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azsazz · 3 days ago

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In Safe Arms (Part 2)

Bodyguard!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hey ! Ik u are hella busy and I am so proud of ur for ur publication , but if u ever get time could u do a Celebrity reader x bodyguard az?

Warnings: A little PTSD for reader alluding to a horrific incident but not much described besides blood.

Word Count: 3,702

Notes: Happy New Year my loves!

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You’re jolted awake at the rocking of your SUV dipping into a pothole.

Your spine straightens on its own accord and your bleary eyes snap open, frantically scanning the space, on high alert. Your heart pounds in your chest as you desperately try to take in your surroundings. Outside the window, there is nothing but darkness, the skies and scenery draped in midnight-hour black.

It takes you more than a second to realize where you are. In the back of an SUV on your way to your parent’s charity gala that you cannot miss. Except that the weather in New York took a turn for the worse, a heavy blizzard that no news stations mentioned before you fell into an exhausted sleep last night. No planes in, and no planes out.

Which meant that you had to find alternative transportation to make it to Chicago before the gala, which meant that Azriel had to arrange safe travel for you to get there on time, his job already on the line from his mistake only days ago.

Not the kiss. Not the weak fucking moment he had in the bathroom of your suite after a passerby tossed an unknown object at you that split the skin above your brow.

Your parents don’t know about the kiss. You tried to convince Azriel that it wasn’t worth telling them, and he tried to convince you that it couldn’t happen again.

His eyes had been hard. He’d been wearing that same stoic mask he showed up on his first day with. “We can’t do that again,” he’d said, like the kiss was transactional. Like he didn’t feel the passion that lit your entire body up, the wanting in your bones.

No kisses have happened in the days since.

Your eyes connect with Azriel’s through the rear-view mirror and the sight of your infallible bodyguard has you relaxing against the warm leather seat, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Azriel says softly. His rough, gravelly tone sharpens his apology.

“It’s fine,” you brush off, but it’s not fine. Nothing that has anything to do with you is ever fine.

Silence takes over the car. He hasn’t even turned on the radio to keep him company while you slept. You frown at the thought, then realize that silence is probably what Azriel is used to, what he prefers.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you admit.

Azriel’s gaze stays focused on the road, not another vehicle in sight. “You needed it,” he defends, and you shrug.

“Where are we?”

“A few hours away from the Ohio border,” Azriel answers. You glance at the neon glow of the clock. It reads just past one in the morning, which means that you still have seven or so hours of driving to go, depending on how bad the road conditions are.

You’re supposed to be in Chicago by ten a.m. for brunch with your parents and the charity director for the gala, but with all of the delays that have happened since New York, you’d much rather spend as much time as you can away from the crazy normal that is your life. This unexpected road trip feels like a breath of fresh air that you didn’t know you needed.

You squint, peering around the passenger seat. The roads are clear from snow, piled high on the sides of the highway, but that doesn’t mean that there can’t be patches of black ice to look out for.

You decide to keep Azriel company. You don’t want to be sleeping the night away peacefully while he navigates through four states to get you back to your parents. You know for a fact that he’s gone days without speaking a single word nor getting an ounce of sleep, but right now, with the dark of night blanketing the car, it feels cruel.

Azriel protests when you unbuckle and climb over the console, claiming the front passenger seat. His hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel and he tries to keep his focus on the road, though you do catch him sneaking a protective peek over at you more than once. It makes you want to snort with amusement, there’s no threat here, unless he hits a patch of aforementioned black ice, but you trust Azriel with your life, so you should be fine.

And you are. Azriel’s shoulders don’t lose a strand of tension until your buckle slides locked with a click. Even then, he can hardly relax. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“And you shouldn’t be driving this late at night,” you retort easily, kicking your feet up on the dash. Azriel’s hand comes down over your knee before you can fully prop up your legs, guiding you in a gentle yet stern matter to keep your feet on the floor. You follow his command so that he doesn’t banish you back to the back seat.

He hardly acknowledges you, focusing on the task at hand. Delivering you in one piece to Chicago in time to arrive at all of your scheduled meetings. He will not fail your family a second time.

With his focus pinned on the road, you drink your bodyguard in. His eyes flicker from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the windshield in meticulous rotation. You trail your gaze down the straight slope of his nose to his pink, plush lips. You haven’t stopped thinking about his mouth on yours since the desperate kiss you shared in your hotel room two nights ago, and a warm heat coils low in your stomach at the memory, waking you up.

“You look tired,” you murmur, distractedly. He does. The gray circles under his eyes aren’t the only thing giving Azriel’s exhaustion away. It’s in the way he blinks slowly, but forces his eyes wide. It’s in the way he drums his fingers against the steering wheel for something to focus on other than the road. It’s in the empty cup of coffee stacked on his old ones. He’s stopped thrice tonight for a caffeine boost and you slept though them all. He’d be jonesing for another if you hadn’t climbed up into the seat beside him. His entire body is tightened with alert now that you’re here.

He isn’t tired, he’s wired. Three large black coffees might have been too much, but it’s your presence that has Azriel more alert than anything. His skin heats at the feeling of your eyes on him, can feel every movement you’re making from across the console.

He taps his fingers against the wheel to expel the nervous energy. You wonder what’s going on because Azriel’s resolve never cracks like this. Everything was fine when you were in the backseat, asleep. He didn’t have to interact, possibly mislead you. He was free to dig into his mind, overthink every little thing that’s happened between the both of you since this little journey began.

He knows you too well. He has to. He’s read your file, like he does with all of his clients. Somehow, you’ve managed to worm your way into his mind, deeper than a flesh wound.

“I’m fine,” he assures. He rubs a hand down his jaw, the short stubble tickling his skin. He needs to shave.

“We should stop for the night,” you protest, catching glimpse of a sign on the side of the highway that shows that you’re only a few miles away from a town to get gas and sleep.

“We need to be in the city early,” Azriel refutes. He chances a glance over at you. Your arms are crossed over your chest and you’re wearing that stern, determined look on your face that makes his cock twitch in his pants. He keeps himself carefully still. “We don’t have time to stop.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that we stop for the night, Azriel,” you reply. “I was telling you that we are going to stop for the night.”

He should protest, he knows that he should. He doesn’t know anything about this town, if it’s filled with lunatics or people who’d try and harm either one of you for your expenses. The decked-out, expensive SUV is a sign screaming rich.

You don’t remove your glare from him until he veers the vehicle onto the exit ramp.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I’ll take the chair,” Azriel says, eyeing the single bed in the room. “I won’t be sleeping anyway.”

Your nose scrunches. You stare at the chair for a long second and return your gaze to Azriel’s. The entire point of stopping for the night was to rest, to let the storm that caught up to you play out and hopefully finish the drive with clearer conditions.

Something clenches in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s your heart or your stomach or both.

He won’t sleep because there is only one bed.

“So, you’re going to sit in that chair,” you repeat like you don’t understand. You don’t, and you point to the faded green armchair. The rests are made of a blonde wood and the back of the chair sits so straight that there’s no chance anyone could actually fall asleep in it. “And do what? Watch me sleep?”

His jaw sharpens, the muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth. His hazel eyes follow the point of your finger for a fleeting second before returning to yours.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s watched you sleep.

“I’ll turn the chair toward the window,” Azriel answers like this is a solution. If it makes you uncomfortable, he will even wait in the car.

The real solution would be for him to get in the fucking bed with you and sleep for a few hours. You saw the stack of empty coffee cups in the car. You saw the strain in his posture, the way he was forcing himself from giving into his exhaustion.

A disbelieving noise crawls up your throat. He’s so fucking stubborn. It’s not like you’re both eighteen and the prospect of touching looms over you. No, you’re both adults. You’ve seen him sans clothes, even if it was an accident, and Azriel has been in the room with you during fittings with designers your father fully didn’t trust. He may have been turned toward the window, you toward the mirror, but there was always the thrill that maybe he’d peek over his shoulder, give you a long once-over, that maybe some sort of want would infiltrate his hard, hazel eyes.

You’ve imagined it more than once.

“Azriel,” you scold. You busy yourself with moving your luggage to the empty desk in the corner. The table wobbles as you set your things on it, but it stays upright. You quickly move back toward the bed and tug the blankets back, doing your best to reign in your cringe as you think about the possibilities of what could have gone on in this dingy motel room on the side of the interstate. You’re used to luxurious, five-star hotels catering to your every need, not rundown motels that reek of mothballs and crime.

Ghosts. Are there ghosts?

“We stopped here specifically so you could sleep,” you try to argue, but you sound distracted, and Azriel’s gaze snaps to yours, his shoulders straightening like he’s going into protective mode.

He catches you staring dazedly at the bed. Your fingers are curled tightly into the blankets, lips pressed together tightly. Your chest is rising and falling more quickly, and he rounds the bed, coming to your aid.

Azriel knows the life you’re used to living. What you must be thinking about a place like this. He could say something mean, mention how spoiled you are, how it’s just like the hotels you usually stay in, minus the amenities. He wants to tell you that people have done worse things in nicer rooms, especially the ones you tend to stay in, but he knows that your frozen features are due to something else, a dark memory that edges up every once in a while.

“Let me get you some fresh blankets,” he murmurs. His hand comes down around your wrist gently, drawing you slowly from your daze. The heat of his body sears through the thin fabric of your pajamas, and you latch onto that as you squeeze your eyes shut and force the memories away.

“No,” you choke, sounding much more put-off than you’d like. Azriel knows your past, you remind yourself, he knows everything about you, this isn’t you looking weak. You’re only human. “It’s fine, I—” you swallow roughly as a smatter of red conjures behind your eyelids. You try hard not to flinch, but it’s there, the blood on the walls like some fucking mural.

You look down at your hands, painted with the same crimson. Your clothes, and as you drag your eyes up to the bed—

“Hey,” Azriel snaps, hand planted firmly on your cheek, tearing you from the awful memory. You blink and your eyes latch onto his worried hazel ones. You didn’t even notice Azriel turning you around, how your hand went from clutching the sheets to fisting in his black button down. “You’re not there, you hear me?”

You nod because your throat is too tight to do anything else. Tears brim your eyes and Azriel wipes an escaped drop that drags down the apple of your cheek. His touch is too soft, too tender.

You pull away, ripping yourself from his hands. You turn toward the bed and don’t allow the dreadful recollection another thought. You slip between the sheets and try to hide your trembling movements by tugging the blankets all the way up to your chin.

You can feel Azriel’s presence behind you. You always can, whenever he’s in the room. It’s like the two of you are magnets. There is an attraction to him that you can’t place.

He knows that you won’t be sleeping now. That the harrowing memory of what you’ve been through lingers in the surface of your mind and if you should fall asleep, it will only haunt you worse.

Azriel’s known about your past, the terror that you’re trying so desperately to run from, to forget. It chases you like death is on your heels, ready to grip you with its bony fingers and drag you into the dark. He’s been briefed on how you might respond when the trauma inevitably claws its way back, but this is his first time experiencing it happening to you. How it grips you around the throat and threatens to consume you.

His jaw aches from grinding it so tight. The one thing that he can’t protect you from is the one thing he wants to protect you from the most.

He has a job, and this is part of it, he tells himself as he kicks his shoes off.

“Shove over.”

“What?” You ask, confused. You peer over your shoulder to see Azriel shrugging off his jacket. It leaves him in a black t-shirt that clings to his body exactly the way you want to. You never thought you’d be jealous of a piece of clothing, yet here you are. You carefully tear your gaze away.

“You need to sleep and I know your stubborn, spoiled ass isn’t going to do it if I’m not doing it with you” he pauses. That sounded so fucking wrong, but Azriel trudges on. “So, shove over.”

You fight the smile that threatens to curve your lips at his comment. If it was coming from anyone else, you’d be offended, but you know that Azriel doesn’t mean it as anything other than a joke. You scoot further toward the edge of the bed, shivering at the cool sheets. Your goosebumps only prickle further when Azriel’s weight hits the mattress, and the warmth of his body washes over you.

You try not to let your breathing shallow as he settles himself in. He’s not even touching you, for Mother’s sake, and yet you’re responding as if you’re a teenager lying beside her childhood crush.

“Don’t think about it,” Azriel’s voice startles you.

You might smile at the rough demand in Azriel’s tone if you weren’t feeling like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to come up behind you and shove you off.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter. When the light flickers out, your body locks, and the memory explodes in your mind like a fucking gunshot wound.

“I said, don’t think about it.” Azriel’s voice is a gruff command in your ear, snapping you back into reality. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, and you can hear the struggle in your lungs as you try to gulp down what little air makes it through your constricting esophagus.

Hands wind their way around your waist and you don’t have a second to struggle before Azriel tugs you back into his chest, molding his body against your back. A warm, heavy arm is draped across your side, and his hand finds your shaking ones beneath the blankets, offering you a lifeline.

You clutch onto him. Azriel murmurs softly in your ear but you can’t make out the words. They’re in a different language. French or Italian or Spanish, you think. You sure that if he was speaking English, you still wouldn’t understand with the way that you’re focusing on fighting past the demons in your head.

The room is pitch black. You always sleep with a light on, even if it’s just the screen of your phone lighting up the darkness. You haven’t been in a blackened room like this since that night, and Azriel knows it, which is why, with some maneuvering, he turns on the flashlight on his phone and sets it on the bedside table, illuminating the room in an awful white light that has you all but melting into his body.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It sounds much too loud in the quiet of your motel room.

“Go to sleep,” he answers plainly. His bluntness almost makes you smile.

But you can’t go to sleep, and not just because of the lingering aftershocks of your memory. As those slowly eke away, you focus on the feeling of Azriel’s body pasted tightly against yours.

You swear you can feel every muscle that is packed onto his hard body through your clothes. Your ass is nestled against his front, and you want to wiggle oh-so badly, to writhe against him in the hopes of feeling what he’s working with down there.

He’s still fully clothed, you notice. Didn’t think twice about climbing into the bed behind you to console you. You wonder if he’s uncomfortable before realizing that with his military trained past, he must have slept in worse conditions than this before.

Which makes you cringe. Here you were, freaking out about a fucking motel when there are people who are going through much worse. Embarrassment flares your body and you squirm uncomfortably.

Azriel’s arms lock tighter around you, and he tugs you closer. You didn’t think there was a closer, but there is. His breath fans across your ear when he speaks. “If you keep moving like that, we’re going to have a lot more than a blizzard and stiff fucking sheets to worry about.” He sounds callous, but there’s a strain to his tone, one that has all of the fiery feelings in your veins converging between your thighs.

Your movements halt immediately. “Sorry,” you say, but there’s no sleeping now. Not when his words are out there, hanging in the air. That if you kept moving, you’d have a different kind of stiffness to think about. One that you’re much more interested in than the starchy sheets.

You close your eyes anyway, trying to fight off the interest stirring low in your gut. The image of Azriel naked, rolling on top of you drifts into your mind. Your pussy clenches when he slowly parts your legs and flashes you a devious smile before lowering himself between your legs.

Movement has your eyes jolting open. You’re holding your body so tightly that Azriel would be terrible at his job if he didn’t know that you weren’t asleep like you should be.

“Sleep,” Azriel reminds you brusquely. His hand splays across your stomach, his thumb stroking across the soft fabric of your shirt in a soothing motion, or what would be a soothing motion if you weren’t three seconds from creating the foulest dirty thoughts about him or two seconds away from actually doing something about it.

“Okay,” you breathe, trying to force annoyance into your words instead of the arousal that slips out anyway. Azriel’s thumb falters and you swear you feel something against the curve of your ass twitch. Your breath catches in your throat and now you know that the movement against your hind wasn’t a part of your imagination.

