Reunited Once Again / Viktor (Arcane)

summary: After Viktor’s supposed death, it wasn’t you who unearthed the truth—it was Jayce. He delivered the news, the air between you still charged with the remnants of last night’s heated argument. Despite your unwavering commitment as Viktor’s assistant, it was you who found him first, solidifying his discovery with a final decision. For Viktor to keep you all to himself.

**Arcane s2!Viktor**

P.S. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any spelling errors or small syntax mistakes. enjoy!

Viktor’s gaze lingered, unwavering, tracking your every movement. There was an intensity in his stare, not of malice but of captivation—a fascination he could neither name nor fully understand. To him, you were an enigma, a creature of such exquisite beauty it bordered on the unreal. How could someone so... human stand before him with such poise? Such life? The thought consumed him, each detail of your presence embedding itself in his mind. After all, he wasn’t called a miracle worker for nothing.

But you knew the truth, didn’t you? The whispers in Piltover Academy had already reached your ears. Rumors spread like wildfire, some so vile they left a bitter taste in your mouth. Stories of a horrific accident, of Viktor’s untimely death—tales steeped in tragedy and finality. You had believed them too, hadn’t you? Who wouldn’t, when all evidence pointed to his demise? Yet here he was, standing before you. Alive. Or something close to it.

“Красавица,” he murmured, the word soft but piercing. 

The sound of his voice made you flinch. It was Viktor’s voice—undeniably his. But it carried a weight it hadn’t before. Dull, melancholic, almost distant. Was it a compliment? Or something else entirely? You couldn’t tell, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. His sudden boldness, the rawness of the word, left you reeling. 

Красавица.  

A beauty.  

The way he said it wasn’t casual or fleeting; it was deliberate, almost reverent. He didn’t shy away from the truth in his words, nor did he seem burdened by shame or hesitation. This was Viktor—a man unafraid to speak what he saw. And yet, there was something different about him now. Something fractured. His voice carried more than admiration; it carried guilt, an emotion he rarely wore so openly.  

Meeting you here, especially after the argument you’d had back in the lab, wasn’t easy for him. The memory of your heated exchange still lingered, unresolved and heavy. He hadn’t said what he truly felt then, hadn’t had the chance to admit how deeply he cared. How much he loved you. Even now, with you standing before him, the words felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of unspoken regret.

“Моя Красота,” he said again, softer this time. My beauty.

The phrase stirred something in you, though you refused to let it show. You tried to convince yourself this wasn’t real—that he wasn’t real. After what Jayce had told you, how could this Viktor be the same man you’d known? The same man who had once worked tirelessly beside you in the lab? The Viktor before you was both familiar and foreign, a perfect replica yet fundamentally different. 

Still, his presence was undeniable. His voice, the same one that had soothed you through countless sleepless nights at the lab, felt achingly familiar. Back then, you had cared for him, ensuring he ate, rested, and took care of himself amidst his relentless drive. Now, the roles were reversed. It was you who needed care.  

But could you accept it from him? Could you accept that this Viktor, no matter how real he seemed, was a shadow of the man you once knew?

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ 𓊆ྀི NIALL’S DETAILS. 𓊇ྀི ₊˚⊹ ❤︎

Author’s blog —

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

So I just finished watching Don’t worry Darling and I am still not over how stunning both Harry is as Jack and Florence as Alice. AND I NEED TO WRITE FANFICS FOR THEIR CHARACTERS with either reader insert 😭

gif credit from @harryisart 🏹

FOREVER YOUNG ♾️☁️🏹

The Prank / Harry Potter

summary: Being Draco Malfoy’s sister offers significant advantages in Slytherin, with strong platonic ties to Mattheo and Theodore and a protective brother. Consequently, Harry's chance to make an impact might rely on an unfavored prank, providing him an unconventional path to disrupt the existing dynamics.

ps; english ins't my first mother tongue language if any grammar error is seeing through the story, it will be eventually corrected by me. enjoy!

Harry was all too aware of the weight his last name carried. His fame, a double-edged sword, had shaped much of his life and interactions with others. Among his classmates, it was a constant presence, a reminder of his place in their world. But there was one person who had caught his interest in a way no one else had—someone who saw past the fame and into the person behind it. That person was you.

But somehow, just looking at you wasn’t enough for Harry. He had become utterly fascinated by you—by your values, your independence, and, most intriguingly, the stark contrast within your own family name. Being a Malfoy had brought its privileges, but you had carved out your own identity, distinct from the expectations of your lineage. With a fiercely protective brother and a mother who showered you with care, you were surrounded by the trappings of tradition. Yet, you had found a way to stand apart, to be your own person. It was this strength that drew Harry in, making him feel both intrigued and conflicted.

He almost felt ashamed for even entertaining the thought—seeing himself with a Malfoy. It was a notion that seemed impossible, yet it lingered in the back of his mind, impossible to ignore.

It was during a rainy day, early in autumn, when most students sought shelter either in the Astronomy Tower or, like you, found solace in the quiet of the library before lunch. The sound of rain pattering against the windows created a soft background noise as you browsed the shelves, hoping to steal a few moments of peace. Your brother, Draco, and his ever-loyal group of friends had been abuzz with excitement about their latest scheme to alleviate their boredom. 

And, of course, in typical Draco fashion, he was predictably drawn to stirring trouble with Harry Potter. His lack of originality when it came to tormenting the Gryffindor had become almost a routine, a familiar dance between the two. You, however, found yourself growing tired of the same old rivalry, even if it was expected in the Malfoy name. Today, more than ever, you felt disconnected from it all, your mind wandering elsewhere.

As you finally located the book you’d been searching for, Theodore Nott appeared in the hallway, offering you an escort to the cafeteria. It was a small but thoughtful gesture, especially considering that Draco hadn’t even bothered to come get you himself. You smiled at Theo’s presence, appreciating the effort despite your brother’s predictability.

“Theo, you know I can make my way there alone. My brother doesn’t—” you began, but Theo quickly shook his head, cutting you off with a knowing look. His expression suggested that Draco’s insistence had been genuine, or perhaps it was just convenient timing.

“I must indulge you on the matter, Y/N,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But Draco insisted I pick you up. For subtle measures, of course. He wanted to make sure you weren’t... you know.” His words trailed off, but you knew exactly what he meant. Draco always had his protective streak, often imagining threats where there were none. Theo’s tone was light, but there was an underlying concern from Draco, no matter how overbearing it might seem.

Theodore didn’t need to sugarcoat it—the truth was clear. Draco didn’t want you crossing paths with Potter, and though you hadn’t, the underlying message was always there. “Fine,” you relented with a playful sigh. “And since you’re already here to escort me,” you added with a mischievous grin, “why don’t we intertwine arms and you can whisk me away to lunch? I can’t bear to hear my stomach rumble in protest again.”

Theo mirrored your grin, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. Without missing a beat, he extended his arm. “I shall, My Lady,” he said with exaggerated formality, linking his arm with yours as you both made your way to the cafeteria, the earlier tension dissipating into shared humor.

Harry had already been in the cafeteria for a while, arriving before Draco as he slumped at the Gryffindor table. His disheveled appearance and tired eyes were telltale signs that he hadn’t slept well—likely out on one of his late-night excursions around the school. He had probably lost a few Gryffindor house points, for his lack of subtlety, but the consequences didn’t seem to bother him much.

Just as he was about to respond to Ron’s incessant complaints, his eyes shifted naturally, almost instinctively, from his untouched plate to where you entered. He didn’t quite understand how or why it happened. Chosen or not, it felt like a curse. The sight of you—so effortlessly poised—gnawed at something deep inside him, making him feel unsettled, even sick to his stomach. You, a Malfoy, represented everything he should stay away from. Yet, somehow, you always drew his gaze, an unwelcome and persistent distraction that pained him more than he cared to admit.

And there you were, moving with effortless grace, your hair catching the cool autumn breeze that slipped in through the slightly open windows. It swept through the room in a comforting way, though it seemed to stir something far less peaceful in Harry. As you made your way toward the Slytherin table, Pansy’s voice called out, greeting you from afar, but Harry’s gaze had already found you—unbidden, magnetic.

Your eyes met his across the room, and for a brief moment, something like understanding passed between you. His heart clenched at the sight of your slight smile. It was nothing more than a fleeting, innocent gesture, but to him, it felt like a wound. Oh, how he longed to just stand up, walk over, and close the distance between you. Like Draco would. Like Theodore, or any of your friends, could without a second thought. But he couldn't. He was Harry Potter, the Gryffindor hero, and you were a Malfoy. The invisible line between you felt impossible to cross, even as every fiber of his being ached to do just that.

“Y/N,” Draco’s voice rang through the air, sharp and authoritative, instantly pulling you—and Harry—back to reality. Harry’s heart sank as he turned, catching the familiar sneer on Draco’s face. Your brother had a talent for making himself impossible to ignore, and judging by the look he shot Harry, it was clear he wasn’t just here to fetch you. He was delivering a warning.

