#but i feel that the way i worded it gets the point across

[jupiterpilgrim]

Everything's Ruined

Christmas Special 🎄

Hanni x Male Reader

word count: 10K

The room glows with the warm, soft buzz of Christmas lights tangled messily over the mantle and around the windows. Music hums in the background—a lazy mix of holiday classics and some throwback pop songs someone thought was ironic. You’re sunk deep into the couch, a heavy glass of whiskey and eggnog dangling loose in your hand. It’s late, the party is only half over, but everyone is already wasted, even though they're just chilling now; a handful of half-drunk bodies lounging, half-assedly debating the virtues of Die Hard as a Christmas movie. 

Then there’s Hanni.

She’s curled up next to you, except "curled" isn’t right. She’s draped—like she forgot personal space was a thing about three drinks ago. Her dark hair tumbles over her face as she tips her head back in a laugh that’s way too loud for whatever dumb joke someone just made. Her cheeks are flushed, probably from the wine she’s been inhaling all night, and when she looks at you, her eyes are glassy and warm, like you’re the most hilarious person alive just for existing.

Thing is, Hanni’s your best friend—the one person you're not supposed to have these feelings for, but with the alcohol in your system and the way she’s leaning into you now, all flushed cheeks and that stupid, glassy smile, it’s getting real fucking hard to remember why.

“God, you’re so fuckin' cute,” she slurs, and you blink. She doesn’t seem to notice, just scoots closer, swinging her legs over your lap like she’s staking territory. “You’re my favorite, you know that?”

You snort. “You tell me that every time you’re wasted, Hanni. Get some new material.”

She pouts, sticking out her lip in this over-the-top cartoon way that somehow makes you grin like an idiot. Her weight settles heavier against you, and yeah, you’re feeling that whiskey warmth in your veins too. Her hand wanders—innocently enough at first—over your shoulder, across your chest, then down to rest right at the edge of dangerous territory.

“I’m serious this time, though!” She pokes your chest like she’s trying to prove a point. “You’re the only person who gets me, y’know? Like…fuck, dude, if you weren’t my best friend, I’d probably marry you.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, sharp and incredulous. “Wow, what an honor. Thanks for the consolation prize.” 

Hanni leans forward, her face inches from yours now, her breath sweet with wine and whatever sugary cocktail she’s been nursing all night. “I mean it, asshole. You’re like…everything.” Her voice drops, softer now, and she smirks, but it’s the kind of smirk that’s all affection and none of the usual bite. “You’re my fucking rock.”

You feel something twist low in your gut. “Shit, Hanni, who knew wine turned you into a Hallmark card?” you say, trying to keep it light. 

She bursts into giggles, doubling over, her face pressed to your chest. Her ass shifts on your lap, and you freeze for a second because—fuck—her skirt’s hiked up just enough for you to feel the heat of her through the thin fabric. Hanni doesn’t notice, or maybe she doesn’t care, because she’s too busy tracing lazy patterns over your stomach now, her touch just shy of intimate.

“Y’know what sucks?” she mumbles, tilting her head up to look at you, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. “You’re too good for me. Like, no joke, you should be with someone hot, not stuck babysitting my drunk ass.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to focus on the way her thighs are pressing into yours or the flash of bare skin where her sweater’s ridden up. “Who says I’m stuck? Maybe I like babysitting your drunk ass.”

Her face softens in this way that makes your chest feel too tight. She shifts again, pressing closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear when she whispers, “That’s why I love you.”

It’s teasing, almost playful, but there’s something heavier underneath, something that makes your pulse spike. You’re about to say something—maybe a joke, maybe something stupidly earnest—but then someone across the room yells out, “Alright, last call for shots!” 

Hanni perks up immediately, her attention snapping away from you. “Hell yeah! Let’s fucking go!” she yells, hopping up so fast you almost spill your drink.

As she stumbles off, you exhale, leaning back into the couch, trying to will away the heat simmering low in your stomach. It’s just Hanni, you remind yourself. She gets like this when she’s drunk—touchy, emotional, saying all kinds of shit she won’t even remember tomorrow. But fuck, if she isn’t beautiful, with her tiny frame and those absurdly thick thighs that make no goddamn sense on someone her size. 

You shake your head, draining the rest of your drink. 

—

What began as a quiet night spirals into that perfect mess of booze and laughter, the kind of chaos that only happens when no one’s watching the clock or counting drinks. Someone’s wearing a Santa hat and nothing else but a pair of boxers. Someone else decided the fake Christmas tree would make a great dance partner, and now half the ornaments are shattered on the floor. You and Hanni are still on the couch, her body leaning heavily against yours as you both wheeze-laugh at something dumb on the TV—a claymation Rudolph looking suspiciously baked out of his red-nosed mind.

At some point, Hanni grabs the half-empty bottle of wine from the coffee table and lifts it in a mock toast. “To you, bestie,” she slurs, words spilling out like syrup. “The only motherfucker who didn’t ditch me when I got kicked outta karaoke night last month.”

You roll your eyes, reaching to take the bottle from her before she spills it. “You got kicked out because you tried to sing ‘WAP’ like it was a gospel hymn, Hanni.”

“It was art, you heathen,” she shoots back, but her pout barely lasts before her face splits into a grin. “But seriously. You’re the real MVP.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you say, laughing as you set the bottle safely aside. “But thanks, I guess.”

Time keeps sliding, blurring at the edges. Someone takes an Uber home. Someone else starts snoring under the coffee table. By the time you look around again, the room’s mostly empty. It’s just you, Hanni, and the sound of some low-budget Christmas movie droning in the background. Hanni’s slumped sideways against you, her head resting on your shoulder. Her breath is soft, wine-sweet and warm, and when you shift slightly, she groans.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she mumbles, voice thick with the haze of too much alcohol. Her hand tightens on your arm like a sleepy cat staking its claim.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, but the sight of her like this—soft and unguarded—makes something in your chest clench. “You, on the other hand, can’t even sit up straight. You’re not going anywhere.”

She blinks up at you, her eyes unfocused but shining, like she’s trying to process your words. “So what? I just crash here?”

“No,” you say, patting her leg. “My place is closer, and I don’t trust you not to wander into traffic if I send you home.”

She snorts, the sound loud and ungraceful. “Aw, look at you, being all responsible and shit. You’re such a dad sometimes.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. “C’mon, let’s get you sorted.”

You help her to her feet, and she wobbles, gripping your arm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. After saying goodbye to your friends, somehow, you manage to guide her the short distance to your apartment, both of you giggling like idiots the whole way. By the time you’re inside, her sweater’s sliding off one shoulder, and her hair’s a mess, but she looks at you with this sleepy grin that makes your head swim worse than the booze.

You sit her down on the couch, and she flops back like she’s about to take a nap right then and there. “God, your couch is so comfy,” she murmurs, kicking off her shoes.

“It’s a couch, Hanni, not a five-star hotel,” you say, but you’re smiling anyway as you sit down next to her.

For a while, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that comes when the party’s over, and the city outside is muted under the weight of night. Hanni shifts closer, curling her legs under her, her knee brushing yours. She looks at you, and there’s something in her gaze now—not just the drunken haze, but something deeper. Something you’ve been trying not to notice all night.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she says, her voice soft but steady. 

You frown. “What? That I’m cute?”

She nods, biting her lip like she’s bracing for impact. “Yeah. That. And the part about loving you.”

Your chest tightens, and you let out a short, breathless laugh, trying to break the tension. “Hanni, you’re drunk. You’re gonna forget this by tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck that,” she says, sitting up straighter now, her face inches from yours. “You think I don’t know how I feel? You’re my best friend, yeah, but also…you’re more. You’ve always been more.”

Her words hang there, heavy and undeniable. Your pulse thrums in your ears as she leans in, her lips brushing yours, tentative at first. Then it deepens, and all the air seems to vanish from the room. Her hands slide up your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair, and before you can think, you’re kissing her back, your hands gripping her waist like she’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

When you finally break apart, her lips are swollen, her breath hitching as she looks at you like you’ve just answered a question she’s been too afraid to ask.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whisper, but you’re already leaning in again, your lips finding hers as the tension between you snaps like a live wire. She climbs onto your lap, her thighs pressing against you, and you don’t even care that you’re both still drunk. The couch groans under your combined weight, but neither of you notice, too caught up in the heat of the moment.

“We should—bed—” you manage to mumble between kisses, and she nods, her lips trailing down your jaw.

Somehow, you make it to the bedroom, the clothes leaving a haphazard trail in the hallway and inside your room. By the time you hit the mattress, both already naked, it’s not just excitement buzzing through you—it’s the quiet, electric realization that this is happening, and there’s no turning back.

The bed creaks beneath you both, the springs protesting as Hanni sprawls out on her back, looking up at you with a mix of hazy confidence and nervous vulnerability. Her cheeks are flushed, hair a wild mess against your pillow, and she’s biting her lip so hard you’re half afraid she’ll draw blood. You hover over her, your hands on either side of her, just taking her in for a moment. This is Hanni—your best friend, your partner in crime—and right now, she looks like a fucking dream, her legs parted slightly, the curve of her hips begging for attention.

“You’re staring,” she says, voice low but teasing, and she reaches up, cupping your jaw with one hand. Her fingers are warm, soft, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “I know I’m hot, but damn.”

You laugh, short and breathless, shaking your head. “Fuck off, Hanni. You’re not gonna ruin this by talking shit.”

“Oh, I’m totally gonna talk shit,” she replies, her grin sharp but faltering slightly when you dip your head, pressing your lips to hers again. The kiss is slower this time, deeper, and when you nip at her bottom lip, she gasps into your mouth, her hips shifting beneath you.

Your hand finds her side. Her skin’s soft and warm, and when your palm grazes the swell of her breast, she lets out this soft, needy sound that goes straight to your cock

“God, you’re so fucking impatient,” you murmur against her lips, but your tone’s more affectionate than mocking. Your hand slides down, over her tummy, then you pause, your fingers resting just above where you know she’s burning for you.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, you think she’s gonna back out, but then she smirks. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

“Well, now I have to,” you say, rubbing your fingers on her mon pubis.

“Asshole,” she breathes, but her words catch in her throat when your fingers find her slick folds. She’s soaked, and the realization sends a rush of heat through you. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shit, Hanni,” you say, your voice rough with a mix of awe and lust. “You’re fucking dripping.”

Her laugh is shaky, more like a breathy moan. “Yeah, well…you’re taking your sweet ass time about it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” you reply, but your fingers are already sliding lower, brushing over her clit. The reaction is immediate—her body jerks, her hips pressing up into your hand as a strangled moan escapes her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she chants, her words tumbling out as your fingers circle her clit, slow and deliberate. “Just like that—oh, god, yeah, like th—oh fuck!”

Her voice cuts off as you slide one finger into her, her walls clenching around you like a vice. You add another finger, curling them slightly, and the noise she makes is obscene—half a gasp, half a moan, her head tipping back against the pillow.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you say, your voice low and rough. “How the fuck are you this tight?”

“Shut up,” she groans, but there’s no real bite to her words. Her hands grip the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping her grounded as you start moving, your fingers pumping into her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips roll against your hand, desperate and needy, and when your thumb brushes her clit again, she practically cries out. “Oh my god—yes—just like that—fuck!”

“Yeah?” you ask, grinning as you lean down, your lips grazing her ear. “You like that, Hanni? You like the way I’m fucking you with my fingers?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—” she gasps, her voice breaking as her body arches off the bed. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—”

Her words dissolve into moans as you pick up the pace, your fingers fucking her harder, faster. You can feel her tightening around you, her breath hitching, her entire body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Come on, Hanni,” you murmur, your lips brushing her temple. “Let go for me. I wanna feel you cum all over my fingers.”

Her response is incoherent—a garbled mix of your name and curses—but then she’s coming apart, her back arching, her thighs trembling as her pussy clenches around your fingers. Her moan is long and guttural, her hands flying to your shoulders as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.

“Fuck—fuck, oh my god—” she pants, her chest heaving as she comes down, her body still shivering under your touch. You don’t stop, not yet, your fingers slowing but staying inside her, coaxing out every last aftershock.

When you finally pull your hand away, her eyes flutter open, and she looks at you with a dazed, fucked-out expression that makes your chest tighten.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, her voice shaky. “That was…”

You smirk, leaning down to kiss her, your lips brushing hers lightly. “We’re not done yet.”

Before she can respond, you slide down the bed, positioning yourself between her legs. You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, your hands spreading her open, and she gasps, her hands flying to your hair as your tongue flicks over her sensitive clit, licking through the mess she’s left behind—sweet, sticky, and fucking intoxicating. Hanni’s trembling beneath you, her thighs twitching every time your tongue grazes her clit. Her fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, and you can’t tell if she’s trying to push you away or keep you there forever.

“Jesus fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” she gasps, her voice breathy and half-wrecked, like she’s been screaming at a concert all night. “I’m—oh god—s-sensitive—”

You pull back slightly, grinning against her skin. “Yeah? Sensitive, huh? You’re the one who keeps pulling me closer.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, but her words falter when you press your tongue flat against her, slow and wet, dragging it from her entrance to her clit. Her body jolts, a sharp inhale cutting her off. “Oh fuck—stop talking and just—”

“What? Just this?” you interrupt, sucking her clit into your mouth, your fingers digging into her thighs to keep her in place when she tries to squirm away. Her reaction is immediate—her back arches off the mattress, her head tossing back against the pillow.

“FUCK—yes, like that—oh my god, just like that—” she chokes out, her voice rising and falling with every flick of your tongue.

You pull back just enough to murmur, “You taste so fucking good, Hanni. I could eat you all night.”

She groans, throwing an arm over her face, her voice a mix of exasperation and raw need. “You’re such a goddamn showoff.”

“And you love it,” you reply, sliding your tongue back inside her, savoring the way she clenches around it. The cream left behind from her last orgasm coats your lips, and you lap at it like a man starving, dragging out every broken moan she gives you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she stammers, her hands gripping your hair like a lifeline. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

You pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at her. “Gonna what? Cum again? Already?”

Her glare is half-hearted, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dripping,” you shoot back, crawling up her body until your face is hovering over hers. You kiss her, slow and dirty, letting her taste herself on your lips. When you pull back, her eyes flicker down between your bodies, and her breath hitches.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, and you follow her gaze to where your cock is pressed against her stomach, hard and heavy. “That’s…uh…”

“What?” you ask, smirking. “Bigger than you expected?”

She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing as her eyes dart back to your face. “I mean—yeah, kinda.”

You laugh, the sound low and rough as you reach down, guiding her onto her hands and knees. “Don’t worry. You’ll take it.”

She lets out a nervous laugh, glancing over her shoulder at you as you position yourself behind her. “Confident much?”

“You’ll see,” you say, running the head of your cock along her folds, teasing her just enough to make her hips jerk back toward you. “Fuck, Hanni, you’re so wet. You’re gonna take me so good.”

Her response is a shaky moan, her hands gripping the sheets as you push inside her, slow and steady. The stretch is immediate, her body tightening around you like a vice, and you grit your teeth, fighting to keep control.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice high and breathless. “Oh fuck—you’re—fuck, you’re huge—”

“Yeah?” you say, gripping her hips as you sink deeper, inch by inch. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes—don’t stop—” she groans, her head dropping forward as you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. You stay still for a moment, letting her adjust, your hands smoothing over her waist, her back, the curve of her ass.

“You look so fucking good like this,” you murmur, giving her ass a firm squeeze. “All spread out for me.”

She lets out a soft laugh, glancing back at you with a dazed smirk. “You’re so full of yourself.”

You don’t bother replying, instead pulling back and snapping your hips forward, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Her gasp turns into a cry, her body rocking forward with the force of your thrust.

“Fuck—yes, just like that—” she moans, her voice muffled as her face presses into the pillow. You pick up the pace, your grip on her hips tightening as you fuck her harder, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you.

You raise one hand, bringing it down on her ass with a sharp slap. The sound echoes in the room, and she cries out, her walls tightening around you. “Shit—you like that?” you ask, spanking her again, harder this time.

“Fuck—yes—do it again—” she pants, her voice ragged. You oblige, your hand coming down on her ass until it’s red and warm under your palm. She’s a mess beneath you, moaning and writhing, her body arching every time you spank her.

Your grip tightens on Hanni’s hips as you feel her starting to unravel. Her moans spill out in frantic, breathy bursts, her voice trembling under the pressure of everything building inside her. She’s trying to keep her balance, her arms shaking as she holds herself up, but you’re not making it easy. Every thrust has her lurching forward, her ass bouncing back to meet you, her body completely giving in to the rhythm you’ve set.

“Shit—fuck—oh my god, I’m so close,” she stammers, her voice climbing higher, more desperate with every word. Her hands claw at the sheets, bunching the fabric into her fists as you slam into her again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.

“Come on, Hanni,” you growl, your breath hot against the sweat-slicked curve of her back. Your hand dips between her legs, fingers finding her clit and circling it in sync with your thrusts. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—oh god, yes,” she cries out, her voice cracking as her hips buck against your hand. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

You don’t. You keep your pace steady, unrelenting, the wet sounds of her slick pussy growing louder, more obscene, until finally, she snaps. Her whole body locks up, her head tossing back as a scream tears out of her throat, raw and broken. 

“Oh fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—” she chants, her thighs trembling violently as her orgasm rips through her, wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure. Her walls clench around you like a vice, trying to pull you deeper, but you hold still, grinding into her just enough to prolong her high. Her moans turn into whimpers, then gasps, her body sagging forward as she rides out the aftershocks.

When she finally collapses, her chest heaving against the mattress, you can’t help but grin. “Oh Hanni,” you murmur, sliding out of her slowly, your cock still hard and aching, slick with her arousal. “You looked so fucking good just now.”

She turns her head, her hair sticking to her flushed, sweaty face as she glares at you halfheartedly. “Shut up,” she mutters, but her voice is shaky, her body still twitching with the remnants of her orgasm.

“Nah, I mean it,” you say, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. “You’re fucking perfect like this.”

Her response is a muffled groan into the pillow, and you laugh, flipping her onto her back before she can complain. Her legs fall open instinctively, and the sight of her laid out beneath you—skin flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly—makes your cock twitch.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you murmur, positioning yourself between her legs. Your hands slide up her thighs, pushing them further apart as you line yourself up with her entrance. She looks up at you, her lips parted, her eyes hazy but full of something that goes deeper than just lust.

“God, you’re so fucking cheesy,” she whispers, but there’s no bite to her words. If anything, she looks…soft. Open. Like she’s waiting for something only you can give her.

You push into her slowly, watching her face as you fill her inch by inch. Her lips fall open, a soft gasp escaping her as her body stretches to accommodate you. “Oh fuck,” she breathes, her hands coming up to clutch at your shoulders. “Oh my god, you’re—fuck, you’re so deep—”

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice rough as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. “Feel good?”

“Fuck yes,” she moans, wrapping her legs around your waist to pull you closer. “God, you feel so fucking good—”

You start moving, your thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging your cock out almost all the way before slamming back into her. Her head tips back, her nails digging into your shoulders as she moans unabashedly, her voice filling the room. “Yes—fuck, just like that—”

You lean down, bracing yourself on your forearms so you’re hovering over her. Your lips find hers, swallowing her cries as you pick up the pace, your hips snapping against hers harder, faster. She breaks the kiss first, gasping for air, her hands sliding into your hair to tug you closer.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies colliding. Her eyes meet yours, wide and shining, and the vulnerability in her expression makes your cock throbs. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

You freeze for a second, but the way she’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth—it's enough to drive you crazy. “Hanni,” you murmur, your voice breaking as you start moving again, slower this time, each thrust deep and deliberate. “Fuck, I love you too.”

Her breath hitches, and she pulls you down into another kiss, her legs tightening around you as if she’s trying to fuse your bodies together. “Don’t stop,” she whispers against your lips. “Don’t ever stop.”

"I won't," you groan, your cock throbbing inside her tight, wet pussy as you grind deep. Her walls flutter around you with each slow, deliberate thrust, and you can feel how close she is to cumming. You press your forehead against hers, maintaining eye contact as you fuck her with long, measured strokes.

"You feel so good wrapped around my cock," you tell her, your voice rough with emotion. "So fucking perfect, Hanni. Love how wet you get for me."

She whimpers, her nails digging into your shoulders as her hips buck up to meet yours. "Only for you," she gasps. "Nobody's ever made me this wet before."

The admission makes your cock twitch, and you reward her with a particularly deep thrust that has her crying out. "Yeah? Tell me more, baby. Tell me how good I make you feel."

"So good," she moans, her pussy clenching around you. "Your cock fills me up perfectly. Feels like you were made for me."

You kiss her hard, swallowing her moans as you pick up the pace slightly. Your tongue slides against hers as you fuck her deeper, harder, but still maintaining that intimate connection. Her tits press against your chest with each thrust, her hard nipples dragging against your skin.

"Love these perfect tits," you growl, breaking the kiss to trail your lips down her neck. You suck hard enough to leave marks, wanting everyone to know she's yours. "I love how they bounce while I fuck you, how they get so hard for me."

Hanni arches her back, pressing her chest more firmly against you. "Please," she whimpers. "Touch them, suck on them, anything!"

You shift your weight to one arm so you can cup one of her tits, rolling the nipple between your fingers as you continue to thrust. "Like this, baby? Like having your tits played with while I fuck your tight little pussy?"

"Yes!" she cries out, her walls clamping down around you. "Fuck, I'm getting close!"

"That's it," you encourage her, lowering your head to take her other nipple into your mouth. You suck hard while still pinching and rolling the other one, your cock never stopping its steady rhythm inside her. "Want to feel you cum all over my cock. Want to feel how tight that pussy gets when you lose control."

Her hands slide into your hair, holding you against her breast as you continue to suck and nibble at her sensitive flesh. "Oh god, oh fuck," she pants, her thighs trembling where they're wrapped around your waist. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You release her nipple with a wet pop, looking up to meet her eyes again. "Never stopping, baby. Gonna keep fucking this sweet pussy until you can't take it anymore." You punctuate your words with a particularly deep thrust that has her seeing stars.

"Love watching you fall apart on my cock," you continue, your voice rough with desire. "Love feeling your pussy get wetter and tighter with each thrust. You gonna cum for me, Hanni? Gonna show me how good I make you feel?"

She nods frantically, her eyes glazed with pleasure as she stares up at you. "So close," she whimpers. "Just a little more, please!"

You shift slightly, changing the angle of your thrusts so your cock drags against her g-spot with each stroke. At the same time, you slide your hand between your bodies to find her clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud.

"Fuck!" she screams, her back arching off the bed. "Right there, right fucking there!"

"Yeah? This what you need, baby?" You keep the pressure steady on her clit as you continue to pound into her g-spot. "Love how your pussy's gripping me right now. Can feel how close you are to cumming."

Her nails rake down your back as she writhes beneath you, chasing her orgasm. "Please," she begs. "Make me cum again, please make me cum!"

You lean down to whisper in her ear, your voice low and rough. "Cum for me, Hanni. Show me how good my cock makes you feel. Want to feel that tight little pussy squeeze me while you cream all over my dick."

That does it. With a sharp cry of your name, Hanni's orgasm crashes over her. Her pussy clamps down around you like a vice as she cums, her whole body shaking with the force of her release. You can feel her cream gushing around your cock, making everything even wetter and slicker as you continue to fuck her through it.

"That's it, baby," you groan, fighting against your own need to cum as her walls milk your cock. "Fuck, you look so beautiful when you cum. Love watching you lose control like this."

She's babbling incoherently now, a stream of "fuck" and "yes" and your name falling from her lips as her orgasm continues to roll through her. Her pussy is practically convulsing around your cock, making it incredibly difficult to hold back your own release.

But you manage, wanting to draw out her pleasure as long as possible. You stay buried inside her for what feels like forever, your bodies pressed together, sweat mingling, her legs still wrapped tightly around your waist. Hanni’s breathing slows gradually, her chest rising and falling against yours as her trembling subsides. You brush her hair out of her face, tucking the damp strands behind her ear, and she gives you this sleepy, satisfied grin that makes your chest ache.

“You’re gonna ruin me, baby,” she mutters, her voice soft and teasing, her fingers trailing lazily over your back. 

You chuckle, nipping at her jawline. “Pretty sure I already did that.”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, but there’s no heat to it. She shifts slightly, wincing when your cock twitches inside her, still rock hard. “Jesus, are you still ready to go?”

“Can’t help it,” you reply, smirking as you grind against her, making her gasp. “You’re fucking addictive, Hanni.”

She groans, covering her face with one hand, but when she peeks up at you through her fingers, her eyes are gleaming. “Okay, fine. My turn.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Your turn for what?”

“To make you cum, dumbass.” She pushes at your chest until you roll onto your back, letting her straddle you. Her thighs press against your hips as she sits back, your cock still buried deep inside her. She bites her lip, her hands sliding over your chest. “God, you’re fucking huge. I can feel you all the way in my stomach.”

“Yeah?” you say, your voice rough, your hands finding her waist. “You’re taking me so fucking well, Hanni. You're absolutely perfect.”

“Damn right I am,” she says, smirking as she starts to move, slow and deliberate, rocking her hips in a way that makes your breath catch. “Fuck, you’re so deep…”

She sets a rhythm, her hands braced on your chest, her body rolling against yours with a lazy, drunk confidence. The sight of her above you—hair a mess, lips swollen, her tits bouncing with every move—has you gripping her hips like she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Shit, Hanni,” you groan, your head tipping back against the pillow. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

Her laugh is breathy, almost mocking. “Good,” she says, picking up the pace, her thighs slapping against yours with every bounce. “You deserve it.”

Her movements get sloppier, needier, her breath hitching every time your cock hits that spot inside her. And then, out of nowhere, she starts talking—dirty, raw, and absolutely unhinged.

“God, I can feel you so fucking deep,” she moans. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that? You’re gonna fuck me so full I won’t even be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” you hiss, her words going straight to your cock, making you buck up into her. “Keep talking, baby. Fucking say it.”

With your request, Hanni rides you with a desperation that feels almost animalistic, her hips slamming down onto yours like she’s trying to bury you even deeper inside her. Every bounce makes her tits jiggle, her nails scraping against your chest, leaving angry red trails that sting just enough to keep you tethered to reality. But just barely. You’re so drunk, so fucking drunk, that every sensation feels magnified, her heat, her tightness, the wet sounds of her cunt taking you over and over—it’s all you can focus on.

“Fuck—oh fuck—you’re so fucking deep,” she continues, her voice raw and slurred, her head tipping back as she grinds against you, her clit brushing against the base of your cock. “I really can feel you in my fucking stomach—god, you’re ruining me—”

You groan, your hands glued to her waist, guiding her movements as she slams down onto you again and again. “You’re so fucking tight, Hanni. I can barely move—you’re gripping me so fucking hard.”

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, and when she leans forward, her lips grazing your ear, her voice drops to a sultry whisper that shoots straight through you like lightning. “You’re gonna cum inside me, aren’t you?” 

Your breath catches, your hands tightening on her hips. “What?”

“You’re gonna fucking fill me up,” she says, her teeth nipping at your earlobe. “I can feel you, baby—you’re so fucking close. I want it. God, I need it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hanni—” Your head falls back against the pillow, your grip on her hips almost bruising now as she speeds up, her thighs slapping against yours with every bounce. You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a reply, because all you can hear, all you can feel, is her.

“I want you to breed me,” she breathes, her words spilling out like she doesn’t even care how insane they sound. “I want you to fill me so fucking full I can feel you leaking out of me for days.”

You choke on a groan, your hips bucking up into her so hard it makes her gasp, her nails dragging down your chest. “Fuck, Hanni—you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“And it's all your fault,” she shoots back, her voice dripping with lust as she smirks down at you. “You know you drive me crazy and still insist on teasing me. Tell me the truth: you’ve been dying to cum inside me all night, haven’t you?”

“Shit—” Your voice cracks as she grinds her hips in slow, teasing circles, her walls fluttering around you like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “You’re fucking insane.”

She leans down, her hands braced on either side of your head, her breath hot against your face. “Maybe,” she whispers, her voice trembling but full of wicked intent. “But you’re gonna give me what I want, aren’t you?”

Her lips crash against yours before you can answer, swallowing your groan as she slams down onto you again, her movements frantic and unrelenting. The angle shifts just enough to make your cock hit that perfect spot inside her, and she breaks the kiss with a scream, her body convulsing as she clings to you.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck yes—just like that,” she babbles, her words spilling out in a breathless rush. “You’re so deep, so fucking deep—I want it, baby, I want you to cum inside me. Please—fuck—please, I need it.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel your control unraveling, your body tensing as the pressure builds, white-hot and unbearable. “Shit, Hanni—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m so close—”

"Yes, yes, fucking breed me!" she begs, voice breaking as she slams herself down harder. "Fill this tight pussy up with your hot fucking cum. I need you to knock me up so bad. Pump that thick cum deep in my womb!"

Her dirty talk drives you wild. Your hands grip her waist, helping lift and drop her onto your throbbing shaft. Her pussy is absolutely drenched, making obscene wet sounds each time she takes you to the hilt. The way her walls grip and massage your cock has your eyes rolling back.

"Gonna cum," you grunt, feeling your balls tighten. "Gonna flood that tight pussy."

"Do it! Fucking do it!" She starts grinding and circling her hips, stimulating every sensitive spot. "Give me every last drop. Want your cum dripping out of me for days!"

Your orgasm hits like a tsunami. Your cock pulses violently as you start shooting thick ropes of hot cum deep inside her. But she doesn't stop - if anything she fucks you harder, determined to milk out every single drop.

"Oh fuuuuck!" you moan as she keeps bouncing through your orgasm. The stimulation is almost too much on your sensitive cock but she won't let up. Her pussy walls contract rhythmically, literally sucking the cum out of you.

"I can feel it," she pants, eyes glazed with lust. "So much hot cum filling me up. Keep cumming for me, baby. Give me more!"

The continued stimulation has you seeing stars. Your cock is so sensitive it almost hurts but the pleasure is mind-blowing. She grinds down hard, working her hips in circles as she milks out another surge of cum.

"Such a good boy," she purrs. "Giving me all that potent cum. Gonna put a baby in me with all this hot fucking seed."

Your whole body trembles as she continues riding. More cum spurts out with each bounce, making wet squelching sounds as it mixes with her juices. She's absolutely relentless, using your cock like her personal cum extraction tool.

"Please," you gasp, overwhelmed by the intense stimulation. "Fuck, Hanni!"

"Just a little more," she moans, her movements getting erratic. "Want every last drop inside me. Need all your cum breeding my tight little pussy!"

Your eyes roll back as another orgasm crashes through you, smaller but just as intense. She cries out in triumph as she feels the fresh surge of cum, her own orgasm making her pussy convulse around your oversensitive cock.

"Fuck yes! Breed me, breed me, breed meeee!" She collapses onto your chest, still grinding slowly. "So much cum... You give me so much cum, baby… can feel it so deep..."

Your cock gives a few final weak pulses, completely drained. She finally stills but keeps you trapped inside her, her pussy occasionally squeezing as if trying to coax out any remaining drops.

"Mmm, your cum is so hot, baby," she sighs contentedly. "Filled me up so perfectly. Gonna keep all this hot cum inside me until it takes."

You can only lie there panting as she nuzzles your neck, your thoroughly milked cock still twitching inside her cum-flooded pussy.

You wrap your arms around her, holding her close, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the city outside and the sound of your uneven breathing. Everything feels still, heavy, like the world just stopped to let you exist like this.

Then Hanni snorts.

It starts quiet, just a soft huff against your chest, but it builds quickly, bubbling up until she’s full-on giggling like a kid who just got caught doing something stupid. It’s contagious. You’re laughing too, your head tipping back into the pillow, your chest shaking beneath her.

“What the fuck are we even laughing at?” you wheeze, running a hand through her damp hair as her giggles turn into full-blown cackles.

“I don’t know!” she gasps, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “I think—I think it’s just—holy shit, we actually did that.”

You grin, wiping at her face with the pad of your thumb. “Yeah, we fucking did. And now I can’t feel my legs, so thanks for that.”

“Don’t even,” she shoots back, propping her chin on your chest and glaring at you playfully. “You’re the one who fucked me so hard I saw stars.”

“Yeah? You’re welcome, then.” You wink at her, and she groans, burying her face in your chest again, her laughter muffled against your skin. 

When she finally calms down, she tilts her head up to look at you, her expression softening. “Hey,” she says quietly, her fingers brushing over your jawline. “I wasn’t kidding earlier, you know. I love you.”

Her words hit you like a sucker punch, but not in a bad way. It’s more like someone just flipped a switch inside you, lighting up every dark, unspoken corner of your heart. “Fuck,” you murmur. “I love you too, Hanni.”

She beams, her smile so wide and genuine it almost makes you forget how fucking trashed you both are. “That was—shit, that was the best sex of my life,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like, no contest. Hall of Fame level.”

You snort. “Same. And that’s saying something, because I once hooked up with this girl who—”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence,” she interrupts, smacking your chest lightly. “Don’t ruin the moment!”

“Fine, fine,” you say, grinning as you squeeze her waist. “Moment un-ruined. But seriously, you were fucking amazing.”

