#i PROMISE i will do better just let me meet her and have her sign my little guardian angel card PLEASE 🙏🏽

[ofmermaidstories]

i am going to a weyes blood, ethel cain and babymetal concert all within the span of a week and i am so excited i am vibrating right now in my seat and cannot literally concentrate on anything.

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[ilovemitsuya]

Hiii!!! Can I request a ff where reader is sick and is trying to hide it from Sylus but he notices right away and insists he take care of her.

sylus x reader

The first signs were easy enough to ignore. A dull ache in my chest, a persistent weariness that clung to me no matter how much I rested. I told myself it was just stress, but as the days passed the symptoms grew worse. My strength began to wane, and the pain became harder to hide. I stared at my computer not noticing a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay? You’ve been staring at your screen for a while now.” I look over my shoulder to see Tara staring at me.

“I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.” I said as I looked away from her.

“I think you should take it easy. You’ve been overworking yourself a lot.” She thought for a moment, her finger resting on her chin. “I know! Me and the others are going to do karaoke you should join us.”

I thought about it for second. I could really use the time to go out but I couldn’t even speak, let alone sing. “I’m sorry can we do it next time?”

Tara put on a frown “Awh, next time you better go. Promise?”

I looked at her with a smile

“Promise.”

Besides, I’m meeting up with Sylus later on. Suddenly i remembered that he had a business trip he was talking about. He said I had to go but I can’t let him see me like this. Otherwise he would stay with me and not even go himself. It was an important trip I didn’t want to ruin it for him.

I knew Sylus would notice eventually.

He was too observant, too attuned to every detail of my life.

So I hid it. I avoided his gaze when I would have to excuse myself when the coughing fits became too intense. I thought I was being careful, and that I could keep this secret until I found a way to manage it on my own.

But I underestimated him.

╔══════╗

“You're late, sweetie." he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “If I had to wait any longer I would’ve sent Mephisto out looking for you.”

Sylus said leaning back on his motorcycle.

“Yeah, that won’t be necessary.”

Sylus gave me one last look before he threw a motorcycle helmet my way nearly dropping it.

He patted the seat behind him when he noticed I wasn’t moving.

I was way too tired to even move.

“Get on or I’m leaving without you.”

I snap out of my thoughts and quickly scram to sit behind him.

———-

At first it was subtle. A slight hesitation in her step, a flash of pain quickly masked by a practiced smile. Sylus watched her from the corner of his eye, his mind a whirlwind of calculations.

She was careful. Too careful. Avoiding his gaze when she thought he wasn't looking, suppressing coughs when she thought he wasn't listening. But Sylus knew. He always knew.

He sat in the chair by the window, the vastness of the space outside doing very little to calm his mind. His fingers tapped against the armrest, each tap a mark of his growing frustration. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his bones.

“Mephisto, keep a close eye on her.”

caw caw

She had been acting differently for days now. And while she thought she had done her best to hide it, Sylus was not one to be easily deceived.

╔══════╗

I knew he started watching me more closely. His eyes narrowing with that sharp, calculating look I knew so well. I could feel his suspicion growing, could sense the weight of his gaze on me even when I wasn't looking. But I kept up the act, clinging to the hope that I could keep him in the dark just a little longer.

Later that evening he barged in the room without warning, his presence filling the room with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. I looked up, startled, meeting his eyes only to see the truth in them - he knew.

"You're sick," Sylus stated, his voice low and void of the warmth he had once reserved for me.

For a moment, I tried to deflect, to brush it off as nothing. "What? I’m perfectly fine.” I said trying to hold in my cough. Perfect timing.

But it was the way the energy shifted in the room. The way he loomed over me with a commanding presence, his expression unreadable made it clear there was no escaping this. "Don't lie to me." he hissed, and the force of his words sent a shiver down my spine.

"You're hiding something."

I shook my head, standing to meet him. But there was a hesitation in my movements, a reluctance I couldn't fully hide. "No, I haven't. I've just been... tired. There's nothing to worry about."

But Sylus was done with her evasions.

He grabbed her wrist, not roughly, but firmly enough to stop her from retreating.

"Don't lie to me, Sweetie." he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Something's wrong. I can see it. You've been hiding it from me, and I want to know why."

I pulled my wrist from his grasp and took a step back, shaking my head. "It's nothing, Sylus. I'm fine.

You don't need to worry."

"Don't you dare try to shut me out," he growled, his tone sharper than he intended. "I know something is wrong, and I won't let you deny it."

Sylus thought she might continue to deny it. But then she crumbled, her shoulders slumping as she finally let her guard down.

"I've been feeling sick," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "It started a few days ago, and it's just been getting worse. I didn't want to tell you because I wanted you to let me go to that business trip with you.”

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek with a surprising gentleness.

“Is that what this is all about? You were hiding your sickness because you wanted me to let you go on the business trip?”

I leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in days. "Yes, I’m sorry.”

His expression hardened again, but there was a softness in his eyes that made my heart ache. "Well, you’re right, you’re not going."

“But I—“

“I’m canceling the trip. I’m staying here with you until you feel better.”

He looked back at me, and for a brief moment, I saw something tender in his gaze, something that reminded me why I had fallen for him in the first place.

“I knew something was wrong. Mephisto snitched you out.”

That damn bird.

"Let's get you to bed," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. "You need to rest."

He picked me up bridal style and held me in his arms.

"I'm fine, Sylus. I don't need to be treated like-"

He silenced her with a look, one that she couldn’t argue against. "You need to rest," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "And I'm going to make sure you do."

Without waiting for her response, Sylus guided her toward the bed.

She hesitated for a moment, but the exhaustion was too much, and she allowed him to help her lie down.

Sylus moved with a surprising gentleness, adjusting the pillows and smoothing the blankets as he settled her in.

Once she was comfortable, he sat down beside she on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His touch was soft, tender. A stark contrast to the man who ruled Onychinus with an iron fist.

"You've been pushing yourself too hard," he murmured, his eyes studying her face with an intensity that was almost protective.

"You need to let me take care of you. You’re like a sick kitten who needs to be monitored."

I looked up at him, my eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"I didn't want to worry you,"

Sylus's expression softened even further, his thumb gently tracing the outline of my cheek. "You worrying me by hiding things is worse," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you."

He leaned down, pressing his cheek to my forehead, lingering there for a moment as if he was attempting to strengthen me.

When he pulled back, my eyes were already starting to droop, the weight of the day finally catching up. But even as sleep began to claim me, I reached out, my hand finding his.

"Sylus," I murmured, voice drowsy. "Stay with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere,” he promised. His voice steady. He slipped under the blankets, his arms wrapping around me protectively. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

Sylus held her close, his fingers gently stroking her hair. He listened as her breathing slowly evened out, the tension in her body melting away as she drifted into sleep.

For a long time, Sylus simply watched her. His mind racing with plans for when she wakes up. As she slept, Sylus allowed himself to relax, the tight coil of worry in his chest loosening for the first time in days. He would take care of her, no matter what it took. Because she was worth protecting at all costs.

I’ll kiss anyone who requests

[5sospenguinqueen]

Who Cried More | Oscar Piastri x Driver! Reader

Summary: When Yn fills in for a sick Alex Albon, it's fairly easy to tell who is most excited about her debut race in F1.

Warnings: Fluff. 2024 season. Williams driver

Requested: Yes by anon

Faceclaim: Lia Block (as she is a Williams driver) but imagine who you like

Main Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

user1 @/oscarpastryyy being a bit optimistic there. she’s never raced in f1 and she’s in a williams

→ user2 yes but this is the woman who won f2 in her rookie year so

→ user3 plus she’s a woman! if anyone can force that williams into doing something spectacular, it’ll be her 

oscarpiastri woohoo. i can’t believe i’m going to be beaten at a race by my amazing girlfriend

→ mclarenf1 oscar, this is not the kind of optimism we expect

→ notlogansargeant please, she’s still in a williams 

→ landonorris mate, we all know you’re a simp but you’re supposed to want to beat HER

→ yn_ln are you just jealous that you won’t be his #1 on the grid this weekend?

→ landonorris hey! i will always be his #1

logansargeant looking forward to having you on the other side of the garage

→ alex_albon you never say that to me

→ yn_ln i’ll see you at team torque first!

→ alex_albon is there anything you haven’t taken from me?

→ lilymhe no. she’s had me since williams signed her as the reserve

→ oscarpiastri pardon?

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

f1 just posted

liked by yn_ln, oscarpiastri and others

f1 a phenomenal race delivered by @/yn_ln as she stands atop the podium for a maiden win in her debut race!!!! this also marks william’s first grand prix win since 2012

14,569 comments

yn_ln what an unbelievable day. i don’t think i’ve stopped smiling. i can’t thank everyone at williams enough for the opportunity given to me. definitely a day to remember 

oscarpiastri THAT’S MY GIRL! EVERYONE LOOK AT WHAT MY GIRL DID

→ yn_ln thank you sweetheart. you had such an amazing race as well

→ landonorris you could celebrate that i got p2 :(

→ oscarpiastri BUT MY GIRL GOT P1!!!

→ landonorris @/yn_ln please go back to just watching races

→ yn_ln oh…

→ landonorris wait, no, i’m sorry. you did a great job

→ oscarpiastri yes, she did! she did an amazing job! 

logansargeant well done, mate. great weekend with you

→ oscarpiastri back off (but also show more enthusiasm)

→ logansargeant YOU GO, GIRL (better @/oscarpiastri?)

→ oscarpiastri yes

charles_leclerc fantastique job, yn ❤️ proud to call you my daughter-in-law

→ yn_ln omg a trophy and charles leclerc congratulating me

→ oscarpiastri you promised you wouldn’t do this if i let you meet him

→ yn_ln whoa, what happened to being proud of me

→ oscarpiastri THAT’S MY GIRL! 

alex_albon um, you can keep the car in this case

yn_ln just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and others

yn_ln what an unbelievable day. i got to share a podium with my favourite boy and make history. a massive thank you to everyone who has supported me throughout the years. i wouldn’t have made it this far without all of you 🤍

8,456 comments

oscarpiastri whoa, this morning i was your handsome man. why has my masculinity been demoted

→ landonorris because you cried your eyes out for over an hour 

→ yn_ln @/mclaren you better have made sure he hydrated after 

→ oscarpiastri you care about me 🥹

→ landonorris so do i 🙄

oscarpiastri okay but i love you so much and you’ve worked so hard for this. and know you’ve shown all the idiots who doubted you just how amazing you are. i’m so lucky to call myself your boyfriend and i can’t wait to see your trophy displayed on our shelf at home

→ yn_ln right next to all of yours, my gorgeous man

→ oscarpiastri yay i’m a man again

→ landonorris not to me you're not

nicolepiastri fantastic job, sweetheart. don’t think i’ll be making it to pilates in the morning 🍾

→ oscarpiastri the best reason to cancel

→ yn_ln 💕

user4 i love the fact that she used her f1 academy helmet to honour where she started and she ended up winning with it

williamsracing a weekend to remember 

→ oscarpiastri heck yeah it is. she got you some points! 

