#i will get caught up in it and it will take way longer than i could have ever anticipated

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.

Ace calls it his teapot snarl.

Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"

The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.

Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).

"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.

----

Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!

HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.

"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.

You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.

"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.

Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).

The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"

"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"

---

Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.

"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.

The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.

"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.

"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.

"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.

Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."

Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.

Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"

"Yes sir." Ace gulps.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."

---

Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.

He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.

Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.

And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.

Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".

All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.

"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.

"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."

"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.

"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.

----

Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.

He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.

'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.

His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"

He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.

Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.

"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!

"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.

"You know it!" he laughs.

"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."

#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.

----

Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.

His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.

Your skin.

He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.

Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.

You shouldn't be, but you are.

You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.

Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.

Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.

You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.

Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.

Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.

Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.

"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."

"Wh-what was my total again?"

All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.

Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.

"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.

"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.

The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.

----

Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.

Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!

He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.

If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--

"How much do you cost?"

EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?

Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.

Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!

Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!

"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.

WOMP!

Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.

Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.

They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!

-----

Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.

A good boy, if you will.

The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!

He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.

It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?

Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.

His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.

This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.

You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!

You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.

Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"

As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.

It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.

Yeah, don't mention that either.

[eclipixels]

Payback

Sylus x reader

Content: You don't like Sylus allowing other girls to flirt with him, so you take matters into your own hands to get back at him

A/N: pt.1 pt.2

[2,911 words]

      You sat with Sylus at the bar, your head resting against his shoulder, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air around you. The two of you had arrived earlier than most, and now, as you watched the slow trickle of people filtering in, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Sylus had been right, you should have waited a little longer before coming.

      With a soft sigh, you sat up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m gonna go use the bathroom, okay?" you murmured, your fingers lightly squeezing his arm before you slipped away toward the restroom.

      The momentary break was meant to be nothing, just a quick trip before returning to his side. But when you emerged, your heart nearly stopped.

      A woman stood dangerously close to him, tilting her head in that familiar, flirtatious way as she batted her lashes. The dim lighting of the bar only made the moment more intimate, more insufferable. Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, she leaned in, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you weren’t meant to hear, something that sent a searing pang of jealousy straight through you.

      Did you really believe him when he told you that you were the only woman he wanted? That he never entertained temptation? That he never strayed, even when countless women threw themselves at him?

      You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But watching this unfold, watching him stand there and allow her to linger, to bask in his presence without a single sign of dismissal—it gnawed at you. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t flirting back or even paying her much attention. The fact that he didn’t push her away, that he allowed these moments to exist at all, was what truly got under your skin.

      And who could blame her for being drawn to him? Sylus looked effortlessly breathtaking in his tailored black Versace suit, the sleek fabric clinging to him in all the right ways. He exuded confidence, mystery, an untouchable charm that made heads turn the moment he stepped into a room. If you were in her position, wouldn’t you want a man like him to look at you the way you wished he only looked at you?

      But why? Why couldn’t he make it clear that he was unavailable, that there was no room for anyone else in his orbit? The questions burned in your mind, threatening to spill over into words you weren’t sure you were ready to say aloud.

      Because no matter how much you trusted him, doubt had a way of creeping in like a shadow in the night. And right now, standing there, watching her linger in his space… that shadow felt all-consuming.

      "You okay?" a voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to find yourself looking at some guy. Tall, effortlessly good-looking, with a broody, mysterious air that made him stand out.

      "I'm completely awesome. Just having the time of my life," you replied with a smirk, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. "I mean, you agree, right? I am awesome. You know what? Don't even answer that."

      He gave you a small smile, the kind that was just barely there but still managed to be annoyingly charming. "As much as I’ve heard about you, you're more than just awesome."

      Your drunken mind barely registered the comment or who exactly had been talking about you. But if he had heard things, well, hopefully, they were good things. He had this whole mysterious, darkly intriguing vibe, and if you weren’t so hopelessly in love with Sylus, maybe—just maybe—something could have happened.

      "Do you wanna dance?" you asked impulsively, tilting your head at him.

      His eyes widened slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, his voice polite yet firm.

      Seriously, what was it with men not wanting to dance with you today? You were an amazing dancer.

      "And why exactly wouldn't it be appropriate?" you teased, grabbing his arm before he could protest and pulling him toward the dance floor. Not that you were trying to make Sylus jealous or anything. But, you know, if it happened organically, you wouldn’t be opposed.

      "Just relax. It's just a dance," you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him a little closer. You giggled as he let out a small breath, clearly debating whether to just go with it or keep resisting.

      Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, the music shifted into something slow and romantic, one of those songs you'd never heard before but could already tell was meant for lovers lost in each other’s arms.

      Perfect. Just perfect.

      You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see if that woman was still talking to Sylus.

      "You know," your dance partner said after a moment, "I learned how to waltz once. It’s been a few years, though."

      You chuckled, tilting your head at him. "Oh yeah? Think you still got it?"

      He smirked slightly. "Guess we’re about to find out."

      For a fleeting second, you felt Sylus’s gaze burning into you from across the room. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his stare. But you ignored it. To hell with him.

      The two of you danced so flawlessly, so effortlessly, that the energy in the room shifted. People took notice. Whispers spread, eyes turned. But you didn’t care. For the first time tonight, you were simply having fun.

      Then, with a fluid motion, he twirled you around, sending a rush of exhilaration through your veins before pulling you back into his arms. And finally, the grand finish—a dip, deep and dramatic. The moment lingered as you locked eyes with him, your breath slightly ragged from the movement.

      A slow smile spread across your face as you straightened up. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admitted, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

      "I'm glad I could make that happen," he replied, his own smile warm and genuine.

      Before you could say anything else, the sound of clapping caught your attention. You turned to see Wanda and Tara grinning at you, their faces full of approval and amusement.

      “You were amazing!” Tara cheered, her excitement practically radiating off her.

      Your dance partner chuckled, then took a small step back. “You should go join your friends,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want any trouble for you.”

      And just like that, he turned to leave.

      A frown crept onto your face. His words confused you. What kind of trouble? He was fun to be around, easy to talk to. You had a feeling that if nothing else, the two of you could have been good friends. But he was gone before you could ask.

      The thrill of dancing, the lightness of the moment—it all started to fade as the weight of reality crashed back down. For a little while, the music, the movement, the laughter had made you forget. Forget about Sylus. Forget about the ache in your chest.

      But now? Now, it all came rushing back.

