#I mean…there are a few I don’t actually like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mcrdvcks · 20 hours ago

Text

7 minutes

chapter summary: You own a small bakery in Westchester. One day, Logan comes in for an order for the X-Mansion. After that he becomes a regular—something he persistently denies.

word count: 9.5k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm a sucker for baker!reader and logan. though this version of reader is a little bit more extroverted and less 'innocent' than the other baker!reader's i've seen. anyways, this is my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt and @lubdubology's valentine's writing challenge!

i'm not a valentine's girly, maybe because i just find it to be a commercial holiday with no meaning (or maybe because i'm 20 and my only valentine has been my dogs) but i hate chocolate and the holiday so...

warnings/tags: baker!reader, fluff, wrote this with x2 logan in mind, but you can imagine any logan, not proofread

Anytime the X-Mansion had a special occasion, they got baked goods from your bakery—a small shop in Westchester.

The first time Logan met you was by accident, or rather an order given to him by Jean. “It’s Rogue’s birthday. You don’t want her to miss out on havin’ a cake, do ya?”

Logan grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He wasn’t in the mood for errands, but Jean had a way of making things sound like a guilt trip, and he wasn’t about to deal with that all day. So, here he was, pushing open the door to some small bakery he’d never been to before. The smell of sugar and vanilla hit him immediately, warm and inviting, but he didn’t care about that—he just wanted to get the cake and get out.

The place wasn’t busy, just a couple of customers sitting at tables, sipping coffee. He stepped up to the counter, glancing at the display case full of pastries, then tapped the little bell once. A moment later, you stepped out from the back, wiping your hands on your apron.

“Hey, sorry about that—oh.” Your eyes flicked up, and you did a quick once-over, taking in the broad-shouldered, grumpy-looking man standing at your counter. “You’re definitely not Jean.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’.” Logan exhaled, already regretting this. “She sent me to pick up a cake for Rogue.”

“Right. The X-Mansion order.” You nodded, disappearing into the back. “Give me a sec.”

Logan drummed his fingers against the counter, glancing around. The place was small but homey, shelves lined with small bags of cookies, muffins, and whatever else people liked to buy on impulse. It smelled good—annoyingly good.

You came back out a few moments later, balancing a cake box in your hands. “Here it is. Vanilla with chocolate frosting, right?”

“Beats me. Jean just said ‘get the damn cake.’”

You huffed a short laugh, setting it down and ringing it up. “Well, let’s hope she ordered what Rogue actually likes.” You gave him a once-over again, tilting your head slightly. “You new around here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Logan pulled out his wallet, shaking his head. “Been stayin’ at the mansion a while now. Just don’t do bakery runs.”

“Shame. You seem like the type to appreciate a good cinnamon roll.”

He gave you a flat look. “Dunno what that means.”

“It means you’re a grumpy bastard, and grumpy bastards usually like cinnamon rolls.” You smirked, sliding the cake box toward him. “I have a self-proclaimed ability to guess what people like. You’re either cinnamon roll or an apple pie.”

Logan huffed, eyeing you like he couldn’t decide if you were messing with him or just plain strange. “That so?”

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned on the counter, clearly entertained by his skepticism. “And my guesses are usually spot-on.”

Logan crossed his arms. “What if I don’t like either?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re just lying to yourself.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This what you do? Size people up based on pastries?”

“Works better than you’d think.” You tapped the counter lightly. “So, which one is it? Cinnamon roll or apple pie?”

Logan gave you a flat look, then sighed. “Pie.”

You grinned like you’d just won a bet. “Knew it.”

“Tch. Lucky guess.” He grabbed the cake box and turned toward the door, already done with this conversation.

“Uh-huh, sure.” You leaned on the counter, watching him. “Come back when you’re not on a mission, and I’ll prove it.”

He paused, just for a second, then shook his head and walked out. The bell over the door chimed behind him.

“See you later, sugar,” you called after him.

He didn’t look back, but you swore you saw the faintest twitch of amusement before the door swung shut.

---

It had been a few months since the last time Logan had been over to your bakery. Then Scott and Ororo cornered him, telling him that “it was the least he could do for Jubilee.”

“I’m not goin’ to the damn bakery again.” Logan said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scott sighed, unimpressed. “Logan, come on. It’s just a cake.”

“You say that like it’s a quick in-and-out job,” Logan grumbled. “Last time I went, I got roped into some damn conversation about cinnamon rolls.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow. “And that was… a problem?”

“Yes.”

Scott and Ororo exchanged a look.

“Look, Jean’s busy, and we’re in the middle of planning the party,” Scott said, folding his arms. “All you have to do is pick up the order. That’s it. No small talk, no distractions.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Scott smirked.

Logan ignored him, grabbed his jacket, and headed out.

---

The bakery smelled just as annoyingly good as last time. Logan stepped inside, tapping the bell on the counter once, hoping you wouldn’t be as chatty this time.

You appeared from the back, wiping your hands on your apron before looking up. The second you saw him, a slow grin spread across your face.

“Well, well. Thought I scared you off for good.”

Logan sighed. “M’just here for the cake.”

“Uh-huh.” You grabbed the order slip from the counter. “Jubilee’s birthday, right?”

He gave a short nod.

You disappeared into the back, and Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. The place wasn’t too busy, just a few customers sitting at the tables, chatting over coffee. It was cozy, warm, the kind of place people probably lingered in for hours. Not his thing.

You came back a moment later with a cake box, setting it down in front of him. “Vanilla with strawberry filling. I think she mentioned something about pink being mandatory.”

Logan pulled out his wallet. “You keep track of all your customers’ favorite cakes?”

You shrugged, ringing him up. “Just the regulars.”

He scoffed. “I ain’t a regular.”

“Not yet.” You smirked, handing him his change. “Though, I gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed.”

Logan frowned. “What now?”

“You never came back for me to prove I was right about the pie.”

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t see a reason to.”

“Oh, there was a reason.” You leaned on the counter, tilting your head slightly. “You just didn’t wanna admit I was right. Which is why you can’t get the cake until you try a slice of pie.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “You serious?”

“As a heart attack.” You crossed your arms, matching his stare with a smirk. “One bite. That’s all I’m asking.”

Logan exhaled sharply, glancing at the cake box like it might disappear if he didn’t grab it fast enough. “I don’t got time for this.”

“Oh, but you do.” You were already turning, heading for the back. “Sit tight.”

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, but he stayed put.

A minute later, you came back with a small plate, a fork, and a slice of apple pie. You set it down in front of him like you were presenting something sacred. “Here. Try it.”

Logan glanced around, already regretting this. A couple of customers had noticed, though no one was paying too much attention. Still, he felt like he was being set up. “This ain’t poisoned, is it?”

You snorted. “Please. If I wanted to take you out, I’d do it the old-fashioned way.”

“Comfortin’.” He picked up the fork, giving you one last look before taking a bite.

Warm, just the right amount of cinnamon, flaky crust—damn it. He hated when people were right.

You leaned on the counter, waiting expectantly. “Well?”

Logan chewed, swallowed, and grunted. “S’fine.”

Your grin widened. “Fine?”

“Yeah.” He took another bite, mostly out of spite. “Nothin’ special.”

“Oh, now you’re just lying.” You tapped the counter. “Admit it. I was right.”

Logan shoved another piece into his mouth, refusing to say anything.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He pushed the plate back slightly and reached for the cake. “That enough of a taste test for ya?”

“For now.” You slid the cake toward him, clearly enjoying this way too much. “But next time? You’re trying the cinnamon roll.”

Logan grabbed the box and turned for the door. “Ain’t gonna be a next time.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

The bell chimed as he stepped outside, but he caught your voice just before the door swung shut.

“See ya, sugar.”

---

The bell over the bakery door chimed as Logan stepped inside, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. No one sent him this time—no guilt trips from Jean, no nagging from Scott. Just… a damn craving, apparently.

You looked up from behind the counter, eyebrows lifting in surprise before a slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

Logan grunted, eyes flicking to the display case. “M’just here to pick somethin’ up.”

“Oh, sure. Totally believe that.” You leaned on the counter, chin resting in your palm. “Let me guess—apple pie?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re way too smug about this.”

“Because I was right.” You straightened up and grabbed a slice of pie from the case, sliding it onto a small plate. “But, you know, since you’re here, might as well test another theory.”

Logan eyed you warily. “What theory?”

Without answering, you turned and grabbed something else, placing it next to the pie—a cinnamon roll, warm and fresh from the oven.

You tapped the counter. “Go on.”

Logan huffed. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“Consider it a challenge.” You smirked. “If you don’t like it, I’ll let you walk out of here without any ‘I told you so’s.’”

He eyed you, then the cinnamon roll, then back at you. “…And if I do?”

“Then I get to gloat forever.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but grabbed the plate anyway. Pulling out a few bills, he slid them across the counter.

You rang him up, watching as he hesitated before finally tearing off a piece of the cinnamon roll and popping it into his mouth.

His chewing slowed. You caught the slightest flicker of something—not quite annoyance, not quite satisfaction—before he swallowed.

“Well?” You leaned forward, grinning.

Logan picked up his plate. “M’leavin’.”

You laughed. “That good, huh? You know, you could just say ‘thank you’ like a normal person.”

Logan scoffed, tearing off another piece of the cinnamon roll. “Ain’t my style.”

You smirked, resting your elbows on the counter. “Yeah, no kidding. You’re more of the grumble and disappear type.”

He didn’t argue, just kept eating like acknowledging you would give you more reason to gloat. The place wasn’t too busy, which meant you had all the time in the world to mess with him—not exactly the outcome he was hoping for when he walked in.

“So, what’s the verdict?” You tapped your fingers against the counter. “Cinnamon roll or apple pie?”

Logan chewed, swallowed, and exhaled through his nose. “Pie.”

You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Just like that? No hesitation?”

“Nope.” He took another bite.

You shook your head, grinning. “That’s crazy. ’Cause it sure looks like you’re enjoying that cinnamon roll.”

Logan grunted, not meeting your eyes. “S’fine.”

“You said that about the pie, and look where we are now.” You rested your chin in your hand, watching him. “Face it, Logan. You’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“Tch.” He picked up the plate and turned toward the door, clearly done with this conversation.

“Don’t be a stranger, sugar,” you called after him.

He didn’t look back, but you caught the way his shoulders tensed—like he was fighting the urge to respond. The bell chimed as he stepped outside.

You smirked, already looking forward to the next time he walked through that door.

---

Usually, you did just fine lugging the large bag of flour from the crate to the kitchen, but after spending all day on your feet testing new recipes you weren’t exactly at your best.

You faintly heard the bell ring above the front door, and you called out “we’re closed!” before tugging the bag of flour again.

“You’re closed, huh?” A familiar gruff voice cut through the quiet.

You groaned, still struggling with the damn bag of flour. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Heavy footsteps approached, and before you could protest, the bag was lifted right out of your grip. You turned to see Logan holding it effortlessly like it weighed nothing.

You huffed. “You know, some people ask before just stepping in and taking over.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were losin’ that fight.”

“I had it handled.”

“Sure you did.” He carried the bag through the doorway leading to the kitchen.

You followed, arms crossed. “What are you even doing here? You already got your sugar fix for the week.”

Logan set the bag down near the counter and dusted his hands off. “Needed somethin’ to do.”

You blinked. “So, out of all the places, you came here?”

He grunted, looking vaguely annoyed with himself. “Yeah, guess I did.”

You smirked, leaning against the counter. “Startin’ to think you like it here.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “Don’t push it.”

You tapped the counter lightly, still amused. “Well, since you’re here, you want something? Or are you just here to rescue me from my tragic battle with flour?”

Logan glanced around like he was debating whether he’d regret staying longer. Then his eyes landed on a tray of freshly baked cookies on the cooling rack.

You caught his look. “Ah. Now, let me use my special talent here—” You tapped your chin in mock thought. “You seem like a peanut butter guy.”

Logan scoffed. “Now you’re just makin’ stuff up.”

“Oh, am I?” You picked up a peanut butter cookie and held it out. “Go on. Prove me wrong.”

He stared at you, then at the cookie, then back at you. “This a new thing? You testin’ psychic powers on baked goods?”

“Just take the damn cookie, Logan.”

He rolled his eyes but took it, biting off a piece. His chewing slowed just slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t want to admit something was good.

You grinned. “Called it.”

Logan muttered something under his breath but didn’t stop eating.

You leaned on the counter, watching him. “So, what’s the excuse gonna be next time?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

“Mhm. You keep coming back, whether it’s for cake, pie, or playing the hero with fifty-pound bags of flour.”

Logan finished the cookie and dusted off his hands. “You assumin’ a lot.”

“Oh, I don’t assume.” You smirked. “I just have a talent for predicting things.”

He shook his head and turned toward the door. “Don’t wait up.”

You grinned. “Bye bye, sugar bear.”

---

The next time Logan showed up, he didn’t say anything at first. Just walked in, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and stood at the counter like he was already regretting the decision.

You looked up from the register, eyebrows raising. “Back again already?”

“Don’t start.”

You smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

Logan gave you a look that said he didn’t believe that for a second. His eyes flicked to the display case, scanning over the usual selection. You leaned on the counter, waiting.

“So, what’ll it be?” You tapped your fingers against the counter. “Pie? Cinnamon roll? Maybe a cookie? I know a guy who’s a big fan of peanut butter.”

Logan exhaled, shaking his head. “Just coffee.”

You blinked. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

You tilted your head slightly. “I just figured if you were gonna show up unprompted, you’d at least pretend you weren’t here just for the free samples.”

He gave you a flat look. “M’not here for free samples.”

“Uh-huh.” You turned, grabbing a mug. “Black?”

“Yeah.”

You poured the coffee and slid it across the counter. Logan took it without a word, lifting it to his lips.

You watched him take a sip, arms crossed. “So, what’s the excuse this time?”

He lowered the mug slightly. “What?”

“You always have an excuse for coming in. First it was Jean, then Scott, then some tragic flour-related emergency.” You smirked. “What is it today? Did someone put you on coffee duty?”

Logan didn’t answer right away, just took another sip. “No excuse.”

Your smirk faltered slightly. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shrugged, resting your elbows on the counter. “Just didn’t take you for the type to stop by for no reason.”

He grunted. “Maybe I just wanted coffee.”

“Maybe.” You studied him for a moment. “Or maybe you just wanted to see me.”

Logan huffed. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You grinned. “That wasn’t a no.”

He shook his head, setting the coffee down. “This place always this damn chatty?”

“Only when you’re here.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t argue. You took that as a win.

“Oh, I know somethin’ you can do for me.” You quickly ran into the backroom and grabbed a cooling scone—raspberry lime.

Logan eyed it with mild suspicion as you set it down in front of him. “What’s this?”

“A scone.”

He gave you a flat look. “I can see that.”

You smirked. “Then why’d you ask?”

Logan exhaled sharply, picking it up like it might bite him. “And I’m supposed to do what, exactly?”

“You’re supposed to eat it,” you said, leaning on the counter. “It’s a new recipe. Gotta make sure it’s good before I start selling them.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “And you don’t got anyone else to taste-test this?”

“Not anyone who’ll give me an honest answer.” You tapped the counter lightly. “Customers are too polite, and the old ladies who come in every Sunday think everything I make is ‘just delightful.’ I need actual feedback.”

Logan looked at the scone like it was some kind of trap. “…It got any weird crap in it?”

“Weird crap?” You blinked. “It’s raspberry and lime. How is that weird?”

He grunted, still skeptical, but took a bite. His chewing slowed slightly, which you’d come to recognize as the telltale sign that he actually liked something but wasn’t about to admit it outright.

You grinned. “Well?”

Logan swallowed, then shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Wow. High praise.”

He took another bite, shaking his head. “You want feedback or not?”

“Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”

He chewed thoughtfully, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was actually considering his words. “Not too sweet. Tart enough to keep it from bein’ boring. Texture’s good.” He paused, taking another bite. “Could use a little more lime.”

You tilted your head. “More lime?”

“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely with the scone. “You got the raspberry down, but the lime’s kinda fightin’ to be noticed.”

You pursed your lips, considering it. “Huh. Okay, I can work with that.”

Logan took another bite, looking vaguely annoyed with himself. “Didn’t expect you to actually listen.”

“I asked for feedback. What kind of baker would I be if I ignored it?” You smirked. “Besides, I already knew it was good—I just wanted to see if you’d admit it.”

He scoffed, setting the half-eaten scone down. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“And yet, here you are. Again.”

Logan grunted, picking up his coffee. “Don’t make a big deal outta it.”

You grinned, tapping the counter. “No promises, sugar.”

---

The bell above the bakery door chimed, and you barely glanced up from where you were wiping down the counter. “We’re closed,” you called automatically.

“You keep sayin’ that, and yet, here I am,” came a familiar gruff voice.

You looked up, smirking as Logan stood at the counter, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he was already regretting coming in. “Back again already? Thought you were done giving me a hard time.”

He grunted, eyes flicking toward the display case. “Just get me a coffee.”

You arched an eyebrow but didn’t question it, grabbing a mug and pouring it fresh. As you slid it across the counter, you tapped your fingers against the wood. “You know, most people would just admit they like a place instead of making up excuses to show up.”

Logan wrapped his hands around the mug, not looking at you. “Ain’t an excuse. Just needed coffee.”