→ user5 oscar being yn’s biggest hype man is adorable

→ user6 the fact that she overtook him on the last few laps and he still hasn’t got his maiden win but he doesn’t care because he’s so happy that she got hers

→ landonorris we get it, he’s whipped

→ user7 and you’re jealous that his attention isn’t on you anymore 

oscarpiastri just posted

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and others

oscarpiastri my sweetheart, i am in awe of you. tonight we celebrated not only your debut in f1 but an exceptional win. i know by the time you see this, your head will be pounding and you’ll be begging me for greasy food and paracetamol but i cannot wait to see what you do next 

5,328 comments 

user8 ladies, get you a man who cried more than you did at your maiden win

→ user9 he hasn’t got his own win yet but he didn’t care. he sprinted his way over to her sobbing

yn_ln baby i love you but why did you post that picture of me. i don’t think i even remembered my name at this point 

→ landonorris yet you remembered your boyfriend enough to snog him for 10 mins straight

→ oscarpiastri don’t shame her. she just won a grand prix. she can snog me as much as she likes 

→ landonorris @/yn_ln no but seriously, please don’t come back

→ mclaren lando, pr said you can’t say that anymore

→ landonorris but she’s stealing my oscar 

→ yn_ln and your trophies

→ williamsracing we’ll let that slide because we’re so proud 

logansargeant that pic of oscar carrying yn is only a sliver of how down bad he is

→ charles_leclerc i can attest to that. he also carried her purse the entire night 

→ georgerussell63 and held her hair back when she did no hands shots

→ oscarpiastri it’s called being a GOOD boyfriend

alex_albon sorry i couldn't be there to celebrate but being bedridden turned out to be a good thing this weekend

→ oscarpiastri i can’t thank you enough for being sick

→ user10 not this guy acting like he's the one who won 😂

→ oscarpiastri my badass girlfriend won and that is close enough for me

→ yn_ln my heart 🧡🤍

oscarpiastri i can’t wait to share the track with you next year

→ user11 what! say sike right now. yn contracted for f1 next year?!

→ yn_ln osc, please tell the internet that you’re still drunk

→ oscarpiastri oops

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

A/N: I wrote this prior to Osc winning today but I did make some amendments after

Requests welcome!

Tag list

@rosecentury @peachiicherries

[chlorinecake]

✰ don’t give me that look | l.at oneshot

pairing: switch! producer boyfriend! anton x sub! f. reader

🇨​​💿 ​​🇳​​🇹​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳​​🇸 ꗃ SIZE KINK, kissing, lap sitting, tit & clit play, anton records a sex-tape in the studio, unprotected sex (back shots), roughly 1.8k words … !?

a/n: for @antonitty and her delusions - hope u like it bae !!

You sat idly on the studio couch, admiring your boyfriend from afar as he silently toggled with the sound desk, mixing a few rhythms.

Crossing your legs, you eyed him up and down, taking in the view of his focused frame.

“You’re pretty good at flicking and twisting those knobs, y’know?… I wonder how nice it’d be if you used that same energy to please me…”

He let out a soft breath, eyes still trained on the soundboard as he spoke, “Babe, you know I’d rather spend time with you… I just have to produce this track sample before tomorrow…”

“And then?…”

“I’m all yours,” he finished, flashing you a promising look through his shaggy bangs.

“Fineeee,” you agreed in a sarcastic tone, slightly rolling your eyes at him, “but can you let me try something on the record first?… it might help…”

Anton quirked a brow, turning to meet your face with his own intrigued one, “You mean like… singing?”

You simply nodded in response, just before promptly getting up from the couch to sit on his lap at the music desk.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands now that you were this close to him, so he simply rested them at each arm of the spinning chair.

“You might even learn a thing or two from me if you pay attention,” you went on, knowing that he’d smile at your playful words.

“Go ahead then, superstar… blow me away,” he whispered tauntingly, keeping his thighs firm as you adjusted yourself on top of him.

With his headphones secured around his head, Anton prepared himself to hear whatever it was that you wanted to add to the track project.

Pressing the red “record” button, you let the instrumental play for a few moments as you got a feel of the beat, this one sounding more R&B compared to his usually chill rhythms.

You started by toggling in a few bass notes on the drum-pad, watching Anton’s reflection in the soundproof screen ahead for any sign of reaction.

So far, he only bobbed his head slowly, still anticipating your next move.

That’s when you picked up the mic, bringing it to your lips and letting out the most pornographic moan you could muster.

Anton’s hands flew from the chair arms to take off his headphones, reaching forward to pause the track recording as you suddenly burst into a fit of giggles.

“Babe, what the hell?” He blushed, covering his face with one hand as butterflies rushed through his stomach, the sound of your moan replaying in his mind over and over, “this is serious, y’know?”

You turned around in his lap, taking in your boyfriend’s shy demeanor as you fought to hold back the laughter growing in your chest.

“What? Was it bad? I can do better if you want me to…,” you pouted, batting your eyelashes at him as he put his hands behind his head, slightly smirking at you despite the evidently nervous red flush of his cheeks, “you can even help me...”

“Don’t give me that look, ____,” he sighed, voice sounding a bit more raspy while still maintaining its usual softness.

Was it nerves?

Was he horny?…

Either way, it didn’t matter to you because he sounded so fucking hot right now—

“What look?” you pressed with a feigned expression of innocence before very intentionally wiggling in his lap a bit.

“Like you wanna be fucked,” Anton said with a wince at your actions, letting his eyelids fall slightly while looking down at you with a clenched jaw.

You couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth so smoothly, his confidence alone causing you to squeeze your thighs together, already feeling so eager for him…

You couldn’t handle it when he behaved so switchy with you… starting off all shy before gradually becoming more and more bold.

His eyes eventually wandered back to the soundboard, so you took it as an opportunity to change the subject.

“You never told me if it was bad or not,” you started in the silence, mind just now becoming aware of Anton slowly getting harder beneath you.

“Well,” he hummed, letting his hands leave his head and slip down to your hips, “it was a solid 50-50, if I’m being honest…”

You scoffed dramatically, an offended hand flying to your chest, “How so?”

“Because… I always love the sounds you make for me, but not when you force them…”

His grip on your hips was firm now, holding you in place before just barely rocking you against his lap in skilled motions.

Despite the simplicity of his actions, your body started to feel dizzy with desire, mind fogging up as his clothed tip continued grinding beneath your core.

“Anton—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted, the feeling of his breath below your ear making you internally shiver, a feathery yet steady groan escaping his lips.

“Can I try something now?” he asked breathlessly, even though the question sounded more like a declaration than a proposal of permission.

“Mhmm,” you nodded submissively, eyes feeling heavy as the warmth amongst your bodies only grew, thanks to how stuffy the studio was.

Clicking the sound desk back on “record,” Anton slipped his headphones over your head, feeling himself get even hotter at how cute you looked in this moment, his chunky earmuffs barely fitting around your much smaller head.

By now though, Anton had easy access to your lower half, given the high-pleated-skirt you decided to wear that day.

You almost felt like half of your body escaped to another planet when Anton’s touch started to wander lower, his hands practically covering the entire expanse of your exposed thighs given how big they were.

His breath remained steady in this moment, despite how his heart kept stuttering like a broken record.

Or perhaps, a sexually excited one…

The subtle movements of your legs helped Anton to shimmy your panties down past your hips, all the way down to your ankles, and eventually the floor.

You sat with your soaking wet core atop your boyfriend’s lap now, two of his fingers soon finding your clit in slow, circular motions.

The thing was, Anton had finally let his intrusive thoughts win, having wanted to get a genuine recording of your moans for a while.

The idea always meddled in the back of his mind whenever you pranced into the studio while he was working on beats…

However, the only issue now was that you were feeling a bit shy with the recorder on again…

“C’mon baby, lemme hear you,” the boy nearly begged, words sounding a bit mumbled with the way he was kissing along your neck.

“I know you want to,” he taunted, free hand sliding up to grope your left tit while his other hand continued toying with your pussy, “no wonder you wore this slutty skirt for me today…”

His voice… it practically intoxicated you… the way it sounded so pure yet so condescending at the same time…

“F-fuck,” you stammered with a moan, furrowing your brows as his fingers applied pressure to your clit, the other hand slightly pinching your nipple as he knew just how to get you to those pretty sounds that he wanted out of you.

“Good girl~,” he whispered in a cooing manner, “but I know you can do better than that…”

He guided you to stand up on your wobbly legs, his fingers meddling with your slick as he towered behind you.

And although your ears were still muffed with his headset, you could clearly make out the sound of his belt unbuckling with tingly clinks, your pussy only pulsing with need.

Before you could even beg to be fucked, you felt one of Anton’s hands hike up your skirt, the other forcing your back to arch over the sound board as his hard length pressed between your folds.

He was way too fucking big, but part of you liked the idea of him potentially breaking you.

It wasn’t easy, but your boyfriend eventually slipped himself inside, letting his tip tease along the ridges of your heat before picking up the pace, the soft pants and occasional groans from his body sounding loud and clear thanks to the headphones you wore.

There was also something about hearing your own moans so audibly on top of his… hearing how he turned you into a whiny mess so easily…

Anton’s hazy eyes met your fucked out reflection in the glass screen ahead, your own vision wandering off to the sound wave reader on his music board.

The way it’s lines heightened with each desperate moan that left your sweaty bodies did nothing but crazy things to the knot tightening in your stomach.

“Touch me, Anton,” you practically whimpered, voice coming out in small hiccups given how hard he was pounding into you.

His hands were already so tight around your waist, but your whiny request let him know exactly where you wanted him… where you needed that extra intensity.

He went to grope your tits, lifting your body away from the sound board with ease as the sight of his flexed biceps nearly made you drool.

The pace of his hips remained fast and controlled as he continued fucking into you, the tip of his cock reaching so deep that you’re sure you felt it in your belly button.

Looking down, Anton saw that the recording had reached just over 3 minutes, despite how your pussy desperately clenched around him, a clear sign that you were close to finishing.

His mouth was full of saliva, not even remembering to swallow given how pleasure drunk he was right now.

And somehow, you caught onto this, turning your neck at an angle and guiding his plush lips to kiss you, only a few seconds passing before he inserting his tongue, grunting into your mouth.

“You sound so pretty, baby,” he said in between kissing you sloppily, right before taking his headphones off your head and tossing them on the couch, still connected to the music desk by a thin black wire, “listen…”

He whispered the last word against your lips, maintaining the most gentle look in his eyes as he kept bouncing your ass on his cock.

You meant to say something, but the weak cries of pleasure kept stalling your speech, the words becoming a jumbled mess in your head.

Anton’s strength helped to hold up your shaky body just as you felt your release gush around him, a bit of it seeping onto his thighs as he continued thrusting.

It didn’t take long for him to cum after that too, a beautiful series of moans spilling from his lips as he panted over you, letting his hand slide away to end the recording.

The screen read ‘5:18s’ before Anton reached over to save the track, leaving both of you shocked that you even finished that fast together…

Still a panting mess, your boyfriend held your hips close to his, letting his weight fall back in the spinning chair with you on top of him.

