#even when he's got a critical injury

[anannua]

someone get that boy a plaster. maybe 2

sad obito doodle 💔

[seventh-district]

it's always something. PLEASE can i just go One single day without there being Something

[fishymedic]

The image of him post battle with a spear through his leg *snapped off excess, post fall/beaten the fuck up+having used it to kick at opponents, walk around and just triaging+medic mode like it's nothing (He'll deal with it eventually- it'll heal slow though due to how burnt up his latent magic etc is+the a.rcane interfacing etc)

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst. [ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

[ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[kateschi]

in the stillness

synopsis: after an injury leaves you in the hospital, your husband stays by your side and watches over you, silent for a moment.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: him saying 'my wife' does things to me tbh

the steady beeping of machines fills the quiet hospital room, but katsuki can’t hear anything except the pounding of his own heart.

his eyes stay locked on you, lying still in the bed, wrapped in bandages that make his gut twist every time he looks at them.

he’s sitting beside you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched like he’s fighting back the urge to scream.

there’s a storm brewing behind his red eyes, and you can feel it—see it in the way his shoulders are tense, in how his leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since he got here.

“you can go home, y’know,” you murmur with a weak smile. “you don’t have to stay.”

his eyes snap to yours, his scowl deepening. “absolutely not,” he growls. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. you think I’m leavin’ you like this?”

you chuckle softly, even though it hurts a little to laugh. “I’m fine, katsuki. it’s just a few bruises. you’ve seen worse.”

“doesn’t matter,” he snaps, but there’s a roughness in his voice, something he’s trying to bury beneath the anger. “it doesn’t mean I’m leavin’. I should've been there faster. you wouldn’t be in this damn bed if I had been.”

you frown at his words, knowing exactly where his mind is going. “katsuki, it wasn’t your fault. I’m a hero too, remember? I know the risks.”

he scoffs, looking away from you, his hands tightening into fists on his knees. “don’t give me that crap. I’m supposed to have your back, and I didn’t. I was too slow.”

his voice wavers for a split second, and you see the guilt eating him alive.

“hey,” you say softly, reaching out to grab his hand. he flinches at the contact, not because he doesn’t want it, but because it’s you—hurt, reaching out to comfort him when it should be the other way around.

“I’m fine, katsuki,” you repeat, squeezing his hand gently. “you got there. that’s what matters.”

his gaze locks onto yours, fierce and frustrated. “no, what matters is that you wouldn’t be here if I’d been quicker. I shoulda seen it comin’. should've—”

you shake your head, cutting him off. “stop. you’re beating yourself up over something you couldn’t control.”

“that’s bullshit,” he snaps, standing up abruptly, pacing in the small space between the bed and the wall. his hands run through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “I wasn’t fast enough. you could’ve died, because of me being too slow.”

the words hang heavy in the air, and you can see how much they’re weighing on him, tearing at him. this is katsuki at his rawest—angry not because of anyone else, but at himself.

he’s always been his harshest critic, and now, seeing you hurt, he’s taking all that anger out on himself.

you sit up a little, despite the dull ache that runs through your body. “but I didn’t, katsuki. I’m right here. you saved me.”

he stops pacing, standing still, his back to you. his shoulders are tense, and you can hear him take a deep breath, trying to reign in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

when he finally turns around, his face is a mixture of anger and vulnerability—two emotions he’s never been good at handling.

“damn it,” he mutters, stalking back toward you. he sits on the edge of the bed this time, closer than before, and his hand finds yours again, this time holding on a little tighter.

“you don’t get it, y/n. I can’t—” his voice falters, and for a second, you see something crack in his usual tough demeanor.

“I can’t just sit here and act like it’s no big deal,” he says quietly. “seein’ you like that… I’m supposed to be stronger. supposed to be the one protectin’ you, and I couldn’t even do that right.”

your heart aches at how hard he’s being on himself, but you know this is how katsuki is. he carries the weight of responsibility like it’s his personal burden to bear, and any sign of failure hits him harder than it should.

you squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “you didn’t fail, katsuki. you got there. you stopped it before it got worse. that’s all I need.”

he doesn’t respond for a moment, just stares down at your intertwined hands, his thumb running over your knuckles absentmindedly. there’s a long silence before he speaks again, this time softer, more controlled.

“you’re my wife,” he mutters, almost like he’s reminding himself of it. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. you don’t get to get hurt like this.”

you smile, tugging lightly on his hand to bring him closer. “and I’m supposed to protect you too. we’re in this together, remember?”

he huffs, clearly still not happy with himself, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. “yeah, yeah,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair again.

but his hand never leaves yours, gripping it tightly like he’s afraid to let go.

“you’re not gettin’ rid of me,” he says after a long pause, his voice a little lighter now, though the worry is still there, lingering under the surface. “I’m stayin’ here until they force me out. and don’t even think about tryin’ to convince me otherwise.”

you laugh softly, the sound easing some of the heaviness in the room. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

for a moment, neither of you says anything, just sitting there in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s still watching you like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, but you know he’ll calm down eventually.

he’s stubborn, protective, and always pushing himself harder than anyone else. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

“rest, will ya?” he mutters after a while, his voice softer now. “I’ll be right here.”

you nod, letting your eyes close as you feel the exhaustion start to catch up to you. his hand is still holding yours, warm and solid, a constant reminder that he’s there, just like always.

you can barely catch him raising your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.  

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution. 

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero. 

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis. 

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn? 

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you.  But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions. 

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander. 

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart. 

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.” 

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead. 

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy. 

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.” 

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed. 

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke. 

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking. 

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.” 

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—” 

He continues nonetheless. 

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this. 

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs. 

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal! 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat. 

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone. 

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate. 

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying. 

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive. 

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream. 

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.” 

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you. 

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on. 

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him. 

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low. 

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place. 

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included. 

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly. 

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?” 

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face. 

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you. 

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness? 

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area. 

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?” 

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.  

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?” 

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?” 

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs. 

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks. 

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy. 

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help. 

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit. 

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze. 

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration. 

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs. 

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents. 

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.” 

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you? 

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself. 

“Is there anything you don't have?” 

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.” 

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you. 

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice. 

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back. 

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push. 

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat. 

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself. 

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well. 

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach. 

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric. 

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed. 

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.” 

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.” 

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore. 

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[miley1442111]

the problem with arguing

a/n: Hi, this is my first story, any constructive criticism is welcomed. This had not been properly edited nor read through because icba lmao :) also I wrote it for a fem!reader but I don't think there's much mention other than Jack calling reader 'mom' so... yeah :)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, platonic BAUteam x reader, motherly(If that's a word?)reader x teen!jack hotchner

summary: aaron and you are in a fight, but what happens when a meeting with a witness goes south?

warnings: criminal minds levels of violence, angst, fluff, couple fighting, reader in distress, reader getting injured, mentions of knives, mentions of being stabbed, mentions of being tied up, mentions of hospitals, mentions of killing, mentions of general injury, mentions of guns/shooting, minimal use of y/n.

1.6k + words.

“We’re here, we’ll update you if anything comes of it,” Morgan promises Hotch over the phone as we walk to the front porch of one of our witnesses. Something about his story is messed up and we were the unlucky ones who had to go talk to him. It’s a pretty house I guess, a little expensive for what a 26 year old man could afford, and what he would want to buy. It’s all fifties style, the entire estate is. Big-enough bungalows with pastel walls and inviting doors with a small porch, just enough for the entry-way and a chair. I knock on the door, exhausted from the past 72 hours. Aaron and I got in a fight before we got to Ohio, it was unnecessary, but we fought all the same. He was mad at me for giving Jack advice that led to a fight between them. I just wanted to kiss and make up 3 days ago but he won’t budge. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m right and doesn’t want to confront it or maybe it’s because I took it too far and overstepped. Jack calls me ‘mom’, I live with him, and Jack came to me for support, he wanted guidance and I gave him it. He was mad at his dad because he missed meeting his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Ava, was a lovely girl, I had been the one there when Jack brought her over for dinner, I was the one trying to suss out if they actually liked each other, and I was the one Jack sat down with for 2 hours after and told everything about her to. All because Aaron was too busy with paperwork in his study. Jack was hurt, which is difficult to do because he’s such an understanding 16 year-old boy. It was also hard because I saw both sides. I’ll be the first to admit that what Aaron did was wrong, but our job is hard and demanding, especially his since he’s the leader of our team… But Jack just wanted 2 hours of his time, not even, just a dinner. A dinner to meet his girlfriend, and Aaron still couldn’t make it. 

I knock again as I huff. 

“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, the regular playful glint in his eye. 

“Tired, mad, over this job. You?” I sigh. 

“Sounds about right,” He chuckles. “How’s Jack doing?” 

A smile spreads across my face. “He has a girlfriend,” Morgan’s face lights up in a smile. 

“My man,” He smirks and I chuckle. “You two met her yet?” 

My face drops again. “I have, Aaron… couldn’t make it to the dinner though. She’s lovely, perfect for Jack. It's so funny, it’s just opposites attract. Jack is so sporty and outspoken and she’s one of the quieter, more into her studies kind of person.” 

The door swings open and we’re met with David, our witness. 

“You two know what time it is?” He yawns. 

“Oh trust us, we know,” Morgan sighs. “Can we ask you a few more questions?” 

“It’s 10pm at night? Can’t this wait ‘till the morning?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” I reassure. 

He looks between us for a moment, then sighs. “Quickly.”

We walk inside and are immediately hit with an awful smell. I know that smell. That’s when I see it, a body.

And that’s when it all goes black. 

I wake up in a new room, tied to a chair. I don’t see Derrick anywhere. I don’t see David anywhere. I’m all alone in this grey room. I don’t see a door but I notice a camera, and a screen in front of me. I see Penelope on the screen, then a sign above it with “Don’t make noise” scribbled. I look to my left and see a plastic window, I see Morgan through it, tied up too. He sees me. 

“Y/n? Y/n?! Where are you?” Penelope squeals. I shake my head and she picks up her phone and tries calling mine, it rings and I feel something go into my side. I scream out in pain as I see the blood start trickling out of me. Penelope drops her phone, then picks it up, dialling someone else’s number. 

I get switched to a joint call with Penelope, and the rest of the team, excluding Aaron. 

“Y/n?” Spencer asks and I nod, sobbing in pain. Spencer runs off-screen, leaving Jj and Emily to stare in horror at me.

Spencer comes back with Aaron and we make eye-contact through the screen, and he starts breaking. He’s shouting orders at the policemen in the precinct, he’s shouting orders at the team, and he’s trying not to cry. I know that. I also know I’m the only one who knows that. He hides it pretty well but not from me, not after all of our years together. His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow more than usual, he starts biting at the skin around his nails. 

“We’re coming to find you. We will find you,” he promises me. I nod slowly as the pain in my side becomes unbearable as the knife is pulled out. 

“Is Morgan with you?” Emily asks and I nod as I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from making too much noise. 

“Is he in the room with you?” Spencer asks. 

I shake my head no. After what feels like an eternity of yes or no questions, they think they’ve located us.I hear banging on the door and then it opens. Spencer is standing there with an entire Swat team behind him. I shake my head to tell them to not make noise but they talk anyway and another knife is put into my leg, I don’t have the strength to stay quiet this time and another finds its way into my arm. I pass out. 

I wake up in a hospital bed, an IV in my arm, Aaron on one side and Jack on the other. Aaron’s asleep in a chair on my left, I grimace, knowing his back will hurt. 

“Mom?!” Jack exclaims as he sees me open my eyes. “Mom!” His eyes fill with tears as he gets up and wraps his arms around me on the bed. 

“Jack,” I sigh in relief. 

“You’re okay! You’re awake!” He smiles brightly, happy that I’m alive. 

Aaron wakes up from the commotion and rushes to my side. “Honey?” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay.”

I smile at both of them. 

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Jack smiles and he rushes off to find a doctor. 

“Honey I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” He starts but I cut him off. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he sighs, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t go all soft now Aaron,” I joke. 

“You make me soft,” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. 

Jack comes back in with a doctor. She tells me that I lost a lot of blood and that I will be out of the field for a few months, with 2 weeks of mandatory bedrest, then 4 weeks of physical therapy. 

The next day, the team come in to visit. 

“Hey,” Spencer smiles, walking in first. I’ve always been close to Spencer, he’s always felt like a little brother to me. 

“Hey,” I smile and wince when I hug him, but I know it’s worth it. The rest of the team filter in, smiles on their faces.“So what happened after I went out?”

“Well, they got me, no injuries apart from a concussion,” Morgan says. 

“We got the guy-” Emily starts.

“Aaron got the guy,” Spencer interrupts. “He saw him and just shot him-”

“And then he beat the crap out of him,” Jj says. “It was pretty intense.”

I nod along as they tell me the story, and then we just talk about whatever until Aaron comes in and says visiting hours are over. Spencer leaves me a few more books to read and Jj brings Jack to Ava’s house for the night. Aaron walks in with my dinner on a tray. 

“Hungry?” He smiles. 

“You shot someone for me?” I ask as he places my tray down.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes and smile at him. “Is he alive?”

“No.” 

My face drops. “Oh.” 

“It was the combined bleeding and head trauma that killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did.” 

I look at my food. “I understand you wanted to protect me-”

“I did that because he doesn’t get to live after doing this to you. Honey, you and Jack are the most important people in my life and I would do anything if it meant that you were safe and sound. Do you want to know how it felt to have what could’ve been my last words to you be ‘stop bothering me’? I was an asshole to you over the Jack situation because I knew you were right. I knew it wasn’t fair to not go to dinner when I was in the house. I knew it was important and it just felt too real. It felt like he was growing up and I just couldn’t take it because I missed so much of his childhood! So I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry that I said everything I said and did what I did, but I am not sorry about hurting that fucking monster,” He takes a deep breath. “Now eat up, it’ll go cold.”

“I love you Aaron, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, being a parents is hard.” 

His eyes fill with tears and he looks at me like an injured puppy. 

“Come here,” I smile and move over, allowing room for him to sit with me. He climbs into bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, being careful of my wounds. 

“I love you,” he whispers as I slowly eat my food. 

“I love you too.”

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

I think another reason why I get rather annoyed when people hate on ToA Apollo is because how hypocritical their criticisms are.

I just saw a post talking about how great it is that Annabeth gets to show a lot of emotion, especially by crying. I also recall moments where she got frustrated or angry, and I found myself absolutely agreeing!

But then my thoughts turned to Apollo, another character who shows a lot of emotion.

But you know what he’s called for being frustrated, or upset, or for crying?

Whiny. He’s called whiny.

Apollo gets frustrated when he’s unable to perform something (archery) he used to be extremely good at. He’s upset that he can no longer use a bow correctly.

And people call him whiny for that. Apparently, those people have never experienced, let alone heard of The Gifted-Kid, something all Gifted-Kids (hello, tis me, Gifted-Kid since 4th grade RIP) can relate to Apollo over.

You were really good at something but all of a sudden you can no longer perform it as well? You’re not hitting your usual mark?

Well too bad, according to the fan base, you should shut up and not be so awfully whiny! It’s just archery!

(That was obviously in jest but you get my point.)

Additionally, Apollo never complains about important things. He complains about having to walk, but not the injury that’s literally turning him into a zombie and physically tormenting him.

That post really made me think about this, and then I asked myself; “Why? Why are people’s thoughts so different on Annabeth v Apollo showing emotion?”

It became apparent rather quickly, if you ask me.

Annabeth is a woman. Of course she should be able to show emotion! also maybe deep-seated sexism of ‘women are emotional’

Apollo is a man. And God forbid men show emotion I guess smh so also sexism

Because think about it. How many of the RRVerse male protagonists were allowed to cry? To be fully, and undeniably, upset?

I can only remember Frank crying on the plane after his grandmother’s presumed death, and Grover sniffling/getting teary-eyed in PJO. I don’t recall Percy, Jason, Leo, or Nico ever crying, or really having powerful bursts of emotion.

Yes, yes, Percy and Nico have both gotten mad and unleashed their fury upon someone, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.

I’m talking about letting them feel, letting them be emotional.

Not a burst of anger. But real, genuine character-driven emotion.

The fact that I can only name Frank and Grover from the previous two series is truly saddening.

Apollo gets to feel. To let his emotions flow freely. He whines, yes, but he also gets frustrated, he gets upset, and most of all he cries.

That all makes him a real character, someone people can relate to.

I’ll admit I’m a rather emotional person too. I have a quick temper, and more often than not the water-works come on real quick when I get upset. It’s a normal emotional response, but it can be difficult to work with, especially when you’re trying to stay calm.

Apollo is the first RRVerse protagonist to be allowed to have feelings— strong ones, even. And I can relate to that. There’s a reason why Apollo, Reyna, and Annabeth are all favorites of mine, and that’s because I see myself in them.

Annabeth is prideful. I can be too. She gets obsessed over her work. I do that too. Hates spiders? Oh hell yeah.

Reyna gave me someone to connect with over my sexuality. Ignore that Rick mixed what aro and ace are for a moment please She really gave my demiromantic self somebody to relate with, because the lack of aro rep is criminal. and no the Hunters are not aro rep

Apollo is emotional. He’s made mistakes and wants to do better.

Who wouldn’t see themselves in him? I certainly do.

And yet, he gets called whiny for having the literal rug pulled out from under him again and again, and he doesn’t even let himself complain over what he should, absolutely complain about!

Idk. I think there’s a lot to be said about how this fandom treats emotional characters, especially based on gender.

I guess this is all to say don’t judge a fictional character, because you’re judging a real person too.

And real people have feelings, you know.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

Chapter eleven

Summary: After a tense moment, you and Joel find the perfect moment to be alone, to clear the air—and, well, to explore other things too. It seems he enjoys teasing you. In other words—he cannot contain himself anymore. WC: 23.5k A/N: OKAY. WHAT. THIS IS LONG AF. I got sick and all i could do was THIS lol sorry!! I hope you like this part <3 LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK. Love u all!!! <3 Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notis!

The drive to the hospital was brief and quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel intentional but rather borne out of mutual focus. Joel’s hand rested on your knee, grounding you, though you could feel the tension in his grip—the only outward sign of his worry.

He relayed what Irina’s mom had told him. The girls were playing in the treehouse, lost in their own conversation, when a bee buzzed through the open window. Irina screamed, startling Sarah, who stepped back too close to the edge.

She fell—eight feet to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and left her unconscious for nearly a minute. Now she was awake, pale and shaken.

"She's okay," Joel said, his voice firm but tight. "They said it’s not as bad as it sounds."  

When you arrived at the hospital, Sarah was sitting up in a bed, a neck brace holding her small frame upright as a doctor shone a small light into her wide, watery eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her lips trembling, her hands balled into nervous fists. She looked so much smaller than usual, her spirit diminished, and the sight of her like this made your chest tighten.  

The diagnosis was straightforward—a fractured humerus and a mild concussion. Nothing life-threatening, the doctor reassured Joel, though the fall had clearly terrified her. Maybe the worst part wasn’t the injury but the fear that lingered, thick and immobilizing.

Joel moved to her side without hesitation, scooping her up gently, pressing his lips against her temple, whispering reassurances you couldn’t quite make out. Sarah clung to him, her little fingers clutching his shirt, her face buried in his chest.

When he walked into the room, a wave of absolute relief washed over her—the kind only her dad could bring.

“You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you now.” His voice cracked, but only slightly.

Irina’s mother waited just outside the room, wringing her hands, her face pale and guilt-stricken. The moment Joel had arrived, she’d apologized, over and over, her words tumbling out in a rush. He’d waved her off, his focus entirely on Sarah, but after seeing that she wasn’t in critical condition, his anger had softened into something closer to gratitude. He’d told her, gently but firmly, “It’s not your fault. These things happen.”

Later, after the doctor finished his evaluations and explained the treatment plan, you felt the tension in Joel’s shoulders ease, if only slightly. Painkillers, rest, home monitoring—nothing more. The doctor assured Joel that kids Sarah’s age were resilient. She’d bounce back faster than either of you expected.

“I’m happy you came with my dad,” Sarah said softly, her voice almost lost in the sterile hum of the hospital room. Joel had stepped out to handle the paperwork, leaving the two of you alone. She was nestled against the pillows, her small frame looking even more delicate against the stiff white sheets.

You reached out, your fingers brushing through her hair in gentle strokes.

“Of course I came, baby,” you said with a smile that you hoped looked relaxed, though you were still shaken from the chaos of the past two hours.

“Did he talk to you?” 

You nodded. “He did.”

“Cool,” she murmured, her head tilting against your chest when you pulled her closer. You were careful to avoid jostling her injured arm, adjusting her so gently it felt like you were holding glass. After a moment, she said, “Please tell me that now things will go back to the way they were.” Her voice cracked slightly, and you could hear the weight of the day pressing down on her. You knew this kind of vulnerability didn’t come easily to her, even as a child. 

Your chest tightened, the ache of guilt mixing with something softer, more protective.

“You have my word,” you said, your voice low but certain. “I promise you, no more ugly arguments.”

Sarah shifted, lifting her head to look at you with wide, serious eyes.

“You have to swear it,” she said, her tone firmer now, as if making sure you understood the gravity of her request.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Okay, well,” you began lightly, trying to ease her tension, “I’m not sure we’ll never argue again. That’s just being human, right? But I can promise you this: this horrible situation? The one we put you through? It’s over. No more of that. I swear.”

She squinted at you, her lips curving into the faintest smile.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said, her words carrying a hint of playfulness despite the exhaustion in her face.

“Well, fair enough,” you replied, grinning back at her.

It wasn’t long before Joel returned, his footsteps soft but calculated as he crossed the threshold. He looked calmer now, his shoulders looser, his face no longer drawn tight with worry. As he stepped beside you, his hand found the small of your back. His fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm and deliberate against your skin. It wasn’t much—a small gesture, fleeting—but it sent a ripple of nervous energy through you.

You told yourself it was nothing. Joel had always been like this—touching your back, your arms, your hands. He was naturally affectionate with you, even before… before everything had changed. But this was different. The way his thumb brushed softly against your skin wasn’t just a casual gesture. It was conscious, intimate, a quiet declaration. And it filled your stomach with that familiar, fluttering sensation, like you were a teenager on the cusp of her first real crush.

Sarah, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. Her head rested heavily against your shoulder, her breathing evening out as she relaxed.

You couldn’t help but glance up at Joel. His eyes met yours, a quiet understanding passing between you.

Your cheeks burned, the flush creeping up your neck as you looked up at him with a shy smile you couldn’t quite suppress. It felt ridiculous—how bashful you’d become under his gaze, like a teenager unsteady in her own skin.

Joel tilted his head, his lips curling into a small, sideways smile. His eyes lingered on your face, clearly amused by your reaction. He thought it was adorable.

Then, his attention shifted. His gaze moved to Sarah, who was watching the exchange with an exaggerated grimace, her face scrunched in mock disapproval.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Joel asked, breaking the moment as he leaned down to gently touch the cast encasing her arm.

“I’m okay,” Sarah replied with a sigh, like she was already bored of the concern, pretending to be over it. “I just wanna go home.”

He nodded, the smile on his face tinged with relief, though his eyes still carried traces of the fear that had gripped him earlier.

The drive home was unhurried, the car bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Unlike the trip to the hospital, the tension was gone now, replaced by the sound of Sarah’s voice as she filled the car with a running commentary. From the backseat, she recounted everything about the day—the bee that had sent Irina into hysterics, the moment she’d felt herself fall, the brief confusion when she woke up.

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, shaking her head with dramatic exasperation. “Like, nothing. I thought when people lost consciousness, they saw something, you know? Like a light, or maybe they dreamed.”

Joel turned in his seat slightly, glancing back at her with an amused expression.

“What did you want to see?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah said, shrugging. “God, maybe?”

You and Joel both laughed, the kind of laughter that comes easily after a day so heavy it felt like a release. Before either of you could respond, Sarah pivoted to a new topic with the abruptness only a child could manage.

“So, what, are you guys dating now or something?”

For a beat, the car went quiet—not because the question was particularly shocking, but because neither of you had an answer ready. You hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t put a name to what this was, not yet. 

Joel cleared his throat, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.

“Hey, don’t be nosy,” he said, though his tone lacked any real reproach.

“I’m just asking,” she said, her voice rising defensively. “I mean, it’s obvious—”

“We haven’t discussed it yet,” you cut in, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Well, okay,” Sarah said, sitting back as if satisfied with your answer. “I get it.”

When you arrived home, Cassie didn’t waste a second. She practically flew out the door to greet Sarah, her face lighting up as soon as she saw her. You’d let her know you were at the hospital, keeping it brief, and mentioned you’d left a key under the flower pot—an old trick, a bit worn but reliable. And of course, it had worked.

Sarah's excitement was palpable, and she wasted no time making her promise to have a girls' sleepover. Cassie, grinning at the enthusiasm, agreed immediately, her eyes sparkling with the same energy.

“Tonight!” Sarah added, grinning from ear to ear.

Joel, who had been quietly watching the exchange from the door, intervened gently.

“Sweetheart, you need to rest tonight, okay?” His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of concern, his protective instincts still sharp from the scare earlier. “We can do the sleepover another day, when you’re feeling better.”

