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hoshifighting · 4 months ago

Note

hii can you plsss do college fling!joshua too (with smut if you like!) thank you <3

warnings: smut, dorm-kitchen counter sex, clit stimulation, penetrative sex, dirty talk, teasing.

college fling!joshua’s definitely not the type to be found at some wild frat party, shirt half-buttoned, shouting about shots. he’s more… chill. like, you can see him with a small group of people, maybe talking about some obscure trivia fact or just hanging back with his guitar, strumming casually. and you notice him in those quiet corners, head down, minding his business, but when people need help, he’s there, no hesitation. just this soft smile, eyes that look like they’ve got their own glow. no front, no ego.

it’s karaoke night when you really notice him, though. one of those lowkey, “organized by the student council” kinda nights, where everyone’s already a little awkward, shifting in their seats, waiting for someone to break the ice. and there’s joshua, sitting off to the side, fingers tapping lightly against his leg to the beat of some old song. you’re not even surprised when the karaoke machine starts acting up, some tech issue, because of course, it would. you glance over at joshua, who's already looking around for someone to fix the damn thing. you try messing with the settings on the machine yourself, but the screen flashes error messages, and honestly, you just wanna punch the damn thing. you groan under your breath, “seriously? i’m not dealing with this shit right now.”

“need a hand?” joshua’s voice pulls you out of your frustration, and you turn to see him standing there, that soft smile of his doing most of the talking. like he’s amused at your mini-meltdown but too nice to say it.

“yeah, this thing’s giving me hell.” you lean back, giving up for a second, hands raised like you’re surrendering to the machine. “you know anything about fixing this?”

“nah, but i can try,” he says, stepping in a little closer. and you can smell him—fresh, like he doesn’t even have to try. just naturally… clean, if that’s a thing. his fingers brush the buttons, the machine beeping a little, but still refusing to cooperate. he chuckles under his breath. “guess it’s not in the mood.”

you smirk, feeling the tension ease a little with him around. “yeah, technology’s a bitch sometimes.”

“always.” he laughs, this soft, almost shy sound, but then his gaze lands on the guitar sitting by the stage. “y’know… if this thing’s not working, we could just do it old-school.”

you raise a brow, curious. “old-school? like… live music?”

he nods, picking up the guitar like it’s second nature to him. “yeah, i mean… it’s karaoke night, right? we’ll make our own music.” there’s something about the way he says it, all easy and laid-back, that makes you wanna go along with it. he’s not pushy, but you feel pulled in by his vibe. the room’s already a bit more relaxed, people chatting amongst themselves, so you shrug and sit back on one of the chairs in front of the stage. “alright, hit me with your best shot.”

he laughs, adjusting the guitar strap, and then strums a few chords, testing the waters. it’s a familiar tune, something simple and nostalgic, and he hums along softly, almost like he’s figuring out the right words to sing. and when he finally starts, his voice is buttery smooth, like it was made to just slip into your ears and settle in. it’s not showy, not overly polished, just nice. like something you didn’t know you needed until you heard it. you can’t help but watch him, a little too closely maybe, as his fingers move over the strings, his body swaying a little with the rhythm. his eyes flick up to yours, and for a split second, it’s like the room disappears. there’s just you and him, and this stupid little connection through music. cheesy as hell just like the barbie's movie says, but it’s there.

“you wanna sing along?” he asks, like he’s already expecting you to say no, but he’s hopeful anyway.

you bite your lip, half-laughing. “if i do, i’ll ruin the vibe.”

he tilts his head, amused. “nah, you won’t. c’mon, what’s your go-to song?”

you hesitate, feeling a little exposed, but then screw it. if joshua can stand up there and casually play a whole damn song in front of people, you can at least join him. you mutter the name of some old song, and before you know it, he’s playing the first chords. you start singing, a little unsure at first, but his guitar backs you up, makes you feel more confident.

and it’s weird, ‘cause it’s so not what you expected to be doing tonight—singing a duet with joshua hong of all people. but here you are, the two of you vibing, making the room your own little bubble for a while.

after a while, you stop caring if anyone else is even paying attention. it’s just fun, and you’re actually enjoying yourself, which… yeah, is rare for these kinds of school-organized things.

“see? not so bad, right?” he says, a little breathless, guitar still in his hands.

“yeah, i guess that wasn’t too bad,” you admit, feeling your face heat up a little.

and just like that, you’re kinda hooked. you don’t even know why, but there’s something about how easy it is with him. he’s not forcing anything, just letting shit happen, and it’s fun. more fun than you’ve had in a while, honestly. “thanks for, uh… saving karaoke night,” you say, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel.

he shrugs, smile never leaving his face. “anytime. but, um… maybe next time, we won’t need the machine at all.”

and there it is again, that little spark of something—like he’s leaving the door open for whatever comes next. not pushing, not expecting. just waiting to see if you’re gonna step through.

you smile back at him, feeling your heart beat just a little faster. “yeah… maybe.”

college fling!joshua that would approach you with his shy ass in the hallway like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. ‘cause he wasn’t the type to just walk up to someone and invite them over. you weren’t expecting it either. but there he was, scratching the back of his neck, trying to play it casual like it didn’t take him a full two minutes to get the words out.

“uh… i’m having a few friends over on friday. you know, snacks, music, nothing crazy. you should come.”

you remember his smile, that little tilt of his lips that had your stomach flipping like you’d already said yes before your brain could process. and obviously, you agreed.

so friday night rolls around, and you’re standing in front of his dorm in this fresh little dress you threw on last minute. not like you’re trying to impress him or anything, but you catch the way his eyes drop the second you step in. joshua’s trying to keep it together, but you can feel his gaze like a burn, lingering on your legs before he quickly looks away. there’s this subtle hitch in his breath when he greets you, and his cheeks turn a little pink, but he pulls himself back into being the polite, nice guy he is.

his dorm’s small but neat, smelling like fresh laundry and some subtle citrus scent from the diffusers he’s got stashed in the corners. there’s a few of his friends scattered around, all of them chill, chatting over music that’s playing just loud enough to vibe to. joshua’s close-knit group, not the party type, exactly what you expected. he’s quick to make sure you’ve got everything—“you want a drink? water? soda?”—and then asks if you need a blanket when he notices your legs.

“you good? it’s a bit chilly, i can grab something if you want.”

you almost laugh at how hard he’s trying to be respectful, like the thought of your legs exposed is messing with him more than he’s willing to admit. but you shake your head, leaning back on the couch with your drink and teasing him a little. “i’m fine, joshua. don’t worry.”

he gives you this awkward smile like he’s low-key relieved, but you see him still trying to fight his instincts to look.

after a couple of hours, his friends head out, leaving the place a little messy—empty cups and snack wrappers scattered on the table. you’re quick to start picking things up, despite joshua’s protests.

“seriously, you don’t have to clean up. i got it.”

but you insist, throwing away trash and stacking cups, and before you know it, it’s just the two of you alone in his small dorm. the quiet settles in, just the low hum of music in the background, and you notice how much more intense it feels without anyone else around. joshua’s hovering by the window, glancing out towards the campus, and then he shuts it without saying anything, locking the latch with this quiet click.

“just in case,” he mutters to himself, not looking at you.

you’re leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, watching him. there’s something in the way he’s moving slower. like he’s waiting for you to make the next move. but you don’t, ‘cause part of you wants to see where he’ll take it.

joshua turns, finally meeting your eyes again, and it’s different this time. there’s no one else here, no distractions, and he’s got that nervous energy radiating off him. “thanks for, uh, staying to help,” he says, his voice softer now, stepping a little closer.

“no problem.” you smile, and it’s so obvious what’s happening, but neither of you is calling it out.

he’s standing in front of you now, closer than he was before, eyes flicking between yours and then down to your lips. it’s subtle, but you catch it, and it’s like that’s all the signal you needed. your heart’s racing, but you stay calm, lifting your chin just slightly as if daring him to do something.

and he does.

slowly, almost like he’s scared to break the moment, joshua reaches out, one hand finding your waist, his fingers hesitant at first. then he pulls you in, just enough that there’s barely any space left between your bodies. you feel the warmth of him, and when he leans down, his breath ghosts over your lips.

you can tell he’s thinking about it—overthinking, probably—because he pauses, eyes searching yours, like he’s waiting for you to stop him. but you don’t. instead, you close the gap, brushing your lips against his. he lets out this shaky breath, and suddenly his hands are on you, one cupping your face, the other steadying your waist. he deepens the kiss, slow but knowing, like he’s taking pleasure in every second. his lips are warm, soft, but there’s this need in the way he moves.

your hands find their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. he responds by pressing you back against the counter, not forceful, but enough that you can feel the solidness of his body, everything intensifying.

“is this… okay?” he mumbles against your lips, his voice low and breathless, and you swear the way he asks, so fucking polite in the middle of a heated kiss, makes you want to open your legs for him even more.

“yeah, joshua,” you whisper back, pulling him in tighter.

his lips are still on yours, but there’s nothing sweet about the way he’s kissing you anymore. “turn around.” your breath catches because the tone’s different. he’s not asking now, he’s telling, and the sudden deep voice is doing things to you. so you turn around, heart racing, hands bracing yourself against the counter. you feel his body press up behind yours, and his hand, slides down your waist, squeezing, as he grinds into you. it’s slow, teasing, and already you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

“fuck, joshua…” the words come out in a breathy gasp, ‘cause honestly? you didn’t expect this from him—not the shy guy who asked you to his dorm like it was some casual hangout.

“sorry,” he breathes out, lips brushing against your neck as he speaks. “can’t… fuck, i can’t help it.”

you let out a shaky breath, trying to stay steady, but he’s not giving you the chance. his other hand comes up, gently pushing your back down until you’re bent over the small counter, ass pressed right up against him. you’re not even sure how it escalated this quickly, but fuck, you’re not complaining.

then you feel him, fingers brushing against the hem of your dress, pulling it up to expose more skin, and his hand lands firmly on your ass. not too hard, just enough to make you gasp, your body arching a little further into him. “you okay?” his voice comes out breathy, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s fighting to hold back. and before you can even respond, he’s slipping a hand between your legs, fingers ghosting over your clothed heat, and you swear you hear him let out this needy ass moan, “fuck, you’re already so wet.”

you nod, holding back a whimper, pushing back into him for more. but he doesn’t rush it. his fingers slip under the fabric, pressing right where you need him, just enough to make you moan, and he chuckles—this soft, wicked sound that makes your skin burn.

“such a good girl for me, hm?” he mutters, his breath hot against your ear now as his fingers start rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit. he’s not just pressing down; he’s moving in these subtle little zig-zags, shaking his fingers side to side, making your legs shake from how fast they are. it’s like he knows exactly how to drive you wild, how to get you off, without giving you too much too soon.

you whimper, your back arching even more as his other hand slides up your back, then gently wraps around your throat. and it’s not hard, not really, but just the feel of his fingers there makes your mind go blank, and you moan, “joshua, please.”

“please, what?” he whispers against your ear, and his voice is so soft, so sweet, but his fingers on your clit are ruthless, moving faster now, leaving you sensitive enough so you can feel every inch of him after. “you gotta tell me what you want sweetheart.”

you let out a desperate moan, pushing back against him, “i need you to fuck me, joshua.”

you can feel him tense up behind you, and he curses under his breath, hands moving quickly now, yanking your panties down. his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back as he fumbles with his belt, and you’re so on edge. the second you hear the metal clink of his belt hitting the floor, you’re already bracing yourself, because you can feel it—the way he’s lined up behind you, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance, teasing you, driving you insane.

he pushes in slow at first, but you can feel how fucking hard he is, stretching you open inch by inch, and it’s so much, so thick that you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. and joshua’s not saying anything, but his breathing’s ragged, and he lets out this low, drawn-out moan, like he’s trying to hold it in but can’t help himself.

“f-fuck,” he groans, his hips pushing in deeper until he’s fully inside you. he pauses there for a second, like he’s savoring the way you feel wrapped around him, and you hear this desperate little “ahh!” leave his lips, his head falling forward onto your shoulder.

and you? you’re clenching around him, your body so fucking desperate for more. you try to move, but his grip tightens on your hips, holding you still. “no— fuck, no” he mutters. “lemme just… ngh.. fuck, you feel so good.”

then he starts moving, almost like he’s teasing you, his hips rolling into you in these deep, measured thrusts. but it’s not enough—you need more, and you try to push back against him, but he’s got you locked in place, his hand still around your throat, applying the slightest bit of pressure that has you gasping.

“joshua, please, more. i n-eed more!” you beg, words sounding more like a whimper.

his grip on your throat tightens just a little, his fingers flexing as he starts thrusting harder, rougher, his cock slamming into you with this wet, filthy sound that has you both moaning. his hips snap into yours, relentless now, and he’s fucking you like he wants to be engraved on your mind.the polite, careful joshua you thought you knew is missing, replaced by someone who’s desperate to ruin you.

he leans forward, his lips right against your ear as he groans, “you like this, huh? you like how i fuck you? hm? can you feel how your pussy 's swallowing my cock?”

and you can’t even speak at this point, just a mess of moans and gasps, your hands gripping the counter so hard that your knuckles hurt. all you can do is nod, your body trembling with every hard thrust, your clit throbbing as his hips grind into you.

then his hand leaves your throat and slides down between your legs again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing those same zigzagging from earlier, but this time faster. your legs nearly buckle, a scream leaving your throat and you're sure he's going to have a problem with his dorm neighbours later, and he’s moaning in your ear now, his breath hot against your skin, “you’re so fucking tight, i’m not gonna last long.”

you’re shaking, so fucking close, and you can feel him getting sloppier, his thrusts losing rhythm. his fingers press harder against your clit, now moving in these frantic little circles that make your body explode with pleasure.

“cum for me,” he groans, his voice all breathy and wrecked. “c’mon, baby, i wanna feel you cum around my cock. wet me all over, come on…”

your orgasm hits you before you can even take another breath, your whole body contorting as you cry out, legs tremulous beneath you. you clench around him so tight, and joshua lets out this filthy moan—“oh fuck”—his hips slamming into you one last time before he’s spilling inside you, groaning loud as he rides out his orgasm.

he’s the first to move, pulling out slowly, nearly timidly, and you hear him mutter something under his breath—probably apologizing, because of course he is. you push yourself up from the counter, your legs still shaking, and turn to face him. his cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess, and there’s this sheepish, almost embarrassed look on his face, like he can’t believe what just happened.

he smiles, a little shy but still clearly proud of himself. and then, just like that, he’s back to being the joshua you know—sweet, considerate, polite—offering you a towel and asking if you’re thirsty again, like he didn’t just fuck you into oblivion against the counter.

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aliyahwritings · 16 days ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (12)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player!Rafe & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 7k words

Aliyah's Notes: me when i come back to life after a month of inactivity ☝️😈 say goodbye to the good times guys we're slowly falling into hell

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, surrounded by a chaotic pile of clothes scattered across the floor. Dresses, skirts, jeans, and even your old sweatpants were strewn about like the aftermath of a fashion war.

Living with Rafe for the past two days had been an adjustment—his penthouse was sleek, modern, and always spotless… a stark contrast to your current state of disarray. It made you self-conscious sometimes, like when you’d spilled coffee on the pristine marble countertop and panicked while scrubbing it clean before he noticed.

Your brows furrowed as you held up a pair of ripped jeans and a plain white crop top. “Too casual,” you muttered, tossing them aside. Next came a flowy sundress. “Too try-hard.”

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you sank onto the edge of your bed, arms crossed. Why were you putting so much thought into this? It wasn’t like this basketball game was your debut as his fiancée. Well, technically it was, but it’s not like anyone expected you to look the part.

Or maybe they did?

Rafe hadn’t given you any details, just a cocky grin and a, ‘Don’t embarrass me.’ The memory of his smirk made you groan.

You picked up a sweater, holding it against your chest before throwing it onto the growing pile. Why does it even matter? It’s just his stupid game. You’re going because… You paused, biting your lip. Because you lived with him now. Because you were his fiancée. Because showing up wasn’t optional.

Your gaze drifted to the jersey draped over the back of your chair. His number, 13, stood out in bold print. Would wearing his jersey to the game feel too... personal? No, that was ridiculous. People wore jerseys all the time. It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Right.

You hesitated before picking it up, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric. It smelled faintly of his cologne, and something about that made you pause. You shook the thought away and slipped it on, the material loose and comfortable against your skin. It paired surprisingly well with the black mini skirt you’d put on earlier—a little sporty, a little casual. Perfect. You turned to the mirror, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric.

For a split second, you wondered what he’d think when he saw you. Would he tease you? Would he flash that grin that somehow made your stomach flip? The thought made your chest tighten, and you scolded yourself immediately because you didn't care about his opinion.

Your cheeks warmed despite your internal protest. Grabbing your bag, you made your way to the door, slipping on your shoes with determined efficiency. Your phone buzzed just as you were about to leave. Unlocking it, you found a series of messages from Rafe.

Rafe: You better not be late. Superstition or not, you’re about to be my good luck charm.

Rafe: BTW, try not to drool too much when you see me on the court.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile creeping onto your face. You quickly typed back:

You: Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just going there for the snacks.

His reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Liar. You’re obsessed with me.

Rafe: BTW, that jersey on the chair? My idea. You’re welcome.

You blinked at the screen, heat prickling at your neck. How does he know? The man must’ve had a sixth sense for reading your mind. Or he’d guessed—he did that a lot too. Before you could think of a retort, another message popped up.

Rafe: Also, don’t leave without turning off the kitchen lights again. Unless you want me to write you a manual for living here.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile breaking free. He was insufferable, and yet the thought of him noticing the smallest things—like your mistakes or your outfit—made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

You: Good luck, Rafe. You’ll need it.

Rafe: The only luck I need is you in that jersey.

You rolled your eyes, locking your phone and shoving it into your bag with a shake of your head. His ego was unmatched, but as you stepped out the door, a tiny flicker of anticipation stirred in your chest—a feeling you couldn’t quite name but weren’t ready to let go of either.

The leather seats of the car felt cool beneath you as you shifted in place, fingers tapping restlessly against your bag. Gregory, your driver, glanced at you through the rearview mirror, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about the delay, Miss. It’s the construction on 5th Avenue—completely backed up. I’ll do my best to get you there on time.”

“It’s fine, Gregory. Not your fault,” you replied with a sympathetic smile.

Outside, the glow of brake lights illuminated the street, a reminder of how hopelessly stuck you were. The distant sound of car horns blended into the hum of the city, making the minutes feel like hours. You glanced at the time on your phone. Rafe’s game had probably started, or was about to.

With a sigh, you opened your messages, typing quickly.

You: Traffic’s insane. Running late.

The reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Typical. My fiancée can’t even show up on time.

You rolled your eyes, already expecting the teasing.

You: Not my fault NYC doesn’t know how to manage its roads.

Rafe: I’ll pass the message along to the mayor. Very helpful.

You could practically hear the smirk in his words.

You: Be serious for once.

Rafe: I am serious. If you miss me scoring, it’s grounds for annulment.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, fingers hovering over the screen before typing back.

You: Don’t tempt me.

Rafe: Tempting you is, like, my full-time job.

You leaned back against the seat, biting back a grin. The nerve of this man. The audacity. Still, his ability to lighten the mood—even when he was being insufferable—was irritatingly effective.

You: Just play well. I’ll be there soon.

Rafe: Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’m saving all my best moves for when you’re watching.

You locked your phone with a shake of your head, stuffing it into your bag. Gregory, ever the professional, glanced at you again.

“Almost there, Miss. Just a few more blocks.”

“Thanks, Greg,” you murmured, tugging at the hem of Rafe’s jersey. The fabric felt oddly comforting against your skin, a reminder of the strange new reality you were navigating. Living with him, wearing his number, showing up to his games like a dutiful fiancée—it was all so... surreal.

By the time the car pulled up to the arena, the faint roar of the crowd was already audible. You stepped out, adjusting the strap of your bag and smoothing down your skirt. Gregory gave you a small wave before driving off, leaving you standing at the entrance with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the lingering stares. Heads turned, whispers followed, and you caught snippets of conversations that made your stomach twist.

“Oh, my God! That’s her, isn’t it? YN YLN?”

“She’s gorgeous. I saw her in that Vogue spread last month.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s a weird match? She doesn’t seem like his type.”

“I heard their engagement was super sudden. Like, out of nowhere.”

You kept your head high, forcing yourself to focus on the sound of your heels clicking against the floor. The familiar pressure of public scrutiny was something you’d grown used to as a model, but this was different. This wasn’t about your career. This was about you—your personal life, your choices, your supposed love story with Rafe.

The tension only grew as you climbed the stairs to the seating area. You found your seat with your name on a piece of paper, sliding into the seat and exhaling slowly. The crowd around you was buzzing with excitement, their cheers and chatter filling the air. You adjusted the jersey again, pulling it down slightly as your eyes scanned the court below.