The noise you let slip has blood pooling into Azriel’s cock. He refuses to move, refuses to do anything except squeeze his eyes shut and practice the techniques he learned in the Royal Marines to keep himself in fucking check. He promised that after the kiss in the bathroom that he would keep away from you, that this relationship would stay professional only.

Professional feels so fucking far away from this.

You find the courage to whisper. “Azriel?”

He grunts in response, to let you know he’s awake and listening, and you like the sound all too much. “That doesn’t sound like sleeping.”

“I’m not sure that I can,” you admit.

Azriel sighs softly, his breath tickling your neck. “You didn’t even try,” he answers simply, but his fingers begin tracing a soft, soothing pattern across your forearm. You latch onto his hypnotic touch, wishing it would move further south. “Just think of better things. I’m here, and you’ll be alright.”

I’m here, and you’ll be alright. Because he’s your bodyguard, your protector, and he won’t ever let anything happen to you, mentally or physically.

You shut your eyes and think about those words, the soft touch from a man so callous and strong, long until you fall asleep.

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #modern!azriel #bodyguard!azriel #modern azriel au

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cheeseceli · 3 days ago

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Late wait

Pairing: idol!Lee Know × Gn!reader (established relationship)

Genre: fluff, domesticity, drabble

Request: Lee know with a "waiting for us" kinda vibe. Just being together in their own place with lots of domestic fluff. Dancing whenever, seeing movies whenever...

Warnings: mentions of food, Minho is an idol, the cats and the boys are here as well, reader and him live together

A/n: I simply love to write domestic moments | daily click

Minho finds it funny how the most beautiful things in life are always the simplest.

Coming from someone whose life is full of luxuries, he could understand why someone would be skeptical about his statement, but he couldn't be more truthful than that.

He already saw thousands of different people, dressed in fancy suits and drank expensive wine. The places he already went to were sometimes covered in gold, and if not, they'd have a red carpet and sculptures everywhere. He's not going to lie and say these things are bad, or that he despises them. On the contrary, actually. However, when you live a life of "too much", you learn how to appreciate what is simple.

His cats stepping on his face to wake him up. All the times he went somewhere random to camp. Seungmin's burnt barbecue and Felix' brownies. You. All the things that made his life easy.

As much as he loves all those things, maybe he should highlight you a little bit more. It's only fair, since you are the one who plays the major role in making him feel alive.

When Minho thinks about you, he thinks about how he loves to wake up early before some morning schedule and see how you're sleeping peacefully next to him. You always ask him to wake you up before he goes, but he never finds the strength in himself to disrupt your dreams. You have a whole collection of little notes he put next to the bed, apologising for not saying bye, but promising to bring food whenever he's back.

He also remembers dance nights. As he is a professional dancer and an idol, he thought he wouldn't want to move a single muscle the moment he gets home. However, whenever he comes home to you singing some random song on the radio, it's impossible to not hold your hand and start swaying according to the rhythm. You don't know how to dance. When he's with you, he suddenly forgets how to as well. In the end, it's just two fools in love, dancing how your heart tells you to.

Movie nights where none of you had luck picking what to watch, so you'd just sleep mid the boring show. Cooking homemade dinner and noticing you ran out of all the ingredients, so you have to run to the market. Visiting his parents every Sunday. Staying in the entire weekend with the cats because that's so much better than going out.

There are dozens of little moments like those that Minho could talk about. None of them was particularly special - they were all things that happened every day. Maybe that was the magic of it. Living was easy with those moments, with you.

Now he was coming back home. The day was full of different events. Tiring, extravagant, but nice. He was smiling. But now he only wanted to come home to you. He knew you were staying up late so you could welcome him and ask him how the day was. And as much as you've waited, he'd hug you with his entire being and never let go.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: kiss me (more)

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji @jinnie-ret @sheraayasherrecs @rockstarkkami @urlocalmultigroupfan (those I couldn't tag are in bold)

Dividers by @adornedwithlight | images 1, 2 and 3

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melminli · 2 days ago

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Could you store something with jun-hee (player 222) x f!reader plz🙏

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

summary - it may sound a bit cliché, but you were in love with your best friend. even though you always wanted to tell her, you strongly doubted that she could use your love - you didn't know that she thought the same. you two were really stupid, huh?

pairing: kim jun-hee x fem. reader

word count: 1.1k

contains: wlw, angst w/ comfort, arguing, fluff, pre squid game au, hidden feelings

a/n: i went to a cas concert a few months ago and it was insane. this was the song that just stuck with me since then and i thought about her when i listened to it again after watching the show! hope u like it ;p

"Oh man, they forgot our spring rolls." you realized disappointed after you went through each package of food one by one until there was nothing left but napkins in the bag. You looked at your best friend as you said. "Should I go to the store and get them? I know how much you like them, and I think the owner likes me, who knows, maybe we'll get an extra portion or something, huh?"

Jun-hee just shook her head with a gentle smile on her face. "That's all right. I want to eat with you and by the time you come back, the food will be all cold and mushy." she said, reaching for the chopsticks after opening her box of fried noodles.

You sat down on the opposite chair of your little dining table in your small kitchen. "I guess, I can't argue with that." you gave in and reached for a spoon to mix your fried rice a little.

You had turned on the radio a while ago and the music it was playing accompanied the pleasant silence between the two of you. You could hardly stop yourself from thinking about how homely this all felt right now with her, as you often did in the last few days. It was sudden and you were definitely caught off guard when Jun-hee suddenly appeared at your doorstep with a packed bag in tow. You didn't know exactly what happened, but you didn't need to because you could imagine that it probably had something to do with her parents or something - it didn't matter. She would tell you when she was ready.

"I heard that this one popular show is getting a second season soon, you know..." you started to tell her and then tried to think of the title when you suddenly heard a soft howl. You immediately stood up when you saw Jun-hee sitting huddled up with her arms covering her face. "Hey, what's wrong..." you asked worriedly, not used to such an emotional reaction from her since she was usually such a collected person. This was a very rare occurrence.

She interrupted you before you could say anything else. "I'm pregnant!" she cried out, feeling the lingering guilt inside her finally take over her entire mind as she uttered those words. A few minutes passed with you just holding her like that and Jun-hee clung tightly to you, sobbing. She was worried that you might let her go - in fact, she expected you to, which is why she didn't tell you for so long.

I can't blame her for anything, I really am the worst. She thought to herself when she still couldn't bring herself to let go. No matter how selfish it might be of her.

"Is it from that Mingyu guy?" you finally asked her and she nodded vaguely, but it was enough for you to understand. Jun-hee didn't even bother to correct you when you said his name wrong.

You just sighed and even if you didn't say it out loud, she could feel how angry you were with her - how disappointed. "You're mad at me," she stated while you continued to stroke her back reassuringly, even when the position you were holding her in was a little uncomfortable for you. "Of course I am, the guy's an asshole and you're only in your early twenties," you answered her honestly, comforting her with your own broken heart. "Does he even know? Last I heard, all his fans were sending him death threats because he stole their money or something."

She didn't even want to think about it. "He's not answering my calls and I have no idea where he is."

You let out another heavy sigh. "You're really stupid sweetie, I knew that guy was like this from the beginning, really," you spoke up before looking confusedly at Jun-hee after she lifted her head from your chest and met your gaze with a furrowed brow. "Can you stop rubbing it in my face? I already know that I fucked up!" she exclaimed, completely exhausted as she continued to rub her reddened eyes.

So she wants to keep the baby, her parents probably kicked her out as soon as they found out. You massaged your forehead, exhausted. "So, what now?" you just asked her, elaborating on your question when she looked at you with a confused look. You just wanted to kiss her right now and tell her that everything would be okay again and at the same time, you wanted to smash your head through a wall and cry. "What are you going to do now with a baby on the way? Do you have a plan for how you're going to look after it?"

I don't have a job or any money. I don't know what to do. She didn't answer you right away and just avoided your gaze, embarrassed, so you reached for her hand to get her attention. "If you don't know what to do and you want me to help you, then you have to tell me," you finally said and you were probably the stupid one this time.

Jun-hee looked at you in surprise and took a few seconds to really understand what you meant. "Are you sure? You don't have to do something like that for me..."

You interrupted her relatively quickly. "I want to do this for you because -" and your love confession was almost half hanging from your lips when you stopped yourself from saying it out loud in the last second. What am I doing? This is completely the wrong time for this. "- because you can always count on me, even if no one else does."

Oh, that's right. Jun-hee thought to herself as she held her pounding heart and smiled a little forcedly. I thought she was going to say something else, how stupid of me I mean you're pregnant with another man's child right now Jun-hee, wake up. She brought herself back down to earth. You already gave her more than enough. "Please, help me."

You spread your arms out again to catch her in a hug. "We'll work it out, don't worry..." you tried to reassure her further, any unspoken feelings remaining as you both made the decision to keep them a secret.

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kiwriteswords · 2 days ago

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Maybe some already together hotch and reader parenting Jack?

Heartstrings Attached [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: this was fun and really nothing like I have written before! I was re-watching The Nanny pilot where Maggie has her first kiss and Mr. Sheffield's reaction made me wonder how Hotch would react to Jack dating!

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, family vibes, mentions of Haley's death, Teenage Jack Hotchner, Jack's first kiss, Jack's first crush, Jack's first heartbreak, Sad Hotch Hours, Missing Haley Hotchner Hours, hurt/comfort, Jack preferring Reader over Hotch, angsty Jack, No mention of if Reader is BAU or not, future fic, fluffy fluff fluff

Summary: Navigating parenthood is hard enough, but add in teenage love and angst, and Hotch was in for it--grateful to have you at his side, he struggles when Jack prefers your comfort to his own.

In the Hotchner household, evenings typically unfolded with a quiet kind of routine, the kind that comes with the stability of an established relationship and shared space. But tonight, as Aaron Hotchner watched Jack, now a teenager taller than himself, pacing back and forth in your living room, he sensed a disruption to your usual peace.

Jack had always been an anxious kid--much of that hung on Aaron’s shoulders, from all that his job took from and brought into Jack’s life.

"You seem... preoccupied," Aaron remarked, his voice calm as he set aside the case file he'd been reading. Jack stopped pacing and glanced at his father, then at you, who were curled up on the other end of the couch with a book in hand.

"It's nothing," Jack muttered, clearly wrestling with whether to share more. You looked over at Aaron, giving him a subtle nod, an unspoken signal between the two of you that said, 'Give him a minute.'

After a brief pause, Jack sighed and turned towards you, his expression torn between embarrassment and the trust he'd come to place in you over the years. "Actually, I... there's this girl at school."

You set your book down, your full attention on Jack. "Oh? What about her?" you asked gently.

Jack blushed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he mumbled, "I kinda like her. A lot. And I think she might like me too, but I don’t know what to do about it."

Aaron observed the exchange, feeling a twinge of something unfamiliar. Jealousy? No, it was more akin to inadequacy. Here was his son, coming to you with matters he was too embarrassed to discuss with his own father. But watching the ease with which Jack confided in you softened any hard feelings; if anything, it filled him with gratitude.

"What do you like about her?" you inquired, your voice laced with interest and devoid of any judgment.

"She's funny, and she likes a lot of the stuff I do. And she’s really smart," Jack explained, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.

"That sounds wonderful, Jack," you responded, smiling encouragingly. "Have you guys talked much?"

"Yeah, at lunch and stuff. I just... don't know if I should tell her how I feel, or even how to do that," Jack confessed, looking towards his father now.

Aaron cleared his throat, feeling suddenly on the spot. "Well, Jack, the truth is, being honest about your feelings is usually the best approach. It’s not easy, but it’s straightforward. Just... be yourself," Aaron advised, trying to recall how he’d navigated his own youthful crushes, which felt like a lifetime ago.

"You think I should just tell her?" Jack asked, his tone a mix of hope and nerves.

"I do," Aaron said, nodding. "But maybe you could start by asking her to hang out, just the two of you. See how it goes from there."

Jack considered this for a moment, then turned to you. "What do you think?"

"I agree with your dad," you said, your gaze soft yet earnest. "And whatever happens, we're here for you. It's okay to be nervous, and it's okay if things don't go exactly how you plan. What's important is that you're honest and respectful."

Jack nodded, taking in the advice from both of you. "Thanks," he said, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier anxious demeanor. "I think I’ll ask her to the movies this weekend."

"That sounds like a great idea," you encouraged, and Aaron couldn’t help but smile at the warm, supportive dynamic that had blossomed between you and Jack. It wasn’t the traditional picture of a family, perhaps, but it was yours, and it was filled with love and understanding.

Later that evening, as Jack headed upstairs, Aaron lingered behind with you, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching for your hand. "For being here, for being you. For making things like this easier for him... and for me."

You squeezed his hand, leaning into him slightly. "We’re a team, Aaron. And I love being a part of this family."

He nodded, the weight of his earlier feelings of inadequacy lifting in the comfort of your presence. In this household, amidst the quiet routines and the occasional teenage turmoil, Aaron found not just solace but a deep, enduring partnership. And as he looked at you, he knew with certainty that together, there was nothing you couldn't handle.

Aaron Hotchner watched his son, Jack, meticulously adjust his collar for the third time in the mirror. The teenager's movements were stiff, each motion betraying a level of tension that Aaron knew all too well—it was a mirror to his own.

"You look great, Jack. She's going to think so, too," Aaron commented, attempting a reassuring tone as he leaned against the doorway of Jack’s room.

Jack met his father's gaze in the mirror, his eyes flashing briefly with a familiar intensity. "What if I don’t even know what to say? What if—"

"Jack," Aaron interjected, a bit more sharply than intended, "you've prepared enough. Overthinking it won't help."

The words were meant to steady, but they landed like a challenge. Jack turned abruptly, his expression hardening. "You don’t understand. It’s easy for you to say—"

Aaron felt a prickle of irritation. "Jack, I’m trying to help you. There’s no reason to—"

"Yeah, by telling me I’m overthinking? Thanks a lot," Jack snapped, his tone biting, and stormed past Aaron towards the stairs.

You appeared at the bottom of the staircase, having caught the tail end of the exchange. Your expression was one of concern mixed with calm. "Everything okay?" you asked, looking from Jack’s retreating back to Aaron’s tight expression.

Aaron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He’s just nervous," he muttered, following you and Jack to the car.

The ride to the movie theater was tense, the air thick with unspoken apologies and frustrations. Aaron drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, while you sat beside him, offering a gentle presence. In the backseat, Jack was silent, lost in his own whirlwind of teenage angst.

When you arrived at the theater, Jack unbuckled his seatbelt and paused, his hand on the door. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before turning slightly. "Sorry for snapping, Dad. I’m just... really nervous."

Aaron nodded, a mixture of relief and concern in his eyes. "It’s okay, Jack. Just be yourself, she’ll see how great you are."

Jack managed a small, grateful smile before stepping out of the car and into the evening crowd. As he walked away, Aaron watched him go, a pang of helplessness touching his heart. It wasn’t just about tonight; it was the creeping realization of how much he would have to learn to navigate as Jack grew up.

You reached over, touching Aaron’s arm. "He’s going to be fine," you murmured. "And so are you."

Aaron let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "It never gets easier, does it? Letting them face things on their own."

You shook your head, your smile gentle. "No, but we do get better at trusting them to handle it. And Jack knows he has us to come back to, no matter how it goes."

Aaron glanced at you, the steady assurance in your voice grounding him. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he admitted, the weight of his role as a single parent momentarily overwhelming.

"You’d do just fine," you assured him, squeezing his arm. "But you don’t have to. We’re in this together, remember?"