“Sure.” You leaned on the counter, watching him. “So, what was it this time? Jean send you? Scott? Or did another bag of flour need rescuing?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “No reason.”

That gave you pause. You tilted your head slightly. “Huh.”

Logan frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” You smirked, clearly amused. “Just didn’t take you for the type to stop by for no reason.”

He gave you a flat look. “You got somethin’ against repeat customers?”

“Oh, no. I love my regulars.” You grinned. “Especially the grumpy ones.”

Logan shook his head, lifting the mug to his lips. He didn’t argue, which only made you more smug.

---

The next time Logan came in, it wasn’t for coffee.

The place was quiet—late enough in the evening that most customers were long gone. You were behind the counter, finishing up some inventory, when the bell chimed.

You looked up, brows lifting. “You know, I could just give you a key at this point.”

Logan ignored that, stepping up to the counter. “What’s good today?”

You gave him an exaggerated gasp. “You’re finally asking for a recommendation? I’m honored.”

He sighed. “Just tell me what’s good.”

You smirked, grabbing a plate and sliding a freshly baked hand pie onto it. “Figured I’d experiment today—blackberry and bourbon.”

Logan picked up the hand pie, giving it a brief once-over before taking a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then gave a short nod. “Not bad.”

You put a hand over your heart. “Wow. Practically a glowing review.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but something about the interaction had softened. He stayed leaning against the counter, glancing at the cooling trays behind you. “So, you always wanted to do this?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely. “The whole bakery thing.”

You shrugged. “Pretty much. Always liked baking, figured I might as well get paid for it.”

Logan hummed in acknowledgment, taking another bite. He didn’t say anything for a while, but he didn’t leave either.

After a few beats of silence, you decided to return the question. “What about you?”

He glanced up. “What about me?”

You leaned on the counter. “You always wanted to be a broody loner who shows up at small businesses unannounced?”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You grinned. “Yeah, but I grow on people.”

“We’ll see about that.”

But he didn’t leave.

---

You had a habit of observing people. It came with the job—regulars had patterns, little quirks that gave away more than they realized.

Logan was no different.

The third or fourth time he came in, you started noticing them. The way his eyes scanned the room the second he stepped inside, like he was cataloging everything. How he never sat with his back to the door. How his shoulders only slightly relaxed after a few minutes, like he was still debating if he should be here at all.

“You’re always on guard.”

Logan, who had just taken a sip of coffee, lowered the mug slightly. “What?”

“You’re always watching everything,” you said, casually wiping down the counter. “Like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”

Logan’s expression flickered—just for a second. “Force of habit.”

You nodded. “Figured.”

That was it. No prodding, no pushing. Just an acknowledgment.

Logan’s fingers tapped against the side of his mug. “That a problem?”

“Nope.” You smirked. “Just an observation.”

Logan held your gaze for a second longer, then shook his head. “You notice too much.”

“Perks of the job.” You leaned forward slightly. “You know what else I noticed?”

He sighed. “What now?”

“You linger.”

Logan frowned. “The hell does that mean?”

“You stick around longer each time.” You grinned. “Almost like you enjoy being here.”

Logan grunted, grabbing his coffee. “You’re annoyin’.”

“And yet, here you are.”

He didn’t argue.

---

The bell above the bakery door chimed, right on schedule. You smirked to yourself as you wiped your hands on your apron. Logan had been showing up like clockwork now—never admitting it, of course, but his routine spoke for itself.

When you turned around, you were already holding out a plate.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “What’s this?”

You set it on the counter with a flourish. “Leftover peanut butter cookies. Tragic, really. If only someone around here liked them.”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You plannin’ on feedin’ me every time I come in?”

“Would you complain if I was?” You leaned on the counter, raising an eyebrow.

He grumbled something under his breath but grabbed a cookie anyway, biting into it like he was proving a point.

You smirked. “Thought so.”

Logan chewed, swallowed, then gestured toward the plate. “These actually extra?”

You tilted your head. “Does it matter?”

His jaw flexed slightly, like he didn’t know how to respond. Instead of answering, he just grabbed another cookie.

You grinned.

---

It had been a long day. A really long day.

One of the ovens had decided to throw a tantrum, a supplier had screwed up an order, and to top it off, you still had to prep for a catering job in the morning.

You didn’t even look up when the bell chimed. “We’re closed,” you called tiredly, shoving a crate of flour toward the back.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You blinked, glancing up to see Logan standing near the counter, arms crossed.

You huffed. “Starting to think you don’t understand what closed means.”

Logan ignored that, glancing around at the half-prepped trays, the mess of ingredients still covering the counter. “You runnin’ this place by yourself?”

“Yep.” You exhaled, pushing hair out of your face. “Well, mostly. Sometimes I hire help for big orders.”

Logan grunted, then—without a word—walked past the counter, grabbed the flour bag you had been struggling with, and lifted it like it weighed nothing.

You blinked. “Uh—what are you—”

“Where’s it goin’?”

You stared at him. “You do realize you don’t work here, right?”

Logan gave you a flat look. “You askin’ me to leave?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “Corner shelf, second row.”

He carried it over like it was nothing, then turned back expectantly.

You crossed your arms. “What, you lookin’ for a job now?”

Logan snorted. “You couldn’t afford me.”

“Oh, please.” You smirked. “I’d pay you in coffee and pie. You’d be set for life.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced around the kitchen again. “What else?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you helping?”

“Tch.” He grabbed another crate before you could protest. “You’re losin’ this fight, just let it happen.”

You watched him work for a moment, a little stunned. You weren’t used to people sticking around just to help. It wasn’t a grand gesture, wasn’t something he was making a big deal out of—it was just Logan, stepping in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned back to your work, shaking your head with a small smile.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But you’re not getting paid.”

Logan grunted. “Figures.”

---

It was late—too late. You should’ve locked up an hour ago, but you were dragging your feet, finishing up inventory while Logan sat at one of the tables with his usual coffee.

You glanced over at him. He had been coming around more, sticking around longer. He never said why, and you never asked. It was just… the way things had settled.

“You always this restless?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Logan glanced up. “What?”

“You always show up late.” You leaned against the counter. “Ever sleep?”

He scoffed. “Not much.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Because you can’t, or because you don’t want to?”

Something flickered in his expression. He looked down at his coffee, fingers tapping against the side of the mug. “Both.”

You studied him for a moment. “Bad dreams?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly—so quiet you almost missed it—he muttered, “Somethin’ like that.”

You didn’t push. You could’ve asked more, pried for details, but that wasn’t how this worked. Instead, you just nodded.

“I get it,” you said simply.

Logan looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… understanding.

Logan took another sip of his coffee, then exhaled. “You should lock up.”

You smirked. “You gonna tell me what to do now?”

He stood, grabbing his jacket. “Don’t need to. You’re already dead on your feet.”

You huffed. “You know, for a guy who claims he doesn’t care, you sure do act like you do.”

Logan pulled his jacket on, not looking at you. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”

You watched as he headed for the door, shaking your head with a small smile.

“Night, sugar bear,” you called after him.

He didn’t look back, but you saw the way his shoulders tensed—like he was fighting the urge to respond.

The bell chimed as the door swung shut.

---

By now, Logan had stopped making excuses for why he kept coming back. He still didn’t admit anything, but you noticed the pattern—how he always came in around closing time, how he lingered longer each visit.

Tonight was no different.

The bell chimed, and you barely looked up from wiping down the espresso machine. “Y’know, if you’re gonna keep doing this, I really should just give you a key.”

Logan grunted, stepping inside. “Don’t need one.”

You smirked. “Because you’d just break in?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

You rolled your eyes, finishing up before leaning on the counter. “So, what’ll it be? Coffee? Something sweet? Or are you just here to loiter?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He walked over to his usual seat—the one near the window, back to the wall—and sat down with a sigh.

“No coffee,” he muttered.

That was new.

You eyed him. “Rough night?”

He exhaled sharply but didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

Without another word, you grabbed a mug, poured something fresh, and set it on the table in front of him.

“I thought I said no coffee.”

You sat across from him, propping your chin on your hand. “It’s tea.”

Logan frowned at it. “The hell do I look like, some kinda tea-drinkin’—”

“—Just drink it, Logan.”

He huffed but didn’t argue. Took a sip. Grunted.

You smirked. “Good, right?”

“...It’s fine.”

You leaned back, watching him. “You don’t have to talk, you know.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged. “Just saying. If you wanna sit here in broody silence for an hour, I won’t stop you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his expression. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea.

Neither of you said anything else for a while.

But he stayed.

---

You had dealt with rude customers before. It came with the job—some people were just assholes. But most of the time, they were harmless.

Most of the time.

Tonight, some guy had been giving you a hard time—complaining about his order, getting a little too close, sneering in that way that immediately put you on edge.

“You got a problem with your ears, sweetheart? I said extra caramel—”

“I heard you,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. “But that’s not what you ordered.”

The guy scoffed, leaning over the counter. “So now you’re callin’ me a liar?”

Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“She ain’t callin’ you anythin’.”

Logan was right there—sudden and solid, standing just slightly in front of you.

The guy turned, sizing Logan up. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Logan didn’t answer. Just held his gaze, silent, still.

You had seen Logan fight before—you knew what he was capable of—but sometimes, it didn’t take claws or violence. Sometimes, it was just him, standing there, making someone realize they’d made a mistake.

The guy swallowed.

“Forget it,” he muttered, grabbing his coffee and leaving without another word.

The door shut behind him, and for a moment, the bakery was silent.

You exhaled. “Well. That was fun.”

Logan turned, looking you over like he was checking for something. “You alright?”

You smirked. “Aww, you care.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t start.”

You crossed your arms. “What, no dramatic one-liner? No ‘stay away from her’ speech?”

“Didn’t need one.”

You shook your head, still smirking. “You’re ridiculous.”

Logan didn’t answer. Just grumbled under his breath and went back to his seat, like nothing had happened.

But you noticed the way he didn’t touch his drink for a while—like he was still too on edge to relax.

---

“You’re actually serious about this.”

Logan stood at the entrance of the farmers’ market, arms crossed, looking very unamused by the whole thing.

You grinned. “Yep.”

“You dragged me here.”

“Oh, please. No one drags you anywhere. You came willingly.”

He grunted but didn’t argue.

You had invited him on a whim, half-expecting him to say no. But to your surprise, he had shown up—grumbling the whole way, sure, but still.

The market was lively—small tents, fresh produce, the smell of roasted coffee and warm pastries in the air. It was a nice change from the usual bakery setting.

Logan, however, looked wildly out of place.

“You look miserable,” you teased, nudging him.

“’Cause I am miserable.”

“You sure? ’Cause I saw you eyeing those smoked meats at the last booth.”

Logan huffed. “That don’t mean I wanna be here.”

You smirked. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Still, he stuck close to you as you weaved through the booths. He didn’t complain when you stopped to look at pastries, didn’t roll his eyes too hard when you bought something ridiculous just because it “looked cute.”

At one point, you handed him a fresh apple cider donut.

Logan frowned. “What’s this for?”

“Because you look like you wanna kill someone, and I need you to chill.”

He gave you a look but took a bite anyway.

You grinned. “See? Was that so hard?”

Logan just grumbled around his donut.

You took that as a win.

---

Logan, for the first time in a while, came to your bakery for an order. It was for the Valentine’s Day party at the mansion and Jean and Ororo put him on pickup duty.

It was close to 3 pm when he arrived and the sign on the door was already turned to CLOSED.

He opened the door and walked in, the bell ringing above.

You were behind the counter, carefully arranging a tray of macarons into a pastry box. You glanced up at the sound, then smirked when you saw who it was.

“Ah, my favorite grump. Here for the party order?”

Logan grunted, stepping closer. “Jean and Ro made me do it.”

“Of course they did.” You shut the box and slid it across the counter. “Bunch of heart-shaped macarons, just as requested—raspberry, chocolate, vanilla bean, and peanut butter.”

Logan eyed the box, then flicked his gaze back to you. You looked… different. Dressed up. Not overly fancy, but enough to make him pause. His brows pulled together slightly.

“You got plans or somethin’?”

You tilted your head. “What?”

He gestured vaguely. “You’re dressed up.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Why, you jealous?”

Logan scoffed. “Ain’t jealous. Just askin’.”

You hummed, clearly entertained. “No date, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Logan crossed his arms. “Didn’t say nothin’ about a date.”

You grinned. “Mhm. Well, in case you were wondering, Jean invited me to the party.”

His expression flickered—something unreadable for half a second—before he exhaled sharply. “That right?”

“Yep.” You grabbed another small box from behind the counter and handed it to him. “These are yours, by the way.”

Logan frowned slightly, opening the box. Inside were four macarons, but unlike the ones in the party order, these were regular round ones.

“Didn’t think you’d want heart-shaped ones,” you said, watching his reaction.

He stared at them for a moment. “These the same flavors?”

“Yep. One of each.” You leaned on the counter, smirking. “Figured you’d appreciate the peanut butter one the most.”

Logan huffed. “You really don’t let up, huh?”

“Nope.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue. Just shut the box and grabbed the party order. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride.”

You blinked. “What?”

Logan gestured toward the door. “Party’s at the mansion, ain’t it? You’re goin’, I’m goin’. Might as well save you the trip.”

You smirked, grabbing your coat. “And how exactly are these macarons supposed to survive on a motorcycle?”

Logan gave you a flat look. “I got it handled.”

You chuckled, stepping around the counter. “Alright, sugar bear. Let’s see what you got.”

He grumbled something under his breath but held the door open for you anyway.

You stepped outside, pulling your coat tighter as the cool air hit. Logan followed, already heading toward his bike.

You stopped short, staring at it. “Okay, I gotta ask—where exactly are these macarons supposed to go? You got some hidden pastry compartment I don’t know about?”

Logan shot you a look. “I said I got it handled.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s not an answer.”

He exhaled sharply, then crouched slightly, reaching for the saddlebag attached to the side of his bike. With practiced ease, he unlatched it, revealing a snug, padded compartment inside.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s… oddly convenient.”

Logan shrugged. “Picked it up a while back. Good for keepin’ shit from gettin’ smashed.”

You smirked. “So, what you’re saying is, this is a dessert-safe motorcycle?”

He grunted, carefully placing the boxes inside. “Sure.”

You shook your head, amused. “You are full of surprises, sugar bear.”

Logan ignored that, straightening up before turning to you. “You ever been on a bike before?”

You hesitated. “…Define ‘been on a bike.’”

His expression flattened. “That a no?”

“Not a no. More like a… not exactly.”

Logan exhaled through his nose. “Great.” He swung a leg over and sat, steadying the bike before nodding toward you. “C’mon.”

You gave him a look. “You’re just assuming I’m gonna get on?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You got another ride?”

You huffed, stepping forward. “Fine, but if we crash, I’m haunting you.”

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Foot on the peg, swing your leg over, and don’t make a damn production out of it.”

You did as he said, slightly awkward but managing without embarrassing yourself. Once seated, you hesitated, hands hovering near his back.

“…Where am I supposed to hold?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Then, without looking back, he reached for your wrists and pulled your arms around his waist. “Here.”

You blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t argue. His body was solid under your hands, radiating warmth even through his jacket.

“This gonna be a problem?” he asked, clearly amused.

You huffed. “Not unless you do something stupid.”

Logan smirked, kicking the bike to life. “Hang on, doll.”

You rolled your eyes but tightened your grip around his waist. The engine rumbled beneath you, the vibration humming through your chest as Logan eased the bike forward. The cool night air bit at your skin, but the warmth of him under your hands made up for it.

As he pulled onto the road, you couldn’t help but squeeze your arms a little tighter. Not out of fear—just instinct. Logan didn’t say anything about it, but you could feel the shift in his posture, the slightest adjustment like he was making sure you were steady.

The ride was smooth, surprisingly so. Logan handled the bike with an ease that made you wonder just how many times he’d done this before. The streets of Westchester blurred past, streetlights casting a golden glow over the pavement.

After a few minutes, you leaned forward slightly. “So, be honest. How often do you use the whole ‘wanna ride?’ line to impress women?”

Logan snorted. “You think I need a line?”

You scoffed. “Wow. That cocky, huh?”

He smirked, though you couldn’t see it. “Ain’t about bein’ cocky, darlin’. Just statin’ facts.”

You shook your head, amused. “Uh-huh. Well, just so you know, I’m only impressed if we get there in one piece.”

Logan huffed. “You doubtin’ my drivin’?”

“I mean, I don’t want to, but I’ve also seen how you drive a car, and—”

“That was one time,” he grumbled.

“And yet, Scott still won’t let you near the X-Jet.”

“One crash, and suddenly nobody trusts ya.”

You laughed, resting your chin lightly against his back. “You’re ridiculous.”

Logan didn’t respond, but you felt his chest rise and fall with a short, quiet chuckle.

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, save for the occasional gust of wind and the steady roar of the engine. It wasn’t bad, you realized. The night air, the open road, the way Logan rode like he belonged there—it was… nice.

After a while, the looming gates of the Xavier Institute came into view. Logan slowed the bike, coasting up the long driveway before finally coming to a stop near the entrance.

As the engine cut off, you let out a breath and loosened your grip. Logan tilted his head slightly. “Not bad for your first time?”