Players were warming up, their movements fluid and confident. Your gaze lingered on Rafe almost instinctively. He was standing near the bench, laughing at something one of his teammates said. Even from a distance, his presence was magnetic—broad shoulders, easy swagger, and that stupid grin.

You were so focused on him that you almost didn’t notice the glances directed your way. A group of women a few rows ahead whispered behind cupped hands, casting subtle looks in your direction. Two men seated nearby exchanged knowing smirks, as if they’d just shared some private joke at your expense.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts.

Rafe: You better be watching. Game’s about to start.

You glanced down at the message, your lips curving into a faint smile.

You: I’m here. Stop texting me and focus.

Rafe: Can’t help it. You’re too pretty. I can’t look away.

You stared at his reply, the words making your chest tighten. He had a way of saying things that left you questioning whether he was teasing or if there was something deeper hidden beneath the surface. Shaking your head, you locked your phone, determined not to let him get to you.

But as you tucked your phone back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the pull to look up. Your eyes scanned the court, weaving through the blur of players warming up and the steady hum of the crowd. Then, you found him.

Rafe stood near the bench line, towel slung casually over his shoulder, his stance relaxed but commanding. He wasn’t talking to his teammates anymore or listening to the coach’s instructions.

His attention was fixed on you.

The moment your eyes met, it felt like the air shifted. The noise of the arena—the cheers, the clapping, the announcer’s voice—all seemed to fade into the background. It was just him, standing there, looking at you like the game didn’t matter. Like you were the only thing that did.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that was entirely too confident for its own good. Slowly, he tilted his head, his blue eyes holding yours with a softness that contrasted the cocky energy he carried on the court.

Then, he mouthed the words, “You’re so pretty.”

You felt your breath catch, the heat rising to your cheeks as his gaze lingered. It wasn’t just the words that made your chest flutter; it was the way he looked at you, like he was seeing something no one else could.

Heart pounding, you mouthed back, “Focus on the game.”

His smile deepened, transforming into a grin that made your stomach flip. He shook his head lightly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Can’t.”

The unspoken word hung between you, and for a moment, it felt like the space between the court and the stands wasn’t so far after all. There was a vulnerability in his expression, a quiet intensity that made you wonder if he meant more than he was letting on.

He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb across his chin in a subtle motion, but the meaning was unmistakable: he was thinking about you.

The referee’s whistle blew sharply, breaking the spell. Rafe turned back toward the court, tossing the towel to a teammate with a practiced ease, but not before glancing at you one last time. His gaze softened, and for a fleeting second, you could have sworn there was something unspoken in his eyes—something that felt dangerously close to longing.

You exhaled shakily, your hands tightening around the strap of your bag. Around you, the crowd erupted as the game began, but your focus was still on him. The way he moved, so sure of himself, every step purposeful, every pass calculated—it was mesmerizing.

The arena buzzed with energy as the game commenced. The rhythmic dribble of the basketball and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished court filled the air, blending with the cheers of the crowd. You found yourself transfixed, your gaze locked on Rafe as he moved across the court with the ease of someone born to dominate the game.

He was commanding a force of nature. Every movement was deliberate, powerful and precise. He wove through the opposing team effortlessly, his presence undeniable as he directed his teammates with sharp gestures and focused intensity. The scorebag flashed: 2-0. Rafe’s team was already pulling ahead, and it was clear who the driving force was.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every time he scored, the arena erupted, but your heart thudded for a different reason. There was something magnetic about the way he played—a mixture of skill, confidence, and an edge that made it impossible to look away. Even from a distance, you could see the determination etched on his face, the slight smirk when his shot landed perfectly in the net, the way he winked at you.

This was Rafe Cameron at his peak, untouchable and undeniably captivating.

Suddenly, the seat next to you shifted. You felt the slight weight of someone standing next to you, but you didn’t glance over. Your attention remained locked on Rafe as he leapt to intercept a pass, the sheer athleticism in his jump drawing another cheer from the crowd.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and dripping with condescension.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Your stomach dropped, and for a fleeting moment, the lively arena seemed to tilt and blur around you. Reluctantly, you tore your gaze away from the court, where Rafe had been dominating with his usual confidence, and turned to the source of the interruption.

There she was, Chiara Romano, lounging in the seat beside you like she owned the place. She looked as impeccable as ever, her designer coat draped artfully over her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. Her lips curved into a smug smile that made your stomach churn, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against the armrest.

“Chiara,” you greeted flatly, forcing a polite smile that didn’t come close to reaching your eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here... sitting next to me,” you added under your breath, your tone laced with barely concealed irritation.

“Of course I’d be here,” she said breezily, flipping her hair over one shoulder in a gesture so practiced it felt rehearsed. “Rafe and I go way back, you know. I’ve been to more of his games than I can count.”

You clenched your jaw but refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you turned back toward the court, your eyes automatically searching for Rafe. “That’s nice,” you replied tersely, hoping to end the conversation there.

But Chiara wasn’t one to take a hint.

“You know, basketball games can be overwhelming if you’re not used to them,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “The noise, the energy, the spotlight—it’s not for everyone.”

“I’m managing just fine,” you replied evenly, your voice steady despite the simmering annoyance beneath the surface.

“I’m sure you are,” she said with a patronizing little laugh. She leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a long chat. “So,” she said with an air of faux curiosity, “how’s life been since we last saw each other? It’s been, what, almost a month?”

You resisted the urge to groan. The last thing you wanted was to engage in small talk with her. “Not much,” you replied curtly. “You?”

Chiara’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if she relished the power dynamic of the exchange. “Oh, nothing too exciting,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then, with a calculated tilt of her head, she added, “But ‘nothing much’ seems like a strange way to describe getting engaged. That’s pretty big, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Chiara’s smile widened, and she leaned in just a fraction, as though to share some intimate secret. You instinctively recoiled, unnerved by her sudden proximity. Whether it was meant to intimidate you or to ensure you heard every word of her next comment, you weren’t sure.

Either way, you didn’t like it.

“I have to admit something,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was surprised to hear about the engagement—” Womp womp, you thought. “—I mean, Rafe never struck me as the settling-down type.”

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her with a calmness you didn’t quite feel. Your voice was smooth, but the edge was unmistakable. “Maybe he wasn’t with the right person to give you that impression.”

Chiara’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing together in a thin line. The sudden shift in her posture told you everything—you’d struck a nerve. “And you think you’re the… right person?”

You leaned in just slightly, your gaze sharp and unyielding, your lips curling into a smug smile that didn't reach your eyes. “Well, I mean, I’m the one he plans to marry, aren’t I?”

The words landed like a slap, and for a brief moment, her face flickered with a blend of jealousy and frustration, a brief vulnerability that she quickly tried to mask.

“Right,” she nodded, the sound forced. “But you do realize, Rafe isn’t usually into girls like you. He has... a type. Or at least, he used to.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused by her attempt at a jab. “Okay?” you said, a little too casual.

She laughed bitterly, flapping her hands in the air, clearly trying to backpedal. “I didn’t mean anything bad by that. You’re beautiful, sure, but you’re just not the type Rafe typically goes for.”

Was she serious right now?

What’s so surprising about a white guy only being interested in white girls? Did she think I was born yesterday?

You scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with that info, Chiara? Am I supposed to fall apart? ‘Oh no, another white guy who doesn’t like brown girls like me. My life is over. I wish I was white.’ Is that the reaction you were hoping for?”

Chiara blinked, clearly thrown off by the intensity in your voice. The color drained slightly from her face as you held your ground, watching her squirm just a little.

“You think you're clever, don’t you?” she said, her voice now tinged with frustration, but you could see the crack in her facade.

“Not really,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just tired of people thinking they can throw their insecurities at me and watch me flinch. But I don’t play that game.”

Her jaw tightened as she glanced around, searching for a way to regain control. “You know, you’re not exactly what he needs. You’re all—” She gestured to you, eyes sweeping over your appearance, “—flashy, a model, all glitz and glamour. But Rafe needs someone real. Someone who actually gets him.”

You leaned forward just a bit, a challenge flickering in your eyes. “I’m pretty sure I get him just fine. What you’re really trying to say is that you can’t stand the fact that he’s chosen me. And it’s not because I’m not ‘his type.’ It’s because I’m the one who got him. And that’s something you can’t wrap your fucking head around.”

The words landed heavy, and you saw the small twitch in her eye. For a brief moment, she looked almost... vulnerable. Then, just as quickly, the facade slipped back on.

Chiara scoffed, her lips curling into a tight smile. “You’re just a placeholder. He’s going to get bored of you eventually.”

"Listen," you began, stepping closer to Chiara, your voice steady and sharp. "I’m here to watch my fiancé win his match, not waste my time arguing with someone who clearly peaked in high school. So why don’t you take your insecurities and your cheap, high-school jabs and shove them so far up your—"

"Hey, baby," a familiar voice interrupted, smooth and warm like honey.

Your head snapped to the side, and there he was—Rafe, running to you, with that signature cocky grin. His hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead, and his jersey clung to every ridge of his chest, leaving very little to the imagination. The gleam of sweat gliding down his forearms and neck made your mouth dry, and for a moment, you completely forgot where you were.

"Did you see that dunk I just pulled off?" he asked, his tone a mix of pride and boyish excitement.

You barely registered the words because all you could think about was how ridiculously good he looked. His muscles practically strained against his jersey, his shoulders broad and commanding. Even the sweat dripping from his jawline seemed unfairly attractive.

Damn it, why did he have to look like that right now?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus as Rafe jogged up the steps toward you, his eyes lighting up when they met yours.

"Did you see it?" he pressed, still grinning.

"Yeah," you lied, your lips curving into a soft smile as you reached up to adjust the collar of his jersey. "Don’t let it go to your head, though."

“Too late,” Rafe chuckled, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “That dunk? It was for you. Thought you might like it since, you know, you’re my good luck charm and all.”

You raised a brow, fighting to keep your expression indifferent, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Really? Do I look impressed?”

He inched closer, the grin on his face softening into something that felt almost intimate, his voice dropping lower. “You look hot, actually.” His eyes flickered to your lips for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. “Seeing you out there with my number on your back? It’s driving me insane.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat when his gaze lingered just a little too long, sending your heart racing.

“Cameron! Get your pussy-whipped ass back on the court!” JJ Maybank, his teammate, shouted echoed from across the gym.

Rafe groaned, the spell broken, before dropping his head dramatically onto your lap with a low chuckle. He turned his face to press a quick, feather-light kiss to your cheek, the touch leaving you both flustered and breathless, before he jogged back to the court.

For the next 30 minutes, everything was perfect. The energy was electric, Rafe’s team seemed to win and every time he did so he’d send a wink in your direction. You felt good, peaceful. You felt comfortable, almost like you were meant to be here cheering for him. It was too good that you almost forgot Chiara’s presence next to you… until she spoke.

“You know, Rafe and I used to have this little tradition after his games,” she said casually, as though the memory had just occurred to her. “We’d go to this rooftop downtown—he always said it was his favorite view of the city. We’d stay up there for hours, just talking about everything and nothing. It was… special.”

Your grip on your drink tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your eyes on the court. Rafe had just stolen the ball, and the crowd roared as he raced toward the basket.

“You know,” she began, almost lazily, “Rafe and I used to have this little post-game ritual. He’d always say I was his good luck charm—”

Your heart clenched painfully. The phrase echoed in your mind, sharp and cutting like broken glass. Good luck charm. That was what Rafe had called you just today, his lips brushing your ear as he teased you in the stands. It had felt personal, intimate, like a secret between you and him. But now it seemed cheap, rehearsed—just another line he used, a meaningless phrase recycled from his past with others.

You kept your face neutral, though your pulse thundered in your ears.

“He always said he couldn’t play his best unless I was watching,” Chiara continued, her voice tinged with amusement. “It was sweet, really. Afterward, he’d grab my hand, pull me into his car, and we’d drive down to this diner he loved. He insisted the milkshakes there were the best in town.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from finding Rafe on the court. He was electric, his movements precise and powerful, his confidence unmistakable. But as you stared at him, anger and hurt churned in your chest. You felt foolish, betrayed, for letting yourself believe you were special to him.

“And when he scored that game-winning shot last season,” Chiara added, leaning slightly closer as if to deliver the final blow, “he said it was because I was there. He made me feel like I was part of it, you know? Like we were a team.”

The game’s final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to clap. Your hands stayed clenched in your lap, your eyes locked on Rafe as he turned toward the stands.

His gaze swept across the crowd until it landed on you.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t even standing. You just sat there, staring at him, your emotions too tangled to mask. Hurt, anger, and disappointment simmered beneath the surface, your expression giving away enough for him to know something was wrong.

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his grin disappearing entirely as he took a step closer, clearly intending to come over. But you didn’t wait. You pushed yourself up from the seat and turned on your heel, weaving your way through the crowd toward the exit.

“YN!” His voice carried over the noise, confusion laced in his tone. You didn’t stop.

He called your name again, louder this time, his footsteps heavy behind you as he tried to catch up. “Hey, wait—what’s going on?”

But you couldn’t face him. Not now. Not with your chest tightening and your mind replaying Chiara’s words like a broken record. Good luck charm. The phrase rattled in your head, mocking you for ever thinking you were something new to him.

Just as you reached the corridor leading out of the stadium, Rafe’s hand grabbed your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“YN, stop,” he said, his voice firmer now, though there was still a trace of confusion in it. He turned you around gently, his blue eyes searching yours. “What the hell is wrong?”

You yanked your wrist free, your emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “You're such a fucking asshole,” you snapped in your native language.

“I don’t know what you're saying!” he said, confused. “What is this? Why are you walking away from me?”

“Hey!” His tone was sharper now, frustration evident as he jogged after you. You were halfway down the empty corridor when his voice rose again, louder this time. “What the hell is going on?”

Still, you didn’t look back.

Rafe finally caught up, his footsteps heavy as he moved in front of you, blocking your path. “YN, stop!” he barked, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His blue eyes searched your face, desperate for answers. “What is wrong with you?”

You gave him nothing, your expression unreadable as you stared past him, silent and unyielding.

“Seriously? You’re just going to ignore me?” Rafe demanded, his voice rising with irritation.

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening as you stepped around him and continued walking. He let out a low curse behind you but followed, his confusion giving way to simmering anger.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured as he touched his hair before going back to shower quickly and change.

Rafe stepped into the dimly lit private parking lot, his thoughts tangled in knots as he tried to make sense of your behavior. The tension from earlier lingered, gnawing at him with every step he took. What could he have done to make you this angry? He replayed the events in his mind, searching for answers but coming up empty-handed.

Then, he spotted you.

You were leaning against his car, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as though shielding yourself from more than just the cold. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, a deep frown etched on your face. Rafe froze for a moment, his confusion momentarily replaced by something softer.

Even now, angry and upset, you looked stunning.

He noticed the way your bottom lip jutted out slightly in an unconscious pout, a habit he’d come to associate with your frustration. It was endearing, almost enough to make him smile if the circumstances weren’t so tense. His eyes softened as he watched you, taking in the delicate lines of your profile and the way your hair shifted slightly with the cold breeze.

But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the sudden noise shattering the stillness. The sound caught your attention, and your head snapped up to meet his gaze.

The moment your eyes locked, Rafe felt like he’d been struck.

Your glare was fiery, your anger radiating in waves that he could feel even from a distance. It was a look that could melt steel, and for a fleeting second, Rafe thought you might actually set him alight with sheer willpower.

In stark contrast, his own gaze held nothing but intensity, a raw, unguarded passion that made him forget to breathe. He knew you were furious, but he couldn’t stop the way his heart ached for you—or the way you made it race despite everything.

The phone in his pocket buzzed again, but he didn’t bother checking who it was. He pulled it out, pressed ‘decline’ without even glancing at the screen, and slipped it back into his pocket. His focus never wavered from you.

“Can I walk over,” he called out, his voice a mix of humor and hesitation, “or are you going to eat me alive?”

You didn’t respond. Your piercing stare didn’t falter, and the silence felt deafening.

If Rafe was honest, he was a little scared.

Drawing in a deep breath, he willed himself forward. Each step he took felt heavier, weighed down by the intensity of your gaze. When he reached the car, he pulled out his keys, unlocking the doors with a soft beep.

The sound seemed to jolt you, and without a word, you slipped past him and climbed into the passenger seat. He noticed the way you folded into yourself, shrinking away from him as you hugged your arms tighter against the biting New York City air.

Rafe stood outside for a moment, his hand gripping the door handle as he stared at you through the window. You wouldn’t even look at him, your face turned resolutely toward the dashboard. The cold breeze tugged at his jacket, but he barely felt it.

With a quiet sigh, he got into the driver’s seat, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. The tension was suffocating, and as he started the car, he couldn’t help but glance at you again, his chest tightening at the sight of your distant expression.

The car ride was agonizingly silent.

Rafe’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he stole quick glances at you, each one more anxious than the last. The occasional flicker of streetlights illuminated your face, but you kept your gaze locked on the window, your expression unreadable.

"YN," he started, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on?"

You didn’t even blink.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "Come on," he said more firmly. "I’m not a mind reader. Just talk to me."

Still, nothing.

He sighed heavily, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “I don’t know what I did to make you this mad, but—”

“Then stop talking,” you interrupted, your voice sharp and cold.

That shut him up. The rest of the drive was thick with tension, the kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

By the time he pulled into the parking garage, Rafe’s patience was stretched thin. He parked the car, cutting the engine, and turned to you.

“Are we really going to keep doing this?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation. “You’re acting like I killed your dog or something. Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You ignored him, pulling open the door and stepping out into the cold. The slam of the door echoed through the garage.

“Great,” Rafe muttered under his breath, getting out and slamming his own door harder than necessary. “This is just perfect.”

He followed you into the building, his longer strides catching up to you easily. “YN, stop,” he said, his voice growing more urgent. “Will you please just stop for a second?”

You didn’t.

The moment you stepped into the apartment, you made a beeline for your bedroom. But Rafe was right behind you, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm. “What the hell is going on?”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him with such ferocity that he actually stepped back. “Don’t,” you snapped, your voice cutting like a blade.

Without waiting for a response, you stormed into your room and slammed the door shut so hard the walls seemed to vibrate.

Rafe stood there for a moment, stunned. His hands rested on his hips as he exhaled a shaky breath. “Seriously?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you for real right now?”

From the other side of the door, you could hear him pacing. His voice grew louder, tinged with disbelief and frustration.

“YN, come on! What the hell is your problem? Why are you acting like this?”

You pressed your back against the door, your arms wrapping around yourself as your emotions warred inside you. Chiara’s words played on a relentless loop in your mind—good luck charm—and your chest ached with a confusing mix of anger and betrayal.

When Rafe’s voice came again, it was louder, more exasperated. “I don’t get why you’re so mad!”

That was it.

You flung the door open, your eyes blazing as you stepped out to face him.

“You don’t get why I’m mad?” you snapped, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “Are you serious, Rafe? You really have no idea?”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. “No! I don’t!” he shot back. “One second we’re fine, and the next you’re acting like I did something unforgivable!”

“Your good luck charm!” you practically yelled, the nickname tasting bitter on your tongue. “Every time I think you’re finally getting better, that I can finally get along with you, something comes along and ruins everything. It’s like I can’t trust a single thing you say, Rafe!”

Rafe’s brows furrowed deeply, his confusion palpable. “What are you even talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” you snapped, your voice breaking as emotion overwhelmed you. “Chiara. She said it—she said you used to call her your good luck charm. That you couldn’t play without her watching. And then you—you turn around and call me the same thing. Do you have a script you use with women, or am I just another recycled chapter in your pathetic little book of tricks?”

Rafe’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at you, stunned, as if trying to process what you were saying. “I—I never said that to her,” he finally managed, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t even know why she’d say that. I’ve never called her my good luck charm.”

“Oh, so now she’s the liar?” you shot back bitterly, crossing your arms. “Convenient, isn’t it? Blame her, act like you didn’t do anything wrong. But why would she make that up, Rafe? Why would she lie about something so specific?”

“I don’t know!” he said, his voice rising in frustration. “But I swear, YN, I never said that to her. That nickname—it’s yours. I called you that because I meant it. Because that’s what you are to me. I don’t just throw that around like it’s nothing.”

His words were raw, almost pleading, but they didn’t soothe the ache in your chest. You shook your head, stepping back. “How am I supposed to believe you? After everything—after all the lies, the games, the constant reminders that I’m just another person in your long, messy history—you expect me to just take your word for it?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his every movement. “I’m not lying to you, YN,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I know I’ve screwed up in the past, and I know I’ve given you a million reasons not to trust me. But this—this isn’t one of those times. Chiara’s lying, or twisting things, or—I don’t know. But I do know that I’ve never felt about her the way I feel about you.”

Your breath caught at his words, but you forced yourself to stay guarded. “And what way is that, exactly? Because it feels like I’m constantly walking a tightrope with you, Cameron. One wrong step, and it all falls apart.”

Rafe took a hesitant step closer, his expression pained. “I don’t want it to fall apart,” he said softly. “I’m trying, YN. I’m trying to be better—for you. I know I’m not perfect, and I know I don’t always get it right, but I care about you."