He smiled then, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Together," he echoed, feeling the truth of that word deep in his bones.

As you and Aaron drove back home, the earlier tension melted away, replaced by a comfortable silence that spoke of shared burdens and joint victories. In that moment, Aaron knew that whatever challenges lay ahead with Jack, or with anything else, they were surmountable—as long as you were there beside him.

When Aaron and you arrived at the theater to pick up Jack, the sight of him waiting by the curb instantly signaled a change. There was a lightness in his step, a barely contained energy that was unusual for the typically composed teenager.

Jack slid into the backseat, a faint, almost secretive smile playing at the corners of his lips. He said nothing as Aaron pulled away from the curb, glancing occasionally in the rearview mirror at his son. Jack’s eyes were bright, his usual tension nowhere to be seen, replaced by an excited glimmer that Aaron had rarely witnessed.

The car was quiet, the silence stretching as Aaron and you exchanged knowing looks. Both of you could sense the bubbling enthusiasm Jack was struggling to contain, yet neither of you wanted to press him, giving him the space to share in his own time.

Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer and always more attuned to breaking the ice, you turned slightly in your seat to face Jack. “So? How was the movie?” you asked, your voice casual but tinged with an undercurrent of excitement for him.

Jack’s response was immediate, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It was awesome! We...” He paused, a flush spreading across his cheeks, and then he burst out with it. “We kissed! It was my first kiss.”

Aaron’s eyes met Jack’s in the rearview mirror, a smile breaking across his face at his son's joyous exclamation. The car filled with a warm, buoyant energy, the kind that comes from witnessing a milestone in someone you love dearly.

“That’s great, Jack!” you exclaimed, your delight evident. “How do you feel?”

Jack laughed, a sound of pure happiness. “I like her so much. She’s amazing. And the kiss was... it was perfect, I think. I mean, I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but...” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged, almost sheepishly.

Aaron listened, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and a poignant touch of sadness at the reminders of his own first experiences with love. “It sounds like you had a really good time,” he said, his tone supportive. “I’m happy for you, Jack.”

“Thanks, Dad. And thank you,” Jack added, looking at you. “For the advice and... just for being there.”

You nodded, your expression soft. “Anytime, Jack. We’re both so happy it went well.”

The rest of the drive home was filled with Jack sharing more details about the evening—the movie they’d barely watched, the nervous moments leading up to the kiss, and his plans to see her again. Aaron drove, listening and occasionally glancing back at Jack, who seemed to grow with each word he spoke.

When you all arrived home, Jack bounded out of the car with a quick, “Thanks for the ride!” before heading inside, no doubt eager to relive the evening in his mind.

Aaron turned to you, his eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. “He’s growing up fast,” he murmured, the reality hitting him anew.

You reached over, taking his hand. “He is. But he’s growing up well, Aaron. That’s all we can ask for.”

Aaron squeezed your hand in response, the solidity of your presence grounding him. “Yes, that’s all we can ask for,” he agreed, the pride evident in his voice. As you headed into the house together, Aaron felt a profound gratitude for the family you had become, imperfections and all, bound together by moments of simple, shared joy like tonight.

Over dinner, Jack's enthusiasm was infectious. As he detailed his plans to woo his new crush with flowers and romantic gestures straight out of the movies, Aaron couldn't help but share amused, knowing glances with you across the table. Every so often, Jack would catch them mid-glance and roll his eyes, a grin unable to hide his embarrassment.

"You think I'm being too cheesy, don't you?" Jack asked a playful accusation in his tone.

"Not at all," you replied, smiling warmly at him. "It's sweet. It's nice to see someone still believes in doing romantic things. Flowers are always a good idea."

Aaron nodded in agreement, watching as Jack considered your advice. "Just make sure you pick ones she likes," he added. "It shows you pay attention."

Jack nodded enthusiastically, absorbing every piece of advice like a sponge. "I’ll find out what her favorites are," he resolved.

The conversation lingered on lighter topics as you finished eating, but the warmth of family and shared understanding lingered in the air.

Later that night, as Aaron and you were getting ready for bed, the atmosphere shifted to a quieter, more reflective mood. You turned to Aaron as he was folding his clothes, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You know, Jack is a lot like you," you mused. "Even as a teenager, he’s got your sweetness. And he gets this giddy excitement about someone he cares about—just like you."

Aaron met your gaze in the mirror, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Was I that obvious?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Completely," you teased gently, stepping closer. "I still remember our early days. Despite your stoic exterior, you had this way of showing your excitement that was... really endearing."

He turned to face you fully, his expression softening. "I guess some things don’t change," he admitted, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I still feel that way, you know. Every day with you."

Your eyes lit up at his words, and you leaned into his touch. "And I love that about you, Aaron. It’s the little things you do, the way you show you care. It’s never lost on me."

The conversation lingered in the air, settling warmly around them like a blanket. It reminded Aaron of how much he still wanted to make you feel special, how even the simplest gestures could speak volumes.

"Jack gave me a good reminder; I think I’ll buy you flowers tomorrow," Aaron declared softly, more to himself than to you.

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with affection. "I’d like that," you said.

As you finished getting ready for bed, the connection between them felt as fresh and exciting as it did in the early days of your relationship, a testament to the enduring nature of deep, genuine love.

It wasn’t long until the atmosphere of the Hotchner household shifted dramatically one afternoon when Jack burst through the front door, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a storm of teenage angst. He rushed past Aaron and you, not stopping to greet or even acknowledge either of you, his footsteps thundering up the stairs. Moments later, his bedroom door slammed shut with a force that echoed down the hallway.

You and Aaron exchanged a look of concern, both sensing the gravity of whatever had upset Jack so deeply. Aaron's jaw set in a familiar, determined line as he made his way to Jack's room, knocking softly despite the previous display of anger.

"Jack, can we talk?" Aaron called through the door, his voice calm but firm.

There was a tense pause, then a muffled, "Go away," from inside.

Aaron opened the door anyway, stepping into Jack’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. "Jack, whatever it is, I’m here to help," Aaron offered, trying to bridge the gap with understanding.

Jack looked up, his eyes red and his expression one of raw, unguarded pain. "You wouldn’t understand," he snapped, his words laced with frustration. "You met Mom in school and then found Y/N so easily after Mom passed. You’ve never had your heart broken like this."

The comment stung, bringing with it a flood of memories—of Haley, of loss, of the deepest kind of heartbreak Aaron had ever known. But he had to laugh internally at the irony; Jack had no idea what real heartbreak was, yet his feelings were valid in their own teenage context.

"Jack, I may not understand exactly what you're feeling right now, but I’ve experienced loss, more than just once. I can try to help," Aaron said, his voice even despite the emotional undercurrent.

Aaron looked around his son’s room--oh, how it had changed so much over the last few years. The legos and drawings now replaced with soccer trophies and posters.

"It’s not the same!" Jack retorted, his anger flaring again. "You don’t get it. She said she just wants to be friends, after everything... after the kiss. I thought... I don’t know what I thought."

Aaron sat down beside him, trying to close the distance. "It’s tough, feeling like you’ve been pushed aside," he offered. "But it doesn’t diminish what you felt, or what you meant to each other."

Jack shook his head, the rejection too fresh, too raw. "Just leave, Dad. Please," he murmured, not meeting Aaron's eyes.

Respecting his son’s request, Aaron stood and left the room, the door closing softly behind him this time. He returned downstairs, where you were waiting, having sensed that the conversation might not have gone smoothly.

Aaron relayed the interaction to you, his features tight with concern and helplessness. "He’s really hurting," Aaron confessed, the weight of his role as a father feeling particularly heavy.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. "You did what you could. He just needs some time," you reassured him, your voice soothing. "Heartbreak is a part of growing up, as hard as it is to watch. He'll learn from this, with us to support him."

Aaron nodded, leaning into your embrace, grateful for your presence and perspective. "It’s just hard, seeing him go through it," he admitted. "Makes me wish I could shield him from all the pain."

"But then he wouldn’t really grow, would he?" you pointed out gently. "All we can do is be here when he’s ready to talk, ready to heal."

"Right," Aaron agreed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Thank you," he added, the gratitude in his voice reflecting more than just thanks for this moment—it was for every moment you stood by him, helping him navigate the complexities of fatherhood and life itself. Together, you would be ready for when Jack decided to open up, ready to guide him through the pain toward healing.

Later that evening, as Aaron sat in the living room thumbing through an old case file, he couldn't shake the image of Jack’s hurt expression. He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Looking up, he saw Jack hesitating at the foot of the staircase, his eyes darting between Aaron and the hallway where you were.

"Dad, can I talk to Y/N?" Jack asked quietly, his voice revealing his vulnerability.

Aaron felt a pang in his chest, torn between relief that Jack was seeking comfort and a sting of jealousy that it wasn’t from him. He thought of Haley, of how things might have been different if she were here, but then he looked at you, emerging from the hallway behind Jack, and his heart filled with gratitude. You had become an integral part of their lives, filling spaces he hadn't known were empty.

"Of course, Jack," Aaron replied, managing a supportive smile as he watched you approach, your presence reassuring and steady.

You gave Aaron a gentle look that seemed to understand his mixed emotions before turning your attention to Jack. "Let’s talk, okay?" you said softly, guiding Jack back to his room for privacy.

Left alone with his thoughts, Aaron reflected on his journey—the loss of Haley, the challenges of single parenthood, and the unexpected blessing of finding love again with you. It was a complex tapestry of grief and new beginnings.

When you and Jack reappeared a while later, there was a noticeable shift in Jack’s demeanor. He seemed calmer, more composed, and he walked straight up to Aaron.

"I’m sorry for pushing you away earlier, Dad. I didn’t mean to," Jack apologized, his eyes earnest.

Aaron stood, setting aside the file, and pulled Jack into a hug. "It’s okay, Jack. I understand. It’s not easy, and I’m here whenever you need to talk, okay?"

Jack nodded, returning the embrace. "Thanks, Dad."

As they settled onto the couch, Aaron next to you and Jack opposite, the atmosphere was lighter. Aaron felt the need to address the earlier tension and offer some fatherly advice.

"Jack, life... it throws a lot at us. Heartbreak, loss—it’s all part of it. But so is happiness and love," Aaron began, his eyes flicking to you, then back to Jack. "You have plenty of time to find your happy ending. And sometimes, it happens when you least expect it."

He reached over, taking your hand in his, a silent testament to his words.

Jack smiled, a touch of red coloring his cheeks as he understood the implication. "I guess you’re right. I’ve got time."

"And remember, no matter what, you’re never alone," you added, squeezing Aaron’s hand. "We’re both here for you, always."

The rest of the evening passed with a new sense of understanding and closeness among you all. Aaron felt a deep sense of peace as he looked at you and Jack--his family. At this moment, he knew that despite the trials and the losses, you had found a way to build something enduring and real. And for Aaron, you were indeed his happy ending, the unexpected joy that had come from a time of great loss.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

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halfmoonaria · 2 days ago

Text

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.

#cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #millers girl #jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron

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ourzeui · 2 days ago

Text

please don't be a snitch!

PAIRING caitlyn kiramman x f!reader

TYPE oneshot

NOTE this is in modern setting! reader has a twin, and they have opposite personalities (reader = a lil' shy; twin = brazen)

CW mature themes, alcohol use, suggestive content, strong language (cursing!!), anxiety/stress

11:59 PM — Friday night.

This was definitely a bad fucking idea.

You repeatedly glance at your wrist watch, legs fidgeting as you try so hard to not leave your twin sister alone. Heart ramming against your chest, you desperately hope your sister will soon get tired from dancing around the room and decide that both of you will just go home and rest. Because, anytime now, your strict parents would realize that both of you still aren’t home and would go berserk once they find out you’re out clubbing. In other words, you and your sister would be killed. Both metaphorically and literally.

This wasn’t your idea in the first place. The thought of random people just eating each other’s faces out, touching each other’s bodies where one thing leads to another… it, uh, just rubs you off in the wrong way. You just can't shake off the feeling that there's a big possibility that something bad might happen, with the alcohol driving people mad crazy. If your twin sister didn’t force you to go with her, you’d probably never step foot in a club. Ever.

You can’t help but cringe as you see your sister flirt with another guy for what seems like the twentieth time today. Both of them giggle on the corner of the room, shamelessly checking each other out. A minute later, the guy drags your flushed twin to one of the random rooms, no doubt going to do…whatever it is that they’re going to do.

Upon realizing what’s happening, your heart immediately drops to the floor. Despite having absolutely zero hook-up experience, you definitely know where that is going.

“That shithead,” you curse under your breath as you hurriedly try to follow your sister and her partner. Squeezing through the sweaty dance floor, you see your twin giggle as the guy playfully pushes her inside the room, followed by the door slamming with a loud thud despite the blasting disco music. You wonder how desperate could your sister be for deciding to follow a random man alone in a closed room knowing what could possibly happen.

Well, your sister did repeatedly say she was "dying to get laid" months prior. Maybe today was the day she was finally getting that.

But maybe today was also the day she’s going to die because she’s about to do something she might regret for the rest of her life (+ your parents will, again, definitely k-word both of you if she’s caught).

Before you could even approach the door, you spot a familiar blue-haired woman, sitting down cross-legged near the bar counter.

Caitlyn.

Upon seeing her, your heart drops the second time, beads of sweat forming on your temples. Both you and your sister should get out now, because if Caitlyn sees you and asks where your sister is, both of you should be prepared to never see the light of day again.

Here's the thing: Caitlyn's parents are close friends of your parents, so it's inevitable that you'd often meet each other. Both of you had never shared a proper conversation before though, just a few hello's and a "Can you please pass me the sauce?" over the table during family dinners.

One thing you know about Caitlyn though is that she always does what she thinks is right.

…She will be a snitch if she wants to.

The reason why her presence right now is so unnerving is because you can't forget the day how your mother made her promise that she should tell her immediately if "one of her daughters are caught doing crazy things", and Caitlyn always keeps her promises.

And just your luck, Caitlyn looks up at the perfect time, her piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

You freeze.

She tilts her head slightly, the corner of her mouth curling in what looks suspiciously like amusement. You can already feel the lecture forming, not from her but from your parents, the second she makes that phone call.

She picks up a glass, takes a sip, and then—oh no—stands up, walking through the crowd until she’s standing right in front of you, effortlessly poised despite the chaos around you both.

“Funny seeing you here,” she says, her voice smooth but carrying a note of dry humor.

“This—this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammer, hating how defensive you sound.

She raises a brow. “Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like your sister just disappeared into a room with a guy who probably doesn’t know her name, and you’re about to have a heart attack trying to figure out what to do about it.”

You wince. “Okay, maybe it is what it looks like. But—”

"But you didn’t want to be here in the first place,” Caitlyn finishes for you, crossing her arms. “And now you’re stuck cleaning up the mess.”

You nod, a little surprised she understands so easily.

“Let me guess,” she says, her smirk growing. “You’re worried I’m going to tell your parents.”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The rate of your heartbeat increases each second, and you fidget your fingers.

Caitlyn sighs, shaking her head. “Relax. I’m not going to snitch.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” she says simply. Then she leans in slightly, her voice quieter but firm. “But I am going to help you.”

“Help me?” You blink, confused.

“Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes slightly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because if you go barging into that room on your own, you’ll probably make things worse. So, let’s handle this together before your sister does something she regrets.”

You hesitate, unsure if you can trust her, but something about her calm, confident attitude is reassuring.

“Why would you help me?” you ask.

She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Because I’ve been in your shoes before. And honestly? It’s better than having your mom yell at me for not stepping in.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Caitlyn’s smile widens, just slightly, and for the first time, it feels genuine. “Follow my lead.”

