🎃 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 🔥 a John Allerdyce x Reader One-Shot
Heyy, guess who’s still alive ? 👀
Yeah… it’s me. Somehow. Surprisingly.
I know it’s been ages since I posted anything — life said “no ❤️” and I just rolled with it.
Sooo… this « little » Halloween one-shot?
It was absolutely, definitely, 100% supposed to come out on October 31st.
And now it’s… almost December.
Which is basically Halloween 2.0 if you squint, right?
… Right??? Please validate me.
Anyway — it’s finally here, I finished it, and I’m posting it before the universe finds another way to stop me.
Also, sorry in advance because it’s loooong 😅 apparently I do not possess the ability to write something short. At all. Inspiration won and I just… let it happen.
Hope you’ll still enjoy this chaotic mess as much as I enjoyed writing it. 🎃🔥
See ya soon ! … Hopefully 😅 ✨
…This is a terrible idea.
You mutter under your breath as you trail after Rogue and Kitty, very much against your will, across the sprawling grounds of the Institute.
It’s October 31st. Halloween.
And, in a stroke of absolute genius, Professor Xavier decided to cancel classes for the day to “encourage the school’s festive spirit.”
Great. Fantastic. Pure joy.
Come on, Y/N! Stop being such a buzzkill! Enjoy it! It’s not every day the teachers let us have fun instead of boring us to death with lectures!
Kitty teases, slowing down just enough to hook herself onto your arm and dump all her weight on your shoulder.
And let’s not forget one tiny, insignificant detail… you did agree to come,
Rogue adds dryly from the front without even looking back.
Wrong! I agreed to carve pumpkins with the kids! Totally different thing!
Being one of the older students at the school, it was only natural that Xavier recruited you—along with the other seniors—to help the day run smoothly: decorating, baking pumpkin treats, making spider-shaped cookies and eyeball lollipops, running the various booths to entertain the swarm of children who were absolutely losing their minds over the whole setup.
And to be fair, the result is cool.
Really cool, actually.
The entire garden is filled with tiny tents offering candy of every kind, a fishing game—sorry, the ‘zombie piranha pond,’ very important distinction—mask-making, bat and pumpkin garland crafting, and face painting… some of it more successful than others.
Add to that a horde of sugar-high kids screaming and running everywhere, plus the idiots who think it’s hilarious to jump out at you yelling boo, and you’ve got the delightful chaos the Institute has become today.
So honestly, yeah, it’s pretty great.
If you didn’t absolutely hate this stupid holiday.
Seriously. Who came up with this?
WHO in their right mind enjoys climbing windows like some wannabe stuntman just to hang those hideous motion-sensor dolls that launch themselves at you the second you get too close???
WHO likes dumping fake spiderwebs everywhere so they cling to your hair and give you a heart attack when they brush your shoulder?
WHO actually enjoys sticking their hands, up to the elbows, into disgusting, fake congealed blood to fish out a stupid prize at the bottom of a bucket??
(Yes… you had to do it. And yes… you had to pretend it didn’t make you gag.)
And who…WHO would willingly go get scared for fun, with zero logical reason, by watching a bunch of idiots in cheap monster costumes jump around like they’re auditioning for a low-budget horror movie???
Apparently everyone. Except you.
And NO. Not because you’re scared.
…You’re just a responsible, mature adult, that’s all.
The only one, apparently, since even half the teachers are playing along.
So when the professors asked for a volunteer to help the younger kids carve pumpkins and make their very first jack-o’-lanterns, you didn’t hesitate for a second.
You’re good with the little ones, that, at least, you’ve mastered.
And honestly? You actually enjoyed yourself.
Your booth was tucked away in a relatively quiet corner (meaning the only quiet corner), and the kids were excited but focused, desperate to make a pumpkin scarier than the one their friend was working on.
There was laughter, chaos, tiny hands waving knives around (terrifying, but endearing)…
It was fun.
Admit it, you really couldn’t complain.
If anything, you can complain about Kitty, who, thanks to her mutation, had the time of her life phasing out of the floor, the ceiling, the walls, cackling like a deranged witch, sending the kids into fits of laughter… and giving you a series of mini heart attacks.
And you can definitely complain about your “wonderful best friend” Rogue, who literally dragged you away to get you dressed because, and you quote, “everyone is required to be in costume tonight.”
(Required by who? God only knows.)