You huffed. “I mean, I survived, so I’d call it a win.”

He smirked. “Told ya I had it handled.”

You slid off the bike, stretching your legs. “Alright, sugar bear. Let’s get these macarons inside before Jean hunts us down.”

Logan grunted but grabbed the boxes from the saddlebag, handing you yours before leading the way inside. The moment you stepped through the doors, the distant sound of music and chatter spilled into the hallway.

You smirked. “Sounds like the party’s in full swing.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Great.”

You nudged him playfully. “Oh, come on. It won’t kill you to be social for one night.”

He gave you a look. “Wanna bet?”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut in.

“There you guys are!”

Jean appeared from around the corner, arms crossed but a knowing smirk on her lips. “Was starting to think you got lost.”

Logan grunted, holding up the pastry box. “Got your damn macarons, didn’t we?”

Jean took them, amused. “And you made it in one piece. I’ll call that a success.” She glanced at you, smirk widening. “Enjoy the ride?”

You crossed your arms, smirking right back. “I mean, I was mildly impressed. Didn’t even have to cling to him for dear life.”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I hate both of ya.”

Jean just laughed. “Come on, you two. Let’s get to the party.”

You followed her down the hall, Logan trailing behind you like he was already regretting every life decision that led him to this moment. The music grew louder as you got closer, and when Jean pushed open the doors to the common room, the full chaos of the Valentine’s party hit you.

Streamers, heart-shaped balloons, and way too much red and pink covered every inch of the space. A long table near the wall was packed with snacks, desserts—including your macarons—and an absolutely massive punch bowl that looked suspiciously spiked.

“Oh, this is festive,” you mused, glancing around.

“Festive’s one word for it,” Logan muttered.

Jean handed off the box of macarons to Ororo, who grinned when she saw you. “Glad you made it!”

“Of course,” you said, smirking. “Wouldn’t miss an excuse to see Logan suffer through social interaction.”

Ororo chuckled. “Well, you’re in luck, because he can’t sneak out this time. Scott already said if he disappears before midnight, he’s getting put on dish duty for the next month.”

You turned to Logan. “I like this rule.”

Logan just grunted. “’S bullshit.”

Jean smirked. “Then you better stick around.”

Ororo pulled you away toward the dessert table before Logan could complain more. “Come on, you have to try some of the punch before Bobby finishes it off.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just straight-up vodka at this point,” you said, eyeing the bowl.

“Exactly.”

You laughed but let her pour you a cup. The party was already in full swing—students dancing, music blasting, people laughing over whatever nonsense was happening near the pool table. It was easy, fun, not a bad way to spend a night.

Logan, however, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He had posted up near the bar, arms crossed, sipping a beer while occasionally glaring at anyone who got too close.

You made your way over, drink in hand. “Having fun?”

He gave you a flat look.

You grinned. “That bad, huh?”

He sighed. “Too loud.”

“Aw, poor thing,” you teased, nudging him. “Bet you’d rather be back at the bakery eating peanut butter cookies in broody silence.”

Logan took a sip of his beer. “Damn right.”

You smirked, leaning against the bar. “Well, if you survive the night, maybe I’ll consider rewarding you with some.”

His eyes flicked toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “That so?”

“Maybe.” You took a sip of your drink. “Depends on how grumpy you get.”

Logan scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he watched you over the rim of his bottle, like he was figuring something out.

Before either of you could say anything else, Rogue appeared, grinning. “Oh, good, you’re both here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I need you two for somethin’.”

Logan immediately shook his head. “No.”

Rogue rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“Don’t need to.”

She ignored him and turned to you. “We’re playin’ Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “You’re what?”

Rogue smirked. “C’mon, it’s tradition. Just pick a name outta the hat.”

Logan was already turning to leave. “Hell no.”

You grabbed his arm before he could make an escape. “Oh, come on, sugar. Don’t be a coward.”

He shot you a look. “I ain’t playin’ some dumbass game.”

Rogue crossed her arms. “Then you gotta do dish duty for a month.”

Logan clenched his jaw.

You grinned. “I like this rule.”

Logan exhaled sharply, then snatched a name from the hat. He glanced at it, scowled, then crumpled the paper in his fist. “This is stupid.”

Rogue smirked, looking at you. “Your turn.”

You sighed, reaching into the hat. When you unfolded the paper, your eyes widened slightly.

Logan.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the slight twitch of his jaw.

Rogue clapped her hands together. “Welp, you know the rules. Closet’s that way.”

You turned to Logan, smirking. “Guess we’re doin’ this.”

He huffed. “Guess so.”

Rogue practically shoved you both toward the closet, grinning. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

The door shut behind you with a click.

You turned to Logan, arms crossed. “So. This is happening.”

He exhaled sharply. “Tch.”

The space wasn’t exactly roomy. You were standing close, close enough to catch the scent of cigar smoke and something warm, familiar.

You smirked. “You look like you’d rather fight Sabretooth again than be in here right now.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Ain’t far off.”

You chuckled, then leaned back slightly. “Relax, sugar. It’s just a game.”

He studied you for a moment, then shook his head. “You really don’t let up, do ya?”

“Nope.”

Silence stretched between you. There was something… different about being this close, no bar or counter between you, nothing but the dim glow of light filtering under the door.

Your gaze flicked to his lips, just for a second, before you looked back up at his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but there was something else there—something you couldn’t quite place.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’re you thinking?”

Logan exhaled slowly, then smirked. “You really wanna know?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.

“…Thinkin’ this is a real stupid game,” he muttered.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Terrible answer.”

Logan grunted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well. Ain’t much of a game to begin with.”

You smirked, leaning back against the closet wall. “You know, for someone who acts like he doesn’t give a damn about party games, you sure are committed to standing here in silence.”

Logan shot you a look. “Ain’t like I got a choice.”

“You always got a choice, sugar,” you mused, tilting your head. “Could’ve taken dish duty.”

“Rather be in here than deal with Scott’s bitchin’.”

You chuckled. “That’s fair.”

Silence stretched between you again. The closet wasn’t big, barely enough space for both of you without standing close. Logan stayed where he was, arms crossed, shoulders tense.

You tapped your fingers against the wall, glancing at him. “You ever actually played this before?”

He exhaled sharply. “What, you think I spent my younger years crammed in closets with gigglin’ teenagers?”

You grinned. “I dunno, Logan. You’ve been around a while. Gotta imagine at least one girl managed to talk you into it.”

He huffed. “Ain’t my thing.”

“Yeah, I figured.” You shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “You don’t really seem like the party type. More of a ‘drink alone in a dive bar and pretend you don’t wanna talk to anyone’ kinda guy.”

Logan shot you a dry look. “You got me all figured out, huh?”

You tapped your temple. “I’m observant.”

He didn’t answer, but you caught the slight twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

You let the silence linger for a beat before speaking again. “You know, seven minutes is a long time. You might as well entertain me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Entertain you?”

“Yeah. Tell me something.”

He scoffed. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” you mused. “You just don’t like talking.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You do enough of that for both of us.”

You pressed a hand to your chest. “You wound me, sugar bear.”

He exhaled sharply. “Don’t call me that.”

“You never complain when I say it outside of a closet.”

“’Cause outside of a closet, I can walk away.”

You smirked. “You sure about that? ’Cause last time I checked, you keep coming back.”

Logan grunted, looking away. “This is the longest seven minutes of my goddamn life.”

“Oh, come on. You’re having fun.”

“The hell I am.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. If you’re not gonna talk, I’ll just have to fill the silence myself.”

Logan sighed. “Fantastic.”

You ignored his sarcasm and leaned your head back against the wall. “Alright, let’s see… Did I ever tell you about the time a guy tried to rob me with a butter knife?”

That actually got Logan’s attention. His brows pulled together slightly. “The hell?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Came in one night, all twitchy, pulls a damn butter knife from his sleeve like it was supposed to be intimidating. Told me to empty the register.”

Logan tilted his head. “What’d you do?”

You smirked. “Took the knife out of his hand and gave him a scone.”

Logan stared at you, then shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer resourceful,” you said, grinning. “Besides, guy was clearly desperate. Didn’t have the heart to kick his ass.”

Logan grunted. “Lucky for him.”

“Lucky for me, too. He actually came back a week later with a real apology. Bought a dozen muffins.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Only you.”

You shrugged, clearly pleased with yourself. “Hey, you’re the one who said I talk too much. This is what you get. I could also talk about the time my cousin carpooled with—”

Logan cut you off mid-sentence. Not with a glare, not with a grumble—no, this time, he shut you up the only way that was guaranteed to work.

By kissing you.

It was sudden, barely enough time to react before he stepped forward, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. His hand came up, palm pressing flat beside your head, caging you in without a single word.

Your breath caught, brain short-circuiting for half a second before instinct kicked in. You kissed him back, fingers curling slightly at your sides like you were debating grabbing onto him.

Logan didn’t rush it—didn’t press too hard, didn’t let it turn into something it wasn’t meant to be. But it was firm, deliberate, enough to make your knees feel just a little weak.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulled back.

The closet felt even smaller than before.

For a few long, charged moments, neither of you said anything. You were still pressed against the wall, Logan still close, his hand still braced by your head. His eyes flicked over your face, scanning for something, though you weren’t sure what.

Your heart was pounding, but you weren’t about to be the one to break first.

So, instead, you smirked, tilting your head slightly. “So… does this mean you’re my valentine now?”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You never let up, do ya?”

“Nope.” Your grin widened. “Not even after being dramatically kissed in a broom closet.”

Logan huffed, but he didn’t move away. He stayed right there, close enough that you could still feel his warmth, still smell the faint trace of whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his jacket.

You tapped a finger against his chest. “I mean, you did just make a pretty big statement. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually like me.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t push it.”

You grinned. “That wasn’t a no.” You reached up, tapping his bottom lip with your finger, “c’mon sugar bear. Would I really be that bad of a valentine?”

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes flicking between yours. "You’re real pushy, you know that?"

You smirked. "And yet, here you are. In a closet. With me." Your finger was still resting against his lip, and you tapped it lightly, just to mess with him. "So, sugar bear, what’s the verdict?"

Logan caught your wrist before you could do it again, his grip firm but not rough. "That name’s gonna be the death of me."

"You’ll survive." You grinned. "So? Valentine or not?"

Logan didn’t answer right away. He still hadn’t let go of your wrist, his thumb brushing absently against your skin like he hadn’t noticed he was doing it. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up, his jaw tightening slightly like he was debating something.

Then, without a word, he let go, stepping back just enough to put space between you.

You arched an eyebrow. "That’s it?"

Logan crossed his arms. "What else you want, a damn serenade?"

"Well, now that you mention it—"

"Not happenin’."

You chuckled, tilting your head. "Alright, fine. No singing. But I’ll take that kiss as a yes."

Logan scoffed. "You assume too much."

"Mm. Do I?" You tapped your chin in mock thought. "You kissed me. Didn’t push me away. Didn’t tell me to shut up. And now you’re looking at me like you’re still considerin’ round two."

Logan’s jaw ticked. "You’re real smug."

"You like it," you shot back easily.

He didn’t confirm or deny it. Just exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.

"Alright," you said, watching him. "Since you clearly can’t admit it, I’ll do it for you. Logan Howlett, the grumpiest man in Westchester, is officially my Valentine."

Logan rolled his eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, throwing his own words back at him.

Logan shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely, but you caught it. "You done yet?"

"Not even close." You smirked, reaching for the doorknob. "But I’ll give you a break… for now."

Before you could turn it, Logan caught your wrist again, stopping you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Changed your mind?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just held your gaze for a second longer than necessary before he muttered, low and gruff, "you talk too much."

Then he kissed you again.

This time, there was no hesitation. No half-measures. Just Logan pressing you back against the closet wall, one hand curling around your waist, the other braced beside your head. The kiss was slower this time, deliberate, like he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t talk your way out of it.

Not that you were planning to.

You grinned against his lips, fisting the front of his jacket and pulling him closer. "See?" you murmured. "Told you you liked me."

Logan grunted but didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t even argue.

i hope this was valentine-y enough! <3

#klloveuary2025 #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic

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vamptarot · 3 days ago

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TMIs about your future spouse | PAC

pile one pile two pile three

how to choose a pile . . . choose whichever you feel drawn to or ask your guides to guide your eyes to the one that is meant for you! ᡣ𐭩

— ⭑.ᐟ this pac was inspired by soobin, as well as my own love for tmis! tmi means ‘too much information’, so things that could be awkward to share but are still entertaining or interesting to talk about! please keep in mind that this is a general reading still, so these aren’t necessarily something unique, just fun! so something that happens to a lot if people, but not everyone. so it’s supposed to show your future spouse’s/soulmate’s unique charm! this reading is intended to make you feel closer to them, to help you realise they are an actual person and not just an idea of a possibility that could happen in your life! <3 I am also sorry for the colour theme for this pac, I admit, I haven’t properly thought it through.

pile one : books

𐙚: 8 of cups,page of cups reversed, three of pentacles, the devil reversed, ace of cups reversed, five of cups, six of wands

bottom of the deck: seven of swords reversed

♡ ⢷ general TMIs

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ the very first thing I would like to mention is that the cards almost formed a big zero, but suddenly the cards fell out in a way they formed the number ‘10’. so this leads me to believe that your person grew up in an environment in which they were bullied for their looks but grew up ‘to be a 10’ because they put in the work to take care of themselves. this could be something some of you will be able to relate over with your person, you two could stay up and share your experiences with one another. the number 10 is significant here in general as well, for some of you their birthday is on the 10th! so the 10th of any month, but the first 4 cards fell out in a way they mirrored one another so I assume there are actually quite a few people here whose spouse was born on October 10th. - or maybe even you, which they find cool. - for a very small amount of you, your person is 10 years older than you. most people in this pile will definitely only have a 1-4 years of age gap with their love, but I am specifically picking up on a few people who will have a 10, or even 10+ year age gap with their lover. don’t be scared though, if you aren’t into it then it’s more than likely not you!

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they could potentially have an anxiety that is related to money! so there is a bigger possibility here that they grew up poor. I realise that there could be people in this pile who can’t relate to that, but regardless I wanted to mention it because it seems to be a part of their life that shaped their personality on a greater scale. they could be more attracted to people - both platonically and romantically - who can appreciate the little things in life, that are grateful for what they have and can take care of it well too. they seem to dislike people who take money for granted, but at the same time they don’t like it if people give too much power to it. it’s just that they wish to surround themselves with humble people who have a lot of gratitude.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they could have great potential to be really successful at life, at whatever they set their mind to and become ambitious towards. however their own doubts could at times stop them from completing tasks at hand that they subconsciously deem as difficult. they know they will be successful, but there is still that doubt at the back of their head that just yells ‘what if’, continuously building up the anxiety inside of them bit by bit. so they are quite the over thinkers, sort of scatter brained because they have thousand of thoughts and they are all going at light speed. - I almost said Godspeed, so they might have this term in their everyday vocabulary. - don’t get them wrong, they are still very disciplined and hardworking, their mind just presents them with several situations so they can be sure to take the right one. for some of you they could even have imposter syndrome.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they have an irregular sleeping schedule! of course, there are many people in this pile so the reason why for the irregular sleep schedule isn’t going to be just one thing. for some it’s insomnia, for another group is hypersomnia and for some people’s soulmate it’s really just because of their work. so you will really just have to wait and see! although I still think they prefer to stay up til late at night and wake up early. - sometimes they don’t even wake up but just continue the day.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ for some of you! they have special interests in different times of history. honestly Egypt and tudor era England is coming in strong! - yeah, typical/basic I know. they can still like it tho, up to them! - but also ancient China and Japan, especially the clothing. honestly, there seems to be a focus on the past. the cultures, fashion and social behaviour that were alive then. it seems to fascinate them how much people have changed yet stayed the same all at once! they just seem to have favourites. - this could be true in general. some of you will definitely have the ‘I hate everyone but you’ trope going on. - regardless they are highly intelligent and always willing to learn and educate themselves in every and any topic. they enjoy knowing things even if they seem useless to others. you can never know when you need to know something.

♡ ⢷ TMIs in love

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they might not be the most experienced when it comes to sexual things. it’s not that they aren’t experienced at all, but they much rather would prefer to control their desires than to give into them and waste time. it’s like they don’t want to do it if it’s not necessary. really hard to turn them on too. this is because… they are demisexual. if you don’t know what that is, it’s basically only being turned on if you are in love with the person you are sharing your experience with! - which no, it’s not normal for everyone! some people are aromantic and bisexual for example. - so they just pick their “battles” really carefully. for some of you they could even have purity ocd </3 that’s only a very selective few of you though!

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ I will be honest with you, they have been seriously in love before.. well, at least what they believe to be love. however, I genuinely can’t tell if they had a relationship or not because they overcomplicate the energy surrounding them and get all sentimental. this has also happened two times, but I am sure the second time they didn’t date.. it’s the first one that they overcomplicate, more than likely due to romanticising the idea of first love. hold on ✋🏻 don’t click off, I know you are annoyed. - rightfully! - this feeling of theirs won’t last forever, as they meet you they will mature and realise that ‘oh, this is what true love actually feels like’. - a channeled thought of theirs! - so by the time they are around they won’t think about that person! 🩶 they are also very single, so that’s that.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they have a tendency to get insecure about themselves sometimes! not their body, I think there are body parts they are very confident in yet humble about. it’s rather about their personality and their being as a whole. they might question if they are good enough to be with you or if they even deserve your love. it’s not that they wonder because they know they don’t, past experiences just left them scarred. they could have been put down a lot mentally, possibly even bullied and told that no one would want to have them anyway.. so that experience just stuck. it makes them wonder if it’s true or not. you know? tries to keep their cool but at the end of the day they are a sensitive soul. very shy too!