“You look absolutely ridiculous sitting there,” Draco continued, his voice dripping with irritation as he strode up to you, arms crossed. “People will start to think there’s something going on between you and Potter, and you know what Father would say about that.”

His words carried the weight of the Malfoy legacy, a burden you had carried for as long as you could remember. The invisible chains of expectation wrapped around you, tightening as Draco’s cold eyes bore into yours. Harry clenched his fists under the table, resisting the urge to say something, do something. But he knew better—Draco was already spoiling for a fight, and Harry wasn’t about to give him an excuse. Not here. Not now. Even though his chest burned with frustration, he simply sat there, watching, waiting, and silently hoping you'd choose to defy your brother’s words.

“I know,” you murmured quietly, your words barely audible as you approached the table, your sigh lingering in the cold air. The weight of Draco’s presence pressed down on you, but as you sat, your gaze lingered on Harry for a fleeting moment, catching his eyes once more. It wasn’t just his gaze this time—both Ron and Hermione were watching too, their faces clouded with concern. They knew, just as well as you did, the unspoken rules of your world. A love like this, between you and Harry, was forbidden, as if the mere thought was destined for tragedy.

As you settled in, you caught Harry’s lips moving, his quiet whisper to Ron barely reaching you. "There’s no way I can. Just look at her brother. He wants me dead. I’m not worthy of her love.”

The words stabbed at you, even from across the room. You saw the doubt, the resignation in Harry’s eyes, and it mirrored your own inner turmoil. The weight of your family’s name, the constant scrutiny, and Draco’s looming presence—it all made the idea of being with Harry seem impossible. And yet, the connection between you both felt undeniable, as if the universe had pulled you together in defiance of the very forces trying to tear you apart.

"Not worthy." The words repeated in your mind like a slow, haunting echo. Even as your friends chattered loudly about their next cruel prank on Potter, you could barely register their voices. Your fork hovered over the plate, numbing your movements as your thoughts spiraled. You were barely present, your focus lingering on Harry, on his defeated gaze, on the hopelessness you read in his lips. That was until Draco’s voice slithered in, dripping with arrogance and disdain. “Sister,” he muttered as he leaned in beside you, fingers boldly stealing food from your plate. He didn’t care to mask his smugness as he licked the remnants of the sauce from his fingers, his eyes drifting towards Harry’s table, locking in for a brief moment. His gaze then slid back to you, sharp and accusing.

“A little bird told me it was wrong to stare,” Draco said, his voice taunting, as if daring you to deny it. His smirk deepened as though he had caught you in some hidden act of treason.You quickly turned your head, breaking the invisible connection between you and Harry. Your heart raced with the silent understanding that Draco had seen it—the shared glances, the tension neither you nor Harry could fully conceal.

Draco leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, “What’s going on, Y/N? Don’t tell me you've taken a liking to Potter. You know what Father would say. What I’d say.” His tone dripped with malice, a quiet threat laced in every word.

“Especially— when they stare back at us.” 

You rolled your eyes, fixing Draco with your signature glare. His snarky smirk only deepened, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. “Don’t fret, Y/N,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. Theo’s voice cut in, carrying a darker edge. He held his glass with an almost possessive grip, his eyes never shifting towards Harry’s table. “It’s not as if it’s not obvious who he’s obsessed with,” Theo said, his voice filled with disdain. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Mattheo joined in, his presence bustling with energy as he, along with Blaise, added their two cents. He leaned in to peck your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin. “Tell me about it,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “He’s been murmuring your name during Snape’s class. Creepy, if you ask me.”

Their words washed over you, adding to the already heavy tension you felt. You could almost feel the weight of their disapproval pressing down on you, mixing with your own swirling emotions. The combined voices of your friends were a harsh reminder of the precarious position you found yourself in—caught between the expectations of your family, the harsh judgments of your peers, and the undeniable pull you felt towards Harry.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself amidst the growing chaos. “I appreciate the concern,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “But can we focus on something else for now? I’d rather not have the entire cafeteria knowing my business.” The conversation shifted as your friends begrudgingly complied, their murmurs fading into the background. But the feeling of being scrutinized, of having your every move and emotion laid bare, lingered, reminding you of the impossible choices you faced.

The realization hit you like a jolt, a spark igniting your curiosity despite the swirling chaos around you. The way Harry’s gaze seemed to follow you with a mixture of longing and helplessness, even in the face of Draco’s and your friends’ disdain, piqued your interest further. His eyes, intense and unwavering, betrayed an emotion that went beyond mere admiration. 

The peck on your cheek from Mattheo, once a simple gesture of camaraderie, now felt like a stark contrast to Harry’s silent, persistent gaze. It was a reminder of the stark divide between what was expected and what was truly felt. The starkness of Harry’s unspoken affection contrasted sharply with the superficial gestures you were accustomed to, like Mattheo’s fleeting touch. You found yourself wrestling with conflicting thoughts. Could Harry’s feelings be genuine, despite the walls and barriers that surrounded both of you? Could he truly harbor something deeper than the casual affection you had seen from others, akin to what you had seen with Riddle’s more manipulative displays?

As the cafeteria noise buzzed around you, you forced yourself to refocus on the present. The day’s events had revealed more than you’d anticipated, challenging your assumptions and stirring a storm of emotions you’d rather not face. In the midst of the laughter and conversations, you felt a renewed determination to understand the depth of Harry’s feelings, and why, despite everything, he continued to look at you with such unwavering intensity. The path ahead was murky, filled with shadows and uncertainties, but you were now more resolved than ever to uncover the truth behind those haunted, hopeful eyes.

Hermione’s nudge seemed to snap Ron out of his distasteful reverie, his eyes shifting to her with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “What was that for?” he asked, his tone laced with irritation but tinged with curiosity.

Hermione, ever the mediator, shot Ron a look that was both reproachful and sympathetic. “It’s just that,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “Y/N’s been dealing with a lot lately. And,” she hesitated for a moment, glancing over at you, who were now engrossed in a quiet conversation with Theodore and Mattheo, “she might not show it, but it’s clear there’s more going on than meets the eye. Harry’s not the only one with feelings here.”

Ron’s expression softened, though his brow remained furrowed. “You think we should—” “—I think we should be supportive,” Hermione cut him off gently. “We don’t know what’s really going on with Y/N and Harry. And honestly, with everything that’s happened, maybe it’s time we gave them the benefit of the doubt. Besides, the last thing we want is to make things worse by adding to the drama.”

Ron nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, fine. But if things get out of hand—” Hermione cut him off again with a reassuring smile. “We’ll handle it. For now, let’s just be here for Y/N and not add more fuel to the fire.”  The conversation shifted as the two of them turned their attention back to their meal, while Hermione’s words lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the complexities of emotions and the importance of empathy in a world full of uncertainties.

Hermione’s recollection of the party was like a wave of nostalgia mixed with a hint of envy, and her eyes softened as she continued. “You were stunning that night, Y/N. The way the dress accentuated your every move, it was like you were meant to be the center of attention.”

Ron, still blushing, shifted awkwardly in his seat. “And what’s that got to do with anything?” Hermione gave him an understanding look. “Harry’s been thinking about you a lot, Ron. That night, especially. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. It was as if he was caught between admiration and frustration, because he couldn’t get close to you the way he wanted.”

Harry, who had been silently listening, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You don’t have to bring up the party, Hermione. It’s... embarrassing.” Hermione smiled gently, her tone soothing. “It’s not about making anyone uncomfortable. It’s about understanding that there’s more going on beneath the surface. Harry’s not just pining away; he’s been genuinely affected by you.”

Ron, still flushed but now a bit more thoughtful, glanced at Harry. “So, you really do care about her, huh?” Harry nodded, his gaze earnest. “Yeah, I do. I don’t know how to make it right, but I do care.” Hermione’s expression softened further, and she patted Ron’s arm reassuringly. “See? It’s not all about giving advice or judging. Sometimes it’s about recognizing when someone’s struggling and just being there for them.”

Ron nodded, a hint of understanding dawning on his face. “Alright, I get it. Maybe we should just let things play out and support Y/N, and Harry too.” Hermione gave him a grateful smile. “Exactly. Sometimes the best thing we can do is to just be there for each other and let things unfold naturally.” As the conversation drifted back to other topics, the air was lighter, and the underlying tension seemed to ease. For now, the focus was on navigating the complexities of emotions with a bit more empathy and understanding.