Instead of heading toward the room, Caitlyn gestures toward the bar.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, looking between her and the door where your sister disappeared.

“Relax,” she says, grabbing two stools. “We’ll give it a minute. If we charge in too quickly, your sister’s just going to get defensive and make things worse. Trust me on this.”

You hesitantly sit beside her, tapping your fingers against the counter. Caitlyn orders herself a soda, which surprises you. “Not drinking?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “I like to keep a clear head in places like this. Too many people lose theirs.”

You nod slowly, watching her as she takes a sip. For someone who’s in a club, surrounded by chaos, she seems so calm, like none of this fazes her.

“So… do you come here often?” you ask awkwardly, desperate to fill the silence.

She laughs softly. “Not really. A friend dragged me out tonight, but she ditched me for some guy about an hour ago.”

You wince. “Sounds familiar.”

Caitlyn smiles, her eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, but at least I ended up with better company.”

You blink, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, her voice softer. “You’re a good sibling, you know that?”

You scoff. “I’m just trying to keep her out of trouble.”

“Exactly.” She tilts her head, studying you. “Not everyone would go through this kind of mess for someone else. It says a lot about you.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you find yourself fidgeting under her gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” she insists, her tone warm but firm. “And I think it’s admirable.”

Before you can respond, Caitlyn glances toward the door where your sister disappeared. She sighs and stands. “Alright, I think we’ve waited long enough. Ready to be the hero?”

You nod, your heart racing as you follow her. But as you walk beside her, you notice the way her shoulder brushes against yours, the way her presence somehow makes you feel less panicked and more… safe.

Your heart flutters again, and you stare intently on Caitlyn's back. BUT, your heart drops for the third time today as your phone rings.

Mom <3 Missed call (34) Slide for more

Shit.

#caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn arcane #arcane #arcane x reader #caitlyn

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mrcrawly · 2 days ago

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Jayvik headcanons

hello jayvik nation im dumping these here bc im almost done with the second chapter of my fic and these have been stewing a while

Viktor

has the most beautiful curly calligraphy handwriting ever but it's so curly and fancy you genuinely can't read it

Ibuprofen allergy. source: my twisted mind

fidgeting with stuff all the time. paperclips, pencils, clips, rubber bands, the buttons on his vest

bonus to that one: he messes with his vest buttons so much that Jayce is constantly having to sew them back on when they come off

chronic nail biter

big sweet tooth

great cook but a shitty baker

"get even" kind of person; probably holds grudges from the second grade

doesn't cry very often but can be sensitive in the sense that he cares very much how his closest friends view him and internalizes their opinions

love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service

likes to be touched but not held (autism)

hates winter because it makes his joints hurt, summer is unbearably hot and he can't stand it, he has spring allergies; default fall enjoyer

animals really like him and strays tend to show up at the lab or follow him around

children like Viktor. Viktor doesn't like children back

kids will sometimes randomly talk to him and tell him things in public and he doesn't have the heart to be mean to them or ignore them so he just sits there like "mhm ☺️" while they talk until their parents apologize and walk off

probably has a pet reptile (a turtle or some kind of lizard methinks)

cold natured and wears seven hundred billion blankets to bed every night no matter the season

identifies as male in the sense that he was born a man and just never bothered to think much about it but doesn't fully grasp the concept or purpose of gender. could tell you what makes a man a man or what makes a woman a woman but doesn't understand why nor care

interested in jayce from the beginning but never felt as if he was in competition with Mel

sorry they can pry the JayMelVik love triangle out of my cold dead hands ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

not very affectionate because he doesn't know how to discuss his own feelings but very good at soothing other people

Jayce

dysgraphia (i think that's the term?) – not many issues with reading but not the best with writing

viktor is hyperlexic so it works out alright

AMAZING at drawing. like if he didn't have the passion for science he would be an artist. he draws out all their diagrams and blueprints and Viktor labels them

can cook pretty well but doesn't like to do it; if he stays at Viktor's place then Viktor always cooks for him

likes baking because he controls every single thing that goes in and it's very exact

both he and Viktor have chronic pain in their hands (carpal tunnel) from spending all their time taking notes and working with small delicate parts

he doesn't complain about his even when it bothers him because it feels silly knowing how bad Viktor's pain is every day 💔💔💔💔

10,000 step haircare routine but Viktor's looks better anyway

used to be prone to acne as a teen (if accutane existed in arcane he would have been an accutane kid)

(i was an accutane kid and im projecting)

shaved regularly pre-hexcore because his father had facial hair and he looks a lot like his dad anyway; he was always a little worried if he grew it out it would remind Ximena too much of his dad and make her sad

took entire days off of work and pushed deadlines back when Viktor got bad just so he could stay with him when Viktor was in too much pain to do practically anything

used to deliberately sleep in the lab because Viktor would stay late and he didn't want Viktor to be alone in case he passed out or something happened

love languages are physical touch, gift giving, and quality time

money doesn't exist to him when he's buying other people things. can't do secret santas at Christmas bc he constantly exceeds the budget

simultaneously one of those people who legitimately cannot accept gifts and feels bad when people give him things

was genuinely so in love with Mel; used to have dreams about marrying her and living somewhere quiet with her

most definitely forgave her for manipulating him on the council and understood her but it was just never the same

bottom. argue with the wall

OUGHHHH my shayla 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

guess my favorite character challenge level impossible (it's so unbelievably obvious)

#arcane jayce #i love arcane it definitely didn't ruin my life #arcane league of legends #jayvik #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #jayce league of legends #arcane #arcane s2 spoilers #mel medarda #mel league of legends #my favorite character is jayce btw #it was definitely obvious #viktor nation

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justwinginglife · 2 days ago

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A Trial of Tears and Tails

Sorry this is so random, I came up with this idea and wrote it on my lunch break, haha. Just thought it was so cute and funny.

“Um. My love. Are you fully rested? Could you come here and tell me that it’s not just my lack of sleep making me see things?”

Rafayel poked his head into the bathroom with a towel in hand. “What’s wrong, honey? I got the towel, like you-” He dropped the towel, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

“Okay. So it’s not just me then.”

Giggles erupted from the bathtub beside you as your son busied himself poking soap bubbles, oblivious to the stares of his two parents and oblivious to the fact that where once there had been two little legs, there now emerged a tail. A mermaid tail.

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I mean, it’s cute. It’s super cute. But does he… I mean, did he do it on purpose? Does he even know he did it? Does he know how to control it? Or is he going to keep randomly transforming for the rest of his life? What if he doesn’t know how to change it back? Will he ever walk again?” You started spiraling.

Rafayel rushed to your side, kneeling down beside you at the foot of the tub and pulling you into his arms. “Hey, hey, don’t think too hard; you’ll give yourself a headache. Look at him- he’s fine. He’s happy. I say we just let it play out and see what happens, kay? It’ll be fine.” He repeated again, nuzzling his nose against your ear before leaning up to press a reassuring kiss to your temple.

But soon enough, it was very much not fine.

At first, you both just watched your son. You watched as he splashed around in pure bliss, you watched as his smile spilled across his face and tugged at his rosy cheeks, you watched as he squealed his delight. And you thought to yourself that he’d never been cuter than he was right now. You couldn’t help but pepper him with kisses and he couldn’t help but laugh. Rafayel gazed fondly at the warm sight before him and, wanting to join in on the fun, he soon began tickling your son’s sides.

That was when the trouble started.

In attempts to escape Rafayel’s tickles, your son soon began splashing and squirming, and it was then that he realized he couldn’t just up and run. It was then that he realized that he was now stranded in the tub, bound by his flopping tail. And he didn’t know why the hell he had a tail.

He started crying, screaming, wailing- all manner of devastation and despair arose within him. And it damn near broke Rafayel’s heart.

He immediately moved into a protective stance, trying to console the tearful toddler. He made silly faces, he ruffled his hair, he picked him up and cradled him, rocking him in his arms, whispering that everything would be okay. He pressed kiss upon kiss to his head, like it was a precious ritual, like all would be well once he’d bestowed enough of his love. But it was to no avail.

Rafayel turned to you in desperation; “Help me,” clear in his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do??” You mouthed back to him, taking the crying child from him.

He threw his arms up in frustration, “I dunno- sing him a song, do something, do anything!”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, rocking him back and forth, as you began to sing the first song that came to your mind. “Um… I wanna be… where the people are. I wanna see… wanna see them dancing.”

Rafayel raised a brow at you. “Part of your world? Really? That was the best you could come up with?”

“You said to sing him a song! I thought it kinda… fit the situation?”

Rafayel snorted. “I see it’s going to be up to me to fix this. Alright, give him here; lemme try again.”

After taking him back from you, Rafayel marched his way into the kitchen. You followed behind, curious as to what his next plan of action was.

“Maybe the little guy is just hangry. Some food will cheer him up.” Rafayel started to warm up his steak dinner from last night.

“Raf! He barely has teeth, how is he gonna chew the steak?” You exclaimed.

“Well… maybe I’m hangry too! Maybe the food was for me.” Rafayel grumbled, anxiously chomping on his steak before spoonfeeding some of his mashed potatoes to the kid. Fortunately, it seemed to soothe him for the time being, but the issue of his tail was still to be addressed. How were you going to get him to turn back? You were sure once he finished munching on mashed potatoes that he would remember the tail and then be back to bawling and blubbering in no time at all. And if he cried, Rafayel might just cry. And you couldn’t have that.

So you disappeared into the nursery and came back with his favorite toys, his favorite books, his favorite movies. You spent the next two hours entertaining him, reenacting epic fight scenes between his toy robot and his toy dinosaur, reading to him all manner of fantasy and fiction, and snuggling up beside him as the TV played his favorite movies. He was more doted on than he’d ever been in his single year of living. And he loved it. But he still had the damn tail.

Rafayel suggested yoga and that was when he learned that children were not very flexible. Then he suggested meditation and that was when he learned that children do not sit still long enough for it. He finally settled on teaching the kid to use the tail, and that was when he learned that the age of one was far too young for someone to learn how to swim. The kid retained absolutely none of the information Rafayel so enthusiastically provided.

You knew this was a very serious moment, but it was hard not to laugh when you heard Rafayel’s voice echoing in the bathroom, emphatically declaring, “Now, kick! That’s not a kick, kick! Like this! No, like this! That’s a… that’s something. That’s… getting closer. Nope, never mind, it’s not. Yeah, okay, this is not working.”

Eventually, Rafayel passed out on the couch with the child dozing off in his arms. Your poor husband had exhausted nearly every brain cell in existence trying to solve this issue (so his nap was much deserved), but now, as you watched the two of them fondly, you noticed that peeking out from beneath the blanket, two tiny feet had finally appeared.

You laughed so hard that you almost woke them up when you realized what had happened; he had exhausted the kid back into being a human.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @tbaluver @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lads #lads rafayel #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #rafayel l&ds #rafayel x reader #han's library

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padfootagain · 2 days ago

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Love in Verses (XLI)

Chapter 41 : ‘Just one candle burning on, shadows lurking everywhere: some one came, and kissed me there’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Time for a bit of Christmas fluff!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2641

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Mistletoe

Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low, All the sleepy dancers gone, Just one candle burning on, Shadows lurking everywhere: Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go Nodding under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), No footsteps came, no voice, but only, Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely, Stooped in the still and shadowy air Lips unseen—and kissed me there.

Walter de la Mare

“In the lane, snow is glistening… a beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight…”

You smiled at the sound, stopping your movement to listen to Andrew’s rich voice while he sang mindlessly to the tune you had heard on the radio earlier that day. You were left with wrapping paper only half-folded over your gift for Andrew’s mother.

You would spend Christmas with his family, travelling all the way back to Bray for the occasion. It was your first time with his extended family, but you already knew things would go well. You were growing close to Andrew’s parents and brother, had met several of his uncles and aunts already as well, and everything had happened smoothly. You weren’t so nervous this time around. You were simply… happy.

On the 25th, there was a gathering with some friends planned. You had invited Colm and Siobhán as well as Andrew’s close friends. You couldn’t wait for that too, for your best friend to finally be including in the family you were joining. Next week, it would Andrew would blend perfectly in your own little tribe, the way he always did, to celebrate the coming of a new year and all the promises it withheld.

“… walking in the winter wonderland…”

Andrew looked up at you now, noticing your pause, that you were lost in thoughts. He tilted his head a little at the sight, and your heart was filled with warmth at the domesticity of it all… wrapping presents in his living room, with Elwood playing with one of the toys you had bought for him nearby, the glow of the Christmas tree you had decorated together, and Andrew looking warm and cozy with a messy bun, his glasses, his casual jumper…

“You’re okay?”

“Sure,” you nodded, a tender smile growing on your lips.

“What got you lost in thought like that?”

“Hmmm… I think I’m gonna make some hot cocoa.”

“Oh! Can I have one?”

“Of course, baby.”

You resumed your wrapping, carefully folded the paper around the painting supplies you had bought for Raine.

“I’m really happy you’re coming for Christmas, you know?” Andrew let out in a dreamy sigh. “I’m glad we can spend the holidays together.”

“I’m glad you invited me. Besides, I could never pass on an opportunity to question John about more humiliating stories about you.”

You both laughed, bright, solar, carefree.

“Perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea, then… but we’ll see Siobhan tomorrow! Which means I get all the juicy stories about my brilliant girlfriend getting trollied while in college…”

“I would like to protest, but it’s a fair payback, and I’m too entertained by your family stories to pass on them.”

You tried to think back of a time before Andrew when you had been as happy, as safe, as yourself than during that simple, quiet afternoon. You couldn’t…

“We need to leave early tomorrow morning,” Andrew went on. “There will be some traffic, and we must get there before noon to help preparing for the feast!”

“I can drive, if you’d like,” you offered. “You can sleep a bit more in the car then.”

“Or I could drive so you can sleep in the car.”

“You could. But you’re the night owl here, who won’t be asleep before 1 a.m. no matter what…”

“Touché,” he chuckled.

“I’ll drive. And I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

“Sure.”

“I’d love to watch a Christmas movie before bed, though. One of the disgustingly cute ones!”

He chuckled, gave you tender smile and a roll of his eyes.

“Sure, whatever you’d like.”

You thought about all your clothes folded with his, in his closet. About all his clothes fitting perfectly in your closet. How there were pictures of the two of you in both your flats, how his smiling face was your lockscreen now, how on your phone he was now called Honey with a red heart next to it to match how he owned yours now.

Sometimes you worried about being betrayed again, about your happiness ending… but then you looked up at him again, caught his hazel eyes with yours and read the love hidden in them. And you knew everything would be fine, somehow.

“Honey?” you called in a whisper.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Can you keep on singing?”

He blushed, but couldn’t refrain his grin. And then his voice was back, warm and deep, starting over again.

“Sleigh bells ring, aren’t you listening...”

“Maggie, calm down!”

Andrew was laughing at his tiny cousin’s daughter struggling to put on her coat on her own. The three-years-old was stubborn, and getting frustrated.

Patiently, he crouched by her side, held the coat so she could aim her tiny fist and slip her arm in her sleeve. He pulled up the zipper, readjusted her beanie, helped her with her gloves.

Christ, how could you fall even more in love with him?

“Alright, you’re all set for the snow.”

The little girl jumped up and down excitedly.

“We’re going in the snow!”

“Yes, we are.”

“Can we make a snowman?”

“Of course! We have to make one!”

The girl’s mother, Helen, hurried in the room, a baby in her arms.

“Oh… thanks, Andy!”

He merely smiled, bending to hold the child’s hand. And then he turned to you.

