it caught the attention of everyone in the room.

You looked young, maybe in your early to mid-twenties, your frame smaller than most members of the team, with a posture that was straight but a bit shaky as you approached the conference door.

You wore a purple blouse, simple black jeans, and black boots, all paired with a small bag that you were holding in one hand.

"Agent Hotchner?" You spoke, calm and polite, but there was a slight timidness in the way you talked, as if you were still gauging your place there.

Hotch extended a hand, his expression neutral as he shook your hand. "Yes, we're glad you could join us Y/N. I'd like you to meet the team." He gestured toward the group sitting before you.

You nodded and turned, offering everyone a small but shy smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to working with everyone."

The team went around introducing themselves, and then Hotch took you out into the bullpen to show you where your desk would be.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Garcia's eyes immediately widened as she looked at the rest of the team exclaiming, "Oh! My God! She's so cute!"

Morgan crossed his arms. "She's got the look of someone who's been through some stuff, but something tells me she's not exactly a field operative." His voice was teasing but somewhat disbelieving, as though he couldn't quite picture someone like you- small, pretty, and gentle- dealing with the darkness of their field.

Reid, who had read through all your files in less than a minute, spoke out. "According to what I've read here, she's been trained in combat medicine and emergency trauma care, obtaining a medical degree from Harvard. Along with extensive experience in the military."

"I guess Hotch was right. She's legit." Prentiss, who was impressed with your background, spoke.

"She's definitely more than legit along with qualified. Hotch and I screened a lot of different candidates, and she was the most experienced and talented. She's going to be a good asset to the team." JJ said, smirking slightly. "She might even surprise you while out in the field. Speaking of which, we should be heading out soon. I'll brief you guys on the case when we're on the jet."

JJ walked out of the conference room and into the bullpen to gather all her things; the rest of the team followed after her, readying for the next case.

As he gathered his essentials, Reid out of the corner of his eye watched you at your new desk, which happened to be across from his own.

He couldn't put a finger on it; there was something about you that was- different. Your demeanor was calm, almost too calm for someone of your experience. You seemed almost out of place among the hardened and serious agents, but you didn't seem to mind.

"So, what were you doing before this?" Morgan pressed, not satisfied with the vague answers your file had given.

You smiled politely. "I worked with military units in war zones. Field trauma, combat injuries, and emergency surgeries. Taught me what to do when things go wrong."

Morgan nodded, impressed with your answer.

Your response was measured, and yet there was a level of confidence in your words that made Reid take note.

As everyone stood to prepare for the case briefing, Reid found himself still observing you. Your movements were deliberate, graceful, as if you were in perfect control of yourself. He didn’t know why, but something about the way you looked so serene in a room full of high-strung agents made him feel… different.

30 minutes later, the team boarded the jet en route to Chicago to investigate a series of brutal murders. The cabin was filled with the usual chatter. Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch were discussing theories about the unsub while JJ worked on her laptop in the back.

You sat next to Reid, who was reading through case files looking for any clues or signs. You were, out of habit, arranging your medical bag, carefully ensuring everything was in its proper place. You could feel Reid stealing glances in between reading the case files.

"How long have you been with the military?" he asked quietly, breaking the silence.

You didn't glance up at him, focused on rearranging your different medical dressings for easier selection and quick access. "Five years. I spent most of my time in the Middle East." You spoke with such ease, not losing focus on your current task, as though the violence and chaos of your line of work didn't seem to affect you.

Reid nodded, his curiosity piqued. "That must have been... intense."

You gave a small shrug, finally finishing your re-organization, looking at Reid with a flicker of something in your eye. "You get used to it. People are always in need of help. That's what matters. It makes it worth it."

"I guess I just-" Reid shook his head slightly, rewording his thought. "No offense, but you don't seem like someone who's been in war zones."

Your lips twitched in amusement. "Because I don't look like I've been through hell and back?"