“If you care about me as much as you say you do,” you said, your voice trembling but steady, “then tell me what happened between you and her.”

Rafe froze, his jaw tightening as the weight of your words hit him. He took a small step back, almost as if putting physical distance between you could lessen the pressure. His eyes darted away, avoiding yours, and you could see the conflict etched into his face.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low and hesitant.

“Why?” you repeated, your voice rising as the flood of emotions inside you threatened to break free. “Why?!” Your chest heaved as you tried to contain the frustration boiling over. “Because if we’re going to have something real, something fresh and healthy, I need to know what happened between you two. I need to understand, Rafe.”

His brows furrowed deeply, and you could see the panic in his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t think I can,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your breath caught in your throat. You felt your heart tighten, the ache in your chest spreading as tears stung your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling, but it was no use.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice cracking. It wasn’t angry or accusatory—it was resigned, heavy with disappointment.

“YN, wait,” Rafe pleaded, stepping toward you, his voice desperate. “I—”

“No.” You cut him off sharply, your voice suddenly firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You held up a hand, keeping him at bay. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. But for the first time, you didn’t want to hear them.

Before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked back into your room, slamming the door shut once more, leaving him standing there in silence.

The silence between you was deafening.

Rafe’s hand hung loosely by his side as he stood outside your door, staring at the wood like it would somehow provide answers. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the weight of your words still pressing on him like a heavy stone. The anger in your eyes, the way you looked at him—he could still feel it burning into him. But more than than, there was something else, something far deeper that gnawed at him, something that felt like it was tearing him apart.

With a frustrated groan, he let himself slide down the door, his back hitting it with a thud. He bent his knees, resting his head in his hands for a moment as he exhaled deeply, his mind racing with confusion. Why did this feel so goddamn difficult?

He had always been good at avoiding things, at keeping his distance from complications, at never allowing anyone to get too close romantically. But with you, it was different. Every touch, every look, every moment felt like something that mattered. More than that, it felt like it was changing him in ways he wasn’t sure he could handle.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him like a storm waiting to break.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. Why am I so messed up about her?

The sound of movement behind him made him glance up. You had shifted as well, and now you were sitting on the floor with your back against the door. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, your face buried in your hands. It wasn’t a sobbing kind of silence, but more like two people utterly drained from the weight of everything that had happened.

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. But words felt useless right now.

Ten minutes passed. Neither of you moved, both of you stuck in your own swirling thoughts. Rafe could hear his heart thundering in his chest, the confusion churning inside him. He wanted you. Badly. He could feel it—every inch of him aching for you, wanting to close the distance between you, but something held him back.

It wasn’t just the anger. It wasn’t just the words that had been said. It was the fear.

The fear of losing you, of fucking everything up, of showing you the side of him he’d spent so long burying deep inside.

Chiara. The past. His mistakes.

He had told himself that he could protect you from all that. That you didn’t need to know. But sitting here, staring at the door like it held all the answers, he realized how much he needed to open up. He needed you to understand.

“YN,” he muttered, his voice strained, “I… I can’t do this anymore. I’m so fucking lost.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling his throat tighten. “I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed, his voice breaking just a little. “I don’t know how to make it right between us. I just… I need you to understand. I need you to know what happened.”

Behind the door, you still didn’t look up, your face hidden in the shadows of the room, your eyes closed as though bracing yourself for the storm that was coming.

Rafe’s hands shook as he finally opened up, his emotions raw and unguarded in a way he had never allowed himself to be.

“Chiara,” he started, his voice low and rough. “She wasn’t just some ex. She was part of my life when I was at my lowest. When I was 19, I was… I was a fucking mess. I was lost. I was drowning in everything—drugs, alcohol, all that shit. I didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t care. I was just… numb. I needed something to keep me afloat, and Chiara, she was there. She was a part of that world. I don’t know why I thought she was the one who could help me, but she was. And I used her, just as much as she used me. We were a fucking disaster.”

He stopped there, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, but they were true. They were the only truth he had been hiding.

“I went to rehab, and when I came back, everything was different. But Chiara, she was still there, still holding on, and I didn’t know how to cut her off. I didn’t know how to let go. She was struggling, and I felt guilty—so I kept her around. I thought if I just… if I just stayed close, maybe I could make up for all the shit I did. I don’t know. But I wasn’t being honest. Not with her, not with mys I saidelf.”

His breath hitched, the weight of the past crashing into him like a wave. “And when I’ve never called her that. My good luck charm. I don’t know how she knows about it but I promise you, on everything precious in my life, I’ve never called her that… But when I say it to you, it’s different. It means something. You’re not some… replacement for her. You’re not some fucking substitute. You’re real. And that scares the hell out of me.”

He exhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper.Rafe leaned back against the door again, his head pressed to the cool surface, his eyes closing as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He was exposed now, more vulnerable than he had ever been, his heart in pieces. He had said everything that had been suffocating him, and yet, the silence still felt like it was swallowing him whole.

He waited, his breath shaky, his thoughts a whirl of regret and hope and fear. All he could do now was wait for you to respond, to open the door—or for you to walk away, to decide that he wasn’t worth the risk.

The waiting was unbearable.

chapter thirteen

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mizu0xox0 · 1 month ago

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Pirate! Aventurine who finds you a siren tangled in nets that his men set as a trap.

Pirate! Aventurine who decides to keep as your scales were shiny and siren scales were hard to come by as not many lived to tell the tale after encountering one.

Pirate! Aventurine who notices you had feather like accessories on your hand that looked like wings from afar. They made you look less dangerous but of course Aventurine knew how cunning your species were. Plus those feathers were soft to touch and sometimes when the captain was stressed he'd play and rub them a little much to your dismay

Pirate! Aventurine who sees his men get scratches and bite marks on their hands whenever they had to switch your tank water.

Pirate! Aventurine who decides to have you transferred from a tank in the lower deck to having a mini wooden pool in his private living quarters.

Pirate! Aventurine who seems almost immune to your singing that would make most men and women be under your thumb. For some reason the captain of this ship doesn't budge.

Pirate! Aventurine who has you sing to him every night each song is different from the last but one thing is clear that Aventurine didn't allow anyone else but him to hear you sing. Was it to protect his crew so they wouldn't release back into the waters once under your spell? Or something else...

Pirate! Aventurine who immediately executes one of his men that he caught sneaking around and trying to free you back into the ocean. You didn't even have that one under your singing spell...but you remember the man saying something under the lines of the captains gone mad over you and it'd be best you escape before it's too late...

Pirate! Aventurine who tells his crew that the one he executed was planning to take your scales and sell them to land for his own gain which of course justified his death in the crew's eyes oh if only they knew the truth...

Pirate! Aventurine who as the days goes by and their destination to shore gets every closer. Slowly takes any scales that have fallen to the bottom of your pool of water and put them in a bag so they could be sold on land. But of course he'd pluck any loose ones on your tail that would come off but not hurt you...he couldn't do that to his most prized treasure

Pirate! Aventurine who allows his men to sell the bag of scales and split the profits amongst themselves after all he wanted his crew to be happy plus he didn't need gold coins when he had something better then that

Pirate! Aventurine who slowly dresses you in the finest jewelry he has accumulated over the years and his favorites seem to be the ones with gems the same colors as his eyes...the ones he pick seem to carry more of message instead of beauty as if he's staking his claim over you

Pirate! Aventurine who makes sure your living conditions are in peak condition. Your pool water is always clean and you're always washed with the finest fragrances by him.

Pirate! Aventurine who sometimes sits in your pool of water after a hard fought battle against another crew. The blood on his clothes staining your water and there's something more unsettling about him than the blood on his clothes...maybe it's that love sickening look that his eyes hold while looking at you..as if you're nothing more than a possession his most prized one in fact that he'd never let go

Thank you for reading and apologizes if this is ooc as it's been awhile since I last wrote for Aventurine. I've also had pirate Aventurine brainrot ever since I saw the art for this. Also reader is a similar siren species to that of Robin in this art that's why I described reader have feathers on the sides of their heads to look like halovian wings.

#hsr x reader #hsr headcanons #honkai star rail #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #aventurine headcanons #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail

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swanhomecomforts · 2 years ago

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aloesarchives · 11 months ago

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Domestic Headcanons W/ Toji, Megumi, Tsumiki, and Mama!Reader

TW/Warnings: Profanity, Domesticity, AFAB/Female Reader, Family life, Pregnancy, Mention of Sperm but not sexual, unhinged crack, too long(LMK if anything else needs to be tagged)

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her (Usage of Mama, Wife, Mom, Mother)

Word Count: 10k words

This headcanon is paired with this one right here. This can be stand alone for general/modern au. But this one mostly revolves around my Toji Lives AU.

Also, I'll be posting either my Toji/Megumi/Reader mini series or Suguru/Satoru/Reader series this week. Here's the form if you wanted to be tagged in my works. Please let me know if something's up with it.

[!!Edited and Proofread! 3/27/2024 11:48 pm CST!!]

The married life with Toji isn’t any different from prior to marriage. You two live in a fairly spacious apartment for Tokyo Standards and well furnished on top of that.

The basic routine of you and Toji as followed: Toji wakes up and gets ready in 10 minutes, gets the coffee going or anything you drink/eat for breakfast, you wake and get ready for work, you and Toji eat breakfast together for a bit, Toji gives you your work bag and lunch, gives you a kiss and sends you out the door on time, cleans the dishes and table once you leave, looks to see if there’s anything you’re low on or out of and makes a list for it, Toji does some house chores before leaving to go run errands, goes to run said errands and buy some groceries, comes home starts meal prepping, you come home as soon as he’s finished cooking, both of you eat together, then chilling on the couch together after cleaning up, Toji forces you to go to bed, does your nightly care routine with you while brushing your teeth, then pulls you into bed where both of you are knocked out instantly.

House Husband Toji and Working Wife (Y/N) dynamic, I don’t make the damn rules. Well it makes sense as you have a sustainable and consistent job that pays comfortably for minimal work. Honestly, Toji doesn’t mind it at all but you both established your roles in the relationship but help out whenever possible. In fact, he loves being a stay-at-home husband. He gets to do his hobbies and chores without distraction, having a piece of mind, cooking food with you, etc. Highkey loves being domesticated.

While yes, he does get an occasional high paying job/bounty from Shui, they happen a couple times a month. But even then it’s few and far in between. You don’t mind working, your job pays you enough to not take any overtime and you never work the weekends. Plus you get a raise and bonus once in a while so you’re not scrambling to find a second job. Also, it’s worth it since Toji takes care of your shared apartment and you.

Both of you are financially stable to the point of comfort. Like only paying utilities because you and Toji own the apartment. Not having to worry about buying food or paying on time. Not taking up extra hours or shifts to just live. It’s a comfortable and stress-free environment you and Toji have created for yourselves.

Doesn’t understand the fuss about men not being stay at home material and it’s a woman’s job. He just thinks those guys can’t take care of themselves and will force someone to baby them under the guise of tRadItIonAlIsm or some bullshit. He understands if both have their jobs and work to split the house chores. It’s not a luxury everyone has and he knows he’s in the small percentage of people who get to stay home while their spouse works. If it works in the relationship, it works, Toji says. It might not work for some people but you working and Toji staying home works for your relationship. If not, it has made it healthy because there aren’t severe or frustrating arguments about house chores, errand runs, cooking, maintenance, home management.

You do anything in order to help out Toji because that’s your home too. Therefore, your living space you share and it’s your responsibility to at least take care of it. After work, you text Toji if there is anything you need to pick up or do for him while you’re out. 75% of the time he says there’s nothing you have to do, but the 25% is Toji asking you to pick up the dry cleaners, some food items he forgot to get while out, check if there’s a sale going on, or buying detergent and stain remover. Also text with a:

‘Doll, can you actually grab a few things from the supermarket? I’ll send the list to you.’

‘Hon, would you be able to pick up my jacket from the dry cleaners? Thank you’

When you say yes or of course, he’s hitting you with the:

‘Thank you, Sweet Girl. I appreciate all you do.’

‘Stay safe, (Y/N). Call me if anything happens. Love you, Baby’

Talks about buying a house and having a family happen a lot more frequently since the two of you got married. You always wanted to have a family of your own but wanted to wait for a good man to be a good father because you can choose a husband but your children can’t choose their father. But you knew Toji would step up when it happened. Toji didn’t think too far into his future but he knows he wants to have a family with you and grow old together. You changed his mind that he was okay with having a family and doing all that it takes to be a loving father and husband. As if he doesn’t do that already.

That and you two talked about how your genetics would make the most beautiful and good looking babies. Toji would say he wants your kids to have your smile and personality while you told him you want them to have his eyes and nose. This is one of those late night talks you have with him that you absolutely love.

You have an ungodly amount of money saved up to pay the house off in full or less than two years. You decided on one where it was a mix of modern and traditional. It was within walking distance of multiple subway and train stations while not being near the busy parts of the city. It’s in a more quiet suburb with good schools and nature. It’s a big home with the exterior of a traditional home but the interior is a little more modern. The main building is two stories and is the actual house, the building connecting to it is for guests, training/workout room/and a meeting room. The walls that surround the property are tall and sturdy. It looks like a mansion but feels more homey as you two start to make it your own.

So when you tell Toji you’re ready to have a baby, the man goes all in. Trying to watch your cycle and listens to the doctor in increasing his chances of getting you pregnant. Man looks up recipes that increase your fertility rate and balance out your hormones. Thinks about checking his sperm count but you declined saying Toji hasn’t done anything to decrease his numbers.

He definitely got good aim because it didn’t take long to get pregnant. After like 2-3 months of trying, it happened. You missed your period by a week and you decided to get a pregnancy test. You got the double lines and were excited to show Toji. He went to drop off your jacket to get it fixed and came home to find you sitting at the table with a napkin. You tell him to sit and he complies with a bit of concern. You gesture to the napkin and he picks up to see the positive text in front of him. He asks are you for real and you just nod. He pulls you into his laps and holds you while saying thank you and I’m going to be a dad.

Becomes protective of you instantly. Having morning sickness? He gets you a towel and some medicine. Sensitive to certain foods or smells? He will change them to your liking. Need him to do something for you? He’s already a flight of stairs ahead of you. He doesn’t want to stress you and the baby out so he’s doing everything.

As trimesters progress, the more protective and conscious he comes. Once you start showing, say goodbye to carrying items, doing some household chores, running errands, or fucking walking because this man will NOT let you do them. Is at your beck and call for anything and will become scary if people give you a hard time or look at you funny. Toji told you if your boss gives you a hard time, call him and he’ll talk to your boss with no fear or hesitation whatsoever. Once almost killed a man because he accidentally bumped into you. Toji had this look of death in his eyes as he grabbed the guy by the collar and forced him to apologize to you. Make sure the guy actually apologizes too. Walking? Who is she? You are only walking a couple of feet before he says ‘nah’ and picks you up to carry you. You tell him you can walk but it falls on deaf ears. Then you get concerned about being heavy for Toji. The man has never been more offended in his life. He looks at you, dead in the eyes, and says: “What kind of husband am I for not being able to comfortably carry my beautiful and pretty pregnant wife? If I can’t carry you, I need you to kill me, (Y/N).” You just get used to him carrying you around.

Always find a seat for you on a bus or the train. Will scare a guy who isn’t tired from work to give you the seat. Always hold your hand during the rides.

Talk to your bump every night. Hands on your stomach, face unbearably close to it, kneels on the floor or lies in bed to talk to it as you run your fingers through his hair. He’ll say some things that make you laugh but he mostly say sweet and warm things to your baby as he just wants to love and protect them. Definitely says:

“You know your mama is the prettiest and most beautiful woman out there? You’re so lucky to have her because you will be unconditionally loved and cared for. How do I know this? Because your mama loves me too, Kiddo.”

“Hey, be nice to mama. She’s not having the best time so I need you to go easy on her. Please, little one.”

“Hi, this is your old man speaking to you. I don’t care whether you’re a boy or girl. I will always love you no matter what. I wanna meet you soon.”

Does the thing where he lifts up your bumps to alleviate some of the weight for a bit and smiles when you relax into him.

When he touches your bump and feels a kick, he is so happy that his head is glued to your bump so he can feel it.

Buys your cravings whenever and whatever it is. It could be late at night and you’re asking him to get you your egregious food combo. He doesn’t understand your cravings but will not complain to you until it’s a straight up abomination. THEN, he just cooks you anything you want because he’s lowkey scared about your cravings affecting your health.

Daily/Hourly reminders of how beautiful and gorgeous you are. Body worshiping and praising, especially since you are carrying his child. The amount of reassurance and sincerity that comes from his words makes you cry a lot, and it’s not because of your hormones. He’s so sweet and loving with his words towards you, it makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Goes to every appointment with you and never fucking misses one. Actually, he is the one to remind you about them. Has this soft look in his eyes as he looks at the ultrasound seeing your baby. Asks for at least two copies so he can frame one of them and hang it somewhere in the house.

Doesn’t care if it’s a boy or girl, as long it’s half of you that’s all that matters.

You always tell him your love and appreciation for all that he has done for you and the baby since he has a tendency to push himself a lot more than he has to. A kiss and a hug will do the trick because he goes all soft for you every time. It’s amusing to you how your huge, seemingly intimidating, husband can become a warm melted putty at the snap of your fingers. But then again, you have him wrapped around your finger completely.

Grows more cautious and protected once you go on maternity leave in your final months of the final trimester. Constantly asking how you are feeling that day or hour, grabs everything within arms reach if there is anything you need or could get you, if you need help with everything in general. It’s not the point of overbearing or suffocating, it gets a bit annoying but you know Toji means well. You assume he’s concerned and worried for you and the baby because he is afraid you will have complications during the birth. It’s terrifying to him to know there’s a slight chance you could die while giving birth to your baby and he couldn’t do anything to help you.

So when you DO go into labor, man’s is a bit scared but also prepared with your bag ready in hand. Drives you to the hospital, checks you in, and makes you feel comfortable while giving birth.

Is holding your hand during the whole thing while wiping away the sweat off your forehead and face.

Says encouraging and calming words to keep you focused and at ease. Guides you through deep breaths and keeps you grounded:

“Take a deep breath for me, Honey.”

“You’re doing so good, Mama. So amazing.”

“I’m here with you, Sweet Girl. Keep squeezing my hand. Trust me, it doesn’t hurt. Hold onto me, (Y/N).”

Sheds a few tears when your daughter comes out and starts crying. Kisses your cheek and forehead while praising you for doing a phenomenal job.

Cuts the cord while you’re coming down from your intense birthing process.

Lets you sleep and relax while he cuddles and holds your daughter with his shirt off for skinship.

Once you wake up, he buys you any food you want since you’re not pregnant anymore. Spoon feeds you while saying you did a wonderful job and asking how you feel.

Once you hold your daughter, he’s over the moon. You look so perfect and ethereal the man thanks the gods for blessing him with you as his wife and your daughter, the proof of your love.

Lets you name her since she is a girl and the first-born. You name her Tsumiki because it’s a cute name for a pretty girl. She gets most of her traits from you besides her hair texture. Toji comments that a pretty girl deserves a pretty name because she was birthed by an elegant and demure woman. You chuckle at him and his sappiness but it brings you a certain type of happiness that Toji was expressing this side of himself more comfortably.

Once discharged, gets the car to bring you and your daughter to your new home where she’ll and her sibling(s) grow up.

Lets you have your bonding time with Tsumiki while you’re on your six months maternity leave. He lives to see you hold and carry your daughter around the house.

Takes care of everything in the house and helps you out during your postpartum. Reminds you of your beauty, that he still loves you and your body, how grateful he is for everything you’ve done for giving him this life.

Gets the hang of parenting faster than you did. Toji already knows how to burp, change, feed, and bathe your daughter.

Lets you sleep and rest more when Tsumiki cries at night by getting up to calm her down himself. Ends up sleeping in the rocking chair with her on his chest.

Tries to play and entertain her as much as he can. Toji is more of a stuffed animal guy than dolls because they’re more inclusive and genderless. But he will buy dolls for Tsumiki when she asks for them once she's old enough.

Tears up when she takes her first steps as she tries to walk towards both of you.

Her first words were Papa for sure but then Mama two weeks later.

Tsumiki is a fairly calm and happy baby. Moves around but isn’t super hyper and energetic. Very smiley and giggly baby that brights up the room she’s in. Always puts you and Toji in a good mood.

Toji is the type of guy to wait for you to give him the green light for another child. Even though the doctor says you’ve made a good recovery, he ain’t pouncing on you until you tell him so. Your doctor asked if she needed to write a note that you weren’t ready for another baby for some time but you told her you’ll be fine because Toji isn’t THAT TYPE OF GUY. On top of respecting you and your body, Toji highkey wants to have age gaps with your children. Like at least a year and a half or so they can be close in age and grow up together, but also give time for you and him to adjust to being first-time parents.

It was after Tsumiki’s first birthday that you said you wouldn’t mind having another kid. Then Toji and you tried for another kid. Happened fast per usual with minimal effort once again. Toji’s goo is pretty strong lol.

