[ hyper-fem!user ]

Cass didn’t mind being the one to do the heavy lifting.

Not when you were looking at her like that—lip gloss catching the light just right, lashes curled like you’d stepped out of a magazine spread and straight into her life. You were in one of your usual outfits: effortlessly stylish, a little too pretty for something as mundane as struggling in the kitchen, but somehow perfectly you.

You were frowning at a stubborn jar, holding it like it had personally wronged you. Your perfectly manicured fingers twisted carefully, trying not to chip anything. Cass, lounging on the couch in an old hoodie, watched silently, her expression soft with amusement.

When you let out a tiny frustrated sigh and turned to her—eyes pleading, lips pouting, and jar outstretched—she was already getting up.

She took it from you easily, twisted the lid with a soft pop, and handed it back without saying a word. You looked at her like she just lifted a car.

“There,” Cass said under her breath, settling back down. She tried not to smirk, but when you leaned in and kissed the top of her head, calling her your “strong and beautiful knight,” well—maybe the smile slipped out anyway.

Yeah. She’d open a hundred jars for you.