She smirks, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Duh. I know that already.”

“God, you’re impossible,” you mutter, but your smile doesn’t falter. 

She yawns suddenly, the sound soft and innocent, and you raise an eyebrow. “You good? Wanna hop in the shower or something before we crash?”

Her nose wrinkles immediately, and she shakes her head. “Fuck that. I’m not moving an inch. We can sleep like this—sweaty, sticky, whatever. I don’t give a shit.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you pull her closer, tucking her against your side. “You’re such a goddamn gremlin.”

“Aaand-youuu-loveee-it,” she mumbles, already half-asleep, her voice muffled against your chest. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, your hand running up and down her back. “I fucking do.”

Then, finally, the alcohol and exhaustion hit you both like a fucking truck, pulling you under faster than you expect. You drift off together, her body warm and soft against yours, her breath slow and steady in your ear. It’s messy and stupid and probably the worst decision you’ve ever made, but for now, it feels like the best thing in the world. You fall asleep like two reckless, drunk kids who don’t know any better, and for a little while, everything feels perfect. 

—

It's like the first morning in purgatory. 

You stir first, the throbbing in your skull dragging you out of unconsciousness. Your mouth is dry, your limbs heavy, and every movement feels like wading through molasses. You blink against the pale light leaking through the blinds, your vision blurry, the pounding in your head relentless. Beside you, Hanni lets out a soft groan, still half-buried in the covers, her hair a wild mess against the pillow.

“Fuck…” you croak, your voice rough as sandpaper. “What the hell happened?”

Hanni stirs, her face scrunching up in discomfort. “Why does my brain feel like it’s on fire?” she mutters, her words muffled against the pillow. She shifts slightly, the sheet slipping down to reveal bare shoulders. “Wait—”

She freezes.

Your eyes snap fully open, the fog in your head clearing just enough to process what you’re seeing. Hanni’s eyes go wide, darting between your face and the sheet draped haphazardly over your waist. “Why the fuck are we naked?” she asks, her voice pitching higher, panic seeping into her tone.

You wince, the sound drilling into your already aching skull. “I—uh—” You glance down, seeing your bare chest, then feel the cool air against your equally bare ass under the sheets. “Shit.”

Her hands fly to her own chest, clutching the blanket against herself as if that’ll undo whatever the fuck happened. “Did we…? Oh my god, did we fuck?” 

You sit up slowly, your head spinning. “I don’t know! I mean…” Your brow furrows as fragmented memories start piecing themselves together. Her riding you, her breathless moans, the way she begged—fuck, fuck, fuck. “Okay, maybe. Yeah, probably.”

“Probably?” she snaps, sitting up too quickly and clutching her head. “Fuck, my brain feels like it’s gonna split in half. Okay, but like—wait.” Her voice falters, her panic mounting as her eyes search your face. “Did you—did you, uh, cum inside me?”

You freeze, the question hitting you like a brick to the face. “What?” you ask, stalling for time as your headache roars back to life. “I don’t…fuck, I don’t remember. I was so wasted—”

“Oh my god,” she interrupts, her voice trembling as she throws off the covers and sits back on her heels, her hands flying between her legs. She winces, her fingers brushing something sticky, and when she pulls them back, her face goes pale. “Oh my fucking god. I can feel it. It’s—it’s dry—holy shit, you really came inside me!”

Your stomach twists violently as the memories come flooding back—the heat of her body, the way she clung to you, the way you spilled into her so deeply it felt like you’d never come back up for air. “Shit,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay. Fuck. Yeah, that…definitely happened.”

“On Christmas?” she nearly shrieks, clutching the sheet around herself like it’s some kind of moral shield. “You knocked me up on fucking Christmas? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” you say, raising your hands defensively. “First of all, technically it was on Christmas Eve. Hmm, although there is a big chance it could have happened after midnight, I think we got here pretty late…” Hanni looks at you as if contemplating the idea of committing murder. “Oh, second and most importantly, nobody’s knocked up yet. It doesn’t happen that fast!”

“Yeah, but you fucking came inside me!” she shoots back, her voice a wild mix of fury and panic. “What the hell were we thinking? Why the fuck didn’t we use a condom?!” 

“I don’t know, Hanni! We were drunk off our asses! I barely even remember half of last night!” You gesture vaguely at the room, at the scattered clothes and the bed completely messed up. “I mean, look at this shit. Does this look like the scene of responsible decision-making?”

She glares at you, her hands still clutching the sheet tightly. “Okay, well, what the fuck do we do now? The pharmacies are probably closed. It’s Christmas! Do you think there’s some magical 24/7 Plan B hotline we can call? Hey, Santa, got any emergency contraceptives in that bag of yours?”

Her sarcasm slices through the tension, and despite the mounting panic, you can’t help but laugh—a short, bitter sound. “Yeah, let’s just write to the fucking North Pole. ‘Dear Santa, I was very naughty last night. Please send condoms and a time machine.’”

She doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy pacing now, muttering under her breath as she tries to piece together a plan. “Okay, okay, maybe there’s a convenience store open somewhere. Or—fuck, do I know someone who could have contraceptives? No, that’s stupid—god, I’m so fucking stupid—”

Hanni moves like a whirlwind, her body tense and her face set as she grabs her scattered clothes off your bedroom and hallway floor. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance in your direction as she yanks her sweater over her head and hops into her underwear with sharp, jerky movements. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet pooling around your waist, watching her with growing agony.

“Hanni, will you just fucking stop for a second?” you say, your voice low but urgent. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” she snaps, still not looking at you as she grabs her jeans. “About how we were too drunk and stupid to use protection? About how I might have a goddamn Christmas baby on the way? Yeah, sounds like a super fun conversation.”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Come on, don’t do this. We can figure it out together—”

“There’s nothing to figure out!” she interrupts, finally turning to face you, her expression a volatile mix of anger and panic. “I’m going home. I need—I just need to think. Alone.”

“Alone?” you repeat, standing up, the sheet slipping off your waist. “You’re seriously just gonna leave? What if you—”

“I’ll find a pharmacy,” she says quickly, cutting you off again. “I’ll take care of it. I just… I can’t fucking deal with this right now, okay?”

“Hanni, please,” you say, stepping closer, reaching out to grab her arm. “Don’t shut me out. I—fuck, I care about you. We’ll get through this together.”

She pulls her arm out of your grip, her jaw tight. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who could end up pregnant. You’re not the one who has to wonder how the fuck you got here with your best friend.”

This unsettles you for a moment, but before you can reply, she’s already slipping on her jacket, her hand on the doorknob. “Hanni,” you say again, softer this time, your voice almost pleading. “Stay. Please.”

She pauses, just for a second, her shoulders slumping. But then she shakes her head, her voice nothing but a whisper. “I can’t.” 

And with that, she’s gone, leaving you standing in the doorway, naked, hungover, and completely fucking lost.

—

The next few weeks are a blur of radio silence and vague, clipped texts that feel more like placeholders than actual communication. Hanni texts you the morning after to say she found a pharmacy that was miraculously open on Christmas and took the pill, but that’s it. No follow-ups, no calls, just short, impersonal messages that feel like they’re written by a stranger.

You spend every day alternating between guilt, panic, and a weird, gnawing ache you can’t quite name. Every time your phone buzzes, your heart races, hoping it’s her. Half the time it’s not, and the other half it’s just more of the same: I’m fine. Just busy. Talk later.

When “later” finally comes, it’s weeks down the line. You’re sitting on your couch, staring blankly at some shitty Netflix movie you’re not even watching, when your phone rings. The sight of Hanni’s name on the screen jolts you upright, your heart pounding as you fumble to answer.

“Hanni,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “Hey. What’s—what’s up?”

There’s a pause, and then her voice comes through, soft and hesitant. “I got my period.”

Relief floods through you so fast it almost knocks you over. “Oh, thank fuck,” you mutter, leaning back into the couch, your head tipping back against the cushions. “That’s—that’s fucking great news.”

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s no relief in her tone. Just exhaustion. “It is.”

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you like a storm cloud. Finally, you clear your throat. “Can I see you? Maybe we could grab coffee or something, just talk. I miss you, Hanni.”

She sighs, long and heavy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What…? Why not?”

“Because,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “Because I’ve spent the last few weeks losing my mind, thinking about what might have happened, what did happen. I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck we ended up here, and I still don’t have an answer.”

“We ended up here because we were drunk and stupid,” you say quickly, your words spilling out like a defense mechanism. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a mistake?” she interrupts, her tone sharper now. “Because that’s what I keep asking myself. Was this a mistake? Did we ruin everything for one fucking night of drunken stupidity?”

“Hanni,” you say, your voice low and steady. “It wasn’t just one night. Don’t pretend like you don’t feel something—”

“Of course I feel something!” she snaps, cutting you off. “That’s the fucking problem! I can’t stop thinking about it—about you. About your hands, your body, your mouth, your fucking cock. And that’s why I can’t see you right now, because if I do…” She trails off, her breath hitching.

“Because if you do, what?” you press, your chest tight.

“Because if I do, it’s gonna happen again,” she says, her voice trembling. “And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or if it’s just gonna destroy everything we had.”

“We’ve already fucked up everything we had, Hanni,” you say quietly. “The question is whether we’re gonna fix it or just throw it all away.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, bitter and broken. “I don’t know if it can be fixed. I don’t even know what it is anymore.”

“So what?” you say, your voice rising slightly. “You’re just gonna ghost me? Walk away from everything we’ve built?”

“I’m not walking away,” she says softly. “I just… I need time. To figure out what I want, what we are, what we could be. I need to get over this before I see you again. Because if I don’t…”

“I thought you loved me... I mean, you said that to me that night.” 

“I wasn't ready, you understand? Not really. This wasn't how I wanted it to happen… our first time, the confession of my feelings… I just…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. The weight of her words hangs heavy in the silence, suffocating you.

“When will I see you?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” she replies, her voice cracking. “I really don’t.”

“Hann—”

The line cuts out, and you’re left holding the phone, staring at her name disappearing from the screen. The movie’s still playing, but it might as well not be.

You drop the phone, lean back, and close your eyes. Outside, the world moves on, but inside, it’s just silence—heavy, empty, and endless.

[w1ll0wray]

I'm not sure if your requests are open but I loved your last vampire!jinx fic and I was wondering if we could maybe get another vampire!jinx smut but where she turns the reader? If you do it, thank you!

MY NEED FOR YOU ft. vampire jinx x fem!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ summary: classic nepo baby, spoiled with the most exquisite pearls that ever touched earth. your father always spoiled you with anything you wanted, but one thing he always stood by was ‘no meddling with his coworkers’. Well father… does the one with the dashing looks and dangerously adorable smile count?

⊹₊⟡⋆warnings: coworker!jinx x boss!daughter, vampire!jinx x fem!reader, jinx turns reader into a vampire, men or minors dni, nsfw, blood tw, sharp fangs, blood exchange, spoiled brat reader, jealousy, banter, fem!reader receiving, smut, kinda enemies?

wc. 2.3k

𐙚 note | I’d really appreciate it if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you:)

this was a request; I hope this reached your expectations!

Staring at your father’s coworker, you sneered. Of course she’d be invited to the event.

Ignoring the ladies cooing at your cat, you continue running your fingers through her fur, eyes stuck on the blue-haired girl’s silhouette. She looked so…irresistible. 

Biting on the inside of your cheek, you squint your eyes at her attire— a dress shirt, a pair of dark pants and coat hanging off her shoulder. She was in the middle of a conversation with older people, a dangerously attractive grin spreading across her face. 

Glancing away, you turn your attention to your ladies pampering you with all the compliments in the world— eager for your acknowledgment. You were dressed in an off-the-shoulder black gown with lace and bow accents, paired with long dark gloves. Your outfit is adorned with Vivienne Westwood’s pearls.

Your cat had a similar choker, Vivienne Westwood’s team gifted it. To be fair, you outshined everyone in this event, even if you were seated on a couch in the living room. The mansion was huge, perfect for the gatherings your father held. 

Though, the only thing on your mind was Jinx lingering around. Your father’s young coworker, she was known for her insane creativity in the technology industry— of course she’d be here.

Feeling her presence come near, you snap your head up, watching her grab from the snack table a macaron. You scoffed a little too loud, because her gaze finally meets yours. 

“If it isn’t Jinx.” Your ladies look up, noticing the woman you were addressing to. Jinx pauses, the macaron half eaten in her hand, brow raising in amusement. 

She chuckles, taking a few steps closer towards your seated form, “Lazying about, as usual?” Her words prompt you to frown, but your lips immediately curved into a sarcastic smile, “And yet, I’m still the highlight of the room. Funny how that works.” You smirked, eyes momentarily trailing down to her lips. 

Jinx rolls her eyes, hand on her hip, “Oh, please. Do you seriously think anyone’s impressed by you just lying around?” She gave you a pointed look, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Your grin doesn’t falter, “Well—”

“—Jinx!” A woman’s voice cuts through the banter, arms wrapping around Jinx in an instance. You narrowed your gaze at the woman’s proximity. She then faces you, her brows raising, “Oh sorry— who are you?” Jinx waves a hand at your direction, “Just my coworker’s daughter. Here, let’s go grab drinks.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat, a fire burning in your chest at the girl’s hand wrapping around Jinx’s arm. She was nothing compared to you, so why was Jinx hanging around a woman like her? The way she had dismissed you as her coworkers daughter made your blood boil, a storm of rage crashing inside you. 

Huffing, you push away the hands from caressing your cat, “Go away, all of you!” Your ladies frown, but obey, leaving you alone. Glancing at Jinx joyfully chatting with the woman, you abruptly stand up, cat in arms. Making your way to your father, you pulled him aside. 

“Father, i want that lady gone.” You point at the woman with Jinx, her disgusting laughter heard from a mile away. Your father frowned,

“Has she done anything?” 

Pausing for a split second, you quickly compose yourself, “She’s not dressed modestly enough and…she hurt my feelings.” He glanced at her dress, before mindlessly nodding to his body guard, “Go get that woman out.” 

He rubbed your arm comfortably, “Tell me if anything bothers you, darling.” He warmly kisses your forehead before continuing his business chat. You nodded, an innocent smile crept on your face as the body guard forcefully pushed the girl out. You turned to glance at Jinx, only to freeze under the weight of her glare—sharp and unimpressed, like she’d been aiming those daggers at you the whole time. 

Pulling your cat closer, you narrow your gaze as she stormed towards you. Once her musk cologne surrounds you, you brace for the argument you’re both about to have. But, regrettably for you, she only shoved your shoulder as she made her way out. Pouting, you stared at the grand door she just left from, puzzled by her behavior.  

For the next couple of hours, you scrolled through your phone in the filled living room, ignoring everyone even if they greeted you. You wanted Jinx. 

Even if she hated you— her attention was everything you craved for ever since meeting her last year. She never spoke to you like others, cautious of her coworker’s daughter. It annoyed you, how could she not get the hint? 

As you began taking your leave from the living room, wanting to cool off in your room, Jinx’s presence entered the room. Snapping your head towards the entrance, her glare met yours. She seemed furious, her strides quickening as she got closer to you. Noticing her palms clenched, her teeth gritting, you took hesitant steps up the stairs. As she reached you, you let your cat go, running up the stairs and through the halls.

Something about the way she was staring at you— as if she was hunting her prey, it made the hair on the back of your neck rise up. Running in heels was difficult, especially when you could hear her rapid footsteps behind you. Forcefully entering your room, you locked the door behind you. 

Sighing in relief, you squeezed your eyes shut and rested your body against the door. Once you stop hearing her footsteps,  you blink open your eyes, ready for a warm bath. 

“Thought you could get away with that, hm?” 

You snapped your head up in alarm. To your utter shock, she was standing right in front of you, her gaze piercing, like she’d been there all along. Your heart skipped a beat, confusion washing over you—how did she get in here?

Gulping, your eyes widened at her irises glowing pink. She took cautious steps towards you, impressed by your calm demeanor. The tip of her finger landed on your chin, lifting your head up, “I know it was you.” Her tone was harsh, indicating that she was upset. Trying to seem unbothered, you shrugged your shoulders, leaning your face closer, “It’s my house. I get to choose the guests—especially if they’re sluts from the streets.” Her jaw clenched, eyes wide. 

“And plus,” You continued, pushing her off, fingers lingering on the fabric of her shirt before walking off to your vanity. You sat down, unclasping your choker, rubbing on the bare skin of your neck, “...I didn’t appreciate the way she laid her hands on you." Hearing Jinx scoff, you dart your eyes at the mirror of your vanity, expecting to see her reflexion. 

But there was nothing. 

Whirling your head around, confusion flickers across your features at her still standing behind you. Your eyes flicked back for a double-take, panic arising. 

Abruptly standing up, your chair tumbled to the side,  “Something’s up with you.” Your head turned to the side, gaze on Jinx. Finally facing her, you took reluctant steps towards her, eyes squinting on her gorgeous appearance. Face-to-face, Jinx’s brow raised, amusement clear in her sinful smile, “Oh, really?” That raspy voice of hers prompted the inside of your stomach to do flips. 

Still watching her, you pointed at your vanity, “Your reflexion,” She glanced at the mirror, her teeth peeking through to bite her bottom lip, as if anticipating your response. Your heart hammered in your chest, “You have no reflexion—how’s that possible?” She only scoffed, but suddenly started laughing. 

 Her laughter was unsettling—too loud, too sudden, a burst of chaotic energy that filled your room. Your brows knit together, nose scrunching, “I asked you a question—?”

Her cackling stops out of nowhere. In a blink of an eye, her face is only a few inches away from yours, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “You’re so naïve.” Her voice was sugar-coated, making the insult hit harder. 

Sneering like a spoiled toddler, you stuck your face dangerously close, “Stop acting so high and mighty and answer my—“ 

The words died in my throat as she hissed, lips curling back to reveal sharp fangs that you swore could tear through your flesh. You froze, every instinct screaming at you to back away. Her eyes gleamed a magnetic pink, somehow luring you in. Your breath hitched, a cold chill running through your spine.

You’ve never seen a vampire before— but you seriously wanted to know if they all looked this breathtaking. Indeed, she looked terrifying but somehow, your heart betrayed you, pounding harder. 

She looked so ravishing, a dangerous beauty that stole your breath. Against all reason, a smile spread across your face, surprising even her. Jinx paused, her fierce expression flickering with confusion, as if she couldn’t understand why you weren’t trembling but smiling instead. 

Drawing closer to her, you catch a whiff of her addictive cologne, causing the erratic pounding of your heart. Grinning, your hands come up to rest on her collarbone, fingers tracing the fabric, “I don’t care if you’re some lunatic bloodsucker,” Your lashers flutter as you flick your gaze upwards, meeting her shimmering pink eyes. She doesn’t realize, but determination gleams in your expression. 

All at once, you seize the fabric of her collar, forcing her down, “,because it only increases my need for you.” Cutting off her gasp, your lips crashed into hers, swallowing the sound in an instant. 

Feeling her falter for a split second, you tangle your hand into her hair, pressing her closer, needing her lips. Though, she pushes you off, taking a few steps back. 

“You don’t know what your—“ 

You groan, fed up with her stalling, yanking her back by her collar, “Then turn me, Jinx.” She stares at you, stunned by your request. Raising a questioning brow, you let your lips linger a few inches away, hearing her breath hitch, “You belong to me, and only me.” You knew your father would probably disown you for doing this with his coworker, but his opinion didn’t matter to you. Only she did.

In a flash, her lips smash against yours, tightly cupping your face as she navigated you both scarily fast to the bed. Your back meets the mattress, dress riding up as your knees bend upwards, your heels falling off. Jinx’s lips attached to your neck, leaving a wet trail down your chest. Impatiently nudging her head, you force her up, “Kiss me.” Your lips nearly touch hers, but she pulls away. 

Tsking, she begins to tug at your dress, almost ripping it, “Take this off.” Her tone harsh. You only scowl in exchange, slapping her hand away, “It’s designer, don’t you dare rip it.” You pull up your dress, revealing the lace lingerie you had put on incase of this situation. Jinx stared at the bottoms doing practically nothing to hide your pussy, biting her lip in excitement, “You brat.” She huffs, spreading your legs and pulling the lingerie to the side. 

Immediately, your lips part to let out pleasured moans once her tongue steadily traces your folds. She doesn’t go easy on you, her lips sucking on your clit directly, prompting you to arch your back. Head tilting back, your fingers grab her hair roughly, making her wince. Out of nowhere, she backs away, your lips pouting as she stands beside the bed, leaving you bare. 

But a smile tugs at your lips when she rids of her layers, her finger tilting your head up when she spots you trying to peek down. Suddenly, she pulls down your underwear, raising one of your legs onto her shoulder. You bucked your hips, wanting her on you already. After making a noise of displeasure, Jinx finally grinds her cunt against yours. Letting out a gasp at the sensation of her pussy, you spread your legs further, whimpering when she began kissing up your leg. 

Your leg still over her shoulder, her head bent down, lips tickling your neck with feathered kisses. Having enough, you forced her head up, your lips hungrily latching into hers and your tongue entering her mouth. Letting you take control, she continued grinding against you, leading to you whining and partially pulling away. Her lips then trail down to your neck, licking on the spot directly above your pulse. 

“Do it.” You mumble, staring at the ceiling, feeling her pause. She then placed a soft kiss on your cheek, lifting her face till your foreheads touched, “It’s not a simple thing.” She flinched when your hands rested on the side of her head, a roll of your eyes following after, “I’m only doing it  if it means we get to live together.” 

She frowned before letting a small smile spread across her face, huffing, “..you really are a stubborn brat.” Her head then lowers to the crook of your neck, letting out a hiss before sinking her fangs into your skin. 

Wincing, you grabbed her hand as she drank your blood, tightening your hold as your vision began to blur. In the midst of your dizziness, you felt her pull away, spotting her sink her teeth into her wrist. Blood trickled down her wrist and onto your chest, coating it with the crimson liquid. She then approached her wrist to your lips, holding your head, “Drink up.” 

Obeying, your lips suck around the wound, swallowing down her blood. You didn’t know how to admit it— but her blood tasted sweet. Not noticing the time passing by, she tugged your head back, your dizziness gone. 

“…welcome to being immortal.” She hummed out, her lips still red from sucking you off. Grinning, you sat up and wrapped your arms around her. 

Locking eyes with her, you pushed a loose stray away from her face, addicted to that scent radiating off of her, “You better workship me for this.” 

banners creds. not my best work oops but hope u enjoyed!! I’m also aware my masterlist doesn’t exist haha I’ll get around to doing it. requests r still open n reblogs r appreciated!!

[robinsgrl]

FEARLESS

chapter three. boobs and beers

pairing ⇢ rafe cameron x plus size!reader

word count ⇢ 4.7k

warnings ⇢ fatphobia, insecurities, mention of a panic attack, boobies lol, uhmmmmm shopping as a fat girl, heather should be her own warning, daddy issues, mentions of alcoholism.

authors note ⇢ heyyyyy….. im sick and i am soooo fatigued but i wanted to release this, i’ve been spoiling the kildare nights readers and i needed to give fearless some attention. sorry for any mistakes queens, love you guys! gimme ur thoughts!!

“Why are we here?” You ask as he plops down onto the seat across from you at the mall food court. He slides over a cup of fro-yo at you. A frown falls to your lip when you take a peek in it. “You get plain fro-yo?”

His eyebrows furrow, shrugging. “Yeah?”

You scoff in pure disbelief as you glance into his own cup. Plain chocolate. “That’s… like… a crime.”

Getting up off your cold metal seat, you pick his cup as well and walk back into the frozen yogurt shop. The cute worker behind the register has a bored expression on her face until she spots you. A bright smile falls onto your face, as does hers, as you meet each other. “Heather.”

“Gorgeous!” She squeals happily as you walk over to the register with the tall guy trailing after you, watching the two of you curiously.

“My friend here, he doesn’t know the art of fro-yo. Is there any way we can add some toppings? Promise I’ll pay for every cent.” You ask her sweetly. The red head nods happily, ushering you to go on in.

You can feel Rafe’s eyes on you as you walk over to the toppings station. A wave of embarrassment flushes through you as you realize something. This makes you look fat. You are. You are a big girl but you try and hide it. With big sweaters, baggy jeans, eating small portions when out— not showing others that you come to the fro-yo place so often that the cashier knows you by name.

“My dad and I come here all the time.” You don’t mean for your words to sound so defensive but it’s what you’ve had to do most of your life. Defend yourself. “It’s the one thing he can afford.”

His eyebrows furrow, head tilting gently. You realize he’s not one for many words but his looks say a lot. He’s curious about you. And confused. “Isn’t your dad rich?”

You take a quick peek at him and feel a weight lift off your shoulders when you see his eyes have moved to scour the toppings. “Anthony isn’t my dad.”

He nods, ahh-ing. “Right, he’s your step-dad. What about your real father?”

You shrug lamely, not really wanting to talk about him. “Nothing. We just like fro-yo. Are you seriously putting Graham crackers in your fro-yo?” You ask, eyes wide and with a glint of disgust at his choice.

His eyes squint with annoyance as he looks up at you. “What’s wrong with Graham crackers?”

“Everything.” You reach over the toppings and scoop up a spoonful of gummy bears. “Graham crackers are like… green peppers on your pizza.”

This gets a reaction out of him. “You don’t like green peppers on your pizza?”

You scoff out a laugh, “I don’t know how we’re gonna get along with all these differences between us.” Your tone is playful as you speak this. You reach over and grab a few maraschino cherries and plop them on your fro-yo.

“Now that, I can get behind.” He scoops up the cherries and loads them into his cup. He’s scooping up Oreo crumbles beside you as you take him in. There’s a slight stubble growing on his jaw, a green baseball cap on top of his head. He's a lot more laidback than you’ve ever seen. He's usually in khakis and polo shirts. Today, he’s wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a baggy hoodie, with thick sneakers that you’re sure cost a fortune.

“You know,” you speak up after a moment, his eyes turning to you. You can’t make eye contact, eyes looking everywhere but his eyes. “We’re twins.”

“What?”

You point to his clothing and yours. You’re wearing baggy jeans and a baggy hoodie. “We’re dressed alike.” The two of you are done and back at the register, weighing your cups for the price. Heather begins ringing you two up and you’re about to swipe your credit card when he beats you to it. “I had that.”

But he ignores you as the payment goes through and Heather wishes you two a good day. “First things first,” you’re walking down the mall side by side, eating your fro-yo. “You need to stop dressing like me.”

“Hey, this is comfortable.” You defend yourself.

“Comfortable won’t get you anywhere. You have to show some cleavage every now and then.”

This offends you, a scoff leaving your mouth. You’re glaring up at him but he doesn’t seem to care, eyes moving to and fro, checking the mall out. “Why do I need to do that?”

“Real talk?” He asks you, eyeing you as if trying to see if you’ll get offended or not.

You take a deep breath in and nod. “You look like a little boy.”

You should be offended. But you can’t. Instead, a laugh bubbles out of you and you have to cover your mouth to hide it. “N-no, no I don’t.” But you don’t believe your own words. You sigh, eating another spoonful of fro-yo. “Okay thine.” If your mother were here you’d be getting a scold for talking with your mouth full.

Rafe simply rolls his eyes at the sight and hands you a napkin which you happily take. You chew on your cold gummy bears for a moment before speaking again. “Fine. I’m guessing that’s why we’re here?” You look around the mall with a soft and annoyed huff. “Where to first, sensei?”

You can see he’s visibly holding back a smile when he says— “Victoria Secret.”

The store is unbelievably pink. But your eyes flicker about the store and the mannequins with a sparkle to your eyes. You’d never stepped foot in this place unless Scarlett was at your side. Nothing about you ever felt sexy and she came here to feel sexy. So you never found your footing in the store. And now, with Rafe at your side, you feel even worse. Surface level, you only see undergarments for skinny people. Smaller people. And the idea of not finding anything and Rafe watching you get shut down makes you dread the rest of your day.

“Never seen someone look at mannequin boobs and frown.” You’re brought out of your painstakingly insecure thoughts at the sound of Rafe’s voice. You peek up at him and are surprised to see a softer look to him. Well, as soft as Rafe Cameron can get. “Seriously, it’s just bra shopping. And pantie shopping. I thought girls went crazy for this shit.”

“Okay, misogyny.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. To anyone else, it would look like a natural pose but you’re hiding your chest, as if that would stop this from happening. “I’m just… shouldn’t I do something else before shopping?” You hope he understands what you mean.

But he doesn’t. He shakes his head, “nah.” His nonchalant response sends a twinge of annoyance through you, biting down on the inside of your cheek. He starts making his way into the store, too much interest in his face when you call out to him.

“Seriously, Rafe, I’m too big for this.” This stops him in his steps turning to you with a look on his face that you can’t decipher. Not that you ever can, Rafe Cameron is an incredibly hard person to read.

“There’s a plus-size section.” Are his words and you feel a wave of heat come over you. Your mouth twitches as you try to hide the shame you’re feeling. But it seems you and Rafe don’t have that in common— you wear your feelings on your face.

“Look before we… I should probably, I don’t know… lose some weight.” Is your response to him, eyes refusing to meet him at all.

He sighs loudly, and you sneak a glance at him to see him rubbing the inner corner of his eyes with what you think is annoyance. And this only worsens your intense feelings of insecurity. And he speaks, “you don’t need to lose weight to be hot, ___. You’ve got a stunning body, you just have to know how to work it.”

Your eyes widen as they meet him for the first time in a while. And oddly enough, you can see he’s telling the truth. You wanted to see a lie on his face. You wanted to be proved right and know that he’s just as disgusted by you as all the boys in your school. But you can’t find it. “Now, are you gonna keep fishing for compliments or are we gonna find a bra that makes your boobs pop?”

You bust out laughing at this, covering your face with your hands in a shy manner. “Fine, but you have to promise to never repeat the word Boobs to me. Like, ever again.”

“How about breasts?”

“Gross.”

—

One of the kind ladies in the shop finds a few pieces for you that fit well. Surprisingly, you have a good time. The lady is unbelievably kind and finds you matching sets. And you come to realize you’ve never had a positive female shopping experience.

Most of your shopping was done with Scarlett and your mother at your side. And they seemed to be the unstoppable duo that knew just how to put you down. Your mother would grab at your stomach when you tried on a shirt that didn’t fit quite right. “This is where you need to focus,” she’d point at the spots that she felt needed to be fixed. “Next time you’re at the gym, focus on this. Talk to my personal trainer, he’s there all the time.” You went to the gym the next day. Apparently, she had spoken to her trainer and he grabbed you in the same way your mother did. You never went back again.

Scarlett. She’d make it a competition. If you found a top that made your eyes crinkle with the thought of wearing it proudly, she’d find the smallest size there was and try it on. Once you’d see her walk out with a top you were carrying on your arm, you’d set it down. She puts you to shame every single time.

So, now that you’re in a new shop, wearing a new push-up bra that fits like a perfect corset for your chest, you feel anxious. Beyond anxious. There are people everywhere. Chats coming from every single direction. But the last thing you need is to have a panic attack in front of Rafe. You barely know the guy.

“Okay… so what now?” You ask, clearing your throat to push away the bad memories of the store.

“Now, we shop.”

It takes an hour. A long hour to walk throughout the store and have him pick out outfits for you. Having him know your size was absolutely terrifying. But he didn’t bat an eye as you told him and he jumped right into it. Every now and then, he’d find an ugly shirt and hold it up to you and he’d mutter a joke. Jonah would love this one, is his go to. And before you know it, you’re no longer on the verge of a breakdown.

You’re in the dressing room and for the first time in your life, you don’t worry about how you look. Or how the jeans fit you a little too snug around your hips. You don’t feel panic at the thought of trying clothes on in the stuffy dressing room.

You come out in the first outfit and Rafe immediately busts out laughing. The green jeans are ridiculously long and the top is a corset top with blue hand-drawn flowers on them and ridiculously large bows at the shoulder straps. You knew it was a joke outfit but it was nice to mess around.

You jokingly strut, pretending the room is a runway. “Keep it in your pants.” You laugh as you give him a spin and this only makes him laugh some more. You feel a sense of pride for making Rafe Cameron laugh. Sarah’s text flashes through your mind. A man who hasn’t smiled in years. And yet, he’s holding onto his side as you strike another odd pose.

“Alright, alright,” his smile is pretty, you notice. And contagious, unable to hide your own as you listen to him. “We need to get serious.” But he’s still chuckling. “Try on a real outfit this time.” So you do. He likes them all. A few shirts ride up over your belly a bit too much and some jeans don’t fit over your thighs but you leave the store with eight new outfits.

Usually, you leave with hurt feelings and nothing but.

You two are on the ferry back home when your day together is over. It’s a forty minute wade back but neither of you seem to care. He’s sipping his Big Gulp drink and watching as you try and balance the water bottle lid on your nose.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do.” There’s a tinge of amusement to his tone.

Your head is thrown slightly back as you keep trying but it’s to no avail, it keeps toppling over. With a huff, you pick the cap up and shove it into your pocket. “It’s a trick my dad usually pulls. It’s better with a quarter though.”