      You forced a smile as you said goodnight to Tara and your other hunter friends. They wanted you to stay, to shake off the sadness, but you were drained. Completely and utterly exhausted.

      All you wanted was to be alone. To cry in peace.

      And you didn’t care how you got home.

      Stepping outside, the cool night air did little to soothe the fire burning inside you. But as if the universe hadn’t tormented you enough tonight, there he was—Sylus, leaning against his motorcycle, waiting.

      The last person you wanted to see right now.

      At least he wasn’t with her.

      "What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharper than intended.

      At the sound of your voice, he turned his head, his expression unreadable—until his eyes met yours. Then, just like that, his gaze hardened.

      "The real question is, what the hell were you doing in there? With that guy?" His tone was sharp, laced with something that almost sounded like jealousy.

      God. The sheer audacity.

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It's called dancing, Sylus. You know, that thing people do when they're having fun?" You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. "And honestly? The hypocrisy is commendable. Really."

      His brows furrowed. "The hypocrisy? What’s gotten into you, Y/N?"

      Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the adrenaline crashing. Maybe it was the way your heart still ached from watching him with her. But something inside you cracked.

      "You know what? You’re right. I knew what I was getting into with you," you admitted, voice shaking, "but I can’t do it anymore."

      His expression faltered for the first time, but you didn’t let him speak.

      "Is this even a relationship to you, Sylus? Or am I just someone you’re fooling around with until you get bored?" The words came out harsher than you expected, but you didn’t care.

      For a moment, silence hung between you like a storm waiting to break.

      Then, something in his face changed. The sharpness faded, replaced with something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

      Hurt?

      "Is that what you really think of me?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Of us?"

      You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.

      "Is that what you think I’m doing?" He took a step forward, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Just stringing you along until I get bored?"

      The way he said it made your chest tighten, but you wouldn’t let him turn this around on you.

      You stepped back, refusing to let your resolve waver.

      "That’s how you made me feel today, Sylus," you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you had held in. "You made me feel used. You made me feel small—like I was nothing compared to her. Like she mattered to you, and I didn’t."

      Your lips quivered as you tried to hold back the lump forming in your throat, but the words wouldn’t stop now.

      "You can’t let the most gorgeous woman in the room flirt with you, throw it in my face, and then expect me to just stand there and not care," you choked out, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, broken, angry.

      Sylus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe he hadn’t been ready for this confrontation, but neither were you—you hadn’t asked for this heartbreak.

      "She means nothing to me, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "And she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman in the room."

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah? That’s funny, considering how easily you let her hang all over you."

      His jaw tightened. "Don’t use that tone with me, Y/N."

      And that—that—set you off completely.

      "Fuck off, Sylus," you spat, stepping back, fire burning behind your eyes. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act jealous then get mad when I get the same way."

      As soon as the words left your mouth, Sylus closed the distance between you in an instant, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was rough, desperate, and possessive. He had heard enough. He couldn’t lose you like this. He wouldn’t let it happen.

      You wanted to fight back, wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him for how much he had hurt you tonight—but you didn’t. Instead, you gave in. You kissed him back with just as much fire, all the jealousy, anger, and pain pouring into the way your lips moved against his. You wanted to rip his hair out, but at the same time, you wanted to fuck him senseless.

      His hands gripped your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. He walked forward until your back hit the wall, trapping you between the cool surface and the warmth of his body. A sharp gasp left your lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. His mouth was on you in an instant, lips and teeth marking you, sucking deep enough to leave bruises. His marks.

      He wasn’t the only jealous one tonight.

      Watching you dance, hearing you laugh so freely with that guy—it had made something primal snap inside him. He wanted to be the one spinning you around, holding you in his arms, making you smile like that. He wanted to be the man who made you happy.

      His hands slid under your dress, gripping your ass roughly as he pressed his hips forward, grinding against you. You gasped at the friction, a moan slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, rolling your hips against his, desperate for something to ease the ache between your legs. You were frustrated, upset, and so fucking turned on all at once.

      Then, before you could stop it, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

      Sylus stilled.

      He heard the soft, broken sob escape your lips, and his chest tightened. His hands, which had been gripping you so possessively just moments ago, suddenly softened their hold. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing evened out.

      His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek before he pressed a tender kiss there, his lips lingering. And then, slowly, he set you back down onto your feet.

      The loss of contact made you shiver, but you weren’t ready for this moment to end—not like this.

      “I'm so absolutely sorry for how I made you feel tonight.”

      “I just wish you would push those women away, why don’t you do that?” Your lips quivered. His heart broke, how could he make you feel this way? He was mad at himself.

      “I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you already knew I loved you.” He admits, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner how much it hurt you.

      “Still, it hurts seeing them flirt with you and you do nothing.”

      “I am sincerely sorry my love, I promise, I won’t let it happen anymore.” He closes the distance between you two. He wraps his arms around you tightly "you're my weakness y/n, I never wanted to have one but then you came along.”

      “You’re mine, okay?” You say firmly.

      "I am yours. So beautiful you are, the prettiest. I love the dress princess" he kisses your forehead

      "Thank you love, I got it in your color" you smile.

      "I know but It would look better on the floor” He grins wickedly. Oh my god, you really are stuck with him now.

      “Don’t think I’m forgiving you that easily, though,” you said, your voice firm, your expression stern.

      Sylus paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, but he masked it quickly. “What do I have to do?”

      You took a step closer to him, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Beg.”

      His brows furrowed, and he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What? You can’t be serious.”

      You leaned in, your gaze locking with his, a challenge in your eyes. “You heard me. On your knees. Beg me to forgive you.”

      His lips parted, but he didn’t immediately comply. “Y/n–”

      Before he could say anything else, you shoved him gently but firmly, guiding him to the ground. The sudden action had his breath hitching, but he quickly found his footing, settling on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you, his gaze filled with something between defiance and desperation.

      His thighs flexed as he kneaded his jaw, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Please forgive me, darling. I am so fucking sorry.”

      You raised an eyebrow, not satisfied with the apology.

      Sylus let out a soft groan, his hands resting on his thighs, looking up at you with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “I’m so, so sorry.” His voice dropped an octave, heavy with regret.

      And still, something in you wanted more.

      The sincerity in his eyes pulled at something deep inside you, but you weren’t ready to let him off that easy. "I want to hear you say it. I want to hear how much I mean to you. I want to know that you won't let this happen again."