He was there with you when you took the pregnancy test and it had the fable two lines. Hugs you close and is excited to give Tsumiki another sibling.

Unfortunately, your second pregnancy wasn’t as forgiving as your first. In fact, your second child was pretty brutal on you. You were more sensitive to everything and your symptoms multiplied by three. It was a struggle but you managed to pull through but barely.

Hurts Toji a lot because you’re in a lot of discomfort compared to being pregnant with Tsumiki. Steps up tenfold to help out and make things better for you.

Tsumiki just plays on the floor in her pen as you watch her while dealing with her younger sibling and Toji's making food in the background.

When you both found out it was a boy after a couple of months, you told Toji he can name the baby this time since you did with your first-born. It threw you off a bit when he said Megumi, a name that means blessing. You talked about names before but this was a new one both of you haven’t brought up yet. Perhaps it was a name Toji wanted but forgot to mention

Man, Megumi was a hard pregnancy. He was an energetic one in your womb. Always makes you lose sleep, loss of appetite, or straight up moody. Toji always talked to Megumi, lowkey begging him to be more gentle on you and not be so rough.

Once Megumi was born, you knew that’s Toji kid because he barely took anything from you. The nose, the eyes, the hair, even his small pout, it was all Toji. Toji was crying once again that your son is born but he takes after his old man. Tsumiki was just happy to see the little baby that is her younger brother.

After Megumi, you and Toji decide that this is ENOUGH children for now. Especially since you have two children under the age of three.

Megumi, however, was an interesting baby. Tsumiki likes being held by both you and Toji, she never picked favorites. Megumi, on the other hand, was attached to you like glue. Technically, all babies are but Megumi never liked being away from you. Megumi was very clingy when it came to you, his mama. You have to hold him or be in his line of sight if you’re not.

Megumi is a certified mama’s boy. He’s all sweet to you, with his gummy smile and bright big eyes as he laughs when you hold.

His first and only words were Mama for a while until he said Papa.

Megumi becomes fussy and cranky if you’re not in the room. He wants you there when he wakes up, to feed him, change him, bathe him, everything. If Toji has to do it, it will take double the time because Megumi is all uncooperative and resistant to his father’s attempts to care for him. It helps if you’re in the room or nearby then Megumi will behave but if that's because he knows you’re there.

Baby Megumi glares at Toji over your shoulder when you’re making his and Tsumiki’s food. Toji glares at his son's back. As he gets older and can walk, Megumi always runs towards you. Place himself on the couch, floor, chair, any surface he can sit on so he is seated next to you. One time, Toji’s head was in your lap as you watched the news in front of you. Megumi was mad because he was supposed to sit next to you. But Toji was faster than him and sat himself where he’s currently positioned. Tsumiki was in front of the couch playing with her stuffed animals on the floor. Megumi decided to grab his doggy plushie and started hitting Toji’s face with it. Toji yelped while you grabbed Megumi and placed him in your lap. Megumi holds onto you while you and your husband exchange shocked looks.

Megumi purposefully and accidentally cock blocks Toji. It’s explained more in this headcanon here.

It’s exhausting to take care of Megumi because he always wants you and never Toji. It kind of sucks because you want Megumi to bond with Toji more as you also don’t want to neglect Tsumiki as well.

Both of you take turns caring for your two kids. It’s so cute to see Megumi bonding with Toji as Megumi smiles a bit more when he’s with his dad. Tsumiki just likes hugging you and so you hold her ever so dearly.

Tsumiki and Megumi never really fight, which you find odd since it’s common for siblings to fight with each other. That’s when you keep observing and notice Tsumiki will let Megumi have his way even though she didn’t have to. Though you appreciate her being an older sibling, you have to remind her she can say no to Megumi if she doesn’t want to. Also reminding her to tell you or Toji if anything happens and not feel scared or ashamed for asking for help.

But Tsumiki is such a sweet child, she says she doesn’t mind at all when it comes to Megumi. But you brought it up to Toji because you don’t want Megumi to become very spoiled nor do you want Tsumiki to feel it’s okay to disregard her needs. Toji understands your concerns and tries to reassure you that he won’t let that happen as they get older.

While you were away from work, Megumi snatched Tsumiki’s pillow pet dolphin from her hands and Toji saw all of it. Toji put Megumi in time-out while he comforted Tsumiki. She wasn’t crying but he could tell she would have if he didn’t step in. Toji refrains from yelling and acting out because you told him that’ll strain his relationship with the kids. It’s easier and effective but it has long-term effects that negatively affect the parent-child relationship and the child themselves, something you knew all too well. So Toji is patient with Megumi, telling him it’s not nice to take things that aren’t his, especially when it’s his older sister’s stuff. That he should understand that Tsumiki doesn’t like it when he does and only lets him have them so he wouldn’t get upset. Toji makes Megumi apologize to Tsumiki but Tsumiki already forgave Megumi.

Toji being patient with his kids is hard and always tests him as a parent. Then he remembers how you told him having a family with him isn’t going to be the easiest thing in the world. But children deserve parents who will love and care for them unconditionally, who will be patient and understanding no matter what, to not make them wish they were someone else in order to please their parents. You didn’t want your children to experience what you did growing up and you believe Toji is someone who will help you make that dream come true. So he continues with his gentle/patient parenting method because he knows it will pay off in the end.

Since you’re going to work most of the day, he’s always the one to take care of them. Toji always takes them to the park or outside so they can run around and be kids. Forces them to go with him to run errands so they can get used to it. Megumi hates this while Tsumiki loves it. After some time, they get used to it and ask Toji to take them on the errand runs. Like going to the local butcher for meat then to the supermarket for everything else. Toji makes this a learning experience for the two by teaching them how to pick and order what they want. He teaches them what each ingredient is and explains why he buys it. Because of this, Megumi and Tsumiki know how to do errands by themselves and get things on the way home from school if Toji texts them to get something.

Megumi doesn’t admit it but he always follows Tsumiki’s lead. Especially when they start going to the same school together. When Tsumiki gets a fever/cold and can’t go to school, Megumi is a little nervous because he’s going by himself. So Toji had to comfort Megumi that he will be okay and Tsumiki will be proud of him for being able to go by himself.

Tsumiki is a quiet extrovert but Megumi is a raging introvert. Megumi, due to his aloof nature, doesn’t have many friends. You became worried because maybe there was something you weren’t noticing with Megumi. So you went to get Megumi checked out and the doctor ruled it out due to his personality and high intelligence. The doctor says it’s common for some children to prefer their own personal space rather than making friends. Though it does encourage you to have Megumi expose himself to kids around his age so he’s not socially distant.

This is where you and Toji butted heads for a bit. You don’t want to force Megumi into something that he doesn’t want. But Toji wants Megumi to interact with other kids that’s not Tsumiki so he can make friends. Megumi just doesn’t like people who are not his family. That’s the conclusion you both draw in the end.

Jungle gym Toji. Ever since they could crawl, Megumi and Tsumiki have been climbing on Toji like a rock wall. They hang off his arms, hold onto neck, climb onto his back, they’re all over him. Well, Toji is built like a mountain so it feels like they’re climbing Mt. Fuji. Toji isn’t bothered by this at all. In fact, he likes it when his kids are playing with him.

When Toji works out, whether it’s outside in the courtyard or in the workout room, he has the kids nearby playing somewhere. Would definitely ask Megumi and Tsumiki to sit on his back while he does push ups.

Hides his old weapons in the shed outside the house, he makes the excuse it’s for gardening tools and snow shovels so the kids aren’t curious.

Doesn’t do baby/kiddie talk to his kids. Obviously he’s gentle when he speaks to his kids but he also isn’t going to dumb things down for them. He’ll speak to them like a regular person but has a soft tenderness for children. It’s actually pretty sweet to see it.

The type of man to say to his children, “Isn’t Mama pretty? She is pretty, right?” Saying positive things about you to Megumi and Tsumiki. Then the two will say those lovely words back. You do this with Toji too. Telling the kids “Papa’s strong, right? He’s so cool.” “Papa made us this lovely dinner. Isn’t Papa amazing, you two?” Shit it so cute, I swear.

Speaking of food, Toji makes their lunches. From preschool to high school, he makes Megumi and Tsumiki’s lunches. It’s a challenge as they get older because both have different food preferences but he takes up on it. Just like with your lunch, everyone is in awe and jealous of their food. It’s always something good every time and it always smells good. Yuuji and Nobara ask Megumi if his dad could make them one and the next day Megumi brings two extra bentos for the both of them. Courtesy from Toji himself.

The type of man to make the kids their character bentos and eat the scraps/leftovers. Like the picture where the kid has a cute breakfast while the parent eats the cut out bread and fruit left over.

Family nap time! This is quite common in the Fushiguro household. You come home from work, sometimes earlier than scheduled, to see them laid out on the floor with a blanket underneath them. Sometimes, if the weather is enjoyable, they would nap outside. Toji is holding both kids in his burly arms while Tsumiki and Megumi hold each other’s hands. It’s so adorable that you have multiple pictures saved in an album in the house. You would join them as well. A family napping pile.

Speaking of which, you have many albums from over the years as a family. Up until the present day, you have so many pictures of your children and your husband having their little family moments. Some wholesome, some embarrassing, others are cool photos or stolen shots. I don’t know if this fits Toji but I’m projecting here: he’ll have photos of your family throughout the years on the walls and tables of your home. But mainly, the ones he loves the most are the portraits of the family. They’re five of them. The first one is of you and Toji, the second one is you two with baby Tsumiki, the third is you holding baby Megumi as Tsumiki is standing with Toji, the fourth is the four of you with the kids who are six and seven, then the fifth one is taken from present day where the kids are teenagers while you and Toji haven’t aged at all. All of them have you wearing formal wear/Kimonos. He gets these personally commissioned and they’re 17 inches(43.18 cm) by 14 inches(35.56 cm), which is fairly large.

Since you work 6 hours of the day, Toji always takes the kids to and from school. It’s not a problem for him nor the kids as they know you are working and making mula for them. The problem is, a lot of parents believe he’s a single dad. More so, the moms of the other students. Toji wears his wedding band on his LEFT FINGER that’s SHINING when the sun hits it and people still couldn’t take a hint. As he picks up the kiddos, a lot of moms go up to talk to him to pass time. He knows most of them are trying to flirt with him, very few only genuinely talk to him. Toji doesn’t play games when it comes to his status and is very blunt if the woman can’t get the message.

“I have a wife.”

“I’m married.”

“The love of my life and the mother of my children is working right now.”

Bro, some of these moms are jumping hurdles just to get a chance with Toji. Toji would keep on flashing his wedding band and they are fucking delusional to think they still got a shot. Someone thought he was a widower even though you were ALIVE AND WELL. Toji felt his eyes twitch as he scowled at the accusation. Toji legit wanted to push her but can’t because he’s a big guy and all. ‘Fuck, I can’t put my hands on a woman. I’ll have (Y/N) do it instead.’ Toji tells you about this and he is more mad than you are about it, which you don’t blame him for. On Friday afternoon, school’s out and the parents are picking up the kids. Tsumiki waits for Megumi outside his classroom door as they always walk out together to get picked up by Toji. As they walked out, they were surprised to see you with Toji in your work clothes. They went into a full on sprint in your direction and you crouched down to hug them both. After giving each other a good squeeze, they hugged Toji. The look on the woman’s face when she saw you was priceless. Tsumiki was hugging Toji while Megumi was reaching for you and you took him in your arms. You turn around and feign a friendly smile her way with such an elegant but dominant introduction.

“Oh hi! I’m (Y/N). You never saw me here since I work as a (occupation). Toji takes care of the kids when I’m away working. But I come every now and then when I get off early. Thanks for keeping my husband company! Though, you shouldn’t press on a married man when he refuses your advances. I mean, it’s not like his wife and the mother of his children has resources when most of the population doesn't. So, try to refrain yourself from stepping into the deep end, Dear. It was nice knowing you!”

Toji thought that was hot af. Tsumiki was hugging Toji’s neck because she was tired while Megumi glared at the woman. After that, no woman ever approached Toji after that.

FAMILY OUTINGS!!! Ugh, you always have one every weekend with your family. The favorites are the zoo and the park. Megumi on Toji’s shoulders while Tsumiki holds both you and Toji’s hands, she swings in-between the two of you. You go to all the exhibits your children want to go to. Tsumiki likes the marine enclosures while Megumi prefers more of the forest and savanna ones. You never could forget the way your son slightly bounces on his dad’s shoulders when he sees an elephant. He lets out a gasp of awe while calling out to you, “Mama mama, look! Look at the elephant!” “I can see it, Baby. You like elephants, Gumi?” “Yeah!” “What about you, Tsumiki-dear?” “I think they’re cool, Mama.” Toji tries to feed the animals but the animals are so scared of him like he is the most dangerous one which is true. This also goes for festivals as well, wandering the stalls and food stands. Toji winning every game you stop by and getting prizes his kids want, if his kids want it he’ll get it. The whole day is fun but exhausting once you come home. Toji carries the kids home along with the family bag. The kids are knocked out and easy to tuck in as you and Toji decompress.

As the kids get older and mature, it’s easier to go places like Kyoto. Megumi and Tsumiki are more of exploring and sight-seeing individuals, which makes it easy on you and Toji so you don’t have to spend a lot of money to do those extravagant things. They just want to experience the surroundings and life without sticking out too much. They like the trips when you all stay at a Ryokan Onsen, it’s relaxing. Especially for Megumi since he’s away from Gojo, Itadori, and Kugisaki. He loves his teacher and classmates but they can be a handful to deal with. Once they get older, they have school and you and Megumi have missions so these family outings happen less. But if everyone’s home, you four go out and do whatever depending on the weather. Spring and early summer are good times of the year because the cherry blossoms are in bloom and the weather is pleasant. You usually go out and have a picnic when the trees are blossoming. It’s simple but sweet to get together so your kids will have some memories they can look back on fondly.

There is this scenario that I can’t stop thinking about but it’s Toji coded: After a day of family bonding, Toji is standing in the train while you and your kids are sitting. It was full but not crowded. During one of the stops, Tsumiki ends up giving her seat to a pregnant woman who’s around her late stages of the 2nd trimester. Toji pets her head as she stands next to him, holding onto his pants as you send a sweet approving smile her way. She sends one back as she grips onto Toji to steady herself. Megumi is in our lap, completely gone into the world of dream as he clutches closer to you. The stop before the one you all get off, Tsumiki helps the pregnant lady up and walk her towards the door. The lovely lady thanks her, gives her a piece of paper to her family bakery which your family become regulars later on, before waving at her and you two. Mouthing ‘You have a wonderful daughter.' You and Toji glance at each other and smile. As your stop approaches, Tsumiki asks Toji if she can carry Megumi. He asks why and she replies, “Because Mama’s tired and I can carry Megumi for her.” Toji glances down at you and see the droopiness as they flutter to keep themselves open. He crouches down, pets Tsumiki on the head, saying she is a kind and sweet kid but he will take care of it. He asks her to give him your bag while he exchanges it for his jacket. Tsumiki places his jacket around you and Toji tells her to get into your lap. She does and you wrap your free arm around her. The next thing she knows, he’s carrying you in both of his arms while you hold your children. Once the train doors open, the incoming passengers are met with a towering man holding his sleeping wife and kids in his arms. They part to make way for him and he WALKS the whole way home. His arms never tired or aching. Tsumiki smiles up at him and comments how cool and strong he is, “You’re always strong and cool, Papa.” He just chuckles in his whole deep, simp-worthy, DILF voice before crouching down to let her stand since she grabbed the house keys. She unlocks the door and holds it open for him. They take off their shoes as Toji places you and Megumi on the couch while Tsumiki gets her Sanrio blanket to place it over you and her brother. You wake up an hour later to Toji cooking dinner as Tsumiki uses her color pencils on her coloring book. You wake up Megumi and have dinner together as a family.

Has no problem carrying you and his children in his arms. Like he can carry a 8 year old Tsumiki and a 7 year old Megumi like it’s nothing. He can carry you, Tsumiki and Megumi around without getting tired. You do the trend where Toji is holding you, Megumi and Tsumiki as kids then you retake the same picture but when the two are in their late teens. The point of those pictures were meant to show Toji is still strong; if not, stronger after becoming a father. If the kids fall asleep on the couch while watching a movie, he’s carrying them to their beds. They did their homework late at night on the kitchen table and are too tired to go to their rooms, he will take them to their beds no problem. You fell asleep on the couch because you came home extremely late from work or a mission. Toji is getting you to bed with him using his oversized shirt as your PJs. When Megumi, Yuuji and Nobara are out cold from their sleepover, Toji covers them with a huge blanket and gives them each a pillow.

I discuss this a little bit in this but I’ll expand upon it here. Megumi and Tsumiki are way less traumatized. Megumi has sass and is aloof but that’s his personality. The reality is, Megumi isn’t as withdrawn or quick to make assumptions about people. He seems reserved but his walls aren’t thick or tall. He’s not going to summon Mahoraga in every death situation but just sometimes uses it as a last resort because he hasn't pushed himself to his limits. It’s more of the lack of knowledge behind his technique since you and Toji can only know so much. Plus you and Toji, specifically Toji, aren’t letting the Zen’in clan be near your children. Tsumiki also isn’t inclined to act more mature and take on adult responsibilities. She is allowed to be a kid and have a childhood, same goes with Megumi. Plus, the two are raised in a loving household. Is it a traditional one? Nope, not in the slightest. Their mom works while their dad stays at home. But it's a functional, healthy, content family. You and Toji have tried to set good examples for your children on love, relationships, and the process of communicating. There are some pitfalls every now and then. Yet Megumi and Tsumiki have seen honesty, patiences, and openness when you and Toji talk things out.

Plus they know the rule you and Toji have: never fight in front of the kids. Matters between you and your husbands are between you two only. You never wanted to drag your children into the argument themselves. Obviously, when they are younger, you have to explain to them that you and Toji weren’t on the same page and are mad at each other. As they get older, you explain what the argument/conversation was about transparently. Megumi and Tsumiki also notice how after you and Toji clear up things the both of you never made snide remarks about each other in the slightest. This helps the kids out a lot because they never felt like walking on eggshells. That’s why Tsumiki and Megumi never really worried about you and Toji splitting over bad blood. They know you and Toji aren’t going to stay stubborn for long and make up no matter the circumstances. But there was an argument that both of them never can forget. They didn’t witness it themselves but they knew it was the worst argument you both had, and this happened when Tsumiki and Megumi were TEENAGERS. It lasted for a WHOLE DAY, the longest you two have been in the waters of the aftermath. The two of them wanted to say something but they knew better when you and Toji told them to not involve your affairs. It was worrying them to the point Megumi asked Tsumiki if this would create a rift. However, being the older sister she is, says the both of you will work through it. And she was right when the two of them came home to see you and Toji on the engawa wrapped up in each other’s arms with a blanket over you both.

Tsumiki loves the flowers and plants in your garden beyond the courtyard. When you take her outside and show her the pretty flowers and plants, she has this sparkle in her eyes as you touch and hold the flowers up to her. As she gets older, she spends most of her time in the garden as you are sitting under the tree with your blanket keeping the dirt away from you. When you mentioned to Toji the garden would look better if there were more plant diversity, the man is handing you a list of your favorite plants and flowers you want. The next few days to weeks, the plants you wanted are already in your garden and blending in well with your home. He is also doing this legally, and doesn't want to be a bio-terrorist by accident.

Toji does this with Tsumiki too. She had this book about flowers from her school’s library and told him that those flowers were pretty and nice. She kept drawing them, saying they would look good in the garden. The next week, there was a bush of them in her favorite spot. Your garden becomes the Garden of Eden with the amount of plant life you and Tsumiki bring in. You do basic gardening but Tsumiki and Toji have the green thumbs in the family. They’re the ones doing maintenance on the garden. Mostly Toji since Tsumiki goes to school and isn’t always home.

Toji does all the planting, replotting, mulching, everything a garden needs. The type to cut the hedges into a perfect shape because it fills his ego and makes him productive. Like one time, Megumi brings over Yuuji and Nobara to hangout and they see Toji cutting the hedges into a cool dragon. Toji wipes the sweat off his forehead to see the fruits of his labor, smirking to himself saying, “I’m so fucking good at this. I’m literally the best.”

Megumi lets his Shikigami out into the garden because they like to hang out outside. The only ones allowed in the house are his divine dogs because Toji doesn't want to see a huge owl or elephant in the living room.

Come to think of it, you and Tsumiki are the main ones who decide what goes in and out of the house. The flowers and the garden were just an example. Furniture, appliances, the color of the blinds and curtains, the interior and exterior, hell everything at this point. If you and Tsumiki made a comment about the appearance of something and it started with the words if, what, wonder, he’s already pulling the catalog for ideas. It’s mostly curiosity but if both you and Tsumiki bring it up, he’s changing it to your liking. Megumi never understands this because he’s the “it is what it is” or “I’m fine with it.” Megumi would be visiting home from school and sees Toji rearranging some of the furniture or building something from scratch in the backyard and he doesn’t question it.