Sarah looked at him for a moment, her excitement deflating just slightly. After a beat, she nodded, understanding but not entirely satisfied. She still wanted the sleepover—tonight—but she accepted it.

It didn’t take long before she was curled up on the couch, almost swallowed by the cushions. The rhythmic sound of her breathing filled the quiet house, a sound that seemed too calm after the chaos of the day. Joel stayed close, his eyes flicking to her every few minutes, still watching with that careful, uneasy vigilance. You could see it in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze didn’t quite relax, even as Sarah slept peacefully.

Cassie stayed with you for a while, chatting quietly, though it didn’t take long before she stood, stretching and yawning.

“I’m so tired,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’m gonna shower and then just collapse in bed.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar warmth of her presence slowly fading as she moved toward the door. But before she left, she winked at you, a playful spark in her eye. You watched her go, feeling a strange flutter of anticipation as the door clicked shut behind her.

Minutes later, your phone vibrated on the counter. You picked it up, unlocking the screen to find a message from Cassie:

“You have to tell me  E V E R Y T H I N G”

It was frantic, a burst of energy that made you smile despite yourself.

You quickly typed back, promising her you’d share everything as soon as you could. Her reply came in a rush, the excitement practically jumping off the screen:

“Oh yeah don’t worry, are u kidding? stay with him. Tomorrow tho... all the damn details"

You were halfway down the stairs when you saw him stir from the couch. His broad frame moved toward you with that purposeful stride, his hand gesturing toward the kitchen, a silent invitation to follow.  

“Are you hungry?” Joel’s voice was low, but it carried the kind of warmth you had come to associate with him, his eyes already scanning the fridge as he opened it, ducking his head to peek inside.  

You approached him slowly, moving toward the counter and leaning back against it, your hands resting lightly on your lower back. You turned slightly to look at him, the cool, soft light from the refrigerator casting a glow on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his profile. The fatigue was evident in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze drifted without quite focusing, as though the day had worn him down more than he cared to admit.  

“Yeah, what do you wanna eat?” you asked, peeling yourself off the counter, sliding to stand beside him, your body instinctively wanting to close the distance between you.  

“I dunno,” he muttered, his eyes gliding over the sparse contents of the fridge. Then, with a small chuckle, he added, “But I could eat a horse right now.”  

You laughed softly. “Okay, I’ll order something. What are you craving?”  

He closed his eyes then, letting his head tilt back slightly as if he were savoring the very idea of the meal.

“Pizza. Full of melted cheese.”

You took care of the order with quick, efficient ease, dialing the number and rattling off the specifics in less than two minutes. Two large pizzas—one with extra cheese and pepperoni, the other with extra cheese, peppers, mushrooms, and olives.

When the call ended, you placed your phone on the counter with a soft click, leaning back once again, your hands casually resting on your hips. Joel was angled across from you, his side against the fridge, arms crossed. The position made his biceps look even larger, emphasizing his strength in a way that was almost too natural. He had taken off his shirt earlier, and now only a thin, faded t-shirt clung to his torso, the smooth expanse of his skin exposed and catching the soft light of the kitchen.  

He was watching you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, a playful smile tugging at his lips, as if there were something he knew that you didn’t.  

You couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat, a warmth creeping into your cheeks as you met his gaze.  

“What?” you asked softly, unable to hide the slight flush that had taken over your face.

He blinked slowly, his gaze flicking down the length of your body before rising back up, a playful, flirtatious glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile wider, feeling the shift in the air between you two.

“You and I have some things to discuss,” he said finally.

“That’s true,” you replied, your voice quieter, teasing. You tilted your head to mirror his posture, a slow, deliberate movement. Your eyes skimmed down his body, the briefest of pauses at his chest before they lifted again, traveling up to his lips, lingering for a moment too long before meeting his gaze once more.  

A soft pink flush spread over his neck and cheeks, the hint of a blush creeping up as he caught your gaze. The sight made something inside you flutter, and you had to fight to keep your chuckle at bay, knowing the effect you were having on him. It was silly—almost too easy—but you couldn't deny how much you were enjoying this.  

“What's up, Miller?” you asked, stepping away from the counter. Your voice was laced with amusement, but you made sure to keep the playful edge intact, your posture still flirtatious, just enough to draw him in.  

When you were only inches from him, you reached out, resting your hands lightly on his broad shoulders. The moment your skin touched him, you fought the instinct to pull back, to mask the undeniable warmth that his presence stirred inside you. You tried to maintain your composure, to not let him see how his steady gaze and quiet intensity were making your heart race.  

Joel remained still, his eyes locked on yours, silent for a moment longer than you expected. There was amusement in his eyes, but it was tempered by a subtle nervousness. His breath was slow, measured, as if he were trying to read you, to figure out what came next in this strange little dance you were both playing.

It felt almost absurd to him, this moment. He was a grown man, someone who had known you for years, yet here you were—standing so close, your hands resting on him, that look in your eyes. It should’ve been ordinary, shouldn’t it? But instead, it unraveled something in him, leaving him completely unsettled, as if every instinct in his body was suddenly awake and alive in a way he hadn’t expected.  

His arms moved, almost instinctively, and before you could adjust to the sudden shift, he brought his hands to your hips, pulling you closer. It was a subtle change in the balance, a quiet power shift that took a little of the control from your hands and placed it in his.  

His hands didn’t stop there, though. They trailed up your back, fingers brushing the soft fabric of your shirt, but the touch was different now. It wasn’t just playful or teasing—it was tender, gentle, full of something deeper than either of you had allowed to surface before. The playful, mischievous grin that had been on his face moments earlier melted into something softer.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “You are beautiful.” His hand moved behind your back, threading through your hair, and he tugged a lock gently, pulling it upward until his fingers rested at the nape of your neck. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”  

The words hit you like a wave, and you could feel your face warm, the rush of heat spreading across your skin. You looked away, your gaze dropping to his chest, as if the weight of his compliment was too much to bear.  

“Joel…” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, nerves creeping into your tone.  

He noticed immediately, his smile deepening with that familiar amusement.

“What? Do I make you nervous?” His laughter came softly, a rumbling sound that made your heart skip, as if it resonated deep within you. It vibrated beneath your hand on his chest.

“You don’t have to say all that!” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You lifted your eyes to look at him, only to find that familiar teasing glint in his gaze. “You’re just trying to make me nervous on purpose.”  

“No, of course I’m not,” he replied, his voice laced with sincerity, though there was a glimmer of something mischievous behind his words. He pulled you even closer then, wrapping his arms fully around your waist, his face sinking into the crook of your neck as if he couldn’t quite get close enough. "I’ve always felt that way about you. It’s just... now I can finally say it."

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, and it made your pulse race.  

“And I like making you nervous too,” he murmured, his voice husky, sending a shiver down your spine. “God, you smell so good.”

You smiled to yourself, a soft, satisfied curve of your lips. Of course you smelled good. The coconut and vanilla blend Cassie had gifted you worked its magic, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful. You made a silent promise to thank her later for that little touch of indulgence.

“I know,” you whispered. The smile stayed on your lips, unshakable, as your hands moved instinctively to his neck, pulling him closer in a gentle embrace.

“Mhm,” Joel murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your skin before he kissed your cheek, a fleeting, tender gesture. He followed it with a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. “Be careful what you say to me, I might just eat you.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, followed by an exaggerated eye roll.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Joel’s laughter rumbled through him, his throat vibrating with it.

“A premonition."

You grinned, your heart racing with a mix of affection and excitement, as you stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, and your lips met his with a quiet urgency. His hands found their way to the nape of your neck, fingers tightening in your hair as he gently pulled your head back, kissing you deeper, as if savoring every moment of the intimacy between you. 

You smiled against the kiss, and Joel pulled back, his eyes still warm, a playful gleam in them. 

“Does this mean you like me?” he jokingly asked.

It used to be that when you saw couples lost in their own little worlds, giggling and staring at each other like idiots, you felt embarrassed. How could they look so ridiculous, so wrapped up in each other? You’d watch them with something like amusement, maybe even mild distaste.

But here you were now, caught in the same web—completely, utterly lost in each other. And somehow, it didn’t seem silly at all. It felt so good.

You laughed softly, the sound escaping you more freely than you expected.

"Yeah, I like you."

Joel’s eyes softened, a warm, tender look settling there as he nodded, a quiet satisfaction in his expression.

“Great. You’ve never told me that before. I like it.”

“What, that I like you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Joel. I like you," you said, the words tumbling out before you even fully processed them. "I have the world’s biggest crush on you. You’re very hot, and I think you're amazing.” You paused then, realizing that no matter how lighthearted you sounded, you’d never quite said those words aloud. They felt heavier now, more real, and your chest fluttered slightly. "But don't let your ego get any bigger, okay?" You reached up to gently pinch his cheek, a teasing gesture, but the warmth in your touch was unmistakable.

Joel smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching into that familiar grin, but there was something a little softer about it now, something more assured.

“Like that’s even possible. I think you and Sarah do a pretty good job of keeping me humble.”

“Oh, Sarah keeps us all humble."

“True,” he agreed with a laugh. His hands found their way to your waist, gentle yet steady, and he squeezed the soft skin there. "Thank you for being with me today."

You met his gaze, your smile softening into something more serious, the air between you suddenly quieter, more sincere.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. Even if things are bad between us, you can always count on me, Joel. I would never leave you alone during times like today.” 

“I know,” Joel nodded, his expression thoughtful as he looked away for a moment, as if sorting through his feelings. “But still, thank you. I got really scared today. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her.” His voice lowered slightly, the vulnerability in it clear. “And she’s growing up so fast. It’s hard to accept sometimes.”

You could hear the tenderness in his words, the quiet ache of a father watching his daughter change before his eyes. You nodded sympathetically, your lips curving into a soft, understanding smile.

“Yeah, but she’s such a smart kid. So capable. Sometimes she surprises me with the things she says.”

Joel furrowed his brows slightly, the familiar glint of pride in his eyes as he spoke again.

"This morning, she gave me this whole talk about how I had to accept that she’s growing up, that I had to let go of her a little at a time—like she was preparing me for something, even though, honestly, it was all just a strategy to leave me alone for the entire day." He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "She had a plan."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “A plan?” 

Joel let out a short, affectionate sigh and looked away for a moment, as though recalling the whole scene. 

“Yeah. She was planning on going to Irina’s to sleep over so she could get me to leave her alone all day and force me to talk to you. She heard everything Travis told me this morning, and was pretty clear about what she wanted. But I told her she had to come back for dinner.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You should’ve listened to her. She really knows how to manipulate me.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t have to tell me anything. She’s been working the same magic on me too.”

Joel’s smile grew wider at that, his face lighting up. Then, he cocked his head to the side, his gaze teasing but warm.

“Oh, yeah?” 

You raised an eyebrow, unable to ignore the mischievous glint in Joel’s eyes. It was a look you had come to recognize, the one that meant he was up to something—something just a little bit dangerous, and entirely charming.

“Again with that sly look, Miller. What do you really want to ask me?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes in playful suspicion.

Joel’s smile widened briefly before his head turned instinctively toward the living room, drawn by the faint sound of a small sneeze. When he looked back at you, his expression had softened into something tender, almost boyish. Without thinking, you mirrored his smile and took a step back, creating a sliver of space between you.

Just as you turned toward the sink, intending to get a glass of water, his hand closed gently around your wrist. The warmth of his touch sparked something electric under your skin, a slow, thrilling hum that coursed through you. Before you could fully process it—before you could form a word—Joel leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft but searing, a kiss that left no room for breath, only for the way his lips fit against yours.

“I’ll check on her, okay?” he murmured when he pulled back, his voice low and rasping.

You nodded, your lips still curved into a smile you hadn’t realized you were wearing.

Half an hour later, the three of you were gathered around the kitchen table, devouring slices of pizza that were too hot but too good to wait for. When Joel had stepped into the living room earlier, Sarah had been awake, though she kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep in a way that was almost convincing. Joel hadn’t pressed her about it—he suspected she’d overheard at least some of the conversation in the kitchen—but he let it slide. Instead, he scooped her up in his arms, and it didn’t take much to coax her awake once the promise of food filled the room.

Now, she sat cross-legged in her chair, a slice of pizza balanced in one hand. Her gaze flicked to the red-and-white logo on the pizza box—an old-timey man with a twirled mustache and a tall hat, forever winking.

“I wish Cassie stayed for dinner,” Sarah said between bites, her words slightly muffled. “How long is she going to be here?”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” you replied, trying to hide your smile as Joel, across from you, stuffed nearly half a slice into his mouth in one bite. “But I have a feeling she’s not leaving anytime soon.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “When can I have a sleepover with you?”

“When you’re feeling better,” you answered, leaning forward like you were letting her in on a secret. “Then we’ll have a proper recovery night—movies, treats, the works.”

“I feel better already,” she said, grinning wide enough that her eyes disappeared behind her cheeks.

Joel, now holding a glass of water, raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe next weekend,” he offered cautiously, glancing at you for confirmation. “If you’re up for it.”

“Out of the question,” you replied, feigning seriousness. “I’m in desperate need of a girls’ night.”

Joel chuckled softly. His eyes found yours, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch.

From her seat, Sarah cleared her throat dramatically.

“Uh-huh. Girls’ night,” she said, shooting Joel a pointed look. “No boys allowed.”

Joel snorted, leaning back in his chair.

“My own daughter,” he muttered, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

You laughed, your hand brushing against the edge of the table as Sarah’s expression shifted suddenly, as if struck by inspiration.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “Can we have dinner together tomorrow? Like, a barbecue? Dad hasn’t grilled in ages. We could celebrate.”

“Celebrate what, exactly?” Joel asked, his brow furrowing.

“Everything,” Sarah replied, as if it were obvious. “Cassie being in Austin, me not being dead, and you two finally stopping the whole... whatever that was.” 

You stifled a laugh, pressing your lips together. 

Joel shook his head, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“It’s not funny,” he said, looking pointedly at Sarah, though his voice had softened. “You scared the shit outta me, kid.”

Sarah just smiled, unfazed. “Good thing I’m still here, then. Right?”

Joel sighed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. 

*

After two more slices of pizza and a handful of pointed remarks—most of them carefully aimed at her father—Sarah stretched dramatically and announced she was heading to bed. Joel stood, ever dutiful, to walk her to her room. You stayed behind, gathering plates and wiping down the counters, feeling the quiet settle over the house like a warm, familiar blanket.

By the time you’d finished in the kitchen, the living room was dim and still. You sank into the couch, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Without thinking, your fingers opened the chat with Cassie, like muscle memory.

Everything’s okay. Sarah’s feeling sooo much better. Already asleep, she was really tired. She was happy, though—said tomorrow she wants us all to have dinner together, you included.

You paused, re-reading the message, realizing too late that you were smiling.

Cassie’s reply came almost instantly.

I’d love to!

By the way...

How are things going with Joel? 👀

You sighed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh. What were you even supposed to say? You started typing, then erased the words, then typed again.

All good🫶💕 we haven’t really had time alone yet tho

There’s still... stuff we need to talk about.

You hesitated over “stuff” but left it there. It felt vague enough to be safe.

Cassie’s response was exactly what you’d expected:

Boring.

Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.

Love you.

You snorted, shaking your head.

??

What do u mean?

Love you too!!!

"That girl is out cold," Joel said, walking into the room with a soft, almost amused smile that seemed to smooth the worry lines on his face. "I was talking to her, and when I turned around, she was completely knocked out. You think I should wake her?"

You set your phone down on the coffee table, tilting your head at him.

"Wake her up? Why?"

"You know, because of the contusion." He dropped onto the couch next to you, his knee brushing lightly against yours as he leaned forward, frowning in thought. "Do you think we should be worried?"

"I don’t think so. Her scans came back fine, remember? And the doctor said not to stress. She was in good spirits, don’t you think?"

"She was," Joel murmured, almost to himself, leaning back into the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest, just behind your head. "Before she fell asleep, she told me she had a lot of fun today."

You laughed, short and surprised, a sound that made Joel’s gaze flicker to your mouth and linger there for a moment too long.

"She said that?" you asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, private smile.

"I was really scared today," you admitted, your voice quieter now as you shifted closer. "How many emotions can a person go through in two minutes? Because it felt like I was on a roller coaster or something. You Millers are going to drive me completely insane."

"Sorry," Joel said, his smile softening into something almost sheepish. His hand found your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently, as if to anchor you both. The touch felt warm, familiar, unspoken reassurance. "I promise you, on behalf of both of us, we’ll calm down. But I can’t make too many promises for Sarah. She’s a wild card."

You let out a small laugh, your head tipping onto his shoulder. His scent—faint soap, a hint of cedar—wrapped around you.

"I love her, and I like how quick she is, how clever."

"Me too," Joel replied, his voice low and warm. 

The flickering light from the television bathed both your faces in soft, uneven glows. An old episode of The Sopranos played in the background. It was just noise, a placeholder for words that neither of you had spoken yet.

Your eyes burned from exhaustion, the weight of the day settling into your body, but the sensation vanished in an instant when Joel’s hand shifted on your thigh. He squeezed gently—not enough to hurt, but enough to wake you up in a different way. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just a subconscious movement. Then he did it again.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “How are you feeling? About today... about us?”

The tenderness in his tone made something in your chest soften. You moved your hand, placing it over his and threading your fingers through his. A small smile tugged at your lips, one you didn’t let him see. There was something endearing—almost vulnerable—about the way he spoke, as though the words themselves were fragile.

“I feel happy,” you said, your voice light and firm. “Calm, finally. I missed you so much.”

Joel turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching your face. When you met his gaze, the intensity in his expression made your breath catch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words heavy with regret. “I promise I’ll be better.”

Before you even realized it, your hand had lifted to his face. Your fingers brushed against the rough scruff of his cheek, a tender gesture he loved. His eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of pain there, the kind that came from knowing an apology could never fully undo the hurt. It was as if he didn’t believe he deserved your forgiveness—or your touch—but he was desperate for both.

Your thumb brushed over his lips. Then, closing the distance, you pressed your mouth to his.

Joel responded instantly, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. His touch was firm but gentle, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. The kiss deepened, his lips warm against yours, but it wasn’t enough. It never seemed to be enough.

His other hand slid up to your waist, pulling you closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. Still, he wanted more—needed more. The taste of you, the feel of you, was intoxicating, and the quiet hunger in his movements made it clear that no amount of closeness would ever feel like enough.

Joel moved swiftly, shifting down the length of the couch and pulling you on top of him in one seamless motion. His arms wrapped tightly around you, grounding you in his hold as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The suddenness of it made you let out a small, breathy whimper, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself. You leaned back just enough to adjust, settling against him more comfortably.  

He rolled onto his side, bringing his face so close to yours that your breaths mingled in the small space between. His eyes, bright but laced with exhaustion, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He smiled then, a soft, unguarded smile that revealed those dimples on either side of his mouth, the ones that never failed to make your heart flutter. He was so achingly beautiful it felt almost unfair.  

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to one cheek, right over a dimple, then the other. The affection in the gestures made his eyes soften even further. Finally, your lips found his.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmured. Your fingers toyed with the curls at the side of his head while your other hand rested on his chest, tracing idle patterns over the fabric of his shirt. “And I forgive you. You don’t have to keep apologizing to me—I don’t want you to feel like you need to.”  

“I’m sorry, I—ah, shit, I really am,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Fuck."

“Oh my God,” you laughed, biting your bottom lip to stifle the sound.

His lips quirked into a grin, and his voice softened.

“I love you too, sunshine.”  

Your heart swelled at the nickname, and you nodded gently.

“That’s the way I like it,” you teased, clicking your tongue playfully. “Now, I know you’re sorry. But instead of saying it all the time, just show me, okay? Before anything else, we’re best friends. That doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything all the time—you’re an adult, and you’re entitled to have things that are just yours and—”  

Joel shook his head, his expression growing serious as he interrupted,

“No. I don’t want to hide anything from you. You’ve always known everything about me. The Sienna thing...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing under your touch as his voice dipped lower. “That was a one-time situation. And I swear, it’ll never happen again with anything. It was... it was bad. I know that. But it’s over. It’s done.”  

You studied him for a moment, his face so open, so earnest, and you could feel the weight of his words. You let your thumb stroke over the crease in his brow, smoothing it away as a small, knowing smile crept onto your lips.  

“It won’t happen again? What’s that supposed to mean—are you giving up on dating altogether, Joel?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going celibate now?”

He stifled a laugh, the sound low and warm in his chest.

“It’s not that, no. I actually think I’m looking for something serious now.”

“Something serious?” you repeated, your tone dripping with mock skepticism.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” you asked, tilting your head as your fingers idly traced down the curve of his neck. “I always thought you were more of a lone wolf.”

“Not at all. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I know what I want.”

“Well, since you mention it,” you said, grinning slyly, “I think I might have someone for you. You’re going to love her.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

You leaned closer, feigning a conspiratorial tone.

“It’s kind of like fate, actually. I was on my phone earlier, and this Facebook post came up. I couldn’t believe it—it was Brianna! I thought; ¡No way! And now here you are, saying this. It’s fucking perfect.”

Joel groaned, shaking his head as he laughed.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m warning you, though,” you continued, straight-faced. “She’s married. You’ll have to sneak around. Climbing out windows, that sort of thing. Although, judging by the sounds your knees make, I wouldn’t recommend it. Doesn’t seem safe.”

“Oh, she was crazy about me,” Joel interjected, cutting through your playful monologue with a smug grin. He leaned back, his expression exaggeratedly self-satisfied. “Couldn’t get enough of me. Always on top of me.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, your mouth falling open in mock disbelief.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, his grin widening, clearly enjoying your reaction. “My knees are just fine, by the way. Not a problem.”

You squinted at him, shaking your head.

“I never pictured you as the type to get involved in an affair, Miller.”

“Neither did I,” he said with a casual shrug. “But this is Brianna we’re talking about, I mean.”

You shook your head, narrowing your eyes at him, and said with mock seriousness, “Okay. That’s it. I’m done.” You started to shift away, pretending to leave, but he was faster.

Joel wasn’t having it. With a laugh, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back against him in one smooth motion, laying you flat on your back, over his chest. His mouth found the spot between your neck and shoulder, leaving playful kisses that sent shivers up your spine and made you squirm.

“Come on,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of amusement. “We’re too old for this shit.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued to tease you.

“Speak for yourself. My knees don’t pop.”  

Joel let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Shut up.” 

For a while, neither of you said anything more. The air between you thickened, the silence soft and heavy. Joel stayed close, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, the curve of your jaw, trailing to your shoulder with a deliberate slowness. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hand at your waist. And, though you tried not to focus on it, the unmistakable pressure of him, half-hard, pressing against you.  

“I'm serious,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the quiet but holding onto its gentleness. “I want to be with you. Only with you.”  

His words hung in the air, sinking into you like a weight you hadn’t realized you were craving. Your smile came unbidden, immediate and impossible to suppress.  

Joel didn’t stop. His mouth pressed lightly to your shoulder as he continued, his voice low, like he was confessing something secret.

“I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ve already been without you, and I don’t ever want to feel that again. And I know what it’s like to just be your friend, and yeah, I fuckin' love that too—but it’s not enough. I want everything.”  

Your heart swelled in your chest, so full it almost hurt.

“Me too.” 

Joel stilled for a moment, his breath hitching.

“Yeah?” 

You reached down and placed your hands over his where they rested on your waist. Your fingers laced together, holding on tightly, grounding him in your touch.

“Yes,” you whispered.  

The smile that broke across Joel’s face was something you didn’t want to forget. You wanted to hold onto it, to remember the exact way his features softened, the exact way his dimples deepened.  

Without thinking, you shifted, turning to face him in one fluid motion. His smile lingered, and you leaned closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of him.

“What are we, Joel?” you teased, your voice light, your grin playful as your hand slipped under his shirt. Your palm brushed against the firm plane of his stomach, and you felt the way his muscles tensed at the contact. You would never get tired of this: the feeling of his skin under your touch, the way his body responded to you so effortlessly.  

You fucking loved it.

*

Saturday. That morning, it was official.

You woke up on the couch, wrapped in your boyfriend's arms, his warmth anchoring you to the quiet serenity of the moment. At some point in the night, after he’d pulled you close and draped the blanket over both of you, sleep had claimed you effortlessly. The faint memory of his steady breathing and the way his hand had rested protectively on your hip lingered as you stirred awake.

Sarah had slept in, leaving the two of you to share a rare moment of solitude. The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, the air carrying the faint hum of the world outside through the open window. There was something about mornings like this—unhurried, gentle—that reminded you of the way things used to be, before everything got complicated. That harmony, that unspoken ease, had found its way back to you.

Joel sat beside you, his coffee cup in one hand, the other resting casually on your leg. His fingers pressed into your skin with a gentle familiarity, an unconscious gesture that felt like it belonged exactly where it was. His hair was damp from the shower he’d just taken, curling slightly at the edges, and he wore a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

And it was too much.

Something wild stirred inside you, something uncontainable that you weren’t sure you could keep from surfacing much longer.