Hermione’s teasing tone was gentle but persistent. “She mentioned you often, Harry. It wasn’t just idle chatter. That night, she was so taken with you that she couldn’t stop talking about how you caught her attention. Even when she tried to play it cool, it was clear she was struggling with her feelings.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “Really? I didn’t realize I made that much of an impression.”Hermione nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “She tried to keep it hidden, but it was obvious. She spoke about how conflicted she felt, especially with Draco hovering around and her own feelings about the Malfoy name. It’s not just about admiration; it’s deeper than that. She was worried about what people would think, especially considering your past with Draco.”

Harry's eyes widened slightly, realizing the depth of your struggle. “So, she’s been dealing with a lot more than just—” Hermione interrupted gently, “Yes. It’s not just about you being ‘handsome’ or whatever. It’s about her own internal battles and the fear of being judged for her feelings. That night, she was quite a mess. And despite her attempts to hide it, her vulnerability was apparent.”

Harry felt a pang of regret and concern. “I wish I had known. Maybe I could have helped her through it.” Hermione placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s never too late. Understanding what she’s been through is the first step. She needs to know that someone cares, without judgment. And right now, she needs to see that you’re not just someone she’s worried about but someone who genuinely wants to be there for her.”

Harry nodded, his resolve firming. “I’ll find a way to show her that. I don’t want her to feel like she’s alone in this.” As the conversation wrapped up, the mood shifted to one of mutual understanding and determination. Harry’s newfound clarity about your feelings and struggles gave him the motivation he needed to approach the situation with sensitivity and care.

Draco’s plan was set with his usual confidence, and though you felt a twinge of unease, you knew better than to question him openly. “Tonight at dawn, then,” you agreed, your voice soft but resolute. The instructions were clear, and Draco’s expression was one of satisfaction as he dismissed the others, leaving you with your thoughts and preparations.

As the evening approached, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of apprehension and resolve. Draco’s scheme was typical—using you as bait to catch Harry Potter in a moment of vulnerability. It wasn’t the first time you’d been used in one of Draco’s schemes, but the stakes felt higher this time. There was something more personal about this plan, especially considering how your feelings for Harry had been evolving.

The hours ticked by slowly, and as midnight approached, you found yourself pacing in your room. You had to remind yourself that your role was to lure Harry into a situation where Draco could confront him. It wasn’t about your own feelings or the growing empathy you felt for Harry. It was about following orders, maintaining your loyalty to your brother, and not causing any more trouble than necessary.

When the clock struck midnight, you slipped out of your room, carefully making your way to the library. The corridors were eerily quiet, the only sounds being the faint echoes of your footsteps and the distant creak of the castle. As you approached the library, you spotted Harry in the dimly lit space, hunched over a stack of books. He was absorbed in his reading, his focus evident. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task ahead. The plan was simple: engage Harry in conversation, lead him into a situation where Draco could confront him, and hope that everything would go according to plan. As you made your presence known, Harry looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

Harry’s initial surprise quickly turned to curiosity as he looked up from the book he was studying. The dim light of the library cast a soft glow on your face, highlighting the delicate features and the genuine concern in your eyes. As you bumped into him, the contact was fleeting, but it left an impression—one that made Harry's heart race.

He looked at you, taking in the way you seemed genuinely apologetic, a stark contrast to the usual icy demeanor of your family. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice betraying the same mix of surprise and unease that you displayed. He took a step back, his hand lingering a moment longer on yours before he released it. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here this late.”

The library was a place of refuge for him, a sanctuary away from the prying eyes and expectations of the outside world. Seeing you here, and in such an unexpected way, felt like a strange twist of fate. The vulnerability in your voice was palpable, and it drew him in, compelling him to stay longer than he might have otherwise. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was just... getting a few more books before heading back.”

Harry nodded, his gaze not leaving you. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been spending a lot of time here lately. It’s peaceful.” There was a pause, the silence between you filled with the distant hum of the library’s quiet atmosphere. Harry could see the way your eyes darted around, perhaps anxious or simply uncomfortable. The contrast between your nervousness and his own hesitation created a quiet tension, one that seemed to draw them closer.

“So,” Harry began, trying to break the ice, “What are you reading? Or... studying, I guess?” The question was simple, but it opened the door for conversation, allowing both of you to escape the awkwardness of the moment. He hoped that, perhaps, talking about something more neutral might help bridge the gap between you and him.

Harry’s breath hitched as you closed the gap between you, your hand brushing against his chest and your fingers lightly gripping his tie. The proximity was electrifying, and he could feel the warmth of your body against his, a stark contrast to the cool air of the library. His heart raced, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through him. Your voice, soft and almost seductive, drew him in further. “You know...” He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in your demeanor. “What... what do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. The library, once a haven of solitude, now seemed to pulse with a different kind of energy, one that was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

The space between you was almost nonexistent, and Harry could feel the heat radiating from your body. His mind raced with questions and possibilities, unsure of what to expect but unable to pull away. The library’s shadows seemed to deepen, adding to the intensity of the moment. “What’s going on?” he managed to ask, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to keep his composure.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly at your confession, his mind racing to process your words. The pink flush on your cheeks was unmistakable, adding to the growing intensity between you. He could barely believe what he was hearing, especially considering the way you had approached him.

“I... I stare?” he managed to stammer, his voice cracking slightly with surprise. The vulnerability in your admission made his heart race even faster, and he struggled to find his voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, but also a glimmer of something deeper—a curiosity, perhaps, or a hint of hope. Your fingers, still lightly touching his tie, gently encouraged him to close the distance between you even further.

“Yes,” you said softly, your voice carrying a blend of shyness and determination. “I noticed. And honestly, I’ve been thinking about it. About you.” You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to continue. “It’s not just about the way you look at me. It’s more about how you make me feel when you do.” Harry’s gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he took in your words. The library, with its quiet and secluded atmosphere, seemed to wrap around you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy.

“Y/N, I...” He paused, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pretense. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’ve always admired you from a distance, but... I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

The uncertainty in his voice was palpable, but there was also a flicker of hope and longing. Your confession had clearly affected him, and he seemed to be grappling with his own feelings as he looked at you. The library’s shadows seemed to deepen, heightening the emotional weight of the moment. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile connection between you. “Because... if you are, then maybe we should... talk about this more. Together.”

Until the sudden noise from the corridor startled both of you. The unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the library, breaking the intimate moment you were sharing. Harry’s hand froze beneath your chin, his eyes darting toward the source of the noise with a mix of concern and disappointment.

The library’s shadows seemed to dance around you as you both pulled away, the spell of the moment shattered by the intrusion. You exchanged a glance, your heart still racing, and Harry’s face reflected a blend of frustration and urgency. “We have to... we should—” Harry began, his voice hurried as he glanced back at the approaching footsteps. He reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “We can’t be seen here.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the interrupted moment but also the lingering excitement of what had almost happened. You quickly gathered yourself, smoothing out your clothes and trying to regain composure. The footsteps grew louder, and you both knew it was time to make a swift exit. With one last meaningful look, Harry gave a small, almost apologetic smile before you both slipped away into the labyrinthine stacks of the library, seeking refuge from the unwelcome interruption.

As you parted ways to avoid detection, the promise of what might have been hung heavily in the air, leaving both of you with a mix of longing and anticipation for what the future might hold.

Harry’s fist collided with Draco’s face in a sudden burst of anger and defiance. The impact sent Draco stumbling backward, his surprise quickly morphing into a mix of pain and fury. The library’s atmosphere shifted from one of tense anticipation to chaotic confrontation.

Draco’s eyes blazed with indignation as he wiped the blood from his split lip. “How dare you!” he spat, his voice laced with rage. “You have no right to touch her!”

Theodore and Mattheo, momentarily stunned, quickly regained their composure. Theodore’s smirk faded as he stepped in front of Draco, his own anger boiling over. “You think you can just waltz in here and act like you own the place?” he sneered.

Mattheo, still holding a mocking grin, was quick to chime in. “Looks like Potter’s got a bit of a temper. How amusing.” You moved to stand between Harry and your brother, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just let him go. This isn’t helping anyone.”

Draco, rubbing his jaw, shot a venomous glare at Harry. “You think this is over? You’ve just made things worse for yourself.” His voice was low and menacing, filled with the promise of retribution. Harry, breathing heavily, glared back at Draco. “I’m not afraid of you or your threats. Let’s settle this somewhere else, away from here.” You could see the frustration and desperation in Harry’s eyes, a reflection of your own turmoil. “Harry, please. Let’s just go before things get worse.”

The tension in the library was palpable, each of you caught in a complex web of emotions and conflicting loyalties. Draco, Theodore, and Mattheo seemed ready to pounce, but the realization that the situation was spiraling out of control was clear to all. With a final glance at you, Harry reluctantly stepped back, his anger still simmering but controlled. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s go.”

As you and Harry made your way out of the library, your brother’s furious eyes followed you. The confrontation left a bitter taste, but it also solidified the resolve between you and Harry. The path forward was uncertain, but the bond between you had been tested and, despite the chaos, had grown stronger.