Avoiding the topic of your father is a skill you take pride in. Your mother always turns into a sobbing mess when you bring him up. Your step-dad isn’t ever really home and when he is, it’s awkward. The only person you could share him with was Scarlett. That was the one topic she never snarked at you over. Not to your face, at least.

“Can I ask?” You turn to him, criss cross on the bench that you two are sitting on, wind blowing your hair. You tuck a strand, nodding. “Where is your dad?”

“The cut.” You answer honestly. Your mother hides him from her new rich friends. She hides her past from all of her new rich friends. Her story isn’t as compelling as Ward Cameron’s. He built his way up. Your mother caught the attention of an older man and married him. She’s ashamed about it.

This seems to shock him but he’s not Rafe Cameron if he doesn’t try and hide it. “And you’re close?”

You shrug, turning to the cloudy sky. It’s easier to talk about hard things when you don’t have to look at anyone, you find. “We’re… we definitely have a relationship. But… it’s hard to build on it when my mother doesn’t know I’m talking to him.”

You can feel his eyes on you, mouth slightly parted as he takes your words in but you can’t turn to him. “She forbids you from seeing him?”

You hum a small ‘mhm’. “He’s a stain in her perfect life.”

“Not in yours?”

“He’s a…” you pause, searching for the proper words. “An escape. Like… in Coraline. The door. He’s my door to a… less suffocating world. Without the buttons, of course. And alcoholism.” You try to joke. He doesn’t find it funny, the look on his features softened and taking you and your words in. Letting them settle. “He’s not perfect. I get why my mom left him. Why she wanted better. He’s a drunk who can’t keep a steady job. When we go out, I buy us dinner. He couldn’t take care of my mom or me so…”

“So she found the next best thing.” He finishes off for you. You turn to him at this, nodding as your hair keeps blowing in the wind. You don’t feel exposed in the way you do when speaking of your father to anyone. Rafe’s not judging you or figuring out how to use it against you. His eyes are sincere. Face stoic, but his eyes are sincere. You hate eye contact but if it means getting a better grasp of Rafe, you’d never look away. And you don’t.

“What about you?” You ask with sincerity. “I heard the rumors. The Cameron men butting heads.” You admit sheepishly.

He sighs, turning away. It’s his turn to look away while speaking of the hard stuff in his life. He lays back on the bench seat, long legs stretched out and kicked back up on the rail. “Well… you know… fathers…” it doesn’t take much to see he doesn’t want to speak of it.

Instead, you nod, a small and sad laugh leaving you. “Yeah… fathers.”

The ferry stops at the port a while later after thirty minutes of talking about your classes to him. He’s dropping you off at home, bags of clothes at hand. “By the way, we’re going to a party tonight.” And he drives off, leaving you stumped.

—

—

Debut one of your new outfits. What the fuck does that mean? You can’t picture yourself going to a party in clothes that aren’t your comfortable ones. Your comfort hoodie and sweats are what you spend most of your time in when out of school.

Getting ready without a friend is depressing. Usually, you’d have Scarlett at your side fluffing up your hair and helping with your makeup. Not that you wore it often but on the rare occasions that you needed to go to an event with your family, she was by your side. And it was during those moments that her honest side shined the brightest. She was careful with you. Honest but not brutal.

You shake your head to get yourself to stop thinking about her. You don’t want to be affected. You don’t want her to have this much of a hold over you. You need to stop loving her.

“Woah, what happened to you?” Anthony’s voice is heard as you make your way to the door. You freeze in your step, not wanting to see him. Your mother had gone on a so-called spiritual retreat in Puerto Rico without telling you so now, you were under Anthony’s care. But he didn’t have kids of his own and you came to him when you were twelve years old, he never had to take care of you.

You turn in your spot, a stiff smile on your face. “Uhm… nothing. Just… going out… to watch a movie…”

He gives you a bore expression, hand in a bag of chips. “You don’t put on a mini-skirt to watch a movie. You’re going to a party, aren’t you? God, you’re a baby, you shouldn’t be wearing that.”

You scoff, “bye, Anthony.” You open up the door and slam it as he’s telling you to be careful.

Rafe’s truck is in your driveway and he’s standing out of it, leaning up against the hood. His eyes are closed and he’s bopping his head gently, singing a quiet song. The sound of your shoes hitting the gravel of the driveway catches his attention, eyes immediately opening and on you.

Your smile is shy as you hold your arms out, showcasing your outfit. It’s a black mini skirt matched with a simple black and low cut top, a leather jacket over it. Simple. But extravagant for you. “So… how do I look?” You really, really want to know.

His eyes are taking you in. Starting from the shoes you picked out, to your thick thighs, your hips, your waist, your chest (which you’re proudly wearing your push-up he bought you), your neck. And he settles on your face. Done up in makeup, hair let loose in its natural form. He gets up off the hood of his car and walks up to you. “You look…” he pauses, eyes flickering across your face again. He's lost in thought, eyebrows furrowed slightly, tongue lightly ghosting his dry lips. You nervously put your weight on your other foot, and this awakens him. “Fine. You look fine.”

“Oh.” You didn’t expect much. But you also didn’t expect very little. “I mean… like, if Jonah were to see me do you think he’d be… starstruck and completely in love.”

This gets something out of him, a small snort of a laugh. “Give a girl a push up bra and she thinks she’s a goddess.”

“Hey!” You laugh with disbelief as you walk after him, the two of you making your way to his truck. “You told me I need to be more confident!” He opens the passenger door with no qualms and helps you in. He closes your side of the door and hops into the driver's seat. “Okay, so what’s the game plan?” You ask as he starts driving out of your driveway, hand stretched behind your seat and looking back for any other cars.

“The game plan is,” he turns the wheel, the veins in his arms popping slightly but you have to force yourself to look away and straight at the road as he starts driving off. “Act nonchalant. People are going to notice the style change but you’re going to ignore it. If they ask, you simply wanted to try something new. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“So… if they compliment me, I… ignore it?”

“You’re hopeless. No, I mean, accept the compliments but brush off other comments.”

“Okay, I’m confused.”

He huffs and before you know it, the two of you are bickering. Back and forth. What he means. What you mean. It’s almost hard to remember that just last week you two weren’t even in the same world. Now, you’re in his truck, wearing the new clothes he bought you and bickering.

The walk into the party is nerve-wracking and all you can think of is how your thick thighs are in the wind. Which means you’re much colder than usual you’re not used to being cold outside, always so wrapped up in your warm clothes. You stop at the patio of the raging house, looking up at Rafe. “So… this is where we part ways?”

This visibly confuses him. “What? Why would we part ways?”

You shrug, “I don’t know… I didn’t come to parties often but the few events I went with Heather… we would part ways.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid. I’m here with you.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’m not being a dick.”

“That’s you being a dick. I’m not stupid for—“

“I’m not calling you stupid, god.”

“You’re here!” A loud squeal pulls you out of your mini argument with Rafe. Your eyes meet a pair of familiar brown ones. Sarah rushes to you immediately and practically jumps into your arms. You laugh happily as you hug her right back.

“I’m here!”

She pulls away from you with a small pour. She’s drunk. Kiara comes out from behind her, pulling you into a quick side hug. “Guess who else is here?” Sarah’s voice is loud as the four of you walk into the home which is blasting with music.

“Who?”

“Scarlett.” This makes your blood run cold. That little piece of confidence that you carried vanished. You weren’t feeling yourself anymore. She’d see you in your new outfit and would make fun of you.

“We’ve got your back.” Kiara’s arm wraps around your shoulders as you walk side by side. “You won’t have to deal with her alone.”

“By the way, you look so damn good!” Sarah squeals as you all make your way into the kitchen where Kie grabs a few beers and tosses one each to the group. Rafe catches his beer easily and when he notices the slight panic in your face, he catches yours next, opening it quickly for you. You take the beer mindlessly, listening to Sarah drunkenly babble. Kiara’s entertaining her, laughing when she says something she shouldn’t say far too loudly. And you find yourself enjoying it.

You always dreaded parties. When a kid went around inviting everyone, they’d stop with you and Scarlett but only invite her. They would barely spare a glance at you. And at the time, you told yourself it didn’t matter. You’d rather be at home and cuddled up in bed with your cat, binge watching a show. But this… you like this. You like that Kiara and Sarah are bringing you into the conversation even when you’ve been quiet for minutes. You like that Rafe’s by your side like a scary guard dog. Well, you don’t really like that part so much. People are staring. They aren’t used to the Rafe Cameron not having a baddie on his arm.

Kiara and Sarah are in the middle of dancing a silly dance in the kitchen when you turn to Rafe. “No ones even noticing me.”

He snorts out a scoff of a laugh. “I’ve caught like eight guys since we came in, looking at your boobs.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s not anyone noticing me. That’s them noticing my girls. And second, I told you not to say boobs to me.”

“Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs.”

“God, shut up. You’re gross. There’s no need to— stop!” Back to your bickering, a laugh leaving you when he just won’t quit it.

You’re both in a comfortable space when a shrill of a voice cuts you two off.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Time stands still for a second at the sound of Scarlett’s voice. You and your new friends immediately turn to look at her. And your eyes widen. You’re wearing the same skirt. A laugh bubbles out of Sarah and Rafe’s big hand covers her mouth to shut her up

“You know what I’m wearing.” You retort with a roll of your eyes. Heather angrily puts her red solo cup down, stomping closer to you.

“Do you know how embarrassing this is? You need to change!”

Kiara laughs at this. “Girl, get over yourself. It’s a skirt.”

Scarlett is very clearly exasperated. And upset. It’s weird seeing her so put off. Your eyes don’t leave her as she keeps throwing her tantrum. “It doesn’t even look good on you! You’re… you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Rafe is watching with an amused look to his face. He hadn’t seen the fight, only a few clips that were taken last minute. But he’d never seen them go head to head. And you know he’s been dying to. Rafe is many things but dramatically inclined was not one you had added to your list until recently.

You're about to answer. You’re about to fight back. You wouldn’t let her embarrass you in front of your new friends. Loud gasps and yells erupt when a drunk splashes onto Heather. “Dumb bitch!” It’s Sarah. She threw beer right at Heather’s face which is now dripping down to her clothes.

Scarlett, quick on her feet, grabs her own cup and tosses it. On you. You gasp for air as it falls in your nose. “What the fuck, Scar?! I didn’t do shit?!”

“For not fighting your own fucking battles!” She yells, so angry that her face is red. Which you’re sure is from embarrassment as well. “You’re weak! Always have been and always will be!”

Kiara gets in between the two of you, “back the fuck up.” She hisses. “She’s with us now.”

Scarlett laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. She looks behind Kiara and glares harshly at you. “Hanging with the pogues? Seriously? This is a new level of trashy. Even for you.”

“Alright, alright,” it’s rafe now that grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. “You guys are very dramatic.” He tells you as he takes to the other side of the house in the living room.

But you’re frowning. It’s hard not to be upset. And you’re dripping with beer. “My outfit…” you pull your arm from his, stopping. In turn, this stops him and he turns to look down at your sad figure. “It’s ruined…”

He’s quiet. And you’re about to tell him it’s time to call it a night. His hand grabs your chin, making you look up at him. There’s a look of determination on his face, which shocks you greatly. “You’re not giving up. I’m gonna make sure Jonah sees you for the hot piece of ass you are, alright?”

His words send a hot flush through your body. You hate how shy you get when he’s nice. Or when he’s trying to be nice. Even during his kind moments, he’s abrasive. But you’re learning to take him as he is.

“Now, push those boobs up and be confident.”

“Stop saying boobs!”

—

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[capquinn]

quinn rlly is hairy, i’m imagining him pressing kisses all over your face and you squirming because it tickles 💗

he's like a lil chewbacca and i just know he’d get so much satisfaction out of making you giggle. especially if he has a beard like he does right now lol

Quinn’s lips graze your temple, soft and warm, but it’s the scruff that catches you off guard. It’s not rough enough to hurt, but just enough to scratch lightly against your skin, the sensation pulling an involuntary squirm from you.

You try to stay still, biting back the smile tugging at your lips because it’s sweet — he’s sweet —and you don’t want to ruin the moment. But then he shifts, his kisses drifting lower, brushing over your cheekbone, and his cheek presses against yours, the bristles of his beard tickling in a way that has you flinching before you can stop yourself.

“Quinn,” you laugh, turning your head away, the sound bubbling out of you before you can smother it. It’s that light, airy kind of laughter, the kind that spills out when you’re caught off guard.

He doesn’t stop, though. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he’s determined to keep you right there.

“What?” he asks, his tone so innocent it’s almost believable, but you can feel the grin stretching across his lips as he drags them just below your ear. It’s a mix of soft lips and rough scruff, each kiss purposeful, each nuzzle more playful than the last.

“Stop,” you squeal, twisting in his hold, but it only makes him more determined.

His other hand finds your back, holding you firmly in place as he nuzzles closer, his cheek brushing against yours with exaggerated slowness, dragging his scruff deliberately, and it’s enough to make you gasp and squirm harder, your laughter spilling out freely now.

“You don’t want my kisses now?” he teases, his voice low and playful, the warmth of his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. He leans in closer, nuzzling against you like he’s doing it just to make you laugh harder.

“Not when they feel like this,” you gasp between peals of laughter, your hands weakly pushing at his chest, though the effort is half-hearted at best.

He chuckles, his lips finding the curve of your neck next. The kiss is slow, deliberate, and his beard grazes the sensitive skin there, sending a sharp jolt through you. You yelp, burying your face in his shoulder as your laughter dissolves into helpless giggles.

“Quinn, I’m serious,” you whine, your voice wobbling so much it undermines the protest entirely.

“Are you?” he murmurs, the words warm and teasing as his lips brush along your jaw. Another kiss lands there — purposeful and just ticklish enough to make you squirm all over again. He’s clearly reveling in it, the way his laughter blends with yours, low and rumbling against your skin.

“You always say it’s sexy,” he points out, his voice dripping with mock innocence, as if he’s only following orders.

“Sexy, yes,” you gasp, “ticklish, no.”

He grins, utterly unrepentant, and presses another kiss just below your ear, the scruff grazing that one spot he knows you can’t handle. You shriek, dissolving into another fit of giggles, and his hand slides to your back, holding you steady against him like he’s not letting you escape until he’s had his fun. He doubles down, his lips brushing just behind your ear this time — deliberate and slow — where he knows it’ll tickle the most, and the sensation is instant.

“It tickles," you gasp, voice breaking into another fit of giggles.

“Does it?” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable. His breath is warm against your neck, his lips skimming your skin again as he adds, “I had no idea,” feigning innocence even as his grin presses into you.

You twist, trying to squirm free, but it’s useless. He’s got one arm firmly around your back, holding you impossibly close, and his other hand slides up to cradle your jaw as his lips travel to just under it. The scruff grazes against the soft skin there, and you dissolve completely, your laughter spilling into his shirt as you cling to him, helpless against his playful onslaught.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your face buried in his chest as you try to catch your breath. His thumb continues its lazy pattern on your back, soothing in contrast to how playful he’d been just seconds ago. You peek up at him and he’s grinning, so smug, his eyes bright with amusement.

You roll your eyes, trying to muster up some indignation, but the truth is, you don’t mind. Not one bit.

“You’re the worst,” you mumble, though your tone lacks any real bite.

“Me?” he replies, arching a brow with exaggerated offense. “I’m just trying to show you some love.” He shrugs casually, his voice dipped in that familiar teasing lilt that always makes you weak.

Then he leans in again, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft and sweet, and yet, his beard lingers — deliberate, tickling your upper lip in a way that makes your body jolt slightly. A shiver runs down your spine, and you groan against his mouth, though the smile pulling at your lips betrays any attempt to sound annoyed.

“It’s distracting,” you mumble against him, the words half-lost in the closeness between you.

But instead of pulling away, you close the space again, your lips finding his with ease. This time, the kiss stretches, unhurried and tender, and and there’s something so easy about the way he matches you, letting it deepen just enough to leave your pulse fluttering.

When he finally pulls back, it’s his turn to laugh — a warm, low sound that vibrates through his chest. His thumb brushes lightly against your jaw, the motion mirroring the gentle patterns his hand is tracing across your back, as if holding on for just a little longer.

“Guess you’ll just have to deal with it,” he says, his grin equal parts smug and affectionate. He leans in one last time, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, so gentle it makes your breath hitch.

And honestly? You think you could deal with it forever.

[frostimochi]

second best

(logan howlett x reader)

summary: You and Logan are both in love with people completely out of reach. After a seemingly innocent joke made for you and him to get together, the two of you brush it off. But as days pass, the idea seems less ridiculous. Then one night, Logan approaches you, finally agreeing to the idea--and what starts as a fake relationship soon takes an unexpected turn.

word count: 17.6k chapter count: 10/10 (finished!) author’s note: ok this is my very first time posting any media i've made on tumblr...i can't guarantee i'll do it again, but i will def be writing more on my ao3 account if you wish to see more! this is also a mix of the x-men films and x-men ‘97 for context. it's a bit rushed but i hope you all enjoy! :)

chapter 1 - what we carry

The night was tense. Clouds of smoke, smoldering debris choked the air, and the distant sound of sirens echoed through the city. It was another X-Men mission coming to an end. You crouched low behind the crumbling remnants of an abandoned building, your heart hammering in your chest as you peeked around the corner. Flames flickered in the distance, casting shadows across the deserted street.

But you weren’t alone; Logan crouched beside you, eyes sharp and focused, his senses tuned into the slightest movement in the darkness. He grunted softly, the usual gruff in his voice present, even when he whispered. "They’re circling around. We need to move."

You nodded, adrenaline still coursing through your veins after the battle that had nearly gone sideways. The mission had been simple enough on paper, but nothing ever went as planned in the field. What was supposed to be a routine infiltration turned into an all-out firefight when the enemy showed up in greater numbers than anticipated.

"Stick close," Logan added, his eyes flicking to yours for just a moment, a brief concern crossing his usually impassive face. "You good, bub?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," you lied, already feeling the dull ache in your side from where you’d taken a glancing blow. You could push through it, just like you always did. This wasn’t your first mission, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. But the fatigue was beginning to weigh on you, not just from the fight, but from everything else—specifically, your own personal endeavors from a few days back.

You and Remy have gotten awfully close. Closer than you probably should have allowed. But he was still wrapped up with someone else, and that reality gnawed at you. The thought lingered as you and Logan crept forward. It wasn’t just the mission weighing on you tonight.

As the two of you moved through the shadows, working your way toward the extraction point, your thoughts only continued stranding to Remy. The way he’d effortlessly deflected attacks earlier, how his movements were always so fluid and confident. You couldn’t help but admire him, desire him. A familiar pang hit your chest, knowing the truth deep down; he only had eyes for Marie.

Just like Logan only seemed to have eyes for Jean.

The thought made you glance at Logan, who was scanning the area ahead. Even now, you knew he was thinking about her, about Jean. The woman who could never be his, no matter how much he wanted her. In the end, you were both stuck in this endless cycle of wanting someone who was just out of reach.

The extraction point wasn’t far, but just as you neared it, a gunshot cracked through the air. You flinched, instinctively ducking as Logan pushed you back against the wall, his body shielding yours.

"Stay down," he growled, his claws extending with a sharp snikt. He didn’t hesitate, charging toward the threat before you could react. The sound of a struggle echoed through the alleyway as you pressed a hand to your side, wincing.

By the time you caught up, Logan had already taken care of the attacker, standing over him with a dark look in his eyes. His claws retracted as he wiped the blood off his knuckles with a grimace.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," he muttered, his voice low. 

You didn’t argue, following him in silence as you both slipped into the shadows, heading for the jet. You were the last few to escape, as the night felt colder, with the exhaustion hitting you full force as the adrenaline began to fade.

. . .

Later, as the two of you sat in the dimly lit jet, silence stretched between you and Logan. The mission was over, but the weight of everything else from your physical pain, to personal life still stuck at the back of your mind. You leaned back in your seat, staring out the window as the city disappeared beneath the clouds.

"You alright, Y/N?" Logan’s voice broke the silence, his gaze still on you, seeing you still holding onto your side.

"Yeah," you replied, though the aching pain had gotten worse, and your thoughts still scattered. But you knew he wasn’t asking about the mission.

"Doesn’t seem like it," he remarked, a knowing edge to his tone. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You looked over at him, unsure if you wanted to brush it off or actually talk about what was on your mind. 

"I don’t know, Logan," you admitted quietly. "Everything just feels... off lately.”

His eyebrows furrowed in questioning, as you continued. You didn’t feel any reason in hiding it anymore, since there wasn't anything left you could do at this point. The fatigue didn’t help either. Processing a single thought was a different pain on its own.

“Just wishin’ Remy looked at me the same way as Rogue.” you replied in a soft-spoken whisper. 

He didn’t respond right away, just leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You’re not the only one," Logan finally said, his voice low and rough. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just also going through the motions, you know?”

He paused.

 “Jean... she’s never gonna look at me the way I want her to. Not while she’s with Scott."

"You ever get tired of it?" you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Logan looked over at you, one eyebrow raised.

“Of what?”

“Wanting someone you know you’ll never have?”

Logan let out a low, almost bitter laugh, leaning back in his seat. "More than you know. But it’s not exactly something I can just turn off, you know? Not in my nature."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done," you muttered, trying to shrug it off. "I have bad luck with these things.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that quiet intensity of his, noticing what others overlooked. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his presence grounding you, in a way that Remy’s never had.

"Luck’s overrated," Logan said finally, his voice low and steady. "We make our own way without it."

Another beat of silence passed, the air thick with everything left unsaid. But something about the quiet was comfortable now. You weren’t alone in your hurt anymore, and neither was he.

"We’re a real messed up bunch, huh?" you said, forcing a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Logan smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. A real bunch of idiots.”

You silently nodded in agreement, the heaviness in your chest finally settling. You both sat there, the weight of your unspoken heartaches still lingering in the room. It was strange how easy it was to talk to Logan about it, but you knew he understood it quite well. To want someone so badly, yet know you could never have them.

Maybe that's why, despite the exhaustion, despite the pain and confusion, you could finally let yourself close your eyes, knowing that even though you couldn’t have everything you wanted, at least you had this moment. This understanding. And maybe that was something worth holding onto. For now. 

chapter 2 - what we seek

Back at the mansion, things had settled back into a familiar routine. The mission was behind you, but it didn’t stop the heartache for Gambit slipping back in. The lingering feeling always felt like a stab in the chest, a constant reminder of what you couldn’t have.

The truth is, it was supposed to happen. You and Remy had planned it out several nights ago: a quiet, simple evening away from the team, just the two of you. There had been moments; rare, unguarded looks from him that had felt like a promise, a hint of something more. You’d felt it, that same, exhilarating thrill that always seemed just within reach, and for once, you’d let yourself believe in the possibility of something more. But in the end, the odds never seemed to work out in your favor. He stood you up, and was later found reconnecting, rekindling his love with another woman from his past.

Rogue. Marie. 

You had nothing against her—hell, you admired her deeply, and spoke with her several times outside of missions and training. You were sure she didn’t know about what had been happening between you and Remy. You couldn’t deny they were both drawn together in a way that was undeniable, magnetic. Whatever was between you and him had been put aside. You knew it would never compare.

In the end, it was easier to keep to yourself, easier to pretend nothing had changed, but the pain of wanting something just out of reach, kept you from finding any real peace. And in those moments, you found yourself drifting, walking the halls of the X-Mansion at odd hours, going places where you knew no one else would be.

One of those nights, you stumbled to grab any kind of sustenance. The kitchen was quiet, as you poured yourself a late-night drink. A few footsteps from behind broke the chaos of thoughts bursting in your mind, and you turned to see Morph entering with their usual grin. They slid onto a stool, giving you a once-over with exaggerated curiosity.

“So... heard you and Wolverine had a heart-to-heart last night,” they said, a smirk forming.

You rolled your eyes, setting the bottle down, visually annoyed. “Does anyone around here not know everyone else’s business?”

Morph shrugged, leaning back in their seat. “Hey, it's not my fault the walls are thin.”

You let out a sigh, swirling your drink absentmindedly. "And what does everyone think they know, exactly?"

Morph grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "Not much... just that two lonely souls found a little solace in each other’s company after a rough mission." They paused, quivering an eyebrow. "Did I miss anything?"

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "Sometimes, Morph, you’re worse than the tabloids."

"All I'm saying," they continued, "is that sometimes we get so caught up in what we can’t have, that we miss what’s right there."

Raising an eyebrow, you took a sip of your drink. It burned through your throat as you slammed it back down on the table. You took a heavy breath before responding. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

“You and Logan should get together. Problem solved.” Morph crossed their arms, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Right,” you snorted, but his comment gnawed at you. “And how exactly would that solve anything?”

Morph just grinned, tilting their head thoughtfully. “Well, think about it. You two already get each other. You're both in love with people who are already taken. So why not take some of that stress off? Might as well team up and have a pity party together.” 

“Funny,” you replied dryly. “But Logan and I both know where we stand. We don’t need to complicate things further.”

Morph leaned in, their playful smirk never wavering. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You’re telling me you’d rather mope around with this crush on a guy who can’t even remember your name when Rogue’s in the room? That’s some next level torture.”

You shot them a glare, trying to ignore how his words cut a little too close to home. “I’m not moping. I’m just—”

“Just what?” they interrupted, leaning back with feigned innocence. “Waiting for Gambit to realize he made a mistake? Please. At this point, he probably thinks you’re just his backup plan.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Sure I do,” Morph replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got the whole tragic love story going on. It’s like a soap opera, only less exciting. So why not shake things up? You and Logan could make quite the team. Brooding heartthrob meets the queen of unrequited love? It’s practically a rom-com waiting to happen.”

They chuckled, and before you knew it, he morphed into the Wolverine himself. They adopted his brooding, eyebrow furrowing expression, capturing his essence flawlessly. “So, Y/N,” They said in a low, gravelly voice, “still hung up on Gambit? You know he’s not exactly waiting around for you, right?”

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re really going to keep this up, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” they replied, their expression a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “Why settle for someone who’s already got his eyes on Rogue when you could be with someone who actually sees you? Like me.”

“If only the real Logan could see you now. You wouldn’t last a second if he was here,” you quipped.

 “He’d probably give me a high five for finally getting you to lighten up.”

“Sure, right before he throws you out the window,” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “Even if Logan and I bothered to give each other a chance, it's just another excuse for some love-hexagoned drama for the students to feign on.”

“Hexagon? I thought this was more of a straight line,” Morph said, shrugging playfully, returning back to their form. “How much longer are you going to let Gambit’s rejection keep you down?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of their words. “I don’t know, Morph. I’m still trying to figure out my feelings for Remy, and you know how complicated things are with Marie in the picture.”

Morph leaned in closer, their expression softening a bit. “Look, I get it. It’s a mess, but you can’t just let it stop you from exploring something new. What’s the harm in talking to the wolverine? You might be surprised.”

“Talking to Logan?” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “What’s that going to do? I’m not looking for a rebound or a distraction. I’m not that kind of gal.”

“Just a chat,” they insisted, his voice lightening again. “You never know. Maybe you’ll find out that you have more in common with him, more than just a mutual crush on unavailable people.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, getting up from your seat. “I appreciate the pep talk, but I’m not ready for that right now. I need to deal with my own stuff first.”

Morph crossed their arms, the grin returning. “Fair enough, but just know I’m here, waiting, when you’re ready to make your move.”

“Thanks, but really, let’s just drop it for now,” you said, feeling a bit lighter in thought as you made your way out of the kitchen.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the X-Mansion up to your room, Morph’s words were still in your head. They had a point, no matter how much you denied it. Maybe this was something you needed, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

What could possibly go wrong?

chapter 3 - what we plan

The X-Mansion had another afternoon buzzed with its usual energy, the sounds of training and laughter echoing through the halls. You found comfort in your routine, but your thoughts often drifted back to Morph’s words from a few days back. Yet, every time you found yourself lost in those thoughts, a rush of uncertainty would follow.

After an intense training session, you retreated to the common room, seeking solace in the company of your teammates. As you entered, you spotted Logan across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he talked to Jean. Even bothering to talk about what Morph said to you with him was pointless. He had his own things to deal with, if it wasn’t clear enough.

You grabbed a nearby magazine, your eyes skimming the pages, but your mind wandered elsewhere. You recalled Morph’s words, their constant suggestion that you should pursue something with Logan. It felt too foolish to consider now. He had his own problems, and his own, personal interests. 

As you tried to concentrate on the text, you caught snippets of their conversation. Jean laughed at something Logan said, and your heart sank a little. You shifted in your seat, pretending to be engrossed in the magazine while you tried to make sense of your feelings. Was it even worth pursuing something with Logan, or was it just a fleeting thought sparked by Morph's teasing?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the hours pass, and the only person left in the room was you. It was late. You threw the magazine back on the couch, and decided to head back to your room, making your way up the stairs. As you walked down the hall, you suddenly bumped into Logan, who was on his way back down.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You okay, bub?”

“Yeah, just didn’t see you coming,” you replied, trying to mask your heart pounding out of your chest.

He offered a small smirk, his expression softening. “You’re awfully lost in thought lately. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. Should you mention Morph’s suggestion? Or the nagging feeling that there could be something more between you two? Instead, you shrugged lightly. “Just the usual stuff...training, missions, you know how it is.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You sure–?”

“Yeah, well,” you interrupted, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, “there's a lot on my mind.”

He studied you for a moment, those intense hazel eyes piercing right through. “You wanna talk about it?”

The weight of his gaze continued to send your heart racing. 

This was it. You could either keep running from your thoughts or just finally spit it out.

 “I was thinking about what Morph said to me a few nights ago.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed Logan's face. “Morph? What’d that hellspawn say this time?”

You bit your lip, gathering your thoughts. “He mentioned us. Getting together. It’s ridiculous, I know.” The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself, leaving you feeling quite awkward. You tried presenting yourself enamored by crossing your arms and looking casual, but anyone could see right through that it was taking a toll on you.

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, and paused for a moment, taking it into thought. He then let out a soft chuckle.

 “Y/N, don’t let Morph’s nonsense mess with your head. They're just trying to stir the pot, like always.”

You bit your lip, still unconvinced. It took him that long to form his sentence? You assumed the both of you were just not in the mood to discuss it, which was partially true. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It just had me thinking it over so much, that I–”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand, his expression shifting to one of playful exasperation. “Seriously, don’t overthink it. We’ve got enough to deal with without getting tangled up in that kind of drama.” 

And that was that. In the end, maybe it was a stupid idea after all. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a nod of reassurance as he walked back off.

You took a deep breath, attempting to collect yourself as you reached the top floor when you stopped dead in your tracks. There he was. Remy, standing there, hands in pockets just right in your way, with his usual playful smirk softened by something unreadable in his expression. He straightened up when he saw you, his eyes flickering that made your heart clench.

"Chère," he greeted, voice low and smooth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond with the same warmth you usually did.

“Remy,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even, standing still. Though, your emotions stirred uneasily beneath the surface. After everything that had happened, after he’d stood you up and had made the decision to be with someone else, you couldn’t ignore the pang of frustration gnawing at you.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to steady yourself, but the words you’d been rehearsing came spilling out faster than you expected. "Have you figured out what I mean to you yet?”

His easy smile faltered, and he looked away for a second before meeting your gaze again, regret shadowing his eyes. “Y/N, it ain't like that. I never wanted to hurt ya...”

“But you did, didn’t you?” The question hung between you, heavy and thick with the nights he’d promised and didn’t show, the times you’d let yourself believe he might actually feel the same way.

His hand reached out, but you pulled back before he could touch you. "I waited for you, Remy. I thought—” You trailed off, hating the vulnerability in your voice, but there was no point hiding it now. “I thought we had something.”

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, frustration clear in his stance. “Y/N, you mean a lot t’ me, but Marie... she’s somethin’ I just can’t let go of. She’s always been there in a way I can’t explain.”

You swallowed hard, nodding slowly, the ache in your chest settling as a numbness began to take its place. “I see.”

“No, chère,” he protested softly, stepping closer, his expression earnest. “I care for ya, but Rogue... she’s part o’ me.” He shook his head, struggling to find the right words, but they felt like nothing more than just empty echoes.

In the silence that followed, you took a step back, pressing your arms around yourself to hold together the pieces of your heart that felt like they were splintering apart.

"Fine. Let’s just pretend it never happened."

With that, you turned and left him standing there, resisting the urge to look back. If you stayed, you’d only keep finding yourself hoping for something that would never be. Remy reached out as if to stop you, but you turned, stepping away before he could say anything more, with your footsteps echoing against the quiet walls of the mansion. You were done letting yourself be second place.

As you reached for your door, you took a shaky breath, attempting to swallow the wave of emotions that had been threatening to burst free. You’d tried for so long to keep those feelings buried, to push them aside and pretend that things didn’t affect you as much as they did. But tonight, it felt impossible. You would do anything to get back at him, just as he did to you.

Just as you were about to turn the doorknob and enter your room, a voice behind you broke the silence. “You sure you’re alright?”

Startled by his voice, you turned, finding Logan standing there.

He’d seen it, hadn’t he? The hurt, the anger, what had just happened a few moments earlier...he couldn’t have just let it go unnoticed.