The first moment you saw him come down the stairs, you’d nearly choked on your breath. The way the T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest, the way the soft fabric of his sweatpants hung low on his hips, hinting at every solid line of his body—it was maddening.

You felt like a feral animal, like every nerve in your body was tuned to him.

It didn’t matter what Joel was saying—something about the weather, or the coffee, or maybe asking if you wanted more toast. His words barely registered because your attention was completely hijacked by him.

The way his lips moved when he spoke. The subtle flex of his biceps every time he reached up to open a cabinet. The way his fingers curled around the handle of his mug, big and thick, and how your mind betrayed you, fixating on how those fingers would feel on you.

Your pulse quickened, your breath catching in your throat as he turned to look at you mid-sentence, a faint smile playing on his lips. You were convinced he could see the heat rising in your cheeks, feel the way your gaze lingered too long.

And still, you didn’t care.

“Tommy’s coming today,” Joel said, his voice pulling you out of the increasingly vivid direction your thoughts had taken. You blinked, focusing on his face as he glanced at you with an amused smile that suggested he had some idea where your mind had been. “I texted him a while ago, after I got out of the shower.”

You nodded, barely processing his words because now you were thinking about him in the shower. Water sliding over his broad shoulders, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he reached for the soap, how the steam would cling to his skin.

“He seemed excited when I told him Cassie was in Austin,” Joel continued, his casual tone slicing through the haze in your mind.

You rolled your eyes, trying to refocus.

“Sure,” you said, shaking your head to clear it. “Did you even know our relationship was a frequent topic of conversation for the two of them?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his face settling into a thoughtful expression, though there was no mistaking the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said with a grin. “Apparently, they talked all the time about which one of us would make the first move. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if there was a bet involved at some point.”

Joel’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“Well,” he said, his voice teasing, “I guess we’ll find out today. If I see any suspicious money changing hands, I’ll let you know right away.”

You let out a soft, involuntary laugh as you rose from your chair, coffee cup in hand, and the sound of it lingered in the air as you crossed the room toward the sink. The familiar weight of the mug, still faintly warm from the coffee, felt grounding against your palm. You turned the faucet on, the hum of water filling the quiet kitchen as your movements shifted into the mindless rhythm of washing the cup.

“Hey, leave that,” Joel’s voice interrupted from behind.

You turned your head just as he came up beside you, his own mug in hand. It was only half-full, a dark swirl of coffee still clinging to the sides, but he set it down on the counter without much thought. His eyes, however, stayed on you.

“Come here,” he murmured, his hands already reaching for your hips.

The gesture was fluid, practiced even though this—all of this—was still so new. He guided you around, one swift, calculated motion that left you pressed between the solid counter behind you and the even more solid presence of him in front of you.

His hands didn’t leave you, palms settling firmly against your sides as if to anchor you, or maybe to ground himself. He leaned in, close enough that you felt his breath skim your skin. You caught your own breath, felt it catch somewhere in your throat, an almost embarrassing giveaway of how much his nearness affected you.

Your cheeks warmed—no, burned, really—and you knew he could see it, the flush creeping over your neck and jaw like a slow tide. At the same time, your eyelids dipped, your gaze meeting his with a softness that you couldn’t hide, no matter how much you might have wanted to. Honeyed, you thought vaguely, the way your eyes must look now, like you’d been caught in some dreamy, sunlit haze.

This was the part you hadn’t yet gotten used to: the closeness, the unapologetic intimacy. And the desire. Unfiltered, unrestrained, and so startlingly mutual. You’d spent so long wanting him from a distance that now, having the freedom to act on it, felt almost dizzying.

If you wanted to kiss him, you could. If you wanted to trace your fingers over the line of his jaw, you could. There was nothing in the way now, no reason not to. The knowledge settled deep in your chest, warm and thrilling, and it made you smile despite yourself.

Joel’s gaze flickered, like he caught the thought behind the curve of your lips. What would he say if he knew the places your mind had wandered since the moment you saw him that morning? If he knew that this—his closeness, his hands on you—was exactly where your thoughts had been circling all day?

Would it undo him the way it was undoing you?

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand drifted to rest lightly on his abdomen, the firm warmth of him radiating beneath your palm. Slowly, your fingers began to move downward, the motion unhurried. “I really like these sweatpants,” you added, the corners of your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, though his pupils were already wide, his dark eyes fixed intently on yours.

“Mmm?” he hummed, the sound low and almost distracted. His attention shifted as your fingers dipped just beneath the waistband of his pants, teasing the elastic of his underwear.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice softer now, as though the moment demanded a certain quietness. Leaning in, you brushed your lips against his—once, quickly, the briefest of kisses that left him chasing after your mouth when you pulled away. His lips parted, his breath warm against yours, as if drawn to you by some invisible force he couldn’t resist.

“And I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, actually,” you added.

“What things?” he asked, his voice rougher now, as though the words had caught in his throat. He bent his head, his mouth finding the soft curve of your neck. The kiss he placed there was gentle but deliberate, lips brushing the delicate skin just over your pulse. You felt the rush of your blood beneath his mouth, the heat spreading outward, your legs suddenly unsteady beneath you.

You closed your eyes and instinctively gripped his shoulders, your fingers curling against the firm breadth of them. He was solid, grounding you as much as he was unraveling you. Joel’s body pressed harder against yours, the cool edge of the counter biting into your back in sharp contrast to the heat of him in front of you. 

Warm, firm and hard.

“What things, baby?” he asked again, his voice dropping lower, his breath warm against the line of your jaw as he kissed his way upward.

Your hand slid up to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft, unruly curls there. You tugged lightly, and the sensation drew a quiet sound from him, a low, satisfied hum that sent a thrill through you.

A soft, unbidden moan escaped your lips as one of his hands moved down, his palm gliding over your thigh before curving firmly around you. His fingers squeezed, hard, his grip grounding yet electric all at once.

You couldn’t help the amused smile that spread across your face. Tilting your head back slightly, you let the moment linger, savoring the way his hands fit against you, the heat and weight of him pinning you there.

“You’re impatient,” you murmured, your voice laced with a quiet tease as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“I’m impatient?” Joel echoed, his tone almost incredulous, though the rough edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Yes.” You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes flickering with mischief, a playful challenge. For half a second, the two of you hung in that charged space, your words hanging between you like a dare.

And then his mouth was on yours. This time, there was no hesitation, no half-measure. The kiss was demanding, almost desperate, as though he’d been holding himself back until now. One of his hands stayed where it was, firmly gripping you, while the other slid upward, his fingers finding the back of your neck.

He tugged gently at your hair, the movement tilting your head back, giving him better access to you. You let him, the sensation sending a fresh rush of heat through you, the tension unraveling in slow waves as he kissed you.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped you, muffled against his lips, the sound reverberating through him as though it had been made for him alone. His tongue brushed against yours, savoring your mouth, a careful yet desperate dance, and the juxtaposition of tenderness and urgency sent a shiver down your spine.

Something inside you shifted, a spark igniting into a flame. Your breath caught sharply, your chest rising and falling as if trying to keep up with the intensity. Your hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair, the strands thick and soft beneath your fingertips. You held him there, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

Joel broke the kiss, his breath coming in uneven bursts as his lips found the side of your neck, pressing there for just a heartbeat before reclaiming your mouth. The brief reprieve only heightened your awareness of him, the way his presence seemed to surround you completely.

His hand drifted down, fingers trailing along your side before settling firmly on your thigh. With a quiet motion, he lifted it, shifting your weight so that your leg hooked over his hip. The movement pressed your bodies together more intimately, and the sensation was so overwhelming, almost too much; his cock pressing hard against your core through the fabric.

Your hands roamed restlessly, sliding over his head, down the strong column of his neck, and across his broad shoulders. Every touch was filled with a kind of desperate, unspoken need, your fingers tracing him as though you were trying to commit every detail to memory.

Joel’s hand left your thigh, his palm gliding upward to rest against your throat. He didn’t grip, didn’t press—just let his thumb stroke gently over the soft skin there, his touch both grounding and electrifying.

“Um,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless, tinged with the smallest hint of humor. His mouth lingered for a moment longer, kissing you softly, reluctantly, as if he were trying to savor the last taste of you. Then, inch by inch, he began to pull back, his forehead resting against yours briefly before he looked at you.

“We’d better get started on our day, don’t ya think?” he asked, his tone casual in a way that made you almost laugh if you weren’t so undone. “We’ve got a lot of things to do.”

Before you could answer—before you could even process the sudden shift—he stepped back, the warmth of his body disappearing so abruptly it left you cold. The space he left felt vast, too vast.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breath still catching in your chest, your body still humming with the ghost of his touch. The abruptness of it all felt almost unfair, like you’d been woken from a dream before the best part. And yet, you couldn’t help but watch him, trying to make sense of the way he could pull you apart and put you back together all at once.

Joel moved to the table with a casual ease, gathering the empty crystal glasses in his hands. His movements were natural, almost unremarkable, but there was something in the simplicity of the act that made your breath hitch. You stayed where you were, your hands braced against the counter, the smooth surface cool beneath your palms. You felt anchored there, as though moving might break the tension crackling in the air.

Your gaze followed him. Confusion fluttered in your chest—at him, at yourself, at the pull between you that seemed impossible to ignore. Your breathing was uneven, and your eyes betrayed you, shimmering with the kind of spark you couldn’t suppress even if you wanted to.

When Joel returned, he set the glasses down beside you, the faint clink of crystal meeting counter slicing through the charged silence. He didn’t touch you, not even the briefest brush of fingers, but his presence was almost unbearable, heavy. And then there was his expression—the look in his eyes, the slight quirk of his mouth.

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. That was clear. And yes, he was hard. So fucking hard it was almost obscene. He’d done it on purpose.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice firm despite the storm inside you. You straightened, peeling yourself away from the counter’s edge, and turned toward the table to retrieve your phone. “That’s right. I need to see Cass.”

When you turned back, Joel was leaning against the archway that framed the kitchen. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was anything but. He looked at you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, his eyes sweeping over you slowly. The grin that tugged at his lips was mischievous, infuriatingly so, as though he knew exactly how he was affecting you.

“Say hi to Sarah for me, okay?” you said, trying to sound casual as you stepped toward him. “I’ll be back later.”

When you reached him, you leaned in to press a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips—simple, restrained. But as Joel bent slightly to meet you, your hand moved without thinking. Your fingers found him, cupping him firmly through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, your fingers squeezing him with just the right strenght.

The groan that escaped him was immediate, low and guttural, and it sent a thrill through you. His lips parted, a quiet, breathless chuckle slipping out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice rough, the words caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

You smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips as you released him. Stepping back, you moved toward the door.

“So impatient,” you said over your shoulder.

*

After you had spilled everything to Cassie—every detail, every moment—you slipped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over you like a protective veil. The rhythmic pounding of the water filled the small space, drowning out the noise in your head, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering. Inevitably, they drifted back to Joel. They always did.

You moved your hands over your body absentmindedly, lathering the soap and rinsing it away, but it was him you were thinking about, him you were feeling. As you ran your fingers along your skin, you imagined his hands in their place—strong, deliberate, exploring every curve, every soft part of you. The thought was maddening, the memory of his touch etched so deeply into you that even the water couldn’t wash it away.

Each stroke of the loofah became a stand-in for him, for the way his fingers would trace your skin, lingering in ways that made you shiver. Your body felt like a live wire, humming with an energy you couldn’t contain. Desire coiled tightly inside you, building with every passing moment, every thought of him.

You tilted your head back into the stream, closing your eyes as the water ran down your face and neck. This isn’t sustainable, you thought, biting your lip against the flood of sensations threatening to overtake you. 

But you didn’t want to make it easy for him, either. No, he’d been cruel to you that morning, hadn’t he? Leaving you like that, strung out and wanting, while he stood there looking so smug, so maddeningly composed. The memory made your stomach tighten, heat blooming in your chest.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he’d walked away unscathed. You’d seen the way he looked at you, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had gripped the wall like he was holding himself back. He wasn’t immune to this. You’d made sure of that.

But what choice did you have? The practical part of your brain—the part that always seemed louder in the light of day—reminded you of Sarah, sleeping just upstairs. She was the reason you couldn’t let yourself give in, not fully. What if she woke up? What if she came downstairs? You’d hate for her to see something she couldn’t unsee, to feel even a flicker of discomfort because of you.

The thought cooled you, just slightly, enough to keep you grounded. But it didn’t erase the ache, the way your body seemed to rebel against your restraint. Joel had set this fire, and now you were left with the smoldering embers, trying to keep them from flaring up again.

“So, what, what are you going to do when you get married?” Cassie asked two hours later, her voice cutting through the comfortable quiet of the living room.

The question caught you mid-thought, and you let out a soft, amused laugh, glancing at her from where you sat cross-legged on the floor tying your shoelaces.

“What?”

“What if, don’t give me that nonsense,” she said, waving a hand dismissively as she shifted on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes were alight with mischief. “I’m already planning it all out in my head.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“Absolutely. I’m very detail-oriented, you know.” She leaned back into the cushions, folding her arms across her chest like she’d just made an airtight argument. “I mean, someone has to start thinking about these things. You’re not exactly in a hurry.”

“You just want to be someone’s maid of honor. I’ve seen how you watch those wedding shows,” you teased, pulling the knot tight on one sneaker before moving to the other.

“That’s not true,” she said, feigning offense, though the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “I’m just honest. And a visionary. I always knew you and Joel would end up together—it was only a matter of time.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there was warmth in your voice.

Cassie shrugged with an air of nonchalance, though you could see how much she was enjoying this.

“It took longer than I thought it would, I’ll admit that. But all the drama? Totally worth it. I mean, if you’re going to take your sweet time, at least you made it entertaining.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at her.

“Oh yeah? So now what, you’re going to start placing bets with Tommy again?”

“Maybe,” she said with a conspiratorial smile.

You reached out to swat her knee playfully, and she let out a dramatic yelp as if you’d actually hurt her. Rising to your feet, you grabbed your purse from the coffee table and slung it over your shoulder.

“Get off your ass, Cass. Let’s go,” you said, heading toward the door, your voice carrying a note of mock authority.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, dragging herself off the couch with exaggerated effort, but the grin on her face remained as she followed you out.

When Sarah opened the door, her face lit up with the kind of radiant, unguarded smile that made you pause for a second. It was the sort of smile that could only come from her father, and it tugged at something tender inside you. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, your fingers brushing gently through her hair.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said warmly. Sarah beamed at you, her eyes sparkling with a knowing look that made you feel like you were sharing some secret.

Behind you, Cassie stepped forward, wrapping Sarah in a gentle hug.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s the arm?” she asked, careful to avoid touching the sling.

“It’s fine,” Sarah said, her tone casual but proud. “I barely even notice it anymore.”

“You’re such a trooper,” Cassie said, ruffling Sarah’s hair lightly before stepping back.

Inside, the house smelled of fresh coffee and something faintly smoky—Joel must have been at the grill. It felt warm, lived-in. Your gaze swept the room and immediately found Joel and Tommy in the kitchen, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. Whatever they were discussing seemed fun, but it came to an abrupt halt when they spotted you.

Both men turned, their faces breaking into wide grins. Tommy was the first to move, crossing the room in a few easy strides toward Cassie. He pulled her into a hug, his hand resting on the small of her back as he murmured something that made her laugh softly.

“Are you free now, Cass?” Tommy asked when they parted, his tone teasing. “A little birdie told me Rome is ancient history.”

Cassie smirked, stifling a laugh. “Who’s this little birdie? Because they sound a lot like you.”

“I never said that,” Joel chimed in from the kitchen, his voice low but amused as he leaned casually against the counter. 

You moved toward him, your hand instinctively reaching out to tap his stomach in a playful gesture.

“No one mentioned you,” you laughed.

His hand was on you instantly, sliding around your waist and pulling you into his side with a practiced ease that felt both natural and thrilling. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a greeting so sweet it made your heart flutter.

“I can’t believe it,” Cassie said, her voice mock-serious as she nudged Tommy’s shoulder. “They kissed!”

Tommy turned, feigning shock as he raised a hand to his chest.

“What? Really? Here? In front of all of us?”

Joel rolled his eyes, a small, indulgent grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What happened?” Sarah’s voice cut in, and you turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. She had her phone in one hand and a pair of headphones draped around her neck.

Tommy chuckled, clicking his tongue as if she’d just stumbled upon some juicy gossip.

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” Joel said, his tone dry as he ruffled Sarah’s hair. She scrunched her nose in exaggerated annoyance but didn’t bother hiding her smile.

“What happened?” she asked again, stepping closer to you.

“Babe, they kissed!” Cassie exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up as though she were announcing the news to the world.

Sarah rolled her eyes, but her grin widened. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Joel smirked, glancing down at her. “You’re just jealous,” he teased, reaching out to tug gently on her shirt.

Sarah crossed her arms, pretending to think.

“Hmm, no. I think I’m just glad I wasn’t here to witness it.”

Everyone laughed, the sound filling the room with a kind of easy warmth. Joel leaned closer to you, his breath brushing your ear as he murmured, “They’re never going to let us live this down.”

You tilted your head up to him, smiling. “I think we can handle it.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

Cassie clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough romantic comedy. Who's hungry? Oh, I brought beers!”

Joel raised his hand like a schoolboy, and even Sarah nodded enthusiastically. You laughed, stepping back to let the chaos of the moment unfold, your heart feeling full in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

*

The late afternoon sun poured over Joel’s patio, softening the mild autumn chill with a warm golden hue. The air smelled faintly of delicious grilled food and freshly cut grass, a perfect backdrop for the lively conversation happening at the table. Cassie, Tommy, Sarah, and you were gathered around, full glasses and opened cans scattered between you, as Cassie regaled Sarah with the story of the time she’d met Robert Pattinson at an airport.

“I’m serious,” Cassie said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “He was wearing this beanie, sunglasses—clearly trying not to be noticed. But I noticed, because, you know.” She gestured vaguely to her face, grinning. “It’s Robert Pattinson.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“No way. What did you do? Did you say something?”

Cassie waved a hand dismissively.

“Of course not. I played it cool. Just casually texted everyone I know while standing three feet away from him.”

“You didn’t talk to him?” Sarah gasped, leaning back in her chair like she’d been personally betrayed.

“Nope. I just let him exist in peace. But I swear, the man has an aura.”

“A Robert Pattinson aura,” you added, chuckling.

Sarah shook her head, her expression still incredulous.

“I can’t believe it. I’ve been in love with him since I saw him in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Cedric Diggory was the perfect guy. And then, you know…” She mimed an explosion with her hands.

Cassie’s grin widened. “Oh, just wait until you see Twilight.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “That movie… it was an awakening. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever been the same since.”

Tommy groaned audibly, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

“Come on. Vampires are supposed to be grotesque. Evil. You know, scary. What’s with the glitter skin? It doesn’t make any sense. If you want vampires, Sarah, you’ve gotta watch 30 Days of Night. Now that’s a vampire movie.”

“Tommy,” you interjected, placing your hand flat on the table for emphasis. “You’re missing the point entirely. Twilight isn’t about scary vampires. It’s about vibes. It’s an experience. I love grotesque, evil vampires—trust me, I’m a fan—but Twilight is something else. It’s special.”

“Special how?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cassie jumped in before you could respond.

“It’s not about realism, Tommy. It’s about longing. It’s about standing in the rain in a forest and declaring your undying love to someone who might kill you at any moment.”

“Yeah, sounds healthy,” he deadpanned, taking a sip of his bear.

“Listen,” Sarah said, her voice rising with enthusiasm as she gestured dramatically, “if Cedric Diggory is in it, I’m watching it. I don’t care if he’s sparkly or scary or made of actual glitter.”

“See?” you said, pointing at Sarah with a grin. “She gets it.”

Joel’s voice cut in from the doorway, where he’d been quietly watching the scene unfold. “What exactly are we getting?”

“Twilight,” you said, turning to him with mock seriousness. “We’re educating Sarah about the cultural phenomenon that is Twilight.”

Joel walked over to the table, grabbing an empty chair and sitting down beside you.

“I’ve seen it. I’m pretty sure it’s just two hours of people staring at each other dramatically.”

“Don’t forget the running through the forest,” Cassie added, laughing.

“And the baseball scene,” you said, grinning. “You can’t forget vampire baseball.”

Joel shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. “I’m not sure what’s worse—vampire baseball or glitter skin.”

“Neither,” Sarah said decisively. “The worst part is that none of you appreciate cinematic brilliance when you see it.”

The table dissolved into laughter, the warm sound filling the patio and blending with the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Joel leaned closer to you, his arm brushing yours as he said quietly, “You’re really defending this, huh?”

“Always,” you replied, smiling at him. “Someone has to.”

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the patio as the conversation at the table meandered through topics, laughter punctuating the air. Joel sat beside you, his beer bottle in hand, absently turning it by the neck as his gaze shifted toward the horizon. Something about the sky had caught his attention, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were reading the clouds. He loved to do that.

Without a word, he stood and walked toward the grill, the sound of his shoes scuffing lightly against the patio stones. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, his body relaxed but purposeful. Your eyes followed him, and you noticed how the soft plaid of his gray-and-black lumberjack shirt shifted with the broadness of his shoulders. Beneath it, the snug black T-shirt clung to his torso in a way that made your pulse quicken. The dark jeans and worn black Converse completed the look, effortlessly rugged and so distinctly him.

You swallowed, trying to tune back into the conversation at the table, but the sight of him at the grill was distracting in the most infuriating way. He flipped a couple of pieces of meat with a practiced ease, one hand gripping the bottle of beer, the other wielding the tongs. His head tilted slightly as he examined the food, his focus so precise it felt unfair. He looked...hot. Infuriatingly, heartbreakingly hot. His hair was neater than usual, like he’d taken an extra moment to tame it, and his beard—God, his moustache—was perfectly trimmed, the edges sharp and intentional. His lips, soft and full, curved into a barely-there smile as he took a long, slow sip of beer.

The conversation around you had continued, but you realized you hadn’t heard a single word. Joel was all you could see, all you could think about.  

When you finally tuned back in, it was clear everyone else was engrossed in a debate about something trivial, their attention elsewhere. Seizing the moment, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as you made your way toward him.  

His eyes met yours immediately, dark and warm, and his lips tugged into a soft smile that made your knees feel weak. You reached him, the air between you buzzing with something unspoken. Without hesitation, his free hand slid to your waist, a gentle but possessive gesture that sent a thrill through you.  

“How are you, beautiful?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended. “What about you?”  

“Couldn’t be better,” he murmured, leaning in so his breath tickled the shell of your ear. The closeness made your heart stutter. “I love what you’re wearing.”  

A shiver ran down your spine, his words and the way he said them settling low in your stomach. His hand on your waist gave the faintest squeeze, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt.  

“Yeah?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, your pulse roaring in your ears.  

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes dipping briefly to your lips before meeting yours again. “You look incredible.”  

You smiled knowingly, the kind of smile that came from being perfectly aware of the effect you had on him. It wasn’t just the dress—it was that dress. The one you’d worn on his birthday, the one that had made his eyes soften and linger on you for just a beat too long. You’d noticed, of course. Joel didn’t have the best poker face, not with you. He had always found excuses to touch the fabric when you wore it, his fingers brushing against the light, soft material as you passed by him, as if he couldn’t help himself.

Today, you’d paired it with a denim jacket, the kind thick enough to ward off the gentle Austin autumn chill but casual enough to downplay the deliberate choice of the dress. A little armor, a little effort—it was all a balance.

As you stood in front of him now, his hand slipped up your back, fingertips grazing the fabric before settling on the base of your ponytail. He gave it a gentle tug, a playful motion that sent a little thrill through you.

“Careful,” you said, your tone light as you gave him a soft punch to the stomach, the flat of your hand connecting with his firm abdomen.

Joel laughed, a deep, warm sound that spread through the air and settled somewhere low in your stomach. He brought the beer bottle back to his lips, taking a slow sip before lowering it again.

“I love this dress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. His lips curved into a smile, but this one was mischievous. “I've missed it.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could respond, he added, “And don’t think I forgot about this morning.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you shook your head at him, your smile widening.

“You started it, Miller,” you teased, leaning in just enough to make your point.

“Ooh, I love it when you call me that,” he said, squinting at you in mock challenge, his grin deepening into something boyish and utterly irresistible.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. Your hand came to rest on his bicep, your fingers pressing lightly against the muscle there, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll go get more snacks,” you said, using the excuse to step back from him, though your smile lingered.

As you made your way toward the sliding door, you heard his footsteps following you. Without turning fully, you stopped and glanced back over your shoulder, a flirtatious smile tugging at your lips.

“Stay right there, Miller,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm, playful yet full of intention.

Joel halted in his tracks, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, his lips quirking in amusement.

“As you say,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice laced with warmth, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared inside.

Inside, the kitchen smelled faintly of warm spices and freshly chopped herbs, the remnants of the day’s earlier cooking. Sarah had joined you at the counter, her movements precise and calculated as she tipped the bags of chips and Doritos into bowls with one hand, each small tilt of the bag executed with care, ensuring no crumbs or stray pieces fell on the counter. It was something you’d always noticed about her: this quiet attention to detail, the way she moved through the world like it deserved her reverence.  