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ abandonment issues 🔥 sorry, I thought I would just be straightforward 🫡 they are really scared of being left behind by the people they love. though, it’s not an irrational fear at all to be fair. most people’s spouse/soulmate in this pile has divorced/separated parents. not gonna lie, it could have been the mom that’s left but of course that is personal to everyone’s experience. regardless, they could self sabotage and distance themselves if they believe that you will try to leave them. ‘I will leave before you can ever hurt me’, you know? so they could just need a lot of reassurance! nurturing is fine too, but it could make them embarrassed because they might feel like ‘they need to be stronger than this.’ - to point out, enjoying getting nurtured or giving it is completely fine and nothing you should be ashamed of, I am telling you how your person feels. - I do think they can heal from this habit tho! they are also an introvert. I wasn’t sure how to fit it, but I thought it’s important for someone here to hear it 🫶🏻

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ is interested in feminine people! no, you do not have to wear pink, bows and act like someone you are not. by feminine I mean someone with a gentle nature. kind, sweet, playful, well mannered, caring and a person that’s protective without being overbearing with it. a person with a silent strength. of course they might like it if you have feminine mannerisms too - as in your body language - but they don’t really consciously care about it, it’s a rather subconscious attraction of theirs! they care more for the person’s soul and not the body. - for some of you your person is religious, but I am sure that only applies if you yourself are religious as well! 🩷 - regardless, if you don’t think you embody these don’t worry about it too much. - I fully believe you do, you might just second guess yourself. -

— ✮⋆˙ pink , jang wonyoung , afro hair naturally but currently braided , ginger , shooting star , cosmos , cosmo and wanda , 90s shows , someone here likes niche movies (apes, star wars, kid shows ect.. bluey to be specific) , ‘timmy was an average kid that no one understands’ being stuck in your head , milk being spilled , starting the day of bad , red lipstick , April 4th , old fashion style? like classy 20s - 40s , swim - chase atlantic , smoke but from a candle , Aphrodite worshipper 🫵🏻 , bows but like dyi? on nails , leopard cubs , glamour , merida/brave , bears , a dog named bear ? black but not completely , ‘I got a pocket full of sunshine ‘

pile one, hold on because I got things to say. ✋🏻 I know most of you are girls/women but there are guys/men here that think I forgot them based on my reading style. I did not, the most manly men I have ever met had some sort of feminity to them. I felt your energy the whole time. 🫡 also, I know most of you doubt that I could actually get some of that information out bc ‘oh but you can’t get tmis with tarot’.. baby, I know you saw some other readers not being able to but I can. I am not saying this from a place of arrogance. as long as the person’s higher self is willing to share something with me I can channel it just fine. I am gifted and I WILL use it to help you because you deserve to have help, guidance and most important of all fun. obviously, these tmis are heavier than I expected, but if you wanna know more about your person who am I to stop that? I will channel to the best of my abilities for you 🫡 even tho I know some of you didn’t like some of the tmis and you know what? that’s fair you don’t have to 🤧 take care beautiful don’t let anyone dim your lights that even the sun would be jealous of mwa thank you for reading.

if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!

pile two : soobin

𐙚: the magician, three of coins, hierophant reversed, the lovers reversed, wheel of fortune, eight of coins reversed, knight of wands

bottom of the deck: ten of pentacles

♡ ⢷ general TMIs

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they seem to be a rather pessimistic person. it’s not that they can’t have fun, it’s just that they are pessimistic without even noticing it you know. the kind of person to say ‘what if we won’t like it?’ when you suggest trying out something new. not bothersome though, could just lead to bickering or non serious fights in their daily life.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ I don’t think this person is an adult yet.. ? as in, I don’t think they are any older than 20. so my best guess is the majority of the people who chose this pile are quite young as well 🫡 if you are an adult tho, it’s just that your person is very child like. it’s not that they are not mature, but they haven’t exactly experienced things yet that would make them view life in a serious manner.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ not that talk active. they talk, but they probably use a lot of slangs as of now and have a rather casual tone when talking with anyone. you know how teenage boys talk? kind of like that. not completely though, I don’t think their vocabulary sounds like brain rot. they know how to speak respectfully to people if that makes sense.. ? like they can let go of the slangs if they want, they just use it to sound more friendly. - or if they are really young they are trying to sound cool. -

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ outside a lot! they are pretty extroverted so they enjoy going outside with their friends, or to work. which is great, they honestly seem very disciplined even though their energy is carefree and young. it’s not that they are not home at all, but being inside all day could overwhelm them a lot.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they more than likely have a fake friend that wants no good for them. they are blissfully unaware of this, but this “friend” seems to be quite manipulative towards them because they enjoy the control that comes with it. :/ - hope they break free from people like this. -

♡ ⢷ TMIs in love

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ has player tendencies. I am saying tendencies because they aren’t very successful with their attempts; although they would like to tell you otherwise lol they are unsuccessful bc at heart they are a lover boy/girl, they just didn’t embrace this part of themselves yet.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ doesn’t believe that there is genuinely someone out there for them. it stems from insecurity but also the fact that they don’t really seem to believe in true love. it’s like they wish it would exist, but in their eyes it does not. you will change this tho!

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ honestly wants to have a big family of their own when they are older and feel ready for it. do you know those kids who say ‘when I will have a family I will have 11 kids so I have a football team’? your person could’ve been like that lol like I don’t think y’all will have that many kids, but you guys will still have a pretty little family.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they might be a really cuddly person! not in public of course, but definitely in private. wants to cuddle with you as much as possible, especially when watching movies together or just chilling. might like the idea of you snuggling into them under their shirt or them doing this to you. - just depends on who is the more masculine one in the relationship. -

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ could honestly be very protective of you. not in a controlling sense, but your person is very brave and knows almost no fears. they will definitely be ready to call out anyone who disrespects you. maybe physically fight as well, but that’s incase you get harassed. probably has fantasies of being a protector. 🫡

— ✮⋆˙ brazil , ‘go ahead and cry�� (song), cold , tan skin , tiktok comment section , jump - p1h , rap songs , nose bleeds , football , sweat on forehead & hair (very specific thing to be attracted to. not judging, clarifying. ) , strawberries on pink shirt , chase ocean , choosing 2 piles (I see you) , hooves? as in hooves on horses , sailors ! , ⚓️ , purple eyeshadow , glittery eyeshadow , someone here is a latina , dandadan (esp the ost) , ‘love of my life’ , horror! , uzumaki by junji ito , book reader 🫵🏻

I am not going to lie to you, I am pretty much a big yapper but your partner was trying to be nonchalant so bad their energy affected what exactly I could say, how and just didn’t want to let me in on much. I think they like the idea of being mysterious so they force it even though they aren’t like that at all. also, I think they have a lot of tendency to lie bc throughout this whole reading their higher self tried to go ahead and lie to me in order to appear more cool and well mannered in front of you. if you are into mature men this is NOT your pile at all, this person is very immature and if they aren’t making you feel good this person isn’t for you my dearest. hopefully in the future I can do a better reading for you! thank you for reading.

if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!

pile three : eye cream

𐙚: nine of wands rev, four of wands, ten of wands, the empress reversed, ace of wands rev, the hanged man, the sun rev, queen of swords rev

bottom of the deck: queen of coins

♡ ⢷ general TMIs

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ manspreads a lot. it could be that they are comfortable this way or that it’s to assert dominance quitely.. or, you know, just for space. I do feel like the reason is different for everyone, regardless there are many people in this pile who could perhaps find this gross. I understand, it’s not the most pleasant thing to imagine a random person doing.. but your future spouse is your future spouse!

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they might have a tendency to get depressed easily, perhaps they could even have a depression that’s related to a season like winter, or summer. this is different for each person but it’s winter for most people, it could drain their energy and they could feel rather exhausted.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ their view on religions isn’t exactly mature, they view it as limiting and at times they could be disrespectful while completely thinking that they are justified. this doesn’t apply to only christianity, they could think most if not all religions are completely out of touch and could potentially grow their ego by saying that ‘they don’t need religion to be a good person’ while completely missing the point or without bothering to further learn about whatever subject at hand. although I want to point out, this is only the case if you yourself are the same way. for the religious people in this pile - especially if you are muslim - your future spouse still isn’t religious but is very much open to learning and hearing you out. they could potentially have big puppy eyes while smiling as you tell them about your religion, experiences and what they mean to you. there is a little divide in this group when it comes to this matter but I wouldn’t worry much because you attract the kind of people who are pretty much similar to you!

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they don’t have too much creativity to them - no shade - but they are incredibly good at analysing things and media literacy! they might like to take apart scenes in a movie or show or perhaps even notice things other people normally wouldn’t. they have really sharp eyes and are incredibly good at understanding context that can sometimes fly by peoples head. they are quite intelligent and observant, they appreciate it when there is meaning or reason behind things.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they are a foreigner! I cannot tell where they are from, but it’s certainly a different country from yours. the country they are from seems to be known from their climate honestly, much different from what you are used to. for some of you it’s hot, for some it’s cold. for most of you they are from a hot climate and the owner of a tan skin! for the winter lovers, your spouse is from a cold climate! - while you might think I am making this up I am matter of fact just channeling the sort of person you will be pulled and attracted to. -

♡ ⢷ TMIs in love

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ hopeless romantic, their higher self was not able to wait til I get to this point 😭 definitely the sort of person who loves spoiling you rotten with a whole lot of love to give! one of their love languages is words of affirmation 🙂‍↕️ I almost said ‘love of affirmation’ - lmao - so I am pretty sure they will tell you they love you every single day either directly or in their very own way.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they seem very confident on the outside but tend to get very insecure due to past traumas caused by someone that they once loved. they don’t like to be open about this, and they don’t enjoy the vulnerability that comes with it. they don’t like to be pitied but also get sad while recalling the memories. since their feelings are left unresolved there might be a few issues that come up in the relationship between you. they no longer love the person, of course, but they will at times wonder if they are good enough for you, if you love them or you pretend. they seem very scared of betrayal.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ their type is a rather feminine and submissive person who can still stand up for themselves and be reliable. someone trustworthy, gentle, nurturing and kind hearted. yet, at the same time not really naive. someone wise, intelligent and nurturing. I feel pulled to say a ‘real women’ bc SOMEONE’s future spouse in this pac is very stubborn with mentioning that but for most people in this pile they are bisexual, so I don’t actually want to say that, but I am mentioning it just incase. - If you are a guy do not worry they are obviously a boy kisser my sweetheart - Eitherway, your spouse is very dominant. So that’s that! - Yes even if it’s a woman. -

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they have incredibly high standards. they are picky and they like to choose their partner well. so because of this they are a tad bit inexperienced. not insanely, but they would rather value themselves than to give themselves to someone who can’t see their worth. - their words, not mine. -

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ they are family oriented, aka you oriented. they are incredibly open minded, understanding, not forceful and will try to be open and accepting even when it’s hard or they don’t exactly understand you or what you are going through. let’s say you start out the relationship wanting a big family but down the line get scared of pregnancy and become unsure if you actually want a big family or not, they will be accepting and try to understand; and if you aren’t ready to talk about it they will wait for you to slowly open up bit by bit no matter how long it takes. they are patient, and they are loving. of course, this was only an example but I figured this would be a good way to show how much your spouse adores and loves you for the person that you are, rather than what you can give them.

— ✮⋆˙songs from your childhood, ‘tell me it’s you’, someone here has a new crush, a drama starring kim soohyun, mbappé, smudged eyeliner, your waterline having some sort of issue? 🧐, painted glittery nails, reddish orange, cracking your fingers, blond - bleached - hair, storm, prominent eyebrows, leia/leila/layla, recently bought yourself clothing, X, pearls - maybe pink ones? -, collecting seashells from a beach/shore, malaysia/indonesia, milky skin, sad puppy eyes by default

alrighty mighty my beautiful pile three I KNOW everyone in this group has read something they perhaps didn’t like but please know it’s because your group is the most diverse one, so many energies came through. either way I hope you could still enjoy this pile 🤧 I would NEVER purposefully say anything to upset any of you. 🩶 thank you for reading.

if you liked my reading please consider checking out my paid readings! there is barely any topic I will say no to and with every penny you are helping me!

#pick a pile #tarot #tarotblr #astroblr #pick a card #spirituality #paid readings #tarot reading #free tarot #pick a picture #tarot community

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wolvietxt · 2 days ago

Note

Could you write alexandria era Daryl and reader where his gf is insecure about being "unattractive" and that daryl could get any girl he wanted (even if daryl would never believe that lol) ? love you fics xx

DARYL wasn’t used to hearing you cry.

sure, you got teary-eyed sometimes - when you were overwhelmed, when someone did something unexpectedly kind, even during a few of the stories he’d told you about merle when you’d asked - but this? this was different.

this was quiet. not the kind of crying where you let it out, but the kind where you were trying to hold it in.

he found you sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, hands gripping the blanket like you were grounding yourself. your head was ducked low, hair hiding your face, but your shoulders trembled just enough for him to notice.

his chest tightened.

"what’s wrong?"

you stiffened at his voice, hurriedly rubbing at your face before looking up. your eyes were red-rimmed, your nose a little pink, and you were smiling - like you could just pretend nothing happened.

"nothing," you said quickly, voice a little too light.

he frowned. "sure don’t look like nothin’."

"i’m fine, daryl."

his eyes narrowed. "nah. somethin’ happened. what is it?"

you inhaled sharply, like you were bracing yourself, then shook your head. "it’s stupid."

he stepped closer, boots scuffing against the floor. "you know i don’t care."

your fingers twisted into the blanket, and for a second, you just stared at your lap. then, so quietly he almost missed it, you muttered, "sometimes i just don’t get why you’re with me."

daryl blinked. the hell?

his frown deepened, confusion flickering in his eyes. "what?"

"it’s just…" you exhaled shakily, not looking at him. "you could have anyone."

daryl stared, brows furrowing like he hadn’t understood the words.

"what the hell are ya talkin’ about?"

you swallowed hard. "you’re - " your voice wavered, and you looked away. "you."

his scowl deepened. "yeah, and?"

"you’re - " you gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. "you’re… good-looking."

he actually flinched.

"what?"

"you are, daryl," you said, voice small. "and i’m not. and sometimes, i just… i don’t understand why you’d wanna be with me when you could have - "

"stop."

his voice was rough, immediate.

you startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. his jaw was clenched, his hands twitching by his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

"first off," he said gruffly, "i ain’t good-lookin’."

you opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

"second," he continued, "i couldn’t have anyone. never could."

you frowned. "yes you could, daryl. if you wanted to - "

"don’t wanna," he snapped, frustrated.

you flinched, and his face instantly softened. he exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck.

"don’t want anyone else," he muttered. "only ever wanted you."

your heart clenched, but doubt still gnawed at you. "why?"

he scowled again. "why not?"

"because - " your voice caught. "because i just don’t see what you see."

daryl huffed, shaking his head. "ain’t ‘bout what you see. it’s ‘bout what i see."

his voice softened, his hands finally moving - one tilting your chin up, the other brushing your hair away from your face.

"and what i see?" his thumb traced your cheek, his voice so damn sure. "prettiest damn girl i ever laid eyes on."

your breath hitched.

he wasn’t saying it just to say it. daryl didn’t lie.

"you’re just sayin’ that," you whispered.

his expression darkened, fingers tightening just a little, like he was annoyed you’d even think that.

"don’t say shit i don’t mean," he muttered. "ain’t never been good at that."

your lip trembled. "but - "

"no but," he cut in. "ya think i’d be here if i ain’t want ya? think i’d waste my damn time if i ain’t love ya?"

your stomach flipped. he didn’t say that often - not in words, anyway.

"love ya more’n anything," he murmured. "don’t give a shit what you think you look like. you’re mine and you’re cute as fuck."

a small, broken noise slipped from your throat, and daryl reacted instantly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. you clung to him, burying your face in his shoulder as the rest of the tears spilled out.

he held you tighter, murmuring, "ain’t goin’ nowhere."

and you believed him.

ᰔ daryl dixon : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @sunnykittyzz

@california-boys-and-sun, @cable-kenobi, @omen-keke, @hhiggs, @iheartpeterparker3000

@withasideofmeg, @corvuscattus, @nestavadavat, @kcch-ns, @spideysimpossiblegirl

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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calypso-rt · 2 days ago

Text

detour!

with the insufferable Rafe Cameron

| one | | two |

-> Rafe x F!reader

The wedding weekend is officially over.

Guests filter out of the lodge in clusters, some nursing hangovers, others waving sentimental goodbyes.

You stand near the gravel lot, arms crossed, watching as JJ dramatically drapes himself over the hood of Kiara’s car, claiming he’s “too emotionally fragile to leave yet.” Sarah is nearby, laughing as she helps John B pack up.