      His breath hitched as his hands moved to the floor for support, his body leaning slightly toward you as if instinctively reaching for you, aching for you. “I won’t let it happen again, I swear to you. I won’t make the same mistake. Please, Y/n, forgive me. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

      You could see the desperation in his eyes now, the plea for you to believe him.

      "That’s better," you said, nodding slowly. "But words are just that. Show me."

      He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked back up at you, his posture shifting as if he was preparing to give you all of him. And he did just that, all night long. You drained the life out of him, not stopping until you were satisfied.

[joelsrose]

First Date? Part 7

Hey guys! 💛 First off, I just want to say how much I appreciate all of you—the love and excitement you show for this story means so much to me! I know some of you were hoping for a longer chapter last time, and I totally get it. I love that you’re so invested but it did make me a tiny bit sad seeing those comments eeek but thats me being very sensitive and i just want to please all of you. I truly appreciate all the feedback and love, and I can’t wait to share more with you soon. Thank you for being here and for caring so much—it really means the world. ✨

previous chapters

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the dining hall, mingling with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional scrape of a chair against the wooden floor.

Morning light filtered in through the high windows, casting long, golden streaks across the worn tables. Maria sat across from you, her fingers curled around a chipped ceramic mug, steam rising in soft, twisting tendrils.

She looked as composed as ever, her expression carefully measured, but you caught the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened just slightly around the mug before she lifted it to her lips.

“How are you feeling?” you asked gently, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the table. “You know… about Tommy leaving?”

She shrugged—a small, deliberate movement—but her eyes wavered for just a fraction of a second before she blinked, masking whatever had surfaced. “It has to be done,” she said, her voice even, too even.

You realized then that you hadn’t even asked Joel what the patrol was for. The thought surfaced abruptly, pulling your focus. “What’s going on out there?” you asked, your voice quieter now, like saying it too loud would make it worse.

Maria exhaled, glancing down at her coffee before meeting your gaze again. “More infected near the highway,” she said, tone clipped, as if keeping it simple would make it easier. “Tommy’s gotta check it out, see if it’s manageable. If not… we’ll have to call off scavenging runs in that area.”

You nodded absently, but your mind had already unraveled, drifting to where Joel was—wherever that was. Was he safe? Was he warm? Was he hungry? Was he breathing? The thought curled at the edges, dark and treacherous, threatening to bloom into something unbearable.

Despite the anger and the hurt, despite every reason you had to turn away, there was no denying the way he had settled into you, deep and unshakable, woven into the marrow of your bones. No matter how much you tried to push it down, tried to bury it beneath layers of resentment and frustration, the truth remained—your heart was not capable of existing in a world where he did not. You couldn’t bring yourself to imagine it, couldn’t let the thought fester in the corners of your mind, because if you did, if you let it take shape, it would consume you whole.

You refused to picture him as anything but alive—breathing, walking, existing in the same world as you. You would not allow yourself to envision him otherwise, would not let the image of him broken and cold, lost to the same cruel world that had never once granted him kindness, take root in your mind.

The very idea of it sent something sharp and unbearable through you, something that made your chest tighten and your throat close, something that felt too much like grief. So you rejected it, pushed it down and locked it away, clung to the certainty that wherever he was, he was still out there. He had to be.

Maria tilted her head at your silence, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she studied you. “What’s up with you?” she asked, her tone light, teasing. “I’ve never seen you this quiet. What, Joel finally manage to shut you up?”

The words were meant to be playful, but they landed heavier than she intended, lodging somewhere deep in your chest. The air around you felt denser, each breath a little harder to pull in. You sighed, dragging a hand over your face, fingers pressing into your temple as if you could knead away the ache building there.

“Look, Maria,” you said, straightening, forcing steadiness into your voice. “I need to switch patrol partners.”

Her smile faltered, the amusement slipping from her face as her brows drew together. “Huh?” She blinked, the sharpness in her eyes softening into confusion. “What do you mean? Did… did something happen?”

“No.” The lie was too quick, too easy, tumbling past your lips before you had the chance to stop it. You shook your head, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the tension in your jaw betrayed you.

“Nothing happened. I just—I can’t—” The words caught, snagged on something you couldn’t name. You exhaled sharply, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as if the posture alone could make you feel less exposed. “I just need to swap, okay? I’ll take anyone else.”

Maria didn’t respond right away. Instead, she sat there, watching you, eyes narrowed in quiet scrutiny. Then, slowly, she leaned forward, mirroring your earlier posture, elbows resting against the worn wooden table. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, quieter, but it carried a weight that pressed down on you like a held breath.

"Tell me the truth," Maria said, her voice steady, unrelenting, her gaze locking onto yours with the kind of weight that left no room for evasion. "What happened with Joel?"

You shook your head, fingers curling and uncurling around the fabric of your shirt, a nervous habit you couldn’t shake, something to anchor you when the ground felt unsteady beneath your feet. "Maria," you said, her name slipping from your lips like a warning, sharp and edged, slicing through the thick, suffocating silence that had settled between you.

It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—there was a weight to it, something final, something immovable, like a door being shut and locked from the inside. A line drawn in the sand, not in anger, but in quiet desperation, a plea wrapped in steel—don’t push me, don’t make me say it, don’t make me open that wound when I’ve spent every waking moment trying to sew it shut.

Her lips parted, poised to argue, to press in the way she always did when she sensed something unraveling just beneath the surface, when she caught the quiet tremble in your resolve and sought to pry it open with careful hands. But whatever she saw in your expression—the silent plea, the raw, unspoken desperation you weren’t even sure you meant to show—stopped her cold. You weren’t in the mood to explain, and for once, she seemed to understand that.

The scrape of wood against wood rang out sharp in the quiet room as you pushed back your chair, the sound too loud, too abrupt, splitting the moment in two.

You stood, movements mechanical, reaching for your coat draped over the back of the chair, fingers tightening around the worn fabric as if grounding yourself in something tangible, something solid, while Maria’s gaze burned into you. You felt it, felt the weight of her questions, her concern pressing against your back like a force you weren’t ready to meet head-on.

“Just… please,” you murmured, the words slipping free before you could swallow them back down, quieter now, the sharp edge in your voice dulling but never fully breaking. It wasn’t a demand, not really, but something close to it—something that held the weight of exhaustion, of quiet surrender. “Do this for me.”