As you stood there, still reeling from your conversation with Remy, Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts. His tone was unusually gentle, his gaze fixed on you.

“I, uh, heard some of that back there,” he admitted, his voice low. “...Kinda hard not to.”

You nodded, letting out a sigh of defeat. “Yeah...”

Logan took a moment to steady himself, his expression shifting as he gathered himself before speaking again. “So, you’re done waiting around for him to make up his mind?”

“Completely done,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I’m tired of this backup shit.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like Gambit and Jean could use a wakeup call...” His tone turned mischievous, and you could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. “You up for causing a little trouble?”

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, intrigued.

Was he actually reconsidering what you told him?

“You know... I thought about what Morph said to you, after hearing all that earlier,” he admitted, looking a bit conflicted. “At first, I figured it really was just them stirring the pot, trying to rile us up. But then...” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his jaw, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Then I started thinking that maybe they were onto something.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected confession. Logan, of all people, wasn’t one open to change, let alone do something like this.

 “If they want to ignore what’s right in front of them, maybe they need a reason to think twice. We show up, give ‘em a taste of what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. You and me... pretending we’re hitting it off.”

Your eyes widened.

 It was simple, maybe a bit petty, but the thought of flipping the tables felt too satisfying. And this was an opportunity that might never come again.

 “So, you’re saying... we should act like we’re into each other?”

“Exactly,” he replied. “A few meaningful looks and some well timed moments. It’ll have them second guessing everything they thought they knew about us.”

“Tempting,” you admitted, still in thought about wanting to go with this crazy idea, but still hesitant on what could happen from it. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Okay, I’m in. But we need to set some ground rules; no crossing lines, and we keep it strictly for show.”

“Deal.” Logan extended his hand, and you shook it, sealing the agreement with a firm grip.

. . .

As you settled into bed that night, you stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in your mind. The idea sounded nice at first, and maybe it was originally Morph playing along, trying to play matchmaker. But now it was official. 

And you had no idea what you were about to get yourself into. 

chapter 4 - what we act

You woke up to the muted light of morning, filtering through the curtains. Your mind was already racing with thoughts of the day ahead. Today, you’d be putting the plan into action with Logan, and the uncertainty tormented you. How would it feel to pretend to be something you weren't? Taking a deep breath, you got out of bed, bracing yourself for whatever might unfold.

Making your way to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, you hoped to dodge any awkward encounters, but there he was. Logan stood at the counter, stirring coffee with an unreadable expression as he leaned against the counter, lost in thought.

As soon as he noticed you, a small smirk played on his lips, something almost conspiratorial. “Mornin’,” he said casually, but there was a spark in his eye that hadn’t been there before.

 He definitely had something in mind. 

“Morning,” you replied, trying to play it cool as you grabbed a glass of water. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel a bit self conscious under his stare.

Logan set down his mug, his expression shifting to something slightly more serious. “You still up for this?” he asked, voice low, and quiet enough that no one else would overhear.

You took a deep breath, giving a decisive nod.

A moment later, you heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of Jean’s laughter. Logan gave you a subtle nod, the silent signal that it was time to begin. You took a step closer to him, glancing up through your lashes just enough to catch his eye.

He responded immediately, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in, his hands lingering beneath the hem of your pants, just enough for the warmth of his touch to spread over you like a shockwave. “Play along,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You tried to settle your heartbeat as the footsteps grew closer. Jean and Scott rounded the corner, stopping abruptly when they saw the two of you standing so close, Logan’s arm around you, that spoke of something far more than friendship. You saw the flicker of surprise on Jean’s face, quickly masked with a forced smile, and a hint of something else in Scott’s usual stoic expression.

“Oh,” Jean said, voice a touch higher than usual, “Good morning, you two.”

Logan just nodded, that small, mischievous smile barely hidden. “Mornin’, Jean. Scott.”

Jean’s gaze flicked between you two, as though trying to piece together how she’d missed this...development. Her eyes lingered on you, a flash of something unreadable crossing her face, and you had to resist the urge to smirk. You were definitely giving them both something to think about.

Scott cleared his throat, trying to break the strange silence. “Didn’t realize... you two were so close.”

Logan’s arm tightened around you just a bit. “Well, there’s a lot people don’t realize,” he replied smoothly. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you, and the flicker of jealousy in Jean’s eyes told you it wasn’t lost on her either. You were tensed up in his embrace, and it didn’t help that your body was heating up right at that moment. Your throat was suddenly dry, struggling to utter a single word.

Scott's eyes shifted between you and Logan, his normally composed expression giving way to slight discomfort. Jean, on the other hand, tried to maintain her composure, but you could see the question in her eyes, the slight arch of her brow as if she was piecing things together.

“Well,” Jean said, attempting a breezy tone, “it’s... nice to see everyone getting along.” But her gaze had more to elaborate, the forced smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“Yeah, who knew?” Logan replied, his smirk turning just a little more smug as he pulled you closer. He was playing it up perfectly, and the look of surprise on both their faces was strangely satisfying.

Scott gave a polite nod, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the scene. “Right. Well, don’t let us interrupt.”

With that, he turned, gesturing for Jean to follow him down the hall. As they walked away, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, her expression unreadable but unmistakably intrigued.

When they were out of your vision, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Logan finally released you, a satisfied look in his eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said, his tone teasing, still laced with an undercurrent of seriousness.

“Yeah, but this was just a warm up,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face despite the nerves churning in your stomach. “We’re going to have to keep going with this...show of ours.”

“Just keep it casual, and we’ll be fine.” Logan replied, getting up from his chair. He didn’t step away immediately, though; the space between you felt more charged than it had any right to be. His hand lingered again. This time, near yours on the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth, and for a fleeting moment, it was quite easy to forget that this was all just for show.

You cleared your throat, shifting back slightly, giving yourself some breathing room. “Right, casual,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. 

The silence stretched, comfortable but weighted, almost feeling the unspoken change in his gaze.

“You’re overthinking it,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with a familiar spark. “If you keep acting like it’s a big deal, they’ll notice.”

You felt a slight heat creep up your neck, but shrugged it off. “I’m not overthinking,” you shot back, attempting to keep your tone light. “Just making sure I’m... convincing.”

He stepped a little closer, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Convincing? More like being stiff.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Not true.”

“Y/N, you looked like you had a stick up your ass.”

“I’m doing my best, okay? It doesn’t just happen overnight.”

Logan’s expression stayed steady. “Good,” he said, his voice softer but still direct. “That’s all we need.”

You took a breath, nodding slowly, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s just... a lot to think about.”

“Then don’t overthink it,” he replied with a slight grin. “We’re just giving them a show. Keep it simple, don’t force anything. They’ll see what they want to see.”

You nodded, only then remembering that once again, you had to continue this show of yours. You and Logan would be heading out on a mission tonight, with you alongside him. Together. They hadn’t told you who else would be joining, which left a gash of uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.

“Right, the mission,” you replied, trying to shake off any leftover tension. “No pressure, right?”

Logan chuckled softly, “No pressure at all. Just another night making sure no one dies.”

“Yeah,” you took a small breath, a smile breaking through your nerves. “And pretending to be in a relationship.”

“Remember to keep it simple,” he reminded you, a tease in his tone, while on your gaze before he walked off. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you take the lead.”

 A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach as he left you alone in the kitchen. The mission ahead felt daunting enough, and the thought of maintaining the pretense of a relationship with him sent your mind racing. 

This wasn’t going to be so easy.

chapter 5 - what we suppress 

The evening air was cool and crisp as you made your way to the X-jet with Logan, Scott, and Marie, who was adjusting her gloves in silence. Scott’s gaze was steady, his expression all business, but you caught the slight hesitation as his eyes passed over you and Logan. Logan noticed too, throwing a quick, almost smug grin Scott’s way as he placed a casual hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch caught you off guard, but you willed yourself to keep a neutral expression, feeling the cool, easy role settling over you.

Marie, catching the gesture out of the corner of her eye, raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. If anything, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, like she knew something Scott didn’t. Scott, meanwhile, looked at Logan and then back at you with an expression somewhere between surprise and doubt, but he stayed quiet.

“Alright, listen up,” Scott began, folding his arms as he launched into the mission brief. “Intel indicates there’s a cache of prototype weapons and possibly experimental compounds stashed in the warehouse. Marie and I will sweep the perimeter. Logan, you will take the inner corridor. Y/N, secure the samples if you find any. We need evidence, so keep it quiet, keep it subtle, and stay on comms.”

“Understood,” Logan replied, the lazy smirk still lingering as he squeezed your shoulder for effect. You fought back the urge to shove him off, partly because his touch felt oddly...reassuring, but mostly because Scott’s slight frown felt like its own kind of victory. And seeing it any longer would make you cry of laughter. 

The X-jet lifted off, slicing through the night sky. You shifted your attention to watching your surroundings, taking a seat besides Logan, glancing at Scott who began to outline the plan once more.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll be approaching the warehouse in ten minutes. Rogue and I will cover the perimeter while you two head inside. Stay alert,” Scott instructed.

“Roger that,” Logan replied. “You just make sure to keep those laser eyes to yourself.”

“Very funny,” Scott shot back, his tone dry. “Focus on the mission, Logan.”

As the jet soared through the clouds, you glanced at Logan, who wore a smirk that could only be described as infuriatingly charming. “So,” he said, leaning closer. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Guess I'm being your emotional support tonight,” you uttered in a sarcastic manner. It happened almost naturally; turning your mind off to focus on what was ahead, you couldn’t deny it helped your case. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

“Good luck with that,” he retorted with a chuckle. “But I have to admit, having you by my side makes this whole mission a lot more interesting.”

“Glad to hear I can spice up your life, Logan,” you replied, trying to match his nonchalance. “Just don’t get too distracted by my presence.”

“Ah, you must be talking about your ability to look cute while doing nothing.”

You couldn’t help yourself but have a big smirk plastered on your face. “I can assure you, I’ll be doing plenty of ‘nothing’ while you’re busy kicking ass.”

Scott’s voice cracked through, his tone annoyed. “Are you two done flirting? We’re almost at the drop zone.”

“He’s right,” Marie chimed in with a sly grin, glancing over her shoulder at the two of you. “Save the romance for after we’re done.”

Logan’s smirk only grew as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, Anne. It’s just mission talk. Mostly.”

The jet began its descent, and you felt the subtle shift in atmosphere as everyone went into mission mode. As soon as you touched down, the team moved quickly. Rogue and Scott split off to cover the perimeter as planned, disappearing into the shadows around the warehouse. Logan gave you a quick nod before signaling toward the side entrance, both of you slipping quietly inside.

The place was dark and still, the distant hum of machinery faint in the air. Logan took the lead, moving with a quiet precision that belied his usual rough demeanor. You stayed close, eyes scanning every corner, trying to ignore the fact that he was keeping just a little closer than necessary.

The comms crackled in your ear. “Y/N, Logan, we’re in position,” Scott’s voice came through, steady and calm. “Any movement?”

“Negative,” you whispered back. “Place is dead quiet so far.”

As you moved further into the building, a tense silence settled between you and Logan. He slowed, gesturing for you to check a nearby door while he kept watch. You edged forward, opening it just wide enough to peer inside. The room was packed. Crates, steel tables, shelves lined with sleek weapons and unknown tech. Jackpot.

“Found something,” you whispered into the comm. “Looks like prototype weapons, maybe more.”

“Copy that,” Marie replied. “Get what you can. Scott and I are still clear.”

You quickly snapped photos of the equipment, putting smaller prototypes in your pockets while Logan kept his gaze fixed on the corridor. But as you finished, footsteps echoed down the hallway, breaking the stillness. You froze, eyes darting to Logan, who signaled for you to keep low. You quickly ducked behind one of the tables, as he slid beside you.

“Company.” you murmured.

Logan gave a subtle nod, resting a steady hand over your lips as a signal to keep calm. His fingers lingered for a beat, sparking a warmth you tried to ignore, forcing your attention back to the sounds approaching.

Scott’s voice crackled in your ear. “Status?”

Logan cast you a sideways glance. “Just a little activity. We’re fine.”

The shadow of a guard passed just outside the doorway, pausing for a tense moment. You held your breath, clutching the edge of the table to keep from shifting, as Logan’s hand brushed yours in silent reassurance. The faint metallic clink of the guard’s gear sent a shiver up your spine.

The sound of boots hitting concrete grew louder. Guards. Too many to take head-on, especially in such a confined space. Logan’s sharp eyes darted around before locking onto a supply closet a few feet away. Without hesitation, he pulled you toward it, tugging the door open just wide enough for the both of you to slip inside.

The space was cramped, barely large enough to hold the two of you. Logan’s body pressed against yours as he adjusted his position, his arm braced against the wall to keep from crushing you entirely. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his warmth seeping through the tension of the moment.

“Really?” you whispered, your tone dry despite the situation. “This is your big plan?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea, quiet down,” Logan replied, his voice barely above a murmur. His tone was clipped, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The voices of the guards grew closer, and the beam of a flashlight passed just outside the slats of the door. Your breath hitched, and Logan caught the sound, his gaze flicking to yours. He shook his head slightly, silently telling you to stay calm.

The guards paused right outside, their conversation muffled but tense. Logan’s jaw tightened, and his hand instinctively rested near his hip, ready to unsheathe his claws if necessary. But the seconds stretched on, and the guards eventually moved on, their voices fading into the distance.

Logan let out a quiet breath, his eyes flicking to yours. “Told you it’d work.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the tight space and the way his confidence somehow made the situation feel less suffocating. “Sure, if by ‘work’ you mean nearly giving me a heart attack.”

He shrugged, the movement almost brushing against you. “Heart’s still beating, isn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the corner of your mouth from twitching upward. “You’re impossible.”

The two of you stepped out, looking back and forth around the room to ensure no one else was around. But the momentary quietness didn’t last for long. 

Shouts from the guards grew louder, their heavy boots pounding against the concrete floors. Logan’s grip on your hand tightened as he tugged you forward, weaving through the maze of corridors.

“This way,” he urged, his voice low but urgent.

You followed close behind, heart hammering in your chest. The narrow hallway gave way to an open loading dock, the cool night air brushing your face like a lifeline. But the guards weren’t far behind.

“There!” one shouted, raising a weapon.

Logan didn’t slow, yanking you behind a stack of crates as bullets ricocheted off the walls. He growled low in frustration, eyes scanning for a way out. Spotting a gap between two trailers, he pointed. “Through there. Go!”

You didn’t hesitate, ducking through the opening and sprinting toward the perimeter fence. The sound of Logan’s claws slicing through the chain link sent a jolt through you. He gestured for you to crawl through first, covering your back before slipping out himself.

The two of you bolted into the cover of the nearby woods, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You quickly turned on your comms for a moment.

“Scott, Rogue—they found us. We’re heading back to the rendezvous point.”

Marie’s voice crackled in response. “Got it. We’re still clear on our end. Stay low, and we’ll meet you there.”

Scott’s voice followed in. “What happened?”

“Guards,” Logan growled, keeping his pace brisk as he scanned the woods for any sign of pursuit. “Too many for subtlety. But we’ve got what we came for.”

“Just make it back in one piece,” Scott replied, an underlying tension in his voice.

“Always do,” Logan said with a smirk, cutting the comm connection before Scott could fire back.

The night pressed in around you, the sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of leaves filling the silence. After a few minutes, you slowed your pace, leaning against a tree to catch your breath. Logan stopped beside you, his sharp eyes still scanning the dark forest.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but softer than before.

“Yeah,” you managed, your heartbeat finally beginning to settle. “Thanks for the assist back there.”

Logan shrugged, but his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Wouldn’t have let you face that mess alone.”

You gave a small smile, feeling the weight of the moment settle. “Still, you didn’t have to...you know, drag me into that closet.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback. Instead, he locked eyes with you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes before he finally looked away.

“Come on,” he said, breaking the silence. “We’re not out of the woods yet—literally.”

You rolled your eyes but followed as he led the way through the trees, the faint sounds of the team waiting in the distance.

The treeline opened up to reveal the sleek silhouette of the X-jet, its ramp lowered like a beacon in the darkness. The faint hum of its systems was a welcome sound, promising safety and a chance to catch your breath.

You and Logan dashed through the trees, the X-jet’s ramp now fully lowered, and you kept close, adrenaline propelling you forward. Breathing hard, the two of you made your way to walk inside.

Scott was already at the base of the ramp, his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. Marie stood beside him, leaning casually against the side of the jet, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Logan as you approached.

“You cut it close,” Scott said, his voice tight with barely restrained irritation.

“Yeah, well, we ran into a little welcoming party,” Logan shot back, his tone deliberately nonchalant as he marched up the ramp. He didn’t spare Scott a second glance, leaving you to catch up.

You hesitated, brushing a stray leaf from your sleeve as you met Scott’s gaze. “We’re fine. The mission’s intact. That’s what matters, right?”

Scott’s expression didn’t soften, but he gave a curt nod. “Get on board. We’ll debrief on the way back.”

You moved up the ramp, feeling Marie’s amused eyes on you as she followed. “What’s his problem?” you muttered under your breath.

Marie smirked. “Oh, you know Scott. He hates it when things don’t go perfectly. But between you and me...” She glanced toward Logan, who was already settling into his seat. “I think it’s something else that’s got him all twisted.”

Before you could respond, the hatch sealed shut, and the jet hummed to life. Scott took his place at the controls, his movements stiff, while Marie slid into the co-pilot’s seat. You dropped into the seat across from Logan, who leaned back with a sigh, his usual smirk creeping back onto his face.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“Nah,” he replied, though his tone didn’t match the word. After a beat, he added, “You did good out there.”

The simplicity of the compliment caught you off guard. You nodded, hiding a small smile as you turned your gaze to the window. The X-jet’s engines hummed steadily, the familiar sound almost lulling you into a sense of comfort after the chaos of the mission. You were both finally in the air, the tension of the night starting to dissolve with each mile that passed.

You shifted in your seat, feeling the exhaustion catch up with you. The adrenaline was wearing off, and fatigue hit harder than you expected. Logan, sitting beside you, seemed just as tired but still alert, his eyes scanning the cabin like he was always prepared for the next move.

You leaned slightly toward him, your head subconsciously moving toward his shoulder. At first, you told yourself it was just to ease the aching muscles in your neck, but as you settled against him, something else tugged at your chest. His shoulder was warm, a solid presence that somehow made everything feel a little less chaotic.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmured, trying to push down the warmth flooding your cheeks.

Logan’s voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge of something softer to it. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He shifted, adjusting his posture to make you more comfortable, but you could tell he wasn’t going to make a joke out of it this time.

You let the quiet settle between you, eyes half-closed as your thoughts wandered. This isn’t supposed to feel this way, you thought, the weight of the moment suddenly heavy in your mind. It’s just supposed to be a game, a distraction. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized that it was starting to feel like something else. Something real.

As the jet continued its steady flight, you let the thought drift to the back of your mind, pretending it wasn’t there. For now, you’d let yourself stay in this bubble, pretending this whole “fake dating” thing was still just that.

But deep down, you weren’t so sure anymore.

chapter 6 - what we hide

When the X-jet finally touched down at the X-Mansion, you felt a quiet relief. The doors opened with a hiss, and you stepped out first, walking briskly to the conference room where the debrief was set to take place. Scott, Marie, and Jean were already inside, sitting at the long table, their expressions unreadable.

Jean, ever the perceptive one, was the first to look up as you and Logan entered. Her gaze lingered on you both, a quiet smile tugging at her lips, but there was something behind it. A glimmer of knowing that made you feel suddenly exposed.

“Mission accomplished?” Jean asked, her voice warm but with that trademark sharpness that suggested she’d already read through the comms logs.

“Yeah,” Logan replied with his usual gruffness, dropping into a seat beside you. His knee brushed against yours, the contact so subtle it could’ve been an accident. You fought the urge to look at him, to acknowledge the sudden shift in the air.

Scott didn’t waste time getting down to business. He slid a tablet toward you, showing the photos of the prototypes and weapons you’d collected. “Is this all of it?” he asked, his voice more controlled than before, but the underlying tension between him and Logan was still palpable.

“Yeah,” you replied, your eyes still on the tablet. “Everything’s documented. No casualties on our end.” You searched through the pockets of your uniform, putting the mini prototypes down on the table. “And...these too.”

Jean nodded, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “Good work,” she said, her tone still warm, but there was an edge to it now as her gaze shifted between you and Logan. She seemed to linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes narrowing just slightly in that knowing way.

“Everything went smoothly?” Jean asked, her voice casual but with a hint of something deeper. “No... surprises?”

You swallowed, not sure if she was referring to the mission or to something else entirely. You glanced at Logan, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way his jaw tightened that gave you the feeling he was just as aware of Jean’s subtle probing as you were.

“Yeah, no surprises,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Everything went as planned.”

Scott slid the tablet back toward the center of the table, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he looked up. “Alright, I think that covers everything. You’ve done good work,” he said, his tone indifferent, but not unappreciative. “Get some rest. I’m sure we’ll have more to discuss soon.”

You nodded, ready to leave the debrief behind you. The tension had been thick in the room, and now that the mission was officially over, you couldn’t wait to take a breath without everyone’s eyes on you.

Logan, however, didn’t move immediately. He turned his head toward you, that familiar, unreadable expression on his face. “You coming?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

You nodded again, standing up. The two of you started toward the door when Jean’s voice stopped you.

“Hold up, Y/N,” she called. “I need to talk to you for a second.”

Marie, who had been standing by the door, gave you a knowing look. Logan glanced at you, his expression unreadable, before shrugging. “I’ll be outside.” He gave you space to handle this, but the shift in the air was undeniable. You felt a wave of unease wash over you.

You hadn’t expected Jean and Marie to corner you after the debrief, but here you were, sitting across from them in the hallway just outside the conference room. You felt the weight of their gaze, the silent question hanging between you.

Jean, always the more subtle one, folded her arms, her smile just a little too knowing. "So," she started, her voice smooth and casual. "How’s everything going? You and Logan, I mean."

You stiffened, caught off guard. Your heart thudded in your chest, and for a moment, you found yourself lost for words. “Uh, it’s good,” you said, your tone a little too light, betraying the nervous flutter in your stomach. “You know, the mission’s over, so...”

Marie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her tone dripping with that playful sarcasm you’d come to recognize. "It’s just... y’all seem real comfortable around each other, huh? A bit more than just teammates, wouldn’t you say?”

I guess they were really buying it now. This is good.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, what do you mean?”

Marie’s eyes glinted mischievously as she crossed her arms, leaning in just a bit. “Oh, come on, sugar. You two were pretty cozy back there. I’m just sayin’.” She tilted her head in a way that made it clear she was teasing, but there was an edge to her tone that made your heart race, a sudden panic crawling up your spine.

Jean smirked, sensing the discomfort in your response. "I was reviewing the comms from the last mission— must be something going on between you two.” Her voice was lighthearted, but there was something about the way she said it—acting like a couple, that made your chest tighten. You knew she wanted to get something out of you.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “It's nothing like that, really. We're just—just getting the job done, you know?” Your voice was a little too fast, a little too defensive.

Marie raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quaking upward. “Mhm, I bet. But you can’t deny the vibes, sugar.” She shot a glance at Jean before continuing, her tone more teasing. “Just like how Scott’s been all mopey over Jean lately... though, we all got our own little dynamics going on.”

Jean nodded, the smile never quite fading. “You and Logan, Scott and I, and—” she paused, glancing at Marie, “Remy...and Marie. It’s funny how these things just...happen, huh?” Her words had a casual air, but you could tell she was trying to gauge your reaction.

You felt your throat tighten at the mention of Remy.

Gambit. 

Right. 

You knew you were technically pretending to be with Logan, but hearing it brought you back to reality. You weren't a real couple. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that. But... the way they were talking about their relationships so casually, it felt so much more real.

Marie’s smile softened a bit as she leaned in closer. “It’s okay, sugar. You don’t have to have it all figured out with him right away. Just take your time. I mean, things with Logan can be... complicated.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Logan’s not the easiest to figure out, I know. But he’s got a good heart under all that stubbornness. Just... don’t be afraid to let him in when you’re ready.”

You forced a smile, nodding in agreement even though your thoughts were racing. Pretend. Right. You had to keep it together, keep up the act, even though it was becoming harder to distinguish the lines between reality and the mission.

“Thanks,” you said, clearing your throat. “But it’s really nothing. Just... keeping things professional.”

Marie winked, still teasing. “Alright, sugar. But if you do decide to make it more than just a mission thing, you know where to find me.” Her tone was playful, but there was a softness in it too, a subtle kindness you appreciated.

As you, Jean, and Marie finally parted ways, heading off in different directions, you took a breath, trying to shake the awkwardness that had settled in the pit of your stomach, and made your way to the door.

As you stepped out into the hallway, you spotted Logan just a few paces ahead, his back to you as he walked toward the staircase. He must have been waiting for you, or maybe just lingering after the meeting, but either way, you appreciated his presence to stick around.

“Hey,” you called out, your voice slightly strained as you reached him.

He turned slightly, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “How’d it go?” His eyes flicked toward you, searching your face with an intensity that made your heart beat a little faster.

You paused, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It went... fine.” You tried to keep your tone casual, but something in the way you spoke betrayed the uncertainty you felt. “They’re just curious about us.” You couldn't help but add the last part with a slight edge, as if the mere mention of it made your insides twist.

Logan’s brow furrowed, his usual unreadable expression faltering just a bit. “Curious?” His voice was low, like he was still trying to process exactly what that meant.

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well... they think we’re actually a thing. Jean was all smiles, and Marie...” You trailed off, shaking your head as if it would help shake away the unease. “It was just a lot of teasing, I guess.”

A slight chuckle escaped Logan’s lips, and he glanced over at you, his expression unreadable but laced with something... almost like amusement. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly, but you quickly recovered. “Just enough to keep them satisfied.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to you. “Yeah, well, it’s working, I guess,” he said, his voice just a little quieter now, a little less casual. He paused, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “But maybe we should kick it up a notch, huh?”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Kick it up a notch?”

Maybe it was a joke, or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t tell.

You swallowed, trying to keep your cool, but something about the way he looked at you stirred something beneath the surface. “Well, I wouldn’t mind,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you intended, as your faces grew uncomfortably close.

Logan’s smirk faltered just for a moment, and you could feel the shift in the air around you. He didn’t immediately respond, the space between you both suddenly charged with something you weren’t sure you were ready for. He blinked, almost surprised, but then leaned back with a casual shrug as if to shake it off.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, eyes narrowed, “I guess it wouldn't hurt.”

 His tone wasn’t as teasing as it would have been, which was a bit unexpected in your eyes. You tried not to think much of it. This was a fake relationship, after all. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your faces were so close now that you could feel the heat of his breath, your pulse racing in your ears. Logan held your gaze, and you saw that flicker of something deeper. Something that didn’t quite match the playful tone of his words.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, he brushed it aside with a half-hearted wink and a shrug. "Guess we’ll figure it out as we go along, huh?"

You nodded, a quiet tension still hanging in the air. As he turned and walked toward the stairs, you lingered, fighting the urge to follow him, the strange weight of the moment heavy on your chest.

One thing was for sure; things were definitely not as simple as they seemed anymore.

And though you couldn’t pinpoint what specifically, it was there.

chapter 7 - what we share

You watched Logan retreat upstairs until he disappeared around the corner, the faint scent of cigars along with it. The rest of the team had either gone to bed, or disappeared into their own corners of the mansion, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It was strange, how a place so full of people could feel so empty. You didn’t want to sleep just yet, your mind wide awake from the teasing Jean and Rogue had done just minutes ago. Lost in thought, you heard your stomach grumble.

A snack sounded better than staring at the ceiling for hours.

The mansion was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling. You reached to open the fridge, it's cold light spilling over shelves of leftovers and mismatched condiments. You grabbed a soda and some crackers, shutting the door with a quiet thud.

The voice startled you, making you jump slightly. You turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, that unreadable look still firmly planted in his eyes. The surprise faded into a familiar calm.

“You always raid the kitchen this late?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that same unreadable look in his eyes.

“I thought you just went upstairs?” you replied, keeping your tone light. “What’s your excuse?”

He smirked faintly, stepping inside. “I don’t really sleep. Figured I’d hang with you instead.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping open the soda. “That your way of saying you’re hungry?”

Logan shrugged, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Maybe. The girls kept you wide awake, huh?”

You hesitated, the soda can cooling your hand. “More like the mission from today,” you admitted, leaning back against the counter. “Feels like I’m still out there, you know? Like my body made it back, but my head didn’t.”

Logan nodded, grabbing an apple from a nearby bowl of fruits, biting it hard. “It’s normal. First few times, it messes with you. Then it just...sticks with you differently.”

“Comforting,” you said dryly, and he chuckled.

Before either of you could say more, another voice broke the moment.

“You two always this chatty at midnight, or am I just lucky?”

You turned to see Scott standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, a disapproving tilt to his head.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Relax, Summers. We’re not plannin’ a coup.”

Scott gave a slight smirk but didn’t lighten much. “So are you two... a thing now?” he asked, his tone playful but still searching. "Or just the late-night hangout type?"

You felt a sudden awkwardness settle in the room, and Logan’s posture stiffened for a moment before he smirked, looking back at you to respond.

“A bit of both.” you replied, your voice a little quieter than you intended. You glanced at Logan, unsure of how much to say, or if you even wanted to say anything at all. The last thing you wanted was to dive into an explanation that neither you nor Logan had figured out yet.

Logan’s eyes flickered to yours. "Yeah, something like that."

 “Right. Well, if you’re both done with your midnight snack, and well...cracking your little situation, the danger room isn't going to run itself tomorrow.” He looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

He left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Logan finished his apple, tossing the core into the trash. “He means well,” he said, almost grudgingly.

“Yeah,” you said, setting your soda down, taking a bite of some crackers. “Doesn’t make it any less annoying sometimes.”

Logan smirked, pushing off the counter. “Well, you heard the man. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“I will.” you replied, taking a small sip of your soda once again. You noticed Logan’s expression, lost in thought about something in particular. He stood near the hallway door, contemplating going on with his own endeavors, or staying with you. Either way, it was obvious the two of you weren’t planning to go sleep anytime soon. Not yet. 

“So, speaking of cracks,” you began, the words coming out slower than you expected. “You ever had anyone, you know, break through yours?”

Logan’s eyebrow twitched. “What, you mean, like, past loves?” His tone was neutral, almost shaking his head back to reality.

You nodded, curious but not pushing. “Yeah. It doesn’t have to be deep or anything. Just... someone who actually made you feel like you were seen, I guess.”

Logan glanced down at his feet, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. He didn’t respond immediately, but you didn’t expect him to. Logan wasn’t exactly one for talking about his past.

Eventually, he let out a breath, his voice quiet. “Yeah, a few. Doesn’t last long, though. When you’ve lived through what I have, it’s hard to let anyone in too close.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a small grin. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s funny, still willing to fake date someone, even with all that baggage.”

Logan’s eyes flickered toward you, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile if he wasn’t so stubborn. “Don’t read too much into that,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” you teased, leaning against the counter with a raised eyebrow. “If you can pull that off, maybe letting someone in isn’t as impossible as you make it sound.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement there, just barely. “Fake dating is a hell of a lot easier than the real thing,” he grumbled, clearly trying to avoid admitting anything deeper.

“Sure, but it’s still a step,” you shot back with a shrug. “Maybe next time you won’t need a cover story.”

Logan paused at the cabinet door, hand on the handle, probably to get another snack, but he didn’t open it right away. He looked over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You seem pretty sure about all this relationship stuff now," he said, voice low and teasing. "Didn't know you were such an expert."

You chuckled, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. "Oh, I'm not," you replied, giving a small shrug. "Just trying to figure it out. I mean, we all have our baggage, right?"

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, and he stepped closer again, almost instinctively closing the distance between you two. There was a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something else, something a little more raw. "Yeah. Baggage," he muttered. 

“I’ve got enough to fill a warehouse,” he added, for a short moment; his voice still rough, but edged with a dark humor. "Doesn't mean I’m looking for someone to help carry it."

“I understand,” you said quietly, your eyes lowering as you reached for your soda again. You took a small sip, gathering your thoughts. “I’ve got my own baggage too. Probably more than I’d like to admit.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel his attention on you, steady and unwavering. He let go of the cabinet door, walking slowly to where you were seated. 

“I get why you’d rather keep your distance,” you continued, your voice quieter now, your fingers lingering close to your soda can. “I think... I think I’ve been doing the same thing, just in my own way. Maybe I’ve been keeping people at arm’s length, too.” You met his gaze then, your eyes a little hesitant. “Maybe because I’m scared. Scared of getting hurt again, or worse, scared of realizing I was never really enough in the first place.”

Logan’s gaze softened, just a little, and his lips parted to say something. He hesitantly placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice quieter than before, a hint of sincerity lacing his words. The way he looked at you, like he was trying to convey something else without saying it directly— it made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you just stood there, feeling the weight of his hand, and the moment. There was something about Logan that made you want to let your guard down, to let him see parts of you you refused to show anyone else. Something about the way he didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you, he just let you be you. Authentically you.

It was never like that was Remy. No, not even. You wished.