Speaking of which, besides the appliances/photos/silverware/complicated items, almost everything in the house is made by him or customized by him. Tsumiki and Megumi’s rooms? Toji made them into their liking. The main bedroom? All Toji’s work. Not one spot in this house hasn’t been adjusted or changed by Toji. That’s why you credited your house to being the perfect home, all because of Toji. You always remind him that his work is much appreciated around this house. He’ll just smirk but you can see the way his ears fade into a pink rose color. He loves it when you say stuff like that to him. IF the kids say it to him, his grin is stuck on his face for a whole 24 hours.

THE HANGOUT HOUSE! You know how there’s always that one friend where almost every hangout occurs at their home? That’s Megumi, it’s literally him. Technically since Yuuji permanently lives in the dorms and Kugisaki used to live in the countryside, Megumi is the only person in the trio to have an official home. They pass by it a lot when they go exploring or hanging out. Megumi never said anything but the two notice how he stares at it for some time. Then some shenanigans happen and they had to take cover in Megumi’s home. Mind you, Yuuji and Nobara were looking at Megumi like he committed a war crime when he b-lined to the house. And they know it’s a nice house. They were yelling at Megumi saying they were trespassing and they’ll be in some deep shit if they get caught. But Megumi yells at them to trust him as he opens one of the doors. Then Yuuji and Nobara start begging him to not get them killed because they finally see that the home is a literal MANSION. They think they’re cooked by whomever lives here. But from Megumi’s reaction, they’re wondering if Megumi knows the person that lives here. Then when they go inside the actual home, they slide off their shoes and walk to what’s the common area of the house(kitchen/living room). Then Yuuji notices one of the photos and sees kid Megumi and three other people. Nobara shoves herself to see it and they both turn around to Megumi grabbing a pitcher of some sort of drink out of the fridge. “YOU LIVE HERE, FUSHIGURO!?!?” “Oi, not so loud! My sister isn’t home yet but my parents are so quiet.” They don’t meet Toji here but later on because he was doing something with Shui. But you pop in and the students instantly recognize you. You force Megumi to show them around the house and they are in absolute awe. The moment they see his cool ass room, this house is their default hangout spot.

Sleepovers happen often, Megumi doesn’t want them to but you insist since he could just use one of the bigger guest bedrooms or his own room if he wanted. They stay up watching movies, shows, or watching youtube videos or documentaries just because. They do the laughing challenge to see if Megumi actually laughs. He does but fewer far in between.

Toji embarrasses the hell out of Megumi. You don’t purposefully but by accident. Yuuji and Nobara would see Toji going into the kitchen to get a glass of water, see the color drain from Megumi’s face, then ask Toji about anything relating to Megumi. Then Toji spills the TEA on Megumi, it’s so funny. If Megumi won’t spill then his dad definitely would. Megumi’s face becomes like a tomato when anything about him comes out of his dad’s mouth.

Your house is stocked up on everything. There’s nothing in this house you wouldn’t have. Nobara needed some period products and you literally gave her a basket full of them. If she needs something else, you run to the store to get it for her. Yuuji forgot his toothpaste? You gave him a new tube and another one for his dorm. You tell them to ask you or Toji for anything if they need it. Nobara and Yuuji ask you to adopt them.

After a certain point, they just come over and ask for you instead of Megumi. He gets so annoyed and mad at them for it.

But you always insist on sleepover because Megumi finally has friends that he can call his own. It makes you happy he surrounds himself with good people and Toji agrees.

They know Megumi is balling in money which he always denies. But Yuuji brings up that Megumi has a Gameboy, Gameboy color, a DS lite, 3DS XL, a Switch OLED in his room. They’re all blue with every Pokémon game to have ever been released. He’s not beating the rich allegations.

Megumi is so irritated with Toji, it’s absolutely hilarious. I said it before and I’ll say it again: once Megumi is high school age, he’s an angsty teenager. Dude just gets so annoyed at his dad for existing, he only imagines it’s just you, him, and Tsumiki only. Toji asks him to do something, will do it but will grumble under his breath about it. But if you or Tsumiki ask him to do something, he has no attitude. Megumi is more softer with his sister and you but his dad? Nah, if he inherits everything from his dad, he’ll use them to his disposal against his Pops. He and Toji butt heads a lot but it’s never serious. Tsumiki sometimes wants to stop it but you tell her it’s a father son bonding thing.

Megumi inherited Toji’s grumpiness. Actually Megumi inherited a lot of things from Toji but he doesn’t want to admit it. Physically, Megumi is a mini version of Toji. Personality-wise, fairly similar. It’s just his hair curls up a bit but you believe it’s a recessive gene from a distant relative that decided to come out in a rare time.

Never tell Megumi he looks and acts like his dad. It will temporarily ruin his mood for like an hour or so. He legit got so mad. Put a side by side picture of the two and show it to him and he’ll walk away. If he’s compared to his mom? The saintess who does no wrong? Hell yeah he’ll take up the compliment. But his old man? He has his own personal beef with that. It’s when you or Tsumiki tell him he’s like Toji because you’re his family and know his antics better than anyone. But if it was someone like Gojo-sensei? He’s throwing a roast back. “Man, Megumi-kun. You’re just like old man Toji, grumpy and full of attitude.” “And that’s the same old man who was able to beat you and lived. I don’t wanna hear anything from you, Gojo-sensei.” Gojo cried to you about why your son was so mean to him while Suguru was absolutely done with him.

Tsumiki took a picture of Megumi when his hair was still damp from a shower, he looked so much like Toji. She showed you the picture and you asked her to send it to you. She shows Toji and Toji smirks to himself, knowing he’ll dangle that over Megumi’s head for as long as he lives. Toji gets his and Megumi’s side by side comparison framed in the house lol.

Sometimes Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko babysit younger Megumi and Tsumiki when you and Toji are busy. Tsumiki loves them, tolerating Satoru at best. But Megumi is irked by Satoru’s presence and only hangs out with Shoko and Suguru. Hates Gojo’s constant teasing but from pure annoyance. He and Tsumiki grow up with them and that’s why both of them know the three long before anyone else did.

Megumi gets irritated during Middle and High School because his parents are HOT. He remembers when his classmates from middle school would ask who’s the woman waving at him/man that grins his directions. Megumi grimaces and says “That’s my mom/dad.” Then his peers would start gushing about how gorgeous and demure you are/handsome and attractive Toji is. He wants them to shut up about it. If it’s only one of you, some of his peers would say, “Can your mom/dad fight?” Megumi wanted to punch them so badly, but refrains himself because he doesn’t want to waste his punches on a rando. It doesn’t help when he goes to the same school as Tsumiki, it’s the same THING. He knows people gush about him but he could care less. It just irritates him to no end when others do it on his family members. So when both you and Toji show up to school to take Megumi and Tsumiki out, everyone is just looking at Megumi and his attractive family. They can see where he got his genes from. His gene pool was created by divinity itself. His mom’s attractive, his dad’s attractive, his sister’s attractive, then they look at Megumi and see that he’s attractive. It gets worse with Yuuji and Nobara. They make remarks about it every time, how show stopping your looks are, his dad had people of all sexualities swooning, and his sister made people have hearts in their eyes.

Nobara: “That’s not fair! Fushiguro gets his amazing looks and genes from the two most heavenly beautiful people in the world and he’s not using them! God has favorites for sure.”

Yuuji: “But Fushiguro-kun is using his good-looks though, Kugisaki! He’s just the more silent, mysterious, aloof type of guy that every secretly wants, you'know?”

Megumi: “Can you two just shut it right now!? Stop talking about my parents or appearance! Focus on the damn mission!”

Family dinners are silent but content. Everyone always eats together whenever possible since Toji’s done cooking dinner at 6:30pm. There’s some talking here and there but everyone is more focused on enjoying the meal Toji cooks for them. The kids clean up after themselves and usually fill the sink with hot water to place their dirty dishes inside. They prefer to eat their dad’s cooking any day. Yuuji and Nobara come over to have dinner every now and then. That’s when it’s more lively since they’re always gushing about Toji’s food.

Your children are so protective of you because of their father. Toji tells them there are some people out there that won’t respect you and tells Megumi and Tsumiki it’s their job to tell him if anyone bothered them or you. They mostly tell him about the amount of men who try to hit on you even though you said you’re already married to Toji, flashing your wedding ring, when you pick up Megumi and Tsumiki from school. Toji shows up with you, sizing up every male in the vicinity while puffing his chest. You roll your eyes but silently admit it was hot. It doesn’t change when they get older, they just hide it better. You could be in the grocery store in the produce section and some guy is hitting on you. You don’t have your wedding ring on because your fingers were sore and it hurt to wear jewelry on your hand. But you wore it on in a necklace. The guy wasn’t taking no for an answer until he saw two people behind you, staring down this man. It’s your son and husband. Then your daughter pops up and steals you away to look at a sale of some fruits she wanted. Leaving the poor man in the wrath of Megumi and Toji. They only put their hands on someone if they harass you or down right disrespect in any form. Mostly they’ll give a talk to the individual that’s not so courtesy of you. The best thing about this whole thing? The teens and Toji saw it all happen and made it into a whole operation. Tsumiki was in on it too, bruh. The men collectively agree to stare down any person that looked at you funny. Tsumiki isn’t so serious but she’s more subtle with her warnings and hints. You remembered when Toji was talking to Megumi about dealing with these situations. “Megumi, when you bring your dogs out, I need you to have them bite the guy in the balls if they try something with your mother or snatch their bag if they’re a woman.” “TOJI!” “I was thinking about the same thing, Dad.” “MEGUMI (L/N) FUSHIGURO! PLEASE! I can’t with you two!”

Those family talks. Like when Megumi opens up to you or Toji about something, it could be anything but it’s mostly personal things. You know it’s serious when it’s just him sitting at the kitchen table while you and Toji are doing something in the kitchen. Hitting you with the “Can I ask you two something?” Then you and Toji give Megumi your undivided attention to let him know you’re listening and paying attention. These happen with Tsumiki too but she’s already an open book and isn’t as reserved as Megumi. You both give your commentary and advice when asked, sometimes you let Megumi rant or let out his bottled up feelings. Surprisingly, unsurprisingly, Toji gives out insightful advice that Megumi takes into account every time his dad speaks. This is also how you become closer to your son and daughter, even your own husband.

They are allowed to swear in the house but Toji’s rule is “You can swear but it can’t be towards someone.” But the kids didn’t swear until they were in junior high.

The house doesn’t have much talking but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. It’s the kind where everyone is enjoying each other’s presence with no need for talking. It’s functional in your household, so it works with your family.

Don’t remind Toji that Megumi and Tsumiki will eventually move out and have their own lives because Toji will get all soft and emotional about it.

Toji and you are living the dream life. A nice house and property. A loving family with two wonderful children to ever bless you and your husband. And a healthy life where your family is close. Toji never thought he could’ve had this life but he now he does. This is the greatest middle finger and ‘fuck you’ to the Zen'in clan.

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lightseoul · 4 months ago

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so i finally did it, y'all—i commissioned the wonderful @zestivivi to draw my first-ever °˖✧ self-ship art °˖✧

and i couldn't help it upon seeing the draft; i had to write a drabble to give it a bit of a backstory and to really just treat myself, so here it is!

(the pic is under the cut, if you're not in the mood to read and just wanna take a peek at it!)

CALL ME YOUR FAVORITE, CALL ME THE WORST (k. bakugou x reader)

“—and so i told eijirou he could go to hell if he asked me to cover for him tonight,” bakugou finishes, just as you twist your key one last time, effectively unlocking the door.

you toss him a chastising look as you push it open, trying to ignore the hammering in your chest as you do so. “don’t talk to your best friend like that, katsuki.”

at that, he scoffs, trailing behind you and entering through the doorway. “correction, you’re my best friend. and he’s used to it.”

despite yourself, a smile manages to creep into your face, which bakugou unfortunately catches sight of. the man only smirks to himself before gesturing to his trainers, “where do i put these?”

“beside my birks, please,” you sing-song, although your voice comes out a bit wobbly.

fucking nerves.

dropping your bag on the counter, you quickly shuffle through your kitchen and toward your dining area slash living room slash bedroom, scanning the space for any spot you’ve missed before bakugou could see them.

you’re just about to conclude that this place is as tidy as it can get when you sense the pro-hero walk up beside you, and you look at him to see his eyes darting across the area in inspection, a pensive expression on his face.

“what’re you thinking?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. you immediately regret it, though, bracing yourself for constructive feedback that you know will sting nonetheless.

it’s not every day you get to show your new place that’s your very own to anybody, let alone to your famously (notoriously) pedantic boyfriend.

“it's really clean,” he starts, pausing to think for a moment. he eventually turns to face you, that smirk from before now back on his face, “it’s very you. i like it.”

you feel a warmth wash over you, and you don’t fight the grin that’s invading your features. “aww, thanks, babe!”

he waves you off with a hand, resuming his thorough survey of your unit. “‘s nice how you displayed your books here, and that your guitar is easy to reach for. and your decorations are just abo—”

you glance back at the man from where you were hurriedly pouring him a cold glass of water, “just about what, kats?”

to that, bakugou doesn’t say anything. he seems frozen, eyes fixed on what you think is your entertainment area.

you pad toward the spot beside him, and you follow his line of vision.

directly right to your dynamight figurines.

almost instantly, your stomach drops as if you just got hit by a metaphorical tsunami of scalding humiliation. your feet move before your brain can catch up, and in a matter of seconds, you find yourself planted right in front of bakugou, obscuring his view of his mini-me’s.

at least, you tried to. the tall man only continues to effortlessly stare at them through the space above your head.

“so what do you want for dinner?” you manage to croak out, desperate to change the subject and bones threatening to give out in embarrassment.

“…is that a funko pop of all might and… me?”

the ground can swallow you up just about now, thanks.

for a beat, you debate as to whether or not to joke or lie your way out of this one, but one look at the inexplicable expression on your boyfriend’s face has you ultimately decided against it.

“…yes?”

now, in the split second of choosing to tell the truth, you came up with the expectations of him snorting in response, or maybe shooting you a confused look that reads ‘what the fuck’ or something similar, but you certainly didn’t predict him to laugh.

as in, drop his head back and howl laugh.

immediately, you feel yourself flame in shame as you watch the pro-hero bend slightly over and clutch his stomach in mirth, what you think are tears now pooling in the corners of his clenched eyes.

you can’t help but frown, “quit laughing at me, you jerk!”

that only makes him bark out another loud one, and just when you think he’s about to finish, he wheezes: “and you’ve got a nendoroid of me, too!”

that’s it.

you spin on your heel, turning your back on your jackass of a boyfriend, and you’re about to scoop the figurines into your arms and throw them into the abyss at the back of your closet when you feel something tug at your wrist, pulling you and your entire body back.

and before you can even comprehend what’s happening, bakugou’s invading your space and leaning toward you, planting his forehead right at the crook of your neck.

“wha—”

you’re cut off by bakugou snuggling into you, and you can feel him shake in laughter before the chuckles finally escape him and you’re both left in comfortable silence.

you hope he’s not hearing the thunderous ruckus your heart is making right now despite yourself.

a few moments pass with neither of you moving or saying anything before you finally decide to speak up.

“if you think this’ll make up for you laughing so blatantly at me, you’ve got another thing coming for you, mister.”

at that, bakugou snorts, retorting without missing a beat. “i wasn’t laughing at you, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, although you don’t make any move to push him away. “sure, you weren’t.”

“i’m serious. it just caught me off guard.”

“and then you started laughing at me.”

from where he’s slotted right by your neck, bakugou huffs, and you stop yourself from shivering at the feeling of his breath against your skin.

“i was just laughing at how everything’s turned out, alright?”

instinctively, your eyebrows furrow in question, “what do you mean?”

he sighs, the puff of air he lets out tickling your flesh again, “i just think it’s fucking funny how i grew up with a shit ton of all might merch, and now i have my own merch displayed right beside him, in my girlfriend’s new home, no less.”

and, before you can even feign offense at his comment, he beats you to it.

“i’m just fucking happy, okay? just let me have this.”

you don’t know what else to say at his sudden confession, and so you only manage a nod, moving your head just enough for him to feel the gesture. slowly, you allow yourself to relax your shoulders and lean toward bakugou, who snuggles even closer to you in return.

“they’re quite expensive, you know,” you offer after a few seconds of silence. “and yours are especially hard to come by.”

you can practically hear the grin on his face when he quips, “what, am i your favorite hero, or something?”

“no,” you immediately retort, deadpan. “all might is. explains why i only have one figurine of him and a gazillion of you in here.”

at that, bakugou lets out a genuine laugh, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s sporting that boyish grin and disarming eye smile that really nobody else has the honor of witnessing.

nobody except you.

you hesitantly bring your right hand up, unable to resist the urge to gently cradle the back of his head. upon the split second of contact, however, bakugou stiffens, and you’ve half a mind to withdraw and pull away when he does so.

but all the apprehension evaporates from your system when almost immediately after, he nestles closer into you.

you feel yourself flush at the motion, failing to stop the smile that takes over your lips.

and, if you didn’t know any better, you’d bet your expensive ass dynamight figurines he’s blushing, too.

bonus:

you’re in the middle of feeding yourself a spoonful of chicken curry when you decide you finally have enough. placing the serving firmly on your platter, you shift to face bakugou, who’s at your right and eating beside you.

more of side-eyeing you than eating in the past thirty minutes since dinner arrived, really.

you pull your lips in a tight line, “spit it out, kats.”

at that, he tosses you a disgusted look, before quickly swallowing the mouthful of cabbage he was just munching on. “why the fuck should i do that?”

you roll your eyes, “not the food, dummy. you’ve got something you want to say.”

“i do not.”

you only give him a knowing stare.

bakugou huffs, putting down his own spoon after a pregnant pause, “fine.”

it takes him a moment to finally do so, and when he does you almost choke.

“…so who the fuck is akaashi and why do you also have one of him?”

for context, here's my entertainment area LMAO i really took self-indulgence to another level, huh (sorry not sorry) title is from the song call me by shinedown (credits to @creativepromptsforwriting for the idea)

anyway, thank you so much again to @/zestivivi for turning my vision into reality and then some <3 thank you for being so easy to work with and receptive to my requests, particularly to make the character look just like me! 'til the next one, for sure :,)

#pls do not save or repost the artwork nor my pictures; thank you!#DJKJKJJKD i'm literally so obsessed #like!!!! i was quaking in anticipation waiting for the final product fr and they did NOT play it's so pretty #my heart sings every time i see it i'm not even kidding....#AREN'T WE SO CUTE (say yes)#katsuzee #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #self ship art

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serge-emco-tech-heating-cooling · 9 months ago

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#ac contractor #ductless mini split cleaning #Mini Split Cleaning #ac maintenance #emco tech heating and cooling #hvac near me #hvac contractor #air conditioning #Ductless Mini Splits

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pandapetals · 2 months ago

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ong i love your writing! can i please get a x1 logan fic where the reader is a ballerina? she’s been alive for a long time just like logan with the same regeneration ability. they meet when she is invited to the x mansion for something. but he walks in on her dancing swan lake? if not i totally understand. a girl can dream 💗✨

Hi! Thank you so much and sooo sorry for how long it took. I’ve been busy finishing school and sleep-deprived. Hopefully, i did it justice. Idk what this is lol but i ran with it. It turned into a mini fic....anyway, I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid so this lowkey fulfilled my dreams.

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, minor fluff, reader has established relationships with x-men especially hank, slight reader description, no y/n used, reader has met logan before but he doesn’t remember, timeline sort of follows X1 & X2, ballet references

You stood in the middle of the mansion’s wide, polished hallway, the faint smell of waxed floors and old books swirling around you. The hum of distant voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking echoed deeper within the sprawling mansion. You smoothed your palms over your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft cotton of your dance tights beneath your coat. This place hadn’t changed—well, not in the ways that mattered.

Storm walked beside you, her silver hair catching the sunlight spilling through the grand windows, while Scott trailed just behind, his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense stance. You saw your reflection in one of the hallway mirrors—unchanged. Despite the weight of decades, your skin was still smooth, and your body lithe. This place carried ghosts for you, but not the kind that faded with time.

"Still feels the same," you murmured under your breath, your voice almost swallowed by the mansion's high ceilings.

Storm turned, a small smile pulling at her lips. "The kids grow up, and new ones come in, but the mansion stays the same."

"Right down to the same smell of burnt toast from the kitchen every morning," Scott added, his tone dry. He gave you a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his stoicism. "You'll fit right in again. Hank’s been talking about your return for weeks. I think he's been counting the days."

Storm chuckled softly, her voice lilting like the whisper of wind through trees. “You’d think he was the one with a photographic memory.”

As if summoned by your name, a deep, rumbling voice boomed from behind. “Is that—no, it can’t be.”