Which is how you ended up like… this.
Stuck in what is either a vampire dress, a gothic princess dress, or something in between, you’re still not sure. Rogue, dressed like a dark-fantasy romance sorceress, and Kitty, in a neon pink skeleton costume, went absolutely feral with your hair and makeup.
They shoved a black tiara on your head, twisted your hair into a “messy-but-not-messy” bun (… sure), and spent AN ENTIRE HOUR — yes, a whole hour — painting your face. White foundation (as if you weren’t pale enough), deep red lipstick, a little trail of fake blood at the corner of your mouth, and a full spiderweb eyeliner bedazzled with rhinestones and god-knows-what.
The result?
A full-on queen of darkness.
They swore you looked stunning.
You thought you looked absolutely ridiculous.
Stop whining! I know exactly someone who’d pay VERY good money to see you like this… « princess.”
Rogue had smirked, while the fluorescent skeleton snickered like a goblin beside her, like the two of them knew something you didn’t.
You couldn’t stop the heat rushing to your face.
Of course you knew who they meant.
Shut up, Rogue. You’re not funny.
Good. I wasn’t trying to be.
She’d said it in that annoyingly sing-song voice, just to get under your skin.
And we both know I’m right.
You’d growled, turning your head away before she could poke further.
Mmh-hm. Sure. Go tell that to someone who’ll believe you.
You shoulder-checked her with a murderous look that very clearly meant drop it, then reached over to smack Kitty on the head for good measure.
The two menaces just giggled like they’d won.
As the day drags on, your brain just won’t shut up.
You keep pretending you don’t care, but Rogue’s words keep echoing in your head.
“He’d pay good money just to see you like this.”
…Would he?
Would John really pay that much to see you dressed like this?
You catch a glimpse of yourself in a puddle as you walk past, slowing down without meaning to.
You hate admitting it, especially after all that attitude you threw at the girls, but… yeah.
You do look kind of… pretty. Attractive, even.
For once.
You’ve never seen yourself look so… woman. Powerful.
And honestly, it’s not like you ever try to stand out.
Oversized hoodies, baggy jeans, comfort before anything even remotely “trendy” — that’s your whole personality.
So seeing yourself like this, all dressed up and put together, feels almost wrong.
Unsettling.
Your mind drifts off before you can stop it.
To him.
You’re the smiling type, the gentle one. A little shy, soft-spoken.
Attentive but quiet.
Present but discreet.
Him?
He’s pure confidence wrapped in leather and sarcasm.
That challenging smirk, the razor-sharp comebacks, the way he never backs down.
He talks back to teachers without blinking, shows up to class only when he feels like it, and spends half his time flicking sparks from his lighter just because he can.
People call him arrogant, mean, aggressive. Dangerous, even.
But you… you see what they don’t.
The softened smile he hides when Kitty gets overexcited showing off another stunt.
The rough, almost brotherly hug he gives Bobby whenever he gets yet another guilt-soaked letter from his parents.
The flash of protective anger in his eyes when some idiot steps too close to someone he cares about.
You notice the brightness in his gaze, that half-taunting, half-playful smile he tries to smother behind his fist.
You see the kindness, the honesty, the loyalty — all tucked behind that unbothered, bad-boy façade he works so hard to maintain.
Sure, he shows it in his own… special way:
through teasing, snark, sharp little pokes meant only for you.
But the more time passes, the more he drives you absolutely insane.
What used to be harmless bickering between friends has turned into… something else.
More intimate.
More daring.
Those grey-green eyes that pin you in place.
That slow, wicked grin.
The way his gaze lingers on your lips just a beat too long.
And the brush of his fingers against yours every time you pass each other in the hallway…
Or maybe you’re imagining all of it?
Maybe he’s like this with everyone?
No…
You’ve never seen him act like that with anyone.
Not even the girls.
So what then?
Do you get some kind of special treatment?
Are you… special?
Tch.
Yeah. Special. Sure.
You’re not special.
Just a regular teen with a regular face and a regular mutation.
Nothing about you screams “the type of girl a guy like him would go for.”
So what is it?
What does he want?
What is he thinking?
You have no idea.
And it’s slowly driving you insane.
You snap back to reality when a thought hits you out of nowhere:
Speaking of John… where the hell is he?
The sun has finally dipped beyond the horizon, leaving the moon to cast a soft glow over the grounds. The little lanterns you helped the kids make earlier flicker gently along the paths.