“So, fake dating aside,” you replied, eyes darting away, interrupting the silence. “Do you ever think about what you’d want... if you actually did date someone? For real, I mean.”

"For romance..." he muttered, as if the word tasted foreign on his tongue. His gaze drifted, not quite meeting yours, as if searching for something in the air between you. He sat beside you now, arms on the table counter. 

"I guess it’s easier when someone’s already... taken, you know?" He finally met your eyes, an expression of something you couldn’t quite place in them. "It’s, well, you care about someone but you don’t have to act on it. Don’t have to figure out all the mess of... well, actually being with them. You can care from a distance, and that feels safer. That’s all." His voice was low, a little rough, but there was no bitterness in it, just a resigned honesty.

You didn’t say anything at first, processing what he’d said. It was a strange admission, and yet it made a twisted kind of sense. Logan had always kept his emotions buried so deeply, so well-hidden, that hearing him open up almost caught you off guard.

He cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "I’m not saying I’m some kind of martyr or anything. I mean, Scott and Jean have their thing. I’ve got my... Well, whatever the hell this is." He waved his hand vaguely in the space between you jokingly, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. "But yeah, it’s easier that way. You don’t have to deal with the what-ifs, the risks. You just... live in the moment and let it go."

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out,” you said, chuckling, trying to keep the mood light, but even you could feel the pain of his words. “The whole ‘keep it at a distance’ thing.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile, but there was a hint of sadness in it, too. “Figured out? Nah.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, still looking at you with that same unguarded look. “It’s just... easier to not feel too much. You know?” His voice was quieter now, and for a moment, you thought he might say more.

You didn’t push. You didn’t need to. You understood. You both had your own ways of coping, your own defenses, and the idea of letting anyone in too close felt dangerous. Too uncertain.

"Yeah," you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. "I get that. It’s easier to... not care too much, right?"

“If I care too much, they’ll get hurt in some way. Ain’t easy, letting someone in."

"Well,” you paused. “I still think the right person would help with the mess. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so...scary. More of just being there when things get messy."

For a moment, there was silence, and you both sat there. Logan’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and you saw the smallest shift in his expression. It wasn’t much, but it was there, something opening up, if only for a moment.

"Maybe," he said quietly, looking down at his hands. "But for now, I think I’m good with the fake dating thing."

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with a quiet understanding. “For now, we’re good.”

Logan stood up slowly, stretching his shoulders with a quiet grunt. "Well, we’ll see what the future holds," he said, his smirk returning, though it was lighter this time. "Get some sleep. Don’t forget about tomorrow.”

You nodded, your smile faint but genuine. "Yeah, I won’t, don’t worry. Thanks, Logan."

He gave you a small nod before turning toward the door. As his footsteps echoed down the hall, you stayed in the kitchen for a while longer. You never realized how easy everything was with Logan. You understood each other a bit too well.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

chapter 8 - what we break

The early morning silence greeted you as you pulled yourself out of bed. You stifled a yawn, stretching as the cool air nipped at your skin. Training day. No missions, no more disasters, just time in the danger room, blowing off some steam without needing to worry about anything else.

You moved through your routine, pulling on your workout gear and splashing cold water on your face to wake up properly. Training days weren’t always your favorite, but they offered a sense of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic life. At least, that's what you said, confronted by anyone who didn’t understand.

That optimism is what carried you all the way to the Danger Room. Standing in thought with your earphones in. As the doors hissed open, your steps faltered when you caught sight of who was already there.

Logan.

And Remy.

They were sparring in the center of the room, their movements fluid yet calculated, each step and strike of power and precision. Logan's growls punctuated the sharp clash of their practice weapons, while Remy’s easy smirk didn’t falter, even as he narrowly dodged an incoming blow.

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could run off before they noticed, Remy caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye and called out, “Morning, chère. You here to watch or join in the fun?”

You held out one of your earphones and froze, like a deer caught in headlights. Words failed you as your brain scrambled to come up with something, anything—that wouldn’t make you seem out of place.

Logan’s head turned at Remy’s greeting, his sharp gaze locking on you. His expression was neutral, but something about the slight tilt of his head made it feel like he was sizing you up.

“Oh, uh—yeah,” you stammered, stepping further inside before you could talk yourself into running the other way. “Thought I’d... get some training in.”

Remy straightened, tossing the staff he’d been holding to his other hand with a cocky flourish. “Perfect timing, non? We could use a fresh pair of eyes. Logan’s got his claws out today.”

You laughed awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Logan grunted, brushing past Remy and heading to the weapons rack. “You just gonna stand there or jump in, bub?”

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

“Well, this is going to be good,” Morph’s familiar voice drawled from the corner. They were leaning against the wall, arms crossed, their mischievous grin on full display. Clearly, they've been watching the whole thing, and from the look on their face, they weren't planning on missing a second of what was about to unfold.

You threw Morph a glare, but it only made them grin wider. Great. An audience.

“Uh, I’m good for now,” you said quickly, waving a hand. “Just warming up.”

You moved to the farthest available spot on the mat, your face heating under the weight of Logan’s and Remy’s lingering gazes. As you stretched, you could feel Morph’s eyes on you, too, like they were silently narrating every awkward twitch and stumble in your movements.

Trying to ignore them, you dropped into a stretch, but your limbs felt stiff, and your balance was off. Every now and then, you caught snippets of the sparring behind you. Remy’s smooth banter clashed with Logan’s gruff responses, the sound of their training weapons striking echoing through the room.

“Keep up, old man,” Remy quipped, his voice light as he sidestepped one of Logan’s swipes with infuriating ease.

Logan snorted, stepping forward with a calculated swing that nearly clipped Remy’s side. “Watch yourself. I’m just warmin’ up.”

You winced, fumbling mid-stretch. Morph’s muffled laugh caught your ear, and you shot them another look over your shoulder.

“What?” they asked innocently, though his smirk said otherwise.

“You’re distracting,” you muttered, focusing on your stretches again.

They chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. “I’m not the one completely flushed out.”

“I’m not flushed,” you snapped under your breath, though the evidence was plainly there.

Morph snickered, their ability to make you squirm practically a superpower in itself. “Sure, sure. And I’m not morphing into Gambit to test your poker face next.”

You groaned internally, pretending to ignore them as you tried to focus on the stretches. The sharp clang of Logan’s claws retracting pulled your attention for a brief second, and you couldn’t help but glance over.

Logan, as ever, was no-nonsense, brushing off one of Remy’s quips as he grabbed a towel from the bench. But when his gaze flicked toward you, sharp and assessing, your heart stumbled. Did he know how awkward and embarrassing this felt? Being forced to be with the guy you maybe still liked, along with your fake boyfriend?

 He probably smelled it. 

“Looks like she’s gonna warm up all morning,” Logan remarked gruffly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward just slightly. “You plan on actually doin’ anything, princess? Or you gonna keep flailin’ over there?”

Your head snapped toward Logan at the jab, and your hands dropped to your sides, clearly annoyed. 

"I’m stretching. It’s called preparation. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Remy’s laugh rang out before Logan could reply, a smooth, teasing chuckle that grated on your already frayed nerves. "You keep talkin’ like that, you’ll rile him up more than me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you glanced between the two of them. "You’re both impossible."

“Aw, don’t be like that," Remy said, stepping closer, his ever-present smirk softening just a touch. "We’re just havin’ a little fun. No harm, non?"

You forced yourself to stay still, but every inch of your body wanted to react. Remy’s words felt like a mockery. Your stomach twisted from all of it. There was something in the way his tone lingered, in the flicker of his red eyes towards Logan, that made your blood simmer. 

You then turned towards Logan, of why you’d roped him into this in the first place. Gambit, Remy, the one who had broken your heart, had stood you up weeks prior, leaving you feeling small and humiliated. The worst part? He didn’t even seem to remember. But you did.

Meanwhile, Logan's expression was as unreadable as ever. Carved from stone, he gave away nothing, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Was he irritated? Amused? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it was, it only bothered you more.

You gritted your teeth, stretching through the awkwardness while Logan and Gambit lingered too close for comfort.Remy was still smirking like he was in on some private joke, and Logan, for all his gruffness, didn’t seem to mind the tension he’d stirred up. You stole a glance at Morph, who, to his credit, had the decency to mime zipping his lips after Logan’s warning, but his eyes still sparkled with mischief.

With a sharp inhale, you pushed yourself up from your stretch and took a step toward Logan. “You’re right,” you said loud enough to catch both of their attention. “I should stop warming up and actually do something.”

Logan raised a brow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his expression. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, but there was a tension in his gaze, like he was waiting to see just what you were up to.

With deliberate steps, you closed the space between yourself and Logan. His expression shifted slightly, confusion mixed with curiosity, his body stiffening just enough for you to notice. When you stopped in front of him, his brow furrowed further.

Despite the rapid pounding of your heart, you reached up, cupping the edge of his jaw lightly with one hand, and pressed your lips to his.

The world seemed to still for that brief moment. His lips were firm but warm, slightly chapped, with a roughness that was distinctly Logan. The kiss was soft, unhurried, and intentional. You allowed yourself to linger just long enough to make it convincing, feeling the way his breath hitched almost imperceptibly, the slight tension in his shoulders as though he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

When you pulled away, his eyes were on you, sharper than ever, and his lips parted just enough to give you the satisfaction of having caught him off guard. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of surprise, intrigue, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I’ve changed my mind about joining you two. I’m going for a run.”

You didn’t dare glance back at Logan as you strode toward Gambit, who looked as though someone had just yanked the rug out from under him. His smirk faltered for a split second, just long enough for you to savor the moment. But he recovered quickly, twirling his staff and tilting his head at you as you walked out.

Behind you, Morph let out a low whistle, clearly delighted by the sudden shift in the room’s energy. Logan said nothing, but you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck. If you focused hard enough, you might’ve been able to hear the faintest scoff.

As you headed to the outer yard of the X-Mansion, you couldn’t bring yourself to just run just yet. Your mind was still stuck on what happened in the Danger Room. The moment with Logan. The kiss. It felt like an impulsive decision, one that hadn't really been thought through, but in a way, it had felt right.

Mind racing, you were still standing outside the mansion, the weight of what you’d done sinking in. The morning air did nothing to settle your thoughts, only sharpening the confusion swirling in your head. What the hell had you been thinking? You didn’t even have a chance to understand it before your body had already moved. Shaking your head, you walked back inside, your footsteps heavy on the floor.

You’d barely made it to the hallway when you heard the unmistakable heavy footfalls behind you. The sound of Logan’s boots on the floor echoed loudly, and you could feel his presence long before he spoke.

“Thought you were goin’ for a run,” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, low and tinged. He was obviously pissed.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. 

“Changed my mind,” you muttered, your pace never slowing as you reached for your keys. Your mind raced, but you kept your gaze straight ahead, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

His footsteps quickened, cutting the distance between you in two long strides until you reached the door to your room. You didn’t stop, but the sound of Logan’s voice, low and tense, made your heart stutter.

“Why the hell’d you do that?” he demanded. 

You finally stopped, but only to face him with your back against the door, your body tensing at the proximity. He stood there, eyes narrowed, like he was waiting for you to crack. His jaw was clenched, and there was an almost predatory tension in his stance.

“You were the one who wanted to kick things up a notch,” you replied. No matter how sarcastic you may have sounded, it was honest.

Logan’s expression flickered, something close to frustration flashing in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, barely retracting as he crossed his arms. “That was never what I had in mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, and despite everything, a slight smirk tugged at your lips. “I’m not the one who started sparring with Remy. The last person I want to see. You didn’t exactly make it easy to just sit back and watch.”

He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes. It was intimidating, and you held yourself back from trying to look away.

“I didn't need you to make me look like an idiot,” he muttered, voice low, almost rougher than usual.

You stood there, back pressed against the door, heart pounding in your chest as Logan’s presence loomed just inches away. The room felt smaller with every second that passed in silence.

You heard his voice, low and rough as he leaned in to repeat himself. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke. “I didn’t kiss you to mess with your head, Logan.” Your voice was steady now, no sarcasm, no defensiveness; just raw honesty. “But you’re the one who... made me think something else was going on.”

Logan scoffed, that almost sounded like a laugh, while shaking his head taking a step back. “Oh really? The same way you thought you had something else with Gambit?”

“What the fuck, Logan?”

The words caught in your throat, your breath quickening as the sting of his accusation hit harder than you expected. You pushed yourself off the door, taking a step toward him, your voice tight with disbelief. “Don’t you put that on me,” you snapped, pointing a finger to his chest. “You agreed to this.”

“You’re right, I did,” he replied, his eyes burning with something between anger and confusion, maybe even a hint of jealousy. “But you’re the one stuck in some damn fantasy of what could’ve been with that...cajun." 

“I’m not the one pretending like something’s going to happen with Jean.” The words were out before you could stop it.

Logan’s expression hardened in an instant, and the room seemed to freeze. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing under the strain of what you just said. You could feel the air crackling with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you both.

He stepped back, looking at you as if you’d just struck him with something harder than your words. “You think that’s what this is about?” he spat, voice low and dangerous. “You think it’s about her?”

You didn’t back down, your own frustration burning. “Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice cutting through the thick silence. “You’re stuck in some fantasy about her, too. Hell, everyone can see it. But don’t act like I’m the only one holding onto something that isn’t real.”

Logan let out a sharp exhale, his fingers gripping the edge of his coat, fighting to keep his cool. His eyes, though, were wild now, full of something you couldn’t quite define. “I’m not you,” he growled, the words coming out rough. “I don’t make mistakes like you. I don’t...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

You took a step toward him, your eyes never leaving his. “And what? You think you’re the only one capable of making mistakes?” you shot back, your voice bitter. “Maybe we’re just not meant to have what we want. Because they could care less, to even bother giving a shit about us.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the anger, the disappointment of what you’d just thrown into the air. Logan stood there, his chest heaving, and for a moment, neither of you knew what to say.

He finally broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I never said I wanted her,” he muttered, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back at you. His expression was as callous as ever, but the way he stared you down; he couldn’t say it himself, but his eyes could.

Your eyes softened from his answer, but the lump in your throat practically stopped you from giving a response. It didn’t help that your head was pounding from how chaotic your nerves had been turned over. Logan let out a frustrated sigh as you had nothing left to say, from his subtleness, and took a step back. His eyes were still on you, but there was a certain finality to his gaze now, something cold and resolute that you weren’t ready to face.

“Forget it,” he muttered, voice clipped, his face unreadable. “Whatever this is—whatever we are—it's done. I’m done.”

Before you could say another word, he turned and walked toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the argument crashing down, the finality of it all, and the overwhelming ache in your chest settled deep into your bones.

And god, you hated it.

chapter 9 - what we mend

The days had dragged on like an unending weight. Each glance between you and Logan felt like a punch to the gut, both of you stiffening the moment the other entered the room. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was avoiding you; his silence was louder than any words could have been. The same could be said for you. It was easier this way. Or so you told yourself.

Since that morning in the danger room, when your lips had lingered a fraction too long on his, everything had become... complicated. What had been a simple, calculated arrangement of a fake relationship, the harmless flirtation, was now tangled in a mess of confusing emotions. Neither of you had addressed it, but the tension between you had only grown thicker.

At dinner, you had barely looked up from your plate. Every time you did, you’d catch Logan glancing in your direction only to quickly look away. His eyes were stormy, unreadable, and it frustrated you more than anything. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d actually spoken to him, at least not without a stilted awkwardness between you.

The team noticed, of course. Marie, with her usual sharp eyes, had raised an eyebrow at the silent distance between you two. "You two been fightin’ or something?" she’d asked, but you’d merely shrugged, offering a vague response that did little to explain the situation.

Now, as the evening wore on and the mansion fell quiet, the tension was unbearable. The silence in your room felt suffocating, tossing and turning in your bed; and no matter how much you tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself, your thoughts kept wandering back to Logan. The way his lips had felt on yours. 

But the line had already been crossed. And you didn’t want to cross any others. 

With a decisive moment, you stood from your bed, slipping on your socks with a swift motion. You had to see him. You just had to know if this feeling—this damnable, undeniable feeling was mutual, or if you were completely losing your mind. 

Your steps were quiet as you walked down the hall, your heart pounding louder than the sound of your footsteps. You reached Logan’s door, hesitating for only a moment before you knocked. The sound echoed in the silence.

"Who’s there?" His voice came through, rough and thick with the weight of the day.

"It's me," you said, and before you could second-guess yourself, you turned the handle, pushing the door open.

Logan was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in his iconic white tank top and bootcut jeans. His posture was rigid, as though he were waiting for something. When his gaze met yours, his eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He took another puff from his cigar, which didn’t help how thick the air was between you both. It was almost as if the room itself was holding its breath.

“What do you want?” he asked in slight annoyance.

 “I don’t know,” you muttered, the words coming out harsher than you intended. 

Logan didn’t move, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a tension in the air, something thick and unspoken. The silence stretched between you both like a taut wire, neither of you wanting to touch it, but neither able to ignore it either.

“You could’ve stayed away,” he said, his voice rough, like he was holding back something he didn’t want to admit.

“I know.” you whispered, a pang of guilt in your tone. “Look, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to push you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just brush it off, but then he spoke again, softer now. “It’s not just you.” His eyes flickered, as though searching for something in you, something he wasn’t ready to admit either. “I didn’t mean to snap at you either. It’s just... it’s easier if we both just pretend it didn’t happen.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words pressing against you, making your chest tighten. “It’s not easier,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the thick air between you. "It’s not easier for me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately. His eyes dropped to his cigar for a moment, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He exhaled, letting the smoke curl into the air, his gaze returning to you, but this time there was something different in his eyes. Something that softened the hardness you’d seen earlier.

“Then why the hell are we still doing this?” he asked, his voice low, rough with something that almost sounded like frustration. “Why are we still pretending if it’s this complicated?”

You took a step closer, your pulse quickening with the proximity. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I don’t know," you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. "But I can't stop thinking about it—about you. I can’t keep pretending it was just nothing." You looked up, your gaze meeting his, finding him waiting for something, something you couldn’t name.

For a long beat, neither of you moved. Logan’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, his jaw tight, as though fighting something inside him. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted forward on the bed, a breath escaping him as if he were finally deciding to let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

“You’re not the only one,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been tryin’ to ignore it, but... hell, you make it hard to forget.”

You took a breath, stepping closer, your body drawn toward him against your better judgment. You could feel the heat between you, the crackling tension that had been building for days now, impossible to ignore any longer.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to make things so damn complicated.

Logan’s eyes softened, just slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing the back of your fingers with his. The contact sent a shock through you, like electricity, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him close the gap between you.

“Not your fault,” he said, his voice thick, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “It’s me too. I’m... I’m not good at this shit. But I—” His words faltered, his eyes searching yours for something, anything. “I can’t pretend either.”

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. You pulled him toward you, crashing your lips against his. The kiss was hungry, desperate, full of all the unspoken feelings you’d been trying to ignore for so long. Logan’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, as if afraid to let you slip away.

You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. All the confusion, the frustration, the longing—it boiled over in a wave of heat that left you breathless. His lips were firm against yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. The only thing that existed was the storm between you both, the undeniable pull that had always been there, buried beneath layers of doubt and distance.

When you finally broke away, you were both gasping for air. Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still holding you close as if he needed to keep you tethered to him.

"Shit, I...that didn’t help, did it..." you whispered, your voice shaky, but a faint smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t know if it was a question or a statement, but it didn’t matter.

Logan’s laugh was low and rough, the sound a mixture of frustration and amusement. "No, but I figured as much." he said, but his eyes were still on you, intense, searching for something.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them, your hands lingering on his chest to keep a certain distance. "I—"

Before you could finish, Logan’s lips were on yours again, cutting off any further words. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just need. 

“Shut up.”

His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, gripping you with a possessiveness that made your heart race. The way he touched you felt urgent, almost frantic, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his tank top, and you pushed yourself closer, needing more of him. His lips were rough against yours, parting briefly for a breath, but you didn’t give him the chance to pull away. You kissed him harder, deeper, as if trying to erase all the space that had ever existed between you.

Logan’s fingers dug into your thighs, lifting you slightly as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and it made every nerve in your body hum with need. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, as if he was claiming you in a way that was both comforting and maddening. The way his hands moved, pulling you closer and closer, left you feeling dizzy, lost in the feel of him.

His lips traveled down to your jaw, and you gasped, a shiver running through your body at the feel of his breath on your skin. You couldn’t stop the way your hands wandered, exploring the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, wanting to touch every part of him. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his rough hands—it was all too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

You let him take off your shirt, urging him to do the same, and one thing led onto the next.

Logan's hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, as if he were memorizing every curve of your body. You felt the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin, his lips trailing soft kisses along your collarbone. Each kiss ignited something deep within you, a rush of warmth that spread through every part of you. You moved closer, your hands instinctively reaching for his back, your fingertips grazing the muscles beneath his jeans.

His breath hitched slightly as your fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans, his body tensing at the touch. You could feel the intensity rising between you, the need in his movements, in the way his lips ghosted over yours before finally capturing them again. The kiss was deeper this time, more urgent, as though everything in the world had narrowed down to this single moment.

You pulled back just slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to steady yourself. “Logan...” you breathed, your voice shaky as you searched his eyes, trying to read the same urgency, the same longing that mirrored your own. But there was still hesitation there, just beneath the surface. Still, neither of you moved, too tangled in the heat of the moment to do anything but breathe each other in.

His hand slid down your back, resting against the curve of your hip, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your pants. He pulled you closer again, the intensity of his touch making your pulse quicken. “I know,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Me too.”

And the rest? It could only be described as bliss.

chapter 10 - what we confess

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the warmth. Strong, steady, and unfamiliar in the best possible way. It wasn’t just the weight of the blanket cocooning you or the soft glow of morning light spilling through the curtains. It was him.

And you were in his bed.

Logan’s arm draped across your waist, his fingers loosely splayed over your stomach as though even in sleep, he refused to let you go. His chest pressed against your back, the soft rhythm of his breathing stirring the fine hairs at the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe, afraid that the slightest shift would shatter the fragile peace of the morning. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel safe, for once, in the quiet intimacy of it all.

Then his voice, low in a whisper, broke the silence. “You awake?”

You turned your head slightly, catching his sleepy gaze. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. It was so endearingly Logan, so unlike the composed version everyone else saw, that it made your chest ache.

“Yeah,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Logan’s lips twitched into a lazy grin. “Good. Thought I might’ve crushed you in my sleep.”

You snorted softly, your fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Not even close. Though you do snore.”

“Snore?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Princess, you’re hearing things.”

“Sure,” you teased. “You sounded like a chainsaw. A grumpy one.”

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and he tightened his arm around your waist slightly. “Guess I was too comfortable. Not used to sleeping next to someone who doesn’t wake me up kickin’ in their sleep.”

“Don’t test me,” you said with a mock glare, but your smile betrayed you.

His grin widened as he propped himself up on his elbow. “Noted.”

It was a strange kind of comfort, lying tangled together without the unspoken words or half-faked plans hanging over you. But the comfort didn’t last. The two of you had hardly gotten any words out last night, and reality, as always, had a way of creeping back in.

Logan shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His gaze softened, the usual storminess of his eyes replaced with something warmer, something gentler. “We gotta talk.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. We do.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the words you both needed to say hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Logan broke the silence.

“This whole fake-dating thing,” he started, his voice measured, “I didn’t think much of it at first. Figured it’d be a pain in the ass, but... I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake.” He paused, his hand brushing yours lightly. “At least for me.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Logan...”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “I know you were hung up on Remy. And hell, I thought I was hung up on Jean. But the truth is…”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words.

“She was someone I thought I wanted,” he said, his voice quieter now, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. He glanced away for a beat, exhaling softly, before meeting your gaze again. “But... it was never real. Not like this.”

“This?” you asked softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

“This,” he confirmed, his hand finding yours and curling around it. “You. Us.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you found yourself struggling to speak.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out?” he added, his voice softer now. “How hard it was to just... stand by while you kept lookin’ at him like he was everything?”

Your chest tightened, his words stirring something deep inside you. “I—”

“Don’t,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Don’t say anything you’re not ready to say. Just... be honest with yourself. With me.”

You bit your lip, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested against your cheek. “I don’t think I love him anymore,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “I thought I did. For so long, I thought I’d never get over him. But now...” You looked back up at Logan, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t imagine myself without you.”

Logan’s lips quivered into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Good,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “’Cause you’ve been driving me crazy, darlin’. Watching you smile, hearing you laugh... it’s all I’ve wanted for a while now.”

A small laugh escaped you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his lips brushing yours lightly. “But I don’t mind. Not with you.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the desperation of the night before. This wasn’t about drowning in the moment. It was about finding something real, something worth holding onto. When it finally broke, your foreheads stayed pressed together, both of you breathing in the shared space.

“So, what now?” you asked softly.

Logan smirked. “Guess we stop pretending.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “You in?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Yeah. I’m in.”

And as his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d already found it.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 nightgown

synopsis: after two wonderful years with the swordsman, you're reluctant to let him go, especially without telling him how you feel. luckily, he feels the exact same way... and more than accepts your scanty going away present.

cw: part 2/3, nsfw, fluffy fluff, comfort, reader is FIONE, reader is also real as hell, zoro is a fiend, mihawk is such dad, this was so fun to write.

a/n: tagging: @that-b-word-lol @ihatespidersdie I NEED THIS MAN UNDER MY TREE

"C'mon, (y/n), they're not gonna fight if you keep playing with 'em," Zoro sighed, removing his sword from his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You giggled, unable to fight off your smile as you danced with the humandrills, relishing in their happy snorts and yips as the leader of the gang—Chuki—picked you up and placed you on his shoulder, happily parading you around.

"Sorry," you grinned, clapping with approval as a few of the others performed back-flips and cartwheels to keep your attention. "I was coming out to check on you guys."

Just then, Chuki let out a howl of excitement, wanting to join in on the fun.

Without warning, he launched himself into a somersault, completely forgetting you were on his shoulder and sending you flying.

'Not again...'

Zoro moved like he'd done this a hundred times—which he had—effortlessly shooting himself up and catching you in mid-air, bridal style.

"Every time?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I'm gonna miss this," you chuckled, looping an arm around his neck as he landed.

"The hell are you gonna do when I'm gone?" he carefully put you down, crossing his arms over his chest once again. "I'm not gonna be here to keep you from falling on your face."

You shrugged, turning to Chuki with a wide smile as he gave you a high five, "I guess I'll just have to learn how to land on my own."

"HA!"

The swordsman scoffed, shoulders bobbing with laughter as you snapped your head over to him, less amused.

"The girl who can barely hold a sword? I'd love to see it."

"Hey!"

"Hu hu hua!" Chuki mimicked, turning to you with an incredulous look. "Ooh, ah ah ah, hua!"

"I know right," you agreed, resting a hand on your hip as you glanced at the swordsman. "And smelly, too..."

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

Gloom Island was known all-throughout the Grand Line as an abandoned island, its kingdoms having brought themselves to utter ruin after years of war.

Your parents had even been drafted, and, of course, killed in the line of duty.

But, by fate or by fortune, you had managed to survive, living through most of your childhood as an orphan in a battle-ravaged kingdom.

Until, eventually, you were the last one standing.

Alone, you searched for any survivors, managing to stumble across a devil fruit along the way before meeting the humandrills.

The Speak-Speak fruit allowed you to become fluent in any language from the moment you heard it spoken aloud—animal language, included.

So, after meeting them on their level, the monkeys took you in, protecting you and treating you as one of their own until Mihawk came along not too long after, taking up the role as your father-figure and mentor.

Naturally, he tried to teach you some swordsmanship, but you lacked... talent, to say the least.

"I've gotten better since the last time we trained together!" you bellowed, proudly, as you picked up a sword, lowering yourself into an offensive stance. "Look!"

"Your posture's off," Zoro noticed, off-rip, "And your feet are too far apart."

Breath hitching, your face glowed with embarrassment, your body practically freezing in place.

'Shit!'

And just as you were trying to prove a point...

"Here," he instructed, getting up behind you and pressing his hand into the small of your back, straightening you up. "Like this."

Your spine shivered at his touch, the thick pads of his fingers practically burning into your flesh, despite the fabric separating them.

"Pull your feet a bit closer... it will firm up your stance... And if you're facing an enemy head on like this, you're gonna want to be upright."

"Okay!" you squeaked, doing your best to make the adjustments without physically combusting.

Carefully, you pulled your feet in shoulder width, and used his hand as a guide to straighten up your posture.

"Good," he commended, his arms suddenly coming around you grab your hands, helping you fix your grip on the sword. "Now when you swing, I want you to step into it."

You felt chills when his hands touched yours, years of work evident in his rough, calloused flesh, which held yours with the gentlest touch.

Turning to glance at him, your eyes came up to meet his once more, telling a story that made you just want to sit down and listen.

You studied his facial features up close—for about the fifty-millionth time—taking note of everything you had come to admire in the last two years.

The slight pink of his tanned lips...

The strength of his jaw...

The faint scar that rested on the tip of his shoulder, not that such a detail could be picked up unless one was really looking.

You felt like the staring going on for ages, but you didn't want to look away, and neither did he.

He, too, was studying your face.

And, deep down, he never wanted to look away.

"Dinner is ready," your father's voice cut through the air, draining all the color from your face.

Instantly, you and Zoro quickly threw yourselves off each other, heat rising to both your faces as you turned away, embarrassed—and slightly scared for the swordsman.

Mihawk fixed Zoro with a sharp glare, sizing him up as if he was some sort of delinquent.

He had been suspicious of you and the swordsman since the moment he arrived, particularly suspect as to why you felt so inclined to help him.

He knew you were a smart girl, and wouldn't disregard everything he had ever taught you about being safe without a valid reason.

A valid reason being a handsome man, in this case.

Still, what was he supposed to expect?

You were a woman now—no matter how difficult it was for him to accept—and women had... needs.

Mihawk shivered at the thought, quickly purging it from his mind as he turned on his heel, power-walking back toward the castle.

Not under his roof...

"Don't dawdle... it'll get cold."

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Come in," Zoro called, not moving from his spot resting peacefully on his bed, his hands tucked behind his head.

"Happy Going Away/Leaving To Reunite With Your Friends Tomorrow Day!" you smiled, carefully entering his room while holding a plate with a comically large onigiri on top, a sparkler sticking out of it. "I know you don't like cake, so I brought the next best thing!"

Warmed by the display, Zoro sat up, trying and failing to fight the smile rising to his lips as you approached.

'Adorable...'

"(y/n)... you didn't have to do all his," he started, not knowing what to say as you handed him his gift.

"I know that. But I figured you deserved something special to commemorate all the hard work you've done," you nodded, sheepishly. "You put up with my dad for two years... of your own free will... that alone is its own achievement."

Letting out a small chuckle, the swordsman suddenly found his eyes drifting to you, only to be met by your pretty, (e/c) eyes staring down at him, the entire room fading around you two.

He barely believed his eyes as he drank you in—your appearance sinful enough to make the devil sweat.

Instead of your usual long, black dress, you wore a tiny, black nightgown, which accentuated your luscious, curvaceous body and exposed the enticing flesh of your thighs.

You paired the little number with some black pumps, which he bet barely made you taller than him if you were to stand up.

The moonlight pouring in from the window illuminated your skin and glossed up, plump lips at curled into a nervous smile at the sight of him.

Topped off with the sweet silkiness of your voice; the way your body sensually moved; how you smelled of cocoa butter and vanilla.

Quietly, Zoro cursed under his breath, practically reeling.

God, if the last two years were anything, they were a testament to his willpower...

He had never felt this way before.

So distracted.

So obsessed.

You plagued his mind every hour of the day, the thoughts ranging from wholesome to downright scandalous.

Seeing you around the castle, watching the movement of your hips and the graceful slide of your hands, making him feel extremely stiff.

'Christ...'

He tried not to think of you like that.

You were the daughter of his sworn enemy, and a sweetheart, at that...

You deserved a nice guy, one that had a regular life, with a regular job and regular urges.

Not a jaded pirate like himself.

But you were just so damn alluring, he couldn't help himself.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You blinked once, coming out of the trance the man had put you under with a confused raise of your brow.

"Huh?" you asked, dumbly, your mind having turned to mush in the five minutes you were staring at him.

"I said," he pointedly repeated, placing the plate down on his nightstand before standing to his full height, towering over you. "What do you think you're doing?"

Nervous, your manicured hand wrapped around your arm, the swordsman's mind immediately traveling somewhere else.

"I... don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, eyes drifting away from him.

You tried to think quick, scouring your mind for some sort of excuse as he fixed his gaze on you like a predator would his pray.

You knew you couldn't chicken out now.

Especially after all the work you put into getting ready.

"You come in here..." he started, slowly pressing forward, forcing you to step back in order to keep some air between you two. "Dressed like that... just to give me a going-away present?"

You swallowed, thickly, continuing to move backward as he continued to invade your space, his eye cutting you down to size like a cat does a mouse.

"What are you trying to do?"

You turn away slightly, pulling your soft, glossy lip into a nervous bite.

"I just... wanted to look nice... for you," you muttered, resting your hands behind your back.

"Did you, now?" he cocked a brow. "Y'know... after all this time, I think I've finally got you figured out."