Outside the library, the cool night air felt like a welcome release, and Harry’s hand found yours again, offering a comforting squeeze. The events of the night had only intensified the feelings between you, leaving both of you with a mixture of relief and anticipation for what lay ahead. But not until Mattheo had the last words in your defense. 

Mattheo’s voice cut through the chaos, his frustration evident as he tried to intervene between Draco and Harry. “You’re such an asshole!” he shouted, his anger palpable. The library’s peaceful ambiance was now a battleground of shouts and clashing spells, and the situation seemed to escalate by the second.

Draco and Harry were locked in a heated struggle, their spells and curses lighting up the library like a chaotic light show. Theodore was trying to separate them, but his efforts were in vain as the two continued their relentless battle. The intensity of their fight was palpable, each movement fueled by a mix of personal vendettas and raw emotions.

Mattheo, seeing that his attempts to break up the fight were futile, resorted to threats. “I’ll tell Father about this!” he roared, his voice filled with menace. “You’ll regret this!”

Despite Mattheo’s threats, Harry and Draco were too caught up in their conflict to heed his warnings. The air crackled with magical energy, and the sounds of spellcasting and grunts of exertion echoed through the library’s aisles.

Amidst the commotion, you felt a mix of panic and determination. You stepped between the combatants, your voice rising above the din. “Enough! This has to stop!” you shouted, trying to grab their attention.

But your words were lost in the chaos. It was clear that neither Draco nor Harry was willing to back down easily. The library’s tranquility was shattered, and the once-serene study space was now a scene of conflict and anger.

Realizing that a more drastic approach was needed, you tried to summon your own magic, casting a powerful barrier between the two fighters. “Stop it now!” you commanded, your voice filled with authority. The barrier shimmered with a protective light, momentarily halting the duel and forcing both Harry and Draco to take a step back. The sudden ceasefire gave everyone a chance to catch their breath, but the tension was far from resolved.

Mattheo, still seething with anger, glared at you. “This isn’t over,” he warned, his voice dripping with venom. “I’ll make sure of it.” With a final, furious look at Draco and Harry, you turned to lead Harry away from the scene. “Come on,” you said urgently. “We need to get out of here before things get worse.”

Harry, still breathing heavily and with a look of determination in his eyes, followed you out of the library. As the two of you exited into the night, the cold air felt like a balm against the heated emotions of the confrontation. The events of the night had left a mark on both of you, but the bond between you had been tested and strengthened in the face of adversity. The path ahead was uncertain, but together you faced it with a renewed sense of resolve and connection.

The scene in the library had reached a fever pitch of chaos and confusion. Despite your desperate attempts to intervene, the fight between Draco and Harry had become almost uncontrollable. Each spell and curse seemed to add fuel to the fire, and even with your friends and Professor Snape now involved, the confrontation continued to spiral out of control.

Professor Snape's authoritative voice cut through the tumult, commanding the situation with a chilling firmness. “Hospital, now,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. His presence brought a semblance of order to the chaotic scene, and he quickly took charge, guiding Draco and Harry toward the hospital wing.

You reached out to Harry, your voice trembling with concern as you tried to hold onto him. “Harry, please, let me help—” His response was strained but resolute. “Don’t,” he said, his voice edged with pain and exhaustion. He pushed your hand away gently but firmly, signaling his desire to deal with the aftermath on his own terms.

Feeling helpless, you watched as Snape and the others escorted Draco and Harry out of the library. The corridor’s dim light cast long shadows, and the tension hung heavy in the air as they moved toward the hospital wing. You were left standing alone, the aftermath of the confrontation weighing heavily on you. Your friends gathered around, their faces reflecting a mix of concern and confusion. Hermione’s hand found yours, squeezing it reassuringly. “We need to make sure they’re okay,” she said softly, her eyes full of empathy.

You nodded, though your mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. The fight had revealed deep-seated tensions and unresolved feelings, and now, all you could do was hope that the wounds—both physical and emotional—could be healed.  As you made your way toward the hospital wing, you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled in your chest. The night had taken a turn that none of you had anticipated, and the road to resolution seemed fraught with challenges.

The hospital wing's door loomed ahead, and you braced yourself for what lay beyond. The events of the evening had left scars that would take time to heal, but you knew that facing them was the only way forward. With a deep breath, you steeled yourself and stepped into the unknown, ready to support those you cared about and navigate the complexities of the relationships that had been strained by the night’s events.

The next morning, you hadn’t slept a wink. Mattheo found you alone in the common room, your sleepless night evident in the dark circles beneath your eyes. “Didn’t sleep?” he asked gently. You didn’t respond, your whole demeanor blank and distant. He sighed, understanding why you were silent and why you hadn't spoken to Theodore, Blaise, or Enzo.

“Look,” he continued, “I tried to tell your brother it was a bad idea. Even Pansy would agree with me. We were all against it—knew how you felt about Potter. And though everyone might think otherwise...” He paused, waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you finally did, your eyes glassy and weary, he added, “I’m genuinely glad to be the first to hear that you and Potter are together.” His smile was warm, sincere, and offered a small beacon of comfort.

“But... what about Draco?” you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty. Mattheo raised an eyebrow, immediately understanding who you were referring to. “Draco? Forget him. We’ll figure something out. If we need to keep your relationship a secret, so be it. I just want you to be happy—me, Theodore, everyone else.” His words were sincere, and you hugged him tightly, your face pressed against his chest.

“Finally, the peepsqueak is awake,” Theodore’s voice cut through the moment, a smile on his lips. He looked relieved to see you up. “Where were you?” you asked, feeling a mix of exhaustion and curiosity. “In the hospital wing. Harry’s been given a day off. He wants to see you.” Despite Theodore’s attempts to sound upbeat, you could sense the undercurrent of concern in his tone. A sigh escaped you, unsure if you were ready to face Harry. But Mattheo’s reassuring squeeze and the silent nod of support convinced you to go.

Harry sat on the hospital bed, Hermione at his side while Draco slept nearby, his presence barely acknowledged. “I’m sure she wasn’t…” Hermione whispered, trying to keep her voice low as Draco shifted restlessly in his sleep. “From what you’ve told me, it seems more likely that he set her up. Regardless…”

Harry’s gaze shifted, and he noticed you standing there, looking even more fragile than the night before, a clear sign of the toll it had taken on you. Hermione, who had been speaking, fell silent as Harry’s eyes met yours. 

“If you want to see him, he’s here,” Harry said, his voice carrying a hint of threat. “It would be helpful if you picked him up.” Hermione’s reaction was swift; she slapped Harry gently on his wounded arm, her disapproval evident.  Although you appreciated the offer, you barely acknowledged it. Your focus remained on Harry. “Harry…”

His eyes closed tightly, a clear sign of his struggle to process your words. “Harry… please listen to me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you fought back tears. A choked sob slipped through your lips. “I didn’t know anything about it, not even the prank. My brother mentioned something about you, yes… But never in a thousand years would I have thought it would come to this, especially when I was about to confess my love for you…”

His eyelids softened as he listened, his anger wavering. “And the fight... After you were taken away by Snape, Mattheo—strange as it may seem—is on our side. He trusts you with his life, more than...” Your gaze shifted nervously from him to your brother. With a hint of disgust, you added, “More than him.”

Harry paused, a heavy silence settling between you. Hermione nudged him, silently urging him to speak. His brow arched in questioning, “You meant it?” His voice was filled with a mix of hope and disbelief. 

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“Everything.” 

As you approached quietly, Harry flinched slightly at your sudden presence. Hermione took her cue and left, giving you a reassuring smile before exiting. You settled beside his bed, reaching out for his hand. Though he tried to pull away, the connection was too strong to resist. He loved you, despite everything.

"Harry James Potter," you said softly, using his full name as you leaned in, echoing the intimacy of the previous night. "I loved you from the very first moment. Will you accept this kiss?"

Harry's heart swelled with a mix of affection and relief. A gentle chuckle escaped him as he cupped your face, his smile tender and sincere. "You may, Y/N Malfoy." 

With that, he leaned in, meeting your lips with his, sealing the promise of his love.

The Perfect Love / Halsin

summary: while battling against the Durge and embracing your new you. you struggled to pinpoint the source of your envy towards the elf druid you had been ordered to save and return to the grove. it wasn't until one night, with perhaps a bit of help from a mischievous vamping, that the true nature of your feelings began to surface.

ps ; english isn't my first language but i hope you appreciate this story!

words ; 2654

Halsin was a man unto himself, his charm both undeniable and somehow elusive. Admirers far outnumbered foes, drawn to the balance he maintained with nature and the quiet prosperity he exuded. He wasn’t just the revered druid everyone spoke about in hushed admiration—he was also a striking Elf, impossible to overlook. Those fortunate enough to attend his lectures on harmony found themselves captivated, much like you, lingering at the back of the group, ever more intrigued by his words and presence. Brooding in silence.