“We should totally do quickies in the studio more often,” you huffed tiredly, leaning back against Anton’s chest as he hugged you close, still inside your pussy.

“Not that I’m disagreeing with you, but maybe after I install an air conditioner in here, we can plan something,” he smiled, not even bothering to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face that inevitably kept your hot bodies clung together.

Your hand found his, fingers idly toying with the rings he wore as he adjusted himself beneath you, “I should probably let you get back to work now since I’ve distracted you enough already—”

“Let’s just stay like this for a little longer,” he interrupted, almost yawning at how comfortable he felt buried inside you in this moment, “please?”

“Of course, superstar,” you replied playfully, nestling into his warmth and letting your eyes fall shut as you listened to the sound of his gentle heartbeat…

✶ taglist: @squoxle, @nikisdubblchococake, @wonbinisbabygurl, @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @ot7sevenlvr

✶ 🎀 ✶ check out more works like this on my RIIZE masterlist !!

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1486 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist

You promised the girls just one blind date—nothing more, nothing less. At the time, it seemed like a harmless favor. But now, sitting across from your date in a dimly lit restaurant, the air thick with the aroma of their signature dish, the indistinguishable chatter of nearby diners, and the clatter of dinnerware, you’re starting to question that decision.

Connor shrugs, slicing into his steak with casual ease. “I didn’t do too much today. Babysat my nephew since my brother begged me,” he says, his tone indifferent. “But honestly, I hate babysitting his kid.”

“You don’t like kids?” You ask, doing your best to keep your voice neutral. You gingerly push your fork through another piece of pasta, trying to maintain an air of indifference.

He looks up at you, his dark curls nearly black and bouncing with the movement. “Hate ’em,” he says without hesitation.

You can’t help but notice how much he resembles an off-brand version of James, and it frustrates you. His familiar features keep pulling your thoughts back to your best friend instead of your date. At least, that’s the excuse you’ve been clinging to for the past hour.

“Oh.” You say softly, placing the food on your tongue and chewing slowly as you stare down at your plate.

“Do you have a kid or something?” You look up, a pause in your chewing as you find Conner holding his glass and watching you closely like he’s hoping you’ll say no.

Your first instinct is to say yes, and you nearly cringe when you realize your mistake.

You finish chewing and swallow hard. “Uh, no,” you say, shaking your head as you reach for your wine to wash down your feelings. “But my best friend does. Single parent.” You’re not sure why you felt the need to add that last part.

Connor leans back in his chair, nodding slowly. “Well, good for her,” he says. He isn’t sure why you’re telling him this, and frankly, he doesn’t care.

You sit up straighter. “Him,” you correct. Connor raises an eyebrow and not much later, he calls for the check.

James is surprised when he sees your call. He knows you’re supposed to be on a date—Lily mentioned it—and he’s been stress-cleaning his house ever since. Halfway through he gave up and turned a movie on instead.

“Darling?” He answers, “Is everything alright?”

“It could be better,” you say with a laugh that falls short of genuine humor. “I’m not too far from your place. Could I come over? I’m just at the Windmere.”

“Yeah. Let me—” There’s shuffling on the line as James grabs his jacket. “—I’ll meet you.”

You huff, “No. You’ve got Henry asleep upstairs.”

“It’s five minutes.” James protests, heading to the kitchen to grab the baby monitor off the counter.

“Exactly, Jamie. I’ll be there soon. I love you.” You hang up before he can respond, leaving him thoroughly disappointed. He appreciates every chance to tell you he loves you, even if it’s just as friends.

It takes you less than five minutes to get to his house, and James flings open the door before you can even knock, making you giggle.

“You worry so much about me, Potter.” You say with a teasing smile as you push past him and kick off your heels, the click of the shoes hitting the floor echoing in the entryway.

James stands by the door, his gaze following you with a mixture of concern and affection. “Of course I do. How could I not?” He replies, his voice earnest and warm.

You shrug off your jacket, and James’s gaze quickly settles on your tight black dress. The silky fabric clings to your figure and moves fluidly as you shift. James feels like he’s going to pass out from the sight—you look incredible, and he’s painfully aware that you’ve dressed up for another man.

He swallows hard, attempting to keep his voice steady. “So, how was the date?” He finally asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you might say next.

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, the slight embarrassment making you smile softly. “What gave it away—the dress or the girls?” you ask, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric of your dress as if to acknowledge it.

“The girls,” he admits, a small chuckle escaping him as he glances over at the baby monitor to check on his son. “But the dress would’ve been a dead giveaway if they hadn’t.”

You laugh, the sound light and teasing as you catch his gaze. “They’re awful at keeping secrets, aren’t they?”

“Was your date supposed to be a secret from me?” He asks, making his way to the couch with a curious look. The cushions sink slightly as he sits down, and you follow suit, settling in beside him.

“No, it wasn’t,” you say, surprised, turning to face James with wide, sincere eyes. “But I wasn’t exactly excited about it, either.”

He leans back, eyebrows furrowed, “Why not?”

You take a deep breath, your fingers nervously tracing the hem of your skirt. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice softening as you look away. “I’ve never been on a blind date before, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up. And I guess... I’m glad I didn’t, in the end.”

James watches you closely, his eyes filled with curiosity. He’s trying not to appear too eager to learn about this date of yours. “Why’s that? Didn’t go well?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly blink them away, hoping James doesn’t notice. But he does. “I just... I don’t know how to find someone,” you admit, your voice shaking slightly. “And it’s so discouraging that my friends set me up with a guy who’s completely wrong for me—well, except for his looks.”

James opens his mouth to ask what the guy looked like but holds back, sensing that this isn’t the moment.

“What does that say about my dating life?” You continue, a tear slipping down your cheek. “If my best friends don’t even know what I like in a guy?” You sniffle, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over your lips as you stare down at Henry’s toys scattered across the floor.. “I think I need to put myself out there more. Go on as many dates as possible. I need to meet someone.”

James feels like he’s going to be sick. He’s floundering for a way to tell you that, no, you absolutely shouldn’t. But how can he say that?

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Is there a rush? To find someone, I mean.”

You shrug, your gaze still fixed on the floor. “I know we’re both young, but I feel like if I don’t find someone now, it’ll only get harder down the line.”

“Oh.” He responds softly, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

A heavy silence settles between you, both lost in your thoughts, until you break it with a shaky voice. “Is there something wrong with me?”

James snaps his head up, startled. “What? No! Why would you even think that?” He asks, incredulous, his tone laced with concern.

“I’ve been asked out three times in my life,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “And two of those were back in school. Is there something wrong with me?” Finally, you turn to look at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears clinging to your lashes.

“Darling, no,” James insists, his voice filled with genuine concern as he scoots closer to you on the couch. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “You’re perfect.”

You sniffle, managing a small, sad smile. “Don’t lie to me, Jamie,” you say, trying to keep it light, but he can hear the trace of hurt beneath your words.

“I would never,” he murmurs, placing a tender kiss on your head as you settle back into his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes you. “You’re everything anyone could ever want—an absolute dream girl.”

“Stop it.” You whisper half-heartedly, though a part of you wants to believe him.

“I’m serious,” he insists, his voice firm yet gentle. “Whoever you end up with will be incredibly lucky.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, the room filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing.

“I’ll help you look for dates, if you want.” He offers suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Regret washes over him immediately; he wishes he could take them back. The mere thought of you on a date with another guy twists his stomach into knots, but actually helping you choose someone else? Brutal.

You tilt your head to press a kiss gently to his jaw. Your voice is a soft whisper, filled with gratitude, “Thank you, Jamie.”

He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

[plutoasteroids]

PAC How Will Your Future Spouse's Mother (Your Mother-In-Law) View You

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

This PAC is how your future spouse's mother will view you and any channelled messages I may get; it could be confirmations or anything their higher self wants to let you know.

AGAIN, TAKE WHAT RESONATES LEAVE WHAT DOESN'T THIS IS A GENERAL READING. If no pile resonates with you, it's fine don't force anything to resonate...again it's just a general reading.

PILE 1

Your future mother-in-law sees you as a breath of fresh air for their child (your future spouse) and their whole family.

Before your future spouse met you, they may have been going through some toxic cycles, bad habits or some kind of betrayal from someone or people close to them. For some of you your future spouse may have fallen into bad habits of some forms of addiction.

But after meeting you, your future spouse is going to want to change bring in positivty and healthy habits into his life because they don't want to lose you and their mother is going to notice the positive change and be so appreciative of you.

Your future mother-in-law sees you as smart, capable and they think you are really good at your job, hobbies or whatever it is you are good at. They admire how hard you work, and they feel like they won the lottery/ won in life by having you as their child in law (I don't know if that's a real thing so bear with me).

They view you as someone who is responsible and is able to keep a promise and hold accountability for their words and actions. You may even trigger some change in your future spouse's family as a whole because maybe it's the way you carry yourself or your work ethic that will make them go 'Dang we really have to do better; we can't be wasting life like this'.

She'll truly love how you have positively impacted her family.

Also, your mother-in-law said she'll baby you when I was channelling her because she recognizes how hard you work, and she wants to show you that you are appreciated and that it's time to take a rest and let someone else be the one to handle things and take care of you.

PILE 2

First thing I channelled from your future mother-in-law is that she will feel 'iffy' about you. Meaning that she's not sure if she likes you or not. Okay it's more like some things about you may rub your mother-in-law the wrong way like maybe she's more of a traditional housewife and you and your future spouse don't go according to traditional roles of spouses.

For example, if it's more of a straight couple maybe the wife works, and husband is a stay-at-home father.

-Maybe it's a same sex couple and the mother-in-law hasn't come to fully accept it.

-Another is the couple is again a straight couple and the wife refuses to have a child this could rub the mother-in-law the wrong way. There may be a lot of conflict between your future spouse and their mother about you because your mother-in-law would want their child to find someone else because obviously, they aren't so sure about you.

For other people your mother-in-law can try to compete with you for example 'The way I cook chicken is so much better' says your mother-in-law.

(You can take these as it being a sign a that the pile is for you)

But once she gets past those reservations the way she will view you is someone not very stable like you and your future spouse may like to travel a lot and are never in one place for too long and your mother-in-law could be like 'Why can't you just stay in one place it's not that hard'. But also, she sees your creative side, she sees you as a kind, gentle person with so much care within them.

She sees you as someone who has achieved so much that they can't help but praise you. They will also see you as someone very popular maybe you have a lot of followers or just a lot of friends in general.

They see you as the voice of reason, if anything goes wrong you are the best person to ask for advice, you are the best person to mediate an argument, you are the best person to a person, situation or an item fairly without an unbiased opinion (She might drag you shopping a lot and even show you off to her friends), more so because you have an obvious kindness and compassion to you that she can't help but love and admire about you despite her reservations. They will see you as strong, nurturing, courageous and passionate in the way you carry yourself and the way you talk.

They see you as someone who wants to protect their own peace, someone who wants to keep things balanced and harmonious.