With a squeak, your back met the wall, forcing you to stay put as the swordsman caged you in, his muscular body leaving no route of escape.

"I think... you're a sweet girl, who's never met a pirate before, or been allowed outside the confines of this island, that thinks that she can stick it to her father by flirting with the man who is hellbent on taking him down."

Zoro raised a brow, cockily, a teasing smirk rising to his lips.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

"Hardly," you denied, a small air of confidence returning the wind to your sails.

It caught his attention immediately.

"I may be sweet... and you may be my father's rival... but you forget that I am I woman."

His breath hitched, eye widening slightly as you pulled yourself off the wall, taking your turn to move forward and regain some ground.

"A woman who's been lonely for quite some time... a woman who enjoys your company more than she'd care to admit... a woman who's never had more fun than in the two years you've lived in her house..."

You rested your hand against his chest, the swordsman scared you would feel his heart beating against his rib-cage.

"A woman who's found herself falling in love with the idiot that crash landed on her island..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed at your boldness, looking away from your intense, (e/c) eyes.

"You don't mean that..." he attempted to rationalize, suddenly unable to comprehend the possibility of you actually liking him.

This had to be a trick.

You were just doing this to piss off your dad...

Right?

You stared at him with hooded eyes, flashing him a bashful, crooked smile that nearly had him melting into the floor.

"If I didn't... do you think I'd be standing here right now?"

The floodgates were opened.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, Zoro roughly yanked you forward, pulling you into his chest as you let out a gasp of surprise.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, holding himself back by the thinnest string of his sanity. "If we do this... there's no going back. And after tomorrow, you won't see me for who knows how long..."

He looked you up and down, giving you a stare that would make any woman weak in the knees.

"You gonna be okay with that?"

Seriously, you nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes that nearly set his heart on fire.

"Alright, then... no holding back."

And he took "no holding back" with the utmost seriousness, managing to make you cum three times throughout your night in his room.

The first time was on his couch, coaxing you to bend over and let him massage and spank your soft, jiggly ass, which he swore was heaven sent when he plunged his tongue into your velvety folds, relishing in your soft moans and desperate grinds into his face.

The second time was in his bed, your legs pinned down onto the mattress while he tailed you, his cock plunging in and out of you as his arms wrapped around your body, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable while he dicked you down, feeling feral at the sight of your smooth tummy and soft tits.

The third and last time—because your virgin self simply couldn't take anymore—was when he bent you over and fucked you from behind on the foot of his bed.

His hands held your hips while he leaned over, physically holding you up on your jelly-like legs.

Your hands frantically fisted the sheets as he pounded into you, his firm thighs meeting your ass cheeks as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

Because, to him, there wasn't.

"F-Fuck! Oh, my God! Right there!" you sobbed. "Yes, please! Right there!"

He watched your pretty face contort in pleasure, loving how soft you felt pressed against him, and how you sounded moaning from the lips he'd been kissing all night.

"Nuh-uh," he huffed in your ear, leaning down to nip at your lobe. "S'not God that's doin' this, pretty. Who's really makin' you feel good?"

"Zoro!" you moaned, a pitiful whine following after. "H-How are you so good at this?"

He grinned, becoming cocky at seeing you lose your mind on his dick.

"You tell me," he teasingly ordered. "How good am I?"

SMACK!

The sharp sound of his hand connecting with your ass cheek made you let out a harsh groan of pleasure, your pussy clenching around him.

"So good!" you gasped, the sensations too much.

Feeling you tighten around him, Zoro let out a harsh grunt, fighting off the moan ready to leave his lips.

"Christ... body's so fuckin' perfect," he groaned, kneading one of your tits in his calloused hand as he sped up, hitting that spot inside of you that made you see stars. "Look at you... so damn pretty."

"Oh, Zoro! I can't!" you moaned, bottom lip quivering at the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. "I can't...Z-Zoro, m'gunna! M'gunna—!"

"You gonna, gonna what?" he chuckled. "You wanna cum for me again?"

You pathetically nodded, forcing his grin even wider.

"So greedy..."

But so was he.

He would fuck you all night if he could, but he was reaching his limit same as you.

"Cum for me, (y/n)," he ordered, huskily, as he leaned down to your ear, slamming into you harder and you frantically rubbed your clit. "I'm close, too. Rub that little pussy and fuckin' give it to me, baby!"

It doesn't take long for him to blow his load inside of you, flooding you with cum that dripped down your thighs.

His moans of pleasure triggered you, causing your pussy to quiver and flutter around him as you came.

A moan of his name and a few swears left your lips as you rode it out, coating his cock in your sticky juices.

Turning around, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you in a tender moment of bliss.

Pressing his lips against yours, his hand came up to cup your cheek, the embrace feeling like nothing short of a goodbye.

When your highs finally subsided, Zoro gently pulled out of you, making your pussy spurt out his cum.

The sight nearly made him hard all over again.

'Fuuuuck...'

"Sorry," you groggily apologized, already half asleep as you laid down, your half-lidded, (e/c) eyes still sparkling in the moonlight.

Amused by your fucked out state, he scooped you up, effortlessly, carrying you up to the head of the bed and placing you down among the pillows.

With a yawn, he climbed in with you, stomach faintly fluttering as you rested your head on his chest, nuzzling tightly into his side.

"M'gonna miss you, Zoro," you softly said into the quiet, dimly lit room, "...A lot"

Carefully, he rested his hand on your back, his thumb drawing mindless circles into your skin.

As much as he loved this—your company, your touch, you—he knew that come morning, he would still have to leave.

He had a dream, and an obligation to the family he called his crew.

He couldn't just abandon that.

His brows furrowed, a look of determination settling on his face.

But that didn't mean he couldn't make you a promise.

"I'll come back for you," he stated, plainly, without a doubt in his mind. "When I'm the Greatest Swordsman... and when Luffy's King of the Pirates... I'll come back for you. And I'll take you out to sea, and show you all the places you read about in your books."

Looking up at him, your sleepy eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope, nearly turning him into a puddle.

"Really?" you asked, adorably.

With a nod, he pecked a soft kiss on your hairline, before leaning back into the pillows.

"Really."

BONUS!!

"Oi, Chuki!" Zoro called as he walked through the ruins, knapsack thrown over his shoulder. "Come out here! I gotta talk to you about somethin'!"

The swordsman had left his room in the wee hours of the morning, managing to wiggle out your grasp and clean himself up before placing a tender goodbye kiss on your forehead, leaving you to sleep.

The previous night introduced some new feelings to him, and if he was going to get a lick of sleep out at sea, he needed to take care of one final thing.

"C'mon! It's about (y/n)!"

At the sound of your name, the large humandrill immediately showed himself, jumping out from behind a stone column with a loud whoop, which sounded eerily like what's wrong.

"With me gone... and with Hawk-Eye on his trips for the Navy... (y/n)'s gonna be on this island all by herself," Zoro started, brows cinched together, seriously.

This was the only thing that was going to quell his worries.

"I don't know what's gonna happen in the next few years, but if any pirates, or even the World Government, come stickin' their noses around this place... you send them flyin', you understand?"

Using the handle of his sword, he pointed toward the castle, where you slept peacefully, safe and secure.

"No one goes near her. No one even makes it to the castle. You fight like your goddamn life depends on it, alright? 'Cause it does."

Surprised, the monkey swallowed thickly, especially when the swordsman's eye landed on him with the harshest glare he had ever seen.

Even harsher than Mihawk's.

"I come back here and find out that she got hurt on your watch... you, and all of your monkey pals, are finished... Understand?"

Frantic, and terrified, Chuki chittered in agreement, rigidly saluting the man for confirmation.

With a proud grin, Zoro nodded, continuing on his trek to the shore as he waved to the baboon, along with the hundred others fearfully watching from the trees.

"Good... I'll see you guys around."

[etclouie]

can i get 50 and 51 with spencer from the 100 list and its likd he’s embarrassed about constantly talking on and on but his girlfriend just listens

˚୨���⋆｡ prompt/s; 50) “has anybody else ever made you feel like this?” and 51) “it feels like we were made for each other” — from 100 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; spencer x girlfriend!reader, reader listens and spencer talks, just domestic fluff really

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; there’s a real similar piece to this one i did for this event, and you can find it here

— thank you for celebrating 600 with me || submissions are now closed

neither you or Spencer could sleep, laying on the couch together while some movie played on tv. 

every so often Spencer would rhyme off a fact, which earned him a hum in response. 

but he’d began to stop sharing his facts, which made you frown. 

because you genuinely found them interesting, and you loved listening to him. 

wether it be about an actor in the film, or the location it was filmed at. you loved it all. 

“hey Spence?”

you called softly, turning to lay facing him as he did the same. his eyes tired and his hair messy, but it brought a smile to your face. 

he hummed in response to your call of his name, the blanket over both of you slipping before he tugged it back over you as you spoke. 

“how come you stopped sharing your facts?”

his eyes flicked from the tv and back to your face, and he could see the genuine interest in his facts as well as the disappointment from his sudden quietness. 

he sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you lifted a hand to cradle his face. thumb soothing across his cheek as he nestled into your touch, his skin warm against your palm. 

“don’t want to bore you”

he admitted in a whisper, almost embarrassed to have said the words aloud. 

you couldn’t help the frown that tugged at your lips, shaking your head with a sigh of your own. 

whispering back just as softly to him, thumb continuing across his cheek. 

“your facts could never bore me”

his skin warmed and a pink hue painted his cheeks, he was shyer now. closer to embarrassment from making assumptions. 

when his eyes met yours again they were full of love, a longing and warmth for the love you held for him. 

it felt strange almost. 

how loved you actually made him feel, even when he had a tendency to talk on and on sometimes. 

you knew how he felt about his ability to over share, and the few times people he worked with had pointed it out to him made him self conscious—so the warmth in his cheeks and his new shyness to you made it a lot clearer. 

no one had made him feel loved how you did. no one had ever loved him how you did. 

“has anybody else ever made you feel like this?”

you asked, wanting to clarify your suspicions. 

he could only muster a nod in response, and your heart ached at the admission. 

leaning in you kissed him softly, feeling him smile against your lips. he rolled onto his back and held you against his side, your head on his shoulder. 

he tilted his head to press a kiss to your forehead before he whispered out to you. 

“thank you for loving me”

your eyes flicked up to his, finding nothing but love in his gaze. 

leaning up to capture his lips again in a soft kiss, his lips soft against yours as you whispered out to him. 

“it feels like we were made for each other”

you seen the way one of his eyebrows raised at your words, the gesture a silent request for you to continue. 

“you talk and i listen, you tell interesting facts and i fall more in love with you each second”

he shook his head at your words but leaned in to kiss you again, his hands falling to your hips as he pulled you to lay on top of him. 

breaking the kiss pulled a reluctant noise from his throat before he was whispering out against your lips. 

“thank you for always listening, and loving me”

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[thesecondhandwoman]

hi!! i’ve recently come across your account and i absolutely love your works. i was wondering if i would be able to request a caitlyn kiramman x female reader? perhaps when she’s commander, but i was thinking some angst where the two of you just aren’t good for each other? but you’re trying to hold on to each other because you only have each other and nobody else. but it could be when you both just start getting into arguments more frequently and there’s just a point where you both just break down to each other??

TETHERED HEARTS

Caitlyn x f!reader

Synopsis: Your relationship with Caitlyn wasn’t always in the gutter up until she became a commander and you two struggled to love one another without complications. But after a while, it became too much.

Request: Anon 🤍

The knock at Caitlyn’s office door was curt, almost hesitant, but still sharp enough to draw her attention from the towering pile of paperwork on her desk. She didn’t glance up immediately.

“Come in,” she called, her voice tight with fatigue.

The door creaked open, and there you stood, cradling two mugs of tea in trembling hands. The sight of you—your posture stiff, your eyes clouded with weariness—was enough to make her heart clench. It always did.

“I thought you might need this,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thank you,” she said, though the gratitude lacked its usual warmth.

You stepped closer, setting one mug down on her desk before hesitating. You lingered, your eyes scanning her face for any trace of softness, any invitation to stay. But Caitlyn’s gaze remained glued to the papers in front of her.

“Long day?” you asked quietly.

Her laugh was hollow. “Aren’t they all?”

You swallowed hard, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. Finally, you forced a smile and turned to leave, but her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

You turned back, hopeful. She looked up at you then, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, you thought she might say something meaningful, something that could bridge the growing distance between you. But all she said was, “Lock the door on your way out.”

Your heart sank. You nodded, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak, and left her office without another word.

The fights started small. They always do.

It was about forgotten plans at first—a dinner Caitlyn had promised to make time for but missed because of a last-minute meeting, a rare afternoon off you’d planned for the two of you that ended with her asleep on the couch, too exhausted to even eat. You told yourself it wasn’t her fault. She was trying. You both were.

But the arguments grew sharper, heavier, like stones piling up in the river of your relationship until the current couldn’t flow freely anymore.

“You don’t understand what it’s like!” Caitlyn snapped one night, pacing the small apartment you shared. Her uniform jacket hung off her shoulders, the crisp fabric wrinkled and stained with the grime of another long day in Piltover’s streets.

“And you think I don’t care?” you shot back, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “Do you have any idea how it feels to sit here every night wondering if today’s the day you don’t come home?”

Caitlyn froze, her back to you. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, but no less cutting. “I didn’t ask for this job to be easy. And I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You blinked back tears, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Is that what you think this is? Some obligation? I’m here because I love you, Caitlyn, not because I have to be.”

She turned to face you then, her expression a mix of anger and something softer—regret, maybe, or doubt. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing you every time I walk through that door?”

“Because you won’t let me in!” you cried, your voice trembling. “You shut me out, Caitlyn. I’m here, and I’m trying, but you, ” Your voice broke. “You make me feel like I’m just another thing on your to-do list.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Caitlyn looked at you, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she dropped her gaze and shook her head.

“I can’t do this right now,” she muttered, brushing past you and disappearing into the bedroom.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin.

The breaking point came on a rainy night, weeks later. The fights had become a constant background noise in your life, like static on a radio you couldn’t turn off. And yet, you both held on, clinging to the fragile hope that things could get better, that the love you shared was enough to weather the storm.

But love alone was never enough.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Caitlyn said, her voice shaking as she stood in the middle of the living room, her hands trembling at her sides. Her uniform was gone, replaced by the soft sweater you’d bought her for her birthday, but it did nothing to soften the sharpness of her words.

You stared at her, your own hands clutching the back of the couch like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you come home every night looking like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? Feeling like I’m just—just in the way?”

“You’re not in the way,” Caitlyn said, but her voice lacked conviction. “You’re not. I just… I don’t know how to balance this. I don’t know how to be enough for you when I can barely keep myself together.”

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. “And I don’t know how to keep fighting for us when it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Caitlyn flinched, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re not the only one. I’m trying, too, but maybe—maybe we’re just not good for each other.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces. “Don’t say that,” you whispered. “Please don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to,” Caitlyn said, her voice breaking. “But what are we doing to each other? We’re holding on so tightly, but all we’re doing is hurting.”

You took a shaky step forward, reaching for her. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t reach back, either. “We can fix this,” you said desperately. “We have to. You’re all I have, Caitlyn. I don’t know who I am without you.”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. “And you’re all I have,” she whispered. “But maybe that’s the problem. We’re clinging to each other because we’re afraid to be alone, not because this is working.”

The truth of her words hit you like a tidal wave. You sank to your knees, sobs wracking your body as you buried your face in your hands. Caitlyn knelt beside you, her arms wrapping around you even as she cried, too.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your tears mingling as the rain poured down outside.

Hours later, you sat together on the couch, the space between you both painfully close and impossibly far. Caitlyn held your hand in hers, her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said softly, her voice hoarse from crying.

“You won’t,” you said, though the words felt hollow. “We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

Your words lingered in the air for a few more as the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, but Caitlyn’s hand in yours kept you tethered. Neither of you moved to break it, not yet at least. Words felt too clumsy, too sharp for the vulnerability hanging in the air.

Instead, Caitlyn shifted closer, her hand never leaving yours. She brought your entwined fingers to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, the gesture so soft it nearly broke you all over again.

“Stay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Just stay here with me tonight.”

You blinked at her, startled by the plea in her voice after everything that happened only hours ago. “I wasn’t going to leave,” you murmured. “I don’t think I could.”

Caitlyn exhaled shakily and nodded, but she didn’t let go of your hand. Her other hand reached up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing away the tear tracks there. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. “For everything. For shutting you out, for hurting you, for making you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You shook your head quickly, leaning into her touch. “Don’t apologize for feeling overwhelmed, Caitlyn. I know you’re trying. I see how much you carry, and I hate that I’ve made it heavier.”

She closed her eyes, her forehead falling gently against yours. “You didn’t make it heavier. You made it bearable. I’m the one who made you feel alone when all you’ve ever done is love me.”

Your chest ached at her words, but you couldn’t stop yourself from brushing your lips against hers in the lightest of kisses. It wasn’t hungry or desperate, but full of something deeper—a shared longing for comfort, for reassurance.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you said again, your voice barely a whisper. “We can figure this out. We have to.”

She nodded, her breath mingling with yours. “We will,” she promised softly. “Together.”

Caitlyn pulled you into her lap then, her arms wrapping tightly around you as if she could hold you together with the strength of her embrace alone. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, her scent, mixed of lavender and rain, grounding you.

“I’m so tired,” you admitted, your voice muffled against her skin. “Of fighting with you. Of feeling like we’re breaking apart.”

“I know,” Caitlyn whispered, her fingers threading through your hair. “Me too. But I don’t want to give up on us. I’ll do better. I’ll make time, let you in. I just—I need you to remind me it’s okay to lean on you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your arms tightening around her waist. “Always,” you said softly. “We’re a team, Caitlyn. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She exhaled shakily, her hands roaming up and down your back in soothing strokes. “And you don’t have to feel like you’re just waiting for me to come home. I want us to be more than that. I need us to be.”

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside your apartment forgotten. Eventually, Caitlyn shifted slightly, her hands cupping your face as she pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “You’ve been carrying so much, and I’ve been too blind to see it.”

Your lip quivered, but you nodded. “Okay.”

She guided you to your shared bed, her touch tender and unhurried. She helped you out of your day clothes, replacing them with one of her soft sweaters, the fabric still warm from the dryer. Then she disappeared briefly, returning with a damp cloth to wipe away the tearstains from your face. Her movements were so gentle, so precise, that it made your chest tighten.

“Lie down,” she murmured, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. You did as she asked, watching as she climbed into bed beside you.

Caitlyn curled around you, her arms wrapping protectively around your waist. “You’re everything to me,” she whispered into your hair. “Even when I’m terrible at showing it. Especially then.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning in her arms so you could press a soft kiss to her temple. “And you’re everything to me. No matter how hard it gets.”

She held you closer, her fingers lacing with yours once more. “We’ll figure this out,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination. “One day at a time.”

You nodded, your tears soaking into her sweater as exhaustion finally pulled you under. And as you drifted off to sleep in her arms, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that love—flawed and messy as it was—might still be enough.

A/N: I wrote this at 2 in the morning so it is not even close to proofread, but I hope it’s okay either way (I’ll read it later when I have the strength to not possibly cringe).

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Welcome to the neighborhood

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 22

Prompt: Santa

Rated: T

Tags: No UD AU; Single Dad Steve; Single Dad Eddie; Steve is Dustin’s dad; Eddie is Max's dad; Neighbors; Christmas

Steve presses the doorbell for the third time, secretly wishing he'd put on his coat - or his outdoor shoes at least. Nobody has bothered removing the snow from the walkway leading up to the door, and it's seeping into his slippers and socks. 

“Maybe they aren't home,” Dustin says, voice slightly muffled from under his scarf. 

Steve scoffs, mentally cursing Carol for talking him into this. “I saw the car pull into the garage, they're here.” 

He's just trying to decide if he should rap his freezing knuckles against the milk glass pane or tell Carol to go fuck herself when the door swings open, revealing a girl around Dustin’s age. She's sporting a vicious scowl and a shock of violently orange hair. 

“Oh hi,” Steve says. “Are your parents home?” 

She gives them a long, pointed once over. Steve in his slippers and too-thin shirt and Dustin in his knitted Minecraft hat. 

Then, without turning, she hollers, “Dad! It's the hottie from across the street.” 

Somewhere in the house, somebody drops something. There's a barrage of swear words that makes Steve wanna cover Dustin’s ears, and then a whirlwind of black clothes and frizzy curls descends down the stairs and almost barrels into the stack of half unpacked boxes in the hallway. 

“Jesus Christ, Maxine! Sorry about that, I dunno what she's on about.” 

The girl rolls her eyes.

“You said it. Own it.” 

The man glares at her. She grins. 

“Hi,” Steve says again, bravely ignoring the heat rising under his collar. “Nice to meet you. I live-” 

“Across the street. She just said it,” Dustin provides helpfully. “Hi, I'm Dustin, this is my dad.” 

The girl gives him a lazy wave. “So, what do you do for fun around here, Dustin?” 

He shrugs. “I was about meet some friends, throw snowballs at cars. You wanna come?” 

“Ew, lame,” she says, grabbing her coat off another box. “Let's go.” 

Steve watches them disappear down the street, already deep in conversation about something or other.

“Well, then.” The other man extends his hand. It's adorned in clunky rings and covered in paint stains. “Do I get a proper introduction, or are we doing that thing where we refer to each other as Max's and Dustin’s Dad until it gets awkward, but by then we're too embarrassed to ask so we just skirt around it and say ‘hey, you’ for several years?” 

Steve is snorting a laugh before he remembers he's supposed to be mad. 

“Steve,” he says, taking the offered hand. It's pleasantly warm after the frosty air. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” 

“Steve,” the man repeats, and something about the way it rolls off his tongue makes a different kind of warmth settle in Steve’s chest. “Hi, I'm Eddie. What brings you here on this fine- oh shit, should I ask you to come inside? My kitchen is still very much a work in progress, but I got the coffee maker running yesterday, so I could fix us-” 

“It's fine,” Steve lies. He's starting to lose the feeling in his toes. “I just wanted to- … I'm here on behalf of the Home Owners’ Community.” 

Eddie tilts his head at him. “There's a Home Owners’ Community?” 

“Um, yes,” Steve says, raking a hand through snow-soaked hair. “Didn't you get our welcome pamphlet? It has this chees- … um, cheery picture on it. Happy family in their yard with their dog?” 

“Oh, that!” Eddie’s mouth goes round. “Yes, I got that. Threw it out. Looked culty to me.” 

Steve gawks at him. He smiles.

“Culty,” Steve repeats. He fucking told Carol the fucking photo was too much, but did she fucking listen to him? 

“Yup,” Eddie confirms cheerfully. “Why?” 

Steve laughs weakly. “Nothing, just- … I think that's pretty damn bold, coming from someone whose idea of a Christmas decoration is this!” 

Eddie follows his sweeping hand gesture to take in his own front lawn, like he's seeing it for the first time. The giant, inflatable Santa swaying cheerily in the snowy breeze. The grinning crowd of plastic skeletons dancing by its feet. Some have pitchforks. 

The whole spectacle is rounded off by a wooden sign, hand-painted in bright red letters. 

It reads HAIL SANTA. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughs. “You see, we didn’t get around to doing anything for Halloween this year, what with the move, and it's Max's favorite holiday, so-” 

“Yeah, great,” Steve says. “But the Homeowners’ Community has rules, and they clearly state that Christmas decorations must be-” 

Eddie pats his cheek. His hand is even warmer on Steve’s face than it was against his fingers. 

“But I'm not part of your little club, unfortunately.” His tone is all honest regret, but the quirk of his mouth and the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes tell a different story. “And I'm not gonna join, so there's nothing you can do to stop me. And if she has an issue with that, I suggest chairwoman Carol Hagan come over and say it to my face, instead of hiding behind your back. Not that I blame her. It's a nice back.” 

“But you said-” Steve sputters. “So you did read it!” 

“You should go home now,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “Don't wanna be seen getting friendly with the likes of me. Plus, you might lose a toe if you stay like that.” 

He nods down at Steve's soaked slippers - they may be unsalvageable by now - then starts to close the door in his face. 

“Wait,” Steve says. Eddie does, peering out from behind the door with large, hopeful eyes. “Does that offer for coffee still stand?” 

Eddie’s eyes light up. So do the led flames surrounding Santa's ghastly entourage. 

Carol can mind her own business, Steve decides. He'll get friendly with whoever the hell he pleases. 

More holiday drabbles

[goldfades]

could you write a fic with joe burrow where reader is a ballet dancer? i’m one myself and thought it would be cute to read 🎀🤍like maybe reader is getting ready for class and joe is all lovey dovey and infatuated with her skills or something along those lines😆🤍

this took such a long time cause i genuinely didn't know anything about ballerinas but i finally finished it! i hope you enjoy!

you’re standing in front of the mirror, tugging your hair into a sleek bun with a precision that feels second nature by now. the elastic snaps against your wrist, the rhythm of muscle memory guiding your fingers. the early morning light spills through the window, casting a pale pinkish glow on the hardwood floor of your apartment. your bag, stuffed with pointe shoes and an assortment of worn leotards, sits slumped against the door like a patient, silent companion.

you don’t hear him at first—too lost in the ritual of tying up your hair and mentally walking through the combinations you’ll be rehearsing later. plié, tendu, jeté. the words are as familiar as your own name. but then there’s the unmistakable creak of a floorboard, and you catch his reflection in the mirror, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

“how is it possible,” joe says, voice still gravelly with sleep, “that you look this graceful even when you’re just standing there?”

he’s in sweats, hair a mess, arms folded across his chest as he watches you like you’re some sort of masterpiece in motion. and maybe to him, you are. his lips twitch into that soft, lopsided smile—the one that never fails to disarm you, even after all this time.

you roll your eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “you’re bias.”

“nope.” he steps further into the room, bare feet quiet against the wood. “just observant.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you finish securing the last stubborn strand of hair into place. joe has this way of making every little thing you do feel like an event worth documenting, like he’s quietly cataloging moments to replay in his mind later. it’s sweet, if not a little overwhelming at times.

“shouldn’t you be at practice or something?” you ask, reaching for your bag. you don’t turn to look at him, not yet but you can feel the warmth of his gaze like a second skin.

“shouldn’t you be at class?” he counters, stepping closer. his hands find your waist, gentle but deliberate and he spins you around to face him. you barely have time to protest before he’s looking at you like you hung the moon. “i’ve got time before meetings. figured i’d spend it wisely.”

“wisely, hm?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. but there’s no real bite to it, especially when his thumbs start tracing lazy circles against your hips. it’s maddening how easily he can undo you with the simplest of gestures.

he nods, his expression softening. “yep. watching you do what you do best is a pretty solid use of my morning.”

you blink up at him, momentarily disarmed. “joe, i’m literally just putting on shoes right now.”

“doesn’t matter,” he says, tilting his head like he’s considering something profound. “you make everything look... i don’t know. effortless. like you were made for it.”

heat blooms in your cheeks and you glance down at your feet in an attempt to compose yourself. his words always seem to hit a little too close to your heart, peeling back layers you’re not always sure you’re ready to expose. but joe has a way of doing that—of making you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

“stop,” you mumble, though your voice lacks conviction.

“not a chance.” his voice is low now, teasing but tender and you feel his fingers brush a stray thread of your sweatshirt. he tugs at it absentmindedly, his touch lingering like he’s unwilling to let you go just yet.

you step back, needing a moment to collect yourself and crouch to dig through your bag. the familiar scent of worn fabric greets you as you pull out your shoes. they’re old, the satin fraying at the edges, but still serviceable. joe crouches beside you, his knees cracking as he lowers himself down.

“i’m not trying to embarrass you,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now. “i just... i don’t think you realize how incredible you are. how much work you put into this. it’s—i don’t know, just amazing to watch.”

you glance at him, and there’s no trace of sarcasm or pretense in his expression. just honesty. it’s almost too much.

“you’re such a sap,” you say with a smile, trying to deflect, but the words come out softer than you intend.

he grins, completely unbothered by your deflection. “you love it.”

and god, you do. more than you probably should admit.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[kitkatkitzune]

PRINCESS

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Vampire!Reader

Summary: Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline find out the real reason Kol calls his lover princess.

Warnings: Violence I guess, Blood mentioned, Death, A bit of angst, Forced suicide, A lousy king, Age gap between reader and unnamed man she is meant to marry, A scene very obviously inspired by Star Wars (let me know if you catch it), Borderline excessive use of the word ‘princess’ (I fear that was implied by the title), Inaccurate historical depictions, The Mikaelson family being menaces (kinda), Kol being Kol, Caroline being Caroline, Implied Klaroline, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (my bad), A few uses of Y/N

Notes: Let's pretend everyone gets along… for the most part. Kol got turned at nineteen because I said so. Those stars were formatted to be centered originally but they keep going back to the side and I don’t know why, sorry.

Word Count: 4.4k

———————

Present Day

Mystic Falls

For once in Mystic Falls, it’s peaceful. The Mikaelson’s decided that they’d all had enough running around, ripping the town apart, they wanted to relax and have normal lives for a bit. Klaus was the most reluctant of this idea, wanting to run off to create more hybrids but Caroline had asked him to stay, just for a bit before he’d continue his travels. He backed down a bit after that, behaving himself for the first time ever. All his siblings were shocked by this but chose not to taunt him about it. Well, all except for one, Kol. Kol would tease him relentlessly about it, using all the new terms he had learned, his favorite being ‘whipped’.

Oh Kol, your sweet, not so sweet, innocent, not so innocent, Kol. You had met Kol during the 16th century while you were still human. You had fallen hard for the Mikaelson boy but your feelings would mean nothing as you had already been betrothed to another man. The man was much older than you but that did not matter. It didn’t matter that you didn’t love him either, your fate was sealed. You were the only daughter to your parents, only child in fact. Your mother had tried to produce another heir, a boy, but fate would not allow it. Just as Kol would not allow you to marry that man.

You currently sat in the Mystic Grill, snacking on some french fries while you hummed quietly to yourself. Suddenly Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie all crammed into one side of the booth, sitting across from you. They were looking at you with wide eyes. You were in the process of putting a french fry in your mouth and sigh, setting it back onto your plate.

“What—“

Caroline shoves your plate of fries out of the way and slams a book in front of you, frantically pointing at a picture, “This is you? Right?!”

You look at the picture, it was a painting of you. In fact, this particular one was painted by Klaus.

“Yes, that—“

Caroline cuts in, “Is this before you were turned?! All it says is that you mysteriously disappeared at a ball! You’ve gotta tell us about this!”

Your eye twitches a bit, “I’m trying to!”

“Oh… right.”

You look at the picture of the painting again, it’s nothing compared to the original, “Nik actually painted this when he and his family—“

Caroline interrupts. Again. “Nik like, as in Klaus? He painted this? Wait so this was after you were turned? Or was it before?”

“Caroline!” Bonnie and Elena shush her.

“Sorry!” Caroline squeaks out, “I’m just excited…”

You laugh a bit, amused by the blonde's antics, “I’ll start with when I met the Mikaelsons…”

-★-

16th Century

England

“We thank you for welcoming our family into your home.”

Your father nods, holding his head high, still not too sure on the new family who would be staying around for a while. Your mother, on the other hand, had begun to gush over them.

The man continues, “I apologize, I have not properly introduced myself. I am Elijah Mikaelson.”

You watch as Elijah takes your mothers hand and brings it to his lips, she looks as though she is going to faint. You glance at your father who looks like steam is going to come from his ears. You try to suppress a giggle but fail. Your eyes widen when another boy immediately looks at you, you were caught. The heat rises to your face as you shrink back in on yourself. The boy was very attractive, they all were. He had brown hair and eyes to match, which glimmered with mischief. You knew immediately that he’d be one to cause trouble. He smirked at you and tilted his head to the side as he stared at you. You began to chew your lip and look to the ground, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

Your father clears his throat, bringing your mother back from her daydreams of Elijah. Your mother looks at you and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand in front of her.

“This is our daughter, Y/N, she is to be queen.”

The boy with the mischievous eyes raises a brow, “No sons?”

“Mind your tongue, Kol.” Elijah warns his younger brother.

The blonde girl next to who you now know as Kol begins to snicker. Elijah quickly turns his attention to her, “Rebekah.” he warns.

Another man steps up from behind Rebekah and Kol, “I do apologize for my siblings behavior. Kol and Rebekah can be rather… brash. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Klaus.”

He takes your mothers hand and kisses it, she looks as though she is going to faint again.

Your father clears his throat once more and Kol raises a brow, “Are you ill?”

“Kol!” Elijah hisses. Kol simply shrugs.

Your father glares at Kol before choosing to ignore him, addressing the others while simultaneously answering Kol’s question from earlier, “She is to be wed soon.”

You tense up at the mention of your wedding. Something that Kol immediately takes note of.

“We are having a ball in three month‘s time to celebrate, it will be held the night before the wedding! You are all welcome to attend!” your mother quickly offers.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, my dear. They will certainly have moved on with their travels by then.” your father looks at the Mikaelsons before narrowing his eyes, “Right?”

Kol and Rebekah glance at each other, clearly not impressed by your fathers attempt at intimidation.