She was like that—careful, gentle. A quiet kind of sweetness radiated from her, as if she were always making sure everything was in its proper place, just so.  

Standing behind her, you watched her delicate moves, and for a brief moment, you let the noise of the world fade into the background. You felt your heart swell with something soft, something protective.  

“You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, your hand resting lightly on her shoulder, fingers brushing against the softness of her skin. 

She stiffened slightly under your touch, a sigh escaping her lips before she turned to face you, her expression tinged with a mixture of guilt and uncertainty.  

“I’m sorry,” she began, her voice low, almost apologetic. “It was unintentional. I just wanted Dad to talk to you. And I'm not even afraid of bees,” she added, rolling her eyes as if to dismiss the whole thing with an almost self-deprecating laugh. 

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the weight of the worry that had hung over her all day. You stepped closer, resting a hand on her arm.

“Of course it was unintentional,” you reassured her, brushing your thumb gently across her skin. “I know that much.” 

She nodded, her lips turning down at the corners, still not entirely convinced that it wasn’t her fault.  

“Irina felt really bad,” she continued, her words coming a little more quickly now. “She says it was her fault. I told her that’s not true, that it was just an accident.”  

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“She’s afraid of bees?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Sarah replied with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and disbelief. “She's terrified of them!” 

“Well, all the more reason,” you said, the corners of your lips turning up in a gentle smile. “Fear often paralyzes you. You don't know what to do or how to react in the moment. It was an accident, sweetheart, nothing more.” 

You leaned down to kiss the top of her head once more, a soft brush of your lips against her hair, and then pulled back with a playful look in your eyes. “But for the love of everything good, please don’t climb on tall things again.” 

Sarah laughed, the sound light and easy, as though the weight of the situation had finally begun to lift.

“Okay,” she agreed, popping a chip into her mouth with a dramatic crunch that echoed in the still kitchen.  

The sudden, sharp noise made you laugh, too, as you threw the empty bags into the trash and rinsed your hands under the cool water. You turned back around, wiping your hands on a towel, and found Sarah looking at you, her gaze softer now, almost wistful.  

There was something in the way she was looking at you, like she had something to say but wasn’t quite sure how to start. The silence hung between you for a few seconds before she finally spoke, her words wrapped in the kind of sweetness only she could manage.  

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, as if afraid her question might break something.  

You paused, your heart suddenly lighter in your chest. You had no idea why the question made your pulse quicken, but it did. There was a tenderness in it, a care that spoke volumes.  

“Yeah, sweetheart,” you responded, approaching her again, your smile growing softer. “What is it?”  

She hesitated, her fingers tapping the side of the counter nervously.

"I... I know that now that you and Dad are together, some things are going to change," Sarah said, her voice quiet but firm, as if she was trying to convince herself of it. She paused for a moment. "And... and I'm happy about that. I mean, I love you, and I love that you're always here. And if you're with him now, I mean, as a couple, that means you're going to be here even more, doesn't it?"

You paused, absorbing her words, trying to place the depth behind them. There was something tentative in her tone, something that told you she was still figuring out exactly what all of this meant. You offered her a soft, reassuring smile, trying to make sense of her nervous excitement.

“I think so,” you replied with a light laugh, sensing her need for reassurance. "I think you're right. I'll definitely be around more."

Her eyes brightened, and she nodded quickly, as if the idea of you being there more—of you becoming a permanent fixture in her life—was something that brought her comfort. She let out a small sigh, like she’d been carrying this weight on her shoulders for too long and could finally let go of it. 

“Well, that,” she continued, her voice softening, as though the very idea of it was still sinking in. “I love being with you. You really are the most amazing, fun, and cool girl, and my dad is lucky to have you... and so am I. I'm so glad you're here." 

Her words tumbled out in a rush, the sincerity in them so raw, so real, that it hit you like a wave. You felt a sudden swell of affection for her, for how easy it was to be with her, to feel her warmth and openness so effortlessly. But then, just as quickly, her expression shifted, her smile fading as a new, softer vulnerability crept in.

"I was so scared when you guys fought," she said, her voice quieter now, her gaze lowering slightly, as though the memory of it was still too fresh. "My dad was... bad all the time, and I seriously thought you were going to go off and leave me."

The confession, the fear in her words, made your chest tighten. You moved closer to her, instinctively placing a hand on her cheek, brushing your thumb over the softness of her skin. 

"I would never do that, baby," you reassured her. "You’re stuck with me, alright?"

Her lips curved into a small, relieved smile, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. She leaned into your touch, seeking something—comfort, maybe.

“I know,” she said softly, her voice more certain this time, but then it dipped again. “But it still scared the hell out of me, because I love spending time with you, and sometimes, almost always, I wish you were my mom.”

She pouted slightly, a small, almost childlike gesture, and your heart fluttered with a mixture of tenderness and sadness.

Your heart tightened at the look on Sarah’s face. It was fleeting, barely a blink, but it was enough. Just a fraction of vulnerability slipped through before she masked it with a smile. But you saw it, and it pierced something deep inside you, a quiet ache that you couldn’t ignore. 

For a moment, she seemed younger than her years, the way her eyes reflected something you couldn’t quite name, some quiet sadness that she didn’t often show. She never spoke about her mother. Never. The absence of that conversation hung in the air like a shadow, one you could feel even when it wasn’t mentioned. 

You didn’t know much about of she felt before —how things had been before you entered her life, she never told you about it—but you had learned that she never spoke of her mother, not even in passing. The silence around it was telling. It was as if there had been a permanent erasure of that part of her history. 

But you, you had always been there for her. You had seen Sarah grow from a shy girl into someone who could light up a room with her smile. You had been the one she turned to when she needed someone to go with her to her school functions, the one she took with her to every event that called for a mother figure, even though you knew the absence weighed on her. 

You remembered the mother-daughter day at her school. It was one of those moments where you had tried so hard to be what she needed, to fill a space you knew wasn’t yours to fill, but that she still wanted filled nonetheless. You had spent the entire morning trying to reassure her, to make sure she didn’t feel too different, to make her feel like she wasn’t missing something that everyone else had. But Sarah? She’d been absolutely radiant, grinning from ear to ear, as if she were the happiest girl in the world. When she told Joel about it that evening, her voice was full of excitement, her eyes sparkling with pride. 

Joel had tried to talk you out of it at first, telling you that you didn’t need to put yourself in that position if it made you uncomfortable. But it didn’t, not really. What would have made you uncomfortable was not being there for her. You adored Sarah from the moment you first met her. The way she fit so seamlessly into your life, as if your heart had already known her before you ever met. 

You were lucky. She was incredible, and you had the privilege of watching her grow, of being a part of her life. 

But in that moment, as you held her, you could feel the weight of everything she had been carrying—the quiet fears, the quiet grief, the things she had never voiced. And it broke your heart all over again.

You reached for her, your hands trembling slightly as you wrapped her in your arms. You held her close, smoothing a hand over her hair, letting her feel the steadiness in your embrace. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” you whispered softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. We’re adults, but sometimes we get it so wrong, don’t we? I promise... I promise we’ll never put you through anything like this again.” 

She pressed her cheek against your chest, her body shaking with the soft tremors of her sobs. Her words were muffled, but you heard them clearly. 

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’m never going to leave you, you know that, right?” You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, your heart in your throat. “You’re my special girl, baby. My favorite girl. I love you too much for you to ever doubt that.”

Her eyes were glossy with tears, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips, a small, fragile thing. She pulled back slightly, looking up at you.

“I know,” she said, her voice still thick, but with a softer, more vulnerable quality. “And you’re my favorite girl, too.” Her smile flickered, but it was sincere. “Please don’t trade me for my dad, though.”

The seriousness in her tone was almost too much to bear, and despite the tears that still lingered in her eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your chest tightening with affection.

“Never."

*

“Oh, I’m so full. I’ve never eaten so much before,” Tommy groaned dramatically, stretching out in his seat, his hands settling protectively over his belly as if it might burst at any moment.

“You always say that,” Joel replied, his smirk almost too smug for the moment.

“And it’s always true, man,” Tommy shot back, raising his brows in mock indignation, “but don’t worry, I get over it. I’ll be eating again in like, two hours.”

The kitchen and dining area were finally in order, everything cleared and wiped down. Tommy, much to everyone’s surprise, had volunteered to clear the dishes after Cassie had jokingly called him a slob. The patio now had a tranquil, almost magical atmosphere. The warm lights Joel had strung up above flickered softly against the growing darkness, casting a golden glow over the space, while quiet music vibrated through the air in the background, a perfect close to the evening.

Sarah, having finished her ice cream, set the empty bowl down on the table with the same serious face someone might give after finishing a marathon.

“Done,” she declared, eyes wide with accomplishment as if she’d conquered an Olympic event.

Cassie, shaking her head with laughter, shot a glance at Sarah. “What a champ."

Sarah just shrugged and grinned. “It’s a talent,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Hey, speaking of talents,” Cassie continued, still amused, “I was thinking, how about we watch Twilight tonight? What do you think?”

Sarah’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile stretching across her face.

“Definitely!” she answered with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought she was agreeing to a life-changing event.

“I’m so excited for you to see it,” you chimed in, grinning. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Oh no, no... No, this is between me and Sarah,” Cassie interrupted, draping an arm over the back of Sarah’s chair, her voice taking on that dramatic, teasing tone she was so good at. “Besides, you look tired. Joel, you better keep an eye on my friend tonight.”

Joel raised an eyebrow but smiled, nodding gently.

“I can handle it,” he said, glancing over at you with that half-smile that only he could pull off.

You groaned in mock despair.

“Hey, I feel left out!” 

Cassie rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, we can watch it again when you’re feeling better. Promise.” She stood up, grabbing a few stray dishes—just a bowl and some empty glasses, which she began carrying toward the kitchen.

She paused at the edge of the table and turned to Joel.

“Is that okay with you, Joel? I’ll just borrow your little girl for the night. I promise I’ll take good care of her.” She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with feigned innocence.

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Analgesics every eight hours. She took them at five, so she should take them again at one in the morning. Do you have your alarm set, honey?”

Sarah nodded, eyes wide as she took her responsibilities seriously.

“Yes,” she said in her most mature voice.

Cassie beamed and added with a grin, “I’ll set one too.”

You watched the exchange, amused. Had they coordinated this already? Was this some kind of pre-established routine? Did Sarah know? It felt like a well-oiled machine.

Tommy, clearly not feeling like he was getting enough attention, sighed dramatically as he stood from the table.

“Okay, I see everyone has plans but me,” he said, feigning offense as he adjusted his hoodie. “So I think I’ll go home. Alone. And watch 30 Days of Night. You know, real vampires, kids.”

Cassie rolled her eyes but not without punching him lightly in the arm. Tommy made a theatrical groan, acting as though he had been mortally wounded.

“Ow, that hurt!”

Cassie didn’t let up. “You can come watch Twilight too,” she said, narrowing her eyes in mock contemplation. Then she turned to Sarah with a teasing glance. “Well, are you okay with that, kiddo?”

Sarah, always eager to please, nodded with the same enthusiasm she’d shown earlier.

“Sure,” she said, not even questioning it.

“Perfect,” Cassie said, grinning as she made her way toward the kitchen, but not before giving you a playful wink. 

After the three of them gathered their things, the house filled with the sound of their chatter as they made their way to the door. Sarah clutched her bag tightly, its contents bulging with snacks and her medications, her cheeks pink from excitement. You followed her, smiling as you stepped closer to say goodbye.

She turned to you, her small frame leaning into your embrace as you wrapped her in a warm hug. You kissed her on the cheek, catching the faint scent of her shampoo.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she joked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to. Have a great time with Cassie, and tomorrow, I want to hear all about the movie.”

Sarah grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I promise to watch it with you too, though. Cassie said you’d want to see it again."

Before you could respond, Tommy appeared beside her, his large hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He glanced at you briefly, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Take me to Robert Pattinson,” he deadpanned, the teasing tone unmistakable.

You bit back a laugh as he guided Sarah out, pausing just long enough to murmur a quick, “Good night,” over his shoulder.

Cassie lingered behind, stepping closer to you with her usual energy. Her hand squeezed your arm gently, grounding you in the moment, before she leaned in and pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

“Goooood night,” she said, her tone light but her eyes carrying something softer. Then she added with a wink, “Sleep well.”

You smiled at her, a quick, reflexive gesture, though no words came. By the time your brain caught up with your mouth, the door had already clicked shut behind her.

You stared at it for a moment, the faint sound of her footsteps receding on the other side. Then the quiet settled in.

Turning on your heel, you walked into the kitchen. The soft glow from the overhead lights cast a golden hue across the space, warm and inviting. Joel was there, leaning against the counter like he’d been waiting for you—or like he simply belonged there, effortlessly a part of the room. His hands rested on either side of him, gripping the edge of the counter, fingers splayed.

His posture was relaxed, but there was a charge to his stillness, a barely-contained energy that made your pulse quicken. His dark blue t-shirt clung to the broad planes of his chest, and his hair was damp, though almost dry now, messy in a way that suggested he hadn’t given it much thought after his shower. And then—those damn gray sweatpants. 

“I had to wash off the smoke,” he’d said earlier, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You hadn’t fully bought it then, and you still didn’t. But you weren’t exactly complaining.

Now, his eyes met yours, firm and unflinching. A smile curled at the corner of his mouth, slow and calculated, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Is it just me,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing, “or are we the only ones left in this house?”

You took a step toward him, and then another, closing the distance between you.

“I think so.”

When you stopped in front of him, you let your hands drift upward, settling on his chest. The warmth of his body beneath your palms made you feel reckless. Your fingers trailed over the fabric of his shirt, and then up to his shoulders, as if you needed the excuse to touch him. You looked up at him, your eyes tracing every detail of his face: the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the dark intent in his gaze.

“Do you think we’ll survive?” you asked, the hint of a smile playing at your own lips.

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hands left the counter and found your waist, his grip firm, grounding you as he pulled you closer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a murmur.

“Not a chance.”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his face burying in the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and the weight of his arms wrapping around you made you feel momentarily weightless. You closed your eyes, letting the sensation of him—his solidity, his heat—anchor you.

“Take me to bed,” you said, your voice quiet.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with something equal parts playful and lustful.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asked, his tone light, though the way his hands tightened on your hips betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

“I don’t think you’re the one who should be asking that question.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you as he pushed off the counter, taking you with him. His hands stayed on you, guiding, insistent, as he walked you backward, step by step, out of the kitchen.

“Are you going to show me all those things you’ve been thinking about?” he asked, his voice dipping, teasing.

In one smooth motion, he turned you around, his chest pressed against your back now, his hands steady on your hips. His lips found your shoulder, brushing lightly before trailing up toward your neck. His touch was both grounding and electric, his grip possessive but not unkind.

“That’s right,” you whispered, tipping your head back to rest against his shoulder, exposing your neck to him. Your voice was breathless, barely audible, as his mouth moved against your skin. 

Joel leaned in close, his lips pressing softly against your cheek, the briefest pause making the touch feel heavier than it was. When he pulled back, there was something unhurried in the way his hand slipped from your waist, like he was giving you time to notice the absence. Without a word, he turned in direction to the stairs, his eyes flicking upward.

You climbed the steps quickly, your movements unthinking but purposeful, every step creating a subtle sway in the fabric of your skirt. You were hyper-aware of Joel behind you, of the weight of his gaze on your body. When you paused at the landing and turned, expecting to meet his eyes, you realized he hadn’t followed. 

Joel stood frozen on the first step, his hand gripping the banister like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. His eyes were locked on you—not just you, but the sway of your hips, the taut curve of fabric stretched over the soft flesh of your ass. It wasn’t subtle, the hunger in his gaze, and it wasn’t kind. It was primal, raw, like he’d been stripped of language entirely and left with nothing but the aching weight of desire.

His breath had slowed, deepened, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check. But his expression betrayed him—he didn’t just want to touch you; he wanted to claim you, to mark you, to press his hands into the softness of your thighs until his fingertips left indents in your skin.

The thought of it made his jaw clench. He could imagine the give of your body beneath him, the warmth, the way you might shudder if he let himself take what he wanted. His desire wasn’t just to hold you—it was to devour you, like something sweet and delicious. He wanted to feel the heat of your skin against his lips, to sink his teeth into you, to taste you fully, selfishly. You were a dessert he’d never been allowed before all of this, and the ache of it—of you—was driving him mad.

Then he started to climb. You turned instinctively, flashing him a knowing smile before continuing upward, each step deliberately slow, each sway of your hips almost a dare.

Joel was right behind you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his breath catching as his hand found you. He didn’t hesitate, his fingers sliding under the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your underwear with a teasing familiarity. For a fleeting second, he played with it, tugging just enough to make you gasp, to let you feel his intent before he moved.

By the time you reached the second floor, he was no longer pretending at patience. He caught you by the waist, pressing you back against the wall with a force that was more need than control. His body pinned you there, hard and unyielding, and his hand claimed you again, squeezing the curve of your ass like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. The other hand traveled upward, tracing the line of your body—your waist, the curve of your ribs, the softness of your breasts—until it rested at your neck, his thumb brushing over the delicate pulse that betrayed your excitement.

You tilted your head back to look at him with a sweet smile, and that smile—God, that smile—was the final blow to whatever scraps of restraint he had left. With you, there was no self-control, no measured response. There was only this.

His mouth found yours, not in a rush, but with a softness that startled you, the contradiction of it almost undoing him. Your tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and when your teeth grazed the soft flesh, biting just hard enough to leave a memory, the sound he made was something between a groan and a plea, weak and broken.

With a subtle shift of his weight, Joel used his leg to nudge yours apart, his knee pressing gently but insistently until you gave in, letting him part you. He stepped closer, the heat of his body almost unbearable, and lifted you effortlessly against him. Your feet barely grazed the floor, leaving you suspended between him and the wall. His thighs held you steady, and his hands, rough and sure, gripped you.

Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, tangling in the damp strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. You kissed him like you couldn’t get enough, your lips claiming his, your breath uneven against his mouth. But even as you touched him like you were desperate, you refused to give him control.

Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss. Your hips moved against him in lazy circles, teasing, testing, drawing a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. Joel groaned against your lips, his breath catching as you felt him harden beneath you. Impatient.

You broke the kiss abruptly, the wet sound of it lingering in the charged air between you. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling like he’d been running. You let the silence stretch, your breath warm against his cheek as you leaned in just enough to whisper, “No.”

The word slipped from your lips like a challenge, accompanied by a devilish smile that made his jaw tighten. Your palm pressed against his chest, just enough to create distance, and you slid down from his thighs until your feet found the ground again. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was trying to decide whether to let you go or pull you back into him.

“You said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you reminded him, your voice soft but laced with mischief.

Joel smiled, though his breath hitched halfway, the sound uneven. His flushed neck betrayed him, the blush creeping higher as he nodded.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice rough and low.

“Okay,” you murmured, taking a deliberate step back, your fingers trailing down his chest, then his abdomen, as you pulled away. His muscles tensed under your touch, his body reacting as if even the absence of your hands could break him.

“Then behave yourself,” you instructed, your tone playful but firm, “and do as I say.”

His smile vanished, replaced by something raw, a look so intent it left no room for words.

Joel nodded, his obedience immediate, though there was nothing passive about it. It felt like restraint—barely held, dangerously close to snapping.

You spun on your heels without waiting for more, walking toward his room with a confidence that made his chest tighten. When you reached the door, you extended your hand behind you, and he was there in an instant. His palm slid into yours, warm and firm, and his other hand found your waist as if he couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop himself from grounding you to him, needing to feel the curve of you beneath his fingers.

Inside the room, you guided him without a word, leading him toward the edge of the bed.

When you turned to face him, your hands slid up his arms, tracing the muscles there as if committing them to memory. You kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, coaxing him closer with the press of your lips. His need was palpable in the way he moved, how his fingers twitched like they wanted nothing more than to grab you, to pull you to him completely. But you didn’t let him.

Each time his hands wandered, you gently pushed him away, your touch firm but teasing, a silent reminder that this was on your terms. His frustration mingled with desire, but he obeyed, his breath uneven as he let you take the lead.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up slowly, watching as his skin was revealed inch by inch. The sharp lines of his abdomen, the faint freckles scattered across his chest—all of it made your pulse quicken. But before you could finish, Joel took over.

With one sharp movement, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere in the room without looking, his focus entirely on you. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, the tension in his body evident in the way his shoulders tightened, the way his gaze locked onto you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

With a sly smile, you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging him closer, closing the gap he’d been aching to erase since the moment you walked into the room. His body yielded immediately, drawn toward you like gravity itself demanded it.

Joel leaned forward, his lips searching for yours, but you pulled back just enough to keep him chasing. The mischievous curve of your smile sent a flicker of frustration across his features, but it was fleeting, replaced by a raw, almost pleading desire.

“You looked so good this morning,” you murmured, your voice low and edged with something tender. “All I could think about was feeling you, all of you.” Your hand slid beneath the fabric of his pants, and when you discovered the absence of anything underneath, you let out a soft sigh. “Just like this.”

Your fingers wrapped around him, warm and firm, tracing the silken skin that stretched over his hard, heated cock. You brushed your fingertips over his swollen tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and glistening, completely consumed. 

Rising onto your toes, you pressed a kiss to his jaw, your lips trailing upward with deliberate slowness until they found his mouth. This time, he met you eagerly, his kiss filled with hunger but tempered, restrained in a way that showed he understood your game. He knew that if he pushed too far, too fast, you would pull away, and the knowledge seemed to both frustrate and excite him.

When you finally broke away, your breathing was shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your chest. You slipped your hand from his pants, your fingers tingling from the lingering heat of him, and took a step back.

“Take everything off,” you commanded, your voice trembling slightly, though whether from emotion or need, you couldn’t say. “And lie down on the bed.”

Joel stared at you, his chest heaving, his cheeks flushed with color. For a moment, it seemed like he might resist, might challenge you just to see what you’d do. But then he nodded, his obedience laced with something deeper, a quiet devotion that made your thighs tremble in response.

Joel obeyed without hesitation, stripping off his sweatpants and shoes. When he stood before you, completely bare, the sight knocked the air from your lungs. Your gaze raked over him, tracing every line, every plane of his body, and the sudden rush of heat pooling in your stomach was almost overwhelming.

Your lips parted involuntarily, your mouth watering at the sheer, unapologetic beauty of him. Joel’s body was solid and soft, every muscle taut, and his skin flushed with a faint warm pink.

He moved to the bed without a word, lying back as you had instructed, his body stretching out across the sheets. His cock stood thick and proud, resting against his stomach, hard and swollen. The sight made your pulse quicken, each beat loud and insistent in your ears. He was completely, devastatingly yours to devour.

You kicked off your shoes, the thud of them hitting the floor barely registering as you climbed onto the bed, and the mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled toward him.

Joel propped himself up on his elbows, his dark eyes fixed on you like you were some kind of vision. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to—his expression was enough. It was desire laid bare.

Your hands found his thighs first, your fingers spreading wide to press into the soft, warm skin. You let your thumbs drag along the length of his muscles, kneading gently, savoring the way his body tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the slight tremor in his legs as you moved closer.

You leaned down, your mouth hovering just above him, so close that you could feel the heat of him against your lips. Then, slowly, deliberately, you dragged your tongue along the length of his cock, savoring the taste of his skin and the sharp inhale of breath it drew from him.

Joel’s head fell back immediately, a low, ragged sigh escaping him, as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. But the moment didn’t last—he was looking at you again within seconds, his gaze burning with an intensity that pinned you in place.

No, he wasn’t going to miss this. He’d be insane to look away.

Without warning, you dipped lower, your lips wrapping around the delicate curve of his testicles. The softness of the skin there was warm against your mouth, and you sucked gently, your tongue pressing in teasing circles as your hand found his length. Your fingers wrapped around him with just enough pressure, sliding slowly, deliberately, up and down, as if testing the limits of his restraint.

Joel let out a sound that was more than a sigh, something raw and unguarded slipping past his lips.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, the words breaking apart under the weight of his breath.

You released him with a deliberate slowness, your mouth leaving him with a wet, audible pop that seemed to echo in the charged air between you. The sound hung there and you couldn’t help the sly smile that curved your lips as you glanced up at him.

Your hand stayed on him, stroking with a rhythm that made his head tip back for just a second before his heavy-lidded eyes found yours again. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him as you spoke.

“I want my mouth full of you,” you said, like a promise. “But you can’t touch me. Do you understand?”

He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed closed, as if keeping them open might be too much, the desire too sharp to look at you directly. His eyelashes cast shadows against the flush of his cheekbones, and his voice, when it came, was low and rough.

“Why?” he asked, though the word felt like an offering more than a challenge. “I wanna touch you.”

You leaned closer, your breath warm against him, and his eyes flickered open, meeting yours with a helpless kind of longing.

“'Cause you said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you replied, your tone tinged with playful authority. “And this is exactly what I’ve been thinking.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in a way that betrayed the weight of his surrender. He nodded, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face as his gaze locked on you.