-By the way Pile 2 she won't be like that with you forever she'll warm up. (Eventually😭)

PILE 3

I channelled 2 things from your future mother-in-law:

'You're a saint' and 'How can you deal with them'

Your future spouse may be a bit of a handful, a bit chaotic but in the 'I can't help but find it cute' kind of way.

Your mother-in-law finds you transformative, you never stay the same way for too long (not in a bad way) as in you will either only get better and better to them as time goes on or you just straight up change your appearance and aesthetic so much that it just throws your mother-in-law off.

Okay so your mother-in-law feels like you take really good care of not only yourself but your future spouse. They think you're physically so attractive (not in a creepy way), that you take extra care of your appearance, you may eat well and work out often.

But they also see you as creative and compassionate and your mother-in-law is just so happy to have you as part of her family and she may tell you this often from the moment your future spouse introduces you to her.

She feels like you're always on the move, you and your future spouse may travel a lot, you guys may go out a lot to dinners and parties, but I think these parties and dinners will be more on the luxurious side.

she said, 'as they should' (honestly your mother-in law is so supportive of you to the point that after you marry your future spouse, if you want to get married that is, that they won't even introduce you as their in law it's just 'this is my child'

Your mother-in-law sees you as successful, financially stable, attractive, nurturing and just overall they just absolutely adore you.

[daisymbin]

43. "how could you think i didn’t care?"

reader and jeonghan arguing because she feels like he never takes her concerns seriously and he realizes how much he’s unintentionally been hurting her feelings

reading this, I can already feel the hurt :/ thank you for requesting!!

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hannie's m.list

angst prompt #43: "how could you think I didn't care?"

“you never take me seriously, jeonghan!” your voice cracks, and you hate how weak you sound.

jeonghan stares at you, his usual teasing smirk nowhere to be found. his brows furrow, lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out.

“all you do is laugh it off when i try to tell you how i feel,” you continue, your chest tightening with every word. “i’m always the one bending over backward to make sure you’re okay, but when it’s me—” you pause, swallowing hard. “when it’s me, you act like it’s nothing. like i’m nothing.”

his expression shifts, his jaw tightening. “that’s not fair,” he says, his tone low but firm.

“oh, it’s not fair?” you laugh bitterly, the sound foreign even to your own ears. “what’s not fair is how you always brush me off. i tell you i’m upset, and you crack a joke. i tell you i’m stressed, and you say, ‘don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’” your hands tremble as you clutch at your sides. “do you even care, jeonghan? do you even—”

“how could you think i didn’t care?” his voice cuts through yours, louder than you’ve ever heard him. it startles you, and for a moment, the room feels too small for the both of you.

your breath catches, and you finally look at him. his eyes glisten with something you can’t quite place—hurt, anger, regret.

“you think i don’t care because i don’t know how to handle it?” he steps closer, his voice softer now but no less intense. “do you know how hard it is for me to see you hurting? to feel so... useless because i can’t fix it for you?”

“then why—” you start, but he cuts you off again.

“because i thought if i could make you laugh, it would help.” his voice wavers, and he looks away, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “i didn’t know it made you feel like this. like i wasn’t listening. like i didn’t care.”

your heart aches at the raw emotion in his voice, but the hurt lingers, refusing to let you soften completely. “but you never said that, jeonghan. you never... let me see that side of you. all i saw was someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

his shoulders slump, and for the first time, he looks small—vulnerable in a way you’re not used to. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, the words heavy with sincerity. “i didn’t realize i was hurting you. i thought i was helping. i thought...” he exhales shakily. “i thought you knew how much you mean to me.”

silence stretches between you, broken only by the faint hum of the world outside.

“how could i?” you say softly, your voice trembling. “you never said it.”

he steps closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly before resting on your shoulder. his touch is warm, grounding. “then let me say it now,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “you mean everything to me. you always have. and i’m sorry i didn’t show it the way you needed me to. i’m sorry i made you feel like you were alone in this.”

tears well in your eyes, and you hate how easily his words unravel you. “i just wanted to feel like i mattered to you,” you admit, your voice breaking.

his grip on your shoulder tightens ever so slightly. “you matter more than anything,” he says, his gaze locking with yours. “and i’ll do better. i promise.”

you search his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you see is the boy you fell for—the boy who, despite his flaws, is trying his best to meet you halfway.

and for now, that’s enough.

[amethystwrytes]

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum. 

“Can you stop please?” 

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands. 

“...Sorry…” 

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade. 

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber. 

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign. 

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse. 

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you. 

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes. 

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room. 

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again. 

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again. 

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?” 

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.” 

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.” 

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.” 

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks. 

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.” 

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation. 

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something. 

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk. 

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.” 

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.” 

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not. 

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.” 

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?” 

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter. 

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump. 

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.” 

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’ 

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing. 

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?” 

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk. 

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?” 

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.” 

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes. 

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic. 

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.” 

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates. 

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff. 

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.” 

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down. 

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.” 

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.” 

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.” 

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers. 

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.” 

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains. 

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?” 

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.” 

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses. 

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer. 

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles. 

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks. 

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him. 

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.” 

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it. 

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh. 

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him. 

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on. 

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile. 

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out. 

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg. 

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?” 

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.” 

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself. 

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable. 

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again. 

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades. 

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee. 

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up. 

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack. 

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing. 

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?” 

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment. 

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle. 

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease. 

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head. 

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit. 

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side. 

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment. 

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed. 

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?” 

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself. 

“Never something you what?” he presses. 

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.” 

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.” 

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him. 

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares. 

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves. 

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.” 

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.” 

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs. 

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego. 

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins. 

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder. 

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle. 

“Is this your building?” he points. 

“Yes, it is.” 

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers. 

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder. 

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard. 

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today. 

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag. 

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?” 

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished. 

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.” 

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes. 

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.” 

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks. 

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.” 

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.” 

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.” 

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!” 

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door. 

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying. 

“Already?” he looks at you. 

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?” 

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.” 

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him. 

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon. 

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?” 

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly. 

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.” 

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?” 

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone. 

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask. 

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares. 

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.” 

“Good, shall we?” 

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?” 

“No.” 

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back. 

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?” 

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down. 

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles. 

“I’ll get those right out.” 

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.” 

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.” 

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.” 

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?” 

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.” 

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?” 

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly. 

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table. 

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?” 

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon. 

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.” 

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu. 

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.” 

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug. 

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse. 

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door. 

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away. 

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again. 

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues. 

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing. 

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth. 

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?” 

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips. 

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car. 

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.” 

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in. 

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition. 

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up. 

“Uh…mine… mine I think.” 

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him. 

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness. 

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric. 

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?” 

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist. 

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel. 

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans. 

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably. 

“God…” 

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking. 

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily. 

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.” 

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth. 

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road. 

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours. 

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely. 

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth. 

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?” 

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs. 

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease. 

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.” 

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!” 

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room. 

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer. 

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs. 

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt. 

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.  

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you. 

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…” 

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly. 

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again. 

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs. 

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again. 

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind. 

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it. 

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster. 

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts. 

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest. 

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands. 

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.” 

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?” 

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.” 

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you. 

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.” 

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully. 

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

[azrielandhisshadows]

winter's kiss

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.2k (I tried to make this shorter, but I'm a yapper)

warning: over-protective, older brother, Kallias

summary: the reader has lived a sheltered life under her brother, Kallias, the high lord of the Winter Court. when the reader is given the opportunity to go to the Dawn Court for the High Lords meeting, she is ecstatic. While there, she meets the most of the Inner Circle and one of those members will change her life

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

__

Light reflecting from the snow outside blinded you as you stepped out onto your balcony. Despite living in the Winter Court your entire life, you have never gotten used to the views of the snow-capped mountains and the city sprawling beneath you. You only wish you could see what was beyond the snow-capped mountains. 

Your older brother, Kallias, had always been determined to keep you safe from the dangers lurking outside your home. During Amarantha’s reign, he kept you hidden, and all you knew of the terrors she inflicted on your people were whispers. Even after her defeat and the stories of a human who had freed Prythian, your life remained firmly within the confines of the Winter Court.

You sat in the corner of your room, reading one of the many books that have allowed you to imagine the world outside of the Winter Court. Stories of fierce warriors that protected their people from outside danger, much like the threat of Hybern that loomed on the periphery. Your heart sank at the thought of another threat plaguing your home. Another threat that you were powerless to stop.

A knock sounded at your door and Kallias and Viviane entered your room. Viviane directed her attention to the book you held in your hands and gave you a sympathetic smile, knowing how you desired to escape your sheltered life. Your brother cleared his throat and looked uneasy as he said, “Y/N, we have decided to bring you with us to the Dawn Court for the High Lords’ meeting.”

Your breath left you at your brother’s announcement. Viviane’s gaze met your own with a satisfied smile, knowing that she had persuaded her mate to allow you to attend this meeting with them. Shooting up from your chair, you wrapped your brother in your arms, holding him tightly, “Kallias, thank you. This is fantastic! What do I need to do during the meeting?”

Kallias’s stoic demeanor softened as he returned the hug, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Easy there. You don’t need to do anything specific. You’re my best-kept secret, and I want the High Lords to see that I trust them—and that I trust you. Just be yourself.”

You pulled away slightly, a playful smirk on your lips. “Best-kept secret? That’s better than being your biggest embarrassment, I suppose.”

Kallias rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, very funny. Just try not to make me regret this decision. We don’t need a repeat of that time you tried to help me with diplomatic correspondence and nearly signed us up for a snowball fight in the city.”

Laughter erupted from you and Viviane and you nudged Kallias’s shoulder, “I promise there will be no accidental diplomatic disasters, but I might bring up how the High Lord of the Winter Court lost said snowball fight.” Kallias chuckled, shaking his head. “I would expect nothing less from you, but you need to get packed. We leave in the morning.” Kallias gave you a quick hug and left to oversee final preparations.

Viviane lingered in your room, her warm presence a stark contrast to the cool air outside. “Let’s get you packed. We have a lot to prepare for and I want you to be able to enjoy everything the Dawn Court has to offer.”

Night passed into morning and you were unable to sleep due to the excitement of your awaiting departure for the Dawn Court. A golden hue broke through your curtains signaling that it was time to leave. You met Kallias and Viviane in Kallias’s office as they were going over final details. Viviane looked at you expectantly. “How are you feeling, Y/N? 

You look between the mated couple, your heart beating out of your chest. “I’m as ready as I can be. Let’s go!” Kallias chuckled at your enthusiasm. Receiving a nod from Viviane, he raised his hand and enveloped the three of you in a sparkling blue. You felt the frigid air of the Winter Court begin to dissipate and was replaced by a warm breeze unlike anything you had felt before. Blossoming flowers and chatter from the halls reached your ears as you took in the sunlit room you were winnowed into. A squeal pierced your ears and you looked over in time to see a tall blonde embrace Viviane in a hug. 

“Mor, how I’ve missed you.” Viviane said to the female, returning her hug with equal excitement. Viviane and Mor separated from their embrace, both wearing wide smiles from the reunion. “Viviane, you look fantastic! I’m so excited that you’re here,” Mor’s gaze glanced to your wide-eyed frame, still taking in your new surroundings, “Who is this?”