“You’re coming, love?”

He held out his free hand for you, and you easily slipped your fingers in his palm, without thinking, an offering you so easily made every time.

“Alright, we’re going to enjoy the snow, and then we’ll get ready for games!” Helen told her daughter, her young baby boy in her arms.

Meanwhile, John was helping his father cross the hall, his mother in tow, chatting with her sister.

It was a little overwhelming. As one of Andrew’s uncle was starting a conversation with you, it felt overwhelming to be surrounded by so many people, people Andrew loved dearly. It was going well, though. You weren’t surprised to find that people longed to make you feel welcomed, that Andrew was showering you with affection, something proud shining through his smile every time he introduced you to someone new.

The cold bit at your cheeks as you stepped outside the house, hurrying in the garden to help the children build their snowman. You swore revenge when Andrew threw a snowball at you, and maybe it was your terrible aim making you hit one of the cousins instead of your boyfriend that started the fight. You weren’t sure, maybe it was simply one of the children. No matter who started it, you couldn’t stop laughing as you watched Andrew falling over in the snow, and then being showered with snowballs by all the adults present.

When he sat up again, his hair and beard were white with snow.

“So, that’s what you’ll look like when you’re old,” you laughed, offering him an open hand to help him stand again.

“You don’t like my impersonation of Santa?”

“You’re a little skinny, but I’ll give you a B for the effort.”

“How generous, ma’am…”

He gave you a crooked smile, and despite the silliness of the situation, you felt your heart stumbling in your chest at his innuendo.

“Don’t start! We’re with your family!” you admonished in a whisper.

He laughed, let you help him back to his feet. You brushed some snow off him.

“You need to get dry, or you’ll catch your death.”

“I like it when you do that.”

“Do what, honey?”

“Get all… worried about me. When you take care of me.”

You rolled your eyes, but still felt your chest grow warm at his words.

“Well… it’s only fair of me, cause you take really good care of me, too.”

He bent to peck your lips a couple of times, but before he could hold you in his arms again, he was shivering.

The rest of his family was going back to the house anyway, as Maggie was now yelling in excitement.

“GAMES!”

Dinner had turned into quiet conversations. Sitting by your side, Andrew was chatting and laughing with his favourite cousins, while his mother and aunts were busy luring you into the next yearly family gathering.

“We just come together and spend a nice day catching up!” Raine explained.

“Aside from Christmas, it’s the one time of the year when everyone is gathered and we can all be together,” her sister nodded. “You need to come to the next one… we usually plan these around May or June.”

Andrew’s heart was filled with happiness and love as he caught your answer.

“I’d love to,” you nodded.

“And then you need to come every year!” Raine warned you, and you nodded.

“Of course, I’d love to come.”

Andrew’s favourite aunt reached for your hand.

“We like you a lot. You’re a very nice girl, very smart… you and Andy have our blessing.”

Your answer came in an emotional breath.

“Thank you…”

“OI! EVERYONE UP! IT’S NOT EVEN MIDNIGHT AND EVERYBODY’S BORING!”

The sudden voice of his uncle Danny came booming into the living room. Before anyone could argue, he was putting on some music, and soon, most people were dancing.

Not Andrew, of course. He was everything but a dancer, that was not his thing, and he didn’t want to go through any kind of humiliation. Especially not in front of his cousins, who would make sure to remind him of his glorious missteps until his death…

You snuggled closer to him on the couch, wrapping your arm around his, locking your elbow with his.

“Are you okay, my darling?” he asked, voice tender as he dropped a sweet kiss to your temple.

“Yeah… just getting tired.”

“It’ll soon be midnight.”

“Hmm…”

“Are you having a good time? You’re not too overwhelmed?”

“I’m having a really good time. Your family is very nice. Okay, perhaps Finn is a little… boring…”

“He could put any insomniac to sleep in two minutes. Tops.”

You both laughed. But then, the song that was played changed, and he didn’t like the look in your eyes as you looked up at him… he didn’t like it one bit…

“Andy! Come and dance with me!”

“I don’t dance, love…”

“Come on! Or else I’ll have to dance with another lad…”

He rolled his eyes.

“Terrifying thought.”

“Please… please… It’s Christmas… do this for me…”

You gave him your best puppy eyes, and God, he couldn’t resist you. He simply couldn’t…

“Alright, alright…” he grumbled, faking annoyance when he didn’t mind, really. Dancing with you meant being near you, and he welcomed any occasion to be close to you.

You were already singing along to Last Christmas when you took his hands in yours and pulled him into a silly, carefree dance. Your laughter warmed him more than the sun in the heat of summer, the way you looked at him with so much love made him believe in everything good in this world all over again… did you know how much he loved you? How happy you made him? How much better his life was now that you were in it?

“Babe… about that family gathering in spring…”

“Yeah?” you asked, before you would twirl, and land back in his arms with a giggle that spread to his own lips.

“I… I would love for you to come. I… I really want you to come. But if you’re not comfortable, if you don’t want to, I’d understand…”

“I want to come, baby. I want to come.”

You exchanged a pair of bright grins.

“Grand… that’s grand, like…”

He cleared his throat, tried to hide the wave of affection that overtook his senses, made his brain all fuzzy with a happy static.

He sang along too when the next chorus came, laughing at your silly dance and your over-excited singing. You seemed so happy… He was so happy…

“This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special…”

Oh, Andrew had indeed given his heart to someone special, this time around. Someone extraordinary…

Andrew drove you both back to Dublin the next day. In the trunk of his car rested the two piles of books you had offered each other for Christmas. Books you had been excited to read, you were surprised at how accurate his selection had been. But then again, why were you so surprised? Andrew listened.

Your friends and Andrew’s finally arrived. You were glad to see Alex again, he had been off to the West Coast for a few weeks because of work, while you were growing accustomed to spending more time with him. It felt strange to have him away for too long, Andrew and him were too close for that.

“So… what kinds of terrible things has this one done while I was away?” Alex asked you, sipping on a beer, sitting next to you on Andrew’s sofa.

Andrew merely rolled his eyes.

“Nothing too outrageous, I’m afraid,” you laughed. “What about you? What outrageous things have you been up to?”

“Oh… the usual. A bit of drinking, a lot of bass guitar… a lot of working.”

“You’re no craic.”

“Neither are you, Pr. Boring Job.”

“What about your love life? Is it still the Sahara Desert?”

“How dare you? Have you looked at what you settled for?” he asked, nodding towards Andrew, who laughed good-heartedly.

“Oh… you mean, the hottest and smartest guy in the room?”

Andrew gave his friend a bright smirk.

“You were saying, mate?” he teased, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t mind him, he’s deflecting the question,” you reassured your boyfriend, before focusing on Alex again.

He laughed, admitted defeat.

“Yeah… nothing serious happened, at least.”

“You know what your problem is? I think you’re a romantic at heart.”

“Me? You’re the one dating the biggest sap ever born on this island!”

“I think you want to really fall in love before it becoming serious enough to actually date. That’s why you’re always single.”

“Or maybe it’s because of my shitty ex.”

“Hmm… that too,” you nodded, making all three of you laugh. “But you know… maybe I can find someone for you.”

“Absolutely not! I’m not looking for love anyway, you’d be wasting your time.”

“If love came when we feel ready, it would be a lot easier than it actually is.”

“You’re talking from experience?” Alex asked, nudging his best friend, who merely shoved him away playfully.

You were about to fight back, when the door rang, and you were too excited to carry on that conversation. Instead, you jumped to your feet, ran to the front door. The second Siobhán saw you, she jumped into your arms.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, it’s been too long!” she complained.

“Yeah, it has… Come on in! I’ll get you a beer.”

“God, I need that… the traffic was awful around Dublin…”

You offered her a drink, introduced her to your friends gathered in Andrew’s apartment, then you invited her to take a seat with you, Andrew and Alex.

“This is Alex, by the way,” you indicated as your friend sat down. “Andy’s best friend.”

They greeted each other, Siobhán warm and Alex a little shy.

But you looked around the room, caught Colm deep in conversation with Rory and his wife, looked at how your world and Andrew’s blended beautifully together. You were a little nervous, but your best friend was no exception, and she fitted into your new bubble of love perfectly. You were surprised at how well she and Alex were getting along, both of them seeming to silently agree to team up to tease you and Andrew endlessly.

When Andrew took your hand in his, gave you a goofy grin, you felt so loved, in this place you called a home, with these people who loved you as much as you loved them.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier series #hozier professor au #hozier au #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #series #professor au

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allthingssteddie · 2 days ago

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Steve Harrington's mom tells him to bring a nice girl to their New Year's Eve party, he tells her he’s not with anyone but Steve's dad annoyed demands he bring someone and not like the other girls he’s dated. He threatens to disown Steve if he embarrassed him. Steve at this point doesn’t care anymore and decides to piss off his parents.

Steve approaches Eddie Munson at the Hellfire Club's table and Eddie's friends, including Gareth, give Steve dirty looks. Steve asks Eddie if he can come talk to him somewhere alone and Gareth tells him it’s not happening but Eddie, amused by Steve's request, agrees "What can I do for you, King Steve?" Steve cringes at the nickname but asks Eddie to pretend to be his boyfriend at his parents party and offers to pay him. Eddie agrees, but tells Steve it's going to cost him more then he’s offering they both agree on a price then that night of the party, Eddie arrives and charms Steve's father's business associates and boss. Steve's grandmother who Steve didn’t know that was showing up even shows Eddie how to cook.

However, Steve's parents are shocked and disapproving of their relationship. But try to keep it together because Steve’s dad boss thinks it great that Steve is gay and invites the whole family including Eddie to their vacation house. And I’m thinking the whole time Eddie and Steve are pretending to be together during this vacation they actually end up falling in love.

Also I can imagine one scene where Steve and Eddie are on his fathers boss yacht, and Steve sees Eddie with out his shirt and he’s shocked that Eddie is actually buff and he can’t help but stare and Eddie catches him and winks. And I would think Eddie couldn’t help but stare at Steve’s chest hair. Also their both over the top being lovey dovey trying to sell that their in love but at this point they actually are I would also think that they would be doing this to by themselves without them even realizing. Another thing I thought would be cute that Steve and Eddie have to share a bed but Steve offers to sleep on the floor and Eddie tells him there is enough room on the bed .

I love this idea so much I wish I could write this because I had so many ideas with cute moments. but I just don’t have the time with work unfortunately. And I wouldn’t want to have to rush this.

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marauder-misprint · 2 days ago

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Ministry Party

Sirius Black x fem!Slytherin!reader

series masterlist

5.6k words

cw: swearing, fluff, Y/N

All of the Slytherin girls were going home for Christmas so your train compartment was packed like usual. Beatrice was gushing over her parents’ plans to take her to Paris during the break and how she planned on meeting a Beauxbaton boy for some holiday romance. Cora and Pandora were listening intently, but you stared out the window. You weren’t really interested in the love story that wasn’t likely to happen. After a while, Dorcas excused herself, saying something about going to find Marlene’s compartment.

“So, Y/N, do you have any plans for break?” Cora asked once the door slid shut.

“Mum and Dad are a bit pissed about my grades so probably studying? Bit dull, I know,” you said uninterested.

What else were you supposed to say? Your parents might host a party where you’ll get drunk and grounded for the rest of break? You weren’t traveling. You didn’t daydream about meeting some boy on the streets around your house. If you were lucky, your mum would take you shopping so you could get gifts for everyone. More likely than not, you’d spend most of the break in your house, doing nothing too exciting.

Cora frowned with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, what’s no fun. Bea, you should abduct her! Take her to Paris with you!”

Beatrice smiled. “Yeah! Oh, you’d love it! It’s beautiful and the food and the wine!”

“I’d be forever in your debt if you stole me away,” you replied teasingly, although you did want to stop her from ranting on and on about the wonders of Paris again. “I’ll be lucky if I get to leave my neighborhood. No way Mum’s letting me leave the country.”

“Evan and I’ll be home. You should come visit,” Pandora says. “Wouldn’t be leaving the country.”

You gave a haughty laugh at that. “Oh, please. Do we need to cover how my parents can be? My mum would say she never gets to see me and I see you all term. It’s no use.”

“That’s not very hopeful,” Pandora scolded.

“My home isn’t hopeful. It’s where hopes go to die.”

The air in the compartment seemed to thicken. It felt like you had revealed a part of your home life that you usually kept behind closed doors. You didn’t know what they expected though. You stole from just about every store you went into and from people you thought needed to be taught a lesson. You had an ability to get alcohol and hide it somewhere in Hogwarts. You got a few bad grades and now your entire break would likely be forced revisions with your father telling you that your grades are a reflection of your future income; he had been a top student in all of his muggle schools. He would tell you that he didn’t get to where he was by slacking off.

“Now that I think of it, I can’t say Evan will be around all of break,” Pandora mused out loud after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“Junior?” Cora asked.

“Junior,” she confirmed. “Ev never brings him around and I know they don’t go to Junior’s. Not actually sure where they go…”

“Don’t you have twin telepathy or something?” Beatrice asked.

The three girls laughed. You sat in silence, thinking about all the snide comments your parents would make. You were flexing your hands and cracking your knuckles unconsciously. Or maybe you did realize that you were doing it. It was somehow soothing. The repetitive pops from your fingers was a quiet symphony to you.

---

As you had predicted, being at home wasn’t a picnic. Your father gave a rant about grades and how important they were. Your mother said it was a blessing that Professor Slughorn didn’t drop you from his Slug Club. They insisted you revise everything that was covered in the semester. After the first two days back, however, the house was eerily quiet. You received and responded to letters from your room. You studied. You would reread spell books on the couch in the conservatory. Your mother would bring you the occasional cup of tea, but you knew it was more to check on your progress than an act of kindness.

“Y/N, come on! We need to get going!” your mum called up the stairs on Christmas Eve.

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom. It had been a while since you wore an actual dress. You wore skirts at school, but this was different. Your mother had picked it out, along with a pair of heels. It felt like a bit much. You looked through your jewelry box and frowned. Nothing looked like what you were picturing in your head to go with the dress. Then you remembered your school jewelry box that was at the bottom of your trunk. You dig it out and unlock it. You let out a small laugh as you hold up Williams’ necklace before putting it on. It looked perfect. You glance at Regulus’ ring. No. You relocked the box and grabbed a few rings from your normal jewelry collection.

You poked your head out of the door. “Mum! Can I borrow some earrings?”

You hear her sigh impatiently. “Yes, but be quick!”

You hurried into your parents’ room and took a quick look through her boxes. You grabbed the first pair of silver hoops that you could find. Then you met your mother by the front door.

“Oh, that’s a lovely bracelet. When’d you get that?”

You looked down at your wrist. It was the tennis bracelet from Madam Malkin’s.

“Not sure. Found it in my room over the summer,” you answered.

The two of you got into the car where your father was waiting for you.

“So, it’s Christmas Eve. I’m dressed up. You’re both very dressed up. Where are we going?” you asked from the back seat.

“You haven’t told her yet? No wonder she willingly got into the car,” you dad said, giving you a look in the reflection of the rearview mirror.

You did not like the sound of that.

“We are all going to the Ministry’s Christmas party,” your mother said shortly.

You let out a groan and threw your head back against the headrest. “I should’ve stayed at school!”

“Y/N…” your mother warned.

No one spoke for the rest of the drive. Your father put on music at some point to break up the silence. The Christmas party was for sucking up to some of the Ministry’s biggest donors and influences. It was stuffy and boring. None of your friends were ever there and the bartenders were determined to only serve those of age. Worst of all, you didn’t have a room you could easily retreat to to avoid it all.