“You know,” Astarion’s voice slithered into your ear, his gaze flicking between you and the unfortunate soul who had become your prey that night. Although calling them a "threat" felt like an understatement—it was more of a fleeting obstacle, your mind entirely consumed by Halsin’s perfect smile. The temptation to tear Astarion to pieces in that very moment simmered just beneath the surface. “If you keep staring like that, he’ll eventually notice,” Astarion teased, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Perhaps even get nervous.”

"Nervous?" You nearly choked on your drink as the rough, cheap alcohol scraped down your throat—courtesy of the most bare-bones camp supplies Faerûn had to offer. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you shot back, trying to sound confident. Astarion, however, was anything but convinced, the arch of his brow giving you away before you even finished. “I mean, just look at him. I bet half the people listening to him right now are only here for his looks. His perfect eyes, his perfect hair, his perfect mus—” Your words faltered as you realized the dangerous path you were treading. Complimenting Halsin's physical perfection was not where you wanted this conversation to go. Too late. You caught the wicked smirk curling Astarion’s lips, the one he reserved for moments like these—when someone proved themselves wrong. “Mus? I didn’t quite catch that, darling,” he teased, eyes glittering with mischief.

The emphasis on the word had only deepened your worry, and now your gaze locked with the vampire spawn’s. Astarion leaned in closer, his silhouette casting a shadow over you as if daring you to continue. His smug satisfaction was unmistakable, reveling in the fact that he had you cornered. You tried your best not to fall into his trap, but the pull of his teasing was undeniable. 

“Astarion, I won’t say it,” you insisted, voice strained, struggling to hold onto your pride. “It’s not in my nature to—” But even as the words left your mouth, the smirk on his lips grew wider, knowing full well he’d already won.

“Nature of what?” That voice—rich and unmistakable—cut through the tension, catching both you and Astarion off guard. While Astarion had been thoroughly enjoying his own mischief, his amusement quickly faded as the shadowy figure stepped closer, drawing both of your attentions. Even Astarion, usually so composed, faltered. A delicate flush bloomed across his pale cheeks as he hurriedly returned his lips to the rim of his wine glass, avoiding further scrutiny. The silence stretched long enough for you to wrestle with the question, wondering why Astarion, of all people, had fallen so quiet. Then came the follow-up, dripping with amusement: “Or has the cat caught your tongue now?”

A small cough escaped Astarion, his amusement evident as a few splashes of wine dripped onto his pale skin. He quickly stifled a laugh, wiping the droplets with one finger, his gaze dancing between you and Halsin. The druid's expression was endearing—innocent, really—blissfully unaware of the conversation he’d nearly walked in on. Astarion, ever the opportunist, made a mental note to bet some gold next time, just for the chance to see your face at a moment like this again.

Your eyes followed Astarion’s motion, and when they landed on Halsin, your heart nearly skipped a beat. Halsin, with his effortlessly handsome features, was now looking directly at you. The sudden shift in your demeanor—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, and brows raised as if you'd seen a ghost—hadn’t escaped him. "My dear Y/N," he remarked, a soft concern in his voice, "you look a bit flushed. Are you alright? Do you need me to fetch something to cool you down?"

But the worries faded into the background as Astarion's laughter echoed through the air, his amusement wrapping around every word. "Oh no," he began, clearly relishing the moment. Because when the attention wasn’t on him, Astarion always found a way to redirect it. "Actually, it’s—"Before he could finish, your hand shot up, covering his lips. You couldn’t let him say it, not here, not in front of Halsin and the others, all of whom were now watching intently. The last thing you needed was for your rambling to be exposed.

"I—I must go. I'm so sorry," you stammered, your voice trembling with nervousness. Halsin’s brow furrowed in concern, his keen eyes noticing the slight shake of your fingers as they fell away from Astarion’s mouth. The druid could sense your anxiety, but what puzzled him more was the question that lingered in his mind: why did you always seem so flustered around him?

As Halsin watched you retreat to your tent, his brows knitted in confusion. Astarion, still amused, casually wiped away the remnants of your hand from his lips, further drawing Halsin's attention. The druid, perplexed, turned to him with a quiet question. "Care to explain why she acts like this around me? Every time I try to approach her, she either freezes or... leaves."

Astarion, for once, refrained from teasing, but the air of mischief lingered around him. Meanwhile, the camp, already buzzing from the commotion you’d stirred, was now curious, eyes darting between Halsin and your tent. Amidst the rising murmur, it was Shadowheart who finally spoke on your behalf.

“I can’t say for certain,” she began, her voice calm, “but she’s been like that ever since you joined us. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s something she’s quite ready to share.” Her gaze softened as she looked in your direction, a quiet understanding in her tone. "Give her time." The camp fell quiet again, though Halsin couldn't shake the feeling there was more to your behavior than what met the eye.

Gale nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin before offering his own insight. "I’ve noticed something too," he said, his tone measured. "It seems to happen most often when you're teaching, Halsin. As someone who’s done a fair bit of teaching myself, I understand the challenge. When two lives—especially so different—cross paths, tensions can arise. And, let’s face it, good looks don't make things any easier." He offered a wry smile. "It’s no surprise you have admirers, Halsin. But I have a suspicion that our dearest Y/N might be dealing with a bit of… jealousy."

Halsin’s brows raised slightly in surprise, though he remained silent, the new piece of information settling in. Gale’s words made sense, but they only deepened the mystery for the druid, whose mind now lingered on the complexity of your reactions around him.

Astarion raised his glass with a triumphant grin, clearly reveling in Gale’s conclusion. “Gale, you’re absolutely right! She can be hard to read at times, but jealousy? That’s crystal clear. It’s obvious she’s got a thing for our charming druid.” He turned, his smirk widening as he gestured toward Halsin. “After all, we elves are just naturally irresistible, aren’t we, Shadowheart?”

Shadowheart, caught off guard, gave Astarion a sidelong glance, clearly unamused by his antics. “I wouldn’t count on all elves being charming,” she replied dryly, though her gaze softened briefly toward Halsin. “But I’ll admit, Halsin does have… a presence.” Halsin, for his part, shook his head with a quiet chuckle, though Gale’s observation and Astarion’s playful commentary left him more curious than ever. Could it really be jealousy? The idea seemed both flattering and perplexing.

As the party continued to banter about your supposed jealousy, Halsin’s gaze drifted elsewhere, lost in thought. He found himself reflecting on his time teaching the others about nature. It struck him as odd that, despite his dedication as a teacher, it wasn’t the admiration or the attention he received that seemed to unsettle you. What truly seemed to bother you was the constant presence of admirers crowding around him, often preventing you from even getting a simple greeting.

While some might view the notion as a bit far-fetched, Halsin understood the frustration. It wasn’t just about the superficial interactions; it was the lack of meaningful connection. You were always on the periphery, never having the chance to truly get to know him. Despite his knowledge of you, the details of your life remained largely unknown to him. This disparity in understanding seemed to create a barrier, one that he now felt compelled to address.

“I’d suggest you go talk to her,” Astarion’s voice interrupted Halsin’s thoughts, his gaze fixed on your tent. The druid's brows furrowed as he considered the suggestion. "She’s probably sleeping by now—" Astarion shook his head, dismissing the notion. “You know her better than that. She’s either restless or busy with something else.”

Determined to resolve the uncertainty, Halsin approached your tent, only to be met with faint, sorrowful sounds coming from within. The cries were soft but unmistakable. They cut through the night air, revealing a vulnerability that neither he nor Astarion had anticipated. The realization that you were struggling alone hit him hard, stirring a sense of urgency and empathy in the druid.

“Y/N…?” Halsin’s voice was soft but clear, cutting through the darkness of the tent. Though you were numb and struggling with your inner turmoil, the sound of his voice was unmistakable. A surge of jealousy and frustration surged within you, a painful reminder of your emotions. 

You fought the impulse to lash out, the temptation to hurt him as a way to release your pent-up feelings. Tears, which had momentarily dried, began to well up again. Desperate to maintain some semblance of control, you turned away, trying to cover your face and silence your sobs, hoping he would take the hint and leave you in peace.

But Halsin did not leave. He remained steadfast, his concern growing stronger. When he managed to peek through the tent, he saw you as he had anticipated—your face flushed, your body curled up as if to shield yourself from the world. The faint cries he'd heard earlier were now more apparent, a stark contrast to the usually composed and serene image you presented.

“Are you afraid of me?” he wondered aloud, though he quickly dismissed the thought. It couldn't be fear, he reasoned. If anything, it was something deeper. He began to pull away, respecting your apparent wish for solitude, but you reached out, your hand gently gripping his arm. Your touch was hesitant but firm, a silent plea that spoke louder than words. "Please, I beg you," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and vulnerability.