You looked at the beautiful female and reached out a hand, “I’m Y/N. I’m Kallias’s sister.” Mor looked in between the three of you with shock lining her features. 

“Kallias, I did not know you had a sister.” 

Kallias’s cold features looked at the bright-eyed female and looked at you protectively, “No one outside of the Winter Court does.” Mor looked uncomfortable as Kallias placed a protective hand on your shoulder. You peered behind Mor’s to the group she came with and you saw three striking males with large, membranous wings behind them, their tan skin and dark hair making them stand out. One of the females looked at you, confusion lining her features, trying to figure out who you were.

Mor’s gaze followed yours, and she stepped aside to reveal the group behind her. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the Inner Circle.”

The first to step forward was a male with an aura of effortless confidence. His violet eyes pierced into you as he extended a hand with a grin. “I’m Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” Your jaw dropped as you hesitantly accepted his hand. Rhysand, the most powerful high lord in Prythian and the one who was rumored to have killed the Winter Court children.

Seeing your discomfort, Rhysand’s smile faltered slightly. “I assure you, I didn’t harm those children. I understand if you’re wary, but I hope we can start fresh.”

His words carried a sincerity that eased your anxiety a bit. As he introduced you to the rest of his court, Cassian’s boisterous welcome and Feyre’s warm smile helped to soften the tension. Yet, it was Azriel who captured your focus completely. As his shadowy tendrils brushed against your arm, an unexpected wave of nausea surged through you. Your vision blurred momentarily as an intense, disorienting sensation swept over you.

Kallias and Viviane were instantly by your side, their concern palpable. “Y/N, are you alright?” Viviane’s voice was filled with worry, her hand gently resting on your back.

You struggled to steady yourself, unable to tear your eyes away from Azriel. His face was a mask of shock, his usually composed demeanor fractured. When he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, it was as if the room itself fell silent, drawing all attention to his words. “Mate. You’re my mate.”

The weight of his revelation settled over you like a tangible force. The golden thread of connection that linked you both was almost visible, a shimmering bond that pulled at your very essence.

Mate.

[prettymfwrites]

"Atta Girl."

Ellie x reader

Reader gets injured, Ellie gets protective.

---

The morning sun peeked through the heavy clouds over Jackson as you pulled on your jacket. Ellie sat on the edge of the bed, her leg bouncing anxiously. Her fingers fiddled with the loose thread on her flannel, and you could feel the tension radiating off her.

“You sure you have to go?” Ellie asked, her voice tight.

You stepped closer and rested your hands on her shoulders. “It’s just a patrol, Ellie. Jesse and I will be fine.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, ‘cause nothing ever goes wrong on patrols.”

You bent down, forcing her to meet your eyes. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Her hands gripped your wrists, holding you there for a moment longer. “I hate this. You’re too damn important to me to—” She stopped herself, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

You smiled softly, brushing her bangs out of her face. “Stupid? Me? Never.”

Despite herself, she smirked, but the worry never left her eyes. She stood and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “You better come back in one piece.”

---

The patrol started off quiet. Jesse was his usual easygoing self, cracking jokes as you both scanned the snowy woods for any signs of trouble.

“Ellie didn’t look too happy about this,” he commented as the two of you dismounted your horses to check a suspicious cabin.

“She worries,” you replied, shrugging. “It’s her thing.”

“Yeah, well, I’d worry too if my girl had to patrol with a guy as handsome as me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. She knows you’re more into Dina than you are into this patrol.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You got me there.”

But the light mood didn’t last. As you exited the cabin, the sound of crunching snow caught your attention. Before you could fully turn around, a group of four armed strangers emerged from the treeline, surrounding you and Jesse.

“Well, well,” one of them sneered, a wiry man with a scar across his jaw. “What do we have here?”

Jesse’s hand twitched toward his pistol, but the man raised his rifle. “Ah, ah. Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

They were after you. You could see it in the way their eyes lingered, their leering gazes making your skin crawl. When one of them lunged, Jesse acted fast, shoving you behind him and firing a shot. The bullet found its mark, dropping the man instantly.

Chaos erupted. Another one tackled Jesse while a third grabbed you, his filthy hand clamping around your throat.

“You’re coming with us,” he growled, dragging you back as you struggled. Your vision blurred from lack of air, but adrenaline surged through you. Kicking wildly, you managed to knock him off balance. His grip faltered, and as soon as you hit the ground, you grabbed your knife and drove it into his neck.

Blood sprayed as he collapsed, lifeless, and you gasped for air, your leg burning from a deep gash you hadn’t noticed in the fight. Jesse dispatched the last man and ran to your side, his eyes wide with panic.

“You okay?” he asked, hauling you to your feet.

“Yeah,” you lied, wincing as pain shot through your leg.

“Bullshit.” He glanced at your leg. “You’re bleeding bad.”

“No time,” you said, limping toward your horse. “We have to get back.”

---

By the time you and Jesse made it back to Jackson, the sun was setting, and the town was buzzing with activity. People swarmed around you, shouting questions, their worried faces blurring together.

And then Ellie appeared, pushing her way through the crowd. Her eyes locked on you, dark with fury and fear.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded, her voice shaking as she reached for you.

“I’m fine,” you tried to assure her, but your wobbling knees and blood-soaked pant leg said otherwise.

Ellie’s jaw clenched as she threw your arm over her shoulders. “Come on.”

She led you back to your shared home in silence. Once inside, she sat you down on the couch and grabbed the first aid kit. Her movements were quick and precise, but her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Ellie—” you started.

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice low. “Don’t even try to explain right now.”

You watched her clean and stitch your wound, her hands trembling slightly. The air between you was thick with unspoken emotions.

When she finished, you broke the silence. “So, I guess you could say I showed that guy who’s boss.”

Ellie’s head snapped up, her lips twitching despite herself. “Atta girl,” she murmured, her tone softening.

You reached for her hand, pulling her to sit beside you. “Hey,” you said gently. “I’m here. I’m okay. Thanks to Jesse.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she buried her face in your lap. “I was so scared,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “What if you didn’t come back?”

You ran your fingers through her hair, your heart aching at the vulnerability in her voice. “But I did. I’m here.”

Ellie clung to you, her tears soaking into your jeans. You held her close, whispering reassurances until her breathing evened out.

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other, finding comfort in the fact that, for now, you were safe and together.

Too cuteee💕 I take requests!

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ ||

4511 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ/ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴜᴘꜱᴇᴛ, ʜᴀʀᴀꜱꜱᴍᴇɴᴛ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ), ꜰʟᴀʀᴇ-ᴜᴘ ᴘᴀɪɴ (ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ 'ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴏꜰ' ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ/ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

The howling wind outside was relentless, throwing thick flakes of snow against the window with ferocious intensity. The blizzard showed no signs of letting up, and the frosted glass distorted the pale moonlight that tried to pierce through the storm. Jayce stood by the fireplace, furrowing his brow as he stoked the flames higher. The warmth from the fire bathed the room in a soft amber glow, but it wasn’t enough—not for him. Not when Y/N was sitting on the worn couch, bundled in every blanket he could find in the house.

“Are you warm enough?” Jayce asked, his voice a little too tight as he turned toward her.

“I’m fine, Jayce,” she replied, her lips quirking into a reassuring smile as she shuffled out from under the blanket. Rolling up her sleeves, she moved toward the small table where the ingredients for soup were laid out. “I was just going to start on something warm for us—”

“No, no, no,” he interrupted, crossing the room in two swift strides. Before she could even reach for the cutting board, Jayce gently but firmly took the knife out of her hand and set it down. “You don’t have to do that. Let me handle it.”

“Jayce,” she began, her tone a blend of amusement and exasperation, but he was already at her side, rolling her sleeves back down with a touch so gentle and deliberate it made her pause. Without a word, he guided her back toward the couch, his hands steady on her shoulders.

“Please,” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet plea. “I’ll handle it. Just sit and stay warm.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, knowing better than to argue. She’d learned long ago that when Jayce slipped into one of his protective moods, it was easier to let him fuss. He wasn’t overbearing—just... devoted. And there was a reason behind it, one that made her heart ache every time she remembered.

Kneeling in front of her, Jayce tucked the blanket snugly around her shoulders, his large hands lingering for a moment as if to shield her from even the faintest chill. “Don’t move,” he murmured, his gaze meeting hers briefly before darting back toward the fireplace.

She watched as he crossed the room with purposeful strides, adding another log to the flames and adjusting the kettle hanging over the fire. The warmth crackled through the room, casting a golden glow that softened his furrowed brow.

When Y/N stirred under the blanket, starting to rise from the couch, Jayce was there in an instant. He knelt again, this time holding out her slippers, his expression so earnest it almost made her laugh.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he said quietly, sliding the slippers onto her feet with the utmost care. His hands lingered for a moment, wrapping around her ankles to make sure the fabric was snug.

She reached down, brushing her fingers through his hair, and he finally looked up at her. His eyes held a storm of their own, a mixture of worry and something deeper—something vulnerable.

“Jayce,” she said, her voice soft as snow. “I’m okay. I promise.”

He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. “I know,” he said, but his voice wavered. “I just... I can’t stand the thought of you feeling cold. Not like I did.”

She knew the story by heart—how Jayce and his mother had once been trapped in a storm like this, lost and desperate, the cold seeping into their bones. They’d been saved by a stranger, but the fear had never fully left him.

“You’re safe with me,” he added, almost to himself. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Y/N leaned forward, cupping his face and guiding him to stand. “Come here,” she said, pulling him onto the couch beside her. She shifted the blanket to wrap around both of them, and he hesitated for only a moment before sinking into her warmth.

“You do enough for me,” she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. “Let me take care of you, too.”

Jayce’s arms came around her, holding her close as the storm raged on outside. For the first time that night, his shoulders relaxed. Together, they sat by the fire, wrapped in warmth, safe from the winter's wrath.

VIKTOR

The early morning light filtered weakly through the frosted windows, but the usual hum of activity in the apartment was conspicuously absent. Instead, Viktor sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, one hand gripping his cane, the other pressed tightly against his aching thigh.

His body had betrayed him again.

“I can’t afford to stay home today,” Viktor muttered, his voice tight with frustration. He shifted slightly, trying to rise, but the flare of pain shot up his leg, forcing him back down with a wince.

From the doorway, Y/N watched him, her heart aching at the sight. His resilience was one of the things she admired most about him, but there were moments like these when she wished he’d give himself a break. Slowly, she crossed the room and knelt in front of him, placing a warm hand over his trembling one.

“You’re not going anywhere today, Viktor,” she said firmly, her voice soft but leaving no room for argument. “Not like this.”

He looked at her, his golden-brown eyes clouded with a mix of exhaustion and frustration. “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Jayce needs me. The work—”

“Jayce can handle the work for one day,” she interrupted, her thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. “You trust him, don’t you?”

Viktor hesitated, his jaw tightening. He hated feeling helpless, hated the idea of leaving the burden on Jayce. But as much as he wanted to protest, the pain in his leg and the weariness in his body left him no choice.