A long beat of silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, before she finally exhaled, a slow, measured breath that felt like reluctant acceptance. Her shoulders dropped, the tension easing just enough, her gaze still searching, still waiting for something you weren’t willing to give. “Okay,” she murmured at last, her voice quiet, careful, as if she were handling something fragile, something that might shatter if she held it too tightly.

You gave her a small nod, barely more than a movement, before turning on your heel and slipping out of the dining hall, the cool air swallowing you whole as you walked away.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The decrepit cabin groaned with every passing breeze, little more than a skeleton of rotting wood and splintered beams barely holding together. The air inside was thick, damp with the scent of earth and blood—some theirs, some not. Shadows danced across the peeling walls as the flame of a single lantern flickered precariously on a broken crate.

Joel and Tommy sat cross-legged on the warped floor, a battered tin of something unappetizing between them.

Neither spoke. Neither looked at the other.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional scrape of a fork against metal, the sound grating in the stillness.

Joel’s hand hovered near his thigh, his fingers curling and uncurling like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. His knuckles were split and bloodied, the dried crimson cracked against his skin, and his wrist bore the faint tremor of adrenaline not yet spent.

In the uneven light of the lantern, his face looked carved from stone—hard and unyielding, his jaw locked tight, the muscle ticking in a relentless rhythm. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but everything about him was taut, coiled, like a spring ready to snap.

Tommy watched him out of the corner of his eye, his own shoulders stiff and squared, every line of his body radiating tension. The silence between them was louder than words, a pressure building with every passing second.

It had been less than an hour since it happened.

Less than an hour since Joel had fucked up—big time.

They had been tracking through the woods, moving through the underbrush in a silence that should have been second nature by now, but Joel was off.

Sluggish, unsteady, tripping over roots he should’ve seen, his footing clumsy in a way that made Tommy shoot him sharp looks out of the corner of his eye. He had muttered something under his breath—something half-frustrated, half-worried—but hadn’t pushed. Not yet.

Because Tommy could tell.

Joel had been off his game all damn day, his mind caught in the snare of something he couldn’t shake, something that had curled around his ribs and hollowed him out from the inside. You.

It was always you.

The way you had looked at him that night was destroying him.

It chased him through sleep, through dreams that twisted into something unbearable the second he reached for you. It haunted the corners of his mind in the quiet hours before dawn, when exhaustion should’ve claimed him, but never did. You were there—always there—eyes wide, raw, unshielded, just before you had let those words slip past your lips, quiet, reverent, terrifying.

"I love-"

Said into the hush, carried on the breath of a moment too fragile to last. And he—fool, coward, goddamn wreck of a man—had shattered it in his hands before he even let himself hold it. Had told you it wasn’t real. Had let you tuck it away, no—forced you to pretend it had never happened at all.

And now, the weight of it was drowning him.

His head wasn’t where it should have been. It was on you—always on you.

Too busy wondering if you had eaten, if you'd remembered to stoke the fire before the cold set in, if your hands had been warm when you woke up or if the chill had crept beneath your blankets, making you shiver.

If you'd had enough coffee at home or if you'd been forced to drink the one from the dining hall—the one you never liked, too bitter, too weak. He imagined you grimacing at the first sip, pressing your lips together the way you always did when something disappointed you, curling your hands around the mug anyway just for the warmth.

He wondered if you’d taken your time getting ready that morning or if you'd rushed, still half-asleep, fumbling for your boots with that little furrow in your brow you always got when you were running late.

If you'd worn that sweater—the one he knew was soft because he’d brushed past you once, and the feeling had lingered on his skin longer than it should have.

But worst of all—the cruelest, most selfish thing—was that he wondered if you ever thought about him. And he had no right to. Not after everything, not after the way he had left. He had forfeited that privilege the second he walked away, the second he let his fear speak louder than the truth, the second he chose silence over you.

And yet, he still found himself lingering in the possibility. Still found himself wondering if his absence clung to you the way yours clung to him, curling around his ribs like a phantom limb, something lost but never forgotten. If you missed him the way he missed you—with an ache so deep it felt carved into his bones, a hollow, gnawing thing that lived beneath his skin, a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

And then—reckless, aching—his mind wandered into dangerous, delicate imaginings of you.

Soft. Small. Intimate.

He let himself imagine it. If you wore your hair to bed in that loose braid like you sometimes did on patrol, strands slipping free, curling at your cheek, at the delicate slope of your neck, swaying with each breath, soft and effortless. Or if, in the privacy of your room, you let it fall completely—untamed, unbound, spilling over your shoulders, cascading across your pillow in quiet disarray. A sight untouched by the world. Untouched by him.

And God—God, how he wanted to touch.

Not just to see, not just to admire, but to feel. His fingers threading through it, slow and reverent, tugging gently just to hear the quiet hitch of your breath.

And then—before he could stop it, before he could drag himself back from the edge—his mind wandered deeper, sinking into something unspoken, something desperate, something reverent in its ruin.

What did you wear to bed?

Something soft, something thin, worn-down cotton stretched over your skin, clinging to the curve of your body, whispering against your thighs when you moved beneath the blankets. Did it slip higher in the night, baring the plush swell of your hips, the gentle dip of your waist? Did it ride up just enough that if he were there, if his hands were on you, he could push it further with the barest brush of his fingertips?

Did the cold make you shiver? Did it pull your nipples into soft, aching peaks, pressing against the fabric, sensitive and untouched, a secret only the night knew? Did you tuck your hands beneath the blankets, pressing your palms over your arms for warmth, sighing softly as you curled into yourself? Or did you stretch out, limbs long and languid, sheets tangled around your legs, the air against your skin cool, your body flushed with heat?

Had you ever—just once—rolled onto your side in the hush of sleep and whispered his name? Had it ever slipped past your lips without you realizing, soft and absent, breathed into the pillow, lost to the quiet? Did you ever wake up gasping, heart hammering, fingers curled against the sheets as if searching for something that wasn’t there?

Had you ever dreamed of him the way he dreamed of you?

Did your hands ever drift, slow and uncertain, down the length of your stomach, lower still, seeking relief from a longing that refused to be named? Did you ever press your thighs together, sigh against the emptiness, the want curling deep inside you, leaving you restless, burning? And if you did—if you had—what did you do about it?

These selfish, cowardly preoccupations had nearly been the death of him today. Had nearly been the death of them both.