Klaus smirks, “Nonsense! We wouldn’t dare miss a ball, would we Elijah?”

Elijah chuckles, “No brother, we would not. You have my word, we will be there, Miss Y/N.”

“Princess Y/N.” your father quickly corrects.

Elijah’s eyes narrow, “My mistake.” he then turns to you, “We will be at your ball, Princess.”

-★-

A week had passed since the Mikaelson family had arrived in your kingdom. You had grown to enjoy Rebekah’s company, laughing along with her as she complained about her brothers. Elijah would offer polite conversation if he saw you and you were scheduled to have Klaus paint your portrait (something your mother was ecstatic about). The only one you hadn’t had much interaction with was Kol. You could see him watching you from afar but he never approached you, though you couldn’t blame him because you never approached him either.

“For a girl that is soon to be wed, you don’t appear to be all that thrilled.“

You jump at the sudden voice and turn to see Kol. He’s smirking at you, “Hello princess.”

What was that saying? Speak of the devil…

You scoff and turn back to look at the trees, watching a squirrel run by. You often came to this spot in the forest to clear your head. It was isolated, just you with nature, and no one knew of it other than you and your mother. Until now that is.

“How did you find me?” you ask quietly.

“Oh! So she does speak!” Kol’s smirk widens.

Sitting up straighter, you clear your throat but before you can speak, Kol interrupts, “Does that run in your family?”

You narrow your eyes, “Does being an overly presumptuous arse run in yours?”

Kol lets out a whistle, “Sharp tongue.”

“Is there something you need, Mister Mikaelson?”

Kol raises a brow, “What I ‘need’ is for you to call me Kol, Mister Mikaelson makes me sound far too much like Elijah… so proper.”

“Then stop calling me princess.”

“Oh I’m sorry I can’t do that, princess. It is your title after all.”

“Very well…” you pause, “Mister Mikaelson.”

Kol chuckles, shaking his head and gestures towards the rock you’re currently sitting on, “Mind if I sit?”

“For some reason, I think you’d sit regardless of my answer.”

He smirks, “Pretty and clever.”

You turn to look away from him, heat rushing to your face. He chuckles a bit at your reaction. The two of you sit in silence for a moment, observing the nature around you. A bunny stops at a tree in front of you two, staring at you both. A smile appears on your face as the creature stares you down. You tilt your head to the side, letting out a small laugh as the bunny copies your actions.

Kol’s attention is not on the bunny though. He is focused solely on you. The way you smile, the way your hair is framing your face, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the twinkle in your eye as you watch the animal… just… you. An unfamiliar warmth spreads in his chest, unfamiliar, but nice.

Kol is so distracted by you that he doesn’t even realize that the bunny has run off until you’re waving your hand in front of his face. Kol blinks a few times as you lower your hand, your attention entirely on him as you begin to giggle again. Kol’s face flushes a bit and that warmth begins to spread in his chest again.

You raise a brow at him, “Has something distracted you?”

Kol laughs, shaking his head, “I just… you’re full of such life, you have wit… you’re fierce yet nurturing. And yet, I’ve seen you around with that man who must be at least twice your age and you seem dead. It’s as though you lose everything that makes you, you when you’re with him.”

You chew your lip, tilting your head as though you’re thinking, “Perhaps you are different.”

“A good different?”

“I hope so.”

-★-

Three days later you were sitting at that spot once again when Kol found you. This time, he brought a basket full of treats.

“You cook? Bake?” you ask.

He smiles a bit, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, you’ve got me. I had some help from Rebekah… and I may have stopped at the market on the way here.”

You try to hold your composure but begin to laugh, Kol smiles at this and begins to laugh as well. He sits on the ground in front of you even though you had told him he could sit next to you. He simply wanted to look at you without having to turn his body.

You pick up one of the pastries and take a bite, a few crumbs fall onto your skirt and you don’t notice the few that stick to your lip. Kol does though, he finds it adorable and can’t help it when he sits up straight, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb against your lip. Your eyes widen in shock as you look down at him. Without breaking eye contact, he pulls his hand back and places his thumb in his mouth, sucking the remaining crumbs of pastry away.

Amused by your wide eyes and flushed face he tilts his head to the side, a sly smirk appearing on his face, “What?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he sits up once more, your faces directly in front of each other, only inches between the two of you. Your noses are practically touching…

You will yourself to not break away from his intense gaze, “You’re teasing me.”

“Oh,” he chuckles, amused, “I’d be much too frightened to tease a princess.”

-★-

Kol and you had continued to meet at that spot at least twice a week. No one had known other than maybe his siblings. It was taboo enough for two people of the opposite gender to be left alone if they weren’t married or soon to be. It was even more taboo considering the fact that you were to be married soon, to another man. Not to mention Kol’s obvious flirting and the way you would become flustered just by his gaze alone. Something that your soon to be husband could never do, never make you feel.

Normally, when Kol would find you, you’d be humming a song or spinning in a circle or even just sitting there, watching. Today, though, when Kol arrived, your entire body was shaking. He could hear your sobs as he approached you.

“Princess?” Kol asks softly, sitting next to you.

You looked up at him and Kol’s heart broke at the sight of your tear stained face.

“He’s going to kill me Kol.”

“What?”

“My fiancé… I overheard him speaking with his brother, after we are wed he is going to have me executed. I am simply a means to an end for him, I tried to tell my father but he brushed me off as paranoid and trying to get out of the wedding!”

Kol rests his hand on your cheek, wiping away a tear and for a moment, just a split second you could have sworn you saw the veins beneath his eyes ripple, it must have been your tear filled eyes playing tricks on you. You were certain though, that his eyes became dark. You should have been scared at that look in his eyes but you weren’t. You felt safe.

“Will you trust me?”

When you don’t answer he asks again, differently, “Y/N. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” you answer without hesitation this time.

“At the ball tomorrow, I’ll take care of everything, okay? I promise that I won’t let him hurt you. I will find you, okay? If I do not then one of my siblings will. If none of us can reach you, I’ll be here, at this spot, waiting for you.”

You nod, bringing your hand up to cup his that currently holds your face.

“I must confess something.”

You tilt your head, urging him to continue.

“I’ve never had any intention of allowing you to marry that man.”

-★-

You were preparing for the ball when there was a knock at your door.

“Come in.” You called out.

Your mother entered the room and dramatically placed her hands over her heart at the sight of you. She rushed over to you, placing her hands on your shoulders, looking at you both in the mirror.

“My little girl, you’re all grown up.”

You smile softly, “Well I think that I still need my mother to help me with my necklace…”

You reach for the necklace that you had planned to wear but you were stopped by your mother. You look at her in the mirror, confused.

“No no, you’ll be wearing this.” she held up a gorgeous necklace, it was bejeweled, specifically with your birthstone.

“Mama…” you say, turning around to face her, touching the necklace as gently as you could, “This is gorgeous, where did you get this?”

She smiles, cupping your cheek, “It was a gift, here, allow me.”

You turn back around and your mother lifts your hair as she clasps the necklace. You reach up to touch the jewels, a small smile on your face. You have a guess as to who the mysterious gifter was and you could only hope you were correct.

She kisses your cheek, “To think, tomorrow you will be married…”

Your mood is dampened at the mention of your marriage. One day closer to your death. You had to trust Kol, that he would help.

The door opened and Rebekah entered, she looked absolutely stunning in her blue gown. Her hair was in an updo that complemented the square neckline of the dress. She freezes at the sight of your mother.

“My apologies, I did not mean to intrude.”

“Nonsense!” your mother exclaims, “I was just telling my lovely daughter how beautiful she looks, I’ll leave you two to talk.” she makes a swift exit out of the room and you chuckle.

Rebekah turns and looks at you, “You do look truly gorgeous.”

“As do you, Rebekah.” you smile softly at her.

The blonde takes your hands in hers, glancing at the door to make sure it’s closed before she turns back to you, “How much has Kol told you about tonight?”

Your brows furrow, “Only that I need to trust him…”

Rebekah sighs, “That fool.”

“Rebekah? What is going on?”

She plasters on a smile, “You needn’t worry darling, we won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

“Where is Kol…?”

Rebekah’s smile falls, “He’s having a chat with your fiancé.”

-★-

You stand with Rebekah, chatting while sipping your drinks. You glance around the room and frown when you realize you still haven’t seen Kol around. You hadn’t seen your fiancé either.

When Kol finally enters the ballroom, he makes his way to Elijah. Elijah takes in Kol’s appearance, checking him for blood stains and when he finds none, he raises a brow.

“I do hope you did not leave a bloody mess behind.”

Kol smiles sweetly, but his words are anything but, “I’d rather choke than have a single sip of that pig's blood.”

Elijah raises a brow and hums, intrigued, “What have you done?”

There’s suddenly a loud crash and a scream, causing everyone to look to the stairs. A maid comes rushing from the room where your fiancé was getting dressed, she goes straight up to your father. Listening in, Kol and Elijah hear the maid tell him that she found your fiancé’s body in the room. Your father’s eyes fall onto you and he beckons you to come to him. Your mother chews her lip, looking absolutely horrified. You excuse yourself from Rebekah and make your way to the stairs. Kol shifts the way he’s standing as though he’s about to make an escape.

“Kol…” Elijah narrows his eyes at his brother, “What did you do to the man?”

“Relax brother… he’s just hanging out.”

-★-

That night you sat on your bed, staring out the window. Your father had forbidden you from leaving the room for any reason. He blamed you for what had happened. Your mother remained downstairs trying to keep the party alive even though the guests of honor were nowhere to be found. You had discarded your gorgeous ball gown to slip into your nightgown. The necklace still rested on your chest, you couldn’t reach the clasp to remove it, you began to fidget with one of the jewels.

The more you stared out the window, the more your room seemed to suffocate you. You brought your hand up to catch the cold, metal latch and unlock the window, allowing the cool air of the night to blow into your room. Then you make a decision you’re sure you’ll regret, you climb out of the window and begin to climb to the ground. Your bare feet freezing when they make contact with the cold rock.

When you hit the ground you immediately start running to the forest, to your spot. You wish you could say that you weren’t surprised to see Kol there, already waiting for you like he had said he would be.

“Princess, I was waiting for you to show up.”

You let out a shaky breath, suddenly aware of the cold air around you. Kol stands and walks over to you, his eyes fall to your chest and you begin to feel self conscious of the fact that you’re in nothing more than a nightgown. He carefully reaches for your necklace, fidgeting with a gem, just as you had done earlier.

“I see you got my gift.”

A small smile finds its way onto your lips, “I knew it was you…” he can’t help but think that your words are referring to more than just the necklace.

He smiles down at you, “I am disappointed that I could not dance with you tonight.”

“You still can.”

He smirks, taking a step back from you before offering you his hand, “Could I have this dance, princess?”

You laugh, doing a small curtsy as you take his hand, “Why of course, Mister Mikaelson.”

Kol pulls you into his arms and you wrap your arms around his neck, taking in his body heat. His hands rest on your waist and you jump a bit at the feeling.

He chuckles, “You must be freezing…”

“Only a bit.” you admit, quietly, “You’re quite warm though, enough for us both.”

You rest your head onto his shoulder and close your eyes, humming. All nice things must come to an end as you hear your fathers booming voice echo throughout the forest. The sound of footsteps stopping right near you. You wait for the shouting but it does not come. Reluctantly you lift your head and find your mother’s wide eyes staring at you.

“Mama…” you begin to pull yourself away from Kol.

She brings a finger to her lips, shushing you as she rushes to pull you into a hug. She pulls away and holds your face in her hands, “You must go. Run.”

“Mama, I—“

She shakes her head, “There is no time to argue,” she looks at Kol, “Your family, you have money?” he nods and she continues, “You will take care of her?” he nods once more.

Your mother swallows hard, “Then go, run far from here and be happy. This life… it is never what you wanted, you want adventure, you want to travel. You do not want to sit and deal with politics… I know how it bores you. It’s killing your soul. I want you to be happy…”

Tears fill your eyes as you pull her into a tight hug, “I love you, mother.”

“I love you too, my daughter.”

She pulls away, tears are in her eyes, “Now go.”

Your father’s voice gets closer and before you know it, Kol has picked you up into his arms and has begun to run, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You watch over his shoulder as your mother stands still, getting smaller and smaller the farther you get away.

Kol seems to be running at an inhuman speed and you close your eyes not being able to handle the way things speed past you anymore, you feel as though you’ll be sick. Not even a minute later, Kol stops running.

“Kol.” Klaus’ voice warns, “What happened to getting rid of the fiancé and leaving the girl to find a better suitor?”

“She’s coming with us.”

“Kol…” Klaus begins.

“This is not negotiable brother!” Kol fires back.

Rebekah looks at you, curled up in Kol’s arms, practically shaking, “Did you steal her?”

“What?! Do you take me for an uncivilized fool?! She came with me!”

“I’m not judging! I’ve grown to like the girl as well!”

“My mother asked me to go with him…” you finally speak up.

“If she goes back, her father will be even more enraged than he already is. She’s coming with us.”

“Does she know?” Elijah asks, when Kol shakes his head, he sighs.

“She’ll have to kn—“

“I know, Elijah!” Kol snaps, “But now, we must go! The people are looking for her, we need to leave!”

Elijah swallows, “Very well. But we will be discussing this further Kol.”

Klaus throws his hands up, “You’re not serious, are you?”

He gets no verbal response as his siblings begin to run ahead of him. Klaus groans, “You are serious,” rolling his eyes as he reluctantly moves to catch up with the others.

-★-

“Would you turn me?” you ask suddenly, snuggling further into Kol’s chest.

He tenses up, he stops brushing your hair, “Where is this coming from?”

You sit up from his chest, “We’ve been traveling for almost two years now. I’ll be nineteen soon and you’re forever nineteen.”

You bring a hand up to brush the side of his face, forcing him to look at you, “I want to spend forever with you.“

Kol holds his hand over yours, staring into your eyes, “Do you understand what you’re asking of me? You’d have to die… and then you’d wake up like me, a monster. You’ll be thirsty for blood and no matter what you do that thirst will never go away.”

“You’re not a monster, Kol. I know the things you’ve done, and yet you can still be gentle. If I have to die and drink blood to spend the rest of eternity by your side then so be it. I want to stay with you forever.”

“Forever is a long time, princess.”

You laugh, “Perhaps it will be long enough to teach you to quit calling me that!”

It’s Kol’s turn to laugh, he pulls you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Neverrrr.”

You both lay in silence for a moment, until you look up at him again. He narrows his eyes at you before finally sighing.

“If that is really what you want once you turn nineteen… then I will turn you myself. Just don’t go running to Rebekah or God forbid, Nik.”

-★-

Present Day

Mystic Falls

“Soooo…” Bonnie pauses, “Kol killed your fiancé and you ran off with him?” she then points at your neck, “And you’re still wearing the necklace he got you.”

“Well that’s one way to shorten my story.” You mutter.

Elena laughs a bit at that before raising a brow, “So wait, you knew Kol killed him?”

“It was kind of obvious that Kol had something to do with it, he did tell me he was going to take care of it. I just assumed he had threatened him and it scared the man so bad he took his own life…”

“In reality I simply compelled him to, I never laid a finger on the man.” Kol announces as he slides in the booth to sit next to you.

“Speak of the Devil.” you tease.

Kol looks around for a moment before turning to you, “I don’t see Nik anywhere.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Hello princess.”

“Hi Mister Mikaelson.”

You then look to the three girls across from you, “How did you even find that picture?”

“School project on the time period. It’s in a few history books.” Elena answers.

You hum in response then look at Kol who slides out of the booth, offering you his hand, “I hope you ladies don’t mind, the princess and I have places to be.”

You roll your eyes at his antics and take his hand, getting about a foot away before you turn back around to look at the three girls, “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t do your school project on me.”

They all nod and you smile, leaving The Grill, holding Kol’s hand. The three girls sit in silence for a moment, still soaking in all the information they just learned when Caroline suddenly gasps.

“What is it?!” Bonnie asks, looking around, trying to find a threat.

“That’s why he calls her princess!”

“We know, Caroline.” Elena answers, a bit amused.

“Oh…”

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ f1 masterlist

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

... 𝐢'𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

✩ : as the 2024 season comes to an end, so does the time you have left to finally confess your feelings to carlos

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : carlos sainz

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : pure A N G S T

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1,7k

✍︎ : i'm SO SORRY it took me this long to write, but i was literally swamped with school work and i had no time to do anything. anyway, i hope you like it because i put my soul and tears into it (i'll probably write some cute christmas themed one-shots to recover from this, don't worry 🙃).

enjoy! 🩷❤️

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

Wrong.

If you had to use any word to describe the situation you found yourself in, it would’ve been wrong.

Everything felt out of place: the laughs, the chattering, even the clinking of champagne glasses. It was all too loud, almost as if everyone was trying to fill the void that loomed in the air.

Though, now that you thought about it, ‘fake’ actually fit the scene better. To your ears, the jokes that rang across the motorhome were nothing but a lame attempt to lighten up the mood, every word sounding empty and meaningless. Each one of the persons crowding the room were just actors playing their part in a show they’d been rehearsing for months, and between them stood the main character, the best liar of them all.

Carlos had been smiling the entire night, going along with the setup for some reason that your brain really couldn’t seem to grasp. What was the point of celebrating his departure, even worse when the people he was hugging with such warmth were the same ones who’d dropped him from the team to replace him?

As for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him: every time you did, you caught the flicker of hurt hiding behind the forced grin he'd carefully plastered on his face, the sight making you feel sick to your stomach.

To be honest, you didn’t try to approach him at all, the mere thought of confronting him keeping you away. What was the point, anyway? He was leaving Ferrari, and nothing you might say or do could ever change that.

You hated it. You hated that you had to stand there and watch him leave, you hated the team for making him, you hated yourself and how powerless you felt, you hated Carlos… especially the way you didn’t hate him at all.

It wasn’t something you’d planned: it just happened. Somewhere between the race debriefs, the jokes, and even the fights, you’d inevitably fell for him. What a shame you were only realizing it now.

You avoided him all night, slipping into the shadows every time he came too close or tried to approach you, ignoring the pang of guilt that hit you when you saw the half-smile he flashed falter. His eyes were questioning, almost pleading, burning holes right through you as you turned your back to him once again. You told yourself that was the only way you could survive the “party”… or so you thought.

You knew it was coming, and yet when the lights dimmed and your teammates’ voices lowered to whispers your heart dropped to your stomach, all the noise from before replaced by a piercing ringing in your ears.

The video.

The wide screen suddenly lit up, its brightness almost blinding in the dark room, the clips playing out on it in quick flashes: Carlos’ first podiums, his maiden victory with Ferrari, the celebrations with the team and the Tifosi, the challenges with Charles… each one of them was a dagger to the chest which twisted in a wound that had been bleeding for months now.

The motorhome had fallen silent, the stillness interrupted from time to time by a choked laugh or a quiet sniffle that echoed like gunshots. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, unable to look at the taped moments without your sight getting blurry, forcing yourself not to let it wander over the faces that surrounded you—until you eventually did, and that was the worst mistake of your life.

Carlos’ eyes were glistening under the violent screen lighting, puffy and bloodshot from the tears he’d clearly already shed, which stained his cheeks and slightly parted mouth.

The walls started closing in on you, your breath coming out in shallow gasps as you felt a lump tightening your throat, panic rising in your chest. You couldn’t see him like that.

You should’ve stayed. For him. You should’ve been close and hugged him, like everyone else was doing now that the video had ended, but you couldn’t.

So you ran like a coward.

You stumbled back, bumping into people that you didn’t really see, mumbling weak “Sorry” in their direction, until a hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks.

“Where are you going?” He put it as a question, but the concern in his tone made it sound more like a warning, almost as if he already knew the answer.

“Let me go. Please,” you breathed out, the words painfully scratching your throat as you let them out. He didn’t budge. “Charles–”

“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, his hold tightening slightly more to prevent you from getting away. “He needs us. All of us.” He searched your eyes with his, a quiet request in them: we have to be strong for him.

“He doesn’t need me. Not like this,” you muttered, shame washing over you as you shrugged his hand off and finally reached the door, rushing outside like your life depended on it.

It was pouring, but you couldn’t care less; in fact, the cool raindrops were soothing against your burning skin, their sound drowning out the thoughts that had been running through your mind relentlessly all night.

You didn’t hear his steps, either.

“Why are you out here?” Carlos’ voice cut through the storm like a knife, and you froze. He’d followed you.

You didn’t turn around. Instead, you swallowed back the tears you hadn’t even noticed had started streaming down your face, mixed with the rain that soaked through your clothes. “Go back inside. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“I don’t care,” he shot back harshly, maybe more than he intended to, because he quickly added: “Why are you acting like this? Did I do something?”

“No,” you replied flatly, the genuine confusion in his tone making it harder to keep yours steady. “I just needed some air.”

“So what, you just left without saying anything?” He stepped closer, frustration bleeding through his words.

“It’s your party, Carlos, not mine. And it’s not that deep.”

“Not that–do you hear yourself? This “party” is my last one here at Ferrari; we’re supposed to say goodbye.” His voice cracked, followed shortly after by the walls you were struggling to keep up.

“I’m sure there are plenty of people in there who are dying to say–”

“Dios mío, do you even care that I’m leaving?” he spit out, the venom in his words hitting you like a slap right in the face. “Of course I care–” “Then look at me! Please, at least look at me.” He was so close now that you could feel his shaky breaths ruffling your hair, his warmth inches away from you, so familiar and yet so distant.

Slowly, you turned around, your vision blurry as you took in the sight of him: he was completely drenched in rain, the fireproof he was still wearing from the race clinging to his body, his usually perfect hair sticking to his forehead, and he looked so effortlessly handsome it made your heart ache.

“And now?” You let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “What do you expect me to say? That I’m happy for you? Because if that’s it, I’m sorry but I’m not. I don’t care if I sound selfish, and if that makes me a horrible teammate then be it, but at least I’m not a fake friend like half of the people in there. So yes, Carlos, I care, I care so much that I couldn’t stay inside and watch you act like you didn’t.” The words had spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them, leaving you breathless once you came to a halt.

Carlos blinked a few times, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Then, what you’d actually said clicked in his mind.

“I don’t care? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me all night–”

“Carlos, stop,” you choked out, tears welling up in your eyes once again at his sharp tone.

“No,” he said, firmly. “Not until you tell me what’s really going on.”

“It’s not that simple, okay?” Your voice cracked as it raised, trying to outshout both the storm that surrounded you and the one raging inside your chest.

“Then make it simple!” He yelled too, but his words sounded like a cry for help. That made you finally snap.

“I love you, Carlos! Is that simple enough for you? Because for me it’s not. It hurts so fucking much knowing that I can’t do anything anymore, that I’m too late, and it’s… easier this way. Distancing myself, I mean. I prefer walking away from you on my own than having you taken away from me.”

Heavy silence stretched between the two of you after your voice trailed off, your words still lingering in the damp air as you just stared at each other for what felt like ages.

“Say something, please.” You were the one begging now, his numbness worse than any sentence you’d heard tonight. “Shout, scream, just–”

He didn’t let you finish, his lips finding yours in a desperate, urgent kiss that tasted like tears and regrets. You poured every ounce of you into it, your hands roaming over each other and pulling you impossibly closer, almost as if you wanted to melt together and become a whole, so that nothing could ever separate you anymore.

When you parted, he pressed his mouth to your forehead, his hands cradling your face like you were the most delicate and precious porcelain doll in the world and he was afraid he might break you; too bad he already had.

“I love you,” he then whispered against your wet skin, before letting his lips fall to your right cheek. “And I’ll miss you…” he pressed a kiss on it, then moved to the other. “… so much,” he left a third one, capturing the single tear that had escaped your eye.

“I’ll miss you, too,” you breathed out, words getting lost in the howling wind.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms as the rain soaked you both, washing away the tears that silently strolled down your face, and with them the promise of a future that ended before it even started.

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[hyunnielix]

tornado warnings. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'don't understand how quickly we get right back in our rhythm without missing a step'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 2.9k (unedited)

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance. dance coach!reader

— warning's: fluff, some sort of angst, hyune is a big ole softie, dancing and painting! flashback! at one point! - italics signal start/finish of the flashback.

→ playlist on spotify

The quiet sniffles you couldn't quite stop echoed off the cramped walls, making the small space feel even tighter. The faint light from outside filtered through the slats of the door, casting shadows that danced across Hyunjin's face. His brows were furrowed, the same way they were that night, years ago, before he left. The same expression which haunted you ever since.

You hugged your arms around yourself, a futile attempt to hold together whatever was left of your heart. The air felt thick, but it wasn't the silence that weighed most heavily—it was his gaze, steady and unwavering, locked on you.

"Let me paint you." His voice was soft, but there was a firm steadiness behind the words. His hands found your shoulders and slowly, he began to move his palms in soothing strokes, gliding up and back down to the curve of your arms.

You blinked, the weight of the suggestion taking a moment to settle. "What?"

He took a slow breath, his gaze softening as he spoke again. "Dancing," he clarified, his voice quieter this time, searching your eyes for some sign of understanding. "Let me paint you when you're dancing."

You stared at him, still reeling from his words, and blinked again, as if the request hadn't fully landed. "Now?" The word escaped before you could stop it, laced with disbelief and a growing knot in your stomach.

His lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “My supplies are in the car. It’ll take me a minute to grab them—I came straight from my apartment.”

His makeshift studio. That's what his old place had moulded into, you remember the shock when you first entered his apartment all those years ago. His creativity flowed around the space, filling every area.

Your breath hitched, and you stared at him, your tear-streaked face shifting from disbelief to something softer, something more vulnerable. “Hyune…” you started, voice trembling as you wiped hastily at your cheeks. “Why?”

Hyunjin's gaze flickered, dropping momentarily to the floor before meeting yours again, unflinching. “Because it’s you,” he admitted quietly, his tone laced with both tenderness and frustration.

Your breath wavered, and you glanced away, your hand brushing against the shelves to steady yourself. The closet felt even smaller, the tension amplifying the closeness of his body. You could feel the heat radiating from him and the weight of his words settling.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You shook off his hands, retreating from his warm touch.

“Just dance,” he urged gently, tilting his head. “You don’t have to explain anything or say anything else. Let me see you the way I remember—free, fearless. The way you’ve always been to me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and impossibly tender. You shook your head, fingers fumbling for the handle of the storage room door. The small space suddenly felt too close, the walls pressing in, the air thick with memories and emotions you weren’t ready to face.

“Hyune…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to steady yourself. “I’m worse than I was two years ago.”

“Bullshit.” His response was immediate, raw, and unfiltered. His hand shot out, but he didn’t touch you—just hovered. “You’ve always been beautiful when you dance.”

You froze, torn between the urge to leave and the pull of his words. They weren’t just flattery; they carried the weight of someone who had seen you at your most vulnerable and still thought you were enough.

“It’s not the same anymore,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not the same anymore.” You pressed your forehead against the door, hand resting on the handle.

Hyunjin took a step closer, brushing your hair over one shoulder, his breath hot on your neck. “Neither am I,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still find pieces of ourselves in the things we used to love.”

You turned your head away, turning to stare at him and met his dark eyes, searching yours with a quiet intensity. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that you could step back into that version of yourself—even for just a moment—but fear kept your feet rooted.

“Do it for yourself,” he urged, his tone gentle yet firm. “Not for anything else. Just to prove to yourself that the passion is still there. I’ll prove it if I have to.”

Your gaze flickered back to his, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the young boy you once knew. Filled with ambition and love—hopeful, determined, unwavering. It was that look that finally unraveled your resolve. You nodded slowly. "Okay."

It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was something—a step forward.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and as he turned to leave, the closet door creaked open, flooding the small space with light. For a moment, you stood there in the glow.

There was one routine you could never perfect. The thought of it lingered in your mind as you stood in the small storage room, the air heavy with anticipation. You’d refused to show him back then—too afraid of his critique, too wrapped up in the fear of falling short in his eyes. It was a piece that demanded every ounce of your vulnerability, and though you’d spent hours practicing, it always felt incomplete, like a part of you couldn’t fully let go.

Now, as you stood in the quiet space, his words echoed around you—Just dance. Both a plea and a challenge. You bit your lip, remembering the way he used to watch you, his gaze filled with awe and admiration that made you feel like the most captivating thing in the world. But that routine? That one? You weren’t sure if you could ever let him see it.

His apartment was a world of its own, chaotic and creative. The wooden floors, dotted with splatters of dried paint, remnants of his restless artistry, and the scent of acrylic paint mingled with something warm and familiar—him. The cluttered space had every surface occupied by canvases, brushes, and jars of mixed pigments. Yet it felt like a sanctuary, a place where the two of you could escape the world outside.

You had the place to yourself that afternoon. He’d stepped out to pick up supplies, and you’d been left with the low hum of music drifting from his old speaker. It was quiet enough that you could hear your own heartbeat as you moved through the space, practicing the routine which haunted you for weeks.

You kept it small, careful not to knock over anything in the cramped room. Your steps were tentative at first, your bare feet avoiding the splattered paint on the floor as you moved through the motions. The melody guided you, soft and lilting, and for a moment, you felt yourself relax into it.

The rhythm built, and so did your confidence. Your arms extended gracefully, your movements fluid, but just as you reached for the next step, a sudden sound shattered your focus.

“Y/N?”

His voice startled you so badly that you stumbled. Whirling around, you saw Hyunjin standing in the doorway, a bag of supplies in one hand and a look of surprise etched on his face.

“I—uh…” Words failed you as you tried to recover, your cheeks burning.

He stepped inside, setting the bag down by the door and tilting his head. “Were you dancing?”

“No,” you blurted, too quickly. “I mean…maybe.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a knowing smile as he crossed the room, his footsteps deliberate and slow. “I’ve never seen that routine before.”

You took a step back, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s nothing. Just something I’ve been working on.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.” Hyunjin stopped a few feet away, his dark eyes scanning you with a quiet curiosity. “Why haven’t you shown me?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your voice betrayed you. “It’s not ready.”

“Y/N…” He said your name like a gentle reprimand, and you hated how it made your heart flutter. “You know you don’t have to be perfect, right? Not with me.”

You looked away, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively. “It’s not about that. It’s…personal.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he just stood there, letting the quiet stretch between you. “Okay,” he said finally, his tone light but laced with understanding. “But when you’re ready, I want to see it. Deal?”

You nodded, your cheeks still flush. He grinned then, leaning down to grab a stray brush from the floor. “Until then, try not to knock over my masterpieces, yeah?”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension, and for the first time, you thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be right—you didn’t have to be perfect. Not with him.

You drew on the memory, letting it guide you as you stepped back into the quiet studio. The familiar hum of the fluorescent lights above was your only accompaniment—no music this time. You didn’t need it.

Closing your eyes, you allowed the choreography to unfurl in your mind. The steps came to you effortlessly, muscle memory born from years of painstaking practice. Your feet slid across the floor with precision, each movement sharp yet fluid, honed by relentless determination. Your arms extended, fingers brushing the air with the grace you worked so hard to master.

But then, there it was—that twinge. A sharp, nagging ache radiated from your lower back, a reminder of the battles you’d fought with your own body. It begged you to stop, to rest, but you refused to listen. Gritting your teeth, you pushed through it, defying the pain with every deliberate step.

This wasn’t about comfort or ease. It was about proving to yourself that you still could. That you were still the person who poured everything into perfecting this routine, who sacrificed hours to feel this freedom. You moved with purpose, each gesture carrying the weight of years of frustration and triumph.

A soft crack echoed through the room, drawing your attention to the doorway. Hyunjin stepped inside, his arms laden with supplies—tubes of paint precariously balanced against his chest, a few brushes gripped in one hand, and a smaller easel tucked under his arm. One stray brush was clamped between his teeth, and his brows furrowed in intense concentration as he maneuvered through the narrow space of the studio.

You froze mid-movement, watching him struggle. "Do you need any help?" you asked, tilting your head, watching as he shifted his load onto the floor with a clatter that made you wince.

He waved you off, shaking his head. "I got it, don't worry."

"I know what I want to show you," you replied, your voice quiet but certain. You gestured to the space ahead of you, moving toward an open corner. "But no music this time. Just me."

Hyunjin’s brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into something warmer. "That’s good enough for me," he murmured, "Always has been."

Hyunjin glanced up at you then, his lips curving into the faintest smile. His fingers worked deftly, setting up the easel with care, mirroring the intent in his gaze. A lightness bloomed in your chest as you turned back to focus. Contemporary dance. Your first love.

"Alright. I'm ready for you to begin."

You glanced over your shoulder at him, his posture straight and focused as he sat by the easel. The brush was poised in his hand, ready but unmoving, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver through you. The light in the room was soft, spilling from the overhead fixture and pooling on the floor, casting faint golden hues across the space. His eyes held a weight, a mixture of curiosity and something deeper.

Your breath hitched as nerves bubbled up in your stomach, but you willed them away, replacing them with resolve. It was now or never. You took a deep breath and stepped into the middle of the room. Slowly, your body began to move, each gesture deliberate yet fluid, the years of muscle memory guiding you. The first step was cautious, testing the waters, but soon the rhythm of your own breath became the only music you needed. The routine came alive beneath your feet, a blend of smooth transitions and sharp accents. Emotions. Rage and sadness.