And then there’s you, trying very hard not to glance at Rafe, who stands a few feet away, running a hand through his hair as he checks his phone.

You pretend you’re not listening when someone calls your name.

“You need a ride?”

You turn to see Luke, one of the Pogues’ older friends, dangling his keys. “I’ve got room in the truck,” he adds. “Figured you wouldn’t wanna be stuck with him all the way back.”

Your lips part, instinct ready to say yes, because of course, that makes sense. It’s logical. No reason to put yourself through hours of close quarters tension with Rafe when you could ride with someone else.

But then...

You glance over.

And Rafe is looking at you.

Not like he’s expecting anything. Not like he’s waiting. Just... watching.

It’s subtle, but you catch the way his shoulders stiffen slightly, the way his fingers tighten around his phone. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t try to sway you.

He just looks away, like he already knows what you’re going to say.

And suddenly, for some reason, you hesitate.

“…Actually,” you say slowly, turning back to Luke. “I think I’ll just drive with Rafe.”

Luke raises a brow, glancing between you two. “You sure?”

No.

“Yes,” you say instead.

From the corner of your eye, you swear you see Rafe’s posture relax.

Luke shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He tosses his keys in the air and catches them before strolling off toward his truck.

You exhale, turning toward Rafe, who’s still looking at his phone like he wasn’t just listening to the whole thing.

“Guess we should hit the road,” you say, shifting on your feet.

Rafe nods, pocketing his phone. “Yeah.” He glances at you, something unreadable in his gaze before he steps toward the car.

You follow, trying to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of spending the next few hours trapped in a car with him.

You tell yourself it’ll be fine.

It’s just a ride.

Nothing else.

…Right?

...

The first ten minutes are quiet.

You scroll through your playlist, pretending to be deep in thought while Rafe focuses on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. The soft hum of the engine fills the space between you, mixed with the occasional sound of his fingers tapping against the leather steering wheel.

It’s fine. Normal.

Until he ruins it.

“I still can’t believe you actually chose to ride with me.”

You don’t look up. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

He smirks, eyes on the road. “Nah. Just figured I scared you off after our little honeymoon suite experience.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Oh, our honeymoon suite experience? Pretty sure I was the victim there.”

“Victim?” He scoffs. “Sweetheart, you got to share a bed with me. That’s a privilege, not a punishment.”

You make a face. “You stole the covers.”

“I was the covers.”

“I had to wake up in the middle of the night and rip them out of your death grip.”

Rafe snorts. “Yeah, and then you practically wrapped yourself around me in your sleep. Should’ve just admitted you wanted to cuddle.”

You gape at him. “I did not—”

“Oh, you definitely did,” he lies smoothly, knowing full well he was the one doing the cuddling. “Don’t worry, though. I won’t hold it against you.”

You groan, sinking into your seat. “I should’ve taken Luke’s truck.”

“You say that,” Rafe muses, “but we both know you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips, because—ugh. You hate when he does that. When he says something in that half-joking, half-serious way that makes it impossible to tell if he actually means it.

He flicks a glance at you. “Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you’d be bored without me.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Fine. I admit that without you, I’d be peacefully enjoying my music without someone inflating their ego next to me.”

Rafe chuckles. “Fair enough.”

Silence settles again, but this time, it’s different. Easier.

Then—

Your favorite song comes on.

And you barely have time to register it before Rafe reaches over and

Clicks ‘Next’.

Your gasp is pure outrage. “Excuse me?”

“Nope,” he says, entirely unrepentant, keeping his eyes on the road.

“That was my song!”

“Yeah, well, I’m driving. My car, my rules.”

You shove his arm. “It’s a universal rule that the passenger gets aux.”

“Not when the passenger has terrible taste.”

Your jaw drops. “You listen to EDM remixes of country songs, you absolute menace—”

“Hey, those go hard.”

“You’re deranged.”

He grins, and you know—you know—he’s doing this just to mess with you.

So you yank the phone off the dashboard and put your song back on.

Rafe groans. “You’re the worst.”

But you catch it.

The way his grip flexes slightly on the wheel. The way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a real smile.

The way, when he glances at you, there’s something softer in his expression than he probably realizes.

And you tell yourself not to overthink it.

Because, at the end of the day, this is just a drive.

Nothing else.

...Right?

...

It starts with a sputter.

A tiny, almost imperceptible hiccup in the engine.

You barely notice at first, too focused on the battle for control of the aux cord, your foot propped up on the dashboard while you scroll through playlists. But then the car gives a little lurch.

“Uh… what the hell was that?”

Rafe frowns, glancing down at the dashboard. “No clue.”

You both wait.

Another sputter. Another jolt.

Then, the car just… dies.

No dramatic explosion, no smoke billowing out from under the hood, just a slow, pathetic roll to a stop on the side of the road.

Rafe stares straight ahead, hands still gripping the wheel like he can will the car back to life.

You blink. “Oh, this is rich.”

Rafe exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “No. No, no, no this cannot be happening right now.”

You snort. “I don’t know, Rafe. I think it just happened.”

He shoots you a look. “Not helping.”

You give him an innocent smile, but your amusement is short-lived as you glance around. The road is practically deserted, the nearest gas station at least ten miles back, and you don’t even have enough service to load a map.

Fantastic.

Rafe sighs, popping the hood and stepping out of the car. You follow, leaning against the door as he pokes around the engine, muttering curses under his breath.

After a minute, you arch a brow. “So? What’s the diagnosis, car expert?”

He gives you a flat look. “The diagnosis is that my car just randomly died and we’re stranded in the middle of nowhere.”

You hum. “Sounds serious.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Silence.

“So, how long until you fix it?” you ask sweetly.

Rafe groans, straightening up. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking—”

You smirk. “What? You afraid I’ll say I told you so?”

He glares. “You didn’t tell me anything.”

You shrug. “I thought about telling you to get your car checked before the trip. So technically, I was psychically right.”

Rafe closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Bit late for that.”

He shoots you a glare, but there’s no real bite to it. If anything, there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips, like even he can’t help but be a little amused.

And that’s when he spots it.

Just past the treeline, a sloping hill gives way to a cluster of rooftops in the distance. A tiny town, tucked into the base of the mountains, nestled in a sea of green and gold wildflowers.

Rafe gestures toward it. “Town’s not far. We can walk there, find someone to tow the car.”

You glance down at your shoes, cute, yes, but entirely impractical for a trek through nature. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Fine. But if I die of heat stroke or get mauled by a bear, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

Rafe smirks. “Hot and a little unhinged. Gotta say, sweetheart, I like the energy.”

You shove his shoulder, but then he grins at you. That easy, boyish, almost-too-charming grin.

And against all logic, you can’t help but grin back.

...

The walk starts out fine.

Mostly because you are still convinced that if you complain enough, Rafe will magically fix the car with sheer willpower alone.

“That was a perfectly good vehicle,” you mutter as you trudge behind him. “A working one. One that had air conditioning and, oh, I don’t know, wheels.”

Rafe snorts, stepping over a fallen branch. “Really? Hadn’t noticed.”

You huff, swatting at a mosquito. “This is your fault.”

“How, exactly?”

“You jinxed it.” You dodge a shrub. “I bet if I were driving, we’d be at our homes by now.”

He turns slightly, giving you an unimpressed look. “You can’t drive stick.”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Details.”

Rafe chuckles, shaking his head, and despite the situation, despite the heat and the uneven trail, you don’t totally hate this.

Because it’s… nice out here.

Golden wildflowers stretch out in every direction, brushing against your legs as the two of you weave through the hills. The sun is just starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a honeyed glow over everything, and the town ahead looks like something straight out of a movie: rustic, picturesque, the kind of place that seems frozen in time.

Rafe slows down, glancing back at you. “You okay?”

Your face is flushed from the heat, a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead. You wipe them away, rolling your eyes. “Peachy.”

He smirks but doesn’t push it. Instead, he reaches out, casually and easily, and plucks a wildflower from beside the trail.

Then he tucks it behind your ear.

Your breath catches, because he does it so effortlessly, so naturally, like it’s a completely normal thing for him to do.

You blink up at him.

Rafe just smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“There. Now you match the scenery.”

You scoff, ignoring the way your pulse flutters. “That was so corny.”

He grins. “Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it?”

You shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you push ahead, pretending to be much more interested in reaching the town than in the fact that Rafe Cameron just tucked a flower behind your ear like you’re in some kind of romantic montage.

The trail dips, curving around a small stream, and then you finally step onto a paved road.

The town is small but charming, lined with old-fashioned lampposts and brick buildings with hanging flower baskets. There’s a diner on the corner with twinkling lights in the windows, a little gas station down the street, and an inn with a wraparound porch.

You exhale. “Civilization. Finally.”

Rafe stretches his arms over his head, cracking his neck. “Not bad. Could be worse.”

“Could be worse?” You give him a look. “I just had to hike in a dress, Rafe. Through the wilderness. I think I saw my life flash before my eyes twice.”

He rolls his eyes but grins. “You’re so dramatic.”

You’re about to retort when your stomach growls loudly.

Rafe smirks. “Food first?”

You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that he is your only option right now. “Fine.”

...

The town is even cuter up close.

The streets are lined with cobblestone sidewalks, little boutiques with painted signs, and cozy brick buildings that look like they belong in a Hallmark movie. String lights crisscross above the main road, swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze, and the air smells like fresh bread, coffee, and something sweet... maybe pie.

You and Rafe step out of the diner, bell jingling behind you, stomachs full and feet finally rested. You should probably be focused on finding a way back, but right now the town is too charming to ignore.

“We should explore,” you say decisively, brushing crumbs off your dress.

Rafe gives you a look. “Explore?”

“Yes.” You gesture around. “Look at this place! When’s the next time we’re going to be stranded in the cutest town on the planet?”

His lips twitch like he wants to argue, but then his gaze sweeps over the town, taking in the fairy lights, the warm glow from shop windows, the distant sound of a street musician playing guitar.

He exhales. “Alright, fine. But if you drag me into some candle store that smells like fifty different flavors of vanilla, I’m walking back to the car.”

You grin, already leading the way.

The first stop is a bookstore, one of those tiny, independently owned ones with towering bookshelves. The air inside is warm, filled with the scent of old paper and lavender tea from a little café in the corner.

You trail your fingers along the spines, stopping when you recognize one of your favorites. “Oh—this one’s so good.”

Rafe raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say distractedly, flipping through the pages. Then, without thinking, you blurt, “You’d like it.”

There’s a pause.

When you glance up, Rafe is watching you, expression unreadable.

You clear your throat, shoving the book back onto the shelf. “Anyway. Next store.”

He smirks but doesn’t push it.

The next stop is an antique shop, filled with mismatched furniture, vintage postcards, and dusty record players.

Rafe immediately starts messing with things.

“What about this?” He holds up an atrocious ceramic cat figurine, complete with googly eyes.

You grimace. “If you buy that, I’m never speaking to you again.”

He grins. “Tempting.”

You roll your eyes, wandering over to a glass case filled with old jewelry. There’s something oddly romantic about it: lockets that have held secrets for decades, rings that have witnessed love stories long before yours.

You glance at Rafe. He’s already watching you, something soft in his expression.

You turn away before he can say anything.

Then, of course, there’s the candle store.

“I knew this would happen,” Rafe groans as you drag him inside.

“Just one candle!” you insist.

“You’re not even gonna buy one,” he mutters, trailing behind you as you pick up different scents and inhale deeply. “You’re gonna spend twenty minutes sniffing them and then walk out emptyhanded.”

You give him an innocent smile. “That’s half the fun.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but when he thinks you’re not looking, he picks up a candle labeled Stormy Nights and sniffs it.

You catch him, of course.

“Oh my God.” You gasp, clutching your chest in mock surprise. “You like this store.”

He immediately puts the candle down. “Do not start.”

You laugh, linking your arm through his before he can escape. “Come on, Rafe. Just embrace it.”

He groans, but he doesn’t pull away.

By the time the sun sets, you’ve somehow ended up at the town’s little lake, sitting on a wooden dock as the sky fades into deep indigo, the first stars appearing above. The town glows behind you, reflections shimmering on the water, the distant hum of conversation and soft music carrying through the night.

You sigh, dipping your fingers into the cool water. “Okay. I’ll admit it.”

Rafe leans back on his elbows. “Admit what?”

You glance at him. “This… wasn’t the worst way to be stranded.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Wow. The high praise is overwhelming.”

You nudge him with your foot, but he catches your ankle, his grip warm, solid. His thumb brushes lightly over your skin before he lets go.

Your stomach flips.

You look away, suddenly very interested in the water.

Rafe exhales. “We should probably figure out where we’re staying.”

You groan. “Please don’t say honeymoon suite.”

His smirk is way too smug. “I wasn’t gonna say it, but now that you mention it...”

You shove him, and he laughs, standing up and offering you a hand.

You hesitate for half a second, then take it.

The night is warm, the town glowing, and somehow, somehow, this doesn’t feel like a disaster anymore.

It almost feels… nice.

...

“No vacancies?” you echo, staring blankly at the woman behind the front desk.

She offers an apologetic smile. “Unfortunately, with the festival this weekend, every place in town is booked solid. We had one cancellation earlier, but another couple just claimed it.”

You slowly turn to Rafe.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Love that.”

The desk clerk hesitates. “There is… one option.”

You perk up. “Yes. We’ll take it.”

Rafe shoots you a wary glance. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s better than sleeping in the car.”

The woman shifts, clearly trying to phrase this delicately. “Well… it’s not exactly a room.”

Your excitement dims. “...What do you mean?”

She winces. “It’s a guest cottage.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Rafe muses.

She quickly adds, “It’s also part of the romantic getaway package.”

Your stomach drops.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, already knowing where this is going. Talk about deja vu.

Rafe, to his credit, is at least trying to suppress his laughter. “You mean… like, a honeymoon suite?”

“More like a honeymoon cabin,” she corrects. “Cozy, intimate, fully stocked with all the romantic touches—”

“I don’t need the details,” you cut in.

“I kind of do,” Rafe counters.

You glare at him. He grins.

The woman hesitates. “So… will you take it?”

Rafe looks at you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to reject it.

You want to. You really do. But at this point, you’re exhausted, your legs are sore, and the thought of sleeping in the car, especially with Rafe Cameron, is a level of misery you refuse to endure.

You exhale. “Fine.”

Rafe blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

You cross your arms. “Unless you want to sleep in the car?”

His smirk returns in full force. “Nah, sweetheart. If you want to shack up in a love nest with me, who am I to say no?”

You groan, rubbing your temples as the desk clerk hands over the key.

The moment you step inside, your jaw actually drops.

It’s adorable.

A rustic little log cabin, lit with soft golden lighting and warmed by a stone fireplace. The bed has plush white bedding with more rose petals scattered on top, and there’s an open balcony that overlooks a lake, reflecting the stars above.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. “It’s actually cute.”

Rafe whistles behind you. “Hate to say it, but I think this might be nicer than the first honeymoon suite.”

You slowly turn, narrowing your eyes. “Are you saying you enjoyed the first one?”

He shrugs, tossing his bag onto the bed. “I dunno. Kinda grew on me.”

“You’re insane.”

He just smirks, toeing off his shoes before flopping back onto the bed.

You groan. “Rafe.”

“Babe,” he says, mimicking your annoyed tone, “the sooner you accept that you love being stuck with me, the easier your life will be.”

You throw a pillow at him.

He catches it, because of course he does.

You decide to explore the cabin, mostly to ignore the fact that you’re about to share a bed with Rafe again.

The kitchen is surprisingly nice, stocked with chocolates and a bottle of wine (which Rafe immediately opens, because of course he does).

The balcony is probably your favorite part: warm summer air, twinkling lights, the lake stretching out beyond the trees.

You lean on the railing, inhaling the fresh air.

Rafe appears beside you, two wine glasses in hand. “Here.”

You take one, surprised when he doesn’t make a snarky comment about you accepting a drink from him. Instead, he clinks his glass against yours.

“To… surviving another night together,” he says, voice lighter than usual.

You snort. “Cheers to that.”

You both drink, settling into a comfortable silence as the stars shimmer above.

You don’t feel stranded.

You just feel calm.

Which, with Rafe Cameron, is kind of a miracle.

...

You stare at the bed. The one bed.

Again.

“What are the odds?” Rafe muses, standing beside you, wine glass still in hand.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Oh, I don’t know, Rafe. Maybe it’s because we keep getting shoved into romantic lodging situations like some kind of sick cosmic joke.”

He chuckles. “Could be worse.”

“How?” you ask flatly.

He hums, considering. “The bed could be heart-shaped again.”

You shudder at the memory of the first honeymoon suite. “Don’t even speak that into existence.”

Rafe just grins, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt lifts just slightly, and you hate that your eyes flicker downward for a second too long.

Noticing your hesitation, he smirks. “You taking the left or right?”

“I’m taking the whole thing,” you deadpan. “You can sleep on the floor.”

He snorts. “Yeah, okay, princess.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab your pajamas from your bag and retreat into the bathroom.

By the time you step back into the room, Rafe is already sprawled across the entire bed, hands behind his head like he owns the place.

You glare. “Seriously?”

He smirks. “What? You were gone forever. Thought you bailed.”

“It’s been five minutes.”

“Exactly.”