The raiders had come out of nowhere. Just three of them. It should have been easy, routine—Joel and Tommy had been through worse, had fought side by side too many times to falter. They moved like a well-worn machine, an unspoken rhythm, a brotherhood forged in blood and war. But today, for the first time in thirty years, Joel had been off.

His timing. His aim. His goddamn instincts.

He had hesitated when he shouldn’t have. Missed when he couldn’t afford to. And the price had been blood—his and Tommy’s both. They had almost died because of him. Tommy had managed, somehow, had stepped in where Joel should have, had been sharp and quick and ruthless, had been himself. But Joel—Joel had been slow. Unsteady. Somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere with you.

Now, the cabin bore witness to their silence, thick with tension and the raw weight of two men aching, bruised, barely holding together. The fight had been ugly. Joel could still feel the imprint of a rifle stock against his ribs, the deep-set ache that pulsed with every breath, a reminder of where one of them had caught him hard in the side.

His knuckles were split and bloodied, dried crimson cracked against his skin, and beneath the sleeve of his jacket, his shoulder burned where a knife had grazed too close. Tommy didn’t look much better—a cut above his brow still sluggishly weeping, his jaw darkening with the promise of a bruise, his breathing tight, measured, like he was favoring something in his ribs. They hadn’t left that fight unscathed.

Joel stared hard at the floorboards, fingers twitching against his thigh, a storm roiling just beneath the surface, something barely restrained, barely holding together.

Finally, it snapped.

The sound of the fork clattering onto the tin was jarring, slicing clean through the stagnant air, cutting through the silence like a blade to the throat. Tommy leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, his voice low and sharp, rough with frustration, with disbelief, with something dangerously close to fear.

"The fuck is wrong with you, Joel?"

Joel exhaled slowly, the breath dragging out of him like it took effort, like it hurt. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the tension locked deep in the muscle, the ache of exhaustion woven through his bones. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but firm, edged with warning. "Tommy. Drop it."

"No." The word came quick, firm, crackling with barely restrained anger. Tommy’s hands curled into fists against his knees, his whole body tight, shoulders squared, voice raw. "No, I ain’t droppin’ it. We almost fucking died out there. Died, Joel. Because your head ain’t screwed on right."

His breath was coming faster now, anger bleeding into something else—something deeper, something heavier. His voice cracked as he said it, just slightly, just enough for Joel to hear the truth beneath it.

"I gotta get back for Maria, Joel. You know that, right?"

Joel shut his eyes for a long moment, pressing his lips into a thin, unyielding line. He let the words settle in his chest, let them sink in, let them land square in the hollowed-out space where guilt already sat like something rotting. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Just took it. Because Tommy was right.

They could be dead. And it was his fucking fault.

But Tommy wasn’t done. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping, no longer sharp with anger but something colder, something edged with realization, with disbelief, like he was piecing it together in real time, like he was staring at his brother and seeing something wrong for the first time in a long time.

"Joel." Tommy's voice was quieter now, but no less sharp, no less cutting. "When was the last time you shot at somethin’ and missed?"

The words landed like a bullet to bone, precise and unforgiving, and Joel felt the weight of them settle deep, heavy in his chest, pressing against something raw.

Finally, Joel exhaled, a slow, fractured thing, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough like gravel ground beneath a boot. "Not sure what the hell’s wrong with me." The words came low, almost like they weren’t meant to be heard, almost like they weren’t meant to exist outside of his own head.

Tommy stilled, something shifting in his expression—less anger now, less frustration, something steadier, something careful. He leaned forward slightly, voice quiet, deliberate, like he was stepping around the jagged edges of something fragile, something that might splinter if he pressed too hard.

"Jesus, Joel," he murmured, shaking his head. "What the hell’s goin’ on with you?"

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a rough, calloused hand down his face. "I fucked up." His voice was low, uneven, barely more than a breath, like the words hurt coming out, like they had splintered inside of him before ever reaching the air. "With her."

Tommy froze, his eyes widening just a fraction as he processed the weight of his brother’s words. Joel—tough, unyielding, always carrying his burdens in silence—was admitting something. Something raw, something broken, something that didn’t sit right in the space between them.

Tomym exhaled through his nose, a soundless oh, the pieces clicking into place like a blade sliding into its sheath. His voice, when it came, was steady but careful, the kind of calm meant to keep something from breaking apart. "Alright." He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, his words measured, deliberate, like he was talking to someone standing too close to the edge. "What happened?"

Joel’s hands twitched, fingers flexing, "After dinner at yours." The words were gravel, scraped raw and unwilling. "I walked her home."

Tommy gave a slow nod, his expression patient but expectant, waiting, urging. "Yeah? And?"

Joel swallowed, shaking his head like he could shake off the memory, like it wasn’t stitched into every breath, every thought, every restless hour he spent staring at the ceiling, replaying it over and over. "She was drunk." His voice dropped lower, tighter, like the words themselves hurt.

Tommy’s nod was slower this time, his brow furrowing, his voice softer now, careful. "Okay. Then what?"

Joel swallowed hard. "She..." His throat tightened, voice catching, breaking on the edges. He forced the words out anyway, unraveling, fraying, something inside him splitting at the seams. "She said some things."

Tommy didn’t speak. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even breathe, just watched him with that quiet, patient scrutiny that made Joel feel like his insides were being pried open, like there was no hiding from what came next.

"Things she shouldn’t have said."

Tommy tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady, cautious. “Like what?” he asked, his voice low, careful—like he wasn’t sure if pushing would make Joel shut down or finally crack open.

Joel exhaled sharply, the breath jagged, uneven, more pain than air. He let out something that might’ve been a laugh in another life, but here, now, in this moment, it was empty, bitter, something worn and threadbare. He shook his head, lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a grimace—just something hollow, something caught between regret and disbelief.

"She told me—"

The words caught. Lodged in his throat like a fist, like they weren’t meant to leave his mouth, like speaking them aloud would make them real in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle. His chest rose and fell, breath slow, heavy, every muscle in his body tensed like he could brace himself against the weight of it. The pause stretched long, unbearable.

Then—finally, quietly, wrecked—he let them slip free.

"She told me she wanted me to kiss her."

Tommy blinked, his brows lifting, the disbelief settling in his features before the words had even fully landed. “What?”

Joel’s voice was quieter now, rough around the edges, worn. Like saying it aloud stripped him raw, made it worse—made it real. “She asked why I didn’t kiss her at your birthday.” A bitter scoff, a shake of his head, like the memory itself was something that gnawed at him from the inside out. “During that stupid goddamn spin-the-bottle game.”