“Of course, baby, do what you want with me,” he said, his voice a little shaky, a little wrecked. “And I’ll do whatever you say.”

You smiled, a small crack in the veneer of control you’d been wearing, and Joel’s lips curved into something sweet in response, so genuine it almost made you falter. He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that felt out of place amid the heat coursing between you. But you allowed it, leaning into the touch, savoring the contrast of his warmth against your skin.

The moment didn’t last long. Joel, with visible reluctance, withdrew his hand and let it fall back to his side. His fingers fidgeted restlessly, his knuckles tense as though he was fighting the urge to reach for you again.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, his voice soft, like he wasn’t even aware he’d said it aloud. His head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat as a groan escaped him. Your hand had resumed its slow, deliberate movements, stroking him with just enough pressure to keep him teetering on the edge of composure.

You licked your lips deliberately, watching him intently, your eyes following every flicker of tension in his body, every barely controlled breath. He was utterly undone in your hand—so ready, so hard, his need for you written across every muscle, every exhale.

Leaning forward, you let your lips wrap around the head of his cock, the taste of him warm, salty and intoxicating. You moved slowly, letting your tongue trace lazy patterns over him as your mouth took him in.

Joel moaned, low and broken, the sound sending a thrill through you. His eyes fluttered open, fixing on the sight of you, your lips and tongue working against him with calculated precision. His hands shifted restlessly at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling into the sheets as if he was clinging to the last shreds of his restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost hoarse. The way he looked at you—awed, overwhelmed—was enough to make your pulse race. And still, he didn’t move, didn’t touch, even though you could see how much he wanted to, how hard he was holding back.

Your hand began to move faster, your strokes gaining a steady urgency as your mouth took him deeper, inch by inch. Your lips formed a tight seal around him, gliding up and down in a rhythm that was both deliberate and merciless. Your tongue teased him with flicks and swirls, tasting him fully, the heat of him filling your mouth. The wet, obscene sounds of your efforts filled the room, a raw, unfiltered symphony of desire. Saliva gathered at the corners of your lips, dripping down his length and soaking your fingers as you worked him.

Joel’s breathing grew uneven, every exhale sharper than the last. You glanced up at him, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell in quick succession. His eyes were open, heavy-lidded and glazed, but still focused on you, as though he couldn’t bear to look away. He was determined, it seemed, to take in every detail—the way your lips stretched around him, the way your hand tightened and twisted in sync with your mouth.

With your free hand, you moved lower, cupping him gently, your fingers tracing the soft skin of his testicles. You massaged them with care, applying just enough pressure to make his hips shift, his thighs tensing under your touch. The coordination was effortless—your hands, your mouth, your tongue—all working in perfect, relentless harmony.

Joel let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of noise that came from deep within, and you knew you had him. His head fell back, his throat exposed as he surrendered completely. His eyes fluttered closed, his body arching slightly, seeking more of you.

Then his hand rose, trembling slightly, hovering just above your head as though drawn there by instinct. Before it could rest against you, you pulled back, slowing your movements to a near halt. His cock slipped from your lips, glistening and swollen, throbbing visibly as you left him wanting, teetering on the edge.

Joel let out a weak, broken moan, his chest flushed a deep pink, every muscle in his body radiating heat. He looked like he was coming apart in slow motion, and the sight of him like this—undone, vulnerable, entirely yours—sent a thrill coursing through you.

You ran your tongue along the length of him, the motion deliberate and unhurried, savoring the way his body seemed to tremble beneath your touch. When you reached the tip, you cupped the base of his arousal with one hand, anchoring him as you leaned forward, letting your lips brush against him.

Then, in one slow, fluid motion, you took him into your mouth, sliding down his length until the swollen head of him bumped against the back of your throat. You paused, steadying yourself, and then pushed further, letting him fill you completely, your lips meeting the base.

“Baby,” Joel hissed, his voice ragged, the word barely more than an exhale. His eyes flew open, and he propped himself up on his elbows as if the intensity of the moment had drawn him back to consciousness. His gaze found you, dark and heavy with pleasure, and the sight of you like this—your mouth stretched around his cock, your nose brushing against his skin—seemed to undo him further.

You pulled back slowly, the motion precise, controlled, before taking him again, and again, each time deeper, smoother. Your movements built into a rhythm, your lips and tongue working in tandem, your nose bumping against him with every descent.

You surprised yourself with how easily your body accommodated him. Once or twice, with boyfriends in the past, you’d tried something like this, and it had felt impossible. They hadn’t even been as big as Joel. But with him, it was different—effortless, almost as if your body had been waiting for him.

Your pace quickened, the suction stronger, the hollow of your cheeks pulling tighter as you worked him. Joel’s breathing became erratic, his chest heaving, his whimpers breaking apart as he struggled to contain himself.

When you sensed him teetering on the edge, you slowed, pulling back until just the tip of him remained in your mouth. You flicked your tongue over the sensitive head in a playful, deliberate motion, a quick, teasing lick that made him shudder. Then, with a soft, audible sigh, you released him completely, pulling back and meeting his gaze with a knowing smile.

Slowly, with deliberate patience, you settled on top of him. Your palm pressed lightly against his chest, keeping him anchored to the mattress as though you needed to remind him who was in control. The steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your hand felt grounding, a contrast to the heat sparking between your bodies.

You shifted, positioning yourself so that your thin underwear brushed against him, wet and slick against the hardness pressing up beneath you. Joel’s gaze followed every movement with unflinching intensity, his lips slightly parted, his chest flushed with color.

Taking his hands, you guided them to your thighs, and he followed your lead willingly, his touch reverent. His fingers spread over the soft skin, squeezing gently before sliding down to cup the curve of your ass. He traced the same path back up, his hands moving as though he couldn’t decide where he wanted to linger most.

When you reached for the hem of your dress, lifting it with ease, his hands stilled briefly, the air between you charged with his anticipation. You slipped the fabric over your head in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed.

Joel’s expression softened as he took in the sight of you, his lips curving into a small, unguarded smile. His eyes lingered on your bare breasts, the tender curve of your skin illuminated in the soft light of the room. You could see the restrained hunger in him, the way he longed to sit up and take your hard nipples into his mouth, but he didn’t move. His hands remained where you’d placed them, his obedience surprising you.

You leaned forward, your hands finding their place on his chest, steadying yourself as you began to move your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction was electric, the fabric of your soaking wet underwear brushing against him, creating a sweet, torturous sensation that sent a shiver through you. Joel’s hands tightened on your thighs in response, his breath catching, but he still didn’t move beyond what you allowed.

You let your eyes flutter closed, your head tipping back slightly as a soft gasp escaped your lips. Your breathing grew heavier, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. A flush spread across your skin, a warm bloom of heat that seemed to radiate outward, pooling low in your belly.

Joel’s hands tightened on your ass, guiding your movements as your hips ground harder against him. The sound of the bed shifting beneath you, the quiet creak of wood and mattress, felt like a rhythm, a melody carrying you both closer to something inevitable.

You opened your eyes slowly, drawn to the point where your bodies met, the place where your need was most visible. Your core moved against him with urgency, dragging along his length through the damp fabric of your underwear. It wasn’t enough—it couldn’t possibly be enough. Without thinking, your fingers moved to the side of your panties, tugging them away to reveal the slick heat of your cunt, glistening and ready.

The sensation shifted instantly, impossibly more intense. The soft, hot skin of his cock pressed directly against you, his swollen tip brushing your clit with every movement. A choked moan escaped you, your hands finding purchase on Joel’s thighs as you arched your back, your head tilting to the side as your body chased the feeling.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, the words spilling out unbidden, your voice trembling. Your hips rocked against him, every motion sending sparks skittering up your spine. You couldn’t look away from him—his gaze locked on you, dark and focused, alternating between the slick heat of your center and the flushed expression on your face.

Joel’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving behind the promise of bruises. His restraint, so palpable moments ago, seemed to dissolve entirely. There was something raw in the way he looked at you, his need unraveling in real-time.

“On my face,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible, like a secret meant only for you. His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and when you looked up, his dark, desperate eyes locked onto yours.

“Sit on my face,” he repeated, this time a little louder. The intensity of his gaze, the hunger in his expression—it was impossible to refuse him.

You nodded, a silent affirmation, and let Joel guide you. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, their strength undeniable as he pulled you higher, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The warmth of his breath on your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, and then his mouth was on you.

The first touch of his lips and tongue came with a guttural moan that reverberated through your core, primal and hungry. It unraveled you instantly.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hand shot down to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling tight.

He groaned again, the sound vibrating against you, his arms locking around your thighs to hold you in place. His fingers hooked the fabric of your underwear to the side, his mouth moving with intent and precision. He kissed your cunt as though worshipping, his tongue gliding in slow, deliberate circles over your clit. His eyes fluttered shut, his focus entirely on the taste of you, like you were his favorite meal.

Then his rhythm shifted, alternating between soft sucks and teasing flicks, the motions perfectly tuned to your body. The room filled with the wet, intoxicating sounds of his mouth and your uneven breathing. You couldn’t stop the soft cries spilling from your lips, each one punctuated by the heat building low in your stomach.

You were so close, the edge of release within reach, your body trembling under the weight of it. Almost instinctively, you began to move, rolling your hips against him, seeking more.

Joel smiled against you, the curve of his lips unmistakable even as his tongue worked its magic. His hand gripped your thigh tighter, grounding you, but his voice, low and wrecked, sent you spiraling.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his words hot against your skin, breaking only to drag his tongue across you again. “Ride me. Ride my face.”

The command was all-consuming, as though it was etched into your very bones. Your hips moved faster, a rhythm driven by need, and you threw your head back, your hair spilling over your shoulders as your body surrendered entirely.

“Joel, I’m going to—” The words tumbled out, but before you could finish, the sensation overtook you, a shattering wave of pleasure crashing through you. It consumed every nerve, your body vibrating with release, your voice caught in a broken cry as you clenched around the ecstasy Joel had pulled from you.

Your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained, as Joel’s mouth continued its devoted work, tasting every shiver of your release. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you steady even as your movements slowed, your body trembling from the aftershocks.

It was too much—your sensitivity heightened to a point of near-pain, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. You tried to lift yourself away, but Joel’s hands stayed firm, his mouth lingering, as if he couldn’t bear to let go of you just yet.

When he finally relented, his lips releasing you with a soft, wet sound, you exhaled a shaky breath, shifting your hips lower to rest against his waist. Your eyes found his, and the sight of him stole what little air you had left.

Joel looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and longing. His beard glistened with traces of you, a visible reminder of his devotion, and when he smiled—a slow, tender curve of his lips—it wasn’t just desire; it was love.

You leaned down, unable to resist him, and pressed your mouth to his in a kiss that spoke of both gratitude and need. It was slow but full of intent, your hands cradling his face, your fingers brushing against the scruff of his jaw and curling behind his neck.

Joel’s hands shifted to your waist, his touch gentler now, his thumbs tracing soothing circles into your skin. Even so, there was tension beneath his tenderness, a barely restrained hunger that made his fingers tighten slightly as if reminding himself not to pull you closer just yet.

When you broke the kiss, your forehead rested against his for a moment, both of you catching your breath.

“Okay, cowboy,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Joel’s grin was slow and crooked. His eyes glinted with mischief, but there was something deeper there too, something darker and hungry.

He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he pulled you closer, keeping you perched on top of him as his mouth found your breast. The warmth of his lips was immediate, the gentle pull of his tongue sending a ripple of pleasure through you. His hands gripped you firmly, one kneading the soft curve of your ass, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound turning into a moan as his tongue flicked over your nipple, teasing and circling. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging lightly in encouragement.

“Joel,” you whispered. He moved to your other breast, his mouth just as eager, as if he were discovering a secret he couldn’t bear to leave untouched. The wet, rhythmic sound of his lips meeting your skin filled the room, and you felt the edges of your control begin to fray.

Then, without warning, Joel shifted. In one swift movement, he laid you flat on the bed beneath him, the sudden change making you gasp. He hovered over you, his breath warm against your neck as he began to kiss his way downward, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your sternum, then the soft curve of your stomach. Each kiss felt deliberate, reverent, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory.

Joel’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, and you lifted your hips instinctively, a silent invitation. He slid the fabric down your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he moved. The garment joined the growing pile on the floor, completely forgotten.

He knelt between your legs, his hands warm and firm as they pressed into your thighs, guiding them apart. The way he looked at you—unwavering, almost in awe—made your heart race.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words washing over you like a confession.

He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in the lightest kiss, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered against your skin, “Let me show you how much.”

Your hands framed his face, your fingertips brushing the rough stubble on his jaw as you pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle—it was consuming, your mouths colliding with a desperation that neither of you could hide.

Joel’s weight shifted over you, pressing you deliciously into the mattress. The heat of his body settled against yours, his chest flush with your own, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The angle was perfect, the pressure achingly close, and the promise of what was to come made your breath hitch.

His tongue swept into your mouth as the blunt tip of him brushed against your entrance. The tease alone had you gasping into the kiss, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders.

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice trembling, your gaze locking onto his. Your eyes searched his face, wide and full of something raw, something vulnerable. “I love you, I love you so much.”

His expression softened, his features melting into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“I love you too, baby,” he said, grounding you as he pushed into you with aching slowness. His eyes never left yours, and the stretch of him inside you stole the breath from your lungs. “So fucking much. I’m so in love with you.”

A smile curved your lips, but it was short-lived as his mouth found yours again, swallowing the soft moan that escaped when he moved deeper, filling you completely.

Joel’s rhythm started slow, calculated. Every thrust was controlled but steeped in need, his body pressing into yours like he wanted to crawl inside you, to dissolve the space between you entirely. You felt it in the way his hands gripped your hips, the tension in his muscles under your palms.

The wet, rhythmic sound of him moving in and out of you filled the room, each stroke slick and purposeful. It made you shiver, and when he let out a guttural groan, his head dropping to bury his face in your neck, it was as if something inside you unraveled.

His teeth grazed the delicate skin at your throat, his lips brushing over the mark he left behind. The sharpness of it sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine, and his pace quickened, his hips colliding with yours harder, deeper.

“Yes yes yes— Oh, God—J-Joel,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his back, his name breaking apart on your lips. He was everywhere—inside you, around you, consuming you.

The rhythm of his movements grew frantic, unrestrained, and his moans became muffled against your ear, a wrecked symphony of desire that made you melt beneath him. Every thrust pulled you closer to the edge, your body arching into his as his name fell from your lips in a litany of surrender.

You bit into his shoulder, your teeth grazing the firm muscle as if to anchor yourself to the moment. Your nails left faint crescents in the skin of his back, a soft contrast to the unrelenting force of his body pressing you into the mattress. The sound of your bodies meeting, skin against skin, filled the room, a rhythm in perfect time with the erratic beating of your heart.

Joel shifted, bracing himself on one arm beside your head, the other wrapping firmly around your thigh. He pulled you closer, his grip possessive and sure, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The angle changed, sharper, deeper, and the intensity of his thrusts became something primal, something unrestrained, like he was staking his claim.

His gaze fell between your bodies, and you felt it as much as you saw it—the way his eyes darkened at the sight of you taking him, the slick evidence of your need coating his big swollen cock. A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his focus unshakable, as though the act of watching you like this was driving him just as mad as the sensation of being inside you.

Your hand reached up, shaky but insistent, pulling him back to you.

“S-so fuck-ing good,” you gasped, your voice fractured, the words tumbling out as if you could barely hold them together. “S-so good, baby. Please don’t stop—don’t stop.”

Joel’s lips curved into a smile, something rough and beautiful, his cheeks flushed with effort and desire.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you briefly, the heat of his mouth a quick reprieve before he was pulling back, thrusting harder. “Come for me again. Come all over my cock. All fucking yours.”

His hand shifted, pushing your legs higher, opening you up to him in a way that had you gasping. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that devastatingly tender spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your back arched involuntarily, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you tipped your head back, your hands fluttering uselessly before finding purchase against his shoulders.

Joel pressed his mouth to your neck and bit down softly, the sting of it swallowed by the overwhelming pleasure radiating through you. His movements grew wilder, faster, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

His hand slid against you, his thumb moving in deliberate, smooth circles over your clit. The sensation caught your breath, dragging a choked gasp from your lips. You opened your mouth, soundless, helpless, as the tension in you coiled tighter, your orgasm cresting just out of reach.

"Joel," you whispered, the name breaking out of you like a plea. Your eyes met his, and you found him already watching you. His face was undone, raw and aching. He looked wrecked, like he was hanging by a thread, his chest heaving, his skin flushed a deep red that spilled down his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he stammered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. That sound, the way he said it, was all it took to tip you over the edge.

Your head fell back, and the moan that broke from you wasn’t something you could contain. It ripped through you, sharp and desperate, splitting you open as Joel’s movements quickened, harder, deeper, like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

He watched you, unblinking, his gaze full of something that felt like worship. His voice was a low, guttural sound, raw with want and need, as he thrust into you, chasing his own undoing. You felt it in the way his rhythm faltered, his body trembling.

And then, with a shuddering groan, he came, his release pulsing hot and deep inside you, spilling into every inch of you like he was giving you everything he had.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body flush against yours. His weight pressed down, heavy and grounding, knocking the breath out of your lungs in the most exquisite way. For a moment, he let himself rest there, his warmth sinking into you. 

When he pushed up slightly on his arms, the loss of him—his weight, his closeness—made you moan softly, an involuntary sound. His smile spread slow and lazy across his face as his hand came up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked on yours.

Then he kissed you. Slow, tender.

Your hands moved to his curls, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You looked up at him, your gaze betraying just how deeply you were lost in him. Irrevocably, helplessly in love.

“Stay on top of me.”

His smile deepened, dimples flashing in the dim light. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I’m going to crush you.”

“I don’t mind. I like it,” you said, your fingers trailing along the curve of his lips, tracing the shape of him like you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Fine,” he relented, dropping his weight just a little more, still not enough. His mouth brushed your cheek, then your jaw. “But only if you let me taste you again.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, playful.

“See? Impatient.”

His grin widened, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his face.

“Darlin', I’m not rushing anything,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours with every word. “We’ve got all night.”

[moomuzan]

— 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙

your wounds are critical! chuuya , akutagawa , dazai , two endings: no-comfort & comfort , requested

Unraveling, the night was a cacophony of chaos. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The world around him was a haze of noise and movement, but Chuuya saw none of it. He was focused on you, lying on the cold pavement, your body still and fragile in the growing pool of your own blood.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over the wound in your abdomen. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

You blinked up at him, your vision hazy and unfocused. The corners of your lips quirked in a weak attempt at a smile, the kind you always gave him when you were trying to reassure him—even now, when you were the one who needed reassurance.

“Ch-Chuuya… I’m fine…” Your words were a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“No, you’re not!” he snapped, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t say that. You’re not fine—you’re bleeding out!” His gloved hands pressed down on the wound, trying to stem the relentless flow of crimson that spilled between his fingers.

It was everywhere, staining his hands, soaking into his coat, dripping onto the ground—The sight of your blood shattered something inside him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be untouchable, invincible, his equal in every way. You were his partner, the one person he trusted to have his back.

And now you were slipping away.

He threw his hat aside, his fiery hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyes glistened, but no tears fell—not yet. Instead, his fury burned hotter than ever.

“They’ll pay for this,” he growled under his breath, his voice low and venomous. “Every single one of them. I’ll make them regret the day they thought they could touch you.”

But his anger was hollow, a desperate attempt to distract himself from the reality unfolding in front of him. Every breath you took was shallower than the last, and he couldn’t stop the dread creeping into his heart.

happy ending

Chuuya didn’t leave your side—not for a second. He carried you in his arms, running through the streets with a single-minded determination that bordered on madness. The people who dared to get in his way didn’t live long enough to regret it.

When he finally reached an empty building, he laid you down on a makeshift bed, his hands working with frantic precision to tend to your wounds. He tore off his gloves, his fingers shaking as he cleaned and dressed the injury, his mind screaming at him to stay calm.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking. “You hear me? I’m not letting you go. Not like this.”

As the hours passed in agonizing silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing, Chuuya sat beside you, his hand wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. He spoke to you—soft, quiet words filled with guilt and love, his usually sharp tone now trembling with vulnerability.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, your voice was faint but steady. “Chuuya…”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll try.”

Chuuya didn’t let go of you, not that night or the nights that followed. He stayed by your side, caring for you with a tenderness that only you ever got to see, his usual brash demeanor softened by the sheer relief of having you alive.

sad ending

Chuuya’s fury burned like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He carried you to the nearest safe house, his movements quick and precise, but his heart was a storm of fear and guilt.

Once inside, he worked tirelessly to tend to your wounds, his hands steady but his mind fractured. He talked to you, begged you to stay awake, to fight, but your responses grew weaker and weaker.

When he finally finished patching you up, he collapsed into a chair beside the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The room was too quiet, the sound of your breathing too faint.

“You’ve got to pull through,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

Hours passed, and Chuuya didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on you, on the shallow rise and fall of your chest, on the pale color of your skin. He wanted to believe you would wake up, that you would pull through like you always did.

But doubt gnawed at him, an unrelenting reminder of the fragility of life. The memory of your blood on his hands, of the way your body had gone limp in his arms, haunted him like a ghost.

When dawn broke, the faint light spilling through the window did nothing to ease his torment. He sat there, still as stone, waiting, hoping, praying for a sign that you would come back to him.

But you didn’t wake—not yet. And Chuuya was left in the agonizing limbo of uncertainty, caught between the hope that you would survive and the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

For the first time in his life, Chuuya Nakahara felt truly powerless. And it was a feeling he would never forgive himself for.

,

As a mentor Akutagawa had always been unrelenting, cold, and merciless. The way he barked orders and pushed you beyond your limits was suffocating at times, but you knew it stemmed from something deeper—a warped belief in perfection, in power, in survival. He demanded nothing less than absolute excellence, and you worked tirelessly to meet his expectations, even when they left you bruised and battered.

However, this mission was different. It was dangerous, even by his standards, and the risk was glaringly obvious. He had chosen you for it anyway, confident in your ability to deliver. Confidence that now felt like arrogance as he scoured the desolate streets, his coat whipping around him in the wind, his sharp eyes darting in search of any sign of you.

You were late—far too late. And by the time these hours turned to days, dread began to sink its claws into him, deeper and deeper with every second of silence. He replayed the last time he’d seen you, the way you’d nodded with quiet determination when he gave you your orders. You had trusted him, relied on him to prepare you. And now, the thought that you might be gone, that he had sent you to your death, was a weight he couldn't bear.

When he finally found you, collapsed in a heap in the shadows of a back alley, his breath caught in his throat. Blood soaked your clothes, dripping onto the cracked pavement below. Your skin was pallid, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You looked like a ghost of yourself, barely clinging to life.

Akutagawa stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing with emotions he didn’t know how to process. Anger, guilt, and something else—a foreign ache that felt far too close to grief. He approached you slowly, his usual sharp, deliberate movements replaced by something hesitant, almost tender.

“Fool,” he hissed under his breath, though his voice wavered. “Why didn’t you retreat when it became too much? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

Stirring slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttered open just enough to meet his gaze. “I… I thought I could handle it,” you whispered, your voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the wind.

Akutagawa clenched his jaw, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure of where to start. He had always been so sure of himself, so in control, but now? Now, he felt powerless.

happy ending

Akutagawa wasted no time. He lifted you into his arms, his expression hardening into a mask of determination. He wasn’t going to lose you—not like this.

Instinctively, he brought you to the Mafia hideout, ignoring the startled glances of the other members as he stormed through the corridors. His focus was singular, his steps purposeful as he gathered everything he needed to tend to your wounds.

For hours, he worked in silence, his sharp, precise movements betraying the storm brewing inside him. He cleaned and bandaged your wounds with care that seemed almost out of character, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his chest.

When you finally regained consciousness, your voice was weak but steady. “Why are you… doing this?”

Not looking at you, his focus was hyper-fixed on tightening the last bandage around your arm. “Because you’re still my responsibility,” he muttered, though the words carried an undercurrent of something deeper.

Over the next few weeks, he rarely left your side. He ensured you had everything you needed to recover, from medical supplies to food, though he never lingered long enough for the conversations to grow soft. He kept his distance emotionally, even as his actions betrayed his concern.

On the day you were finally strong enough to stand on your own, you thanked him quietly, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between you. His gaze lingered on you a second too long before he turned away, his coat billowing as he walked toward the door.

“Don’t fail me again,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bite. And when you joined him on the battlefield once more, it was as though nothing had changed—except for the silent understanding that he would never let you fall again.

sad ending

Lost in motion, Akutagawa carried you to a secluded place, far from the chaos of the city, where the air was still and heavy with the scent of earth and rain. He laid you down gently, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, to keep you alive. But the wound was too deep, the damage too severe.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It sounded more like a plea than a statement, a desperate attempt to will the universe into giving him more time.

Smiling faintly—your lips pale and cracked. “You don’t… have to lie,” you whispered, your words slurred with exhaustion.

“Stop talking,” he snapped, though his tone was more broken than angry. “Save your strength.”