Most of the booths have started to empty. Some students have gathered around Professors Monroe and Summers, happily inhaling slices of pumpkin pie, while others crowd near Professor Xavier. He’s taken up the role of storyteller for the evening, and with Jean making his tales come alive with her illusions, the younger kids hang onto every word.
Guys! Please, pleeease, can we go do the haunted house?!
Kitty practically shrieks, bouncing on her toes with a grin way too bright to be legal.
You glance toward the mansion.
Drenched in shadow, lit only by rows of carved pumpkins along the stairs, the place look like it walked straight out of a horror movie.
Flashes of light burst behind the windows, and twisted laughter, monstrous roars and terrified screams echo through the walls like the soundtrack of your future nightmares.
Your soul almost leaves your body when the back door bursts open.
A handful of students come sprinting out, screaming and laughing, chased by someone you think might be a senior… except he’s dressed as a clown, so who knows. He cackles maniacally, grabs the closest « victim », and drags him back in, doubled over with laughter.
The poor kid’s dramatically terrified yelling (even though he’s clearly having the time of his life) is the last thing you hear before they disappear into the dark.
Your answer is immediate, absolute, and carved in stone.
No.
Not happening.
You’d sooner take root right here, stuffing your face with candy for the rest of eternity, than step foot in that death-trap and embarrass yourself before inevitably dying (no, you’re not being dramatic).
Kitty practically throws herself at your feet, grabbing your hands and staring up at you with the saddest puppy-dog eyes known to mankind.
Pleeeease, Y/N!! I haven’t done a haunted house in forever and this is our only chance!
Great! Then go! Run! Fly! Be free! Just… without me.
But I don’t wanna go alooooone, and you’re my friiiieeend—
And Rogue, who is also a wonderful friend, I’m sure, would be absolutely thrilled to go with you! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna find the cotton candy stand before someone eats it all!
You cut her off and turn on your heel, praying the booth is still open.
But Kitty latches onto your arm like a koala, whining like a toddler denied a toy.
But it’s not the saaaame without you! Come oooon! We’re a trio, aren’t we??? We do everything together!!
Yes, Kitty, but there are limits in this world. And that—” you gesture toward the mansion with a sharp nod, “—is one of them.”
Oh, come on, Y/N. Just do it for Kitty… She’s never gonna drop it otherwise.”
Rogue deadpans as she walks straight toward the house, ignoring Kitty who sticks her tongue out at her.
And Bobby’s in there. Haven’t seen my boyfriend all day, so I’d kinda like to fix that.
Yeah! And Piotr’s in there too!!!
You stare at them both, raising a brow.
Since when do you two need me to hold your hand while you go make out with your boyfriends??
Since John’s in there too…
Kitty whispers right in your ear, voice dripping with mischief.
A shiver shoots down your spine.
You shove her away, warmth flooding your cheeks.
Well.
That answers your earlier question…
But seriously, can everyone quit it already?!
I don’t see the connection, Kitty…
Oh really? You don’t wanna see what your dark-and-brooding prince is dressed as tonight??
First of all, he is NOT my dark-and-brooding anything! And second—NO, I don’t need a heart attack just to find out!
You keep bickering the entire walk, your feet carrying you toward your doom despite your desperate resistance.
Which is how you end up here:
a bored witch, an overexcited neon skeleton, and a very reluctant goth princess…
standing at the gates of hell.
What a stupid idea.
No really—what a spectacularly stupid idea.
The doors swing open.
And without warning, you’re hit with a wall of screams, pounding footsteps, and flashing lights from every direction. You swallow hard.
Dear God.
Whose idea was this?
Oh right—yours. Kind of.
Still. A stupid idea.
Your two friends don’t hesitate for a single second before darting inside.
You scramble after them, grabbing onto Kitty’s sleeve like it’s a lifeline.
You are, without exaggeration, experiencing your own imminent death. There is no better description of your current state.
Shoulders up to your ears, eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed tight, and eyebrows permanently clenched, you stumble through the maze of hallways.
Puppets fling themselves at your face. Firecrackers explode at your feet. Pre-recorded ghost shrieks blast directly into your eardrums.
You feel hands brushing your arms, your legs, your shoulders.