Tommy exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face, the movement heavy—weighted not just with exasperation, but with something that looked an awful lot like disbelief. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head. “Jesus, Joel.” It wasn’t scathing, wasn’t reprimanding. Just tired. “What the hell did you say?”

Joel tipped his head back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second, like he could will himself away from this conversation, from the weight pressing against his ribs, from the ache winding its way through every breath. But it didn’t work. It never worked.

"That’s not even the worst part." His voice cracked—just slightly, just enough for Tommy to notice. Just enough for him to feel it, for his chest to tighten, for the words to stick in his throat like something barbed, something clawing its way out. His breath turned uneven, his fingers twitching at his sides as his mind betrayed him, dragging him back there.

Back to you.

To the way you had looked at him that night—drunk, vulnerable, so damn pretty, eyes glazed over, lips kiss-bitten from too much whiskey, voice soft, slurred, sweet. Sitting there, knees drawn up beneath you, the dim glow of the lantern casting golden light across your skin, bathing you in something holy.

You had ached for him. Had looked at him with wide, pleading eyes, like you were offering yourself up to him completely, giving him something raw and reckless and real, something fragile and too big to be taken back. You had already laid it bare at his feet, already given him everything, and God help him, he had stood there and done nothing.

No—worse.

He had left.

"She..." Joel hesitated, his jaw tightening, his throat working around the words like they physically hurt to say. His breath came short, uneven, as if he was choking on the weight of it, drowning in something too big, too heavy to carry. And then, finally—finally—he said it, the confession tearing from his lips like something jagged.

"She was gonna tell me she loved me."

Tommy stilled. His breath caught, his eyes snapping to Joel’s face like he hadn’t heard him right. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, coiling around them like a vice.

"What?" Tommy’s voice was softer now, quieter—disbelieving, like the word had slipped out before he could stop it. He blinked, shook his head once, twice, his brow furrowing as if he could physically force himself to understand. "She—what?"

Joel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his breath unsteady as he finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were raw, burning with something unspoken, something heavy and unrelenting, something he hadn’t let himself name.

"I stopped her." The words barely carried in the stillness, rough and uneven, like they scraped against the inside of his throat, like saying them hurt. "Told her she didn’t mean it."

Tommy just stared, his mouth parting slightly, something flickering behind his eyes—disbelief, frustration, something softer, something Joel refused to look at. When Tommy finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm, sharp but not unkind. "Why?"

Joel’s fingers curled into fists against his thighs, his jaw locking so tightly it looked like it might snap. He could feel the muscles in his neck pull taut, the ache spreading down his spine, winding around his ribs like something trying to crush him.

"Because she was drunk, Tommy."

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and unsteady, something raw curling at the edges of his words. "I couldn’t let her say it. Not like that. Not when she’d wake up and regret it."

He shook his head, almost to himself now, voice dropping even lower, "She was drunk." The words weren’t for Tommy anymore. They weren’t even for you. They were for himself, for the part of him that needed to believe it, that needed to hold onto the idea that pushing you away had been the right thing.

Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just looked at him, long and hard, like he was waiting for Joel to catch up, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—frustration, maybe, but not anger. Something quieter. Something tired. Then, slowly, he shook his head, exhaling like he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse or just sit there and let Joel drown in his own damn misery. He dragged a hand down his face, let it linger for a second, like the weight of this was just as exhausting for him as it was for Joel.

"Christ, Joel." Tommy tilted his head slightly, studying him, his gaze unreadable, searching Joel’s face like he was looking for something—some sign that he understood, that he knew.

"You really don’t see it, do you?"

Joel said nothing. Just sat there, jaw locked, breath unsteady, staring down at the floor like if he looked anywhere else, this might not matter so damn much.

Tommy huffed a quiet, almost bitter laugh, shaking his head again. He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees, voice softer now, measured, but dragging something heavier into the space between them.

"That girl," he started, his words slow, deliberate, like he needed them to land just right, like he needed Joel to feel them. "She looks at you like you’re the only thing in this whole goddamn world that makes sense to her. Like you’re the one thing she knows won’t let her down. Like you’re safe, Joel."

"She was drunk," Joel muttered, his voice brittle, strained, breaking in the middle like if he said it enough times, he might finally believe it. "She didn’t mean it."

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head, exhaling slow and sharp, like he was losing patience, like he was done watching Joel twist himself into knots just to avoid the inevitable.

"Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true," he shot back, his voice cutting through Joel’s flimsy excuse like a blade, clean and unforgiving. He leaned in slightly, his stare unwavering, piercing, seeing right through him, through all of it. "And you know it."

Joel’s fingers twitched against his knee, his jaw tight, his pulse hammering somewhere deep in his throat. "Doesn’t matter anyway," he muttered, quieter now, dull with something closer to resignation than he wanted to admit. "I talked to her the other day. She said she didn’t remember."

Tommy blinked, then scoffed again, sharper this time, full of disbelief. "And you believe her?" His voice wasn’t just cutting—it was aching, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "Jesus, Joel. Could you be any denser? You rejected the poor girl—of course she’s gonna pretend she don’t remember. What the hell else is she supposed to say?"

Joel’s jaw locked. "I didn’t reject her," he bit out, but there was a crack in his voice, something unsteady, something that settled between them like a wound laid bare.

Tommy arched a brow, unconvinced. He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, voice quieter now but no less sharp. "No? Then what’d you do, huh? Did you stay? Did you tell her it was gonna be alright? Did you—"

Joel shook his head, quick, sharp, like he could shove the words away before Tommy could finish them. "No." It was barely more than a whisper, but it landed between them like a punch to the ribs.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, his voice dipping low, wary. "Joel—"

"No," Joel said again, the word scraping out of him, his breath unsteady, his hands gripping his knees like he needed to brace himself, like the weight of it all might finally crush him.

His fingers flexed once, twice, then curled in again. His voice cracked, raw and splintering apart. "I… fuck." He let out a sharp breath, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple, his shoulders curling inward like he could fold in on himself, like if he made himself small enough, maybe the guilt wouldn’t sink its claws so deep.

"I left."

"You left?" tommy repeated, slower this time, like he needed to say it aloud to believe it. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?"