When you arrived and your parents got out of the car, you stayed seated. You didn’t even unbuckle. Your mother opened your door and glared.

“Come on, Y/N/ Out.”

“No,” you said with a softness to your voice. “I’m good here. I’ll see you when it’s over.”

“Darling, listen to your mother. You’re coming in,” your father insisted.

He reached in and unbuckled you. You let out a noise of protest. Then he put his arm around you and forcibly removed you from your seat.

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop!”

Another couple arriving gave your family odd looks as they walked up to the building.

“You need to learn to carry yourself like a proper young lady or you’ll never get any respect,” your mother snapped at you. “That includes going to events you don’t want to be at. You must act respectable tonight. These are my employers!”

You rolled your eyes. “I think I’ll just burn high society to the ground.”

Your mother chose to ignore your comment. She led you and your father into the building, greeting her coworkers and the event workers politely. Your father walked slightly behind you to make sure that you didn’t make a run for it. Once inside and without coats, he took his wife’s arm and walked with her, leaving you to either follow them or make it on your own. You scanned the room. Like usual and as expected, you saw no one your age. You recognized a few people from your parents’ smaller parties. You sighed. Then you realized that you lost your parents in the crowd. Apparently, if you stop walking for a moment, they speed off without you, despite saying they would keep an eye on you to make sure you behaved. You spotted a bench just off to the side. That would be your spot for the evening, you thought. As you sat down, you tried to suppress the urge to bang your head against the wall.

“Orion and Walburga Black! Welcome!” you heard an event work say.

“You brought your sons, how lovely,” one of your mother’s coworkers said.

“Yes, they’re getting old enough to attend these events now,” a voice that must have been Walburga said.

“Turning into young gentlemen,” Orion added, pride in his voice.

“Welcome, Regulus and Sirius!” the event worker said.

That made you want to bang your head against the wall even more. You turned your head just in time to see the family walk forward. You could see them all exchanging words, but in hushed tones. You assumed the boys didn’t want to be here as much as you did. Then you saw both of them spot you at the same time. You pretended not to see them, leaning back on the bench and closing your eyes.

“I see a classmate,” Sirius said smoothly, his voice no longer hushed. “I’ll find you when it’s time to go.”

“Go with him,” Walburga instructed Regulus. “Keep him out of trouble.”

With your eyes shut, you didn’t see him nod and follow his brother toward you. They stood in front of you with their hands in their pockets. They stood there in silence for a moment as you kept your eyes shut. You knew they were standing there, but you hoped they would leave if you ignored them.

“Y/N,” Sirius said.

You opened your eyes slowly.

“Maybe I was asleep?” you suggested flatly, looking from one brother to the other. “Not buying it? Eh, worth an attempt.”

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asked coldly.

“Mum works for the Ministry. I’ve told you.”

Sirius gave his brother a sideways glance.

“Been to this event before?” he asked, sitting down on your left.

Regulus sat down on your right. You felt awkward and could feel yourself blushing. You would have endless questions from your mother if she managed to see you like this.

“Sadly, yes. I’ve managed to get out of a few, but, alas, not this year.”

“How… how long is it?” Regulus asked.

“Feels like twenty questions. You two have 17 left. But at least until 10. If they can’t get people to clear out, it goes longer.”

“What do we do?” Sirius asked.

“Sixteen,” you counted. “I usually do whatever I can do to pass the time. Rubbing elbows with Ministry members and who they consider as elite isn’t really my cup of tea.”

The ‘who they consider as elite’ made Regulus uncomfortable. You knew it would and it was only confirmed by him shifting in his seat. Sirius, however, seemed unfazed by it.

“Food? Drink?” Sirius questioned.

“Food is passed around on trays. Not horrible. Desserts are top tier. Drinks, you have to go through the bartenders at their stations.”

“Hm, that’s not going to do,” Sirius said, standing up. “Care to dance?”

He held out a hand to you. You just stared at it. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw the expression on Regulus’ face; it wasn’t pleasant. You took Sirius’ hand and he led you to the dance floor.

“Any reason we just left your brother on the bench?” you asked him, casting a quick glance back to were Regulus was still sitting.

The younger boy’s face was stoney. Sirius laughed as he took your waist. Automatically, your arms went around his neck. You swayed to the slow song that was playing.

“Oh, he’ll get over it. He would like to rub elbows with the Ministry-deemed elite. And from what I’ve heard, you and I, we’re cut from the same cloth.”

Rolling your eyes, you asked, “And what have you heard?”

“That you got Hog’s Head to serve you something other than butterbeer and then left after he found out you’re not pureblood.”

You scoffed. “Is that all? Because I’m sure as hell more than that.”

“Let me think,” he paused. “You’re the source of the drinks at Slytherin parties. You defended that Hufflepuff at the beginning of the year.”

Your hand came down to touch the necklace you stole because of that event.

“You’re not too bad at school, and people like you.”

“You have to be liked to be in the Slug Club,” you said, unimpressed.

The music changed to a waltz and you both changed how you were holding each other.

“I don’t think being in the Club is your entire goal.”

“It’s not. Getting out alive is.”

“Huh…” Sirius said with a chuckle. “Who’s trying to kill you at Hogwarts?”

“Well, no one right now. That’s the perk of being well-liked.”

“I suppose it would be. I also know that you’re pretty and I’ve told as much. I told you that before Reg even asked you out.”

“You were drunk out of your mind,” you reminded him. “I could smell the whiskey on you before you got in my personal space.”

Sirius laughed. “And what I wouldn’t give to be that drunk again. Gives a little extra confidence-”

“Not that you need it,” you cut him off.

“If there’s more to you than being a half blood, then there’s more to me than my confidence.”

You looked over where Regulus had been sitting. He was no longer there. You assumed he went to find his parents or talk up some higher up Ministry worker. You noticed that several people were watching you and Sirius as you traveled around the dance floor.

“Where did you learn to dance anyways?” you asked him.

“Mother had me ‘n’ Reg take private lessons over the past few summers. You?”

“I went to a few classes two summers ago. Mum wants me to be a well-rounded young lady,” you laughed. “She still won’t drop it.”

“You’re well rounded in some parts,” he leaned in to whisper.

“Oh fuck off!” you scoffed. “Don’t make me slap you when you were actually being tolerable.”

“What do you mean by actually being tolerable? I’m a constant delight.”

“Maybe to Potter and Lupin and Petticoat.”

“Pettigrew.”

“Whatever. You say you’re more than your confidence but then you showcase your ego that’s up your arse.”

“Like you don’t have an ego?”

“My ego is earned.”

Sirius laughed.

“Besides a handful of house points, what’s your ego for?”

“Being liked and being able to handle it.”

He rolled his eyes, causing you to glare at him. You couldn’t believe you were still dancing, but you couldn’t seem to let go of him.

“That doesn’t earn you an ego. There has to be something more. I can earn house points. People like me. I can handle it. What’s the difference between you and me?”

“I… I… I’m not obnoxious when I’m being myself,” you found yourself saying.

The song ended and you took the opportunity to let go of him. You hurried off the dance floor and disappeared into the sea of people. Sirius stood still in the middle of the dance floor, watching you run away from him. Part of him wanted to follow you and get a real answer for why you thought you were better than him. By the time he decided that he did want to go after you and reached the edge of the crowd, you were long gone. He sighed and pushed his way through people. He kept an eye out for Regulus or his parents. It felt right that he should be avoiding them; it’s not like he wanted to be associated with them anyways. Unless someone was saying ‘the Blacks’ son, the one that’s nothing like them.’

You saw Regulus talking to the head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Your mother complained about him a bit; he was a source of plenty of paperwork. They seemed deep in conversation, which made you smile. You did admire how he could put aside his feelings to get down to business. But, like Sirius said, you just weren’t cut from the same cloth. You could tolerate each other most of the time, but his stance on blood status was a real killer. You turned to walk in the opposite direction.

“It must be my birthday,” you muttered to yourself, smiling.

A full glass of wine was left unattended at a table. You casually walked over and picked it up. You took a sip and grimaced. It wasn’t your favorite nor a drink you would pick out for yourself in just about any other situation, but when you weren’t being served by the bartenders, you took what you could get. Holding the glass close to your chest, you walked away from the table and back towards the bench where you had originally been sitting. You involuntarily held your breath until you saw it. No Sirius nor Regulus nor your parents in sight. Coast was clear. You sat down and watched the people on the dance floor. When a song that required ballroom dancing or a waltz or something similar, it was amazing how many people flocked to the floor. If it was something more modern or something without well-known choreography, the floor emptied out more. You could tell that one group of younger employees were the interns your mother told you about. They joined the floor when the older songs ended and moderns stuff played, as they should, you thought.

“So, you found yourself a drink. Thought they didn’t serve underage people,” Sirius said, leaning against the wall next to your bench.

“Go away, Black. Didn’t you get the hint that I was done with you?”

“Ah, that’s the problem though. I wasn’t done talking to you and, well, I get what I want.”

You rolled your eyes and looked up at him. He had loosened his tie and his shirt was less tucked than it originally was.

“Fine,” you said curtly. “Talk. Can’t promise I’ll respond.”

He took a seat on your left, just like before, except this side, he was sitting sideways with his right leg propped up so he could rest his arm on his knee and be facing you. You returned your gaze to the dance floor.

“I want a real answer for why you’re better than me. Not obnoxious? Please.”

“I never said I was better than you. I said my ego was earned.”

“Same difference.”

“I don’t intentionally piss people off. I don’t purposefully make fools of people. I don’t step too far out of line.”

“You wore Regulus’ ring after things went south between you,” Sirius said.

Your breath hitched. You had to look at Sirius. How had he known? His grey eyes were boring holes into the side of your head so when you turned to look at him in surprise, he was already staring very deeply. A knowing smile appeared on his face when he saw your surprise.

“At a loss for words?”

You pressed your lips together as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“No,” you said coldly. You tried to steel your expression into something blank. “I just don’t recall which ring you’re talking about.”

A lie, but you didn’t know how much the brothers talked.

“Regulus give you more than one?”

“He never gave me a ring.” Not a lie.

“So you just happen to have a silver ring with emeralds in the same design as one my uncle gave Regulus, huh?”

“Apparently so.”

“And you just happen to have the same necklace that I’ve seen that seventh year wear?”

His eyes flicked down to your necklace and back up to your eyes. You frowned. There was no way Sirius knew. How could he know? Sure, the girls knew about your sticky fingers, but that was it. You studied Sirius’ handsome face instead of responding.

Then his expression changed.

“Oh. He never gave you that ring.”

Sirius was connecting the dots.

“He found out that you’re not pureblood and now you have that ring.” He paused and you swore you could see the gears turning in his head. “That girl nearly attacked a Hufflepuff and you have that necklace. And the bartenders aren’t serving you yet you have a wine glass…”

“What about it?” you asked, trying your best to keep your voice level as if that would somehow convince Sirius that he was wrong when he was absolutely correct.

“You fancy yourself a vigilante,” he said nonchalantly. He said it like an off-handed comment that meant nothing. His grin widened with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Told you we’re cut from the same cloth.”

You rolled your eyes before taking a sip from your glass. You swirled the liquid around. Part of you regretted responding to Sirius when he asked why you thought you were better than him. Now he knew too much. He took the glass out of your hand and had a sip himself. You snatched it back, giving him an annoyed look.

“Get your own,” you grumbled.

“Darling, you know I can’t. Unless you tell me where you got yours.”

You sighed, but maybe this would get him to leave you alone.

“Found it on a table. It’s the only way to do it around here.”

Sirius stood up and stretched dramatically. Then he held out his hand to you again.

“Help me find one.”

You lazily looked up at him with a confused look.

“It wasn’t a question, love.”

The look changed from confused to annoyed in a flash. He reached to grab your free hand and pulled you up.

“No need to be rough,” you snarled.

“Come on,” he said, his smile never leaving his face. “Hanging out with me? Helping me find my own drink? Gotta be better than sitting by yourself.”

You drained the glass before setting it down on the bench.

“Let’s find me another one too, then.”

You were conflicted with how you felt about Sirius never dropping your hand as he led you through the throngs of people. Whenever you got too close to his parents or Regulus, he pulled you in the other direction and you did the same when you got too close to your own parents.

“I’ll never hear the end of it if they see me with you,” you hissed at him, earning a hearty laugh from him.

“They can recognize a Black from a singular glance?”

“No. You’re just a boy.”

After a few circles of the tables, you both had collected new drinks. Sirius had yet to drop your hand. He pulled you back toward the bench where all of this had begun, but then he kept walking. He turned down a hallway and through a door; you were dragged with him. He certainly had an iron grip. After going down another hallway, he opened another door.

“Perfect,” he said as he let your hand go at last.

You followed him into the room. It looked like a normal conference room. There was a long table down the middle of the room with chairs along its edges and a podium at the front of the room. Sirius took a seat and gestured to the chair next to him. You wordlessly sat in it. It didn’t take Sirius long to become comfortable; he rested his feet on the table as he leaned back in his chair. You, being in a dress and heels, kept your feet on the ground, although they were outstretched in front of you and crossed at the ankles.

“Did you just… assume there was a room somewhere?” you asked.

“Every good host knows to have rooms where people can disappear to,” he said, throwing his head backwards to shake out his hair. And then he ran a hand through it. “And, believe it or not, the Ministry has to be a good host.”

“I think there are different definitions of good host, Black,” you said.

You were about to go into a tangent about how your parents locked the spare room and their bedroom for parties. If someone needed a lay down, they would have to find your parents or risk being found in the kid’s room. However, you didn’t feel like explaining about all the parties your parents hosted to another Black. Having done so with Regulus was enough and that was on a date. This was… survival? You were doing whatever you could to pass the time. You looked around the room and decided that staying on the bench might have been a better idea. At least then you’d have something to entertain you.

“What’s with the sour look?” Sirius asked.

You frowned. “Nothing to be entertained by in here.”

He laughed. “Babe, I’m right here!”

“Do not. Call me. Babe.”

“Ooh, struck a nerve, did I?”

You made to stand up but Sirius stuck his arm out, stopping you.

“Sorry. Won’t call you that again. Just trying to have fun.”

You rolled your eyes and adjusted in your seat.

“So tell me ‘bout yourself.”

“Why?”

“To make conversation with the lovely girl in front of me?”

You shot him a disbelieving look.

“To pass the time?” he offered.

“You could tell me about you instead. You love attention, don’t you? Love talking about yourself?”

Your voice was teasing but Sirius knew you meant to be insulting.

“Tell me about this date you went on with little ickle Reggie. I only get so much from the rumors that go ‘round the castle, you know.”

You gave a soft laugh with a shake of your head. This guy. You lightly scratched your forehead.

“Uh, sure. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble. “There were two, actually. Watched a quidditch match and then explored the Hogwarts wall.”

You paused and looked at Sirius. You were surprised to see that he was staring at you, rather than literally anywhere else in the room or out the windows. He doesn’t say anything, but he gave you a smile to encourage you to go on.

“Then we went to Hogsmeade together. And it was going fine. Went to the Hog’s Head and just talked. It was fine. Until blood status came up and he told me to get off my soap box because I’m a pureblood so obviously I can’t talk. And I had to correct him, because I’m not. And he got quiet. You could tell… I could tell it was going to be an issue so I paid and left.”

The room filled with quiet as you stopped talking.

“And then you got yourself a pretty little ring.”

You exhaled loudly through your nose.

“Yeah. I got myself a pretty little ring. Happy to know that about me?”

“It’s an interesting tidbit, that’s for sure. You know, I have a matching ring. Red for Gryffindor though.”