Halsin stopped, his heart aching at the sight of your struggle. It was clear now that your need for help outweighed your desire for isolation. He knelt beside you, his voice soft but determined. “I’m here,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you.”

Halsin’s soft features met yours as your gaze finally connected. His lips curved into a reassuring smile, a silent promise of support and understanding. Without needing to say more, he accepted your plea, recognizing that it went beyond mere words or shared battles. 

He understood that these moments of vulnerability were crucial, that his presence was more important than any simple greeting or fight alongside you. If nights like these required extra effort, he was more than willing to give it. The reassurance in his eyes spoke volumes, a quiet commitment to stand by you and help you through the darkness, no matter how long it took.

When Halsin settled down beside you, preparing to wrap his arms around your waist, you instinctively rushed to him. It was as if the shelter you’d been seeking was right there in front of you. Halsin chuckled softly, his voice carrying a hint of playful reproach. “You know,” he began with a scoff of laughter, “I always wondered why you seemed so distant during my lectures. Aren’t my classes engaging enough?” His tone was light, almost mockingly offended.

Despite the fact that your discomfort had nothing to do with his teaching or demonstrations, you felt a flush creep onto your cheeks. It was hard to ignore the feelings bubbling up inside you. “Would I be damned if I admitted that it’s because I find you utterly breathtaking?” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, the warmth of your blush reflecting your sincerity.

Halsin’s laughter joined yours, his amusement genuine as he found your comment both adorable and endearing. Yet, beneath the surface, he sensed that your feelings ran deeper than mere admiration. The revelation that you were the Durge—an identity everyone spoke of—had shifted his understanding of you.

As you spoke, your voice carried a tremor of vulnerability. “But it’s also my fear of being alone,” you began, your eyes fixed on him. “Being the Durge has its advantages, but it also feels like a curse. Ever since my father, Bhaal, and my siblings came into my life, I’ve struggled with the fear that no one would ever truly love me. Not even someone as wise as you.” Halsin listened intently, his gaze unwavering as he absorbed your confession. The weight of your words was not lost on him, and he felt a profound sense of empathy for the fear and loneliness you carried. His focus remained solely on you, his presence a quiet reassurance in the face of your deepest insecurities.

As you shared your fears and vulnerabilities, Halsin listened deeply, feeling a connection to your struggles. He reflected on your accomplishments, like saving the grove and rescuing Zevlor and others from the goblin camp. These were feats he often spoke of with admiration, and they were the very stories that captivated his students.

“You know,” Halsin began, a hint of pride in his voice, “I might be an accomplished teacher, but it’s actually you who excites the students the most. They’re always eager to hear about your deeds. In fact, many of them have expressed a wish to meet you. But I’ve been hesitant, understanding that you don’t seek the spotlight.”

He looked at you with a reassuring smile, his words conveying both admiration and a deep respect for your desire for privacy. “You’ve made a greater impact than you realize, and while you might not seek attention, your actions speak volumes to those who know about them.”

You listened intently, your fingers gently cupping Halsin's face as you lifted your head from his chest to meet his gaze. “So that’s what Alfira was talking about last week?” you asked, a hint of shame coloring your words. “I always thought the hero was someone else in this party, considering my story.”

Halsin's lips curved into the same reassuring smile you had admired since you first met him, the same smile you had once envied but now found deeply comforting. “How about…” he began thoughtfully, “next week, I have a lecture to attend. Perhaps you could join me? It could be a first step for us to get to know each other better.” His suggestion was warm and genuine, offering a bridge between your shared experiences and the budding connection between you.

The phrase "a first step to our relationship" echoed in your mind as you continued to gaze at him. A small smile curved your lips, and with sincerity, you replied, “I would love to, Halsin.”

Halsin’s heart warmed at your response. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, drawing you closer into his embrace. The warmth of his touch was soothing, a comforting reassurance that you were no longer alone.

“We will work this together, my dear.” 

Off Days / Remy Lebeau

summary: While working at the X-Men labs and growing increasingly close to Remy, it was on one fateful day that he decided to seize the opportunity. He figured that stealing you away for more than just five minutes before work might be his chance to make you truly his.

ps; english isn't my first language, so i apologize for any spelling errors of grammar, enjoy!

"Mon cher..." Remy's morning voice purrs softly against the crook of your neck. His head nestles closer, his plan clear as he hopes to gently rouse you. His teeth graze your skin, followed by the warm press of his lips as he tenderly sucks at the spot, a loving wake-up call.

"Remy," you called his name with a teasing lilt, making him freeze in his tracks. His lips formed a pout just as he was about to sigh, a sigh filled with both longing and frustration. He glanced at you, only to catch the sneaky grin spreading across your lips—a grin he nearly missed while considering stealing you away before work. "Just five more minutes," you echoed, mimicking the exact tone he used when begging for extra sleep on weekdays. But this time, sleep was far from Remy's mind, and you knew exactly what was.

"But mon cher," his accent thickened, drawing your attention back to him. He knew exactly how to captivate you, not just with his words, but with his touch. His fingers trailed down your back, pulling you closer as he maneuvered himself on top of you. "Why risk five more minutes of sleep without giving me at least a few kisses in return, hmm? Je suis ashamed."

He feigned hurt, placing a hand dramatically against his chest, his pout deepening as he spoke with playful disdain. Yet, his act worked its magic on you. As much as you adored him, the temptation was hard to resist. You knew better than to underestimate him—after all, he wasn’t called Gambit for nothing. So, you decided to challenge him. “Alright, tough guy, if you’re so eager to keep me here all day, you’ll need to help me come up with a good excuse for missing the lab. Remember, I’m working with Charles today.”

That bastard, Remy thought, his brows knitting together at the mere mention of your mentor's name. He knew the two of you were just colleagues, nothing more, but Remy despised any hint of competition. The idea of having to fight for your heart ignited his ego, and he knew that acting impulsively could cost you not just your job, but possibly him as well. So, he decided to be cunning instead. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as a plan began to form.

"Perhaps I can figure something out..." he murmured, releasing your back as his fingers traced a path from your waist to your chin. His thumb gently tilting your chin, making you meet his gaze. Just as you were about to protest, his fingers brushed against your lips, teasing every inch of your body. "Let Gambit handle it, will you?" His voice carried a subtle threat, yet the promise behind his words left you completely disarmed. Whatever he was planning was clearly working in his favor. "Just stay still," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear before he bit down on its edge, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Will you be silent, mon cher?" he continued, his voice low and commanding. Your eyes met his once more, and this time they glowed with a magenta hue, the once familiar white pupils now darkened. You nodded, but he pressed further, "I didn’t hear you, cher." Cocky bastard, you thought, knowing full well he was in control. “Yes, Rem—” you began, but he shook his head, a subtle gesture of disapproval that made you quickly correct yourself. “Yes, Sir.”

Remy was as satisfied as ever. He leaned in, locking eyes with you as his fingers traced their way back to your chest, sending tingles through your body. The sensation shifted from cold to warm as his fingers teasingly slipped beneath your underwear. His brows furrowed slightly, and he tilted his head. "Already wet for me, cher?" he murmured, his eyes filled with curiosity, though he restrained himself from looking further—for now, at least.

“It’s you and your stupid handsome face...” you muttered, your cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink that Remy savored. He relished how vulnerable you were before him, even without a single touch. You tried to avert your gaze, pretending to check the clock on the nightstand, but that didn’t please him. Before you could, his right hand gripped your chin, almost squeezing as your cheeks puffed slightly under his touch. “I’m sure Charles won’t mind a few minutes, will he?”

You remained silent for a moment, then nodded again. "Good... Now, be a dear, mon amour, and let him do all the work." Before you could protest, he leaned in for a hungry, sloppy kiss that left you breathless. As he pulled away, it wasn’t his fingers that slipped beneath the covers this time—it was his head, his hands firmly gripping your hips as his tongue began its work. In that moment, any thought of being late faded away. Just then, the door swung open. One of Charles' assistants, whom you knew well, shyly informed you of your boss’s illness, suggesting you might take the day off. You thanked him, struggling to stifle a moan. Remy’s head peeked back from beneath the covers, a mischievous grin on his face as he saw your disheveled state. "Now, cher, I suppose you have no excuse. Today, you’re all mine..."

Princess / Logan Howlett ༄ ‧₊˚

summary: logan's variant in wade's world is indifference of the one you were familiar or heard about. until he proves you wrong on the rumors being spread about him.

ps; i apologies if there is a few grammatical errors, as english isn't my first language.

enjoy!

Logan’s heightened senses drove him to madness, fixated on what he considered his. Though his other selves shared similar traits, his obsession was a love language all its own—a twisted devotion that everyone recognized, and no one could forget.