You huff, marching over and shoving his legs aside so you can climb in. He chuckles but lets you settle in, shifting onto his side to face you.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fireplace. The wine has left you warm, making the dim lighting feel even softer.

“…Thanks for staying,” Rafe says suddenly, voice quieter than usual.

You glance over, caught off guard. “What?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “Back at the lodge. You could’ve left with that Luke guy.”

You hesitate. “I almost did.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. I noticed.”

You shift onto your side, mirroring him. “Why did you look so upset?”

Rafe tenses, just slightly. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something sarcastic, but then stops. Closes it.

Then, finally:

“…Didn’t want to drive back alone.”

It’s quiet.

Your stomach does a weird little flip.

You swallow, gripping the edge of the blanket. “Oh.”

Rafe clears his throat. “I mean, who else would keep me entertained? Can’t exactly banter with myself.”

There it is. The deflection.

But it’s too late. You already heard the honesty in his voice before it.

Smiling softly, you nudge his foot under the covers. “You’d probably try.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Maybe.”

Silence settles again, but this time, it’s comfortable.

Eventually, your eyelids grow heavy. You barely register the way Rafe shifts closer, the warmth of him seeping through the covers.

And just before you drift off, you swear you hear him mumble:

“…Kinda glad you stayed.”

Your lips part, but sleep pulls you under before you can respond.

And in the soft glow of the fire, Rafe watches you for just a second longer.

Then, quietly, he closes his eyes too.

...

The scent of fresh coffee drifts through the air, pulling you from the depths of sleep. The warmth of the blankets is inviting, but something else is even warmer.

You blink groggily.

Rafe.

Still asleep. Still close. Still very much in your personal space.

At some point during the night, he must have shifted even closer. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his face relaxed in a way you don’t usually see.

For a second, you let yourself take it in. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep.

Then reality slams back into you.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

You try to move—try being the key word—because the second you shift even an inch, Rafe groans and pulls you closer.

Your eyes widen. “Rafe.”

“Mmm,” he mutters, voice still thick with sleep. His grip tightens slightly, like you’re a pillow he refuses to let go of.

You freeze. “Rafe.”

Another groggy noise.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles against your hair.

Your face burns.

You push at his shoulder. “Get off.”

“Mm-mm.”

“Rafe.”

A beat.

Then, suddenly, he tenses.

You can feel the exact second he realizes what’s happening.

His eyes snap open. He pulls back, just slightly, blinking at you with a confused, half-awake expression. Then, very slowly, his gaze flickers down to where his arm is still around you.

He smirks.

“Oh, good morning, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice smug. “Sleep well?”

You shove him. Hard.

He laughs as he rolls onto his back, stretching like he wasn’t just wrapped around you like a human koala. “Don’t need coffee when I’ve got you to wake me up so rudely.”

“I will smother you with a pillow,” you grumble, sitting up and raking a hand through your hair.

He grins, propping himself up on his elbows. “Bet you wouldn’t have minded if I looked like that guy from the bakery yesterday.”

You throw a pillow at him.

Bakery guy didn't even hold a candle to a half-sleepy Rafe Cameron.

He catches it, still grinning. “Alright, alright, truce. But if you wanna cuddle again tonight, just say the word.”

You grab the other pillow and whack him with it.

After breakfast at the little café down the street (where Rafe insists on making a dramatic show of stealing bites from your plate), you wander into town, only to find it completely transformed.

Colorful stalls line the streets, people bustling around with baskets filled with fresh flowers, handmade crafts, and sweet-smelling pastries.

You blink. “Whoa.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow. “Did we walk into a Disney movie?”

You spot a sign near the entrance of the market, scrawled in elegant cursive. Annual Wildflower Festival – Welcome!

Grinning, you nudge Rafe’s arm. “Looks like we have plans today.”

He groans. “You want to be surrounded by pollen?”

“Yes.” You grab his wrist, tugging him toward the nearest stall. “Come on, grump.”

He mutters something about “allergic reactions” but follows anyway.

You weave through the crowd, admiring bouquets of vibrant wildflowers and stopping to sample homemade lavender honey. At one stall, an elderly woman waves you over, offering you a delicate flower crown made of soft blue forget-me-nots.

“For you, dear,” she says kindly. “And one for your boyfriend too.”

Before you can correct her, Rafe just smirks and leans down slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Put it on me.”

You glare at him but place the crown on his head anyway, pressing it down a little too firmly.

He tilts his head. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous.”

He winks. “Good. That means we match.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart does a little flip anyway.

...

The drive back is slower this time. Not because of car trouble this time but because neither of you seem to be in any hurry. The windows are down, the late afternoon sun painting the world in gold, and the scent of wildflowers still lingers in the air, mixed with the crisp mountain breeze.

You stretch your legs out, sighing dramatically. “If I never have to trek down a winding road in the middle of nowhere again, it’ll be too soon.”

Rafe snorts, flicking his blinker on as he pulls onto the highway. “Oh, come on. You loved it.”

You turn your head to glare at him. “I tolerated it.”

He hums, like he doesn’t believe you. “You didn’t complain that much.”

“That’s because I was too busy wondering if we’d end up as one of those missing persons cases.”

He glances over, smirking. “Yeah? And who was it that said, ‘Okay, fine, maybe this is kind of nice’ when we stopped at that overlook?”

Your jaw drops. “I did not say that.”

“Oh, you definitely did.”

“You’re misremembering.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” He adjusts his grip on the wheel, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Next time, I’m taking the ride back with someone else.”

“Next time?”

You freeze.

Damn it.

Rafe doesn’t say anything at first, just drums his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes on the road. But then, softly, almost teasingly, he adds, “Guess that means you didn’t hate it that much.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t want to answer, because he’s right, and if you say it out loud, it’ll mean something more than just a banter-filled road trip gone wrong.

Instead, you reach over, stealing the sunglasses hooked onto his shirt and sliding them on like they’re yours.

Rafe makes an affronted noise. “Seriously?”

“Consider it payment for keeping me alive.”

He grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t actually take them back. Instead, he glances over at you, at the oversized frames sitting just a little too big on your face, and shakes his head with a barely-there smile.

And just like that, the silence settles again. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s not filled with things left unsaid.

It’s just easy.

And as the car rolls on, the sun dipping lower behind the mountains, you realize something.

You kind of don’t want the drive to end.

Taglist: @drewstarkeyslover, @honeybee270, @melsbels-zip, @rafeycameronsgf, @vanessa-rafesgirl, @amel1ee, @magicalflowerstranger, @lilithblackkk, @starkeyxcameron, @simp4f1, @wtfdudesblog, @f3rnlee, @dinnodallas, @jjasmiineee, @drewrry, @lmaolmaos, @mattyskies, @yourmomdotcom42069, @chillgal135, @scorpiosaintt

(tagged everyone asking abt a pt 2) <3

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction

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bonehead-cat · 21 hours ago

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*disclaimer, i don’t argue online so this will probably be the only time i do this.

If the label isn't helpful to you you don't have to use it, even if your experience would fit within the definition.

since you say that one doesn’t have to use “agender” to describe themselves because they don’t personally find it helpful, would you also say that one doesn’t have to use “cisgender” to describe themselves for the same reason? additionally, do you think it’s valid for one to be uncomfortable with being referred to with a label that ascribes to a belief that that person doesn’t believe in?

Honestly, every word used to talk about this "internal gender" I mentioned is just labels. In a world where we've successfully abolished sociatal gender, there may not be any labels at all for these experiences. Certainly not the current labels of "man", "woman", "non binary", "genderfluid" and all the million and one other words that exist out there.

the conclusion that “well technically everything is an ascribed label so none of it really matters” tends to be destructive to any arguments had. we wouldn’t be able to have a discussion about anything, let alone be able to communicate with any language if we shut down every conversation with “well it’s all just labels so it doesn’t matter.” labels certainly do matter if you want to argue definitions for words like “agender.”

in a post-gender abolition society, the concepts of “man” and “woman” would still exist because they refer to the material reality of, in the case of a man, being an adult human male, and in the case of a woman, being an adult human female. if suddenly every english-speaker decided to refer to women as “wompyn,” then texan wompyn still wouldn’t have abortion rights, because the law is based on their material being, not the sole label of “woman.”

You don't have to believe an "internal sense of gender" exists to respect that other people do. And that many people who believe in it's existence can separate it from the sociatal form of gender that is objectively harmful. Same way as you can criticise organised religion as an atheist while respecting individual's rights to their own spiritual beliefs.

i completely agree! and i would hope that you’d also agree that unfalsifiable, faith-based beliefs should not be lawfully enforced upon nonbelievers. if you agree with that, then you understand the ethical contention feminists, gender critical people, and apolitical people have with gender ideology being employed in law-making.

I don't think I can explain my internal sense of gender to you because you don't have one. Same way as I wouldn't be able to explain the colour red to someone with achromatic vision. Or explain the smell of strawberries to someone who was born without a sense of smell. I'm aroace, and have never had someone successfully explain what attraction feels like to me because I don't feel it, and cannot conceptualise that feeling.

actually, you can describe color to a color-blind person, and you can also describe scent to one who can’t smell, because they are material concepts, not abstract concepts. the explanation may be long-winded, because some concepts can’t be explained with a few words, but that doesn’t make them untrue. in the same vein, i will never know what it feels like to be a conjoined twin, but it can be explained to me because it’s a material concept. just because you’re unlikely to precisely replicate those senses for those who don’t have them doesn’t mean they’re incapable of understanding what they are materially. the same cannot be said for internal gender and other spiritual beliefs.

I won't dwell on this much further because it's not really the main point of this discussion. It's a question of philosophy, not something observable like societal gender or sexual characteristics.

philosophy is relevant when arguing ethics, though, so it shouldn’t be ruled out in a discussion about gender ideology and whether or not it has a material base.

now, in your first reblog to kkoffin, you explain that since secondary sex characteristics vary, that means that sex is mutable and belongs on a spectrum. i’ll pose a few questions to demonstrate why that claim fails.

are men in the year 2025 more female than men who existed in 25 a.d. because human testosterone levels have dropped since then? were the women in 25 a.d. more male than women in 2025 because their testosterone levels were higher on average? if a woman has her breasts amputated because of breast cancer, does that make her more male? are men with gynecomastia more female than men without it? are female hyenas more male than other female animals because their clitorises look like penises from afar? are male seahorses more female than other male animals because their role in sexual reproduction is to gestate and birth offspring?

as you can see, defining sex by secondary sex characteristics is not a reliable metric for determining sex across species (let alone humans), which is important because sex is not unique to humans. it’s not even defined by chromosomes, because all species that reproduce sexually do not have xx or xy chromosomes.

sex is defined by which organism produces the large gamete (female) and which organism produces the small gamete (male). and that definition encapsulates the enormous variety of secondary sex characteristics across all species.

"Brain sex" would also be a form of continuous sexual characteristic distribution (though tbh I don't love the concept. And the research I've seen shows a pretty tenuous link)

you’re right to feel that brain sex is a dubious “theory,” because brain structure emerges out of neuroplasticity. it changes with development and depends greatly on environmental factors, not sex. it’s been debunked under numerous studies and is agreed upon to be false.

The emphasis on biological sex in the gender critical community, to me, seems to be where the main disagreement with trans issues actually stems from. Since so many trans people's dysphoria stems from physical sexual characteristics, any community that emphasises that as the most important thing about a person will be triggering.

the reason biological sex is so important to feminists and gender critical people is because the society we live in is founded upon it. women are oppressed because of their sex, not because of an internal gender identity which the vast majority of women don’t have. that may trigger a trans person’s dysphoria, but women should not have to silence themselves when they speak out against their oppression because of that. honestly, people who get triggered by surface-level feminism need to do some introspection on why they feel that their personal dysphoria is more important than the global war on women.

And on a personal note, I don't understand how emphasising physical sex characteristics is progressive when biological differences between men and women have been used to justify misogyny since the dawn of time.

you’ve answered your own question. the reason feminists emphasize sex is because it’s the very reason women are still oppressed to this day. we need to be able to identify the root of the problem in order to solve it. your statement employs the same silencing tactic that racists use against racial groups who speak out against their race-based oppression: “well if they wanted to end racism, they would just stop talking about it!”

At its core, “gender critical” ideology has nothing to do with transgender ideology. There’s three main beliefs that create a gender critical ideology and none of them have anything to do with or stem from trans issues.

1. Sex is a physical and material reality. You can touch and hold a penis or vagina. You can measure testosterone or oestrogen differences between men and women. You can study any inherent differences in the brain. Yes, intersex people also exist. That difference in sex development is also a material reality.

2. Gender is a social construct. A conservative, patriarchal invention that believes (as a modern example) women must like dresses and men must like pants. Women like pink and men like blue, or in other cultures or times, other ideas. This is not a material reality, it’s only socialisation. Nothing about material reality makes women like pink. There may be some debate regarding where sex stops and gender socialisation begins, as scientific analysis of the brain has not developed enough to know exactly what is inherent and what is part of the socialisation which starts at (or before) birth.

3. The social construct of gender should be abolished, as it is the foundation of a patriarchy. Women are given gender roles which revolve around being subordinate and submissive, as to obey the patriarch, and men’s gender roles are to be aggressive and strong, as to serve in the military. Sex differences are to be respected and gender is to be abolished. Decisions regarding safety, medical care, and other treatment of people should be based on sex, material reality which effects everyone, not gender.

The issue with trans ideology only comes in where in order to transition gender, gender as a social construct must be maintained. To feel “validated” in changing gender, gender must become more important and more recognised than sex. It pushes that decisions regarding the treatment of and protection of people should be made based on gender rather than sex, entirely opposite to the gender critical belief. Gender needs to be reinforced and protected for the ideology to make any sense at all, otherwise, what are you transitioning to?

Gender critical ideology does not target trans people or ideology. It targets a misogynistic social construct. It is not about trans people or ideologies. It is about a misogynistic social construct and its abolition. It’s just that trans ideology happens to rely on that misogynistic construct which gender critical ideology aims to abolish, and thus, they are opposed.

Gender critical ideology is only anti-patriarchy and anti-conservative. Gender belongs to patriarchy and conservatism. Transgender ideology only has issues with gender critical ideology because it is built on gender and falls apart without it.

I am aware gender dysphoria exists. Gender dysphoria would not exist if gender did not exist. Would you rather children develop gender dysphoria and spend thousands of dollars attempting to free themselves of it, suffering for years in the meantime, or that that suffering not exist in the first place? You can argue all you want that sex dysphoria is the real issue, but if that’s the case, call it such and we can learn to deal with it, but for now it’s an entirely different topic since gender ideology chooses to revolve around “gender” instead.

#radblr #radfem #radical feminism #radical feminist community #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact #radical feminists do touch #radical feminists please touch #radical feminists please interact

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celuere · 3 days ago

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Loud incorrect buzzer for that anon's failed obvious rage bait! 🔊🔊

Anyways! What do you think Arle's size and shape down there? (I just know she's massive) And do you think her hair is trimmed? Shaved? Or an absolute rainforest? And do you think her hair is fully white or it also has Tufts of black and red like her hair???

Wild request but hey? I know we're all curious what's underneath there.

Yours truly, sane Arle fan

-🎐

in the light of recent events, i‘m sharing my dick headcanons on a few of my favorite hyv women and how they‘d handle you in bed <333

characters: arlecchino, mavuika, clorinde, raiden, feixiao, acheron x fem!reader

cw: size kink, manhandling, bondage,, breeding, unprotected sex, titfucking

ALSO i started working on this prior to your ask so i thought i‘d just merge it together!

arlecchino

₊˚ପ⊹ a grower. is while soft around four inches long and can actually bring a proud length of seven to eight inches when she is hard as a rock for you <333

₊˚ପ⊹ her base is a bit thinner when compared to her shaft, with a slight curve upwards. perfect to hit every important spot inside of you!

₊˚ପ⊹ the black hair surrounding her base is always neatly trimmed along with the happy trail, she takes very good care of both <3

₊˚ପ⊹ carries the same gradient as the one on her arms, with a single arrow running along the downside of her dick

₊˚ପ⊹ she loves, loves, LOVES to feel herself grow hard inside of you, having you sit down on her when she still so so soft not as nearly as big as usual, making it easy to slip inside of your greedy pussy <3

₊˚ପ⊹ i don’t think this needs an explanation but she can’t even fit halfway inside when in her other form. the tummy bulge surely drives her fucking crazy, but a voice in the back of her mind would still be screaming at her to be gentle with you.

₊˚ପ⊹ but plead hard enough and she‘ll make sure to use your stretched out pussy as her own personal fleshlight.

₊˚ପ⊹ has a thing for watching her cum ooze out of your spent hole, she‘d often catch it with her fingers to stuff it back inside. wouldn‘t want to waste anything, right?

mavuika

₊˚ପ⊹ smaller than arle but a thick girl. she can never slip inside completely in one go, let alone without foreplay.

₊˚ପ⊹ a shower actually! her size doesn’t change a lot once hard, there also isn’t a noticeable curve in her shaft

₊˚ପ⊹ by the time she is done with preparing you with her fingers you‘re already a fucked out mess, your clit puffy and aching from how good she fingerfucked you

₊˚ପ⊹ a messy but clean rainforest!

₊˚ପ⊹ she has nightsoul tattoos running up her shaft. do i need to say more????