“I trust him,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then trust me, too,” Y/N said, her eyes meeting his with unwavering resolve. “Trust me to take care of you today.”

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders softening slightly. “Fine,” he murmured, though his tone was laced with reluctant acceptance. “But only because I don’t have the strength to argue.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Good. Now, let’s get you comfortable.”

She guided him to lie back against the pillows, adjusting them until he could rest without straining himself. Viktor winced as he shifted, but the moment he was settled, Y/N draped a soft, warm blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders like a cocoon.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his temple before heading to the kitchen.

The faint clatter of pots and pans soon filled the air, the comforting sounds of her cooking cutting through the quiet tension of the room. Viktor closed his eyes, letting the rhythmic noises and the faint aroma of her cooking lull him into a rare moment of calm.

When she returned, it was with a tray balanced carefully in her hands. A steaming bowl of soup, a plate of warm bread, and a cup of herbal tea sat neatly arranged. Y/N set the tray on the bedside table and helped him sit up, fluffing the pillows behind him with practiced ease.

“There,” she said, handing him the bowl. “Eat up. And don’t even think about arguing.”

Viktor took the bowl, his lips quirking into a faint smile despite himself. “You’re relentless, miláčku:” he said softly. (Sweetheart)

“I prefer the term ‘determined,’” she replied with a smirk, sitting beside him as he ate.

After the meal, Y/N set the empty dishes aside and knelt by his side once more. Her hands were warm as they moved to his leg, massaging the tight muscles with careful, deliberate pressure. Viktor tensed at first, his breath hitching, but the soothing rhythm of her touch soon eased the ache, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh.

“Better?” she asked, her voice gentle.

“Much,” he admitted, leaning back against the pillows, his body finally relaxing.

She smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his knee before shifting to sit beside him again. Her hands moved to his hair, threading through the soft strands in slow, rhythmic motions. Viktor closed his eyes, the sensation pulling him further into a state of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude.

“You deserve it,” Y/N replied, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “Now, stop worrying about the lab, about Jayce, about everything else. Just focus on resting.”

For the rest of the day, Y/N stayed by his side, alternating between spoiling him with warm meals, soothing touches, and quiet reassurances. She didn’t leave him for a moment, keeping him wrapped in comfort and love as the hours passed.

And as night fell, Viktor lay beside her, his head resting against her shoulder, his breathing deep and even. For the first time in a long while, the storm of his thoughts had quieted, leaving only the warmth of her presence to fill the space.

JAYVIK

The day had been long. Too long. Y/N’s head throbbed with the remnants of tension that had built steadily throughout her shift. Between difficult customers demanding impossible solutions, co-workers who seemed more intent on slacking than contributing, and the never-ending pile of tasks that grew by the hour, she’d barely managed to hold herself together.

But she had. Somehow.

By the time she made it home, the weight of the day hung over her like a storm cloud. She unlocked the door, stepping into the warm, familiar space she shared with Jayce and Viktor. The scent of something faintly herbal lingered in the air—likely Viktor’s tea—and the soft hum of conversation filtered from the living room.

“Y/N?” Jayce’s voice called out, his usual warmth shining through even in a single word.

“Welcome back,” Viktor added, quieter but no less sincere.

She didn’t answer, setting her bag down with deliberate care. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled off her coat and hung it by the door. The sight of her two partners waiting for her, Jayce lounging on the couch and Viktor seated nearby with a book in hand, should’ve been a balm. Instead, it was the final push that broke the dam she’d been holding back all day.

Her breath hitched, tears welling up and spilling over before she could stop them.

“Y/N?” Jayce was on his feet in an instant, his brow creased with worry. Viktor followed a heartbeat later, leaning on his cane as he moved closer.

“What happened?” Viktor asked, his sharp eyes scanning her face as though searching for the source of her pain.

“I just...” Y/N began, her voice cracking as she choked back a sob. “It’s been such a horrible day. Customers yelling at me, staff not doing their jobs, everything just piling up—” Her voice broke entirely, the words dissolving into tears.

Jayce reached her first, pulling her into his strong arms without hesitation. His embrace was firm but gentle, grounding her as she let herself fall apart. “It’s okay,” he murmured, one hand stroking her back. “You’re home now. You don’t have to deal with any of that here.”

Viktor placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch lighter but no less comforting. “Jayce is right,” he said softly. “You’ve done more than enough today. Let us take care of you now.”

Y/N nodded against Jayce’s chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothing her even as her tears continued to flow. She felt Viktor’s hand shift to her cheek, his thumb brushing away the dampness with careful precision.

“Sit down,” Jayce said, guiding her toward the couch. “You need to rest.”

Once she was seated, Viktor eased down beside her, his cane resting against the armrest. Jayce knelt in front of her, his large hands enveloping hers.

“Talk to us,” Jayce said, his voice low and steady. “Let it out. Everything.”

And she did. Between shaky breaths and sniffles, Y/N poured out the frustrations of her day—the impossible demands, the lack of support, the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. Through it all, Jayce and Viktor listened intently, their expressions a mix of empathy and quiet anger on her behalf.

“You’re incredible for handling all that,” Viktor said when she finally finished. His hand found hers, squeezing gently. “But you shouldn’t have to carry so much alone.”

Jayce nodded, his jaw tightening. “You’re not alone, okay? Next time something like this happens, let us know. We’ll find a way to help.”

Y/N smiled weakly, the weight on her chest lifting slightly at their words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Now,” Viktor said, shifting slightly to rest more comfortably, “you’re going to sit here and do absolutely nothing for the rest of the evening.”

“And we’ll handle everything else,” Jayce added, standing and rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll make us some dinner. Viktor, grab her that fuzzy blanket she likes.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound watery but genuine. “You two are ridiculous.”

“And you love us for it,” Viktor replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Jayce returned moments later with a steaming cup of tea and pressed a kiss to her forehead before heading to the kitchen. Viktor draped the blanket over her lap, his hand lingering on hers as they shared a quiet moment.

As the warmth of their love surrounded her, Y/N felt the tension of the day begin to melt away. No matter how chaotic the world outside became, she knew she had this—these two men who loved her fiercely and completely.

And that was more than enough.

VANDER

The Last Drop was alive with its usual rowdy energy—boisterous laughter, the clink of mugs, and the hum of lively conversation filled the air. Y/N weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand while offering polite smiles to the patrons she passed.

It was a busy night, and as much as she enjoyed helping Vander run the bar, the constant motion was beginning to wear her down. Still, she kept her head high and her demeanor calm. That was, until they walked in.

A group of four swaggered through the door, loud and brash from the moment they entered. One man, tall and broad-shouldered, seemed to take the lead, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Y/N. His grin was sharp, and there was a glint in his eyes that made her stomach twist.

As the group settled at a table, Y/N approached to take their orders.

“Evenin’, folks,” she said, keeping her tone professional. “What can I get for you?”

“Well, aren’t you a sweet one?” the tall man drawled, leaning back in his chair. His companions chuckled, and the woman among them shot Y/N a condescending smirk.

“Just here to do my job,” Y/N replied evenly, though her grip on her notepad tightened.

They rattled off their orders, and Y/N turned to leave, but the tall man spoke again. “Don’t forget to smile, darling. You look prettier that way.”

The comment made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to keep walking. She couldn’t let them get to her.

As the night went on, the group only grew more obnoxious. They called for refills before finishing their drinks, sent her back to the bar with complaints about nonexistent issues, and made thinly veiled comments about her looks. At one point, as Y/N was clearing their table, the tall man “accidentally” knocked a glass onto the floor, shattering it.

“Oh, my bad,” he said with a smirk. “Guess you’ll have to clean that up.”

The group erupted into laughter, and the woman gave Y/N a look of mock pity. “Must be hard, working here. But then again, someone’s gotta do it.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned, her chest tightening with frustration and humiliation. But she bit her tongue, quickly gathering the broken glass and retreating to the pantry under the guise of getting more supplies.

As soon as she was alone, the tears she’d been holding back spilled over. She sank onto a small stool, pressing her hands to her face to stifle her sobs.

“Y/N?”

The deep, familiar voice made her freeze. She looked up to see Vander standing in the doorway, concern etched across his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside and crouching in front of her.

Y/N shook her head, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Vander said gently but firmly. He reached out, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “What happened?”

She hesitated, but the kindness in his eyes broke down her resolve. “It’s that group at table five,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “They’ve been... difficult all night. And I tried to handle it, I really did, but—” Her voice cracked, and she looked away.

Vander’s jaw tightened, his blue eyes darkening. He straightened, his broad frame filling the doorway as he looked back toward the bar.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice low but steady.

“Vander, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll handle it.”

Y/N watched as he left, her heart pounding.

Back in the bar, Vander approached table five, his presence commanding immediate attention. The group’s laughter died down as he loomed over them, his arms crossed and his expression like thunder.

“You think it’s funny to treat my staff like that?” he said, his voice calm but with an edge that sent a shiver through the room.

The tall man opened his mouth, likely to retort, but Vander cut him off. “I don’t care what you think you’re owed. You’re done here. Pay your tab, leave a tip, and get out.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances.

“I said now,” Vander added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Grumbling, the tall man threw some coins on the table, and the group shuffled out under Vander’s watchful gaze. Once they were gone, he collected the coins and added a generous tip out of his own pocket before heading back to the pantry.

Y/N looked up as he entered, her eyes still puffy.

“They’re gone,” he said simply, holding out the coins. “This is for you.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “I can’t take that, Vander.”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted, pressing the money into her hand. “You’ve earned it. And more than that, you deserve better than how they treated you.”

Her lip quivered, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Vander wrapped his arms around her, his embrace solid and reassuring. “Always,” he murmured. “Now, take a break. I’ll handle the rest tonight.”

For the first time that evening, Y/N felt the tension in her chest ease. With Vander at her side, she knew she was safe—and valued.

SILCO

The dim glow of the lamps in Silco’s office cast long shadows on the walls, but their usual warmth did nothing to ease the tension in the air. Silco paced back and forth behind his desk, his movements sharp and deliberate. His mismatched eyes flicked toward the papers scattered across the surface, their contents detailing the fallout of a deal gone sour.

His jaw clenched, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare crack in his otherwise impenetrable façade. The task had been straightforward, a key step in solidifying his influence in Zaun. But now, it was unraveling, threatening to spiral out of control.

“Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous. “How hard is it to follow simple instructions?”

Y/N stood quietly near the door, watching him with concern. She had seen him like this before—frustrated, coiled like a spring ready to snap—but this time was different. The weight of the failure seemed to press down on him more than usual, and it pained her to see him like this.

“Silco,” she called gently, her voice cutting through the oppressive silence.

He stopped mid-stride, his gaze snapping to her. For a moment, the stress in his expression softened at the sight of her, but it quickly returned as he waved toward the papers.

“This was supposed to be a turning point,” he said, his voice strained. “Instead, it’s a mess. And now I have to fix it before it becomes a disaster.”

Y/N approached him slowly, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “You don’t have to do it alone,” she said softly.