The quiet in the room was almost sacred, amplifying every small sound. The brush of your feet against the polished floor, the faint creak of the wooden boards beneath you, and—most prominently—the rhythmic whisper of Hyunjin's paintbrush against the canvas. An intimate symphony, the strokes soft and deliberate, capturing each moment of your dance as emotion radiated from you.

You risked a glance at him mid-spin, your hair catching the light and fanning around you. His eyes never wavered from you, intense and focused, as though he were painting not just your form but the your soul. The way his hand moved across the canvas, fluid and confident, matched the rhythm of your steps, a silent conversation between the two of you.

For a moment, you forgot the weight of the past and the scar that marred your body and heart. Here, in this space, under his watchful eye, you were free.

The cool wooden floor greeted your bare feet with each step, grounding you as your arms swept through the air, fingertips grazing the light as though pulling it into your orbit. You spun, the hem of your loose shirt fluttering in the motion, and leapt, the kind of leap that made you feel weightless for just a moment before gravity pulled you back.

Soft shadows on the walls shifted with your turns. The air, alive and electrified by the energy you poured into the space. While the tension in your back, a lingering reminder of old battles with your body, tugged at you briefly, but you ignored it. The pain, now distant, insignificant compared to the freedom in the dance.

You glanced at him once more, expecting his focus to have faltered, but there he was—still, silent, his gaze following every movement like he was capturing it all with his eyes before his brush could.

Your movements grew bolder, the routine pulling you further into its world. It was no longer just a dance; it was a conversation, one which demanded honesty in every step and flourish.

You finished the routine, your arms extended and chest rising with with deep breaths. The quiet hum of the room was broken only by the faint scrape of Hyunjin setting down his brush. When you turned to face him, his expression was unreadable, a mix of awe and something softer, something heavier.

“That was the routine you were too scared to show me?” His voice was quiet, reverent almost. His eyes glimmered with an emotion you couldn’t quite place—something between curiosity and longing—and it sent a fresh wave of unease through you.

You hesitated, then nodded.

Hyunjin tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours. “Why didn’t you show me before?”

You hesitated, wrapping your arms around yourself as if bracing for his reaction. “The surgery didn’t work,” you whispered, the words fragile, like glass. “The progress reversed.”

Realization dawned on his face, and he leaned forward slightly. “The scar…”

You nodded again, avoiding his gaze. “I know I never really talked about it. I felt ashamed. I still do. It’s part of why I struggle so much with dancing now. My body doesn’t feel the same anymore. That’s why I teach instead of being on stage.”

His expression shifted, softening in a way which made your chest ache. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“We stopped talking,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “No more daily updates or check-ins. I knew we were both busy, and… it was for the best. I had to learn to heal on my own, away from you.”

“I should’ve stayed,” he sighed, the weight of his guilt pressing down on the room.

“How were you supposed to know, Hyune? I didn’t expect that of you.” You stared at the wooden floor beneath you, kicking your foot against it.

“It doesn’t matter.” Hyunjin's jaw tightened. “I should’ve been here. You were struggling, and so was I. The only difference is that we were apart.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your lips curling into a faint, sad smile. “Recipe for disaster, so it seems.”

He patted the wooden floor beside him. “Come sit.”

You hesitated, but his gaze held a quiet insistence, so you crossed the room and sat down next to him, the faint scent of paint lingering in the air.

“What are you going to call this one?” you asked, nodding toward the canvas.

“Mon Claire de Lune,” he said softly, his eyes flickering to yours. “My moonlight.”

You froze, the meaning of his words sinking in, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned your head on his shoulder. He stiffened at first, the tension radiating from him like static, but then he relaxed, his body shifting slightly to accommodate yours.

For the first time in years, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full—of everything you left unsaid.

[Tag List] @nujeskz @myfavoritedelusion

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

part three

a/n i've been following the halloween event pretty closely for the jp servers, and omg, i have fallen deeper in love with leona! he's just so gentlemanly and honestly, the type of guy you would totally bring home to meet ur parents! plus he looks so damn good! also scully such a cutie patootie! love his little mannerisms and design! i was a little sad that ace and deuce wasn't in, but that just means that they'll both be there for the next halloween event!

edit: so this was meant to be posted like a long time ago hence my og author note, but better late the. never ig. but my point still stands that skully is a little cutie patootie <3

included ignihyde, diasomnia + rollo

tw nothing

want more? here's part one + two

ignihyde <3

⋆ He can’t help it! But the first thing that escape Idia's mouth is ‘Is this poison?’ He can't help it! He’s just a little awkward and has low self-esteem! Idia can’t phantom the idea that anyone, especially you, would take time out of their day to make and bring little, ugly him, food. (his words not mine) It’s literally a ten minute conversation where you have to explain to him that you wanted to this because you care about his skinny ass. And after he gets that through his thick ass head and into his big ass brain, does he explode into hot, hot red. Despite being a literal genius, Idia’s social department (self-esteem? self-love?) is severely understaffed. I don’t think Idia’s all that picky when it comes to food, he’s just not used to eating food out of his comfort zone. But batting your pretty eyes and asking ‘pretty please?’ is enough to get him to bend over.

⋆ If he could eat, Ortho would adore your food! (real talk, i can’t remember if Ortho could canonically eat through like idk a food cavity space thing or if i had just read that from a fic) Would ask for all types of things. But since he can’t, Ortho enjoys your food through Idia. He’s really happy that someone would take the time out of their day just for his big brother. By his data, doesn’t that mean you like his big bro? In all sorts of media, romantic partners make each other food to show their love! If Idia wasn’t such a danger magnetic in the kitchen, Ortho would force Idia to make you food too! So you’ll just have to settle with Ortho as your little helper instead. (he’s so excited to spend one on one time with his future in-law! teehee)

Diasomnia <3

⋆ My, make him food? How courageous you are, little human. Malleus gobbles your food down like it's his last supper. Food created by his child of man? How could he possibly let it go to waste! Compliments you to the moon and back. Though because it is Malleus, he does slip a few critiques. (he can’t help it! He’s a prince afterall) Malleus has never had an edible homemade dish full of love given to him, like ever. (sorry lilia, your food is full of love, just not edible) A warm feeling blossoms all across his body like blooming roses. If his tail was out, it would be swaying to the beat of his racing heart. Malleus didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper in love with you, but here you go, always surprising him. Perhaps, you’ll find a meal on your desk one day by the initials M.D.

⋆ Ohohoho? So you want to challenge a culinary master! Lilia will not be beaten by such a cute little human! You better start running tehehehehe- On another less scary note, Lilia enjoys your food immensely! Of course he could think of a few ways to make it much more protein packed and nutritious but that’s just his inner master chef coming out teehee. Beware, he insists that you must try his cooking, it’s only fair of him to treat you to a meal. Or even worse, insist that you too must cook together. Pray to the seven (or hope that Silver will be conscious enough to drag his father outta there) because you’re going to need it.

⋆ Wonderful… is the only word Silver is able to get out before he falls asleep. When he wakes, Silver is awfully embarrassed. Silver is blown away at your kindness. His face a perment baby pink the rest of the day. You thought of him and no one else. Surely this must mean something right? Still, Silver must do something for you too. It’s only fair. (what a sweet gentleman) he considers making you a treat as well, but considers otherwise. It might be unwise to be in the kitchen with his condition. But of course, it’s not like Silver won’t have any help! All the woodland creatures are more than happy to help Silver win over his crush’s heart! The next day you’ll have his treat flown to you by a couple of blue birds, chipmunks and rabbits gathering at your door with berries of all sorts. Silver thankful for such generous companions. If he had to face you, he might just fall into a coma.

⋆ He can’t help it when he says, “Are you trying to poison me?!’ and ‘Don’t you dare poison my Waka-Sama! I will fight you, human!” Sebek’s like a dog, barking and barking, until he smells the delicious scent of your food and suddenly, he’s stubbornly eating it at the table. Cursing himself for being so weak to delicious food (and your pretty smile) Oh how could he properly serve his Waka-sama if he’s weakened by such things?! THE CRUELTY! He does really enjoy your food. Typically he’s often left unsatisfied, his stomach growling with lingering hunger after his meals. But for some odd reason, every time he’s chowing down on your food, he’s satisfied. His stomach is silent but his chest is warm and fuzzy like dandelions. Are you sure you don’t have any magic? Sebek decides to keep his curiosity to himself. Just like the rest of diasomnia, you’ll find yourself faced with a box filled to the brim with food courtesy of the blushing, stuttering fae in front of you.

Extra <3

⋆ Very rarely does Rollo find time to sit down and eat. Between his studies, his duties as student president and world domination (kidding), he is much too busy to have anything more than a piece of bread and glass of water. You’ll have to drag him to sit his ass down to eat and even then he’ll be scolding you for messing up his schedule. But when the warm and homey scent of your food reaches his nose, his voice falls and mind clears. And all of a sudden, he’s very much aware of the ache in his bones, the growling of his stomach and the tight ringing of his head. Rollo listens to you tell him you made this just for him, heaviness hits his chest at the concern lacing your voice. Any other time he’d scoff and leave, but this is you. His friend. He doesn’t hesitate. The moment your food touches his tongue he’s done for. Perhaps the hassle of life is worth it.

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Can’t Break Tradition

cairo sweet x female reader

summary: You and Cairo are rivals in the workplace. What’s with all the tension at your holiday party?

word count: 3k

a/n: office life au. Merry Christmas!

————

“So I hear you’re still gunning for that promotion huh?”

You shrug, “Mhmm yeah” you say uninterested as your eyes dart around the lavish ballroom your company rented for the holiday party. The massive chandeliers, fancy ice sculptures, and bustling crowd do little to distract from your real focus tonight.

The rando from the IT department that you managed to find yourself in a conversation with responds. “Is that why you and Cairo have this whole thing going on?”

That gets your attention. Your gaze snaps to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “Whole thing?”

“You know what I mean,” he laughs waving his arm off like you said a joke. “Everyone knows," he says leaning in like he's about to share some juicy gossip. "I heard from Iris, who heard from Janice, who heard Winnie talking to Glenn, that apparently Cairo sabotaged your presentation last week so she could take over your clients." He finished cautiously.

Of course you knew what he meant by whole thing. Everyone in your department—Writing and Communications, knew that you and Cairo Sweet were both sworn enemies. Joining the company at the same time, in the same position, had practically set the stage for it—like fate had decided you were destined to clash.

What surprised you is that the tale of you and her had reached other departments. And considering the fact that this was the third person tonight to bring up Cairo to you, it was clear your dislike for each other hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone in the company.

As the IT guy rambled on about something, your eyes finally found what you were looking for. There she was: Cairo Sweet, standing at the top of the grand staircase. Draped in a perfectly tailored red dress that hugged her figure just right, she descended the steps with an effortless grace, completely aware to the sea of male coworkers now openly gawking at her.

You tugged at your red tie, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight against your collar, and scoffed under your breath. “Someone clearly mistook ‘holiday party’ for the Met Gala. Totally unprofessional,” you muttered, the sneer in your voice unmistakable.

“I think she looks incredible,” the IT guy said, glancing at you with a grin.

You shot him a sharp side-eye and rolled your eyes for good measure before scanning the room again. Cairo had disappeared from view, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of irritation as you tried to pinpoint where she’d gone.

Knowing where she was meant knowing where to avoid.

“Seriously, though,” the IT guy continued, oblivious to your distraction. “You two really know how to keep everyone entertained. I mean, the banter, the glares—it’s like you’re living in a rom-com, only without the romance part.”

You snorted, finally tearing your gaze away from the crowd. “You sure are right about that. There’s nothing romantic about Sweet. She’s all ego and sabotage wrapped in a designer dress.”

The IT guy just shrugged, clearly amused. “If you say so. Anyways, good luck with that promotion. Looks like she’s already working the room.” He pointed toward the bar, where Cairo was now standing, chatting animatedly with a group of senior managers.

You clenched your jaw, the sight of her effortless charm setting you on edge. Of course, she was already playing the game. Cairo Sweet didn’t just show up—she made sure everyone noticed her.

Determined not to let her get under your skin, you grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server and made your way across the room. You weren’t about to let her win tonight.

But just as you reached the edge of the bar, Cairo turned, her sharp gaze locking onto yours like a heat-seeking missile. Her lips curved into a smirk, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension.

“Y/n,” she greeted smoothly, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoying the party?”

“Trying to,” you shot back, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Though it’s hard to relax when certain people keep making everything about them.”

Her smirk widened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, you know.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, your colleague and best friend Glenn’s voice cut in.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, you two,” he said, stepping between you with a grin. “Can’t you at least pretend to get along for one night? It’s the holidays.”

“Tell that to her,” you said, jerking your thumb toward Cairo.

“Please,” Cairo scoffed, crossing her arms. “If anyone needs a lesson in playing nice, it’s you.”

Glenn laughed, clearly unfazed by the tension. “Classic you two. Anyway, don’t let me interrupt. Just thought I’d enjoy the show while it lasts.”

As Glenn stepped away, Cairo leaned in again, her eyes glinting with something you’ve seen countless times. “Careful, Y/n. Keep glaring at me like that, and people might think you actually care.”

With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there, your champagne untouched and your pulse racing.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate her, you sure spend a lot of time looking for her,” Glenn says turning around and rejoining the conversation, holding a drink in one hand and his trademark grin on full display.

You groaned internally. Of course, Glenn had to watch that interaction. Your best friend always had a knack for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. “Don’t start,” you muttered, shooting him a warning look.

“What? I’m just saying,” He teased, leaning casually against the nearby bar. “First thing you do when you walk into a room is look for her. It’s like clockwork.”

“I wasn’t looking for her,” you lied, adjusting your tie again.

Glenn barked out a laugh. “Right. And I’m next in line for CEO. Come on, admit it—you love the drama. You and Cairo going at it is like some kind of soap opera for this office. My sister says even her team takes bets on who’s gonna snap first.”

You rolled your eyes, though your stomach twisted at the mention of Winnie. Of course, Glenn’s sister would be involved— Cairo and Winnie were practically inseparable. And if Winnie was anything—she was observant. If Winnie was running her mouth about you and Cairo, then there was no telling what kind of nonsense the office was spinning.

“Winnie doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” you said firmly.

Glenn raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure she doesn’t. Look, I get it. Cairo can be... intense. But you’ve gotta admit, she keeps you on your toes. Maybe that’s why you’re so obsessed with hating her.”

“Obsessed?” you repeated, incredulous. “I’m not obsessed. She’s just—”

“Here we go,” Glenn interrupted with a grin, gesturing for you to continue. “Let me guess. She’s arrogant, competitive, impossible to work with—did I miss anything?”

You scowled, crossing your arms. “She’s all of that and more. Trust me, if I could avoid her, I would.”

Your friend smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Uh-huh. Sure. But you’d be bored out of your mind without her around. Admit it, she makes things interesting.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat as your eyes found Cairo again. She was across the room now, laughing at something Winnie said, her smile lighting up the space around her.

Glenn followed your gaze and let out a low whistle. “Man, if that’s what hatred looks like, then sign me up.”

You tore your eyes away, glaring at him. “Shut up, G.”

He just laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, buddy. But if there's something else going on,” he winks, "Then feel free to confide in me."

You shook your head, as he walked off looking to network with someone that could probably make him the next CEO. You gave up on the champagne and flag the bartender down to make you something stronger.

The bartender, a sharp-eyed woman with a no-nonsense air, approached with a towel slung over her shoulder. She tilted her head, her lips quirking in an amused smile as she set a tumbler in front of you. "Let me guess—bad night already?"

You sighed, resting your elbows on the bar. "You have no idea."

As she mixed your drink, she glanced at you, her brow lifting. "You’re Y/n, right?"

You froze. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

She leaned closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially. "I’ve heard the whispers. You and Sweet." Her lips pulled into a smirk. "You guys really hate each other that much, or is it just for show?"

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. "Seriously? Even the bartender knows?"

She laughed, sliding your drink across the bar. "Hey, I’ve got ears. And let me tell you, office gossip is way more entertaining than the soap operas my grandma used to watch. People are saying it’s like the ultimate rivalry. You know, ‘will they or won’t they.’"

"It’s a ‘won’t they,’" you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. "Definitely a ‘won’t they.’"

The bartender shrugged, unconvinced. "If you say so. But honestly, you two sound like you’re either gonna kill each other or..." She trailed off, her smirk widening.

"Don’t even finish that sentence," you warned, pointing at her with your glass, looking around you for prying ears.

She chuckled, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. For now."

As you took another sip, you glanced down the bar and froze. There she was—Cairo—leaning casually against the counter, her red dress shimmering under the dim lights. Beside her, some overly confident guy was clearly trying his luck, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Cairo’s smile didn’t falter, but you could tell from the way her body angled slightly away from him that she wasn’t interested.

Your grip on the glass tightened.

The bartender, noticing your shift in attention, followed your gaze. "Ah, there she is. The infamous Cairo. Gotta admit, she’s got style."

The bartender then noticed her pushy company. "Looks like someone’s got her hands full."

You rolled your eyes, downing the rest of your drink in one gulp. "Yeah, well, she can handle it."

"Sure she can," the bartender said with a smirk. "But you’re still watching, aren’t you?"

You ignored the comment, setting the empty glass on the counter. "Thanks for the drink," you said curtly before standing and adjusting your tie.

Your focus already zeroed in on the scene unfolding at the other end of the bar. You knew more than anything that Cairo could handle this situation herself, but your legs had a mind of their own.

By the time you reached her, just as you’d predicted, the guy was already retreating, his shoulders slumping with dejection. Cairo’s sharp gaze followed him for a second before shifting to you. Her expression softened, ever so slightly, but her voice remained crisp.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Y/l/n?" she asked, tilting her head.

You slid into the space the guy had just vacated, leaning casually against the bar. "Just doing my civic duty. Looked like you were stuck with a walking HR complaint."

Cairo smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. "And here I thought you were avoiding me tonight. How uncharacteristic of you."

You shrugged, signaling to the bartender for another drink. "Not everything’s about you, Sweet. I was thirsty."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint hidden beneath her usual sharpness. "Right. And yet, here you are, conveniently stationed right next to me."

The bartender slides you another drink.

You met her gaze, holding it for a beat longer than necessary. "If you want to believe the universe keeps throwing us together, who am I to argue?"

"Well," she said, her voice quieter but no less cutting, "the universe must have a cruel sense of humor."

You smirked, setting your glass down. "Or it just knows how much fun we have hating each other."

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You have no idea."

Before you could respond, someone from your team called her name from across the room. Cairo straightened, her professional mask sliding back into place with ease.

"Looks like I’m needed," she said, her tone light but her eyes lingering on yours for just a moment too long.

"Don’t let me keep you," you said, stepping aside.

As she walked away, you couldn’t help but watch her go, the familiar mix of emotions churning in your chest.

————

The evening progressed with a blur of polite conversation and forced laughs as you navigated the crowd. Glenn eventually found you again, dragging you toward a smaller room just off the main ballroom where some of the younger employees, including Winnie, had apparently decided to congregate.

“Come on, Y/n, this is where the real party’s happening,” Glenn said, grinning as he pulled you along.

The room was cozier than the grand ballroom, with dim lighting and a more relaxed vibe. People were sprawled on couches, perched on armrests, or standing in clusters, laughing and chatting over drinks. The hum of conversation was punctuated by bursts of laughter as someone commanded the group with an animated story.

You scanned the room, and your stomach flipped when you spotted Cairo sitting comfortably on the armrest of a couch, a drink in hand and a look of mild amusement on her face as she listened to whatever Winnie was telling. Great. Of course she was here.

“Y/n!” Winnie called out, spotting you and immediately waving you over. “Come join us. We were just talking about your legendary showdown with Cairo last month.”

You rolled your eyes as Glenn shoved you toward the group. “Can we not?” you muttered, but it was too late.

Cairo’s gaze flicked to you, her expression unreadable, but you swore there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The evening wore on, and the atmosphere grew increasingly relaxed as more drinks flowed. Someone turned on music, and a few people started dancing in the center of the room. Glenn, ever the life of the party, was in his element, cracking jokes and keeping everyone entertained.

Then, out of nowhere, someone shouted, “Mistletoe!”

The room fell silent as heads turned, eyes scanning for the culprits. You froze, your gaze darting up instinctively. There it was—dangling innocently from the ceiling above you. And of course when you turn to see who had occupied the space behind you—Cairo.

“Oh, this is too good,” Glenn said, his grin so wide it practically split his face. “Y/n and Cairo, under the mistletoe? This is golden.”

Winnie’s laughter rang out, and someone else whistled. “Rules are rules, you two!”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as the room erupted into cheers and chants of, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Cairo, ever composed, arched an eyebrow at you, her lips quirking into a half-smile that only you could see.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as every eye in the room bore into you. There was no escape, no snarky comment that could deflect this situation.

“Oh, come on, guys. I’m not trying to deal with HR on Monday,” you said with a dry laugh, taking a small step back from Cairo and the mistletoe.

From the crowd, Glenn’s voice rang out, loud and clear, “Boo! Loser! HR’s not invited to this party!”

The room erupted into laughter and cheers, with someone else shouting, “Yeah, live a little, Y/n!”

Before you could respond, Cairo rolls her eyes, and sighs dramatically like what she's about to do will take the life out of her. "I guess we can't break tradition."

And then her lips brushed yours in a soft, little more than corporate friendly, fleeting, yet enough to send a spark through your entire body kiss. The room erupted into cheers and whoops as she pulled back, her expression unreadable.

You immediately wiped your lips as Cairo turned on her heel and walked away into the crowd, leaving you standing there, dazed and entirely unsure of what the hell just happened.

You blinked, still rooted to the spot, before your feet carried you instinctively toward Glenn and Winnie. Glenn’s face lit up the moment he saw you, his mouth opening to unleash whatever snarky comment was brewing.

“Don’t,” you snapped sharply, holding up a hand, your voice laced with a warning edge that made him laugh even harder.

Winnie raised her glass in mock salute, biting back a grin. “What? No post-mistletoe debrief?”

You groaned, rubbing a hand down your face. “I hate both of you.”

Glenn smirked. “Sure you do, buddy. Sure you do.”

————

Moments later in a dimly lit private room in the venue, the faint thrum of the music from the party outside is barely audible through the thick walls. Cairo’s hands are tangled in your hair, her touch possessive and demanding as her back presses against the edge of a table. Her lips are on yours, urgent and searing, leaving no space for hesitation.

You gasp softly, breaking away just long enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Cairo’s dark eyes lock onto yours, her flushed face illuminated by the faint glow of fairy lights strung along the walls.

“You didn’t have to look that disgusted when you kissed me,” she breathes, her voice low but edged with challenge.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you tease, lips quirking into a smirk. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

Her expression hardens playfully, and before you can react, she grabs your red tie—the one you deliberately wore to match with her dress. She tightens it just enough around her fist to make you stumble closer—and pulls you into a kiss that obliterates any thought of teasing. It’s heated, raw, and dripping with hours of pent-up tension. Her nails rake lightly against the back of your neck as her other hand fists the fabric of your shirt, holding you close like she can’t bear to let go.

Your hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silky fabric of her dress as you kiss her back with equal fervor, pouring every ounce of your secret into the moment. The world outside could have been burning to the ground, and neither of you would have noticed.

When you finally pull away for air, your forehead rests against hers, both of you panting. A grin spreads across your face as you take in her disheveled hair and swollen lips. “Think anyone suspects us after that kiss under the mistletoe?”

Cairo shakes her head slightly, her lips barely an inch from yours. “Not a chance,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of satisfaction and mischief. “They’re too busy thinking we hate each other.”

“Good,” you reply, your grin turning sly as you capture her lips again. This time, the kiss is slower but no less passionate, a promise that this secret, this fire between you, is yours alone.

For now.

Taglist: @cobaltperun @machyishere @freakshow2501 @nwestra @mcchicken88 @101rizzlrr @snowdrop1026 @ilovesneezing069 @btay3115 @burntoutghost

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | Part 3

CW: A man being creepy at the gym

AO3 | Part 1

“She gave me a gift card.”

König stares at his boots, arms crossed and shoulders resting against the back of his therapist’s couch.

“I’m not seeing why this makes you so upset.” Rich shifts in his chair across the small room, putting his stylus on the screen of his tablet. “Last time we talked you told me you were worried about a woman you had helped at the gym since she had been hurt and now you’re mad that she gave you a gift card to say thank you for the help?”

Frustrated, König turned to stare out the window. Sometimes squirrels would scamper down the powerline and give him an excuse to avoid trying to find words. He doubted he would find the words for this feeling in any of the languages he knew.

“I am…upset because,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “Danke was enough.”

“Do you feel like it’s fair to say you are upset because the exchange of money changed the interaction for you?”

“Ja,” he nodded.

“Okay,” Rich glances at his watch. “Can I give you my thoughts on the matter? I know you’ve been working at understanding others more.”

König narrows his eyes but nods his consent. He had worked with Rich for enough years to trust his opinion.

“You said she told you that she would bring a card the next day you saw each other but insisted after you walked her to her car, right?”

“Ja.”

“Okay, did you consider that she felt like asking for help needed something in return? Walking a woman to her car is a layer of safety, a measure of security that to her must have been a weight off her shoulders. She doesn’t know you well but wants the exchange to be equal. Could it be that she didn’t want to burden you?”

König turns the words over in his mind. You had been so apologetic even ask you asked for his help. The only time König had ever feared for his life had been under the hands of his vater.

“Help is no burden,” he argues, not quite willing to concede the point.

“I don’t imagine that it is, you work hard to be kind. I am saying that from her perspective, help and kindness are not guaranteed. By virtue of being a woman, she is always at a disadvantage and will do what she can to keep herself safe.”

He grunted.

“Sorry König, this might be one of those times to use radical acceptance. You will never understand the fear of existing in a small body where every man is a threat.” Rich shrugged one shoulder.

A moment passes in silence before König reveals the other reason the interaction bothered him so much.

“She has started to appear in my art.”

That got a double eyebrow lift from Rich. It wasn’t often that König caught his therapist by surprise.

“You’re art is how you process a lot of the trauma from serving right? How do you feel that your gym buddy is in your art?”

“Conflicted.”

Rich said nothing, only noting something on his tablet.

The silence compelled him to speak more. Rich knew it and König knew Rich knew it.

“Carving her feels different. Pulling memories from stone reminds me of the sting of pain.”

“How does carving her feel?”

“Freeing.”

Rich studies König. König leans over and picks through the basket of fidgets that sat at the end of the couch.

“Do you want to go into that more or leave it for now?”

König delayed answering until he pulled puddy between his hands.

“Leave it.”

“I’ll make a note to check back on the topic next time we chat then. How is your art selling right now? It’s still on display at the gallery right?”

They drift into more familiar and safe discussions.

There is only five minutes left. He has been watching the clock. There wouldn’t be time to get deep into this.

“Tell me to stop, to stop talking to her.”

Rich’s brows lift with confusion, it is also in the lilting of his voice, “You want me to tell you to stop making a human connection? The goal we’ve been working toward for nearly seven months now?”

König scowled as he shifted on the couch, arms folding across his chest. It sounded stupid when he put it that way.

“It’s okay to be scared König. This is a big step.”

He doesn’t reply, debating how to settle this struggle within himself.

“Did you already schedule your regular appointment with the front desk?” Rich asks, letting the topic drop.

One thing he excelled at carving had always been hands. The intricacies and the expressions that can be found in fingers had fascinated him. It was your hands he pulled from a small chunk of granite. Before he knew they were your hands he had carved a delicate ring on the left hand. The fingers on the left hand curled over the right ones, the piece ending below the right wrist. The pose reminded him of how you held pressure on your bleeding finger those weeks ago.

Frustrated he set it aside to continue on a massive piece. With a view into a building, as wide as he is tall, a house of worship is starting to come together. He carved out the rough shapes of the pillars and dug through the stone to what he had decided to be the back wall. Now came the time-consuming work of removing stone until he could begin to carve the bodies that lay scattered along the floor. This had been one of his worst nightmares. They had been too late.

Music drifted through the space from his built-in speakers. König worked late into the afternoon until Feather, the gallerist, arrived to peruse his recently completed carvings to see which she would like to house and which would be listed on the website or hawked directly to wealthy buyers.

Feather looked like she ran an art gallery. Her bold colors, expensive suits, matching lipstick, and perfectly done hair always set König on edge. Even in her heels, the top of her head reached his elbow. He remained seated as she let herself into his studio.

“Ah! There is my favorite artist. Where are the new pieces for me?” She breezed past him as he stayed seated on his stool. Feather knew where the new pieces would be by now.

Ignoring her, König focused on his carving. He could not work while anyone else existed in his studio but this process of removing stone to access the image didn’t count.

After several minutes Feather appeared in his line of view.

“I want the whole lot, stellar as always my dear.” She spoke with a crispness to her words, as if her job required a level of uppityness.

“Same terms as always,” König fiddles with the edge of his chisel. It needs to be sharpened soon.

“Agreed,” Feather crosses her arms. Her eyes drift over his current work in progress before she turns and points to the hands he had set aside.

“How much for the hands?”

A chill wraps itself around his spine.

“Not for sale.”

A good business woman Feather narrows her eyes at him and throws out a number much higher than they usually agreed upon for smaller pieces. He lifts a brow before shaking his head.

She tried three more offers before sighing and folding her arms dramatically.

“König I know all artists are finicky about their work but I have a patron who has been asking for something like this for a long time. He would pay through the nose if I sent him a photo. He would pay especially well since it is your work.”

“Goodbye Feather,” he pulled the remote from his pocket and increased the volume of the music.

He didn’t create for money. König carved images from stone because if he left them inside they would fester and canker his soul.

Feather got the message and fired off a text to him before leaving of when her team would be by to pick up all the pieces agreed upon and confirmed his payment would be sent via wire after they arrived at the gallery. He marked the messages as read and set all his tools in their home nearly an hour later. Eating a quick meal he readied himself for the gym, and more of you.

His time with KorTac gave him the ability to appear focused while his mind drifts. Sliding through his thoughts König cannot quite decide how to feel about the interactions he has had with you. Bringing you up in therapy hadn’t helped yet.

When the doors move and allow you entry König is shocked at your smile as your eyes find his. He reciprocates the small wave you give him as you head into the changing room. Then curses himself for the niggle of brightness that your smile brought. Continuing his workout König kept you in sight but did not approach. He had been stilted and stiff when you had pressed the gift card into his hands on Wednesday and didn’t know how or if he wanted to try and bridge that gap.

A man approaches you four different times in the span of twenty minutes. When you finally snap at him, anger contorting your face, you point to König. He watches as you stomp away from the man and approach him instead.

Any anger disappeared from your eyes by the time you reached him. You folded your arms tight to your chest and blinked rapidly as if to fight back tears. When you stopped you stood entirely too close for the acquaintances that you were.

“König?”

“Ja?”

“Can you bend down a moment for me?”

He does as requested, not pausing to think that he should not accept orders from you.

“There is a man that is bothering me and I told him you were my boyfriend. Can you pretend until he leaves?”

König can only blink at you before glaring at the man in question. The prick sneers a huff of breath in your direction.

“How does one pretend to be a boyfriend?” He keeps his volume low.

“You could put a hand on my waist or something? I just need him to leave me alone. The reason I like this gym is most of the guys only talk to me when they have a correction or to encourage me to hit a new PR. I don’t want to leave but if he keeps bothering me I am gonna have to go home,” you tighten your folded arms to your chest, clearly upset.

Following the twitch of his muscles König pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head as he lets his killer face stare out at the man who bothered you. The fucker tries to maintain a sneer, but when your arms slip around König’s waist and the hateful glare pummeling him from across the gym becomes too much he man left in a tizzy.

When you pull back from the hug König struggles to return his hands to his sides and not leave them trailing the top of your hip bones. His fingers ache both from the touch and the lack of contact.

You rub a palm under one eye, wiping away the wetness that collected there.

“Thanks, sorry. I had a bad day at work and then the nonsense with a guy being a jerk I might actually call it a night.” You sniff lightly, giving him a watery smile.

“We can work out together if you want?”

König took whatever courage he had found a way to take the reigns and shake it until the bastard had to be dead in his skull.

You rub a thumb beneath your nose, face contemplative.

“That would actually be okay, yeah.”

He blinks at you, unsure why you would say yes. And then unsure of how to make this work.

“I don’t want to disrupt your routine,” you rush to fill the silence that had grown between you, “I can do whatever you are doing today, provided we fix the weights for me.”

Nodding König replies, “Company is welcome, but no offering to pay.”

You tongue at your teeth behind your lips.

König gives a startled laugh. You had labeled the feeling he and his therapist were unable to articulate.

“Okay, you are uncomfortable with thank-you gifts. Got it.”

“Ja, help is given, not bought.”

A beautiful blush stains your cheeks. The sight of your blushing smile sticks like a bur on a sock as he walks you to your car and waves to you as you disappear into the night. The change in color on your face haunts his dreams.

Masterlist | Chiseled Heart Masterlist

@backseatsoldier minor updates from what you read but 😘