₊˚ପ⊹ her favorite position has got to be cowgirl, watching you carefully trying to sit down on her cock as you do your best to fit her in, tip already dripping with precum from watching her wife struggle on her dick <333

₊˚ପ⊹ the way she has to hold herself back when you take her into your mouth to restrain from facefucking you. her cock is just a bit too thick for your throat to take, she really don’t wants to hurt you :((((

₊˚ପ⊹ has INSANE stamina and i mean that with all my heart. riding her equals a gym workout.

₊˚ପ⊹ intentionally breeds you. (consensually ofc) just the THOUGHT about getting you pregnant and starting a family with you OH her clothes are GONE.

clorinde

₊˚ପ⊹ lengthy shower! more slim but what she lacks in thickness… eight inches definitely make up for it.

₊˚ପ⊹ has a really nice curve and is actually soso easy to get hard. the bare sight of you sitting naked in her lap or just a messy make out session get‘s her THROBBING.

₊˚ପ⊹ keeps her bush always shaved clean sadly💔 but happy trail is still up tho!

₊˚ପ⊹ tie her up and ride her for all she‘s worth. really. just do it. save a horse, ride a champion duelist.

₊˚ପ⊹ do with her as you please. that woman has literally no backbone when it comes to you.

₊˚ପ⊹ she‘d let you grind on her abs. yes. grind. right on her sixpack. cock dripping with precum as her hands are fixed above her head while she is forced to watch you drench her skin as you drag your pussy over the surface of her muscles UGHHHH

₊˚ପ⊹ i don’t think she‘d be much into breeding, mostly avoiding coming inside and rather wants to dump her load on your cunt instead. or tits. or face. or ass. anywhere.

raiden ei

₊˚ପ⊹ this one was a bit tricky because of her puppet body, but… she is customizable. short, thick, slim, long, curved, not curved, whatever you desire.

₊˚ପ⊹ if you want her to have a happy trail, she‘d upgrade the puppet with great pleasure. same thing with the option to dump her cum into you.

₊˚ପ⊹ oh my, she loves seeing you full of her cum. breeding aspect aside. watching the sticky fluid slowly drip out of you after pumping you full of her…. let her go for another round.

₊˚ପ⊹ yes, she‘d give you a replica of her dick. with the same customizable parts.

₊˚ପ⊹ loves to fuck your tits SO MUCH. no matter how big or small, you‘ll make it work. and her semen spread all over your pretty face<33

₊˚ପ⊹ oh wow mindgames in her plane of euthymia. she‘d totally not go all out there. TOTALLY NOT.

₊˚ପ⊹ tagteaming against you with miko WOW WHO SAID THAT???????

feixiao

₊˚ପ⊹ how do i put it…. a beast. that‘s what she is.

₊˚ପ⊹ length. thickness. she’s got it all. eight inches, ladies and gentlemen. and she‘ll make sure to fit it all the way inside.

₊˚ପ⊹ not curved but who gaf about that when she still manages to hit all your spots almost effortlessly

₊˚ପ⊹ RAINFOREST DICK. that bush is well cared for but she only ever trims it if gets a bit too long for her liking ngh

₊˚ପ⊹ will take extra care of the trail of hair up to her belly button if she sees you have a certain liking towards it

₊˚ପ⊹ pray for your pussy tho once this woman gets in heat. stamina is a foreign word to her. she will be mounting you like a starved wolf

₊˚ପ⊹ but she does come relatively easy on the other sides my, can you even keep all of her inside?

₊˚ପ⊹ just puts you into whatever position she pleases. literally anything. one moment your getting your ass fucked before you suddenly find yourself in a mating press with her tip bruising your cervix!

₊˚ପ⊹ tummy bulges and feixiao go hand in hand. she sometimes slides herself inside extra slowly to watch it appear <3

₊˚ପ⊹ unlike clorinde, she’d have you ride her abs in order to earn her dick. you may only let yourself down on her boner once her skin is covered in your slick

acheron

₊˚ପ⊹ feixiaos cockbuddy. only difference is that acheron is a grower! you‘re laughing until she grows to her full size. then it ain’t funny anymore.

₊˚ପ⊹ mmmmmh due to her roaming through the cosmos all the time, i don’t think she‘d put much care into he purple-white bush, other than cleaning it occasionally.

₊˚ପ⊹ so perfectly curved it has your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the first thrust. she doesn’t have to do anything other than just fuck inside of you.

₊˚ପ⊹ not a fan of condoms but also isn’t too hot on getting you pregnant so she prefers to cum outside, but the sight of her stuffed pussy isn’t something she‘d mind if it does happen somehow

₊˚ପ⊹ her dick grows the same red flower surface once she unsheathes her katana btw.

₊˚ପ⊹ would fuck you in the most banal places, most of them where you two could easily be caught by passerby’s, but she don’t got the time to worry about such stuff.

₊˚ପ⊹ that happy trail would be going crazy tho. like absolutely fucking lickable.

₊˚ପ⊹ big fan of throat fucking you. your gagging, those teary eyes, smeared makeup, drool-cum covered chin, my fucking god she‘d do anything to forever be buried inside your throat.

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russo-woso · 3 days ago

Text

Two different people || UNC!Alessia Russo x reader

Request | Masterlist

Summary You notice that Alessia’s a complete different person when in England compared to back in the states

“You don’t need to be so nervous. They’ll love you, baby. Just be yourself.” Alessia reassured you, wrapping her arm around your waist, her fingers slipping through the loop of your jeans.

“I’m meeting your friends for the first time, lessi. What if they don’t like me?”

“You already know Lotte, and Lois. They’ll be there and then it’s a few others. Niamh, she’s chill. Knowing her, she’s only here for the coffee. Georgia’s nice, and well… Tooney, you’ve practically met her already—”

“—Over FaceTime.” You added quickly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Calm down, love.” Alessia whispered, her footsteps coming to a halt as she turned to look at you. “Baby, you found a way to make me fall utterly in love with you by just being yourself. Just be yourself today, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Good.” Alessia murmured against your forehead, pressing her lips to your hairline before making the final steps towards the small cafe.

Ella was the first one to the two of you, her arms wrapping round Alessia - having not seen each other in months.

She then enveloped you in a hug.

“It’s so good to finally meet you, Ella.” You told her, separating from the hug.

“God knows how you put up with her.” Ella said

“Tooney…” alessia muttered

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. If anyone back in America had said something like that, they would have been met with a death stare from Alessia. Maybe because it was Ella she didn’t?

You went round to Niamh and Georgia, introducing yourself before walking to the table.

Everyone was sat at a seat, there being no more seats left.

Normally, Alessia would just pull you onto her lap but instead, she got up and got another chair.

“Is everything okay?” She questioned you as your eyebrows furrowed once again.

“Yeah.” You nodded, pressing your lips to her cheeks. “I’m gonna go get a coffee, would you like anything?”

“I’m okay for now, thank you, love.”

You wondered up to the till, peaking at the cakes when you felt a body press into yours.

Turning your head, you come face to face with a man - your age - maybe 17/18?

“I’ve never seen you around here before.” He said, a smirk resting on his face.

“I’m just visiting.” You answered, your American accent thick.

“American? Where from?”

“I’m from Washington but I go to college in North—” You began but he soon cut you off.

“—Let me buy you your coffee and maybe in return you let me take you out for dinner?” He suggested

“I can’t, sorry.”

“Come on. I know a place round the corner. How about tonight?”

“Look. I’m actually visiting with my girlfriend to meet her friends. They’re all over there.” You told him, pointing to the loud table in the corner.

You caught Alessia’s eyes as she eyed the man next to you.

“Look, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” He apologised, his face turning red in embarrassment.

“Is everything okay here?” Alessia asked, appearing by your side before you got the chance to reply to him.

“Yeah, just a small misunderstanding. I’m sorry again.” He explained

Alessia knew what was going on but unlike the normal shouting and causing a scene like she normally would have done, she simply smiled and nodded her head.

“Have a nice day.” She told him as he left. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She questioned, looking at your scrunched up eyebrows.

“You’re different here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back in America, you would have kicked his ass for talking to me. Earlier, when there was no chair, you didn’t pull me into your lap. And you didn’t give Ella a death stare when she made that comment. I don’t know how to explain it but you’re just different, more quiet, I guess? It’s like your two different people.” You said, looking up a the blonde as she nodded.

“I guess I am. At college, no one knows who I am - apart from Lotte and Lois. I’m more reserved back in England because I know people here but in the states, I get to act however I want to because they don’t know the me from England. I get to be more confident.” Alessia explained, your eyes softening at her words.

“So what you’re saying is I technically have two girlfriends? Theres American Alessia and then England Alessia?” You joked

“Yeah, basically. Which one do you like more though?” Alessia smirked

“Well I love both of them, but maybe when it’s just the two of us, I like the American lessi a bit more.” You winked

“Well it’s a good job that I don’t change in that aspect when I’m in England, huh?”

“In what aspect?” Ella asked, clearly overhearing the last sentence.

“Nothing.” You and Alessia answered quickly

“I somehow don’t think I want to know now.”

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #womens football #woso fanfics #alessia russo #alessia russo fluff #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader

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superiorsturgeon · 2 days ago

Text

Neo: *signing* My parents sucked, but I’m actually glad they made me take ballet and gymnastics lessons!

Neo: *winks at Pyrrha* After all, now I can hook my legs over your shoulders when you- 🥰

Pyrrha: *frantically hissing* Neo!! 😳

Neo: Fine, but I KNOW you appreciate how I can hold myself up with only my legs around Jaune’s hips when he- 😘

Jaune: *pushes Neo’s hands down* NEO!!! 🫣

Neo: Oh, don’t worry so much! It’s not like anyone else knows what we’re talking about! 🙄

Jaune: *signing back* But still! 😖

Pyrrha: *also signing* It feels so naughty to talk about this in front of everyone! 😫

Blake: *watching all of this with a blush* …so, are we gonna tell them we all learned sign language to make Neo feel more included…?

Weiss: *pink-faced* I mean…we don’t have to tell them JUST this moment…

I’m considering learning a new language, and ASL is one of the options. According to an NPR story a few years back, ASL by its nature has a lot of particular language quirks that you just don’t get in most spoken languages!

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #neopolitan #arkos #jaune x pyrrha #jaune arc x pyrrha nikos #silent knight #jaune x neo #jaune arc x neopolitan #greek yogurt #Pyrrha x Neo #Pyrrha Nikos x neopolitan #aegis #jaune x pyrrha x neo #Jaune arc x Pyrrha Nikos x neopolitan

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 days ago

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I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

130 notes · View notes

goldenroutledge · 1 day ago

Text

serendipity

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i'm telling you all of a sudden, but it isn't new with me. i love you. ❜

summary: fluff. in which daniel doesn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore.

a/n: for the lovely @katsu28! thank you so much for requesting <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“If you don’t mind me saying, you two make a beautiful couple!” An older woman stops in her tracks to do a double take of you and Daniel dressed to the nines, blending in with the rest of the wedding guests decorated in black tie. Maybe it was the way you brushed a few bread crumbs from his beard or the way he draped his arm around the back of your chair during the meal that made you two appear like any other couple in the room.

“Us?” You question, looking around just to be sure her comment is directed towards you. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time someone made this mistake. “We’re not-”

“Why, thank you!” Daniel interrupts, giddy as ever as he raises his glass. “She is quite the beauty, isn’t she? Makes up for the two of us, I’d say.” Your heart flutters under his gaze, one that’s convincingly lovestruck. He gently squeezes your waist to drive it home, pulling you close.

“Oh, stop it. I don’t think anyone can look bad in Venice, must be something in the water.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling.” Daniel muses, turning his attention back to the woman as she smiles fondly. “So humble, this one.”

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s still suffering from some whiplash and needs his eyes checked.”

“Please, my eyes have never deceived me when it comes to you. You’re stunning.” His tone is sincere, and if you didn’t know he was putting on a charade, you’d believe him. Still, your cheeks are growing undeniably warm, regardless if he actually means it or not. Daniel’s always been a flirt.

“Just trying to keep up with you.”

“Maybe you two will be next.” The woman wonders out loud, a playful glint in her eyes as she winks at Daniel, leaving the two of you to enjoy the reception. He doesn’t miss a beat, feeling no need to acknowledge what just happened.

You, however, can’t brush this one under the rug. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Daniel questions, playing clueless.

“Either I hit my head earlier or you just told that lady we’re a couple. You do realize you just lied to an old lady right?”

“I prefer the term method acting.” Daniel quips, all the more amused at your very unamused expression. “Come on, two great looking people together at a wedding? My jacket matches your dress? We’re not exactly avoiding the assumptions.”

“And that was purely coincidence, might I remind you.”

Daniel rolls his eyes playfully at your recollection of the morning. The look on your face when you first realized the matching colors was priceless. It won’t be the last stunt he pulls off, for now he’ll let you believe it really was a coincidence. “Oh please, you love it.”

You shrug, indifferent to what he’s insinuating. At least that’s what you hope he receives from it. Internally you wince every time you have to shut down his relentless positivity with another cold shoulder. “Your performance was convincing, I’ll give you that.”

“Just don’t wanna let anyone down. She’s not the first person to say something y’know, we might as well just accept our fate now.”

You avoid his eyes, finding the drink in your glass to be the safer of the two options. Whenever you do lock eyes with him, you can’t be held responsible for what you might say. Confronting the spark between you two has weighed on your mind, and heart, for more sleepless nights than you care to admit. Here and now, at your friend’s wedding, certainly isn’t the time to start.

–

The night stretches on and the mood is much lighter. Tears of joy for the happy couple have already been shed and the celebration was ongoing well into the night. Dinner was everything you expected it to be, each course more perfect than the last.

Daniel had been asked to give a toast in the upcoming weeks of the grand event. Not that he was the smoothest speaker to ever hold a microphone, but his humor was undeniably perfect for every crowd and setting.

He was rarely at a loss for words. For this speech in particular, when he tried to picture the moment and sit with his thoughts, he realized he had none. It may have been the first time he was truly out of his league. Ask him to write a speech about racing and the intensity that comes with it? No problem. Writing about love, in its truest and most passionate form? That poses a greater challenge.

Scribbled on the notecards tucked away in his suit jacket are a few quotes from philosophers or books he’s read, hoping one will inspire some profound words.

When the microphone finds him, Daniel takes one good look at you smiling back at him, and drops the cards on the table. A rush of confidence flows through his veins, telling him that he may not be so hopeless after all. He takes a deep breath and greets the room.

“I’ll be honest, when the bride and groom asked me to give a speech on their big day, my immediate response was ‘Are you sure’?” Light laughter falls over the crowd, putting him at ease.

“I’m no expert, but when I think about why we fall in love, the answer is simple. We fall in love when the idea of spending the rest of our days alone with someone feels more like paradise instead of a punishment; when we wake up and fall asleep to the thought of them, and happily let them run through our mind every hour in between.”

Everyone in the crowd lovingly gazes at their person. Daniel notices that your eyes have remained fixed on him this whole time. He feels himself blushing, and smiling at you before continuing.

“The way I see it, falling in love is this feeling of unwavering commitment, of being unwilling to give up on someone no matter how much they beg you to. It’s knowing that even if your love is never reciprocated, you’d still feel like the luckiest person on planet Earth, knowing they hold a place in your heart no one else ever could. Loving somebody, to me, means accepting that you couldn’t un-love them even if you tried.”

Daniel catches your eyes and they sparkle, whispering everything you wish to say back to him. A pause lingers over the crowd. You wonder if anyone else can hear your heart beating out of your chest. Under Daniel’s gaze, it feels as though you’re the only two left in the room.

He turns towards the bride and groom once again to end his remarks. “It’s for all those reasons that we’re here celebrating today. My deepest congratulations to the happy couple, may your love story never end.” Daniel raises his glass of champagne and everyone else follows suit, cheering loudly.

The bride and groom beam with joy, tears in their eyes as they resonated with every word he spoke. Everyone in the room had someone they thought about, someone they picture standing across from at the altar, hands held while they swear to keep their promises. The more Daniel went on, the more you realized that for you, it’s him. By the way he was looking at you, you have a pretty good idea that he was thinking of you, too.

Daniel shares an embrace with the bride and groom as they thank him for his heartfelt words. If they only knew the speech didn’t come from those notecards left discarded on the table. Daniel’s speech came straight from the heart, purely inspired by the burgeoning love he feels for you. Other guests sing his praises as he walks past their tables as he makes his way back to you. Romantic notes of the piano pick up from where they left off, and the floor opens up for guests to dance their night away. It gives him the perfect segway, unsure of how you’ll. If you react at all, that is.

“Congratulations, Plato. That was a pretty great speech.”

“I felt inspired,” He charms, extending his hand for you to take. “May I have this dance?”

Your lips curl into a smile, letting him lead you to the dance floor. “Do you even have to ask?”

Daniel shakes his head. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Deflecting by speaking in sarcasm and responding with rhetorical questions.” Something that admittedly drives him crazy, for better and for worse. “Why do you do that?”

“Why do you wanna know?” He gives you a pointed look, silently telling him that you’ve just proved his point. “Oh. I don’t know, maybe it’s easier for me that way. To imply how I feel because I can’t say it.”