You turned just in time to see Hank bounding into view, his blue fur almost shimmering in the light. His tailored blazer looked comically out of place over his hulking, beastly form, but the warm smile on his face was the same as you remembered.

"Hank!" you exclaimed, your smile splitting wide as you stepped forward. His massive arms enveloped you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off your feet.

"My dear, you haven’t aged a day!" he declared, setting you back down but keeping his enormous hands on your shoulders as if to confirm you were real.

“Well, you know me. Perks of the trade,” you said lightly, but his words brought a pang you quickly shoved aside. You tilted your head up at him. “You, on the other hand, look fluffier than ever.”

Hank laughed, the sound rolling through the hallway like thunder. “You flatter me.” He released you with a fond pat on the back. "Though I must admit, it’s wonderful to see you again. It hasn’t been the same without you."

Scott cleared his throat, his voice tinged with impatience. “As much as I enjoy a good reunion, we still have the tour to finish.”

You smirked. “Still as serious as ever, huh, Summers? Don’t worry, I won’t let Hank hold us up too long.”

As the group moved down the hallway, your footsteps were light against the polished floor. A gruff voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

“Who’s the new recruit?”

You froze. You knew that voice—low, gravelly like it had been dragged across gravel and left to smolder. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Logan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the frame, the other holding a cigar he hadn’t bothered to light. His eyes raked over you, sizing you up with an air of detached curiosity.

“Logan,” you said, the name tasting familiar on your tongue, like a song you hadn’t sung in years.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

For a second, you almost told him. The memories of a fight decades ago—the clash of claws and fists, the way his grin had split his face after every victory—flashed through your mind. But his blank stare reminded you he wouldn’t remember. Not this version of him. Not after what they’d done to him.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug, masking the ache behind a practiced nonchalance. “But I’ve heard of you. Big fan of the ‘snikt-snikt’ routine.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Cute.” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he walked closer. “What’s your story?”

You mirrored his casual stance, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “I’m here to teach ballet. Figured the kids could use some culture.”

“Ballet?” Logan snorted, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be real useful in a fight.”

You smirked back. “You’d be surprised. I could take you down in three moves.”

“Three, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re confident. I like that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like a demonstration?”

Before he could reply, Storm cut in, her voice carrying an edge of authority. “Logan, play nice. She’s here to help, not trade punches with you.”

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if she ends up knocking one of the kids on their asses in the Danger Room.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Logan might not remember you, but some things about him hadn’t changed.

As he walked away, cigar tucked back between his teeth, you turned to Storm, who was watching you with a knowing look.

“Well,” you said, “this is going to be fun.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll fit right in.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from whatever freshener Storm had insisted on using, and the golden light of late afternoon streamed through the large windows. You sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, hands resting on your knees, staring absently at the few belongings you’d unpacked. A duffel bag in the corner. A framed photo of you and Hank from years ago—his arm slung over your shoulder, your face mid-laugh. It felt surreal, almost too heavy to keep looking at.

You shrugged as if trying to loosen the weight pressing on your chest. It was nice to be back, even if it stirred old memories you’d locked away. Memories of laughter, battle, and the kind of losses that didn’t fade with time. But this was temporary. Just another stop along your endless road, you reminded yourself. You never stayed anywhere long enough to leave roots. You couldn’t.

A knock at the doorframe broke your reverie.

“Mind if I come in?” Hank’s familiar baritone rang out, warm and tinged with his usual politeness. He stood there, one hand resting on the frame, his blue fur catching the golden light.

“Course,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you waved him in.

He stepped into the room, his hulking frame seeming almost too big for the cozy space. But the way he moved—careful and precise—kept it from feeling intrusive. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the bare walls and the sparse unpacking. “Travel light as always, I see.”

“Old habits die hard,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not planning on staying long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he crossed the room and plopped into the chair at the small desk, the furniture groaning under his weight.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you said, your smile softening. “It’s been...”

“Ten years,” he finished for you, his voice quiet but firm.

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, the guilt settling in your stomach like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you said finally in a whisper.

Hank waved you off, the gesture almost as familiar as the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I know you had your reasons for running off. It just would’ve been nice to know you weren’t, you know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That earned a small laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve done better on the whole ‘staying in touch’ thing, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, leaning forward and resting his chin on his massive hand. “I missed you, you know. Things have been... quieter without you around.”

You grinned. “Me? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I distinctly recall a certain someone sneaking into my lab at three in the morning to swipe beakers for—what was it—homemade glow-in-the-dark paint?”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “In my defense, it worked! That mural in the attic was a masterpiece.”

“And I had to spend an entire week re-organizing my lab. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he didn’t regret a second of it.

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind of silence only shared between old friends.

Hank cleared his throat, his tone turning curious. “So, how are you feeling about being back? I know it can’t be easy.”

You leaned back on your hands, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s... weird. Good, but weird. This place has so many memories, you know? Feels like I’m walking through a time capsule. Everyone’s so familiar but different at the same time. Even Logan.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Logan?”

You nodded, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Ran into him in the hallway earlier. He asked who I was.”

“And did you tell him?”

Your smile faded slightly, replaced by something more wistful. “Just said I was here to teach ballet and that I’d heard of him.”

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice soft. You traced the edge of the duvet with your finger, eyes distant. “A long time ago. Before he lost his memory.”

Hank frowned. “And he doesn’t remember?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“That must’ve been... hard,” Hank said, his voice gentle, always the considerate one.

You shrugged, forcing a small, tight smile. “It’s not like I expected him to. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less complicated.”

“Hmm,” Hank murmured, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Well, complicated or not, he seems intrigued by you. I caught him muttering something about ‘ballet instructors with an attitude’ after he saw you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Sounds about right. I think I annoyed him within thirty seconds of meeting him. New record?”

Hank chuckled. “Perhaps. Though, if I know Logan, that probably just means he respects you already.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure. Respect. That’s what I’m calling it.”

Hank grinned at your sarcasm, but his expression softened as he leaned forward again. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if it’s just for a little while. The place feels more like home with you in it.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve to avoid his gaze. “Thanks, Hank. That means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” he said simply, his sincerity cutting through any attempt to downplay his words.

The two of you fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was heavier with unspoken things. Things you didn’t have to say, because after all these years, Hank just knew.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Great work today,” you said gently, crouching to pat one of the kids on the head. The little girl beamed up at you, her hair still pinned into a slightly crooked bun from class.

“Thanks!” she chirped before bounding off toward the theatre entrance, where a gaggle of other students waited.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright and early!” you called after them, your voice carrying across the empty rows of seats. A few of them waved over their shoulders, laughter spilling into the hall as they disappeared through the double doors.

The stage was quiet now, the faint scent of resin and sweat lingering in the air. You stood there staring out at the rows of chairs that stretched into a shadow. The polished floor beneath your feet caught the faint gleam of overhead lights, reflecting a ghostly version of yourself back at you.

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, the stillness pressing around you like a heavy blanket. This place stirred something deep in you, something you hadn’t felt in years. You glanced down at your feet, your sneakers looking almost out of place against the elegant backdrop of the stage. Your eyes drifted, drawn to a battered old prop chest tucked just off to the side, partially hidden by the heavy velvet curtain.

Curiosity pulled you forward, and you crouched to flip open the lid. A cloud of dust puffed out, tickling your nose as you rummaged through its contents. Costumes, ribbons, bits of tulle—faded relics from long-forgotten performances. And then, nestled at the very bottom, you found them.

A pair of pointe shoes.

Your breath hitched as you lifted them from the chest, the ribbons cascading down like silk waterfalls. They weren’t yours—at least, not exactly—but they might as well have been. The scuffed toes, the frayed edges of the satin, the way the soles were worn down just so—it was all so familiar it made your chest ache.

Without really thinking, you sat down on the edge of the stage, untying your sneakers and slipping off your socks. The cool satin of the pointe shoes slid over your feet like a second skin, and your fingers moved on autopilot as you laced the ribbons up your ankles. The motions were muscle memory, older than most of the students you’d taught today.

You rose slowly, the faint stretch and pull of the shoes grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. A glance backstage revealed a small sound system someone had left behind, a phone still plugged into it. You scrolled until you found it—Swan Lake.

The haunting strings began to play, swelling and softening as if they were breathing. You stepped back onto the stage, your toes brushing the center mark, and let the music guide you.

At first, you moved tentatively, testing the feel of the shoes and the way your body responded. But soon, the hesitance melted away, and the steps came to you as naturally as breathing. A pirouette turned into an arabesque, which melted into a series of gliding movements that carried you across the stage.

The world outside the theatre faded, and all that existed was the music, the stage, and the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Each movement felt like slipping into an old memory, one you didn’t even realize you’d missed.

You were mid-leap when you caught the faintest creak of floorboards behind you.

The sound shattered your focus, and you landed with a jarring thud, spinning around instinctively.

Logan stood at the edge of the stage, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the proscenium arch, watching you with an unreadable expression, though something about it wasn’t entirely unkind.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft strains of Swan Lake still played behind you, the violins aching as the tension in the air stretched.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Long enough,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to announce yourself?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked... focused.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face as you turned away and bent to tug the ribbons loose from your ankles. “Well, congratulations. You interrupted anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. “You’re... pretty good at that, by the way.”

You paused mid-motion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Pretty good? Gee, thanks for the glowing review.”

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alright, fine. You’re really good. Happy?”

You snorted, slipping the pointe shoes off and flexing your toes. “It’s been a while.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on you even as you busied yourself with tucking the ribbons back into the shoes. “You used to do that, huh? Dance, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, turning the shoes over in your hands. “A lifetime ago.”

The silence hung between while the faint hum of the violins still played in the background.

“You should do it more,” he said finally, his tone softer than you expected.

You looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. The rough edges of Logan’s demeanor didn’t usually leave much room for softness, and it caught you off guard. But before you could respond, he was already turning away, heading toward the wings, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor.

You just sat there, the pointe shoes resting lightly in your lap. You stared after him, unsure whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or call him back just to yell at him for sneaking in. But something about the way he moved—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—stopped you.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice carrying across the empty stage.

He paused, his broad shoulders tensing, though he didn’t turn right away. When he did, his expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from you.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around you. “At the school, I mean.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was deciding whether or not to answer. “A good while,” he said finally, his tone gruff.

It wasn’t much of an answer—not something you could work with—but you tried anyway. “Hank tells me you’re just… passing through.” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “But you’re still here.”

Logan let out a soft huff, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough. “He should mind his business,” he said, though there was no real heat in his words. He paused, stepping closer with a glint of curiosity in his sharp eyes. “You talking to Hank about me?”

You shrugged, the movement casual, but your heart was beating just a touch faster. “Me and Hank are good friends. We’ve—well, I’ve known the X-Men almost my whole life.” You hesitated, glancing down at the pointe shoes in your lap, your fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of the satin. “Been around a long time.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and searching. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You give off that vibe.”

You frowned, looking back up at him. “What vibe?”

“Like you’ve seen some things,” he said, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt older than even his rough exterior let on. “Been through it. Same as me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain. Not easily, anyway. Instead, you offered him a small, wry smile. “Yeah, well. Time has a way of kicking the crap out of you if you let it.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine than you expected. “Ain’t that the truth.” He shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the pointe shoes still cradled in your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said finally, nodding toward them. “Dancing, I mean. I could tell. Not just talent—it’s in your bones.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What, you an expert on ballet now?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah. But I know what it looks like when someone’s got somethin’ that keeps ‘em going. Something they can’t walk away from, even if they try.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted to admit as you stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something you forget. Even when you want to.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. Something was flickering behind his gaze, restless and uncertain like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even know he had.

“You seem… familiar,” he said suddenly, the words rough, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

Your breath caught, and you stiffened, your grip tightening on the pointe shoes. “Familiar?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I dunno. I get these dreams sometimes. Flashes of… people, places. Can’t make sense of ‘em half the time, but you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “You feel like one of ‘em. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as his words pulled at something buried deep in your chest. “Well,” you said lightly, “maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Logan snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.” But the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

You stood abruptly, the pointe shoes dangling from your fingers as you moved to set them down on the edge of the stage. “I should probably get going,” you said, your voice a touch too bright. “Long day tomorrow. Lots of kids to wrangle.”

Logan straightened, watching you carefully. “Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey. If you ever feel like you need to talk… about all that time kickin’ the crap outta you…” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I’m around.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded back, stepping away toward the wings. “Anytime.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, you found yourself standing there, staring at the space he’d left behind, wondering if he remembered more than he realized.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Leaving already?” Hank asked, his deep voice soft but tinged with disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe of your room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the half-packed duffel bag on the bed.

You turned to face him, zipping up the side pocket of the bag before offering him a faint smile. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “My job’s done. These kids learned pretty quickly. They don’t need me hanging around.”

Hank stepped into the room, his large frame taking up far too much space as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could stay…”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you looked down at your hands, gripping the strap of your bag. The idea tugged at you, and you couldn’t deny it. A part of you did want to stay. It had been a few months—far longer than you’d initially planned—and yet leaving felt harder than it usually did.

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “I know he would miss you,” he said gently, his voice softening. “In his own weird way.”

Your heart gave a traitorous thud, and you swallowed hard, glancing toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the walls, the light catching the faint dust motes in the air. You knew exactly who Hank meant.

“Hank,” you said, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, his tone a mixture of teasing and sincerity, “it’s not every day Logan actually lets someone get under his skin.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, though it was tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Under his skin? Pretty sure he’d describe me as an itch, not a friend.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “Perhaps. But even Logan doesn’t get that annoyed unless he likes someone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made both of you glance toward the door. A moment later, Logan appeared, his usual scowl in place as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, though his eyes flicked to your bag with something far harder to read.

“Not at all,” Hank said smoothly, stepping toward the door. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

You shot Hank a glare, but he only smiled innocently before brushing past Logan and disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

“So,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Packing up, huh?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Time to hit the road. The kids are in a good place, and my work here is done.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Work? Looked more like pirouettes and tutus to me.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t knock it, Logan. Ballet’s tougher than it looks. I’d like to see you last five minutes in a pair of pointe shoes.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. “I like my dignity right where it is.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel bag. “You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you over the head.”

“Careful, darlin’,” Logan shot back, his voice teasing but low. “I might actually start to think I’m gonna miss you.”

The playful tone of the conversation faltered for a split second, the weight of his words landing heavier than either of you expected. You looked at him, your smirk fading as your eyes searched his face.

“Well,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off, “don’t get too sentimental on me, Logan. I’ll think I’ve broken you.”

Logan didn’t laugh. His expression grew more serious, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not bein’ sentimental. I mean it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. “Logan—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping before meeting yours again. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Before you could respond, Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low huff. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you before.”

You froze, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece something together. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said slowly. “Flashes of… I dunno, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral even as his words sent a ripple through you. “Logan, that doesn’t mean anything,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Dreams are just… dreams.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Maybe. But it feels real. Like I’m rememberin’ something I’m not supposed to.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Logan…”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes locked on yours. “I don’t know what it means, but…” He exhaled, the sound rough and frustrated. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

You managed a faint smile, though your chest felt tight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Logan nodded once, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff again, though the softness in his eyes remained.

“You too, Logan,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“He isn’t here,” Hank’s familiar voice rumbled as you stepped through the heavy oak doors of Xavier’s mansion.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your chest before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “Who said I came back for him?” you quipped, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I missed you, you big fluff.”

Hank appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his blue fur catching the soft light streaming through the tall windows. He grinned as he descended, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet foyer. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. As he reached the bottom step, he opened his arms, and you moved forward, letting yourself sink into the familiar embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders. “My dear, I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You gave him a faint smile, setting your duffel bag down by your feet. “Well, you were right. This place has a way of sticking with you.”

Your gaze wandered, taking in the grand entryway—the polished wood floors, the scent of old books, and faint traces of Storm’s jasmine perfume lingering in the air. It felt the same as it always had, and yet different, as if the mansion itself had shifted in your absence. It had been three months since you’d left, determined to put some distance between yourself and the memories this place stirred up. But the farther you went, the more you felt the pull to come back.

Something about being here this time had gotten under your skin, burrowed into the part of you that you usually kept locked away.

Hank seemed to sense your hesitation. His perceptive blue eyes studied you carefully, the teasing edge to his voice softening. “What brought you back this time? Missing the kids already? Or…” He trailed off meaningfully, giving you a knowing look.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to avoid his gaze. “Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Start with what?” he asked innocently, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

You bent to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the staircase. “I just felt like it was time to come back, okay? No ulterior motives.”

Hank followed you, his footsteps were heavy but deliberate. “Hmm,” he murmured, and you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. “I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him toward the sitting room. You hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to let this drop, so you sighed and followed him in.

As you stepped into the room, the crackling of a low fire greeted you, the warmth immediately chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your journey back. Hank moved to pour himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table and offered you one with a tilt of his head. You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest instead.

When Hank finally spoke, his voice was careful but direct. “Logan left shortly after you did.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. “Oh?”

Hank’s sharp eyes flicked to you over the rim of his cup. “He went to Alkali Lake.”

Your breath caught for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to shrug casually. “Is that so? I guess he's still looking for answers.”

Hank hummed, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “Indeed. He seemed… restless. More so than usual. Charles sent him there.”

You shifted your weight, pretending to be absorbed in the crackling fire, but you could feel Hank watching you, his gaze pressing against the cracks in your carefully constructed mask. “Well, you know Logan. He’s not exactly one for sitting still,” you said lightly.

Hank didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. “You knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

You frowned, turning your gaze to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded you with that gentle yet unyielding intensity that only he could pull off. “You care about him,” he said simply. “And don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you looked away, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it,” Hank said gently.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “I think I’ll talk to Charles,” you said abruptly, moving toward the door.

“Of course,” Hank said, his voice soft and understanding. “But if you need to talk…”

You glanced back at him, offering a small, strained smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You found Charles in his study, the quiet hum of his voice reaching you before you even entered the room. He was finishing up a conversation with Storm, who nodded at you in greeting as she passed by on her way out.

“Ah,” Charles said, his warm smile appearing as he gestured for you to come in. “It’s good to see you back.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind you. “Why did you send him there?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “Logan?”

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hank said you sent him to Alkali Lake. Why?”

Charles sighed, folding his hands in his lap as his gaze turned contemplative. “Because he was searching for answers. And I thought he deserved a chance to find them.”

“At that place?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Charles’s gaze softened, his eyes piercing yet kind. “You know as well as I do that Logan’s past is complicated. He came to me, searching for guidance. I simply pointed him toward where I believed he might find what he was looking for.”

You turned away, pacing to the window as you tried to steady your thoughts. Memories of Alkali Lake clawed at the edges of your mind, and the idea of Logan going back there made your chest tighten.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you muttered.

Charles was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “He’s stronger than you think. And, perhaps, finding the truth is the only way for him to heal.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t remember.”

Charles tilted his head, studying you carefully. “And yet, it seems to me that you do.”

You turned to face him, your arms folded tightly across your chest like a shield, but you couldn’t keep the vulnerability from your eyes as they met his. He was right, of course—he was always right. You did remember. You remembered everything.

And that was the problem.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray you, “things happen for a reason. Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”

Charles’s expression softened, his piercing gaze never wavering. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he studied you. “Perhaps you feel that way,” he said gently, “but Logan doesn’t. He wants to remember—he longs to, even if he doesn’t realize how painful the truth could be.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against your arms. The lump rising in your throat made it difficult to speak. “You shouldn’t have sent him there,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “You could’ve just told him. You could’ve looked into his mind and shown him.”

Charles sighed, his expression tinged with a sadness that only came from decades of making impossible decisions. “I could have,” he admitted, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “But sometimes it’s best to let one discover the truth on their own. To take the journey themselves, rather than having it handed to them.”

You shook your head, pacing a few steps toward the window before stopping, your hands bracing against the ledge as you stared out at the sprawling gardens. The sky was painted with the fiery hues of sunset, the warm colors stark against the shadows creeping across the grounds.

“You don’t know what he’s walking into,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less strained. “Alkali Lake isn’t just some mystery to solve—it’s a wound that doesn’t close. Whatever he finds there… it’ll destroy him.”

Charles’s chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his voice still calm but tinged with something deeper, something more insistent. “Logan is stronger than you think. He has endured more than most men could even imagine. And while you may see Alkali Lake as a wound, for him, it may be the key to healing.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Healing? Is that what you call it? Ripping open the past just to bleed all over again?” You turned to face him, your voice rising slightly. “You think that’s going to help him?”

Charles remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting yours. “I think,” he said carefully, “that Logan deserves the chance to decide for himself. To understand who he was, and who he could become.”

You looked away, your jaw clenching as the weight of his words settled over you. “He doesn’t need to remember everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Charles. “Some things… some things are better left buried.”

Charles regarded you silently for a long moment, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute. “You could help him.”