Of course, you didn’t stop. “I… wanted to prove myself to you,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you forced them open again. “I wanted… to be someone you could rely on.”

As Akutagawa’s chest tightened, he surely didn’t know what to say. He had always believed in power, in strength, in the cold, unfeeling logic of survival. But now, as he watched you slip away, he realized how hollow those beliefs felt without you by his side.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand hovered over yours, hesitating before he finally took it, his grip firm but trembling. “You don’t get to leave me like this. Not after everything.”

Your breathing grew slower, more labored, until it finally stopped altogether. Akutagawa didn’t move, didn’t speak. He sat there, his hand still clutching yours, his usually cold, emotionless expression shattered by a grief he couldn’t contain.

When the sun rose, casting its golden light over the world, he was still there, silent and still, watching over your lifeless body as though he could bring you back to life through sheer force of will. But no matter how much he wanted to, you were gone. And he was left with nothing but the ghost of your presence and the crushing weight of his own failure.

,

Dazai Osamu had always been an artist of detachment, a master of keeping the world at arm’s length, of slipping between roles and masks until even he could no longer remember where the performance ended and the truth began. But with you, he’d let himself forget the artifice, if only for fleeting moments. You, the civilian who had somehow carved your way into the abyss of his existence, had become an unwelcome but intoxicating anomaly.

Though he never admitted it—not even to himself, you were his sanctuary. The weight of his sins seemed lighter when he lay beside you, your warmth an anchor against the ever-present pull of the void. You were the only piece of his life untainted by blood, betrayal, and violence, and that was why he kept you far away from the shadows that clung to him like a second skin.

But no matter how hard Dazai tried to shield you, the world he belonged to always found a way to destroy everything good.

The hitmen weren’t looking for you. They wanted him—Dazai Osamu, the man who had walked out of hell and left corpses in his wake. But when they didn’t find him, they found you instead. And they made you their message.

He came home to silence—a silence that wasn’t the kind you filled with soft conversation or lazy laughter. This silence was heavier, darker, and it hit him in the chest like the memory of a long-forgotten betrayal.

Dazai knew before he even saw the blood.

The sight of you lying there, your body broken and barely clinging to life, stole the air from his lungs. For a moment, he stood frozen, his mind blank as the weight of it all came crashing down. And then something primal snapped inside him.

His voice was low as he called out your name, trembling, barely audible. He dropped to his knees beside you, his fingers shaking as he touched your blood-streaked face, as if he were afraid you’d shatter beneath his touch.

You were still breathing, but it was faint, so faint that he felt like every second could be your last.

“Why—why did this have to happen?” he whispered, his words more to himself than to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I kept you away from all of this, didn’t I? I thought I did...”

And yet, even in this, he couldn’t escape the guilt, the bitter irony of how his world devoured anything it touched.

happy ending

Against all odds, you survived. Dazai, his hands unsteady but precise, tended to your wounds in those first crucial hours, working with a focus born of desperation. He called in favors, used every connection he had to ensure you lived.

When you finally opened your eyes, weak and disoriented, he was there. His face betrayed nothing, but his hands—gentle as they brushed the hair from your face—told a different story.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow even to him.

In the days that followed, he didn’t leave your side. He cared for you with a devotion so intense it bordered on obsession. He bought you whatever you needed, whatever you might want, as if material things could erase the pain, as if spoiling you could atone for his failure.

But no matter how much he gave, the guilt never left. Every time he looked at you, he saw the scars—both the ones on your skin and the ones buried deeper, in places he could never reach.

Dazai, the man who had once thought himself untouchable, now found himself tethered to a new kind of torment: the knowledge that he had been the one to bring ruin to the one thing he loved.

sad ending

But fate wasn’t kind, and this time, the genius himself couldn’t outsmart the universe.

You didn’t make it.

Holding you as the life drained from your body, his voice was soft and trembling as he whispered words meant to soothe, to distract you from the pain.

“Just stay with me a little longer,” he pleaded, his tone almost casual, as if he could trick you into staying by pretending this wasn’t goodbye. “We’ll laugh about this later, won’t we? You’ll make fun of me for being so dramatic, and I’ll tell you how ridiculous you are for worrying me like this.”

Still, even as he spoke, he felt your breaths grow weaker, your body heavier in his arms. And when you finally stilled, when the silence became absolute, Dazai didn’t cry.

Instead, he sat there, holding you, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts too fractured to form words. He replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every smile, every laugh, every time you had looked at him like he was more than the sum of his sins.

And now you were gone.

The hitmen who had done this would pay—of that, he was certain. But even vengeance felt hollow, meaningless, because no amount of bloodshed could bring you back.

As he laid your body down and stepped away, he thought of all the times he had tried to leave the darkness behind, all the times he had thought you might be the one to pull him out of it.

In the end, Dazai was a man who destroyed everything he touched. And now, as he walked away from the life you would never return to, he realized that perhaps he had always known this would end in ruin.

Because that’s what he was: ruin, wrapped in charm and wit and hollow smiles. And this—losing you—was the cost of pretending he could be anything else.

thx for reading <3

[meazalykov]

the critic

lena oberdorf x commentator!reader

summary: when lena gets tagged in a video clip, she approaches you

before the cameras, before the viral clips, before the edits, before your voice became synonymous with women’s soccer commentary, there was your games itself.

you used to play, back in the day. soccer was your life—practices in the morning, matches on weekends, hours spent refining your craft, the feel of the ball at your feet something almost sacred. 

you had dreams, big ones, of playing at the highest level, maybe even for the national team. but that all came crashing down when a spinal injury took you out of the game. 

one bad fall, a rough tackle by three players at once in a crucial match, and suddenly, everything you had worked for was gone. 

the doctors said you were lucky to be walking and running again, but for a long time, it didn’t feel like luck. 

it felt like a curse, like soccer was ripped away from you when you were just starting to get your footing in the world of professional sports. 

lyon was close to signing you from your childhood club. however, that changed. the deal had to fail and so did your dream.

so you had to shift gears. you couldn’t play anymore, but you could talk about the game, share your insights, your passion, your love for it with the world. 

and, as it turned out, people loved listening to you. your analysis was sharp, your delivery honest, your humor was sweet, and soon enough, you became a well-known voice in women’s soccer commentary. 

you poured everything you couldn’t put on the pitch into your work, and it paid off.

now, here you are—2023, world cup, germany vs colombia. the stadium is electric, fans buzzing with anticipation. 

it’s your job to capture all of it, to bring the game to life for those watching at home. 

alongside you in the commentator’s booth is tyrell, your close friend and co-host for one of the biggest sports streaming sites in the world. 

you adjust your headset, eyes scanning the field as the camera pans over the players. 

"alright, tyrell, we’ve got quite the matchup today," you say, your voice carrying across the broadcast. 

"germany is looking to bounce back after their last game, and colombia has been on fire in their latest matches with caicedo. it’s anyone’s game today."

"no doubt," tyrell agrees. 

“but you know i’ve got my eye on germany’s midfield. lena oberdorf, she’s got a lot of weight on her shoulders in this one. one of the best defensive midfielders in the world is on the pitch tonight." he finishes. 

you nod, your gaze locking onto oberdorf as she moves across the pitch. 

she’s been a standout for years—strong, composed, a true force in the midfield. 

you’ve always admired the way she plays, the way she commands respect on the field as she will roughly stop any opponent attack. 

but today, something feels off. you’ve been watching her closely during the first half, and you can’t help but feel like she’s holding back.

"honestly," you start, pausing to gather your thoughts, "i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

there’s a brief silence as tyrell turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

it’s not often that you call out a player like that, especially someone as highly regarded as oberdorf. 

"really?" he asks, curious. "what do you think’s going on with her?"

you lean forward slightly, watching as the replay of germany’s midfield play rolls across your monitor. 

"she’s not playing with her usual aggression. oberdorf is known for her ability to dominate the midfield, to break up play and transition quickly. but today, she’s been hesitant. this can’t continue if they don’t want someone like caicedo to get in their box. oberdorf needs to press harder, get more involved in the attack. if she steps it up in the second half, she can make the difference that germany needs."

your words hang in the air for a moment before tyrell responds, and the conversation shifts back to the overall match. 

but you can’t shake the feeling that your comment will stir something up. 

sure enough, by the time the game is over—colombia managing to scrape by with a fantastic win—your phone is buzzing nonstop. 

social media is ablaze with the clip of you critiquing oberdorf, the internet having latched onto the rare moment where you offered up something negative about a player you so clearly admired.

fans of both you and lena are eating it up, dissecting your analysis, making memes, and some even suggesting you had ulterior motives. 

it doesn’t help that you’ve been vocal in the past about your respect for oberdorf’s game. 

and maybe, if you’re being totally honest, there’s more to it than just respect. 

you’ve followed her career closely, always a little more interested in her games than others. not that you’d ever admit to having a bit of a crush on her—not publicly, anyway.

across the city, at the team hotel, lena oberdorf is stretched out on her bed, headphones in, trying to decompress after the match. 

her body is exhausted, germany didn’t get the result they needed. her phone buzzes with notifications, but she ignores it for now, lost in her thoughts.

that is, until laura freigang walks in, a mischievous grin on her face and her phone in hand. 

"lena," she says, her voice sings, "it looks like someone’s got their eye on you."

lena sits up, raising an eyebrow. "what are you talking about?"

laura tosses her phone onto the bed, and lena catches it, her eyes narrowing as she watches the video that’s already queued up. 

it’s you, sitting in the commentator’s booth, talking about her. her. 

"honestly, i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

lena blinks, her mind processing the words. she’s used to hearing praise, especially from someone like you, who’s usually more positive in your analysis. 

but this? it feels different. not harsh, but… honest. like you know she could do better, and that, in a weird way, feels almost flattering.

"see?" laura says, flopping onto the bed next to her. 

"she noticed you. she expects more from you, lena."

lena rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. 

it’s no secret, at least among her teammates, that she’s always found you attractive. she’s mentioned it once or twice—half-joking, half-serious—how she watches your broadcasts not just for the analysis but because, well, you’re easy on the eyes. 

but she never thought it would go beyond that. you were based in new york city, worlds away from her, and probably didn’t even know she existed outside of your job.

but now? maybe things have changed.

"i don’t want to get your hopes up because it could’ve been a simple analysis but maybe this is your shot," laura adds, nudging lena with her elbow. 

"go for it. what’s the worst that could happen?"

lena hesitates, the idea forming in her mind. it’s bold, sure, but she’s never been one to shy away from taking risks. "yeah… maybe i will."

later that night, you’re sitting in the hotel bar, winding down after a long day of commentary in australia. 

the buzz from the viral clip still lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re half-expecting to get some flak for it. but instead, it seems like people are more entertained by the whole thing than anything else. 

you take a sip of your drink, eyes scanning the room, when you hear a voice behind you.

"hey y/n-- I'm sorry, uh I hope i’m not interrupting."

you turn, and your breath catches in your throat for just a second. it’s lena oberdorf, standing right in front of you, looking a little nervous but still carrying that air of confidence she always has on the pitch.

how did she find you? maybe the german national team stayed nearby? i mean, you were told this was a popular bar in sydney.

however, why would lena go to a bar if she has to prepare for the important match against south korea?

"not at all," you manage, trying to keep your cool despite the sudden rush of nerves.

"what’s up?"

"i, uh, saw the clip," she says, rubbing the back of her neck. "the one where you talked about me."

you chuckle softly, feeling a slight flush in your cheeks. "yeah… i didn’t mean to come off too harsh. just being honest, you know?"

you didn’t know how to react, so you smile. no player has confronted you about your comments before. this is a first.

"no, i get it," she smiles, her eyes locking onto yours. 

"honesty’s good. i just… wanted to ask if you’d like to grab dinner sometime. maybe when you’re in germany next? i’d love to take you out." lena speaks in perfect english. 

you blink, surprised by the offer. of all the things you expected tonight, this wasn’t one of them. but looking at her now, her smile genuine and her eyes soft with hope, you can’t help but smile back.

"yeah," you say, heart racing just a little. "i’d like that."

you were a little older than her, older by two years, but she carried herself in a way that pulled you to her.

the world feels a little smaller, the distance between you and lena shrinking with a single conversation. 

you think that maybe you should critic her more often, kidding— of course.

my masterlist is here if you want to read more fics <3

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 3

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: Swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: the amount of comments and re-blogs for the first two parts of this story has blown me away. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this, and for all the love and support.

Word Count: 5,503

The world ceased to exist for Din the moment he saw your limp body sprawled on the floor. All that remains now is you; all that matters is you. He doesn't even remember closing the gap to get to you. One second he's frozen with fear and the next he's at your side, cradling your face in both hands. "Cyar'ika? Sweetheart, can you hear me?! Can you open your eyes?!" The tremble in Din's hands have now moved to his vocal chords, each word laced with worry and regret. "Come on, sweet girl. I need you to open your eyes." Din begs, gently tapping your cheek, but you give no response.

He's sure your eyes were open a moment ago.... or maybe it was wishful thinking, his mind conjuring up the image to give him hope. Ripping a glove off, he feels for your pulse. You're alive but your pulse is... wrong. It's much too fast. That combined with the trembling and sweat soaking your skin, it can only mean one thing; a blood infection. Din pulls up your blood encrusted shirt and gently removes your makeshift bandage to reveal an inflamed and angry looking blaster wound. "Dank farrick!" Din curses under his breath.

He'd had his fair share of infected wounds throughout the years, so he knows just how bad this can get. Guilt begins to consume him, the intensity threatening to drag him down into a pit of despair. He caused this. This is his fault. He'd abandoned you when all you did was love him. And now, this is what you have to show for that love. He'll never forgive himself if you... nope, that won't happen. "It's okay, Cyare. I've got you, I've got you," Din whispers as puts his glove on, then slides an arm under your back and the other under your knees.

He stands slowly with you, not wanting to aggravate your wound and tucks your head into his chest. A pained moan wheezes past your blue tinted lips. "Kriff, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Din's heart sinks at hearing you in pain, hoping you'll never have to make that sound again. You won't if he has his way. "I'm gonna get you help and then I'm taking you home," Din promised, then ran from the cave and back towards the village.

By the time he got close to the village, Din could barely walk. Almost an hour of continuous running had pretty much pushed him to the edge of his endurance. But every second was critical, so he'd pushed and pushed his now exhausted body, ignoring the protest of his lungs, his limbs and his back. He almost cried with relief when entering the village, falling to his knees and holding you tight. "Help! Somebody help her, quick!" Din screamed as loud as he could.

A group of villagers ran to where Din had collapsed, a few of them quickly taking you from his arms and into a large hut, while yelling at others to find the village doctor. "Where are... they... taking her?" Din asked, breathlessly. "Medical bay," a man answered, as he and another man helped Din to his feet, each draping his arms over their shoulders. "They'll take good care of her, promise." Din straightened, nodded his thanks to the men and on wobbly legs followed you into the hut.

Din felt utterly useless as he sat and watched the doctor and nurses tend to you. He wants to help, every instinct screaming at him to do something, but he can't. All he can do is sit and stare numbly at your deathly pale face and slowly rising chest. You've never looked so fragile before and it takes all of his willpower to not fall apart right then and there. He silently observes the medical team as they hook you up to a drip and monitor (courtesy of the New Republic, along with a generator and more modern equipment) and clean and stitch the wound on your side.

And in all this time you haven't even flinched. Was he too late? Do you even have the strength left to survive this? Din is pulled from his anxious thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and a soft but professional voice addressing him. "Mando?..." the doctor began, waiting until Din's helmet turned his way. "We've closed the wound and administered antibiotics to fight the infection. She's lost a lot of blood and is very weak. We're trying to bring her temperature down to a safe level, but all we can do now is wait. It's up to her now; she has to fight it."

"I understand," Din replied sorrowfully. "Thank you for everything." "Of course," the doctor nodded and lightly squeezed Din's shoulder. "We'll give you some privacy." He cocked his head at the nurses, silently gesturing for them to follow him. Din sat beside you, at a loss for words. How could he have let this happen? If he hadn't been so closed minded, so damn stubborn and proud, if he'd just talked things through with you as you'd begged him to do, you wouldn't be here now, fighting for your life. You'd saved his life and he'd almost cost you yours. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness. But if by some miracle, you do forgive him and give him another chance, he'll never take you for granted and never leave you again, no matter what.

Din removes his gloves, desperately needing to feel you, skin to skin. Taking your smaller hand in his, he closes his eyes and just allows himself to feel. The softness of your skin, the warmth, the ridges of your knuckles. How he'd missed you! "Cyar'ika, I don't know if you can hear me..." Din murmured, guilt eating him alive, "But if you can, I want you to know how sorry I am for everything I've put you through. For everything I said. I was wrong and stupid. I want to make things right, so you have to fight. I know you can; I know how strong you are. Just... don't give up." Din prays you can hear him, but if you can, your still body shows no sign of recognition.

Sweat trickles down your forehead due to your fever. Din reaches into a bucket of iced water set beside your bed and rings out a cloth, placing it on your forehead. "Can we come in?" Din looks over his shoulder to see Omera and Winta by the entrance of the hut. With a silent nod, he beckons them in. They stand on the opposite side of the bed, Omera holding your other hand, while Winta leans down to lay her head by yours, arm slung over your chest in a gentle hug. "Is she gonna be okay now?" Winta looks at Din, eyes full of hope. Her expectant and pleading expression brings a crushing weight of uncertainty to settle inside Din's chest, because honestly, he doesn't know.

"Um..." Din clears his throat, "I hope so. It's too early to tell right now, but the doctors and nurses are doing all they can for her. Only time will tell." "What happened?" Omera asked through held back tears. Din looked from Omera to Winta and back to Omera again. Omera, understanding what Din is trying to silently convey - that this is not something a child should hear - gently places her hand on Winta's shoulder and asks her to wait outside. Winta places a kiss on your cheek and leaves. Omera takes a seat beside the bed. "Tell me," she urges, softly. "I found her..." Din's tone becomes frustrated, "Bleeding to death on a kriffing cave floor! She was all alone. I never should have left her; this is all my fault." Admitting it out loud just makes Din even more angry with himself.

"It's not your fault," Omera insists. "You couldn't have known this was going to happen." "But she shouldn't have been here inthe first place. She should have been home with me, safe." A moment of awkward silence passes before Din asks, "Did... she tell you what happened?" "Yes," Omera nodded. Din sighed. "I failed her." "You're here now. That's what matters. I'm not taking sides here, you're both my friends, but you should know she hasn't been herself since you left, more like she's been a shell of herself. She's missed you, so much. You and Grogu are her life. She's been so lost without you both."

Omera's words hit Din more brutally than that Mudhorn did back on Arvala - 7. He thought he couldn't feel any worse, but he was wrong. "Dank farrick!" Din swore, quietly, feeling sick at the thought of what he's done to you. "I... I don't know how to make this right." Din's shoulders slump in defeat. "Start by being here for her now. That's all you can do... until she wakes up," Omera offered, sympathetically. Din nodded. "Thank you for looking after her." Omera looked at you with a sad smile. "There's no need to thank me. She's family." Din's heart warmed at Omera affection for you. Gripping your hand tighter, he looks at your peaceful face and with conviction he replies, "Yes, she is."

The nurse returned a few minutes later to check on you. Omera took her leave - not wanting to impose - telling Din she's here for him if he needs her. Din held onto your hand the entire time the nurse fussed about you. "Hmm... her temperature's still a little high," she frowned, "Other than that, she seems to be doing okay." Din didn't get a chance to respond as your hand suddenly tightened around his and your whole body began to violently convulse. "What's-" "She's having a seizure!" the nurse exclaimed, grabbing an extra pillow to place above your head so you don't hit it on the headboard.

Din shot to his feet, ready to hold you, to comfort you. "Don't touch her!" the nurse warned. "You could hurt her if you try to restrict her movements." "Well... what do we do?!" Din shouted, feeling like he's about to lose his damn mind. "She just has to go through it I'm afraid. She's fitting because of the fever. These seizures look frightening, but they're normally quite harmless," the nurse reassured. As if that's any comfort right now. After what felt like an eternity - but was only a couple of minutes, according to the nurse - your jolting body began to calm until you were still once again.

Din released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. The nurse checked your vitals again. "She stable now. I'll come back to check on her in an hour," she informed Din with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, before leaving the hut. As soon as the coast was clear, Din ripped his helmet off, dropping it by his feet without regard. He quickly but gently placed both hands on your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours, his tears dripping onto your face. "Don't you ever frighten me like that again! Do you hear me?!... Never again." The last two words came out in a choked whisper. Din kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. "Please my love, don't leave me."

Din winced internally the second those words left his mouth; those very same words that had been haunting him in his sleep. The last words you had said to him. Din reached for the cloth that had fallen on the floor during your fit, dunked it in the bucket and placed it back on your forehead before reaching for his helmet. He knows anyone could walk in at any moment, so it's best not to tempt fate. He places it back on and for the first time since taking the creed the helmet feels like a barrier instead of a comfort, the inch of Beskar separating you feeling more like a thousand miles.

The next several hours went by in a surreal blur for Din as he watched the doctor and nurses taking care of you, and also watching you for any indication of waking. They were even kind enough to bring him food since he never left the hut. The evening drifted into night, the whole village becoming quieter as everyone settled into their homes. Din remained glued to your bedside, politely refusing the offer of a hut to rest in.

He will not be more than a few feet away from you. A nurse assured him no one would enter again until morning - unless in case of an emergency, of course - so he can remove his helmet if he wishes. Din prepared himself to sit vigil with you all night. He took off his helmet and breathed deeply. If you wake tonight, his face is the first thing he wants you to see.

Sound is the first thing you notice, crickets chirping distantly, a strange beeping and... a voice? It sounds distorted, the words not making any sense to you. An involuntary whimper escapes you as you try to move your head, which at this moment, feels like a ten tonne boulder. In your hazy state, you feel something touching your face, smoothing featherlight strokes across you cheek. The voice is becoming louder, clearer as your mind begins to catch up with your body. It sounds familiar and you use it as a beacon to hone in on. Your eyelids fight against your will to open but you finally manage to do so, only to be met with blurry vision.

A few more blinks and your vision clears, focusing on the once blurry figure hovering over you. A face, but not just any face. Brown eyes, vulnerable and cautious, but also filled with relief and tenderness stare back at you. Brown floppy locks drape over his forehead and salt and pepper stubble adorn his jaw. You are completely taken aback. Are you dead? Or is your mind playing another cruel trick on you? "Hi, Cyare..." a voice you never thought you'd hear again whispers lovingly. It's that which snaps you from your stupor, confirming that you are alive and he's here!

"Din?!" your voice croaks harshly from disuse, scraping your throat on the way out. "Shhh..." Din continues to smooth the apple of your cheek. "Try not to speak Y/N? You're safe now." Your eyes shoot around the room, confusion and panic overtaking your senses. "You're in the village..." Din's low timbre brings an instant calm to you. "You're going to be okay." You try to get up but a sharp pain flashes through your torso causing you to gasp. Din's hands are pressed to your shoulders, gently but firmly holding you down, "Don't move. You'll tear the stitches," he tells you. Stitches? Then it all comes back to you; the attack on the village, the blaster shot and the cave.

Your eyes fall on Din's again and you panic. "Oh shit!" you gasp, weakly and shut your eyes tight, turning your head away. "Y...your helmet! Where's your helmet?!" Your heart beats wildly in your chest, guilt and alarm filling you once more. Maybe he forgot to put it back on, and now I've broken his creed, again! You bite your lower lip in worry, awaiting the inevitable chastisement... only it never comes. "Y/N?" Din's bare hand cups your jaw, turning your head to face him. "It's okay, look at me." You remain frozen, eyelids firmly locked in place, unsure of what you should do. "Please, Cyar'ika..." Din's voice is calm, soothing. "Open your eyes. I want you to see me."

It was with trepidation you slowly opened your eyes, Din's warm smile instantly easing your anxiety. Heaven's that smile! It would have floored you if you'd hadn't already been laying down. "There you are," Din said warmly. Too much is happening to fast for you to comprehend. "Din?... What?... How?" you stutter after every word, a part of you still unable to believe he's here. "I came for you, "Din interjected with purpose. "When I heard what happened, I couldn't get here fast enough. And when I couldn't find you I..." Din's voice shuddered, "I thought I'd lost you forever. I was so afraid."

The raw devastation of Din's voice along with the wretched fear in his eyes stabbed you right through the heart, releasing a torrent of tears; tears of heartbreak, of frustration, of relief and of love all mixed together in one huge outpouring of emotion. At once, Din's hands found your cheeks and he lowered his forehead to yours. "I am so so sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I was a fool. I love you." He gently pressed his lips to yours and, even though he'd hurt you, you found yourself wrapping your arms around his keck, returning the kiss and holding him close. "I love you, too." You couldn't deny it, deny him. You didn't want to.

Din slowly pulled his lips from yours, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. "You should rest now, Cyare. Your body needs it. We'll talk more when you're stronger." "Wait!" You grip Din's wrist in panic. "You're not leaving, right?! You'll be here when I wake up?" Din smiled and kissed the back of your hand. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart, I promise." With that reassurance, you allow yourself to drift off once more.