Meeting him felt vague, yet endearing—at least in Wade’s eyes, especially when he caught the slight stutter in your voice. Your frame was just a bit smaller than Logan’s, something Wade couldn’t resist teasing you about, loudly enough to draw Logan’s protective gaze. “Will you leave them alone? I’m still amazed you have any friends with that loud mouth of yours,” he quipped, his tone half-joking but fully defensive.

Poor thing—a nickname he’d mostly outgrown, reserved now for special moments. Like when you struggled to reach something just out of your grasp. He’d watch you for a moment, scoff softly, and set his journal down before his shadow loomed over you. With effortless ease, he’d retrieve the item, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Poor thing,” he’d murmur. “You could’ve just asked the man for help.”

A pout formed on your lips as you rolled your eyes at his remark. Was he always such an asshole? You wondered, though it was hardly surprising after the stories Wade had shared about their first encounter. Searching for one variant was challenging enough, but finding the one in Wade’s world was something else entirely. Despite initially hating him—just as he harbored a slight disdain for you—you eventually outgrew your disdain for Wolverine, outgrew the man you never imagined you’d feel safe with.

After just a few months of living together, it was Logan’s feelings for you that began to deepen. A man of tradition, he’d often help you cook for Wade and anyone else who joined, a gesture you were slowly getting used to. But Wade, ever the tease, would sneak in during Logan’s absence and whisper, “If he doesn’t confess, I’ll make him confess.” His remark usually earned a smack on the chest, just as Logan would walk into the kitchen, eyebrow raised at the two of you. Wade, unfazed, would lean in and quip, “For my sanity, and everyone else’s.”

Later that night, Wade went out with Vanessa, giving you and Logan some rare time alone—a move you knew was just an excuse. As you washed the dishes, a comfortable silence settled over the room. Logan’s soft whistling filled the quiet, bringing a sense of calm that made you chuckle. He raised an eyebrow at the sound. “What’s so funny?” he asked, not looking your way as he finished the last of the plates.

You remained silent for a moment, a soft smile playing on your lips as you savored the peace. After a small shrug, you finally spoke. “Nothing, just enjoying this moment…” You paused, your eyes meeting his. “With you.”

Your quiet confession was enough to make him flustered. Though he hated feeling this way, he couldn’t deny the truth: your company was something he enjoyed, something he wanted to hold on to for as long as possible. Mirroring your smile, he saw you waiting for his response, so he gave it. “Me too,” he said softly, his voice calm as he set the towel down on the counter and turned to face you. Another moment of silence passed before you felt his thumb graze your chin. “And maybe spending even more time together…”

Your lashes fluttered, a detail he couldn’t help but admire—so much so, it drove him wild, igniting the possessive need to claim you as his own. Worthy of him, and only him, to love and cherish. “May I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low. The question wasn’t really an offer, not when you felt the same way. With a simple nod, you answered, “Anytime, Logan Howlett.”

Hearing his full name from your lips made him smile, envisioning a future where his name was etched into your heart. It was enough to fuel his desire, the need to make you his. He leaned in slowly, savoring the moment, though the hunger in him grew as your lips brushed against his. His strong fingers gently cupped your face before sliding to your waist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as your legs wrapped around him.

He walked over to the couch, his hunger now transformed into a fervent passion. He wanted you, and as he sat down, with you nestled on his lap, it felt perfect. With a teasing smirk on your lips, you lightly brushed your hips against him. His head fell back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. His voice came out rough, curses slipping through as he muttered, “You’re driving me insane. Come here, baby girl.” The nickname carried a shift in his tone—Logan had become the Wolverine, his wicked smirk and darkened eyes never leaving you. Finally, he confessed, “It’s a shame Wade isn’t here to see what I’m going to do to you tonight… to claim you as mine… Princess.’"

THEM. that’s the caption

Hickeys / Wade, Logan and Remy

summary: small prompts, on how the xmen boys would be when given hickeys.

ps; i apologies if there is a few grammatical errors, as english isn't my first language.

enjoy!

Wade: 

Logan: 

Remy Lebeau: 

Worthy / Logan Howlett

summary: Logan had insisted that you wear a dress for another of Wade’s parties over the weekend. Even though the request triggered insecurities, bringing back memories of feeling like a 'worthless' creature during your time at the Void, Logan saw you differently. In his eyes, you were more than worthy—a goddess to be worshipped.

ps; english isn't my first language so i apologize for any grammatical errors. but hope you enjoy! xo'

Logan cherished these rare moments of peace. Wade's incessant chatter had long since become a burden, and with you joining the troupe, it only intensified his irritation. He often cursed himself for not keeping more liquor on hand to dull the noise. Yet, it wasn’t the endless talking that truly got under his skin—it was the way your beauty distracted him, even when you were fiercely defending yourself. He hated how his eyes were drawn to you, how you had a way of making him feel vulnerable, a feeling he loathed to admit.

It had only been moments ago when Wade graciously invited you to the dinner party, an invitation you accepted without hesitation. After all, you had helped them back in the Void, and Wade had made it clear he was forever in your debt for not showing more appreciation. Over time, this had blossomed into a friendship. But someone had other plans. The dinner invitation was merely the first move in a much larger scheme.

“They would look so cute together,” Vanessa remarked as she prepared dinner, Wade at her side. Fortunately, neither you nor Logan were anywhere near the apartment at that moment. You had called him about some dress issue, but his soft laughter on the other end suggested he wasn’t concerned. Wade knew that even if you were stressing, Logan would love whatever you chose to wear. “Y/N,” Wade’s voice came through the phone as you examined yourself in front your own mirror, turning and swirling to get a better view. A gift that didn’t go amiss when you arrived from work. Logan made sure of it. “He’ll love it. I know Logan’s not great with emotions, heck even choosing the dress he wanted you to wear, but trust me, he couldn’t stop talking about how excited he was that you’re coming tonight.” His words weren’t entirely wrong, and the thought made your cheeks blush a light shade of pink. “Also, please don’t tell him. But the dress was supposed to be a secret.” 

A smile tugged at your lips—typical Wade with his loud, boisterous manner. You heard another chuckle from him, followed by, “So do me a favor. If you two need the bed tonight, just ask.” The implication made your cheeks flush with warmth. “Wade!” you exclaimed in protest, your voice rising in defense. That was enough to catch the attention of the person in question—Logan. His voice came through, faint but unmistakably clear. “Is that Y/N?” he asked, the sound of a door closing in the background hinting that he’d arrived earlier than expected. Wade’s exaggerated scoff was audible on the other end. “No, not now,” he grumbled, clearly annoyed about Logan’s deed of wanting to talk to you. Urging to give him the phone. And you guessed it right— as moments before Wade could continue his perpetual complaints, Logan’s voice replaced his, calmer and oddly pleased to hear you.

“Hey, doll,” Logan greeted you with the nickname he’d first given you back in the Void, one he thought was a perfect fit. And apparently, it was, since he couldn’t seem to stop using it, despite your strict orders for him not to. Especially after you returned, yet he insisted. ‘He’s such a lover boy,’ Wade would often grumble to you. ‘For a Wolverine, I’m surprised he’s such a wuss for not making a move sooner. Shame,’ he’d continue, his complaints ringing in your ears. Then, with a softer tone, Logan asked, “Coming to tonight’s party?”

The hint of his voice carried all the signs of a man hopelessly in love but too afraid to admit it. You nod in response, even though he couldn’t see it, but the smallest "mhm" was enough to please him. You could almost feel his smile creeping in, as subtle as he tried to make it with Deadpool in the same room. “Good. Did you get the dress I ordered for you?” His voice was hoarse but reassuring. You let out another hum as you recalled your current state. The dress hugged your curves perfectly, the beautiful red hue complementing your skin tone. Nothing to complain about, but what if he didn’t like it? What if, despite buying it for you, the makeup was too much, or your hair… “Doll?” His voice pulled you back. With a soft chuckle, you regained your focus. “Yes?” you replied quickly, just in time for him to repeat the question, his chuckle echoing through the phone. “You’re coming to tonight’s party?”

“Oh! Yes, yes!” you stammered, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice. Logan’s brow furrowed in thought, and you knew that as soon as you set foot in Wade’s apartment, he’d likely start questioning you. No excuse or attempt at avoiding embarrassment would be enough to satisfy him. “8pm?” you tried to steer the conversation back to the party, not yourself. But Logan wasn’t satisfied. Still, he confirmed your plans. “Yes, doll. Are you sure you’re okay? I can always tell Wade that you and I would rather stay home. Or… maybe I could spoil my favorite doll.” His voice dropped to a deeper, more alluring tone, tempting you through the phone. You liked the idea, of course. Why hide the relationship when you could just be together? But something inside you still wanted to go. “No, I’ll be fine. 8pm? I’ll be knocking on Wade’s door.”