You sense, more than see (because there is NO UNIVERSE in which you look at them), actors in cheap monster makeup leaning two inches from your face, screaming bloody murder before scampering away laughing.
And when a massive silhouette suddenly lunges into your path, growling like a rabid wolf, you unleash a scream that could shatter glass.
Then you recognize the voice—
and let out a long, strangled sigh of relief.
For the love of—
Professor Logan !!
You force your heart to stop sprinting while Wolverine steps aside with a low, satisfied chuckle, already waiting for his next batch of victims.
Kitty and Rogue screamed too—but they’re laughing about it.
You?
You’re just suffering.
You take one deep, heroic breath and power on, glued to your friends like a barnacle on a rock.
A string of fake cobwebs drops from the ceiling, tangling itself in your hair and tugging you backward. You shriek and kick whatever’s behind you—
a foam zombie that collapses to the floor in the saddest, most anticlimactic flop imaginable.
You barely have time to catch your breath before a shrill, piercing music blasts from a hidden speaker, punctuated with maniacal laughter and the clanging of chains. Your legs buckle, your heart hammers like a drum. Your hands shake as you clutch Kitty’s arm like your life depends on it. And, utterly ignoring every last shred of dignity, you mutter :
Okay… yeah. Definitely dying here. For sure.
Every hallway is a trap : shadows flicker where there’s nothing, plastic arms shoot out of the walls to grab at you, and screams erupt behind you just as you think you’ve ditched the idiots pretending to be cheap horror monsters. Rogue bursts out laughing a few meters ahead, completely unfazed by your suffering, while Kitty squeals in delight—you know she’s loving every second. And you? You’re just praying for an exit to magically appear.
Of course… that’s exactly when chaos decides to split you up.
First, Rogue : a solid arm wraps around her waist before she can even protest, and a familiar voice growls near her ear:
“Surprise.”
Rogue half-struggles, laughing hysterically, playfully swatting at the vampire pretending to sink its teeth into her neck.
Bobby. Of course.
He hauls her into a side corridor, leaving Rogue giggling like a giddy little witch.
Then, a swift movement catches your eye. Kitty is suddenly lifted off the ground by a massive figure, whisked away toward a dark corner. Your heart skips another beat: huge hands with clawed fingers gripping your friend. A wolfish head, straight out of an ‘80s American horror film, leans toward her. You let out a small, exasperated sigh when you recognize the “attacker.”
The giant dashes off with his captive between the traps, growling like a rabid dog and letting out a totally over-the-top wolf howl. Kitty squeals and giggles at the same time, adrenaline coursing, loving every second of the rollercoaster ride.
…And there you are.
Alone.
Your hands trembling, breath short, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst straight out of your chest. Shadows dance around you, cast by the flickering, dying lights overhead. Your eyes sweep the room at full speed, turning in circles as if moving faster might somehow make sense appear out of this hell maze.
You mutter through clenched teeth:
Fuck this… I swear, girls, if you’re still alive when we get out, I’m gonna—”
A sound.
Footsteps.
Slow. Heavy.
Like whoever it is has all the time in the world.
You spin around, nerves stretched to breaking point… nothing. No one.
A laugh. Low. Deep. Mocking.
This time from the other side.
Every hair on your body stands on end.
A sharp hit against the wall right beside you. You jolt so hard you genuinely skip a heartbeat. Frustrated — fine, mostly terrified — you shout into the darkness:
I don’t know who that is, but I swear to God: come near me and I’m kicking you in the face!
You raise your fists in a pathetic attempt at looking threatening.
It fails spectacularly.
But hey, at least you pretend it works.
Silence falls.
No more footsteps.
No more laughter.
Nothing.
As if the thing in the dark suddenly went still.
One second. Two. Three.
The air grows heavy. Thick. Suffocating.
Finally, pushed to your limit, fear snapping into anger, you yell:
Alright, enough! Come on! I know you’re there— just show yourself!!
What? What now, you scared or—
A silhouette lunges out of nowhere, stopping just inches from you.
Face hidden in the dark—
except for a faint, sharp red gleam at the corner of his mouth.
This time, it’s too much.
You scream.
And that’s when your survival instinct kicks in.
No thinking, no plan—just pure panic.
You whip around and bolt like your life depends on it.
Footsteps thunder behind you, quickening, echoing through the hallway.
Oh.
OH GREAT.
He’s following you.