Tommy let out a slow sigh, long and weary, the weight of it settling between them like dust in the dim cabin light. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, gentler, but no less resolute. “Joel.” He said his name like it was something fragile, something worth handling with care. “I know you’ve been through hell. I know you think you don’t got room for anything else in your life. But you’re wrong.”

He hesitated, lips pressing into a firm line, as if he was trying to find the right words, as if they mattered more now than they ever had before. His voice dipped lower when he finally continued, steady and sure, leaving no space for argument.

“You deserve better than this. Better than sittin’ in a goddamn cabin, beatin’ yourself up ‘cause you’re too scared to believe someone could actually give a damn about you.”

Joel stiffened, his hands flexing against his knees, his shoulders tightening like he could brace himself against words alone. He still wouldn’t look up.

Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “She cares about you, Joel. And you know it.” He leaned in, his tone firm, but not unkind, pressing into the silence, forcing Joel to sit with it. “And if you’re too damn stubborn to let her in, you’re gonna regret it. Hell, you already do.”

The words landed like a blow, cutting deeper than anything else Tommy had thrown at him tonight. And Joel—Joel just sat there, staring at the ground like if he looked hard enough, he might find the answer to a question he hadn’t been ready to ask. His breath was uneven, his body wound so tight he felt like he might snap.

Tommy watched him for a long moment, expression unreadable, then sat back, his voice dipping even lower, quiet enough to be mistaken for something close to mercy.

“It’s alright to let someone care about you, Joel.” He paused, then softer, like a final offering. “It’s alright to let someone stay.”

Joel flinched, so subtle most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Tommy did.

Because he knew exactly what was running through Joel’s head now.

Sarah’s laughter—bright, unrestrained, filling every space it touched like it belonged there. The weight of her in his arms, her small hands clutching at his shirt, trusting him to keep her safe. Gone in an instant.

Tess—sharp-tongued, unshakable Tess, standing beside him, never asking for more than what he could give. A life spent fighting, surviving, and in the end, a fate she had chosen, one he couldn’t stop. Gone.

Ellie—her jokes, her sharp humor, the way she wore it like armor. The way she filled the hollowed-out space in Joel’s heart without even meaning to. Still here. Still his. But for how long?

Every person he had ever loved, slipping through his fingers like water, like dust, like something that had never belonged to him in the first place.

His breath hitched, barely audible, but enough. The ache in his chest twisted, raw and unrelenting, pressing up into his throat, threatening to consume him whole.

"I don’t—" His voice broke, rough and heavy, barely there. He shook his head sharply, like he could shake this loose, shake the ache out of his bones, shake himself free of the past clawing at his heels.

He swallowed hard, tried again. “Everyone I love ends up—” The words got caught, sticking in his throat like something jagged, something that would tear him apart if he forced it out. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, trembling slightly.

Tommy leaned forward, his voice cutting through the wall Joel had thrown up around himself, slicing through the silence like a blade. “I know you love her.” The words weren’t a question, weren’t a guess—they were fact, spoken with the kind of certainty that left no room for denial. His tone was firm, steady but insistent, forcing Joel to hear him. “Don’t tell me you don’t, ‘cause I’ve seen it. I see it every damn time you look at her. You’re scared—I get it. But, Joel…”

His voice softened, the edge giving way to something warmer, something quieter, something laced with an urgency that settled deep into Joel’s bones. “You gotta stop punishin’ yourself for things that weren’t your fault.”

Joel’s head dropped lower, his fists slowly unclenching, his fingers splaying against his thighs. They trembled, faintly, betraying the storm raging inside of him, the war he had been losing long before he had even realized he was fighting it. His voice was barely there when he finally spoke, the words dragging out of him like they were made of stone, heavy with doubt, thick with regret.

“She won’t wanna talk to me.” The words came rough, dragged from somewhere deep, like saying them out loud gave them weight, made them real in a way he wasn’t ready for. His throat tightened, breath hitching as his hands pressed harder against his legs, bracing, steadying—holding himself together by force of will alone. “Something’s off. She’s—fuck—she won’t wanna hear me out.” The thought sat heavy in his chest, suffocating, a truth he could feel in his bones even if he wasn’t ready to accept it.

Tommy exhaled, slow and even, sitting back, arms crossing over his chest. He studied Joel for a long moment, that quiet, knowing look settling on his face—the one Joel had seen a thousand times, the one that always came when he needed it least but maybe most.

"Then don’t talk."

Joel’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face, breaking through the thick haze of guilt and self-loathing. He glanced up, guarded, skeptical, his voice rough with exhaustion. "What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Tommy leaned in again, his tone deliberate, unwavering. “Write.”

Joel blinked. “Write?” The word felt strange in his mouth, foreign, like it didn’t belong to him.

Tommy nodded, his gaze locked on Joel, refusing to let him look away. "Put it all in a letter—every damn thing you’ve ever wanted to say to her but couldn’t. Everything you’re too scared to say out loud. Everything you regret. Everything you feel. And then give it to her."

Joel shook his head slightly, his hands tightening on his thighs, his breath unsteady. “Tommy—”

"Just let her hear you, Joel."

The words settled between them, pressing down on him, pressing into him.

He could see it now—you, sitting somewhere in the soft glow of lamplight, brow furrowed, fingers ghosting over the edge of the page as you read. He imagined your lips parting slightly, your breath catching, imagined the way your expression would shift as you took in every unspoken thing, every piece of him he had never known how to give you. He imagined your hands shaking, just a little, the way his were now.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel felt something close to hope—raw and terrifying and fragile, but there.

Joel shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line, his eyes dropping again, fingers curling into fists like he needed something to hold on to, something to anchor himself before the weight of this conversation swallowed him whole.

His breath came slow, measured, but it did nothing to steady the ache building beneath his ribs. "And what if she don’t wanna read it?" The words left him quieter than he meant, rawer, catching at the end like they had splintered in his throat before escaping.

Tommy exhaled through his nose, his expression softening, something quieter settling in his features as he leaned back, arms still crossed, gaze unwavering. “Then that’s on her.” His voice was calm, even, but there was something resolute beneath it, something steady, something Joel could feel pressing against the fragile edges of his doubt. “But at least you’ll know you tried. At least she’ll know how you feel. And maybe that’s all she needs to hear right now.”

Joel swallowed hard, his throat working around something thick, something impossible to name. He turned his face away, jaw tightening as his chest rose and fell in uneven waves, as he wrestled with the weight of Tommy’s words, with the war raging inside of him.