Silco’s eyes searched hers, doubt flickering briefly in his gaze. “This isn’t your burden to bear.”

“It is if it’s yours,” she replied firmly. “Let me handle it.”

He hesitated, but the resolute look in her eyes left no room for argument. Silco trusted few people in the world, but Y/N had proven herself time and again. With a small nod, he relented.

“All right,” he said, his voice low. “But be careful.”

Y/N smiled, brushing a hand lightly over his cheek before turning to leave. “I’ll do more than be careful. I’ll make it right.”

=

Y/N moved through the dimly lit corridors of the industrial district with purpose, Silco’s top lieutenants trailing behind her. She barked orders with an authority that left no room for hesitation, her voice steady and commanding.

“You,” she said, pointing to one of the men. “Secure the shipment and make sure it gets to the drop point without issue. And you,” she turned to another, “get word to our contact that we’re renegotiating. I want them ready to talk by the time I return.”

The men exchanged uncertain glances but quickly snapped to attention under her sharp gaze. They knew better than to question her—she carried Silco’s trust, and that was enough for them.

Over the next few hours, Y/N worked tirelessly, adjusting plans, smoothing over tensions, and ensuring every detail was accounted for. By the time she returned to Silco’s office, her clothes were smudged with the grime of Zaun’s underbelly, but her expression was triumphant.

Silco looked up from his desk as she entered, his mismatched eyes scanning her for any sign of trouble.

“It’s done,” Y/N announced, dropping a ledger onto his desk. “The shipment’s secure, the deal’s renegotiated, and we even managed to get better terms than before.”

Silco stared at her, momentarily stunned. “Better terms?”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Let’s just say their desperation worked in our favor.”

For the first time that night, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of Silco’s lips. He stood, stepping around the desk to pull her into his arms.

“You’re remarkable,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Y/N leaned into him, her hands resting lightly on his chest. “You’d do the same for me.”

Silco chuckled softly, his tension finally melting away. “Perhaps. But not as flawlessly.”

She grinned, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “That’s why we make such a good team.”

Silco’s grip on her tightened slightly, his mismatched eyes filled with something rare—peace. For the first time that night, the chaos seemed manageable, and he had her to thank for it.

POWDER/JINX

The sound of clattering tools and muttered curses echoed through Jinx’s lair. Her workstation was a chaotic mess—gears, wires, and pieces of scrap metal strewn everywhere. At the center of it all was Jinx, her blue braids whipping around as she shoved components aside and growled in frustration.

“Why won’t you work?!” she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. Her latest invention—a bomb with intricate carvings and glowing accents—lay in pieces before her, stubbornly refusing to cooperate.

With a sharp huff, Jinx grabbed a wrench and flung it across the room. It clanged loudly against a wall, joining the growing pile of discarded tools and failed prototypes.

As her anger bubbled over, the door to her lair creaked open. Y/N stepped inside, her footsteps soft but deliberate. She paused to take in the scene—Jinx’s flushed face, the scattered debris, and the faint smell of singed wires hanging in the air.

“Hey, Bluebird,” Y/N said gently, her tone filled with the kind of warmth only a mother figure could offer.

Jinx froze mid-tantrum, her hands still clutching a pair of pliers. She turned to Y/N, her mismatched eyes wide and wild. “Don’t ‘Bluebird’ me right now, Y/N! This stupid thing won’t work, and I’ve tried everything! It’s broken, I’m broken—everything’s broken!”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping closer but keeping her movements slow and non-threatening. “Nothing’s broken,” she said calmly, her voice steady. “Sometimes things just need a fresh perspective.”

Jinx scoffed, slumping into a chair and crossing her arms. “A fresh perspective? Great. Got any of those lying around, genius?”

Y/N chuckled, kneeling beside her and resting a hand on her knee. “You know, my mom used to tell me something when I’d get stuck on a problem,” she began, her tone warm and nostalgic. “She’d say, ‘If your head’s on fire, you can’t see the flames.’”

Jinx blinked, her brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Y/N explained, “when you’re too worked up, you can’t think clearly. You’ve got to calm the storm in here first,” she tapped Jinx’s temple gently, “before you can fix anything else.”

Jinx stared at her for a moment, her lips twitching as if she wanted to argue. But the sincerity in Y/N’s eyes was disarming, and she let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Fine,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair. “Storm’s calmed. Now what?”

Y/N grinned, pulling up a stool and examining the bomb on the table. “Now we take it slow and figure this out together.”

Over the next hour, Y/N and Jinx worked side by side. Y/N’s calm demeanor balanced Jinx’s chaotic energy, and they carefully retraced each step of the bomb’s construction.

“Here,” Y/N said at one point, pointing to a misaligned wire. “This might be the issue. Looks like it’s not making a proper connection.”

Jinx leaned in, squinting at the spot. “Huh. How’d I miss that?”

“Because your head was on fire,” Y/N teased, earning a small laugh from Jinx.

Together, they adjusted the wire and made a few more tweaks. When the bomb finally whirred to life, its glowing accents pulsating rhythmically, Jinx’s face lit up with childlike glee.

“Ha! I knew it would work!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Y/N.

Y/N laughed, hugging her back tightly. “You did all the hard work, sweetheart. I just helped you see it.”

Jinx pulled back slightly, her grin softening into something more tender. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Y/N smirked, brushing a strand of blue hair from Jinx’s face. “Of course I do. And don’t forget—you’ve got this. Even when it’s tough.”

Jinx’s laughter echoed through the lair, the tension from earlier completely melted away. For now, she felt safe, grounded, and understood—thanks to Y/N’s unshakable presence.

[whateveriwant]

Hello, i hope you dont mind if i request agian! Could I get TF141 with an S/O who are just super prone to panic attack?

These are not meant to be taken as mental health advice. I'm just playing around here <3

Soap

The first time it happened, he didn't know what was going on. The sudden heavy breathing, the tremors, the loss of speech; he thought you were dying, honestly

It nearly sent him into a panic as he tried to figure out what he could do to help. Should you stay put or should you be taken to hospital? He just didn't know

However, once it had passed and you were able to better explain the situation, Soap was pulling you into a hug, the biggest breath of relief escaping him knowing you were going to be alright

He wasn't “happy” per se to learn this is something you struggle with regularly, but knowing there's at least something he could do to help in the future put his mind at ease

Nowadays he's got the drill down pat, so when he sees the signs an attack is incoming, he's whisking you to a safe environment where you can attempt to de-stress

Oftentimes it leads to him sitting beside you out on a curb somewhere, his warm hand rubbing soft circles into your back as he comforts you through it

Gaz

From the second he notices you start to pull away from him, Gaz is immediately on top of it, deploying a technique he's quite familiar with

“Tell me five things you can see,” he says, unbothered by having to repeat himself when you don't respond because he did not seriously just ask you that right now

But after enough prompting by him, you shakily list out five items, wet eyes darting around the room as you try to take stock of your surroundings

Once you do as bid, he'll continue, “Now four things you can hear.” And now you're starting to think you see where he's going with this

He'll work his way through all five senses, counting down to one, and once he reaches the final, you find that your pulse has slowed tremendously and your tremor has stopped entirely

Afterwards, you give him a shy thanks, asking how he knew that would work. “Simple,” he tells you. “Used to do it with my sister when we were young. It helped her then, so I thought it might help you now.”

Price

He takes the most heavy handed approach when trying to bring you down from such a rocky high. And while some people might find it smothering, you just see it as grounding

“Hey. Look at me,” his order is firm though his voice remains purposefully gentle. “Don't look anywhere else, just look at me. That's it. Just focus on me.”

If he has to, he'll even push a finger against your chin until you're meeting his eye and holding it, trying to focus on his soothing words instead of the anxious thoughts racing through your head

Slowly and deliberately, he'll breathe in through his nose then out through his mouth, guiding you to follow along with his measured pattern

If that's still not enough, he'll then take your hand beneath his and hold it over his heart, letting its strong, steady rhythm lull you back to a calmer state

“You alright?” he questions once you've settled down again. When you nod and assure him you are, he'll kiss your temple, promising, “I've got you, dear. Always.”

Ghost

When he realized what was happening with you, he quickly jumped into action, but in a way that was completely unexpected

“Remember when you first took me out for sushi and I didn't know wasabi was hot?” he asks you seemingly out of the blue. “Ate a whole spoonful before I realized. Burned like hell going down. But that was nothin’ compared to when it came out again later.”

The memory of that night stirs to life in your mind, and through your rapid breaths and trembling lips, you're able to crack the barest of smiles

He continues, “Or remember when I got sprayed by that skunk in the garden? You made me sleep on the couch for three days. Said I smelled like a garbage bin’s arsehole.”

That memory has you huffing out a short, low chuckle, and though you don't notice it, your pulse begins to hammer a little slower

And so he keeps going, distracting you with funny memories and personal anecdotes until all you're doing is smiling and laughing brightly, totally forgetting what had made you panic in the first place

[lqveharrington]

Nothing Left to Lose | L.M.

summary: You and Lucifer have an argument about the exterminations that happen in Hell, and it just so happens your daughter heard you through the crack of the doorway.

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Wife!reader

includes: ANGST, couples arguing, charlie basically being the family’s mediator and glue, some fluff, (let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i’m on a hazbin streak omg 💁‍♀️

“Lucifer, stop!”

You were in a fight for what seemed like the nth time in a month. It had been exactly 3,500 years since you and Lucifer were cast out of Heaven to rule over the hellborne and sinners. This kept your patience thin the entire month. Especially with Lucifer pushing and pushing for a better way to have sinners saved from exterminations and sending them to Heaven completely broke you.

“Just stop.” You lean against the railing of your balcony, hands gripping on the metal. “Heaven won’t listen to us—“

“They will if we just ask for a meeting.” He ran his fingers through his ruffled hair, growing frustrated at your unwavering discouragement. “We’ve done this before. They listened and—“

“LOOK WHERE THAT GOT US!” You throw your hand up in frustration, eyes flashing crimson for one second. “They cast us away for caring for the human souls on Earth! What are they going to do to us when we send sinners up to Heaven?”

“I don’t know!” Lucifer let his horns poke out, tail whipping violently. “I don’t know, but if we don’t try—“

“Mom?” A quiet voice came through the yelling match you and Lucifer started, making you both turn to the door. “Are you okay?”

You rub your temple before stepping away from the balcony, not sparing a glance at your beloved. “I’m fine, baby. Your dad and I are just talking.” You take her in your arms, running your fingers through her blonde locks.

She looked back at her father, watching him sigh before his horns and tail disappeared. “Is Dad okay?”

“I’m fine, apple pie.” He kissed her forehead, making her giggle at the feeling. “Can you let us have a few more minutes? We’ll come find you when we’re done.”

“Okay.” Charlie gave you both curious looks, not realizing the tense situation she walked in on.

You press a kiss to her temple, “Wait in your room, baby.”

Charlie silently left as you stood from your previous position. You moved back to the balcony, messing with the wedding ring on your finger as the wind blew roughly on your skin.

“My love, we have nothing left to lose if we take this risk and ask for our people to be redeemed instead of letting them die again.” Lucifer took your hands in his, speaking softly this time.