Because OF COURSE he is! Why settle for mild fear when you can EXPERIENCE A FULL-BLOWN NIGHTMARE, right?!
You sprint blindly, dodging garlands, puppets, and whatever other sadistic decorations decided their sole purpose tonight was to block your way. Your heartbeat pulses in your temples as you glance over your shoulder—
He’s gone.
He’s not there.
Did you… did you actually lose him?
For once tonight, something goes your way—
A muffled scream tears from your throat as you slam straight into what you thought was a wall…
Right before the wall grabs your wrist.
Your brain glitches.
Walls do NOT have hands.
Walls also do NOT breathe hot air against your face with every slow exhale.
Instinct kicks in again—you raise your free fist, ready to swing.
Until that hand closes around it too.
You’re stuck. Held in place by a grip that’s gentle but firm, unbreakable.
You freeze on the spot, eyes widening, breath hitching in your chest.
Your voice barely exists.
He laughs at your confusion, those burning eyes locking onto you, his low chuckle spilling right into your ear.
The shiver running through you snaps you back to reality—back to the fact that you are here because he put you in this situation in the first place.
You struggle for another second—more for dignity than effectiveness—before you manage to wriggle free and jump back. You smack his chest, something between a slap and pure self-defense reflex.
Jesus CHRIST, JOHN! ARE YOU STUPID OR DO YOU DO THIS ON PURPOSE?! I almost punched you in the face!
you yell, your voice much higher than you’d like.
The idiot starts laughing again.
That damn laugh…
You swallow hard.
Come on, Y/N, get a grip.
You’re mad at him, for god’s sake.
« Nice to see you too,” he drawls. “Did you miss me?”
After the crap you just pulled?? Dream on, you absolute idiot.
John slaps a hand over his heart, wearing an exaggerated look of betrayal before turning it into a pout.
Aaw… not even a tiny bit? It was just a joke.
Your jaw drops.
Oh you have GOT to be kidding.
You shove him in the chest, still half-shaking.
You made me think I was about to DIE, you psychopath!
John lets out a low, smug laugh — ridiculously proud of himself.
His hand slides over yours (since when did you stop pushing him?), his thumb brushing your skin in a way that is soft. Too soft. So soft your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself.
But his smile?
That’s pure devil-in-angel-skin.
Good. That was the whole point. I mean… that’s why you came in here, isn’t it?
NO, that is absolutely NOT why I came! The girls dragged me in here and then your dumb friends snatched them! I would never willingly walk in here just to see your—your—stupid gremlin face!”
You seethe, waving both hands at him like he’s the root of all your suffering.
And then—
The air shifts.
The adrenaline burning through you drains away, replaced by a slow-spreading heat curling deep in your stomach as John’s eyes darken, glowing like live embers. His grin stays teasing, but there’s something else underneath it. Something… predatory.
Suddenly you feel very much like a deer in the path of a hungry wolf.
“Aww… poor Y/N,” he murmurs. “All alone in the dark, practically begging for a monster to come find her… Congrats. You hit the jackpot.”
…And yet…
God, you can feel a tiny smile threatening to betray you.
You silently congratulate yourself on your self‑control as you hiss through your teeth.
If only I’d managed to land that punch…
You even lift your fist again in demonstration.
John leans in fast, snapping his teeth shut barely a breath away from your knuckles.
You freeze for half a second, a shiver bolting down your spine. You force yourself to meet his eyes.
God, this should be illegal.
You roll your eyes dramatically, trying way too hard to pretend none of that just affected you.
Anything to recover a shred of dignity.
And then you actually look at him — really look — and your heart just… lurches.
Black shirt half unbuttoned (leaving very little to the imagination), black-painted nails sharp enough to look like claws. Fake blood smeared from his jaw down his throat, dripping messily onto his open collar. Deep red contact lenses — how had you missed those? — glowing beneath his lashes. Black horns peeking through his already chaotic hair. And the plastic fangs, flashing whenever he smirks.
You go still, completely speechless.
How the hell are you supposed to stay intimidating in front of a walking Adonis?
A soft huff of air escapes him, amused, dragging you back to reality.
He’s smirking, proud and annoyingly aware of the effect he has on you.
Of course he is. The bastard.
You clear your throat, desperately faking boredom.
So? What exactly are you supposed to be?
The Devil himself, obviously.
He flicks his lighter open with a lazy gesture, a flame flaring briefly between you.