The music is soft and the way Daniel holds your body to his… it's intimate. Like you could bare your deepest secrets to Daniel and leave it here in the ballroom once the song’s over. Insecurities only seek to discourage, they’re little reminders that this music isn’t for you. This night of romance doesn’t belong to you and Daniel, two friends that have blurred the lines so many times that they now cease to exist.

The last thing Daniel wants to do is rush you or scare you off. It’s a shame that he doesn’t think more before he speaks. “Do you ever get tired of keeping it in? Not saying what’s really on your mind?”

“Not always. I’d say it’s better to keep people guessing, never let them know my next move. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Am I just ‘people’?” He questions. His tone is soft and smooth, not accusatory in the slightest. It’s what makes Daniel so easy to talk to, even when it hurts. You never have to hide from him, he’s always waiting for you with open arms.

“No, you’re not just ‘people’, but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Are we talking about me or you? Because I’m pretty sure this entire party knows that I’m madly in love with you. I think you might be the last one to realize.”

You freeze, and instinctively feel like taking a step away. “We’re at a wedding, Daniel. Love is in the air. You’d kinda have to be a psychopath to not let your heart soften when you’re around all of this.”

“Has yours softened? Is that what I saw in your eyes when I gave my speech?”

“I guess I’m just surprised to hear you talk all romantic like that. If there weren’t about a hundred witnesses here I wouldn’t believe it.” You giggle and he smiles at your joke, knowing that you’re absolutely right. This wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for him.

“Well, believe it. I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me. I love you.” Daniel pauses, gauging your reaction. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m still the luckiest man in the world, remember?”

They say actions speak louder than words, and the way you kiss him says more than you can express in this moment. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and Daniel is relieved in knowing that it won’t be the last. He kisses you back, and this time it means something. It’s a chance at having more than you ever thought possible. Less of keeping your love locked away and more accepting what’s been here all along.

“It’s not new with me either. I love you too, Daniel.”

“If I knew that was coming, I would’ve said it sooner.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not, just happy.” Daniel shows off that signature smile, one that won’t be erased anytime soon. The maid of honor interrupts your moment, asking for all of the men to clear the floor. “Now go, it looks like you have a bouquet to catch.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his boldness. Then again, the Daniel you love has never been one to back down from being unabashedly himself. “You mean you want me to catch it? You know that means we’re next right, are you sure you can handle that?”

Daniel lets his fingers trail down your arm as he backs away, bowing slightly and planting an affectionate kiss on your hand. He’ll be gone before you can scold him any further for what he’s about to say.

“With any luck, we will be.”

💌: i miss danny so much 🥲 feel free to request more from my blurb event here! comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

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kimmi-never-dies · 3 days ago

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Yandere!Hyun-Ju x fem!reader head canons

(A/N): I know the poll is still up and is likely gonna change when I'm in the process of finishing this up but I had time now and this prompt was in the lead so I just decided this is what I'm writing.

TW: yandere, obsessive behavior, mentions of but never graphic violence, mentions of stalking and implied kidnapping, drugging.

Her behavior:

Again, she’s definitely a hopeless romantic, Hyun-Ju seems like the type to crave intimacy, affection, and all the other cheesy romance things, but never knows how to ask for it.

And adding that, along with the fact that society practically turned its back on her the second she wanted to openly be the woman she was on the inside, kinda turned her into an obsessive, clingy person.

She doesn’t mean to be this way, she’s just scared of being abandoned again.

Hyun-Ju never thought she’d end up becoming so infatuated with someone, but when you entered her life, everything changed.

You were so different from everyone else, you accepted her, you were so understanding and gentle…

She needed you more than life itself…you were a lifeline for her.

I kinda see Hyun-Ju being two sub-types of yandere, delusional and dependent.

She’d definitely disguise most of her delusions as jokes, for example:

“What do you mean you’re going on a date? But you’re my wife! You can’t be unfaithful!”

But her dependency is very clear, but dependency can be easily explained by abandonment issues, so you’d never guess it was really because she was practically addicted to you.

But she really can’t help it! After the games…after all the people she’d lost…she needed to keep you safe, she needed you to stay.

Dealing with rivals:

Definitely a jealous type, literally wants to scream, cry, and physically rip you away from anyone who’s not her.

Hyun-Ju doesn’t wanna share your attention, you should only focus on her!

HYUN-JU WAS A SARGENT IN THE SPECIAL FORCES

She is SCARY.

If she did happen to somehow gain a romantic rival she’d first stalk them online until she’s figured out everything about them.

She’s gotten a lot of people cut off from your life by digging up old tweets…

But if that doesn’t work, she isn’t above getting her hands dirty…

I don’t think Hyun-Ju could actually bring herself to just straight up murder someone, I know she went crazy on those guards but ACTUAL murder I don’t think so.

But she’s definitely not afraid to follow someone home and beat the ever-loving shit out of them as a warning.

Confessing to her darling:

There’s two ways this could go, and it really depends on you: Tonight was *finally* the night, Hyun-Ju was gonna tell (Y/n) how she felt about her! Everything was prepped and ready, she decorated her apartment with fairy lights, lit a couple of (Y/n)’s favorite scented candles, and made dinner. Hyun-Ju was now just getting dressed and awaiting her sweet-girls arrival.

She was dressed up in a beautiful forest-green dress with a gold necklace with an (your first initial) shaped pendent, which she got a while ago, playing it off as “there were no H’s and it made me think of you.” Her makeup was also simple, her signature brown winged liner, some mascara, and a bit of red tinted-gloss

The silence of Hyun-Ju’s apartment was suddenly interrupted by a knocking at the door.

‘She’s here!’ Hyun-Ju thought to herself excitedly as she rushed to open the door.

She could’ve fallen to her knee and proposed right then and there…

(Y/n) was stunning…her dress/suit hugging her body in all the right ways, and her hair was done perfectly, just like always…

-a few hours later-

After a while of eating dinner and watching some stupid comedy movie, Hyun-Ju finally worked up her courage and turned to face (Y/n). Her hands were shaking as she paused the tv, looking into her (e/c) eyes with nothing but love and a small twinge go something…darker…

“Sweet girl…I know we’ve been good friends for such a long time but…over these past few years I’ve wanted something more, I love you, and I wanna be your wife one day…so with that being said, please…will you be my girlfriend…?”

You sat shocked for a few minutes before responding to her, you couldn’t help but notice the desperate yet hopeful look on her face.

“Oh Hyun-Ju…”

Yes

"I'd love to..."

did she hear that right?

yes??

she would grin from ear to ear, pull you close as gently as she could, and kiss you.

this first kiss and every kiss after that would be full of love, passion, and happiness, masking the obsessive and violent feelings that got here to this moment, here with you...

And she was never letting you go...

"I'm sorry...I don't feel the same...but I'd love to still be your friend."

friend?

FRIEND??

all of this, following you everywhere, taking all those pictures of you, fighting off rivals left and right, only for you to wanna be FRIENDS!?

Hyun-Ju was NOT accepting this, but luckily she already had a backup plan.

struggling didn't help much when she lunged at you, pinning you to the ground effortlessly as she pulled something out of her dress pocket.

and once you felt that prick in your neck, and the sedative hit, you didn't struggle at all.

don't be scared sweet girl, she won't hurt you.

she'll make sure no one can hurt you...or even find you again...

#squid game #cho hyunju #hyun ju x reader #yandere x reader #yandere

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babyflorencee · 2 days ago

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Lucky in Love

Supersticiousrry x fem!Reader

Harry Styles was, without a doubt, the king of superstitions. He didn’t just follow them; he lived by them. From knocking on wood to avoiding cracks in the sidewalk, Harry was all in. He’d learned all of his rituals from his grandmother, who told him they were essential for living a happy life. And Harry? Well, he was more than willing to believe her, especially now that he had Y/n in his life.

At first, she thought Harry’s obsession with luck was... cute? But then it began to spiral into something else entirely.

It started one morning when Harry rushed into the kitchen, wide-eyed, holding a single sunflower in one hand and a bag of salt in the other. Y/n was sipping her coffee, still half asleep, trying to process why her boyfriend was holding a plant and a bag of salt like they were some kind of holy relics.

“Okay, baby, I need you to listen to me very carefully. This is crucial,” Harry said, dead serious.

“Harry, it’s 7 AM,” Y/n mumbled, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“I forgot to throw salt over my shoulder yesterday, and now our relationship might be at risk.” Harry’s face was so sincere it was almost impressive.

Y/n blinked at him, trying to keep a straight face. “Wait, what?”

“The salt!” Harry said, shaking the bag for emphasis. “It’s like, it’s the ultimate protection spell, okay? I can’t—we can’t—be in a good relationship without salt being thrown at least once a day.”

Y/n stared at him, slowly lowering her mug. “So... you're telling me that we could be doomed if you don’t throw some salt over your shoulder?”

“Yes, exactly! It’s tradition,” Harry said with a nod. “But that’s not all. I need to water this sunflower exactlytwelve times before sunset or it’ll jinx our love life.”

“I—uh... What?” Y/n was now holding back her laughter at this point.

“Oh! And if we don’t both say ‘bless you’ three times when one of us sneezes, we could have seven years of bad luck! Seven years Y/n!” Harry added, his eyes growing wide with concern.

Y/n laughed so hard she almost snorted. “Okay, okay! I’ll throw some salt over my shoulder and water the sunflower. But only if you promise not to go around tapping every single corner in the house with your knuckles again.”

Harry froze, his eyes widening in absolute horror. “Wait—what?” He stared at her like she’d just suggested they give up breathing. “You mean... you don’t knock on every corner for good luck? But... but that’s— that’s like the most important part! ”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. “You can’t actually be serious right now.”

“No, I’m not serious, but this is!” Harry’s face was full of concern as he placed his hands on his hips. “If I don’t knock on every corner, Y/n, it’s like inviting disaster into our lives. It’s the doorway to misfortune, it’s a rule of the universe!”

Y/n bit her lip, holding back laughter. “A doorway to misfortune... right, sure, I get it now.”

Harry, his face pale and on the verge of a meltdown, shook his head in disbelief. “I... I don’t think I can handle that kind of risk. You’re asking me to toss our luck aside." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for answers, his expression growing even more dramatic. “How... how is this relationship still standing without you knocking on corners? What kind of dark magic have you unleashed?”

Y/n burst into laughter. "I swear, no magic involved."

Harry exhaled in relief. "Good. Because that's bad luck too. But just to be safe... we're definitely knocking a few corners today. For good measure."

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. She burst out laughing, rolling her eyes. “Okay, okay! Fine. We'll knock the corners. But only because I love you and don’t want to risk misfortune.”

Harry, his eyes still wide, sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you baby. You really had me there for a second. We can’t mess with the balance of the universe like that!”

Y/n shook her head with a fond smile. “You’re absolutely ridiculous. But I’ll do anything to keep the luck on our side... even if that means I have to go corner-knocking today.”

***

The next day, things got even crazier. Y/n was sitting on the couch in the living room when Harry appeared wearing a very oversized red sock on his left hand. “Baby, what are you doing?” she asked, stifling a laugh.

“I’m wearing my lucky hand-sock,” he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You just don’t get it. If I wear a sock on my left hand, it brings good fortune. I got a promotion at work yesterday because I did this. So, naturally, I'm going to be doing this every day now.”

“Every day? With a sock on your hand?” Y/n couldn’t contain her giggles any longer.

“Yes,” Harry said solemnly, wiggling his fingers inside the sock. “And you have to do it, too.”

“Wait, what? I don’t even have a sock for my hand!” Y/n protested.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll get you one. We need both hands covered, or else the balance will be off,” Harry said, clearly dead serious.

Y/n’s heart melted at his ridiculousness. He was the dorkiest person she’d ever met, but it was something she couldn’t resist. She nodded and sighed. “Alright, Harry. I’ll wear your sock. But only because you’re way too cute for me to argue with.”

Harry beamed at her like she’d just agreed to marry him. “Perfect! Now we’re both lucky. And don’t forget, we also need to eat pancakes for breakfast every Sunday. Pancakes are the ultimate guide to good luck.”

“Okay, pancakes on Sunday. Got it,” Y/n said with a grin. “What next, Harry?”

“Well, it’s Wednesday, so we can’t eat tomatoes,” Harry said, his tone firm, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/n blinked, baffled. “What? Why not?”

Harry began pacing around the room dramatically, his expression deadly serious. “Tomatoes on Wednesdays?! Y/n, come on! That’s like asking for the universe to smack you upside the head with bad luck. They’re a gateway to disaster! You really want to risk it?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wait, so eating tomatoes on a Wednesday is like... what? A curse or something?”

Harry stopped pacing, looked her dead in the eye, and shook his head, a mix of exasperation and disbelief in his voice. “Exactly. It’s not just any old bad luck, it’s Wednesday bad luck. You’re tempting fate, and fate? Not a fan of tomatoes on Wednesdays. Trust me.”

Y/n stared at him, her mouth agape . “You’re actually serious right now, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Harry said, his eyes narrowing. “Do you really want to test the tomato gods? Because I’m telling you, we’re better off with a different vegetable. Preferably, one that doesn’t cause, you know, catastrophic consequences!"

Y/n burst into laughter. “So you're telling me I can’t have my tomato sandwich for lunch today because of some ancient curse?”

“Exactly!” Harry said, waving his arms dramatically. “Tomatoes on Wednesdays bring nothing but bad vibes. We can’t risk it, Y/n. We just can't. I care too much about us.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, shaking her head. “Okay, okay, no tomatoes on Wednesdays. Got it. But what happens if we accidentally break this rule?”

Harry looked at her seriously. “Don’t even joke about that. If you eat a tomato on a Wednesday, you might accidentally summon bad luck, and we might end up with spilled coffee, broken dishes," he then let out a gasp, putting his right hand over his mouth, "or worse—”

“Or worse?” Y/n interrupted, trying not to laugh.

“Or worse.” Harry said, nodding gravely.

“Alright, no tomatoes for me today then,” Y/n said, standing up from the couch and making her way over to Harry. She leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “But only because I don’t want to anger the tomato gods.”

“It's better to be safe than sorry.” Harry smiled, then did a dramatic twirl and pointed to the door. “Now, we leave, but remember—always step on the right side of the doorframe. That’s the lucky side.”

“Of course.” Y/n rolled her eyes in amusement but followed his lead.

***

A week later, Y/n found herself following Harry around the apartment as he went through his superstitious checklist.

“Alright, now we need to make sure the door’s closed before we go out. It’s bad luck to leave it ajar.” He went around checking every door and window as if the house was an ancient temple that needed to be guarded.

Y/n was trying not to laugh. “And this is all for good luck?”

Harry nodded seriously. “Yes. Trust the process.”

“Okay,” she said, playing along. “Then what do we do if we step on a crack?”

Harry looked at her like she had just asked about summoning a demon. “You don’t step on a crack. That’s like a whole other level of bad luck. You just—don’t.”

Y/n burst into laughter. “What is happening? This is so weird, but also kind of... fun?”

Harry smiled, pulling her close and holding her tightly. “We’re making our own luck, Y/n. It’s not just about superstition—it’s about believing in each other and in the magic we create together.”

Y/n couldn’t stop smiling as she wrapped her arms around him. “Well, whatever it is, I’m starting to think you might be onto something.”

Harry looked at her, his expression full of pride. “See? I told you. The rituals are part of the magic. They work for everything—even our relationship.”

Y/n blinked. “Wait, our relationship?”

Harry nodded, his eyes serious now. “Especially our relationship. I have a whole system in place to make sure our love is always lucky. You know, so nothing can break us apart.”

“Wait, what?” Y/n laughed, though a part of her felt a little skeptical. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” Harry crossed his arms, and smiled. “I’ve got a lot of superstitions about relationships. Like, if we both don’t get enough sleep, it’s bad luck for our bond. And we can never—never—fight on a Wednesday. It’s a curse. Oh, and if we’re ever separated for more than three days, we have to write each other a letter. It’s good luck. It keeps us connected.”

Y/n stared at him, half in awe, half in disbelief. “Okay, I’m not going to lie—that is a lot of pressure for a Wednesday.”

Harry’s face softened, and he took her hand. “I just want to make sure nothing ever comes between us. All these superstitions are like little rituals that makes sure we stay happy together.”

Y/n looked at him for a moment, and then, a sudden warmth filled her chest. She knew it was a bit wild, and way over the top, but the way Harry cared so deeply about making their relationship work made her heart swell.

“Alright, alright,” she said with a grin. “I’ll follow your superstitions. But only if we add a new one—like, ‘No bad vibes in the apartment on Mondays.’”

Harry laughed, clearly delighted, his eyes sparkling, “Deal! See? I knew you’d come around. Lucky socks, salt, lucky charms—soon you’ll be asking for a rabbit’s foot to hang on our door.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far, but maybe we should invest in some lucky socks for real. For next time.”

“Deal!” Harry said, holding out his hand. “Lucky socks it is. But only if you wear them with the green striped ones.”

She shook his hand, grinning. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

As they walked out the door, Y/n couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her. It wasn’t just about Harry’s superstitions, but how much effort he put into making sure their relationship stayed strong. His belief in these little rituals, no matter how silly, made her smile every time. It wasn’t about magic or luck—it was about the care he showed in wanting to hold onto them. And as absurd as it all seemed, she realized she wouldn't trade it for anything.

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