Your crimson and gold eyes meet his, “We risk Charlie, Lucifer. What if they take her away from us?” You shut your eyes, hiding the red sky from your sight. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to go up there and face the Heavens when my daughter is hellborne. What if the exterminations keep happening even if they accept your proposal? They might target us—“

“I signed the papers, they know they can’t touch the hellborne or our family.” He squeezed your hands. “Just—“ Lucifer let his head fall on your shoulder. “Let me try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll come up with another solution.”

“Luce…” You murmur, blinking back the tears from the fear of losing your family. “I can’t lose you or Charlie.”

“And you won’t!” He cupped your face, frowning at your words. “You will never lose us. I promise, beautiful…” He rubbed your cheek, “I know you hate the Heavens for casting us here. I know you hate being here. But these souls are our people. We have a duty to protect them.”

“Lucifer…” You sigh and hold his hands in yours. “You need to listen to my reasoning. What if the Heavens refuse to do this and make the exterminations worse than they already are? We can’t know what they might do to our people! To our daughter!”

Lucifer removes his hands from you, “Can you just listen to me?” He walks toward the other end of the balcony, leaning against the railing. “This is a situation where we never know what’s going to happen. It might be good, it might make things worse. But we can’t know unless we try.”

You watch him run his fingers through his disheveled hair, knitting your brows at his actions. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He nods slowly, looking up at you. “I can do it?”

You nod, wringing your hands together. “I trust you… If you say we’ll be okay then… You can go through with your plans.”

“Thank you, my love.” He took long strides over to you and scooped you up in his arms, peppering kisses over your face. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” You smile and thread your fingers in his hair, “Let’s go find Charlie, darling.”

“Our caring little girl.” He nudged your cheek with his nose. “Who might be as strong-willed as her mother.”

“Hush.” You press a soft kiss to his lips.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[iamtired10]

what the hell is love anyway!?

synopsis: love is supposed to suck, but damn, she’s making it look good. the things you used to hate? she does them all—and somehow, you’re okay with it.

pairing: pham hanni x female reader

genre: fluffyyy, slow acceptance of feelings

word count: 1.7k

warning: reader’s anti-romantic philosophy, no-touch boundaries, kisses... idk man.

a/n: birthday gift for u gaysss (no for me)

y'all are so lucky i love you guys bc i literally skipped paying attention to my crush's debate rounds to write this. everyone was watching in the auditorium and there i was focused on this instead (btw my crush won the debate 😫)

you always thought love was a scam—a packaged lie wrapped in clichés and false promises.

people called it magical, but to you, it was just a hassle. all that hand-holding, constant texting, and clinging to each other’s personal space?

gross.

you’d made peace with being alone.

then pham hanni came along.

it wasn’t like you fell for her overnight.

it started with the small things.

her goofy smile, the way she made everyone laugh, how her voice softened when she spoke to you.

she was the type of person who could win over a room with a single joke, and while you weren’t the type to be easily charmed, something about her stuck in your mind like a catchy song.

but liking her didn’t mean you’d signed up for the full “love” package.

or so you thought.

spamming messages

at first, it was cute.

hanni would send you random texts during the day:

“have you eaten?”

“look at this dog i saw today!”

“I MISS YOUUUUUUUUU!!!!”

“where are you? :3”

“let's meet plsssss”

you didn’t mind the occasional check-in or funny meme.

but then it escalated.

your phone buzzed relentlessly during class, notifications piling up like an avalanche.

p.hn

what are you doing?

are you ignoring me??

i bet you’re doing something boring without me

y/n i’m going to cry if you don’t answer

answer me plsss

im dying without your attention...

ok fine

ignore me all you want

bye?

bye????

BYEEE!!!

:(((((

you used to hate it when people bombarded your phone. you had once ghosted a friend for triple texting.

but with hanni?

you sighed, typed out a response, and felt strangely warm when she replied immediately with a heart emoji.

hand-holding

physical touch wasn’t your thing.

the idea of holding someone’s hand always made you cringe—clammy palms and awkward positioning?

no, thanks.

but hanni had a way of breaking down your walls without even trying.

the first time she grabbed your hand, it was instinctive. you were crossing a busy street, and she reached for you, her fingers slipping between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your first reaction was to pull away.

but when you glanced at her, her brows furrowed in focus as she guided you across, your protests caught in your throat.

by the time you were safely on the other side, she hadn’t let go.

“you okay?” she asked, smiling up at you like it wasn’t a big deal.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

the weirdest part? you didn’t hate it.

hugs

you had a strict “no hugs” policy.

friends knew better than to even attempt it.

but hanni was a serial hugger.

she didn’t just hug; she wrapped herself around you like a blanket, her chin resting on your shoulder as if she belonged there.

at first, you stiffened every time she came near, your brain screaming, why is she touching me?

but one day, after a long, awful day, she hugged you without warning.

her arms were warm, her scent comforting, and instead of pushing her away, you found yourself melting into her embrace.

“feel better?” she asked softly.

you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it, but yeah, you did.

late-night calls

you hated phone calls.

they felt intrusive, unnecessary, and way too intimate.

so when hanni called you at 1 a.m., your first instinct was to ignore it.

but then you thought about her pouting on the other end, and before you knew it, you were swiping to answer.

“what?” you mumbled, already regretting it.

“i couldn’t sleep,” she said, her voice soft and a little raspy. “wanted to hear your voice.”

you groaned, but your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat at her words. “it’s the middle of the night, hanni.”

“i know,” she whispered. “but you sound cute when you’re annoyed.”

despite your best efforts, a small smile crept onto your face. damn her and her stupid charm.

kisses

kisses were overrated.

sloppy, awkward, and unnecessary—at least, that’s what you used to think.

but hanni had a way of making even the most mundane things magical. the first time she kissed you, it wasn’t planned.

she was rambling about something, her eyes bright with excitement, and before you could think, she leaned in and pressed her lips to yours.

it wasn’t dramatic or earth-shattering.

it was soft, sweet, and over too quickly.

when she pulled back, she looked at you nervously, biting her lip. “was that okay?”

you stared at her, heart pounding. “it was fine. . .”

fine was an understatement.

cuddles

cuddling was the ultimate invasion of personal space. you couldn’t understand why people willingly turned themselves into human pretzels just to feel close to someone.

but her?

she didn’t ask.

she just flopped onto you one afternoon, her head resting on your chest as she scrolled through her phone.

“what are you doing?” you asked.

“getting comfortable,” she replied nonchalantly.

you wanted to push her off, but her warmth seeped into you, relaxing muscles you hadn’t even realized were tense.

“fine,” you muttered. “but don’t move too much.”

she grinned, nuzzling closer. “i love you too.”

nicknames

you weren’t big on nicknames either.

they felt unnecessary and a little too mushy for your taste.

but she was relentless.

“baby,” she cooed one morning, poking your cheek as you sat groggily at the table. “what do you want for breakfast?”

you froze, blinking at her. “did you just call me... baby?”

“yeah. why?” she tilted her head innocently, like she hadn’t just thrown your entire morning into chaos.

“don’t.” you tried to sound stern, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

“okay, love.” She grinned, clearly enjoying herself.

“stop.”

“alright, sweetheart.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “you’re... a-annoying...”

“and you love me for it,” she teased, planting a kiss on your temple.

and she was right.

watching a movie

movie nights with hanni were… an experience.

you’d always prided yourself on being someone who actually watched movies—no talking, no distractions, just pure focus.

but hanni? she was the complete opposite.

“wait, who’s that?” she asked five minutes in, pointing at the screen.

“that’s the main character,” you replied patiently.

“right, right.”

another ten minutes passed. “why is she crying?”

you sighed, pausing the movie. “hanni, if you’d been watching—”

“i was! kind of.” She pouted, tugging on your sleeve. “sorry, baby. keep playing it, please.”

you rolled your eyes, but when she cuddled into your side, resting her head on your shoulder, you let it slide.

by the end of the movie, she’d fallen asleep, her soft snores filling the room. you looked at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

yeah, you couldn’t stay mad at her.

stealing your hoodies

your wardrobe was sacred.

you hated it when people borrowed your clothes without asking.

but then there was hanni, strutting around in your favorite hoodie like she owned it.

“is that mine?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

she looked down, feigning innocence. “oh, this? it was just sitting there, so…”

you opened your mouth to protest, but then she turned to face you, the oversized hoodie making her look impossibly small and adorable.

“you... can have it,” you muttered, averting your gaze.

her grin was victorious. “i know.”

early mornings

you weren’t a morning person.

waking up early was your personal hell, and you avoided it at all costs.

but hanni had a habit of waking up before the sun and dragging you along for the ride.

“y/n, wake up!” she whispered excitedly, shaking you gently.

“go away,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket over your head.

“but i made coffee,” she said, her tone teasing. “and pancakes.”

your stomach growled, betraying you. you groaned, sitting up reluctantly.

she smiled triumphantly, handing you a mug. “see? mornings aren’t so bad.”

you sighed, glaring at her over the rim. “they are. you’re just annoying.”

“i love you too,” she shot back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before skipping away.

singing randomly

you weren’t a fan of noise, especially when you were trying to focus.

but hanni was a walking jukebox, always humming or breaking into song at the most random moments.

“can you stop?” you’d grumble, trying to concentrate on your work.

“stop what?” she’d reply innocently, twirling around the room as she belted out a love song.

you’d glare at her, but deep down, you couldn’t help smiling.

especially when she changed the lyrics to include your name.

poking your cheeks

hanni had an odd obsession with your cheeks. she’d poke them at every opportunity, claiming they were “too squishy to resist.”

“do you mind?” you snapped one day, swatting her hand away.

“not at all,” she replied cheerfully, poking you again.

you huffed, but when she giggled and kissed the spot she’d just poked, you let it slide.

showing up unannounced

you liked your alone time, and you hated surprises.

so when hanni started showing up at your place unannounced, you were less than thrilled.

“don’t you ever knock?” you asked as she waltzed into your living room.

“why would i? it’s me,” she replied, flopping onto your couch like she owned the place.

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you didn’t really mind.

because with Hanni, even the things you used to hate felt… okay.

personal space

you were a fortress, a private island, a lone wolf.

but pham hanni was a storm, relentless and impossible to ignore.

she broke through your defenses without even trying.

she sat too close, invaded your bubble, and left her things scattered around your space like she belonged there.

and you let her.

because somewhere along the way, you stopped seeing it as an intrusion and started seeing it as her way of showing she cared.

by the time you realized how much she’d changed you, it was too late. she’d already wormed her way into every corner of your life, breaking down every wall you’d carefully built.

and honestly? you didn’t hate it.

as she sat beside you one night, her head resting on your shoulder and her fingers playing with yours, you finally admitted it to yourself.

you didn’t just like her.

you loved her.

hanni glanced up at you, her eyes sparkling. “what’s on your mind?”

“nothing,�� you replied, squeezing her hand. “just you.”

and for the first time, that didn’t scare you.

a/n: i promised myself i wouldn't write anything this month so i could focus on studying, but i missed writing too much

now i feel like i suck even more than before :'D