Reid immediately backtracked, his expression turning slightly flustered. "N-no, that's not what I meant! I just-"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "It's okay, Spencer. I know what you mean." You re-adjusted yourself in your seat, getting comfortable. "I get it. I don't exactly fit the mold. Everyone I work with or meet expects a battle-hardened, no-nonsense type with scars and a thousand-yard stare. Not...me."

Reid watched you carefully. "You don't seem bothered by that."

You shook your head. "At first, I was, but now, I've accepted myself for who I am. People have always underestimated me my whole life. I just learned the best way to handle it. That's why when I noticed your guys' reaction to me, I didn't take it to heart."

Reid's expression flickered for a moment. "I...can relate to that."

Your eye met his, curiosity sparking. "Yeah?"

He exhaled, looking back down at the case files in hand. "When I first joined BAU, I was twenty-two. I was the youngest agent they'd ever had, and the baby face didn't help. I had three PhDs but zero field experience, and I was thrown into a unit full of seasoned profilers who had seen things I could barely imagine."

You listened intently as he spoke, recognizing the quiet vulnerability in his tone while subconsciously leaning in, moving closer to him.

"They didn't mean to, but the team doubted me. They didn't think I could handle myself. And...to be fair, I did struggle at first," he admitted, giving you a sheepish smile. "I wasn't the best shot like Hotch, nor was I physically intimidating like Morgan, and I wasn't exactly the most socially adept person in the room."

You smiled at that. "I find that hard to believe."

He gave you a knowing look. "Trust me. I was an easy target for teasing."

You hummed, nodding. "So, what changed?"

Reid shrugged, closing the case files and setting them down on the table in front of you two. "I proved myself. I solved cases, learned how to shoot, and saved lives. Eventually, I became part of the team." He looked at you. "I'm sorry if we came off a bit judgemental. I'm glad you didn't hold it against us. If you keep being who you are, the rest of the team will see what you're capable of."

You gave him another small but genuine smile, appreciating his words. "Thanks, Spencer, but there's no need to apologize. Being the newbie comes with a bit of questioning and judgment, and it just encourages me to work harder."

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, the hum of the jet filling the space, with the rest of the team settling down and taking a much-needed moment of rest before things ramped up with the case.

You watched as Reid turned a page in his book, his fingers carefully holding the edges.

"What are you reading?" you asked, tilting your head.

Reid perked up slightly, always eager to talk about books. "It's a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's works. I was in the mood for something gothic."

Your eyes lit up. "I love Poe!"

He blinked, surprised. "You do?"

You grinned. “Yeah! ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ was one of the first stories that really creeped me out as a kid. And ‘Annabel Lee’—don’t even get me started on how beautifully haunting that poem is.”

Reid’s eyes lit up in that rare way they did when he found someone who shared his niche interests. “You like gothic literature?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. I also love Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Shirley Jackson—"

Reid sat up straighter, visibly intrigued. “Wait, you’ve read Shirley Jackson?”

“Of course!” you said, laughing. “I adore her work. ‘We Have Always Lived in the Castle’ is one of my all-time favorites.”

“That book is a masterpiece,” Reid agreed, his excitement growing. “Jackson had this incredible way of creating unsettling atmospheres without relying on outright horror.”

You nodded eagerly. “Exactly! She was a genius at psychological tension. The way she wrote Merricat’s perspective was just so eerie and fascinating.”

Reid grinned, looking genuinely impressed. “Not many people I meet have actually read Jackson’s work, let alone appreciate it the way you do.”

You smirked playfully. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Reid let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m starting to see that.”

For the first time since you boarded the jet, you felt like you had clicked with someone. You had known Spencer Reid for less than a day, but already, you could tell that there was something… different about him. He wasn’t just brilliant—he was kind, thoughtful, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

And, for the first time, Reid found himself feeling the same about you.

Maybe you weren’t what the team expected. Maybe you weren’t what he expected.

But something told him that you were going to fit in just fine.