Gotta admit… it suits me.
You snort, unimpressed, muttering under your breath as you nod toward his horns.
You look more like a damn ram.
“Oh?” he hums, leaning in. “Funny, because judging by your face… the ram’s doing it for you.”
I’m gonna strangle him, actually.
He just lifts one eyebrow — slow, taunting —
and steps toward you.
One step.
Then another.
And another.
And you?
You back up. Again, and again. Desperately trying to keep that thin, pathetic “safe distance” between you.
The more you retreat, the more he advances.
John leans in, so close that your breaths mix, a wicked smile curling on his lips.
“Go on, princess,” he murmurs. “Please. Try.”
Petrified.
Rooted to the spot.
Your brain stops functioning entirely, your wide eyes locked onto his molten ones.
You part your lips —
You should say something.
Anything.
A joke, an insult, a threat — dear God, something —
Panic floods your veins as heat rushes to your face.
What is he doing?? What are you doing?? Is he serious? Is this a joke??
A sharp thud breaks through your thoughts — his hand hitting the wall right beside your head.
You’re trapped now, caged between his arms.
Like a moth drawn straight into the flame.
John dips his head, his lips skimming almost-too-close against your cheek.
he breathes against your skin.
The great Y/N who promised to rip my throat out… suddenly can’t talk?”
Your heart hammers violently, like it’s trying to escape your ribcage.
You want to back away.
Your brain screams to shove him off.
But your treacherous body stays right where it is, pinned between the wall and his chest.
John tilts his head, an almost feral smile sculpting his mouth.
You’re cute when you stutter.
You feel like you’re combusting on the spot.
“S–shut up…” you manage, pitifully.
he chuckles, grinning wide, arrogant, delighted.
Not when I’m having this much fun.
His hand slides slowly down from the wall…
until his fingers catch your chin.
He tilts your face up toward his.
Like you weren’t already dying to.
If you really wanna hit me… now’s your chance,
he murmurs, leaning in until his mouth is a breath away from yours.
Good luck lifting your damn arm now.
You swallow hard, your brain spinning out.
Do you do it?
Do you not—
Oh, screw it.
You shut your eyes and close the pathetic inches between you and—
Heaven.
Or hell.
You can’t tell.
Nothing exists anymore.
Nothing but the heat of his mouth on yours.
A small, startled noise escapes him as John — Pyro, the guy made of pure attitude and fire — actually freezes.
Shit.
Shit. You messed up. You misread everything. He didn’t want this, he didn’t mean it— you fucked everything up—
A warm hand grabs your waist.
A low, hungry growl rumbles from his chest.
And his mouth crashes back onto yours with such force it wipes your thoughts clean.
And you let yourself drown.
His fingers tighten, dragging you against him like he’s been waiting weeks — months — for this exact second.
His other hand slides up your back, curling under the base of your neck, guiding you deeper into the kiss.
A rough, shaky breath escapes you — half shock at your own boldness, half shock at his.
John smiles against your mouth.
That infuriating little smirk you hate.
And crave just as much.
He finally breaks the kiss, only barely — just enough to breathe, not enough to let you go.
Your foreheads touch.
Your breaths tangle again.
he mutters, voice low, slightly unsteady.
You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of that, princess…
Your breath stops dead in your chest.
Your brain glitches.
Did… did he actually say that?
No. No, impossible.
John doesn’t say shit like that to you.
This is a test — a joke — some cruel prank.
You search his face, his smile, his eyes… and refuse to believe it.
No way. He’s messing with you. Any second he’ll laugh, tell you you fell for it, and you’ll look like the biggest idiot alive.
You pull back a centimeter without realizing it.
J-John, if this is another one of your stupid games… it’s really not funny.
You whisper it, almost pleading.
His smile widens — but his eyes stay hot, intense, deadly serious.
You really think I’d joke with you like that?
He tilts his head slightly, challenging your disbelief.
After all the time I’ve spent watching you, princess… trust me, you didn’t imagine a damn thing.
Your hands shake.
You want to scream why me?, but the breath won’t come.
You stammer, unable to finish a single thought.
Your eyes search his face for the slightest crack, the tiniest hint that this is fake — but there’s nothing.
Just him.
And your traitor of a heart pounding like it wants to confess everything for you.
John gently catches your chin between his fingers, forcing your gaze back to his.