“Great, so I’ll throw mine into the Thames next change I get.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “You’ll throw Regulus’.”

“It’s mine now. I don’t give things back.”

“Then why bother throwing it?”

“Because you have a matching one.”

“It’s not like anyone would know.”

“I’d know and that’s enough.”

The room got quiet again. You swirled your drink round and round in your glass. You were nursing it because you knew the moment you finished it, you’d want to leave the room to get another. Leaving the room wasn’t really the bad part. It was the likelihood that Sirius would follow you out. You stared at your drink in between sips. Sirius really had picked a boring room.

Because you were so focused on your glass and refusing to look anywhere else, Sirius stared at you unnoticed. It was almost like back at school. Only this time, he had an advantage. He was close to you. He could see the freckles on your arms. He could see the few loose strands of hair that were falling from your updo. He could see the eyeshadow you had on for the party. He could see your lipstick fading a little bit more with every sip you took and every time you moistened your lips.

After a while, Sirius chuckled. A thought had occurred to him and he was about to share it with you.

“You know, I-” he started to say before the room’s door swung open.

Both of you turned to see who it was.

“There you are,” Regulus’ cold voice rang through the room. It wasn’t a yell but the emptiness of the room made it bolder than it really was.

Sirius groaned as his brother entered the room and took a seat a few chairs down from you.

“Tired of the Ministry elite?” Sirius asked, his voice suddenly colder compared to when he was talking to just you.

“Mum told me to keep an eye on you,” he answered monotonously. “Saw you come this way and you didn’t come back.”

“Mummy’s little pet, aren’t you?”

“Wait,” you said, sitting up straighter. You suddenly remembered hearing at some point that Sirius had run away over the summer. “Why are you even here?”

Your question was pointed at Sirius, but neither boy spoke.

“You’re living with the Potters now, aren’t you? Why the hell are you here?”

Regulus laughed. It was colder, harsher than you recalled.

“The dumbass forgot something in his room. He came back to get it and well, Mother has a way with persuasion.”

You looked from boy to boy. Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was probably the first time you saw him uncertain and almost squeamish. His body language wasn’t the confident boy you were becoming acquainted with, but he glared daggers at Regulus in an oh-so-familiar way. Regulus’ expression was slightly amused. You felt the need to break up the silence that was building between the boys.

“Something important enough to go back for, but not enough to have been packed the first time,” you said with no real purpose.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“What was it? I didn’t hear,” Regulus said. He sounded so casual in comparison to Sirius.

“It… it doesn’t matter. I have it now and once we leave, I’m going back to the Potters.”

The room filled with thick silence again. You returned your gaze to your cup. With a Black brother on each side, you felt like you were sitting in the middle of a war zone. You only sort of knew what the war was about, which made it all that much worse. How do you defuse a bomb when you only know one of the wires?

You’re not sure how much time passes between the last time anyone spoke and when you finish your glass. When you place it on the table in front of you, Regulus stands up and gives Sirius a stoic look.

“We better find Mother and Father.” A trained formality took over his way of speaking, as if preparing to talk to the adults again rather than peers. “Then you can go back to your family.” Bitter venom dripped off the last word.

Sirius nodded and stood up. He followed Regulus out of the room and you were left alone in the room. You sighed. But then the door opened again.

“I thought you were leaving?” you said, looking up at Sirius as he walked back into the room.

He closed the door behind with extreme care to ensure that it didn’t make any noise.

“Regulus doesn’t know you stopped following him, does he?”

“There’s something I need to say first.”

He had thought about it. He wasn’t going to say what he had intended when Regulus joined them without invitation. He needed you to know something else.

“Okay, so say it,” you said, waving your hand in the air to say ‘go on, get it out.’

“I really do think you’re pretty. And you probably are better than me, earning that ego of yours. And that takes a lot for a person to do. But you did get immediately between the seventh year and the Hufflepuff. You did it before anyone else really knew what was going on. I didn’t know that you were the one Regulus liked right away, but once I did, I started to look for what he saw in you. And I found it. I see it. And that’s why I can’t leave just yet.”

Your eyes went wide as he approached you and put a hand under your chin. Then he leaned down to kiss you. It was sweet. Soft. Momentary. Then he straightened and headed back toward the door. He opened it and paused, looking back at you.

“Think about me,” he said before leaving to find Regulus and his parents.

You just sat there. A dumbfounded look was etched into your features at what had just happened. You needed to process it. You didn’t understand how you went from two dates with Regulus months ago to a kiss with Sirius. You thought about what Sirius had said. That he looked for what Regulus saw in you and then he found it. So they had talked about you, or at least about a girl Regulus liked, and then Sirius put two and two together. You also wanted to know what he left behind and went back for, and what their mother had said to Sirius to persuade him to attend this event with them.

tags: @nsr-15, @kabekusa, @made-for-oliverwood, @sunflowerscloudydays, @salvatt1, @sammyreid, @ravisinghs-wife, @petrificustottally

Hit the point where I need a masterlist for the series - woot woot

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff

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mythicmanuscripts · 15 hours ago

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The first time Aemond realizes his political marriage could be more than that. Reader and him are in the gardens or library just passing time and they seem genuinely interested in what his favorite flowers, books, and things to do are.

This is such a good idea!! I love this.

Nothing NSFW or explicit here so no cut, enjoy!

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

Aemond had always known that one day his parents would make a match for him and he would be forced into that political marriage as part of his duties to his family. Of course he knew this, but that didnt mean that he wasn't unhappy about it. When the day finally came and he was told a match had been made, he just sort of shrugged and asked when the wedding would be.

He was determined to hate you from the very start. He denied all requests to meet you beforehand, wouldnt even answer any letters you sent him. He knew his duty was to marry you and father children and he would do that, but he was determined to not do anything more than that.

This proved to be so much more challenging than he thought. He wasn't expecting you to be kind to him, and he certainly wasn't expecting you to go out of your way to respect his boundaries. That was the first thing that made him pause and reconsider things. He had always thought marriage and intimacy would be akin to what happened to him at the brothel all those years ago. He had assumed his wife would just start it, remove his clothes, tell him what to do, leave the room after and then wait a few weeks to see if an heir had been made. If not, the whole thing would have to happen again.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him the first time you showed this unconditional respect and care. He had finally had too much of his mother's demands that he do his duty and so he had you summoned to your marriage chambers, that neither of you actually stay in at this point. You know why he's called you at first, but even so you decide to take things slowly. You cupped his cheek, and then raised your other hand to his face. Aemond was about to recoil, thinking you were about to remove his eyepatch, but then instead you actually fix his eyepatch? You gently unwind the hair that got stuck on the rope of the eyepatch and then pulled it down slightly to fit better around his head, ensuring it wouldnt fall off.

Aemond is speechless. He just stands there in shock, trying to process how you just did something so kind for him without a second thought?

Of course that instant isn't enough for Aemond to change his mind about your marriage just yet, but it's the moment Aemond first considered that you might be different than he expected.

The next time he sees this is a few days later when you're being having to endure some fancy dinner with some rich and utterly insufferable lords to ensure they keep their oaths to the king. You were originally supposed to sit opposite Aemond at the table, but you moved before anyone else arrived and sat down next to him instead. He's confused at first, until one of the lords starts telling a story about his hunting escapades and you lean towards him a bit more, whispering in his ear that there's no way this lord has killed a single animal, nevermind the insane deeds he's going on and on about.

You can see the way the corner's of Aemond's mouth tilt up ever so slightly to form a small, amused smile that he has to try and hide from the lord who still hasn't shut up. The comments slow easily from there, whispering to each other or making gestures only the other could see. Aemond couldnt remember s single thing about the dinner or the plans made by the end of it. He was far too busy whispering to you and listening to your comments.

(Later on, after you have been together for a long time, that whispering to each other so soft you can barely hear a sound becomes something you and him are known for.)

It's after that that he has to begrudgingly accept that you might not be the awful bride he had imagined. At its very best he was hoping for a wife that didnt make his life hell. He in no way expected even the possibility of someone who actually seems to understand him and enjoy his company? For a few weeks he's constantly trying to reel himself back, try to keep up the cold act with you but it was failing quickly.

Interestingly enough, the thing that throws him over the edge is actually overhearing you speak to others? Aemond had been on his own for so long, for his entire life really. Not literally of course, but he was never treated like the other children. He was never given the same care and safety as everyone else. He had just assumed you would be more on his mother's wife than his.

One day he's walking in the castle and hears your voice, then more specifically hears your voice saying his name. He stays hidden against the wall just before the doorway and listens to the rest of the conversation. He's speechless when he hears you tell off someone, reminding them that Aemond is your husband and you will never, ever betray him. He doesn't know what he did to get this loyalty. If he was being completely honest he's ben a useless, lousy husband for the entire duration of his marriage thus far and yet there you are, still defending him despite it all.

Once Aemond realises he may have found confidant in you, then the entire dynamic changes. Everything about how you speak to and about him help him realise that he may finally have someone on his eyes.

The two of you start to have dinner alone most nights in your shared chambers. You're supposed to have dinner, try for an heir and then both go off to your respective private quarters for sleep, but none of that follows dinner for a long time. Instead, you ask Aemond about his day and offer advice and quips alongside letting him complain and rant in a place where he knows his words won't be used against him.

He's never had a bond like that, never had someone he immediately thought of whenever something happened and he wanted to talk about it or complain about it. It stops being about politics after that.

(Sidenote: i do think there could be some angst when Aemond realises he wants more of a true partnership because there will inevitability be a rough period where he wants do desperately to be with you more but also thinks you still just consider the marriage one of politics)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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ninguitar · 1 day ago

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　　that you were ──── right　꣑꣒　infrunami .

LOVE ON A WIRE.　 ❛ megan has never, ever wanted anything as bad in her life, until you—an underground singer and songwriter, is unemployed, and the textbook definition of a loser—stroll into her heart and her life. matter of fact, what happens when she accidentally replies to your thirst-traps that were a rebounding joke after a rough break-up, on twitter, and on the katseye account? ❜

A/N　for the lore, the aespa, le ssera, txt, & piwon members reside in california !

PROFILES. xXunicornlovers123Xx

YN　୨ৎ　strapsoldier123 & megavapehitter1

the epitome of the phrase loser university student; could never for the life of her shut up about beabadoobee even if she was held at gunpoint; uses her busted guitar from a garage sale to make music on the side; swears she'll be employed one day, but no job execs have emailed back to her applications and interviews; chose law for uc berkeley for no reason and somehow got in; and has worked with major labels on songs.

KIM CHAEWON　୨ৎ　_chaechae_1 & wonmorebeerpls

member of le sserafim; her dog is as much as a menace as she is; always attached to yunjin's hip no matter what; could probably get a world guiness record for how quickly she knocks out; met yn while working with her on a b-side for le sserafim; her favorite past time is using her dog as a threat towards the rest; and even amidst her busy schedule promoting, she's always found crashing at yn's dorm, even having her own electronic key for it.

HUH "JENNIFER" YUNJIN　୨ৎ　jenaissante & huhyunjinator17

member of le sserafim; met yn in highschool & knew her through all of her crashouts; never shuts up about any pretty girl near her—it's like she has a radar for seeing the most jaw-dropping gorgeous girls, and alarm bells ring in her head; n1 yn supporter & has always promoted her songs; has gotten in so much pr trouble from simply retweeting her friends' posts with strings of curse words included; resident hater—find her always hating on the rest; and tries her best to curb the rest's delusions.

AERI "GISELLE" UCHINAGA　୨ৎ　aerichandesu & aeriselle

member of aespa; somehow naturally became the parent of the group & runs it like the navy; lives to humble the rest—mainly yn & intak; n1 elon musk hater alongside yn; is a roblox kid & has been banned multiple times on it; has somehow sneaked into parties with yn without getting caught and crowded by random fans; and for some reason is always caught with her phone, taking pictures of herself every second—but hey, she's js on that grind !

CHOI SOOBIN　୨ৎ　page.soobin & iheartgojo1205

member of tomorrow x together; always finds a way to include his glorious king gojo in any convo—need to find him? tell him gojo's with you; gives the most gut-wrenching, worst show/movie recs ever; used to tutor kids with yn before they both graduated highschool; yn's prime distraction whenever she needs to lock in for uni; and always makes one of the girls take pictures for his instagram, only because intak sucks at his angles.

HWANG IN-TAK　୨ৎ　hwangtak & tiktak

member of p1harmony; met yn and then the rest thru mutual connections, mainly keeho; the only compliment he gives is "so tuff"; his bedroom is FILLED with minecraft posters from his other members; has had fratboy accusations up his ass since he was probably a teen; and takes his skincare SO seriously—on an average, he probably takes more than half an hour to do it, and is always late to hangouts.

𝓽aglist (open) , comment here to be added !! :

@sed7ction @1luvkarina @ssamlovr @goofymickeyr @yeetaberry127 @urmom2314 @meganskiendielsbtc @fruityg0rl @fearnotfearmore @justtluvrr @meiyaes @sixflame438 @arihiu @vrtualstar @grahstumhurts @artrizzler19 @namojoon @saysirhc @gtfoiydlyj @catdonut657 @inybits @vivilvr @c-yerim @meizinisnumberone @blue-kye @linnnsworld @k31k0w @hazel-tanthamore22 @raviolisupremacy @cassiespoiler @weirdossclub @sunshinez4

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casino-lights · 13 hours ago

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so illario was in the final battle

and this was supposed to be a drabble, but I cannot be trusted to write Illario and Lidia succinctly. TW for a semi graphic description of wounds - I can't tell if it's not really that bad or if I just think the human body is neat so I'm marking that down anyway. no death or descriptions of the wounds being inflicted, though; this is fully set post-battle. the endgame spoilers are fairly mild though - just the location of the final fight.

if you saw my WIP Wednesday, this is what that snippet was from! I hope you enjoy it as much as these two enjoy arguing with each other. thank you for reading!

The dried blood matting half of Lidia’s bangs down against her split scalp didn’t bother her nearly as much as it bothered Teia. She fussed over her gently, blotting a damp rag against Lidia’s head and tutting like a disappointed mother.

“This is what happens,” she scolded between soft pats. “You always run ahead, and you always draw attention, and you always get yourself hurt.”

Absentmindedly, Lidia replied, “I usually work alone.”

“Yes, and this is why.”

“Mm.” The only sign she felt pain was a series of rapid blinks when Teia pressed against a particularly painful cut.

“If you would stop looking around, I’d be done faster.”

Lidia turned her head back toward Teia. “Is it still bleeding?”

“Not that I can see.”

She rose to her feet and brushed the dust of fallen Minrathous buildings off her thighs. “Then I’ll live.”

Teia gave up quickly. She was no one’s parent, no matter how much she cared. “Suit yourself. But Lidia?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve done immensely well. Not just here - since Lucanis’ return as well. House Dellamorte is lucky to have you.”

She smiled thinly. “We’re all just Crows today, Teia.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Speaking of Lucanis…”

Teia nodded her head in the direction of the raucous cheering and the gathered crowd surrounding a few figures climbing down from the rooftop where the final confrontation had taken place. They both saw the flash of a purple jacket at the same time, and a wave of relief washed over them as they shared a look.

“Vi is back a ways, checking the fallen for ours so we can arrange the funerals,” Teia continued softly. “Since you’re upright, could you see to them as well?”

“Of course. Tell Lucanis not to worry about us and just take care of himself if you get a chance to talk to him.”

Teia nodded, and Lidia turned away. She hugged her cape around herself like a blanket as she snaked her way through what was left of the Minrathous streets, hopping over and ducking under various bits of debris that cluttered the city. She caught a few of her fellow Crows out of the corners of her eyes as she passed - most bloodied, bruised, and limping, but alive - and they all shared reassuring smiles with her once they noticed her. We lived, said their grins. We won, and we lived.