Authors Note:

AHHHH! I had so much fun writing this one! If you couldn't tell, I'm very much into criminal minds at the moment (RIP my Peter Parker fic). I started re-watching it and Grey's Anatomy at the same time, so I thought, why not make the reader a medic? I think a medic is something the team desperately needs and always wondered why they didn't have one lol. I've already started writing the next chapter, but I hope everyone enjoys this one! I decided to try out some new things, like making my own dividers (which I'm very proud of how they came out). Anyways, thank you for reading my word vomit, and I hope you liked it!

[sulumuns-dootah]

Can I request a headcanon of whb king (plus any other characters you want) reacting to gn mc avoiding them for as long as she can because mc got dared to by some random demon

WHB kings' reaction to MC avoiding them because of a dare

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! This was so fun to write since each king had a completelly different reaction ^^ Sorry for the long wait though t-t

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oh, Satan doesn't like this at all

The moment he notices your suspiciously long absence, he's on the prowl

Where are you and why tf are you avoiding him?

He'll even send out Amy and his group to look for you and bring you to him

Hopefully he'll during his search find out about the dare

At least hopefully for you

Poor demon who dared you will find himself homeless after Satan in his demon form destroys his place

Once that's dealt with, the next time you go outisde, you come face to face with Satan, leaning back against his bike

"Talked to that mf. The dare's called off :)"

    ༺☆༻

Mammon notices that you haven't been around him much, but he just chalks it up to you being busy

He's okay with it, knowing that eventually you'll come back to him anyway

Besides, if you needed something, you'd surely call him

After finding out that it's a dare, he's also curious how long you'll be able to keep away from him

If he ever gets worried about you, he'll just send one of his nobles to check up on you

Once you're back to him, he's taking you out for a dinner to congratulate you on how long you lasted

    ༺☆༻

Leviathan knew from the beginning thanks to Foras

You don't even get to leave the Hades castle so it's easier for you to avoid him when you get a message from the devil who dared you that the dare is off

It doesn't take a genius to realise that the poor demon had been visited by His Majesty himself and forced to end your dare early

Most likely, if you video-called with him, he'll be gasping for air, hung by a noose

The next time you see Leviathan, he acts like nothing happened, but you can feel his piercing stare when you're not looking at him

He's most likely not sure how to punish you yet...

But once he does...

Oh boy, now comes the moment to avoid him for the sole sake of your survival

    ༺☆༻

Funny :)

You think you can avoid Beel? :)

I mean, technically you could do that by hanging around in the Abyssos castle, but even then you can't exactly avoid Beel

If Beel wants to see you, he'll come and see you

Doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing

Even if it means that he'll have to sneak through his own castle to escape Bael's wrath

And even more so, if he finds out about the dare...

Oops, he just reminded he meant to take you to this place and booked it in advance and can't cancel it

Sorry, guess you'll have to spend the whole month with him :)

I guess the rule with Beel is that the more you want him, the less he'll be around

(True story with my pulls for his cards tbh T-T)

    ༺☆༻

Belphie would probably realise that it's been a while since you were there when he woke up, but eh...

Maybe you're just busy doing your work

No sweat

That is until Beleth accidentally slips up about the dare

Oh?

Now that is something different

Prepare to start dreaming about him every night

That'll eventually make you come back...

And if not, don't worry...

Belphie's ability can bring you back anytime, so enjoy your time away from him before he decides this little game is over

    ༺☆༻

Keeping away from Asmo is honestly your day-to-day task, so I don't think there's much difference

That is until you realize that it's time for another annual king meeting

The real challenge becomes coming up with a good reason to excuse yourself from it

And all the nobles are helping you at this point

Sure, you could just not go, but Asmo might then leave the meeting to come and see you since he was so excited to meet you after so long

In the end Leviathan coems to save the day and hides you inside his coffin for as long as the need be

Phew

You're safe for another year

    ༺☆༻

To Lucifer, not seeing you for a long time is a good thing

It just means you're healthy and safe

But he does eventually start to miss you

And then Gamigin talks a bit too much and mentions that you've been avoiding Paradise Lost because of a dare

So whenever you need medical assistance one of the nobles has to do a house call

...