Poor thing. He pouted, pleading silently for your arrival. First Peter and the others had shown up, but 8pm came and went, and still, he waited, his patience fraying. Even his own pacing, usually steady, betrayed his growing impatience—something even Wade couldn’t help but notice. “You know,” Wade said, catching Wolverine’s attention, “if you keep pacing like that, she’s not going to get here any faster.” Logan knew that. He wasn’t stupid. But as the clock struck 8:30, his worry only deepened, sharpening his senses. “I don’t like that she hasn’t answered my call. She said she’d text before leaving, and she did. But now…” Wade’s annoying chuckle cut through the tension, earning him a sharp glare. “What’s so funny? She could be in danger.” Ah, typical Logan, Wade thought to himself.

"And if you’re so confident, why don’t you tell me where she is, huh? Clever one." Oh, he wanted to tell him. But Wade savored every second of Logan's unease. Watching the man who once met you at the Void, now as helpless as a lost puppy, was too satisfying. Even with his head held high and his arrogance intact, Logan was soft around you, and that gave Wade a glimmer of hope—for you, at least. Then the door finally opened, revealing you—but without the dress Logan had asked you to wear for tonight’s dinner. “Y/N…” Logan’s voice faltered the moment he saw you, a smile creeping onto your face as you met his gaze. “Logan.”

His gaze lingered over your silhouette, scrutinizing every detail. He had to blink twice as he moved closer, resisting the urge to let his hands find their way around your waist, hoping not to get caught. Fortunately for him, Wade, a man of his word, recognized that look all too well. The bedroom was the only option for the both of you.

Logan didn’t hesitate for a second to lead you there. He wanted to talk with you first, even as everyone greeted you with kisses along the way. But it was Logan’s intense gaze that unsettled you, something deeper lurking beneath the surface. He sensed something was off, catching the scent in every inch of your body. It was a temptation he was ready to taste, to explore if he had to.

As the two of you approached the bedroom and opened the door, you sat down, blinking in innocent oblivion. The way you looked at him almost drove him to madness. “Don’t give me that look,” he said firmly, as his thumb gently caressed your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. “Doll,” he murmured, his lips forming a disappointed pout. You knew the conversation wouldn’t end without addressing the missing dress. “Where’s the dress?” he asked, a hint of offense in his voice.

The truth is, you hated how you felt in that dress. Logan would tell you otherwise, of course—he always does. He worships you. But the constant pressure weighed heavily on you, leaving you feeling sorrowful. The days back at the Void had drained you, making you feel like you couldn’t resist his charm anymore. Not now that he was happy, free. “It didn’t fit…” you murmured.

A lie—one he knew all too well. After all, you couldn’t hide anything from him. No lie could escape his notice. “No,” he said, his gaze darkening as his jaw clenched, mind racing to the worst possibilities. Was she cheating? Deceiving me? Why am I feeling all of this at once? But he held back, letting you speak as he noticed your eyes beginning to water. You fought to hold back the tears, determined to prove your strength, to show you were still worthy of something.

“Doll…” His voice softened as he knelt down to your level, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. Your eyelids grew heavy at his touch, the tenderness you had longed for, not just since your time at the Void, but always. He felt it too. “Let it all out if you need to... I’m here.”

His words, like a gentle melody, were enough to make you break down. A soft sob began, soon giving way to a full breakdown. At first, Logan thought it might just be what you often referred to as ‘ladies’ problems,’ but his keen sense told him otherwise. He sensed something deeper, something more sentimental within you. His fingers gently cupped your face, and you managed to open your eyes slightly. “When you’re ready,” he said, pausing briefly as you gently wiped away the dried tears on your cheek.

“Was the dress too much? Did I do something—” you managed to let out a soft chuckle, which warmed Logan’s heart. Poor thing, he felt genuinely remorseful, and you couldn’t blame him, especially given your emotional state. You took a deep breath and exhaled, just as your mother had taught you. “I just…” you paused briefly. Logan’s brows furrowed in concern. Even though he didn’t say the words aloud, you understood his unspoken question. “I didn’t feel pretty… or worthy enough. For you.”

He couldn’t believe the words. You, not feeling pretty? How could you say that? To everyone, especially to Logan, you were like an angel sent from above. If it hadn’t been for Remy accidentally swinging his cards at you or you saving Wade’s skin just in time, he’d consider himself incredibly fortunate to have met you—and to have your scent near him. This was more than just a soulmate connection. “Hey…” His voice was warm and gentle as butter. As your eyes met his, he wiped away the last of the tears streaming down your cheek. “Don’t ever say that. You are my angel from the forgotten lands. Just the thought of not having you in my arms every night is unbearable. I know our relationship was meant to stay hidden until you were ready, but if this means embracing each other fully, I will. Just as you have done for me.”

Those words were enough to make you melt into his embrace, wrapping your arms around the crook of his neck and inhaling his familiar scent. Oh, how you had missed it, just as he had missed yours. “You know,” his voice carried a playful note that made you arch an eyebrow as you pulled away from the hug. “Since Wade suggested…” His voice was tinged with desire, a longing for more, for you to be more than just his. Logan wanted you to be his soulmate. “While everyone else is probably too drunk to notice, though I doubt that, we could have our little game.” His breath grew heavier as his forehead rested against yours, his fingers gently caressing your arm, your lips almost brushing against his. The temptation was too strong to resist.

“But what if I get too… you know… loud?” A blush crept onto your cheeks as he chuckled. “I’ll try to be careful—” Just then, the door swung open with a loud creak, startling you. It was surprising how, in that moment, Logan’s focus seemed to narrow entirely on one thing: your scent. No one else’s. The sudden interruption came with Wade’s small gasp of joy, which made both of you exhale in relief. You gave Wade a soft smile. “Wade,” Logan said, his tone a bit arrogant as he closed his eyes and sighed, resisting the urge to give him a playful jab. “What is it?”

“Is it finally happening?!” Wade’s voice was loud enough to grab the attention of every guest in the room. Realizing his outburst, he quickly stifled himself and paused, glancing back at you. “The bed’s free, by the way. Have fun,” he purred, his tone making Logan mutter a few curses and toss a pillow in his direction.

“Now…” his focus returned to you. Despite his earlier annoyance, the Wolverine was determined to make you his and no one else’s. “Where were we, doll…” he murmured, leading you toward the bed, his lips finding yours. “Mine and mine alone.”

Sorrow / Diego Hargreeves

summary: five doesn't see you as a friend/platonic partner anymore. but to diego's eyes you are his everything.

ps; english isn't my first language so i appolgize for any grammar errors! (also i wanted to write a short diego hargreeves prompt, bc in this house, we stan diego period. and he deserves everything.)

enjoy!

“I don’t love you anymore,” 

The words still echo in the recesses of your mind, haunting you with their bitter finality. You replay the moment when the same phrase was uttered, over and over again. I don’t love you anymore. After all you've endured together in the apocalypse—surviving as a team, protecting each other—it wasn't enough for him. His desires grew, but they no longer included you. He craved something more, something that left you behind.

And for what excuse he said? To protect you. 

It wasn’t until hours later that your entire body began to feel stiff. With everyone else—Lila’s family included—watching from the sidelines, you felt utterly numb. Your lips couldn't form a final sentence, no explanation for the choice that led you here. Even your eyes refused to look away. As your fingers trembled, you struggled to hold back the tears, but that’s when you finally broke. His voice, calling out for you in despair, was unbearable. You wanted to block out every sound, including the sound of your own sobbing.

But you couldn’t escape it. Diego’s voice grew louder, angrier, until it became the only thing you could focus on. He was your voice in that moment, the one who truly understood, whose first instinct was always to check if you were okay. Yet part of you wished he would stop yelling, stop pretending he wasn’t hurt. Why feel hurt at all? The Handler had told you not to, and so had Five. Now, you stood before someone who was nothing more than a stranger. When Diego’s voice suddenly cut through the chaos, trembling with fear, he asked, "Y/N?" His voice mirrored the fear in your eyes when they met his.

Without a word, the room grew cold, the silence thick and suffocating. Your heart pounded wildly, and all you wanted to do was run—so you did. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you. Diego’s voice, calling your name, faded into a distant echo as you glanced back to see him chasing after you. But why? What was he trying to hold onto? It didn’t matter. You kept running until your legs gave out, your mind and spirit utterly drained. Collapsing in the middle of the walkway, you fell to your knees, tears streaming down your face. Five’s words had finally shattered you. And then, Diego’s arms found you.

“Shh…” His soft, reassuring whispers began to calm you, even as your cries of despair continued. He gently rocked you in his arms, urging you to look at him as he promised that everything would be okay—that he was there for you. “Breathe. Exhale,” he murmured, and you tried your best to follow his words. As a few tears slipped down your cheeks, he tenderly wiped them away, the warmth of your tears meeting the cold touch of his fingers. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation. “I’m here,” he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He, too, knew what it meant to lose someone you love. 

 “Nobody is going to hurt us, anymore. I promise.”