When you awoke again it was to the poking and prodding of fingers checking your pulse, you temperature and your wound. "How are you feeling Y/N?" a kind older voice asked. "Mmm... thirsty..." you cough as your parched throat sticks together. Din appears immediately, holding a cup of water and a straw in front of you so you don't have to move. "Well, the good news is you're going to be fine," the doctor says, encouragingly. "And the bad news?...." you question, cautiously. "The injury you sustained was quite deep, so you'll have to take it easy for several weeks while you're healing. I know how you like to keep yourself busy," he adds with an apologetic look. "When you're feeling up to it I'll get you some soup. He places a hand on your shoulder and you thank him before he leaves.

Moments later a soft hiss turn your focus to Din as he removes his helmet. Your first thought is to shut your eyes and turn away, but you stop yourself. Din wants you to see him and, damn it, you want to see him too. The other two times you had seen him had been under dire circumstances but now... now you get to really see him and he takes your breath away. Your eyes trace every slope and contour of his features, taking your time to really appreciate just how devastatingly handsome he is. It feels wrong that he's had to hide such beauty for most of his life. Din offers a sheepish smile. "Hi," he breathes out quietly. It's obvious he's been in great emotional turmoil as he looks at you filled with remorse and with teary eyes.

"You stayed," you sigh in relief. "Of course I did," asserted Din, as if the thought of him doing anything other than stay is ludacris. "I told you I'm not going anywhere." You couldn't help but begin to cry again. Din brought a hand to your face, gently wiping your tears. "Hey, hey, you're okay." he whispered, fighting back his own tears. It kills him to see you in this state. "It's okay. Let it out. I've got you, I've got you." He so badly wants to gather you into his arms and tuck you into his chest as you fall apart, but he can't move you yet so he settles for resting his forehead against yours again. "I was... so...f...frightened!" you whimper between sobs, gripping onto his wrists for comfort. Hearing such intense fear in your words finally broke Din. His sobs joined yours, unashamedly.

"I don't know where to even begin," he choked out, "I'm so sorry.... fuck," he huffed at himself, sitting back to look you in the eyes. "I know that's not enough. There are no words to express just how sorry I am. I hurt you, and not just you, but Grogu too. I hurt the two most important people in my life. What kind of man does that?!" You can feel the self loathing radiating off of Din and it's agonising to witness. Before you can offer any comfort, Din continues, "I was so caught up in my dedication to The Way of the Mandalore that I refused to accept your perspective. I refused to see anything beyond the creed." Din hung his head in shame. "I was wrong and for that I'll always be sorry."

Wow! You weren't expecting that. The creed is everything to DIn, so for him to put you before it shows you just how much he must still love you. "What made you change your mind?" you ask in bewilderment. Din looked back to you and chuckled, lightly. "I had some sense knocked into me by Karga. He said some things I needed to hear." The corner of your mouth ticks up in an amused smirk. "I guess I owe him one." Both of your smiles faded as the tension still lingered. "How's Grogu?" You fight to keep from choking up again at the thought of him. Din rubs the back of his neck. "He's uh... he's okay, but he's missed you terribly."

Your heart aches for your poor liittle boy. "I missed him too, both of you. Is he here?" "No, he's with Karga. I didn't want to bring him in case..." Din trailed off, bile rising up his throat at the thought of finishing that sentence. Even though you feel the sting of disappointment, you nod in understanding. The last thing you want is for Grogu to see you like this. As long as he's okay, that'll be comfort enough for now. Do you need anything?" Din asks, breaking the silence that has fallen again. "Yeah. Could you help me sit up?" "You shouldn't move," Din insists, worry lacing his voice. "Please?..." you shift awkwardly, "I just need to change position."

Reluctantly Din nodded and stood over you, threading his arms under yours and around your back. Stars! You've missed his touch, the comforting warmth of his body against yours, even through his armour. "Easy now," Din cautioned as he carefully lifts you to a sitting position. You suck in sharply through your teeth as a sudden sharp pain spreads through your side. You feel Din tense in in response. "I'm okay," you reassure him. Din sat you back against the headboard and sat on the edge of the bed. "No, you're not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Not the way I treated you or the things I said. Dank farrick.! You almost died because of me!"

Din is on the verge of completely losing it. The only other time you'd seen him like this was when Grogu was taken by the Dark Troopers. "Din." You grab his hand, holding tight to ground him. "This isn't your fault. No one could have foreseen this." Din shook his head vehemently, unwilling to accept your words. "I should never have left you here. You should have been with me. Kriff, when I think back to the things I said to you..." Din lifts his head t the ceiling, rolls his eyes back and sighs. "It was cruel and I was wrong. I trust you. I was just so blinded by my arrogance, but deep down, I guess I understood why you had to remove my helmet. I just wouldn't admit it to myself, so I lashed out at you."

Din's fingers tighten around yours. "The truth is, if it were the other way around and you were hurt, I'd do the same thing." "Oh, Din." Tears burn your eyes as he lays his soul bare. "Can I ask you something?" "Of course, Cyare." Din smoothes the back of your hand, a silent gesture for you to continue. "Why now? Why are you allowing me to see you now? What about the creed? I know it's important to you." " It is," Din agreed, 'But you are far more important, and I wanted to show you just how important you are to me." You have no words, your eyes and heartfelt smile telling him what you cannot put into words. "I uh... I don't expect you to forgive me right now, I don't deserve it. But if you'll come home with me, I'll wait for as long as you need to-"

"Shhh..." you press a finger to Din's lips and look into his brown puppy dog eyes with tenderness. "I've already forgiven you, Ner Karta." Din is stunned! "W... what? Why?" He can't comprehend why you're so willing to forgive him, after all the pain he's caused. You reach over to stroke his cheek, feeling the rough stubble tickle your fingertips. "Back in the cave... I'd accepted I was going to die," you sniffle as you remember the feeling of despair that came with said acceptance. "All I could think about were you and Grogu, and I realised... I didn't want to die being angry with you. I wanted to go with only love in my heart, so in that moment I chose to forgive you."

Din exhaled as if he'd been punched in the chest. He's in complete awe of you. He'd hurt you beyond measure, almost gotten you killed and you still found it in your heart to forgive him. "I don't deserve your forgiveness," he mumbled in disgust at himself, eyes cast down. "I don't deserve you." You gently hook your fingers under his chin, lifting his head up so that you're looking into each others eyes. "Yes you do," you declare with certainty, "Everyone deserves a second chance, Cayare." Din closed his hand over yours resting on his cheek and, pulling it away, brushed a soft kiss on your palm. "I promise I will never hurt you like that again. No matter what problems come our way, we'll handle them together." "Together," you repeated breathily.

Din stared longingly into you eyes for a moment, then leaned into your face and you met him halfway, your lips joining in a delicate sweep, gently at first but becoming more intense as the seconds passed. His hands slowly slide up your arms and around your back, pulling you closer as he groaned into your now open mouth, his tongue caressing yours. You loop your arms around his neck, relishing in the familiar taste and feel you've been needing but denied for so long. It's as if an invisible weight has been lifted from your soul, all the anguish and sorrow floating away into the ether. In it's place; love, relief and the promise of renewal. You feel reborn. You slowly pull away from Din's plush lips, bury your head in the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent of leather, gunpowder and something uniquely him.

Everything around you stills as you hold each other and just exist in this moment. "I love you so much," Din purrs into your ear. "I love you too," you reply, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I promise..." Din begins, straightening up and tucking your hair behind your ear, "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you." You chuckle quietly and shake your head. "That's not what I want." Din looks at you, confusion crinkling his brow. "I don't want you to live in guilt everyday. All I want is my family back and to move on from this. Can I have that?" Din's features soften and he smiles in understanding. "Meshla, you can have anything you want."

You pull din in for another kiss, this time a bit more forcefully. His eyes widen and he chuckles in response. Din finishes the kiss with little pecks to your nose, making you giggle. "Din?" "Mmm?" "Did you mean it?" Din tilted his head in question. You've seen him do that often with his helmet on and seeing him do it now without it is adorable. "Mean what?" "That I can have anything I want?" "Anything!" he declared with passion, holding onto your arms. You throw him a cheeky grin. "Can you get me some soup? I'm starving."

Din's shoulders relaxed and he laughed endearingly. "Of course. I'll be right back." He put on his helmet and walked to the entrance, stopping to look at you once more before leaving. Slumping back you lean your head against the headboard and sigh happily in sheer relief. It's over. This whole nightmare is finally over and in the past where it belongs. Your heart is finally at peace.

Two days later you're given the all clear by the doctor. As you finish packing your belongings into your bag a pair of strong arms wrap around your body in a loving embrace. You lean your head back onto Din's shoulder pauldron, close your eyes and hum in contentment. "All packed, Cyarika?" "All packed," you beam as you turn in his arms and plant a kiss on his helmet. "I almost forgot..." Din reaches into a pocket, your jaw dropping as he pulls out your beaded bracelet (now cleaned from dirt and blood). With a gasp you take it, looking it over in disbelief. "I found it not too far from the cave." "I thought I'd lost it," you exclaim, voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you!"

You slide it onto your wrist and wrap your arms around Din's waist, hugging him tightly. Din brings his hand to the back of your head, gently stroking your hair. "I can't wait to hold Grogu again," you gush into Din's chest. "He'll be overjoyed to have his mother back." You lift your head from his chest, your eyes gleaming with excitement. "Does he know I'm coming home? Have you told him?" A small chuckle came through the vocoder. "No, I thought we'd surprise him." You couldn't contain the massive grin that spread from cheek to cheek as you imagine the soon to be reunion with your son.

Just as you turn to reach for your bag, Din grabs it, slinging it over his shoulder. "I can carry the bag. It's not heavy," you protest teasingly with your hands on your hips. "Your not carrying anything until you're fully healed." You know that finality in his tone too well. "Bossy!" you roll your eyes in jest. "Yep," Din replied, popping the P for emphasis. He wrapped his arm around you and under your arm to support you, since walking is still slow and painful for you. Outside the hut a group of people had come to see the two of you off. Omera and Winta held onto you like there was no tomorrow.

"I never would have gotten through the last month without you," you whispered to Omera, trying to hold back your tears. "You're the best friend I've ever had." "Promise you'll visit us soon," Omera pressed. "I Promise," you smiled. "Will you bring Grogu with you?" Winta asked, excitedly. "Do you really think he'd allow me to come without him?" you laughed fondly as you pictured his little face. Winta giggled and you pulled them both into another hug. "I'll miss you both so much." "We'll miss you too," Omera said sadly. While saying your goodbyes and thanks to the others, Din approached Omera. "Thank you," Din exclaimed, "For everything. For being there for her." He knows he owes Omera a debt he can never repay.

"Of course," she smiled softly at him. "I'm just so glad you two could work things out." "Me too," Din smiled to himself. He looked down at Winta and patted her head affectionately, "Take care, you two." Din walked over to you, placing his hand at the small of your back. "Ready?" You smile and nod and Din holds onto you gently yet firmly as you slowly make your way to the the Razor Crest. Oh, how you've missed this big hunk of junk! You settle in the co-pilot's seat in the cockpit, the smells and sounds you'd taken for granted welcoming you back in their own way, and you take a moment to appreciate everything around you, even the way Din so expertly prepares the controls for take off.

Din turns to you, lacing his fingers through yours on your lap. "You ready to go home, Meshla?" he asks you, lovingly. You smile, placing your other hand over his. "I'm ready." Din returns to the controls, somehow managing to pilot the ship one handed while still holding your hand. The Crest rattles and shakes as it ascends, every minute bringing you closer to home, closer to Grogu. Silent tears begin to fall, but for the first time in a long time, the tears are not of sadness, but of joy.

@picketniffler @johnssherlock221 @nicolebarnes

[silverflqmes]

agszc and the WAY THEY SAY I LOVE YOU CAUSE I'M STILL SCREAMING OVER CLOUD'S DATING HCS YOU MADE SNSKDJKD

໒⦂ ( 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ) 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

notes. you might be confused with the use of parenthesis but it’s exactly what you think.. not all of them ACTUALLY say those words.. read and see🫡

genre. fluff + angst ( sephiroth’s )

for @melukonova <3

ft. sephiroth, cloud strife, zack fair, genesis rhapsodos, angeal hewley

disclaimer. ok, poetry IS NOT my strong suit, from time to time i experiment with it but i am not the best at it so keep criticism tame please..

gender neutral! reader.

➫ 𝓢𝗘𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ sephiroth’s confession would be something that requires patience. he doesn’t have much experience with love, as he wasn’t exposed to it much throughout his life.

⌗ it doesn’t mean he’s incapable of feeling it, rather, it’s a matter of him truly realizing those feelings he has and how deep they run. now the way those words come out.. would likely be influenced by heightened emotions.

a beat of silence passed before the the silver haired hero closed the door, turning to face you with an expression you weren’t certain his features were even capable of making. “what were you thinking??”

he was distressed, brows knitted together as you watched his chest rise and fall unevenly, each breath more irregular than the last. you assumed it was anxiety — something you’d never associated with sephiroth.. until now, that was. “i was doing my job, an injury or few is unavoidable at times, you know that.” came your mumble, feeling your own brows furrow.

of course he knew that, the top hero knew that better than anyone.. but this. “there are other ways to get things done, what you did today was completely reckless — as though you had no care whatsoever for your life.” he argued, moonlight bangs swishing from right to left when his head shook. “you could have died!”

now it was your turn to get frustrated as you stood up from your place despite your aching muscles, walking up to his broad frame. “and that’s suddenly an issue now? our line of work demands for us to risk our lives everyday no matter the mission! we both knew this going into our relationship, so why are you suddenly so worked up over this??” you matched his tone, not fond of the approach he’d taken in addressing you.

“because i nearly lost you!” he shouted, overcome with emotions so powerful, he couldn’t even stop the onyx, gloved hands that flew to your shoulders, clinging desperately to something.. something even he didn’t know of.

his breath stuttered as he lowered his head, trembling in his place. “i can’t.. i-i can’t have you leave me, too…” the first class SOLDIER whispered in a voice so broken, so defeated, you had to remind yourself that behind this towering, imposing powerhouse.. was a human being, with feelings of his own, no matter how well he hid them. a human that knew loss, and an unwelcomed amount of it.. and feared more of it.

unsure of what to do, you pulled him down into a hug, feeling your anger fade into nothingness as you allowed your eyes to close. “i won’t, not ever.”

➫ 𝓒𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗗 𝓢𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗙𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ he says get help but he’s the one that needs help.. bro just, he can’t say it — he’s too embarrassed and he just doesn’t rlly know how to bring it across properly..

⌗ in the end, he opts for a more subtle method that aerith had once told him about. it required minimal speech on his end, and called for actions to take the reigns — perfectly up his alley.. as long as you got the memo.

“cloud?” you called out in surprise, turning to find a familiar spiky haired blond with an ivory colored flower in between his gloved fingers.

his lightly tanned cheeks were dusted with a tint of pink, seemingly reddening as he held out his hand, averting his gaze. “you said you wanted me to bring you something back from my delivery in sector five.. figured i’d bring something you don’t find everyday here.”

your knowledge of flowers was minimal, as midgar.. wasn’t exactly filled with them. you only rarely saw them from a distance, and on the occasions that you had, normally they were too pricey to purchase.

somehow, however, the owner of strife delivery services seemed to have gotten his hands on one singular flower. when you’d ask for a small souvenir from his travels, it had been a joke, simply you joshing like you normally had with him.. though it appeared this time, that he had taken it seriously.

you cleared your throat, letting out a sheepish laugh. “you didn’t have to do that, but thank you — i’ve.. never received a flower before, much less held one..” you confessed in a soft tone, taking the bloom from his grasp as you brought it close to your face.

even without leaning in to take in its scent, the sweetness greeted your senses as a smile etched itself onto your lips. “aah~ it smells wonderful, what kind of flower is it??”

he rubbed his neck at the question, feeling himself grow more nervous by the second. “it’s um.. it’s called gardenia. aerith’s mom insisted i took one back with me, since they were the newest edition to her garden.. said something about it having a deeper meaning, too.” cloud spoke up, finally lifting his mako-azure eyes to meet yours.

you lowered the flower in your hands, tilting your head. “deeper meaning? i didn’t think flowers were so complex.” you snickered into your free hand before grinning brightly at him. “but, go on. i’m curious!”

the tips of his ears seemed to burn with red as his lips parted before he turned his back to you, folding his arms. “o-on second thought, i forgot..”

“WHAT?? no way, it must be good if you won’t say! come on cloud!” you urged him, moving in front of him to see his face, but all you caught was the faintest smile as he continued to turn away. so cryptic!

➫ 𝓩𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝓕𝗔𝗜𝗥 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ zack uh- as we can tell, he isn’t exactly the ‘think before you speak’ kinda guy — whatever comes out, comes out.. with no regard to how blunt or sudden it might end up sounding.

⌗ now how would that apply to a confession? well, i think he would just say it without even thinking of the impact behind his words. it would just come out naturally, casually.. and you would end up staring like- did he fr just say that??

a sigh left your lips as you turned the page of the newest issue you’d picked up of shinra’s very own magazine, because what didn’t the prestigious electric company have to their name?

meanwhile zack was busying himself with yet another set of squats, clearly antsy. missions had been quiet as of late, mundane even. at the moment, you were both occupying the second class floor, waiting for orders.. but nothing came.

a groan left the nicknamed puppy’s lips as he halted his movements before draping finally himself onto the spot on the couch you hadn’t occupied. “man i bet the firsts are out kicking ass! they really don’t have anything for us to do here??”

you licked your thumb to flip to the next spread, humming. “unless you feel like getting involved with professor hojo’s questionable ass tasks, i’d rather sit here in boredom.” you confessed, missing the grimace on his face since your eyes remained on the passage you had been reading.

“i guess you have a point.. but still.” he pouted, leaning into your face as a means of getting your attention. “can’t we go ask lazard?? he’s gotta have something by now for us, right?!”

a laugh seemed to leave your lips at his complaints as you lifted your eyes at last to meet his zircon ones, a smile stretching across your lips. “and, what? have him tell us no for the fifth time in the last two hours?”

his appendages seemed to part in protest before they jutted out once more. “w-well! for all we know a mission could have popped up on that computer of his right now! with angeal and them gone, they’re bound to ask us! i’m sure of it!” the second class SOLDIER insisted, clenching his fists in determination. “come on, y/n! it beats reading whatever propaganda you’re reading!”

it was partly true, shinra’s magazine went on and on about sephiroth’s feats if it wasn’t already in the daily paper or news. and one look at those puppy eyes had you crumbling. damn him for that effortlessly adorable face..

“fine, we’ll ask one last time.. but if he says no, you owe me a drink from the vending machine since i paid last time!” you huffed out, tossing your copy back on the the coffee table as you stood up with your hands on your hips.

as though sparkles had appeared in his eyes, zack hopped to his feet before engulfing you in a tight hug. “for real?? you’re the best, y/n!! i love you! i love you! i love you!!”

➫ 𝓖𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗦 𝓡𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗦 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ ah, the romantic and the one that does too much because everyone else ain’t doing enough ( his words ) — genesis. you can expect a very enigmatic brain scratching confession..

⌗ or in other words, the cheesiest kind of confession that involves poetry, some form of incorporation with loveless, and just some frivolous display of his affections for you in case you don’t pick up on the hints..

“y/n, my dear! won’t you hang back awhile? our work is done for today.. perhaps you’ll indulge me in a piece i worked on, hm?” the redhead spoke up, causing you to pause in your tracks as you blinked over at him.

a piece? “you mean.. poetry?” you inquired for certainty, surprised that he had the spare time to be writing something. “i’m not the best at deciphering metaphors and whatnot.. but i’d be willing to hear what you have.” you smiled, eager to see what he had been working on in his free time.

“not to worry!” he waved you off, pulling out a small notebook from his long coat. “even the foolish and emotionally unintelligent, like our beloved sephiroth could understand!” genesis laughed out, fearless of his friend — or in his eyes, rival — as usual.

you let out a nervous chuckle as you pulled up a chair to hear what he’d prepared, praying that your silver haired friend did not hear.. not that he would care, anyway. just genesis being genesis.. “well um, i’ll do my best to somewhat comprehend what you wrote.” you offered, anyway, placing your hands on your lap as a means of resting them.

the male dressed in crimson took it as a sign to commence, lifting his fist up to clear his throat before holding up his poem. “in a bed of asters, the tears of the goddess.. blossoms a favored one amidst a world or filth and endless disasters — a beauty that wears star formed petals for a bodice..and adorns droplet shaped blades of which its creator once wept.” genesis paused, trailing a finger down to the next line. “one day, a new flower would emerge — tall, scarlet, and proud.. tenderly well kept, and yet.. as sorrowed as a rain cloud.”

you almost wanted to question why, curiosity overtaking you despite the urge to giggle at a few.. choice of words he made. how couldn’t you when it was so reminiscent of the usual reciting he did of his most favorite work of literature.

compelled by your zealousness, you fed into your inquisitiveness. “why was it sorrowed?”

a soft chuckle tumbled past his lips at the awe in your voice as he closed the book with a low hum. “for it was loveless, without its starry accomplice.. that bloomed on a path far away enough to diverge.” he finished gently before sliding a hand to your cheek. “nevertheless, that is but fiction.. as our paths will remain entwined, and my heart shall not bleed with my beloved star around.”

➫ 𝓐𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗔𝗟 𝓗𝗘𝗪𝗟𝗘𝗬 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ ah, yes, the confession of his love.. yet another unspoken way of proclaiming his feelings for you, although i believe his method may just be a little more meaningful.. but just a little.

⌗ however, what would call for the confession exactly, and the realization of his feelings? personally, i believe it’d have either been something in the heat of the moment — in other words, you being in danger, or perhaps.. an inquiry, in regards to the buster sword glued to his back.

“earlier..” your began, eyeing your lover with a curious gaze. “that was the first i’d ever seen you draw the buster sword.. for the longest time, i convinced myself it was decorative, or something.. but there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

the rag in angeal’s hand came to a pause at the question, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “i remember zack asking me that several times before and i still haven’t presented him with a proper answer.” he mused, eyes softening as he gazed upon his weapon. “growing up, my family was not one for riches. we had enough to get by, thankfully, but making money was hard work on my parents — specifically my father.”

a breeze passed through the few strands of hair that frames his face as he gazed upon the sky. “still, he had wanted to gift me something for passing the SOLDIER exam, and had this forged for me.” he smiled gently, closing his eyes. “it took him a very long time to recover financially for his debts in having this buster made, so long that it cost him his very life in the end..” the first class SOLDIER spoke up, allowing his eyes to lower back down to the blade in his hands. “and so, i do my best to avoid bringing any wear, tear or rust upon it.. as it represents not only my dreams and honor, but the efforts and sacrifice for its creation.” he finished steadily, finally meeting your stare. “but for you, i would draw it without a second thought.”

your boyfriend was already impressive to begin with- the most humble and noble person you had come to know.. but this? it had left you in complete awe to know how sentimental he truly was, despite his stoic demeanor. and for him to have used his beloved weapon to shield you from harm — what did that mean? that he.. held you in higher regard than it..?

“you.. you would do that for me?” your inquiry was stupid, as he had done it once already, earlier in fact.. but angeal nodded, regardless, the small smile on his lips expanding, even if it was just a pinch wider.

“if it guarantees your safety.. in a heartbeat.” he answered with little delay, a fondness in his mako tinted eyes — one that he only ever really showed to you.

notes. zack being the only one who actually says i love you verbatim.. meanwhile the others are cryptic and expect you to guess ( cloud.. genesis.. ) or say it without needing to say those three words.. crazy tbh

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[moviestarmartini]

ella es mi fiesta — jude bellingham x hispanic!reader

es la favorita, la mujer más buena / la que más me gusta de todas las nenas / es la mamacita, se me agua la boca / que no más las miro y todo me provoca.

summary: jude has completed his move to madrid, and while you watch him shine, you've got a wedding to plan.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: wedding!! tried not to specify much so it adapts to everything (methinks), good mother/daughter relationship lol, short nsfw but still 18+, brief female masturbation, unprotected sex (not endorsing it!!!), lots and lots of sappy crying, smau at both the beginning and the end, sentences in spanish, a paragraph in spanish will be translated at the end hehe

previous part

A bigger, brighter spotlight started to shine on your fiancé. 

You knew Jude deserved that and more, and you were more than satisfied with his success. If college wasn’t occupying your nights, you saw him at the Bernabeu whenever you could, preferring to sit outside than inside the VIP boxes to feel la afición you grew up with. Feel that passion and support surrounding you, coursing through your veins. 

Nothing had really changed; you still supported him through thick and thin. You cried when he scored a brace against Barcelona, and held him close after the endless recovery hours when he was injured. The fact he was physically closer only improved your relationship further. 

You never knew how much you needed to have him close by. 

But being at Real Madrid had its disadvantages. You barely got to hang out around campus to avoid people asking too many questions, wanting to know more about your relationship with the golden boy. But most of this chatter wasn't even questions about you or him, they were directed towards your relationship. 