A house call?

That sounds unsanitary

Who even knows what germs and bacteria you might catch

Lucifer better make his way over to you for a surprise visit to make sure you're doing well

And no apples can save you from this doctor

[leviathanspain]

Hey! Saw you were looking for requests. I've seen Alicent's child!Reader manipulating Daemon into being on the Greens side. What about Alicent's daughter accidentally seducing Daemon? Like she's innocent and doesn't realise what she's done but Rhaenyra is not happy about it. (Rhaenyra still loves Daemon and can't get over the fact he is fall for her half-sister)

say yes to heaven

daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader

synopsis: your uncle always had a soft spot for you, but everyone else could see it was something more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

your mother hardly ever touched you, let alone brush your hair. she was smiling, a pleasant one, as she followed the brush with her fingers, carefully raking through. it was quiet, the only sound was the crackling of the burning wood, candles flickering around you as you gazed into the mirror, eyes honing in on her face.

she put a hand on your shoulder, a hesitance to it that you wondered if she thought you wouldn’t notice. “you looked lovely today.” she commented, her fingers still going to play with your hair, “prince daemon couldn’t take his eyes off of you.” there was a twinge of disdain in her voice. your mother, after all these years, still couldn’t stand your uncle and half-sister. if she could avoid them all together, she would.

you grabbed the lock of silver hair from her fingers and brushed it forward. you looked down at the table in front of you, and noticed the silver hairbrush that your uncle had acquired for you on one of his many travels. you grabbed the silver hairbrush, giving it to your mother, “he was telling stories from his time in the kings guard.” you tried to brush off the tension, but alicent had grabbed the brush with reluctance.

“riñnykeā, come.” your uncle’s voice whispered in your ear, you turned to see his back, already walking off. you rolled your eyes, following closely as he walked. he was walking quickly, and you had to lift your skirts to try and catch up to him, “umbagon!” you shouted, and he slowed just enough for you to match his stride.

you were smiling now, a laugh just on the tip of your tongue as he bumped into you. you laughed, and shoved him lightly, “what is it you have to show me? is it so important that we have to practically walk half the keep?” you turned back to see the path you had been walking. it was far now, and daemon shrugged, “i know you’ll like this.” his eyes lingered, catching your gaze, you blushed and instead looked to the ground for the rest of your trek.

daemons eyes blazed with satisfaction as he saw you practically leaping up and down with joy. you grabbed him, pulling him into a hug as you still continued to squeal. he laughed, watching you light up was what he lived for.

“i assume the walk was worth it?” daemon raised his eyebrows, and you nodded, “very much so.” you grabbed the sword, grabbing it off the table it had been set on. you hissed slightly, and ignored daemons warnings of the metal still being hot. your fingers brushed over the large targaryen emblem, etched onto the swords hilt. there was a weight to it, but your body seemed to adjust. you swung it towards him, smiling, “perhaps the rogue prince would like to spar?” you looked at him, smirking as you brushed his shoulder with your blade.

hung on his hip was dark sister, and daemon couldn’t resist a challenge. he unsheathed it, watching as you stood firmly against him.

rhaenyra could hear the clashing of swords and laughter as she walked. the closer she got to the training room, the more she recognized you, and daemon.

she put a hand on the door, the commotion was now getting louder, and you were laughing more. daemon’s shouts could be heard, but they were in good spirit. rhaenyra swallowed thickly, and pushed the door open.

daemon had finally caught you. you had cut him on his cheek, and decided that running around the training room was apology enough. but he had finally caught you, dropping your blade, you laughed in his arms. “i’m sorry,” your finger moved to wipe the blood from his cheek, “i ruined your handsome face.” daemon hissed slightly at the contact, but shook his head, “you gave me a memory, riñnykeā. a story to tell.” he knew there was nothing more you loved than hearing his war stories, or his stories from his time as king of the narrow sea.

you nodded, “i guess so.” your hand lingered on his cheek, and you caught yourself staring into his eyes for too long, and your head dipped in embarrassment. you pulled away, but rhaenyra had already seen you.

rhaenyra couldn’t shake the nauseous feeling that crashed upon her. swallowing the rising bile wasn’t enough.