The words made your heart jolt, and your eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

“You could help him,” Charles repeated, his gaze unyielding. “You know him. You understand his pain in ways others cannot. Perhaps you are exactly what he needs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the door. “No,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked slightly. “That’s not my place. He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said, tilting his head slightly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the connection. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

You froze in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as you glanced back at him. “This isn’t about me caring,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the lie in your voice. “This is about you sending him to a place that’s going to tear him apart, and expecting someone else to pick up the pieces.”

Charles’s gaze softened, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not expecting anything, my dear. I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. Just as he does.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed against the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. Without another word, you turned and walked out, the faint echo of your footsteps fading down the hall.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting by the window in your room, the pointe shoes you’d brought with you resting in your lap. The moonlight spilled across the polished floor, painting the room in silvery shadows.

You hadn’t danced since the day Logan had interrupted you in the theatre, but now, your legs ached with the restless energy that only movement could soothe. Setting the shoes aside, you rose to your feet and began to move, the quiet hum of your memories guiding your steps.

But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, his words echoed in your mind.

“I’ve had these dreams. Flashes of… I don’t know, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

You faltered mid-spin, your movements slowing until you stood completely still, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. The memories he didn’t fully understand were ones you couldn’t forget. The snow, the forest, the way his eyes—wilder, more broken than—had locked onto yours as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, resting your head in your hands. You had told yourself that coming back to the mansion was about the kids, about the familiar comforts of a place you’d once called home. But deep down, you knew it was about him.

And now he was gone.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken, but one thing was certain—if Logan ever truly remembered everything, you weren’t sure either of you would survive it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You descended the staircase beside Hank, nodding absentmindedly as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest research—something about neural pathways and genetic mutations. It was fascinating, you were sure, but your thoughts had drifted. A week had passed since you returned to the mansion, and yet it still felt strange to slip so easily back into the rhythm of this place, like stepping into an old pair of shoes you’d forgotten you owned.

“Logan! You’re back!”

Rogue’s excited voice cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your hand tightening on the polished wood of the banister. Your eyes darted to the entrance below, where Logan stood just inside the door, a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as gruff as ever, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly mussed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Rogue darted across the hall to embrace him.

You lingered on the stairs, watching the exchange with a small smile. Rogue stepped back, saying something too low for you to hear, and Logan responded with a grunt that made her laugh. The sight of it tugged at something in your chest—something you weren’t ready to name.

“Wonder why he’s back,” Hank said beside you, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You didn’t miss the knowing look he gave you, and you sighed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice teasing but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Still, your heart raced, betraying the calm exterior you were trying so hard to maintain. The thought crossed your mind—fleeting and impossible—that maybe Logan had come back because you were here. But no. That wasn’t how things worked. You had left before him, made it clear you didn’t intend to stay, and Logan… well, Logan wasn’t the sentimental type.

As you descended the last few steps, Hank still at your side, Logan’s gaze lifted. His smirk faded as his sharp eyes found yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Relief? It was gone before you could name it, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

“You… made it back,” you said, your voice softer than you intended as you offered him a faint smile.

Logan’s brow twitched, and he set his duffel bag down by his feet. “Looks like we both did,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that always sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, stepping off the last stair. “But, you know… this place has a way of dragging you back.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his lips twitching as though he might smile. “Does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward but heavy enough to feel like the air between you had changed somehow. Hank, ever the socially astute one, cleared his throat and patted you lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… catch up. I have some experiments to check on.”

You shot him a warning look, but he just grinned and disappeared down the hall dragging Rogue along with him. Leaving you alone with Logan.

“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms casually. “Alkali Lake. Find what you were looking for?”

Logan let out a low huff, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Nothin’ there but snow and bad memories.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened at his words. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let this get to you, wouldn’t let your emotions bubble to the surface. But it was hard. You knew what Alkali Lake meant, not just to him but to you as well.

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a smirk. “Guess you can cross that one off the list.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you carefully. “Guess so.”

There was a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were working up to something. You shifted under his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders.

“What?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Had another dream,” he said suddenly, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken lingering beneath his words.

You froze, your smirk faltering. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You were in it again.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “You sure it wasn’t Rogue this time? Or Storm? Maybe I’m just a stand-in for all the women in your life.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. It was you.” He stepped a little closer, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. “This time you were… dancin’.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You broke eye contact, looking down at the scuffed floorboards. “Sounds like a weird dream,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softer now. “Weird thing is, it felt… familiar.”

You looked back up at him sharply, your stomach twisting. “Familiar how?”

Logan shrugged, the movement almost too casual, but his brow furrowed as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Don’t know. I just… felt like I’d seen it before. You, up on some stage or somethin’, spinnin’ around. There was music. Somethin’ old… Swan Lake, maybe?”

Your throat tightened. The memory flashed in your mind—the theatre, the faint strains of Swan Lake, the way you’d let yourself get lost in the dance only to find Logan watching you from the shadows.

“Well,” you said finally, forcing a smirk. “Maybe you’re just jealous of my skills.”

Logan snorted, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah, sure. That’s it.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, and you thought you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something uncertain, almost vulnerable. But then he stepped back, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good to see you back,” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough that you almost missed it. “Place is better with you here.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking down the hall, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

Logan might not remember everything, but the pieces were there buried just beneath the surface. And whether you liked it or not, it seemed those pieces included you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Charles suggested I… help him,” you said, your tone sharp as you leaned against Hank’s lab table. The polished steel was cold under your hands, grounding you as you tried to organize your thoughts. “Can you believe that? The old man won’t use his powers to look inside Logan’s mind, but he expects me to do it—in some weird, roundabout sense.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully, his attention divided as he adjusted the burner beneath a bubbling beaker. “Charles has his methods,” he said evenly. “Though I suspect he thinks you’d be a better help because you… knew Logan. From before.”

Your stomach tightened, and you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Hank, I’ve known almost everyone. I’ve been alive longer than any of you. It doesn’t mean I have all the answers.” You hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “And you can’t expect me to just… spill my guts to him. What if it triggers something in him? The feral side?”

That made Hank pause. He looked up from his work, concern creasing his blue-furred face. “I’ve heard about that side of him,” he said cautiously, “but I’ve never seen it in person.” His voice lowered. “Have you?”

The question made your chest tighten even more, your heart thudding against your ribs. You turned away, your eyes settling on a shelf of meticulously labeled vials, pretending to study them.

“We’ve seen it, haven’t we?” Hank pressed, his tone gentler now.

Finally, you nodded, the memory bubbling to the surface unbidden. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. “My dear,” he said carefully, “you’ve always made it seem as though you knew Logan in passing… like acquaintances from a battlefield. But…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Hank, it doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ve got time,” Hank replied simply, leaning against the counter and folding his massive arms across his chest.

You threw him a look, but the patience in his gaze—the quiet, unyielding kind that Hank was so good at—made you falter. You pushed off the table and started to pace, running a hand through your hair as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“I met Logan decades ago,” you began, your voice tight. “During a war. A different one from the ones the X-Men are used to. He wasn’t like he is now. He was wilder, more dangerous. Barely in control of himself. A weapon, not a man.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Weapon X?”

You shook your head. “No. This was before that. This was… something else. Something darker.”

You stopped pacing, your arms falling to your sides as the memory gripped you. “I was passing through this remote town in the Canadian Rockies. Just trying to stay out of the way, you know? That’s what I did back then. I didn’t get involved. Didn’t put down roots. And then…” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “Then I heard the screams.”

Hank’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“There were bodies,” you continued, your voice distant now. “Shredded. Blood everywhere. And in the middle of it was him. Logan. He wasn’t himself—not the man you know now. He was… feral. An animal. He couldn’t even speak. Just growled and snarled like a beast.”

Hank adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grim. “And you fought him?”

You let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I tried. I had to. He was killing anything that moved. I thought I could stop him, but… I underestimated him. He tore through me like paper.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “But your healing—”

“Exactly,” you cut in, nodding. “He saw me heal. Saw me get back up when I should’ve stayed down. I think it… confused him. Maybe even snapped him out of it a little. He stopped attacking me, but he didn’t calm down completely. He just… stared at me. Like he didn’t know whether to rip me apart or run.”

“And what did you do?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light spilled into the lab, casting long shadows across the floor. “I didn’t run,” you said softly. “I stayed. I talked to him. Calmed him down somehow. It was like he recognized something in me, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I stayed with him for weeks after that. Helped him regain some sense of himself. Taught him how to fight his instincts. We… we bonded.”

The last words came out quieter than you intended, and you felt Hank’s gaze sharpen.

“You didn’t just know him,” Hank said slowly, as though the pieces were finally coming together. “You cared about him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “I left when he got better. Disappeared. I thought it was for the best. And now he doesn’t even remember me. So, yeah, Charles wants me to help him, but I don’t know if I can. And even if I could… I don’t know if I should.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the bubbling of the beaker the only sound. Finally, Hank sighed, his voice softer now. “Perhaps you underestimate how much of you he might still remember, even if it’s not clear to him yet.”

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down like an old, familiar burden. “He doesn’t remember. At least, not the whole picture. And honestly? It’s better that way.” Your voice softened, but a bitter edge crept into it. “He shouldn’t have to remember all the pain he caused. All the blood.”

Hank froze for a moment, his hands stilling over the set of vials he was arranging. The soft hum of the equipment filled the silence as he carefully chose his words. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” You cut him off, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You turned toward him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Hank, if you had lived as long as we have… seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve done… You’d want to forget too. You’d want it wiped clean, all of it. Trust me.”

Hank straightened, his broad shoulders rising slightly as he considered your words. “You’re speaking for Logan,” he said slowly, his voice calm but firm. “You’re deciding for him.”

Your eyes flicked away, focusing on the far corner of the lab. It was easier than meeting his gaze.

“It’s not like Logan was given a choice back then,” Hank continued, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “And now he has one. A chance to choose for himself who he wants to be—what he wants to know. You’re taking that away from him by deciding for him.”

The words hit harder than you wanted to admit, threading a knot of tension through your chest. You opened your mouth to argue, to say something to push back against Hank’s steady reasoning, but no words came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “I’m not taking anything away from him,” you said finally, your voice tight. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Hank asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. “From what? From himself?”

“From the truth!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and you took a step back, shaking your head as if to banish the emotions bubbling to the surface.

Hank studied you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t believe he deserves the truth, do you?”

Your laugh came out bitter, almost hollow. “Deserve? What does that even mean? Deserve doesn’t matter when it comes to this. What Logan’s been through, what he’s done—he deserves peace. And that’s not something he’s going to find at the bottom of a memory.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression a mix of empathy and challenge. “You think peace is ignorance?”

“I think…” you said slowly, your voice faltering. “I think there are some things you can’t come back from. Some things you shouldn’t have to come back from.”

“And yet he keeps fighting,” Hank said, his voice quieter now. “Every day, Logan fights to be better. To be more than what he’s been through, more than what was done to him. But you… you’re standing in his way.”

His words struck like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not standing in his way,” you said finally, but the words felt hollow.

“Are you sure about that?” Hank asked, his tone gentle but unwavering.

You turned away, gripping the edge of the lab table so tightly your knuckles turned white. “He doesn’t need to remember me,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what happened back then. He doesn’t need to carry that weight.”

Hank hesitated before stepping closer, his voice soft but unrelenting. “Maybe. But are you sure this is about what he needs? Or is it about what you don’t want to face?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Later that night, you found yourself sitting alone on the stage, the empty theatre shrouded in silence. Your legs stretched out in front of you, the ribbons of your pointe shoes loose around your ankles. Though the music had long since stopped, the soft strings of a violin still lingered in your mind, weaving through the restless thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Dancing used to help, used to be your escape when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. It felt like it only made things worse. The memories, the what-ifs, the fears you’d buried so deeply—all of it rose to the surface when you moved. Hank had been right, and you hated it.

It wasn’t just about Logan. It was about you. About the things you didn’t want to revisit, the things you’d worked so hard to leave behind. The terrifying truth was, if Logan ever pieced it all together—if he ever remembered everything—you weren’t sure either of you could handle it.

The quiet creak of the double doors opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, your hands resting on your ankles as Logan stepped into the theatre, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked more relaxed than he had when you first saw him after returning from Alkali Lake, like some of the tension he always carried had finally eased. Maybe his trip had given him some kind of closure. Maybe it had only left him with more questions.

You didn’t know which possibility scared you more.

You dropped your gaze to your pointe shoes, fingers fumbling with the ribbons as if untying them could somehow distract you from the way Logan’s gaze lingered on you.

He snorted, the sound soft but amused as he moved farther into the room. “Didn’t feel like dancin’ tonight?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying a faint teasing edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “What do you want, Logan?”

He shrugged, stepping farther down the aisle until he was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. His expression shifted, the smirk fading as his sharp eyes narrowed. “Figured I’d check in. You’ve been avoidin’ me since I got back.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, tugging your pointe shoes off and setting them beside you. The excuse sounded thin even to your ears.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice flat as he folded his arms over his chest. “Sure you have.”

You sighed, pulling your legs up onto the stage and crossing them in front of you as if the position could shield you from the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want, Logan?”

His gaze dropped to the floor before lifting again to meet yours. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. “You’re keepin’ stuff from me.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Logan said, his voice low and firm. He stepped up onto the stage, closing the distance between you. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You looked away, focusing on the empty rows of seats stretching out into the shadows of the theatre. “Logan, I—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Every time I get close to somethin’, you shut me out. Every time I try to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on in my head, you’re there, lookin’ at me like you already know the answers.” He paused, his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. “You do, don’t you?”

Your hands tightened in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not that simple,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan snorted, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nothin’s ever simple with you, is it?”

“Logan, please,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “Let it go.”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing right in front of you. “No. Not this time.” His voice was quiet but resolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I went to Alkali Lake and found nothin’ but ghosts. I keep havin’ these dreams, these flashes, and half the time, you’re in ‘em. You tell me to let it go? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I know there’s more? When I know you’re holdin’ somethin’ back?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. “You don’t want to remember,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Not all of it. Trust me, Logan. You don’t.”

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice rising as the emotions you’d been suppressing finally broke free. “Do you have any idea what’s buried in your head? What remembering could do to you?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “What’s buried in yours?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and all you could do was stare at him. Finally, you looked away, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not about me,” you said weakly.

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “This is about you just as much as it’s about me. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what I’ll remember. Of what it’ll mean for you.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer, almost pleading. “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t know.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Logan’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’ll break you,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I can’t be the one to do that to you, Logan. I won’t.”

The two of you just stared at each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Logan stood, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not gonna stop until I figure it out. Until I figure us out.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the determination in his eyes. “Logan—”

He shook his head, cutting you off, his tone low but firm. “No more runnin’, darlin’. Not from me. Not from this.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill. “You—you can’t just expect me to tell you everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Why not?” Logan said, his gaze piercing as he stepped closer. “Is it a long story? I’ve got the time—we both do.” His voice softened slightly at the end, but the determination in his tone didn’t waver.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“All I hear are excuses,” Logan snapped, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Excuses from Chuck about my mind bein’ too fragile. Excuses about how I’ve gotta ‘find the answers myself.’” He gestured toward you, his movements sharp. “And now excuses from you about dreams bein’ just dreams. Do you think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t deserve to know what the hell’s been bouncin’ around in my head all this time?”

“It’s not about what you deserve, Logan!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you stood suddenly, your body tense with emotion. “It’s about what you can survive. You don’t know the weight of it—the guilt, the anger, the regret. You think finding all the pieces is going to fix you, but it’s not. It’s just going to break you more.”

Logan stared at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. But something in his eyes—something raw and pleading—made you falter. His voice softened, the edge fading. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But it’s not your call to make. It’s mine.”

The truth of his words cut through your defenses like claws, and you sank back onto the stage, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady your breathing. The silence between you stretched, heavy and charged.

Finally, you broke it, your voice quiet but resolute. “Fine.”

Logan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tried to gauge your meaning.

“I’ll tell you,” you said, swallowing hard as you looked up at him. “But I can’t promise it’s going to be pretty. And I can’t promise it’s not going to hurt.”

Logan’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he moved toward you. He sat down beside you on the stage, the movement slow and deliberate. His elbow brushed against yours, and the quiet warmth of his presence steadied the storm inside you, if only for a moment.

“I ain’t lookin’ for pretty,” he said quietly, his tone gentle now. “And I’m not afraid of hurtin’. Just… tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment, your hands twisting in your lap as memories you’d buried for years rose to the surface, raw and unrelenting. Finally, you took a deep breath, your voice shaking as you began. “We crossed paths again a long time ago.”

Logan frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. “Again?”

You nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It was…after everything happened when I first found you.” You hesitated, your voice dropping. “I thought I’d never see you again. Honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because… because you deserved a fresh start. You needed one.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his silence was expectant, urging you to continue.

“I was in New York,” you said softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Dancing. There was this small theatre, nothing fancy, but it was mine. I was performing that night—Swan Lake, actually. I remember being backstage, nerves eating at me like they always did before a show. And then the curtain rose, and I…” You paused, shaking your head at the memory. “I saw you. In the audience.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nodded, your smile fading. “You were sitting in the second row, staring at me like you’d seen a ghost. I almost stumbled through my first few steps because I couldn’t believe it was you. You looked… different. Cleaner. Put together. But the way you watched me—it was like you remembered something. Something buried.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor as if searching for the memory.

“When the performance ended,” you continued, “I went backstage, thinking you’d leave. That maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I came out, you were still there. Waiting. I didn’t know what to say, but then you said it first.”

Logan glanced at you, his voice quiet. “What’d I say?”

You hesitated, the memory sharp in your mind. “You said, ‘It’s you. You’re the one who helped me.’”

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “I remembered you?”

“Some of it,” you said softly. “Not everything, but enough. Enough to know we’d met before. Enough to know I’d helped you when you weren’t… yourself.” You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling in your lap. “We went out afterward. Got drinks at some dingy little bar down the street. You asked me why I helped you back then, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I told you the truth.”

Logan looked at you, his voice rough. “What truth?”

You met his gaze, your eyes glassy. “That I didn’t want to. That I’d seen what you were capable of, and it terrified me. But there was something about you, Logan. Something human buried under all that rage. And I thought… I thought if I could just reach you, maybe you wouldn’t be lost forever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession settling between you like a fragile thread. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave yours, his expression unreadable but his eyes impossibly soft.

“You were right,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What?”

“You reached me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know one thing: you didn’t let me go. You could’ve, but you didn’t. And that…” He shook his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “That’s somethin’ I won’t forget, even if the details are gone.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, wiping at them quickly. “I don’t know if I helped you, Logan. Not really.”

“You did,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You still do.”

The words hung in the air but they carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. Logan reached over, his rough hand covering yours briefly before pulling back. The touch was fleeting but enough to let you know he meant it.

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Note

Grid Kids: y/n pregnency!!

Grid Kids: Bun in the Oven

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: moments with the grid kids during your pregnancy

Series Masterlist

Kicking Up a Storm

“Did the little one just ...” Charles’ eyes widen as he pulls back his hand abruptly from where it had been resting on your stomach.

Lando, lounging on the other side of the room with a video game controller in hand, smirks, “Did what? Tried to escape? Can’t blame it, considering the rest of its siblings."

You swat playfully at Lando as Max and George, engrossed in assembling a nursery chair, look up in anticipation. “Come on, let us feel!” Max pleads, abandoning the chair pieces on the floor.

As everyone gathers around, taking turns to gently place their hands on your baby bump, you feel a flutter, a gentle kick responding to their touch. The room fills with gasps of wonder and joy.

“Feels like a future driver if you ask me,” George grins, looking at Sebastian, who chuckles, already imagining another Vettel on the tracks.

Lance, feeling a tad left out, decides to jump in. “Can it hear us? Hello in there, it’s your brother Lance! Remember to pick me as the fun brother, okay?”

Mick, who has been reading every pregnancy book he could get his hands on, chimes in, “You do realize the baby can’t differentiate voices yet, right?”

Lance waves him off, “Details, details.”

Cravings Are No Joke

“Pickles and chocolate? Seriously?” Max raises an eyebrow, holding up the two seemingly mismatched items as he stands in the middle of a grocery store aisle.

Lance, pushing the cart, shrugs. “Don’t question the cravings, just go with it.”

Charles, scrolling through the list on his phone, adds, “Oh and don’t forget the spicy ramen, blueberry pie, and ... pineapple pizza?”

George groans, “Pineapple pizza? Come on! Anything but that. I’m not even Italian and I’m still offended.”

Lando, with an impish grin, quips, “Remember when she wanted the mango gelato at 3 am? That was a fun drive.”

Mick chuckles, “Or the time we went to five different bakeries just to find that particular lemon cake she couldn’t live without.”

Lance pauses, looking thoughtful, “And wasn’t there a phase where she only wanted foods that were purple?”

George nods, “Yep, aubergines, purple potatoes, grapes ... I still can’t look at a plum without laughing.”

As the grid kids continue shopping, picking out items based on the rather diverse list you gave them, they share more anecdotes of the past months. The store’s other patrons watch in amusement as the young men navigate the aisles, often debating the merits of various brands or flavors, all to ensure they get it just right for you.