She saw Viago leaning against a mostly-intact building, heaving a deep sigh, and she called out to him. He lifted his eyes to her as she approached, but his lips were pulled down into a scowl.

Quietly, Lidia asked, “Is it that bad?”

“We lost just over twenty,” he answered, voice low and solemn. “Not as many as I expected, but… less than ideal. Most were fledgelings, but there’s a small handful of master assassins.”

She felt a selfish desire to ask anyone I know? but stifled it. “Do you need anything? A hand with the bodies? A cart?”

“A cart,” he agreed with a nod. “Though I don’t know if we could get one to the eluvian with the state of Minrathous. We might have to carry them through on stretchers.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. “Which means we’d need able-bodied volunteers, a relatively clear path back to the mirror, enough stretchers to make for less back-and-forth, a cart waiting in the Crossroads…”

“Maybe we can ask Lucanis if he knows a clearer route?” Lidia suggested softly.

He blinked, then sighed with relief. “You saw him?”

“Teia and I. He looks alright. Reasonably unharmed.”

He nodded again, more slowly this time. “It's nice to have some good news, at least.”

Lidia looked past Viago, into the building, and saw rows and rows of white linens draped over bodies. A cold, sick feeling gawed at her stomach as she counted them, and she wondered how many more would succumb to their injuries or simply hadn’t yet been found.

Another fear gripped her, too. She scanned the bodies again, making note of the taller ones. From the shoes she could see, none looked more distinctive than the regular steel-tipped Crow boots. Though some were burned beyond recognition. She felt guilty, searching for just one body among the two dozen lying before her, and guiltier still that she was looking for him at all.

But she hadn’t seen him with the other Crows. He should have been with Teia, or Lucanis, or even here pestering Viago endlessly. She shouldn’t care. He didn’t deserve it. But she asked anyway.

“Viago–”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“No, but you have that look on your face.” Viago sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know where Illario is. Teia saw him last.”

Lidia frowned. “She didn’t mention anything to me, and I was just with her.”

He pulled a hand down his face before pausing to smooth down his beard. “I did not see him among the dead, if that’s what you’re asking, but I have no idea where else he would be right now.”

“Well, he isn’t with Teia, and he isn’t with Lucanis, where he was supposed to be.”

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a pair of Crows carrying the mangled corpse of one of their fellows into the building. Viago sighed again and raked his fingers back through his hair.

“Dammit. One of Teia’s fledgelings.”

Lidia looked back at him, horrified. “I thought you told them not to come!”

“We did,” he answered, voice pained and eyes closed. “But you of all people should know that doesn’t stop them from wanting to prove themselves.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steeling himself to write another name on his list. After a moment of silence and a nod at the two Crows as they left the building, he sighed again and said, “Go home, Lidia. We’ve been sending the ones who can walk back to the Diamond for now to care for the ones who can’t.”

“Teia told me to help you.”

“And you can help me by going home,” Viago snapped. “And tell them to put a cart in the Crossroads. And station some people with it in case we need them to carry stretchers through the streets.”

She frowned, but gave a single nod of understanding before turning away. They were all Crows today. And she knew better than to question an order from a Talon.

She was welcomed by the warmth of Trevisan air once the cool, watery feeling of the eluvian faded. For just a moment, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, drinking in the flurry of scents that always filled the Cantori Diamond. The smells of spices, wine, and smoke wafted up from the casino floor, but the familiar chatter and laughter was replaced by eerie quiet, broken up only by the occasional groan or cry of pain.

Lidia’s eyes darted toward a flash of purple and she called out, stopping Chance in his tracks. He leaned back, peering at her curiously from around the corner, but smiled warmly as she approached.

“Lidia! You made it back.” He touched her shoulder gently before bowing with a flourish. “Welcome home, my lady.”

She returned the expression as best she could despite her headache and festering worry. “Thank you. The Fifth Talon would like a cart prepared in the Crossroads outside the Minrathous eluvian along with some strong, uninjured Crows who can carry bodies back on stretchers if need be.”

“It will be done. Any other requests?”

She glanced around, but saw no one else nearby. “I heard some of our wounded came through. Where are they now?”

“Using the card tables as extra beds,” he answered before frowning as he smoothed his moustache. “We’ve already lost three, and one more seems to be on his way out. The healers who stayed are all busy, and everyone else went to Minrathous. It’s… going to get better soon. I’m certain. Your arrival can only herald better tidings.”

Again, Lidia bit her tongue to keep herself from asking if the dead were known to her. Instead, she simply nodded to signal her understanding and left.

As she descended the many flights of stairs separating the rafters from the casino floor, her brow furrowed as her concern compounded on itself. Every step felt heavier as she ran over the names and faces of her favorite Crows in her mind. Lucanis, Teia, Viago, and Chance were safe. Jacobus stayed behind in Treviso after Lidia begged him to - their argument consisted of shouting and frustrated tears, but ended with several forehead kisses and a warm, loving hug once he finally agreed to stay. But the others? Heir, Dolores, Cazi, Valerian?

Illario?

She hated herself for worrying about him the most. He had not earned back that space in her head, and yet he’d stolen it again. He occupied her thoughts in various stages of injury, and images of him maimed or charred or exsanguinated flashed through her mind. With everything he put her through, everything he lied about, she knew she should be savoring the idea of him dead somewhere in Minrathous. But it haunted her, the thought of never seeing him again. It ached like a stone with sharp edges lodged in her chest.

I should’ve left Treviso entirely, she thought bitterly as she rounded the corner of the final stairwell.

The floor of the Diamond opened up before her, and she sighed at the state of it. About half of the card tables had wounded Crows perched on them - several with especially nasty-looking injuries - and a corner of the room was sectioned off with makeshift dividers. A few trails of blood - droplets, drag marks, or both - meandered off toward different tables. It would take days to get this place functional again.

Overlapping voices from various healers and patients filled the room. Most were voices she recognized, and she felt a wave of relief as they registered one by one. And as one of them filtered in, her head turned immediately toward the sound.

“I know, quite heroic,” said Illario with a soft groan. “Maybe someday the heroism will outweigh the stupidity.”

Lidia spotted him on a table, shirtless and wrapped in bandages, with his hair swept over one shoulder and a healer tending to his right side. He moved sluggishly and only when told, but his posture was still straight and his voice was still clear. He looked… decent.

She chided herself again for being so worried. Of course Illario was fine. Of course he made it with only minor injuries. Why wouldn’t he? He always had demonic luck. Why worry about him, Illario the traitor, Illario the liar, Illario the cheater, heartbreaker, manipulator–

“Lidia?”

She looked back at him at the sound of his voice, realizing her fingernails were starting to dig into her palms. She grabbed a stray coin off an empty card table and turned it over a few times in her hand as she made her way toward Illario.

He smiled at her approach, winced as he turned too far, and gave a slightly smaller and surprisingly sheepish grin when she reached his side. “Stay right there,” he said, holding out his unbandaged arm. “That’s always been my good side.”

Lidia rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t possibly say hello, or ask me how I am, or ask after Lucanis, could you? Do you even care?”

“I–” He hissed sharply and cursed as the healer pried something off his skin with a sticky sound. He leaned forward at the same time Lidia did, blocking her view of whatever was removed from him, and flashed another forced half-smile. “Of course I care, but I trust your delightful bluntness. I’m certain you would have told me the second you saw me if he was dead. I’m also certain you would look like you’ve been crying.”

She scowled and crossed her arms, angrily spinning the coin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re a bastard.”

“I’m not, strictly speaking, but I never did get to know my father as well as I would have liked, so I’ll give you–” He cut himself off with another wince as the healer removed another piece from him. Once more, Lidia leaned forward to look, and once more, Illario intercepted her, this time by reaching for her arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, pulling away from him.

He let his hand fall back to the table. “If there’s one thing I can say about you, it’s that you never gave me mixed signals. I always know exactly where I stand. I love this about you - have I mentioned that?”

“You have. A pity I can’t say the same about you.”

Before he could respond, his head surged backwards and he let out a pained cry as the healer unwound one of the bandages on his arm.

“Apologies,” the healer muttered, “but now that the debriding is done, I need to replace these compresses and apply the rest.”

“Sure,” Illario groaned through his teeth. “You’re the expert.”

Lidia took her opportunity and shifted her stance to see the extent of his injuries. She couldn’t stifle a small gasp, which seemed to hurt him more than anything else.

A splotchy pink burn blossomed across most of his right forearm and about half his bicep, and it continued across the corresponding side of his torso. For the briefest of seconds, he turned his head to look at her fully, eyes wide and pleading, as he inadvertently revealed the connecting burn across the right side of his jawline and down his neck. The moment passed, and he lowered his face and sighed quietly.

Raw, red, sticky-looking flesh was visible in a few places, and as the healer set a small bowl on the table to free his hands, Lidia finally saw its contents: a small pile of dead, mottled tissue. How long had Illario been here, having his skin peeled off piece by blistered piece? Most of the burns looked deep enough to go past the pain, but in some places they were angry and crimson, shining as if wet.

The healer covered them one by one with bandages soaked in a healing solution as Illario tried to be still. “I told you that was my good side,” he muttered, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Lidia tucked the coin into her pocket and hoisted herself up onto the table beside him, legs kicking off the edge. “So… what happened?”

His eyes fell to the uninjured hand he had resting in his lap. “Magefire.” His voice sounded low, unenthusiastic - a far cry from the initial charm he laid on so thickly. “But this lovely gentleman here–” he motioned lightly toward the healer– “has assured me the wounds are not fatal. Just scarring. You’re crushed, I’m sure.”

Her headache throbbed dully, reminding her not to take his bait tonight. Instead, she said, “I’m just surprised you got hit at all. You’ve always been the luckiest bastard in Antiva.”

“Well, this time, I left Antiva.”

“Which you have done before, and you know what I meant anyway, idiot.”

He shrugged with his good arm, still refusing to meet her eyes. “Lucanis and I were cornered, and I stood in front of him. Foolish thing to do, I know. But I suppose I was trying to make up for something he would probably tell me not to worry about anyway. He was fine last time I saw him, if you’re concerned.”

“I’m not. Unless he tripped over something during his victory march, he’s alive and well…” She trailed off as she looked him over again. His right arm injured, mostly on the outside; his right side burnt while the left half of his body remained untouched; only the lower right corner of his jaw and cheek scorched… he shoved Lucanis behind him with his left arm and shielded his eyes with his right.

“Then I’m sure he’ll give me a stern talking-to for trying to protect him in the first place,” Illario said wearily, finally glancing up to her. “Who knows, maybe all I really achieved was making the First Talon look weak in front of the others.”

“Or making yourself look even more pathetic.”

“Which would just be impressive at this rate, no?” He breathed a soft, humorless laugh. “Illario Dellamorte, the Crow who lost all his dignity in record time. They’ll sing about my failures someday.”

As the healer left to attend to another patient, Lidia touched Illario’s leg, the weight of her hand pleasant and warm on his shin. “If nothing else, it was brave.”

He gave an indecisive tilt of his head. “It was also stupid.”

“More than one thing can be true.”

He gave a wan smile. “Lucanis probably would have been fine if he hadn’t been babysitting me in the first place.”

“Knowing him, he fought harder with you next to him.”

He studied her face, his eyes searching hers for a moment. “You’ve blood on you,” he said, nodding toward her hairline. “Your own?”

“I’m alright.”

“That’s not the answer to my question.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is mine, but I’m still alright.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Venatori.”

When she did not continue, he deadpanned, “The picture you’ve painted so far is vivid.”

“Don’t vex me, Illario.”

“Am I not allowed to ask for details? To be concerned for you?”

She glared at him. “Now you’re concerned about me?”

“One concussion makes another more likely,” he reminded her in that insufferably knowing tone of his. “And I would hate for my hard work in facilitating your recovery from that first one to go to waste.”

“Yes, but whose fault was my first concussion?”

Indignantly, he flattened his hand against his chest. “I accept no responsibility for the actions of previous targets.”

“But said previous target would have been asleep if it wasn’t for you playing hero.”

“Must we always revisit that night?”

“You brought it up!” Her head ached as she raised her voice, and she massaged her tender scalp gently as she closed her eyes.

His teasing smirk faded to a soft frown, but he replaced it with a subtle smile before joking, “And here I had hoped you would be kinder to me now that you’ve seen the extent of my injuries.”

“Not a chance. My skin is still crawling from being this close to you,” she answered while making no attempt to move farther away.

He arched a brow smugly. “Well, I suppose, as you said, more than one thing can be true.”

“I am… glad… you made it,” she managed reluctantly. “I was looking for you among our dead.”

“Hoping to see me with my skull split, were you?”

Her hand slid up and his uninjured one met her halfway. They locked gently at his side. “You would deserve it, but… no. I was hoping I wouldn’t see your boots.”

“Oh? And I would have thought you’d only know me by my gloves.”

I would know any part of you, her mind brought forth. She blanketed the thought and tucked it away to be scolded later.

“I suppose I’ll be escorted back to the villa and left there to recover,” Illario mused aloud when she didn’t answer his quip. “I wonder if it’ll be too much to ask for Caterina to let me stay in my own room again. And I’m sure Viago will be just as thrilled as you are that I survived.”

“He’s busy. I’ll take you.”

He sighed fondly - if a touch sadly - and stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Do you remember the last time you took my care upon yourself? I don’t suppose you’ll be making me pastina this time.”

Lucanis’ wake. She made a hot meal every day and shared it with Illario in silence as they sat in his bed and he stared into the fireplace. At the time, she had no way of knowing that his grief was doubled by guilt and only compounded by her kindness. She did not regret it, not even now, and that frustrated her more than anything else.

She hopped off the table and pulled lightly on his arm. “On your feet, Dellamorte. Come on.”

He swung his legs over the side of the table and winced. “Where are we going?”

“Home. I’m not letting you take up space in the Diamond when others may need it more.”

“I won’t argue with the promise of a more comfortable seat,” he responded with a grimace as he rose to his feet. Looking down at their hands, still entwined between them, he added, “Though we could stop for coffee on the way…”

“The owners of Café Pietra could be lying under rubble in Minrathous right now.”

“...So, no?”

“No.”

She pulled him out the Diamond’s front door and they started the long walk back to Villa Dellamorte. Out of habit, Illario walked at her side so she was safely between him and the buildings. She pretended not to notice, but heat rose in her cheeks all the same.

At a side street, she directed him to turn, and when he gave her that quizzical where are you taking me look, she explained, “We have to stop at the market.”

“For what?”

“Pastina, idiot,” she said pointedly, as if it should have been obvious.

He smiled and leaned against her, further entangling their arms. “I don’t deserve you, cara mia.”

She glared at him sideways. “No, you don’t. And don’t call me that. Lucanis would be cross with me if I let his brother starve, that’s all this is.”

Neither of them knew if that really was the extent of it. But for once, he neither questioned nor corrected her.

She held his hand the whole way home, and they sat in silence as they shared a bowl of pastina on his bed. For a night, that could be enough.

#dragon age: the veilguard #datv fic #illario dellamorte #illarook #illario x oc #i guess i should probably start tagging this stuff as that instead of illarook since lidia has never been rook but it was for consistency o #anyway i hope you like this if you read all of it <3 #oc: lidia valisti #datv spoilers #tw: injury #gracewrites #x: how easy you are to need #i am writing very much out of order #but i do also want to write that job they briefly mentioned so maybe i'll get around to that now that this is done #even though i still have to finish the false contract

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