“daemon.” her voice sounded steady, there was no shakiness to it that would reveal how she felt. there was disgust, disgust that daemon was currently holding you, barely her sister, in his arms like a wife.

you were pulling away from him, but daemon held you in his arms still, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling at the skin. he looked at rhaenyra and raised his eyebrows, “what?” he sounded hostile, his jaw clenching as he stared at his wife.

you looked between them and realized there was something that neither of them were saying. you grabbed his hand, it was warm to the touch, but you peeled back his fingers, “thank you, uncle. for my gift, but i must go now.” you stepped back to retrieve your blade, tossed to the ground like an afterthought, daemon dipped his head slightly, “yes..” he trailed off, his hand swinging like dead weight as it fell from your waist. his head turned to rhaenyra, his mouth opening, but you were already too far to catch his words.

alicent glared at the blade, wrapped in one of your finer silks, sitting on your bed. you were at your vanity, removing your jewels, you began to undo your hair, preparing to brush it.

“what did rhaenyra say again?” alicent looked away from the blade, warily towards you. you shrugged, “nothing. all she said was his name and they stared at each other for a moment until i left.”

alicent hummed in response, and sighed, “are you to sleep with the blade now? not even your brothers sleep with their weapons.” her comment made you slid your eyes towards her, before scoffing, “my brothers might not sleep with weapons but they have slept with half of westeros.” you grabbed the silver hairbrush, and raked it through your hair, “my uncle gave me a gift that is more than just a weapon.” alicent stayed quiet, and moved to brush your hair, “i think daemon wants to give you more than just a sword.”

it was a week before you saw daemon again. you had been training with your new blade during, hoping to impress him with improved skills.

you had moved towards the stuffed sparring dummy, full of hay. your sword struck it, a deep slash appeared on the dummy’s stomach as you pulled your sword back. you huffed, staring down at your mark with pride.

the sound of clapping echoed out into the room and you turned, seeing your uncle with his shoulder leaning against the doorway. he continued to clap as he walked towards you. excitedly, you walked up to him, “what do you think?”

daemon neared you, grabbing your face in his hands, leaning down, he brought his lips towards yours, “magnificent..” and he brought them down, crashing against yours, you felt his teeth against your lips, moaning as you kissed him.

you dropped your blade again, your hands moving to grab at his back, pulling him closer. he pulled back, drawing a breath, he kissed you once more, “show me, show me again.” he panted, his voice sounded shaky, but his grip on you was determined.

rhaenyra couldn’t stop him. she had begged, pleaded that he leave you alone.

“how could you?!” her cries had been heard across the keep, horrified that her husband would present you with such a gift.

not for the fact that you were her sister, but because he was her husband.

but he was a man, a man she loved, even if he was corrupting her younger sister right before her eyes. she had seen him slip away, knowing where he was off to. all rhaenyra could do was sit in front of the fire, and try not to vomit up the contents of her stomach.

“show me again.” daemon pulled at the shoulder of your dress, his fingers pulling at the fabric. you shuddered at the cold air hitting your bare skin, and did as he said, moving gracefully as your sword cut through the air. daemon watched you, his eyes enchanted by your movements, he couldn’t deny himself of you. finally, with a frustration to it, he pulled your dress down from the shoulder, the fabric tearing roughly as you gasped. nearly dropping the sword, you pawed as your dress fell around you in ribbons.

daemon didn’t miss a beat, “show. me. again.” he demanded, his voice was powerful, showing of the authority he once had.

“yes, my prince.” you whispered, and continued to cut through the air, smiling as you did so.