The same comments you’d read on Twitter and his Instagram Posts— not yours, considering you decided to keep your account private for the time being. Things ranging from your age, the time you’ve been dating before the proposal to downright wishing you wouldn’t even make it to the wedding and just cancel the engagement. 

You’d discussed these comments with Jude, and his reassurance was more than enough to keep you at peace about your relationship. But the criticism only made your body burn with the necessity to prove everyone wrong. So you kept your head down, concentrating on your studies and planning the wedding on the side. You had bimonthly reports to Jude about the progress of everything, though Denise had been a godsend this whole time. Any decision you needed an opinion on, she was there to provide the most helpful insight when Jude wasn’t able.  

As he settled into the team, the teammates he grew closer to got to meet you, all of them absolutely adoring you and the pair you made with the englishman. 

“When are we getting our wedding party ask? Cama here wants to be the flower man.” Tchouameni joked, elbowing his fellow french national on the ribs as the group exploded with laughter. 

During one of the international breaks Jude surprised you with his return by joining you during a cake tasting. He wasn’t fully recovered from the injury and was sent back, having taken a few hours off to be with his ‘best girl’— he said himself. 

“Shoo, or I’m going to report to the mister that you’re playing hooky.” You stuck your tongue out while dropping him off at Ciudad Real Madrid for his recovery training. The truth was, you had a dress fitting that afternoon. Your mom, Denise, your cousin and your best friend were in attendance. 

You’d find your dream dress at a boutique in the city center, the streets crowded enough for people to recognize you and snap a few blurry pictures entering the shop. None of those wearing the dress, thank goodness, but by the time you found out people started to realize you and Jude were actually getting married that year, you were too elated to care. The dress fit like a glove, and your mom couldn’t help but sob by seeing you in it. She bought it on the spot without much consideration, and considering you were the only girl in your nuclear home, your mother was going all out for her little girl’s wedding. 

As the temperatures dropped, the planning became more frantic. You had fifty calls to make every single day confirming everything, keeping Jude updated and checking one last time for the RSVPs. As November edged in, you only felt more and more nervous. 

“Are we too insane for this? We should’ve waited for two years from now maybe…” You wondered out loud to Jude as you finished the engagement photoshoot. Brunch was your thing, so it was a playful twist on the theme. 

“Look at me,” He incited, taking your face in his hand. His eyes were full of reassurance, and it always surprised you to see how he never doubted anything for a second. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. If you want to delay it for fifteen years I’ll wait patiently.” The photographer was already packing up his things, but perked up when he noticed the intimate moment going on. He didn’t interrupt, just taking a few candids. 

His understanding just melted away any doubts instead of reinforcing them. You scooted closer in your chair. “I’m not moving anything. The wedding’s in a month, and I couldn’t be happier.” You cooed, your fiancé humming happily as he kissed your forehead. 

When you received the pictures you came to notice those candids turned out to be your favorites. Not that the others looked bad— on the contrary, you both looked stunning— but they transported you back into that moment full of reassurance and love. 

Before you knew it, the last game of the season transpired, along with your last class before exam season took place in January after your Winter vacations. 

After your wedding. 

For your bachelor and bachelorette parties respectively the two of you decided to celebrate during the day so that night the rehearsal dinner could take place at the same cozy chateau the wedding was taking place the next day. It was more of a mixer than anything else, considering Jude had guests come from all over to the event. All of them you knew, since you both agreed to keep it tight knit on both sides. There had also been a sworn secrecy, you’ve giggled for hours reading Twitter threads speculating when your wedding was taking place when it was literally happening right under their noses. 

It had been an hour or so since the last of the guests either drove home or crossed over to stay at the boutique hotel nearby. Both of your families were sleeping in the other rooms in the venue, but the matrimonial bedroom was left for your solitude. 

“Can’t sleep either, eh?” You turned to Jude’s husky voice from the bedroom door. You got up with a nod, watching as he closed the door behind you. “Anxious?” 

“Definitely.” You agreed, pulling him down and into a hug. “Young bride was not something I ever pictured in my resume but that was before I met you.” You muttered, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. 

Jude observed your movements slowly, feeling the cold white gold against his cheek. He turned his face and kissed your palm before taking it in his hand, kissing your fingers, never breaking eye contact. He inched in, nose brushing against you and you knew well enough his intentions. 

“In twenty-four hours we’ll consummate the marriage, Belli-bear; don’t.” You warned him with a playful smile, noticing how he leaned down and kissed your neck slowly. You couldn’t resist, tilting your head back. With all the planning involved, you barely got to see anything of each other, even less intimately. 

“I don’t care.” He grumbled, sliding his hands on your thighs as you stumbled over to the edge of the bed. He sat first, drawing you over to his lap. “I’ve barely seen you in the last two months.” Jude linked your lips together, and you melted right into his lap. It was slow, taking your time. He pulled down the straps of the soft cotton pajamas, letting the top roll down and pool at your waist. 

Your bare chest heaved against his clothed one, and he removed the shirt before his hands cupped your breasts. The tension building up in the room was something you’ve never experienced before; it was mind numbing, almost. 

“I love you.” You muttered something you’ve said so many times previously, but it felt like the first time. You noticed how he swallowed hard, his eyes looking up at you with utter admiration. Instead of replying right away, his hand sneaked under the matching shorts, past your underwear. Your breath hitched, his middle fingers drawing circles slowly. 

“Yo también te amo.” He replied, licking his lips. You slightly raised your brows in surprise; it was usually the other way around. You said it in Spanish and he replied in English. Now his tongue spoke your language with ease each day. Your mouth twitched lightly into a smile, interrupted by a moan as he gathered the slick pooling around his fingers. 

“Let me take you, please.” His begging was sincere, knowing you could easily decline and follow traditions. Not that you hadn’t done it before, but maybe right before your wedding was pushing it. “I’m too eager… I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow. 

You have been feeling his boner pressing against your thigh for a while now, yet again adding to his honesty. Your thoughts were racing a hundred miles per hour, but you concluded there was nothing traditional about this in the first place. The two of you were bending the rules over backwards from the day you met. A smile still rose to your lips, pulling him into a kiss and pushing him onto the bed. 

“Take me now. Tomorrow you’ll do it forever.” You brushed your nose against his, and he switched places to lay on top of you. Without wasting any time he pulled your pajama shorts and underwear down, his own following soon after. 

“Uh, fuck— I forgot,” He looked around the room, trying to figure out if you’d brought any condoms. You pulled his face towards yours, cupping his jaw in your fingers. 

“I’ll take a pill tomorrow.” You noticed how his eyes shone in a way you’d never noticed before, and he caught your lips in his once more, brushing his tip against your entrance. You mewled, feeling the stretch and embracing it warmly. Your fiancé held you against his chest, kissing the top of your head. 

“You feel so warm,” He practically whined, starting to draw out long thrusts. You could barely reply to the praise, trying to keep your moans muffled by hiding your face in his neck. “So perfect for me, my girl.” 

He knew those strained moans like the back of his hand, the kind where you seemed to be choking on air. The way your cunt squeezed him was enough indication. “Yes, baby. Do it, cum for me.” You exhaled in a way it was apparent the permission lifted a weight off your shoulders. He held you closer to his body, allowing your moans to leave your mouth more freely without escaping those four walls. 

The stutter of his hips that came soon after, followed by a string of curses gave away that Jude was close too. You kissed his strong shoulders, giving him words of encouragement as he perched your legs over his shoulders and started a painful pace to find his release. Still, he looked down at you with a fondness that made your heart melt, leaning down for a final kiss as he pulled out and shot ropes of white to cover your lower tummy. 

“How about a warm bath?” He proposed tenderly, and you couldn’t have said no, even if you wanted to. Without even noticing you fell asleep curled up in his chest, the light steam surrounding your bodies. 

You woke up the next day to the empty bed, haven’t felt so well rested in a while. There was some chatter going on downstairs, and you peaked from the bedroom window to notice staff being led by your mother and soon to be mother-in-law assembling the ceremony venue in the vast backyard. The reality soon dawned upon you, and you wanted to throw up from the nerves and scream in glee. 

But that was the last time you were left alone with your thoughts, as a soft knock rang through the room. “Coming! Denme dos minutos!” You sprung up from the bed, quickly fixing the bed and slipping into the silk slip dress you bought for the whole ‘getting ready’ part of it. The house had a great heating system from the dropping temperatures, but you still got a matching bolero in cashmere. Upon opening the door you were greeted by your small wedding party, consisting of your cousin and best friend. Your other female family members were getting ready with you with the same team of hair and makeup. 

The greeting hugs everyone gave you were so different. They were full of warmth, positivity. You had to hold back tears when your mom hugged you, easing up all your nerves. It was as if they were confirming to you that they were there for you, sending all the well wishes for the years to come with a simple embrace. 

You had your favorite breakfast with mimosas before getting ready. Music was blasting, everyone was chatting it up and helping each other. It felt as though you were getting ready for a regular party, until your brother came knocking at the door. “Delivery for the bride.” He smiled, and the room full of women squealed. You were done with your hair already but you were going to be the last to get your makeup done. 

With a smile you kissed your brother on the cheek before ushering him out the door, taking a hold of the large box and placing it on the bed. Upon removing the lid, you gasped at the delicately placed bouquet, the one you were going to be walking down the aisle with. 

“You like it? I helped him choose. He assembled it himself last night after everyone was gone.” Denise came up to you with a warm smile, and you couldn’t help but give her a tearful nod, setting the flowers aside to give her a tight hug. You figured this whole thing was a big change for her, considering how much of a mama’s boy Jude was. 

But that embrace felt just like the others; full of support and well wishes. 

In no time your makeup started and the women got dressed, only leaving your mum to help you with the dress and the veil. “Ay mi princesa.” She exhaled, fanning her eyes as you took a step back to look at yourself in front of the mirror. You took a deep breath in, having to hold back the need to start crying. Your dream wedding dress fit you as perfectly as it did on the first fitting, and the lacy veil was as perfect as it was on your mother all those years back. 

“I think we should head downstairs. Get some pictures of our family together. Jude should be waiting outside already, so there would be no peeking.” She laughed, carefully cleaning away the tears right at the edge of her eyes. 

The following reactions were similar. Your father looked as though he was about to pass out, and your brother was left speechless. But you only cared about one reaction, and you stood perfect for the family pictures as you could only imagine how Jude would react. 

Still the anticipation couldn’t have prepared you to see him shedding real tears as you walked down the garden, unable to stop looking at you. And for a second there, you swore it was just you and him in the entire planet. 

You couldn’t stop looking at each other throughout the whole thing, no matter if you were supposed to look at the officiant. You said your vows first, eyes brimming with tears. “Most importantly, I love how you make me think I’m the brightest star in the world, no matter how bad either of us are feeling. And I promise I’ll drive you everywhere for the rest of our lives, don’t get that license, amor.” You finished with a bitter sweet chuckle. But you couldn’t have expected what Jude had to say next. 

“Uh, I’ve been practicing my vows for the past six months. If there’s any mistakes, just… keep it to yourselves.” The audience chuckled lightly, but they were as intrigued as you were. He started out by saying your name, almost breathless, “Siempre te he dicho que eres la razón por la que creo en el amor a primera vista.” You choked out a sob, as people in the audience gasped. 

Jude had written and learned his vows in Spanish. Without telling a soul. 

He apparently grew more confident, sucking a big breath in. “Y hoy, puedo decir con toda certeza que creo en el amor sincero y eterno. Todo por ti, preciosa,” His bottom lip quivered, noticing how you were made a mess, eyes full of tears. 

“Eres la estrella que alumbra mis días. Mi chauffeur que me lleva a todos los lugares sin que se lo pida.” He cleared his throat, inhaling the tears in. “Gracias por confiar en mí y en nuestro amor para llegar aquí hoy. Te amo.” 

You smiled at him warmly, and knew he would tease you later for having matching vows without knowing. The rest of the ceremony flew by, and Jude really took the ‘you may kiss the bride’ part too seriously. 

“I can’t believe you copied me…” He huffed as you made way inside the mansion, waiting in a separate room for your entrance. “…Mrs. Bellingham.” He practically giggled, and you laughed from the mirror as you were retouching your makeup.

“You’re the one that copied me! I said my vows first, idiot!” You joked, finishing the lip combo before getting to his side, holding his hand to do your entrance to the dining hall. The nerves filled you up and he noticed from the way you shifted your weight from one side to another. 

He kissed your hand and winked, and you knew everything was going to be alright. 

You found out that night most of your guests were hefty drinkers, or at least they had decided to be so for that particular occasion. But you also found out later that night that thank God you ‘consummated your marriage’ the previous night, considering you had to ask for a few of his fellow athlete friends to carry him up to the newlywed couple’s bedroom. You later laid there staring at the ceiling, stomach churning from… anticipation? The drinks? 

But even as Jude was snoring right next to you, you knew deep down everything was going to be alright. 

For the rest of your lives together.

judebellingham mr. and mrs. b 🤍

tagged: yourusername

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A/N: my bf still says we can't get married so enjoyyy this delusion i'm using to cope KFDSKLSDFKLV lowk did my dream wedding here but it wasn't at the same time. hope everyone enjoyed this sappy sappy short series !! the translation to jude’s wedding vows are in that lil note in the smau !!!

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Having To Patch Soshiro Up After A Kaiju Attack

Soshiro Hoshina X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Blood, injuries, mentions of death, teasing, and kaiju remains

Word Count: 1k

(A/N:) I am enjoying the Kaiju No. 8 anime immensely and it's giving me all sorts of ideas to write! I have several more Kafka ones in my drafts and I want to write more for several other of the male characters. So keep an eye out I may write your favorite dude! I'm also thinking about opening my requests back up in case anyone has any Kaiju No. 8 requests, even though my drafts are insanely full. We'll just see but until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The suits made by Izumo Tech were a marvel of innovation and technology. Designed to give the members of Japan's fiercest warriors; The Defense Force, a fighting chance against the Kaiju that plagued their country. But still the warriors were only human no matter how amazing the suit.

Your booted feet thundered against the broken asphalt, breath heaving in pants as you raced across the now quiet battlefield. Just seconds ago it was Hell on Earth as you and your fellow soldiers fought for your very lives. But now Kaiju matter was splattered against everything. It was going to be quite the mess for whatever cleaning crew was open to do the dirty job. The attacks had become more frequent here lately, that the few companies that specialized in Kaiju clean up were becoming overwhelmed to get the different attack sights back to some semblance of normalcy for the citizens. But even that problem was far back from your mind. Only one person had you running so hard after fighting so intensely. Soshiro had gone silent after dispatching some of the smaller ones with his blades. You knew he had sustained injuries, but for him to go quiet, it wasn't a good sign. There was closer Third Division officers nearby but you knew with whatever stamina you had left you could make it. Your worries taking over any rational thought in your mind.

Konomi echoed in your ear, leading you straight towards Soshiro's location. Her frantic directions wasn't doing much to calm your nerves, but as an officer you couldn't let your anxiety show.

"Just around this corner," Konomi said. You thanked her turning down your communication device as you skidded around a pile of rubble. There leaned up against what remained of a wall was Soshiro. He held his side, eyes closed, and protective mask discarded at his side. Though winded and exhausted from the long race here, you gripped your rifle tighter the sling hitting your neck and tangling in the wild strands of hair that had broken free. Blood coated Soshiro's face and the fact that he wasn't responding to footsteps coming closer was more than concerning. Fear was beginning to grip your heart, when you finally got at his side.

"Two cracked ribs and significant blood loss," Konomi's sudden voice through the comm caused you to jump. "He's not critical just yet but I do have the medics on route to your location."

"I can staunch the blood flow," you replied. "I'll try to get him conscious again too."

"Good idea. I'll keep monitoring his vitals and let you know if anything changes."

"Copy."

Unslinging the rifle from your neck, you set it close by in case any threats remained. You removed the small med pack from your belt and got to work. Tapping at his cheek, you started working on getting Soshiro awake. Several moments went by and it wasn't until you put pressure on one of his worse wounds did he finally groan.

"Vice Captain," you continued to pat his cheek. "Vice Captain Hoshina! Soshiro wake up!"

He stirred, bleary eyes blinking against the bright sunlight before his gaze finally found you.

"Welcome back to the land of the living sir," you sighed in relief.

"So I died," he groaned. "And here I thought I was immortal."

"Well you didn't die but you do have a long road to recovery. You're pretty banged up and look terrible. The Kaiju Captain blew to smithereens looks better than you."

"Officer (L/N)," Soshiro groaned more as you wrapped several wounds tightly in gauze, "did anyone ever tell you that your bedside manner is garbage?"

"We're out on the battlefield and you're not laying on a bed sir," you grinned before going back to placing pressure on a wound that was too large for bandages. "Beside manners don't exist out here."

"Fieldside manner then," he glared. "And if you press any tighter to my side you're going to stab my lungs with my ribs."

"That's not me. That would be your suit keeping you from jostling your cracked ribs."

"(Y/N)! Vice-Captain Hoshina's vitals seem to be stabilizing more. Medics are inbound and will be there shortly," Konomi updated you and you acknowledged her.

"You had me worried Soshiro," you sniffed, hands stained with his blood. You had turned your comm off so you could talk with him in private for just a moment. You both didn't have long anyway with the evac team so close by.

"Sorry," he grimaced. Righting himself up more he wrapped one arm around your neck and pulled you in tight. "I'm sorry I worried you so much. I take risks but this time my decision wasn't the right one."

You held him as best as you could without hurting him further, "I'm just so glad you're okay!"

You hated crying but the relief you felt, had you breaking down in seconds. Soshiro wasn't used to seeing you cry and it broke his heart. Always the strong soldier, you couldn't help yourself around him as you wanted him by your side forever.

"You're not hurt are you," Soshiro asked as he stroked the back of your hair.

"No." You breathed deep, calming yourself and wiped your eyes. "Does that mean that I have surpassed the great Soshiro Hoshina in skills?"

"Absolutely not. We both know that my blade skills leave everyone else in the dust," he scoffed.

"Yeah but I didn't decide to use my ribs to stop a kaiju punch."

"Shut up."

You laughed kissing his forehead quickly, as it was the only place not covered in blood, as the boots of the medics came closer.

"I'm glad you're okay," you whispered. Soshiro couldn't answer as he was suddenly surrounded by several medical officers. He nodded towards you as you picked your rifle back up and started to go join the other members of the Third Division. The battle wasn't over just yet as you needed to look for more survivors. But you felt the burden lift from your shoulders knowing that the man you loved was going to be okay and was in capable hands. The fight with the kaiju continued on but if you stayed by Hoshiro's side you felt like you both could make the world a better place together.

[queenofthekings]

𝓢𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓐𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮

Summary: Your story of survival in New York, and the promise you made to Eric.

Author’s note: If I get anything wrong about New York, pls don't yell at me I'm just a Brit who's never been and is relying on the movie and my friends for help lmao. Special think you to @littlexdeaths for helping me with this, without you I probably wouldn't have gotten this finished. And if any of you see a reference to The Enemy, no you don't.

CW: 18+, fluff, descriptions of injuries, horror, spoilers for a quiet place day one.

Word count: 1.5k

Tagging: @espressomunson.

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

You’d first met Eric in class, his accent being the first thing you noticed about him. Like him, you’d travelled far to attend law school in New York and both of you would talk frequently after classes about life back home and how different New York was compared to it.

The more you got to know each other, the more romance blossomed between you. He would always wait for you before class and go in with you, sitting beside you just so he could brush his fingers against your hand or whisper something funny into your ear to distract you.

You were expecting him to ask you out on a date, but then the world fell apart.

When it started, you were with a couple of your classmates, just laughing and joking around and then it stopped.

You barely had time to react before something akin to a bomb exploding just down the street caused everyone to start screaming and running all around you. Your lungs and eyes were burning from the smoke, and you could barely see but all you knew was that you needed to run. You had no idea where your friends were, but you hoped they were just hiding somewhere, and you’d see them soon as you darted into a bookstore.

With shaking hands, you got out your phone and dialled Eric’s number, silently praying he’d pick up only it went straight to voicemail. “Eric, it’s me. If you get this, stay where you are; I will come for you, okay? I will come find you. I’m so fucking scared right now, but I hope you’re still out there and you’re safe.”

You wanted to tell him you loved him, but you were too scared to, what if he didn’t feel the same way? God, feelings were hard when the world was ending.

You ended the call and looked around you, trying to find anything of value, picking up a map and a small nightlight you could use as a torch. You weren’t entirely sure where you could go but staying where you were clearly wasn’t an option. Shoving your things into your backpack, you hesitantly walked back out onto the now quiet street, trying your best not to walk on any broken glass or rubble.

Tears began running down your cheeks as you walked, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. You had to come to terms with the idea that you were the only one left; your friends were gone and so was Eric, even if that thought killed you.

As you walked, you wished you could listen to your music to drown out the silence with the occasional bursts of screaming but you knew it was too dangerous, you had to be alert at all times.

As night started to fall, it began pouring with rain and even through your hooded jacket, you were soaked through. You ran towards some shelter as fast as you could, you ended up finding an abandoned church and slipped inside the door as quietly as you could.

Being careful to avoid the puddle from the hole in the roof and the massive hole in the floor, you made your way to one of the pews and finally rested.

Sleep didn’t come easy for you that night, but you managed to get maybe a couple of hours, better than nothing, you supposed.

In the morning, you looked over your map to find the best route to South Street. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you knew it had to be done, even with the number of blisters you’d gotten on your feet from walking so much the day before.

Sliding off your shoes, you assessed the damage and wondered if you should trek out to find a pharmacy to get some band aids but just as you were about to put your shoes back on, you heard a commotion from the hole in the floor, with two people climbing out of it.

You froze as you slowly made your way over towards them, your heart pounding in your ears as you saw Eric. You couldn’t quite believe your eyes as you got down onto your knees next to Eric’s head, a shaky hand on his shoulder.

His eyes opened and instantly locked with yours, slowly getting up to embrace you, even if he was soaking wet. You tried your best not to cry but after everything you’d both been through, you couldn’t hold your emotions back and neither could he; you both held each other and cried quietly.

Eric refused to let you go, and you refused to let him go – even for a second. You slept together wrapped up in each other’s arms that night, finally getting some decent sleep at last.

In the morning, you could tell Sam wasn’t doing well and both you and Eric offered to go get her medication, Eric refusing to let you go. Reluctantly, you allowed him to go but not without giving him a kiss on his cheek, a silent promise that you’d see each other again.

You stayed with Sam, initially playing tic-tac-toe together but eventually getting to talk about each other’s lives before everything went down. Went to school together, had a massive crush on him you wrote on the notebook, causing both of you to laugh silently.

“He talked about you a couple times,” Sam whispered. “Always wanted to find you, now it makes sense why.”

You weren’t entirely sure what that meant, but in your heart you hoped it meant that he felt the same way about you. You kicked yourself for letting him go with just a kiss on the cheek and not a proper love confession, just more reasons to make sure he came back safely with Frodo in tow.

The four of you stayed in the church until the next morning, deciding to venture out to find Patsy’s. You and Eric never let go of each other’s hands, not for a single second.

But when you were out in the open, you’d knocked over an abandoned suitcase, the sound echoing throughout the silent streets. All four of you froze for a moment, before you knew you had to lead the monsters away to give Eric and Sam a chance.

Pressing a kiss to Eric’s lips, you pushed him away and sprinted away in another direction, screaming as much as you could to draw them towards you. It didn’t even fully occur to you that you could die in the process, but as long as Sam, Frodo and Eric made it out, that’s all you cared about.

That was the last time Eric saw you, saving his life. And all he could think about in that moment was how much time he’d wasted not telling you how he felt. And now, you were gone.

By the time Eric got onto the final boat with Frodo, he finally allowed himself to cry, to mourn over the loss of both you and Sam. At least he still had Frodo to comfort him, he closed his eyes and just stopped to listen to the purring cat in his arms until it jumped out of them. His eyes opened instantly, feeling himself on the verge of a panic attack as he looked around for that black and white cat.

Until he saw him at someone’s feet, his eyes filled with tears, clouding his vision but he could tell the person was walking towards him. Wiping away his tears, he got a good look at the person. He blinked several times, not quite believing his eyes.

It was you.

Battered and bruised, a long cut down the left side of your face, but still you.

You smiled once Eric noticed you, the cut across your face contorting a little so it almost looked like a half grimace. You took a seat next to him, handing back Frodo. “Hi,” you said, your voice a little croaky after not being used in what seemed like forever.

“Hey,” he said back, his voice just as croaky. “I thought I’d lost you, too.”

You shook your head, petting Frodo. “I was almost a goner,” you pointed to your face. “But I got saved at the last second, I don’t even remember by who. I thought I’d died, but my face hurt too much. Couldn’t even see out of my left eye at first, but I knew I had to get to here.”

“You still look beautiful,” he moved a stray hair away from your face, not even flinching like most people did at seeing your cut.

You pulled a face, letting out a small hiss in pain as you forgot the cut for a moment before you rested your head on his shoulder. “So what happens now?”

Eric sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t know, but one thing I know for sure; I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head once again. “Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got all I want right here; I have you and we have Frodo.”

“Good. Even then, I’ll follow you wherever you wanna go,” he whispered, capturing your lips with his in a gentle kiss.