Later, back home, your grid kids proudly present their haul. You and Sebastian look on with affection as they lay out the eclectic mix of food.

“Did you guys get everything?” You ask, trying to hide your laughter.

Max feigns offense at being questioned, “Of course, we’re professionals.”

Sebastian leans in to whisper in your ear, “I’m just glad they didn’t try cooking this time. Remember the schnitzel incident?”

You giggle, recalling the disastrous attempt. “Of course I do. I was cleaning flour off the cabinets and ceiling for weeks. But hey, it’s the thought that counts.”

It’s a …

The preparations for your gender reveal are in full swing at the local park and your grid kids are at the heart of it. They’ve split into two factions: Team Girl, led by Charles and Lance, and Team Boy, spearheaded by Max and Lando.

Charles and Lance have laid out a series of pink challenges, including a three-legged race where participants wear pink tutus. “It’s going to be a girl, no doubt about it!” Lance proclaims confidently.

Max and Lando, on the other hand, have a blue-themed obstacle course, complete with a mini kart race. Lando, wearing a blue bandana, shouts over the ruckus, “I have no idea what you’re talking about because it’s definitely a boy.”

George has taken on the role of referee. Dressed in a striped shirt, whistle in hand, he’s ensuring that the competition remains friendly. “Remember, it’s all in good fun!” he reminds everyone, though his “Team Girl” badge suggests where his loyalties lie.

Mick, though undecided, has tie-dye patches of both blue and pink on his shirt. “I just want a healthy sibling for all of us,” he says with a gentle smile, standing back and enjoying the antics.

Sebastian, watching the chaos unfold, leans over and whispers in your ear, “Did we really think letting them plan this was a good idea?”

You laugh, “It’s a bit crazy but look at them. They’re having the time of their lives!”

The moment everyone’s been waiting for finally arrives. At the center of the park, a large, sealed box waits. As you and Sebastian approach, the grid kids form a circle around it, their playful banter coming to a halt.

With a shared look of excitement, you both pull on the ribbon. The box flaps open, releasing a cloud of ... green smoke?

The park erupts in a mixture of laughter and confusion.

Max looks baffled, “Green?”

Charles chuckles, “Guess neither team wins today!”

Lando, trying to waft away the smoke, jokes, “Alien? Oh my god, you’re having an alien!”

Mick wraps an arm around you, “Like I said, as long as it’s healthy.”

You smile, nestling into Sebastian’s side, “We thought we’d keep everyone guessing for a little longer.”

False Alarm

“Sebastian! The baby! I think it’s happening!” You exclaim, feeling a sudden tightening in your abdomen.

Sebastian, who was in the middle of mediating a lively debate with Max and Charles over who will be the baby’s favorite brother, nearly trips over the rug in his rush to get to you. “Okay, okay, okay. Deep breaths, in and out.”

Lance, eyes wide as saucers, frantically begins googling “how to deliver a baby” on his phone while George starts making a list of things needed for the hospital. “Towels! We need towels, right?”

Lando is somewhere on another planet, muttering to himself, “This isn’t happening. I am not ready to see a baby being born. Nope, nope, nope.”

Mick tries to restore some order. “Calm down everyone. Y/N, are you sure it’s really labor?"

Before you can respond, Charles bursts through the door, holding a bucket of ice. “I read somewhere you might need ice. Here!”

You laugh through the discomfort, appreciating the chaos ensuing because of your grid kids’ concern. "Actually guys, I think it’s just Braxton Hicks. False alarm.”

A collective sigh of relief sweeps the room. Sebastian, still slightly pale, pulls you into a hug, “You sure know how to keep things exciting.”

Lance looks up from his phone, “What’s Braxton Hicks?”

“It’s like a rehearsal for the real thing,” George explains, folding up his hastily made list.

Max, trying to regain his cool, smirks, “Well, if that was a rehearsal, the main event is going to be epic.”

You chuckle, patting your belly, “Guess the little one just wanted to see how quickly you all could jump into action.”

Putting the “Student” in “Student Drivers”

As you and Sebastian sit on the couch, going over your prenatal class schedule, a curious George peeks over. “What’s that? Are those the birthing classes?”

You nod, “Yep! We’re starting next week. It’ll help us prepare for the big day.”

Suddenly, Charles pops up beside George, eyes widening in interest. “Can we come?”

“That sounds cool! I’ve always wondered what those classes are like.” Lando chimes in from where he’s keeping an ear out in the kitchen.

Sebastian looks a bit overwhelmed, “I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”

Lance joins the group, scrolling through a magazine article about celebrity dads attending birthing classes. “Look at this! It’s a thing now. We could all go and support you both.”

Max adds, “Besides, we’re family. We’ve been there through everything else. Why not this?”

“Do they even allow so many people to join?” Mick ponders.

You can’t help but laugh at the eager faces in front of you. “I never thought I’d have to bring an entourage to a birthing class.”

Sebastian rubs his temples. “Okay, how about this? We’ll ask the instructor if it’s okay. If they allow it, you guys can join on one condition.”

Lando bounces on his toes, “What’s that?”

“No teasing or making jokes during the class. We’re there to learn and be supportive.”

Charles nudges Max, “That’s mainly directed at you.”

Max fakes innocence. “Me? I would never!”

You shake your head, “Alright, I’ll call tomorrow and see if our little ... or rather large group can attend.”

Your grid kids cheer, excited about the new adventure. As they scatter, already planning and discussing among themselves, Sebastian leans over to whisper in your ear, “This baby is already turning our world upside down and they’re not even here yet.”

You smile and squeeze his hand, “With this family, every moment is an adventure.”

***

The birthing center’s usual tranquil ambiance is slightly offset by the excited chatter of the grid kids as you all enter. The instructor, a calm and composed woman named Clara, raises an eyebrow at the large group but doesn’t comment. After all, it’s not every day that half of the Formula 1 grid walks into her class.

The session starts with everyone introducing themselves. Most couples share sweet stories of their relationship journey. When it's your turn, Sebastian starts, “I’m Sebastian, this is my wife, Y/N,” he pauses, motioning to the group, “and these are ... our sons.”

The room erupts in chuckles. One of the expectant mothers quips, “That’s a lot of kids! You two have been busy!”

Clara moves on with the class, demonstrating breathing techniques. Everyone’s earnest attempt to follow along results in a mix of deep breathing, snorts, and a few stifled laughs. At one point, Max, struggling to get the rhythm right, looks over at Lando and mutters, “I feel like I’m preparing to go underwater.”

When it comes time for practicing labor positions, the grid kids enthusiastically volunteer. George and Charles end up demonstrating a position, with George playing the supporting partner and Charles the laboring mom-to-be. The sight of Charles leaning into George, pretending to be in labor, has the room laughing, especially when Charles exaggerates with dramatic moans.

Lance and Mick take a turn next and when Lance offers words of encouragement to “pregnant” Mick, saying, “You’re doing great, sweetie,” you almost fall off your chair laughing.

Towards the end of the class, Clara demonstrates the use of a birthing ball. Lando decides to take a leap onto one only to bounce off, crashing into Max and sending both of them tumbling to the ground. The room is in stitches.

Despite their hilarious antics, your grid kids genuinely try to grasp the concepts, asking thoughtful questions and engaging in the exercises.

As the class wraps up, Clara approaches you with a smile. “I must say, this has been the most ... lively class I’ve ever taught.”

You grin, “That’s one way to put it.”

She chuckles, “But it’s clear they all care deeply for you and want to support you both in any way they can.”

Sebastian nods, wrapping an arm around you, “We’re very lucky to have them.”

For Real This Time

Lando and Charles are in the middle of a heated argument over the best way to make a sandwich (complete with props and charts) when you suddenly feel a warm sensation. Looking down, your eyes widen. “Uh, guys?”

“What is it?” Sebastian jumps up right away.

You swallow, “I think my water just broke.”

For a moment, there’s stunned silence. Then … mayhem.

Max yells, “To the car! Now!” while Lance scrambles to grab the pre-packed hospital bag.

George accidentally knocks over a vase in his attempt to find your phone. “Sorry! We can clean that up later, right?”

Mick tries to maintain calm, “Everyone, deep breaths, remember the class?”

Lando, eyes wide, mutters, “This is nothing like the class.”

Upon arriving at the hospital, the reception area becomes a scene of organized chaos. As Sebastian wheels you in, the grid kids follow in a flustered procession.

A nurse at the reception desk blinks in surprise. “Is there a convention in town?”

Mick, panting slightly, replies, “No, just family.”

Lando adds, “The biggest family you’ve ever seen.”

Another nurse, recognizing some of the faces, chuckles, “Formula 1 drivers in the maternity ward? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Inside, as the medical team preps you, the grid kids stand outside, pacing and nervously waiting. They take turns peeking through the small window, offering waves and thumbs-up.

Sebastian holds your hand and doesn’t complain once as you grab back hard enough to break every bone in it, “You know, I’ve faced pressure on the track but this ... this is on another level.”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand, “Just remember, I’m doing the hard part.”

Soon enough, after what feels like both a minute and a lifetime, the beautiful cry of your newborn fills the room. Your grid kids, hearing the sound, cheer loudly, causing several nurses to hush them.

Charles, tears in his eyes, says, “We’re big brothers now. Like, for real.”

“Wait,” Lando interjects, “aren’t you already a big brother?”

“Shush mate, let me have this moment.”

Max rolls his eyes but smiles, “Welcome to the family, little one. We’re a bit crazy but we already love you so much.”

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kathlare · 2 months ago

Text

behind the scenes

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a Quadrant promotional shoot, the team’s routine day is shaken up when Amelie makes an unexpected entrance, leaving everyone starstruck.

Wordcount: 3.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

January 12th, 2024 - London, United Kingdom

Lando adjusted his Quadrant hoodie as the cameras began rolling. The bright lights of the studio set bounced off the polished floor, giving everything a clean, modern look. Will was already in his element, cracking jokes as the crew set up their equipment. Becky and Zac were off to the side, discussing ideas for the promo, while Max stood next to Lando, fiddling with his phone.

Today’s shoot was an exciting one—Quadrant was introducing their new athlete lineup, and the energy in the room was infectious. Lando loved these moments, surrounded by friends and creative chaos. Still, there was a small part of him distracted, knowing Amelie might drop by. She was in London too, wrapping up a meeting for an upcoming project, and they’d talked about catching up later. What he didn’t expect was for her to walk into the studio mid-shoot.

The first half of filming went smoothly, with Will leading the intros and the crew getting plenty of footage of everyone joking around. As the team reset for a new segment, the door to the set swung open.

The door to the set swung open, and Amelie stepped in, wearing a casual yet effortlessly chic outfit—a black cropped sweater paired with high-waisted jeans and white sneakers. Her hair was loosely styled, framing her face with a natural elegance that immediately drew every eye in the room.

Lando froze for a split second, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected her to show up so early, and the reaction from the room was instant.

—Holy shit. Is that Amelie Dayman?—Will blurted out, eyes wide as saucers.

—No way. No fucking way,—Becky gasped, practically dropping her coffee.

Zac’s mouth hung open, and one of the crew members literally fumbled with a piece of equipment, causing it to clatter loudly to the ground.

—Guys, chill,—Lando hissed under his breath, glancing at Max, who was already grinning knowingly.

—Mate, you chill. That's Amelie bloody Dayman,—Will shot back in a stage whisper, gesturing wildly in her direction.

Amelie, completely oblivious to the mini-meltdown she’d just triggered, flashed a bright smile and waved. —Hi! Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to see how things were going.—

—You’re not interrupting,—Max said smoothly, stepping forward to give her a quick hug. —Good to see you again, Ames.—

—Good to see you too, Max,—she replied warmly before her eyes found Lando. The soft smile that spread across her face made his stomach flip.

Lando crossed the room in a few strides, his embarrassment melting away as he saw her. —Hey, you,—he greeted, pulling her into a hug. —Didn’t think you’d make it so soon.—

—I finished early,—she murmured, leaning into him briefly before stepping back. —Thought I’d surprise you.—

—Well, you definitely succeeded,—he said, throwing a pointed look at his friends, who were still staring as if they’d seen a ghost.

Will finally snapped out of it, though his voice remained incredulous. —So, uh, you two know each other?—

Amelie raised an eyebrow, glancing between them and Lando. —Of course. We’ve been friends for years. Didn’t Lando tell you?—

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly. —Yeah, uh, friends. Totally. Just... friends.—

Max coughed pointedly, earning a sharp glare from Lando.

Becky, clearly not buying it, folded her arms. —Right. And does “just friends” always look this cozy?—

Amelie tilted her head, confused for a moment, before realizing how close she and Lando were standing. She laughed, a melodic sound that only seemed to make everyone in the room more captivated. —Okay, maybe we’re a little more than friends.—

Will’s jaw dropped. —A little? Mate, are you kidding me?—

—Alright, alright! Yes, we’re dating,—Lando admitted, throwing his hands up. —Happy now?—

The room erupted into chaos.

—This is amazing.— —You lucky bastard!— —Oh my God, I knew it!—

Amelie’s eyes widened as she looked around, a mix of amusement and mild panic. —Wow, okay. You all are very... enthusiastic.—

—Sorry,—Becky said, not looking sorry at all. —It’s just, like, you’re you, and he’s him. This is massive.—

Amelie glanced up at Lando, her expression softening. —I don’t know about massive, but he’s pretty great.—

Lando rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. —Alright, enough. Can we focus on the video now?—

—Not a chance,—Will declared. —This is the biggest Quadrant scoop of the year.—

—Seconded,—Zac added, pulling out his phone. —This is going straight to the group chat.—

Lando groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Amelie just laughed, patting his arm. —You’ll survive, Lan.—

Max leaned over to Lando, smirking. —Told you it’d come out eventually.—

—Shut up, Max,—Lando muttered, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed.

As the crew gradually settled down, Amelie found a seat off to the side, watching with a bemused smile as filming resumed. Lando kept stealing glances at her between takes, his heart feeling lighter than it had all day.

Every so often, their eyes would meet, and Amelie would flash him a small, private smile that made him forget anyone else was in the room.

When the shoot finally wrapped, Becky sidled up to Amelie. —So... any tips for dealing with this one?—

Amelie grinned. —Patience. Lots of patience.—

—Oi!—Lando protested, but he was grinning too.

As the crew began packing up, Will clapped Lando on the shoulder. —Mate, you better hold onto her. She’s way out of your league.—

—Tell me something I don’t know,—Lando replied, his gaze drifting back to Amelie, who was now chatting animatedly with Max.

The chaos of the day finally started to simmer as the crew packed up the set. The Quadrant promo had turned into a different kind of highlight reel, with Amelie’s surprise visit stealing the show. Lando was still reeling from the revelation. While it wasn’t how he’d planned for their relationship to be revealed to his friends, he couldn’t deny the small thrill of everyone knowing.

He watched from the side as Amelie chatted with Max, her laughter carrying easily through the room. She looked perfectly at ease, despite the initial fan-like reactions from everyone else. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the attention, her natural charm disarming even the most awestruck members of the crew.

Will sidled up next to Lando, sipping a coffee that he definitely hadn’t had during filming. —You’re a sly bastard, you know that? How’d you even pull that off?—

Lando sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this conversation. —It’s not like I planned it. It just... happened.—

Will raised an eyebrow. —“It just happened”? Mate, you’re dating Amelie Dayman. That doesn’t just happen.—

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, trying to suppress a grin. —We’ve known each other for years, alright? It’s not some wild celebrity thing.—

—Still, though.— Will shook his head in disbelief. —You’ve got some serious game, mate. Respect.—

—Alright, enough of that,—Lando muttered, though his cheeks flushed. —Can you all just not make a big deal about it?—

Will smirked. —Oh, it’s already a big deal. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us... for now.—

Lando shot him a warning look. —I mean it, Will.—

—Yeah, yeah.— Will waved him off before strolling away, no doubt to find Becky and gossip further.

As the last of the equipment was packed and people started trickling out, Lando made his way over to Amelie. She was now leaning against a table, scrolling through her phone, her expression relaxed. The sight of her, so effortlessly part of his world, made his chest ache in the best way.

—Hey, you,—he said softly, slipping an arm around her waist.

Amelie looked up, her smile lighting up her face. —Hey, yourself. Done being the star of the show?—

—Hardly. You stole that title the second you walked in.—

She laughed, resting a hand on his chest. —I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.—

—You didn’t. They just... weren’t ready for you.— Lando’s fingers traced absent patterns on her waist. —Honestly, I wasn’t either.—

Amelie tilted her head, her smile turning teasing. —Should I have texted first? Given you time to prepare?—

—Maybe.— He leaned down, their foreheads almost touching. —But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see their faces when you walked in. Totally worth it.—

She hummed, her fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie. —So... does this mean your friends approve?—

—They’re obsessed with you. Not that I’m surprised.—

Amelie’s eyes softened. —Well, for the record, I think your friends are great. A little loud, but great.—

Lando chuckled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. —You handled them like a pro.—

—Years of red carpets and press tours. This was easy,— she teased, leaning into his touch.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh at her response. He’d always admired her poise, how effortlessly she navigated situations like this. —Well, I’m glad you came. It’s... nice having you here. Makes this whole thing feel a lot more real.—

She smiled at him, her eyes soft. —It’s real, Lando. Just, you know, not how we expected it to be.—

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead briefly before pulling back, his hand still resting on her waist. —Yeah. But I’m kind of glad it’s happening this way. Feels... natural, I guess.—

Amelie looked up at him, her fingers tracing the edge of his hoodie again. —Yeah, it does. You’ve got your friends, I’ve got mine, and now we get to be a part of each other’s worlds in a way we never really got to before.—

Lando’s heart skipped. That was the thing with Amelie—they’d always been there for each other, even in the years when they didn’t quite work. But now? It felt different. It felt... right.

—So, I’ll see you at mine tonight?— he asked, a little hopeful. He hadn’t planned to get serious with her so soon, but the way she looked at him made him feel like they were already past the point of casual.

—Of course, Lan,—she replied, her voice a mix of amusement and warmth. —I wouldn’t miss it for the world.—

Max, who had been watching from a distance, cleared his throat dramatically, crossing his arms. —Alright, lovebirds, enough with the PDA. You’ve had your moment. Can we wrap this up so I can go home?—

Lando shot him an exasperated look. —Oh, shut up, Max. It’s not like you haven’t seen us act like this a hundred times already.—

Max held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. —Alright, alright. Just, like, keep it down, yeah? Some of us still have a bit of dignity left.—

Lando couldn’t help but chuckle, his arm still around Amelie as he pulled her a little closer. The warmth of her presence was enough to make him forget all the chaos that had just unfolded. The crew was starting to wrap up, packing up equipment and heading out, but for a moment, everything felt still.

Amelie looked up at Lando with that familiar mischievous gleam in her eye. —So, how about we ditch all this and go grab something to eat? I’m starving.—

Lando raised an eyebrow. —You’re really trying to get me out of here, huh?—

—You bet I am,—she said with a playful smile, tugging on his arm. —Come on, let’s go. I’ve been on my best behavior all day, now I deserve some downtime.—

Max snorted from behind them. —Right, because you’re always so “well-behaved,”—he said, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Amelie shot him a wink over her shoulder. —Hey, Max, you don’t know the half of it.—

Lando squeezed her waist affectionately, making sure to keep his voice light. —Come on, before he starts talking about us again.—

Max raised both hands, his grin unrelenting. —Alright, alright. Go on. Just don’t forget that I’m the one who knows all your dirty secrets, Lando.—

Lando rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. —Thanks for the reminder, mate.—

As they made their way out of the studio, Lando kept his arm around Amelie’s shoulders, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. This was real. They were real. And for the first time in a while, he was looking forward to what came next.

The evening stretched ahead of them, full of quiet moments and inside jokes, and Lando found himself feeling more content than he had in months. They weren’t ready to go public yet, after all, there was still a bit of navigating to do, but being together, in their little bubble, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

—You know, I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone sooner,— Amelie said softly, her voice steady and thoughtful.

Lando paused, glancing down at her. —I wasn’t sure if we were ready for that kind of attention yet. It’s... easier this way. But, yeah. I guess I should’ve told them. I just wanted it to be... normal, you know?—

Amelie smiled up at him, her fingers still interlaced with his. —I get it. I think I just needed a little more time to figure out how to do this with you.—

Lando nodded, his thumb gently tracing her hand. —We’ll figure it out together, alright?—

She leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with a soft smile. —Yeah. Together.—

Max’s voice came from behind them, loud and exaggerated as always. —Are you two seriously going to stand there, or are we going to grab some food? I’m fucking starving!—

They both turned, sharing an amused glance before laughing.

—Coming, Max,—Lando called out, pulling Amelie toward the car with a smile. —Let’s go before he starts ordering for us.—

As they climbed into the car, the comfortable silence settled in, punctuated only by Max’s animated chatter in the backseat. For Lando and Amelie, it was just another step in their journey—a journey that had started years ago and, now, was something neither of them could have ever predicted.

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. They were together. And that was enough.

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