‘You, you’… are the one I’ve wanted to kiss for months. Ever since the day I saw the ‘new girl’ walk into Summers’ class.
You let out a short, incredulous huff.
If I didn’t know you… I’d almost believe that wasn’t a joke.
A low, deep sound — almost a growl, almost possessive — vibrates in his chest before he dives back down, his mouth devouring yours with an urgency that steals every bit of air you had left.
When he pulls back, slightly breathless:
Still sound like a joke to you?
You try to hold his gaze… but your eyes drop to his mouth again, and you swallow hard.
I don’t know… I might need another piece of proof.
His smile turns flat-out predatory as he leans in, lips brushing yours—
A shrill scream makes both of you jump.
Behind you, a small group of younger students is staring, eyes huge.
“THE MONSTER IS EATING HER!!”
You jerk upright, ready to shove yourself away from him, mortified to be caught like that.
But John doesn’t move.
If anything… he doubles down.
His hand tightens on your waist to keep you against him, and suddenly he buries his face in your neck, pretending to bite you with a growl that sounds way, way too convincing, sending a chaotic mix of embarrassment and… something else exploding through your chest.
You at least have the presence of mind to play along, letting yourself go limp in his arms like you’re fainting.
God. Why are you like this.
The “demon” lifts his head, lets out a guttural snarl straight from the depths of hell, and lunges toward the kids as if he’s going to chase them down.
Instant pandemonium. Screaming. Laughter. They scatter like panicked rabbits.
You crack one eye open, check the hallway — empty — and push yourself upright in his arms, grumbling just for show :
Great. Now I’m making a spectacle of myself.
John watches you, one eyebrow raised, his expression half amused, half… something else entirely.
Relax, princess. You were convincing. Too convincing, actually.
He slides his thumb along your cheek, wiping away a smear of fake blood that probably didn’t even exist.
And besides… I wasn’t about to let you walk away just now.
His voice is soft. Too soft. It immediately knocks the air out of you.
You look away, your stomach twisting.
Don’t say stuff like that… You’re gonna make me think you mean it.
Silence. Not heavy. Not mocking.
You feel his hand slide up to gently take your wrist.
You open your mouth to protest, to shield yourself, to crack a joke — anything — but nothing comes out.
So he smiles. Not the cocky one, not the “demon grin” he’s been tormenting you with for the past ten minutes.
A real smile. Soft. Honest.
And you’d better believe me, because I’m not letting you slip away ever again after this.
And just like that, your heart forgets completely how to function.
About ten minutes later, you finally reappear on the manor’s front steps, still a little wobbly.
Rogue spots you first. Arms crossed, she tilts her head and lets out a “Mmh-hmh…” far too loaded to be innocent.
Kitty, on the other hand, eyes you from head to toe. Several times.
Then once more, just to be sure.
You don’t even give them time to inhale :
Not. A. Word. I see where this is going. And before you even try dragging your crushes into this to justify anything… it wasn’t me who got kidnapped by Bobby on one side and Piotr on the other, okay?
Both of them freeze.
Kitty turns a deep shade of crimson. Rogue nearly chokes on her own “tss.”
Their guilty silence says more than any explanation ever could.
Exactly. Thank you. Quiet now.
You conclude, brushing past them.
You’re tousled, your bun completely undone, your lipstick slightly smeared, cheeks warm enough to melt a candle… and that ridiculous smile that refuses to leave your face.
The princess of horrors had finally made a pact with the devil.
For better, or worse.
You cast one last glance over your shoulder…
And that’s when you see him.
Leaning against the railing, a little off to the side.
Still in his demonic costume, arms crossed, his lighter spinning lazily between his fingers.
John.
His eyes are fixed on you.
Not mocking.
Not smug.
Just… burning.
Satisfied.
As if he’d stolen something from you and had absolutely zero intention of giving it back.
When your eyes meet, he tilts his head slightly, a half-smile tugging at his lips — his smile.
The one that ruins you.
The one that says: This isn’t over.
Then, without a word, he straightens up, pockets his lighter, turns…
and disappears into the shadows of the manor.
Rogue asks, suspicious as hell.
And you turn away before they can see your smile forming again.
.. And if a tiny bite mark — just one, barely visible — still peeks out from the collar of your dress…
That’s nobody’s business but yours and his.
Even though, deep down, you know damn well no one’s going to believe that.