Because he knew what Tommy was saying made sense. He knew the truth of it. But knowing and acting—those were two different things. The thought of putting it all down, of laying himself bare, of giving you every feeling he had spent so long shoving into the darkest corners of himself—it terrified him.

Because vulnerability had always been a weakness. Something to be buried, something to be stitched shut, something to be survived. But this—this wasn’t just fear. It was something worse. Something quieter, something fragile.

Something infinitely more dangerous.

Hope.

And Joel—he knew better than to hope.

Because hope was a slow-acting poison. Hope meant risk, meant loss, meant opening himself up to something he might not get to keep. And God, he couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t stand the thought of reaching for something just to watch it slip through his fingers, of wanting something so much it destroyed him.

"I don’t know if I can do that."

The admission barely broke the silence, barely existed outside of his own head, but it was there. It was real. And it cut him open just to say it.

Tommy didn’t hesitate.

He leaned forward, pressing a firm hand to Joel’s shoulder—grounding, solid, steady, the way only a brother could be. “You can.” His voice didn’t waver, didn’t leave room for doubt. “And you should.”

Joel’s fingers twitched against his thighs, his body coiled so tight it felt like he might snap. His breath stuttered as he dragged a hand down his face, his pulse a heavy, uneven thing against his ribs, everything in him screaming to pull back, to close the door before it was too late.

But then—so did the thought of doing nothing.

The thought of letting you slip away, of knowing he had the chance to fix it and chose not to take it—that was worse. That was unbearable. That was the kind of mistake that lived in your bones, the kind you carried for the rest of your life, the kind that haunted every quiet moment, every sleepless night.

And Joel had enough ghosts already.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Patrol had been nothing short of torture.

Toby filled every silence like he was afraid of letting the quiet settle, his words tumbling over each other, meaningless stories and half-hearted jokes spilling from his mouth in a way that made your skin itch. He spoke just to speak, just to be heard, just to push back against the weight of the stillness that had never once unsettled you—not when it had been Joel by your side.

His proximity set your teeth on edge. The way his hand brushed against yours too often, his fingers grazing your arm as he stepped ahead of you on the path. He touched without thinking, without asking, without knowing—not in the way Joel had. Not with quiet certainty, not with careful restraint, not with the kind of gravity that turned the smallest touch into something felt days later.

Your mind betrayed you, pulling you back, dragging you under. Joel’s hands, big, warm, calloused, threading through yours in the hush of the forest, steady, solid, a quiet promise in the way his fingers had pressed between yours, anchoring you, holding you. The contrast of it, of him—this unyielding, gruff man, carved out of war and grief, tempered by loss—offering you something so soft without ever speaking a word. You had felt it, down to your bones.

You missed it.

He didn’t notice the way your shoulders tensed beneath the weight of his presence, how your steps edged just slightly faster, carving out whatever distance you could without making it obvious. Or maybe he did notice, and he just didn’t care. Maybe he mistook it for something else, something that suited him. The thought made your stomach twist.

You hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked for Toby to be your new patrol partner. And yet, here you were, suffering through every over-familiar glance, every unnecessary touch, every empty word meant to fill the silence that had never once unsettled you—not when it had been Joel by your side. Maybe this was karmic retribution, the universe righting itself after you had been foolish enough to think Joel might be yours.

By the time patrol ended, relief rushed through you like a breath you’d been holding too long, your lungs aching with the effort. But it didn’t last. Toby, oblivious or persistent—or maybe both—stuck close as you made your way back into town, his voice still filling spaces that didn’t need filling, his presence still too much.

"I’ll walk you home," he said, like it was a kindness, like it was something you should be grateful for, like he was doing you some grand favor.

Your stomach twisted. The irritation in your chest sharpened into something colder, something heavier. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him.

"You don’t have to." The words left you firm, clipped, sharper than they needed to be—sharp enough that anyone with even a shred of awareness would have picked up on it, would have known to take the out you were handing them.

But Toby just smiled, unfazed, enthusiasm unwavering. "I want to." He shrugged, like your words hadn’t mattered, like he hadn’t heard them at all. His voice was bright, easy, brushing off the steel in your tone like it was nothing, like he was entitled to this, to you.

The streets were quiet as you walked, the echo of your boots against the cobblestones the only sound besides Toby’s chatter. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, hoping even he could read the signal, but still, he stayed too close. His presence was suffocating, clinging like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

When you finally reached your door, you stopped abruptly, your hand hovering over the doorknob as you prayed he’d take the hint. But Toby lingered, his boots scuffing against the ground, his posture awkward as if he were working up to something.

“Hey,” he started, his voice softening in a way that made unease coil in your stomach. “I know the last time we hung out was a bit… weird.”

Your chest tightened, dread pooling in your stomach as the memory surfaced—the movie night that had gone sideways. You’d bolted right after, mumbling something about needing fresh air, and you hadn’t looked back.

Toby chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s no big deal, right? We’re good. I just thought—”

"Toby." Your voice cut through the cold night air, sharper than you meant it to be, the frayed edges of your patience bleeding through. "Thanks for walking me home, but I’m really tired." You tried to make it final, tried to press an ending into the space between you, hoping he’d take it for what it was—a dismissal.

But he didn’t. Didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Didn’t even hesitate.

"Fuck it," he muttered, barely audible, barely there. But you heard it. And before the words could even register, before you could react, before your body could so much as move—he leaned in. Warm. Insistent. Wrong.

His lips pressed against yours, stealing a moment that was never his to take. Your body locked, your breath stalled, something sharp and sick curling in the pit of your stomach as your mind scrambled to catch up, to process, to understand. His hands settled on your arms, gripping too firmly, his presence suffocating, closing in, closing around you. The weight of it, the sheer audacity, the way he just assumed—

You didn’t kiss him back.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs felt heavy, pinned beneath a moment you hadn’t chosen, trapped in something you wanted no part of. And yet, there you stood, caught in it, drowning in it, the wrongness of it spreading through your veins like a sickness.

And then, it was over. He pulled away, looking pleased, looking satisfied, like he hadn’t just taken something from you.

"See you soon."

His voice was light, casual, like this had been inevitable, like you had wanted it. His footsteps faded into the quiet before you could even find the words to respond, before you could scrape together the breath to tell him how wrong he was.

You stood frozen on the doorstep, the cold biting against your skin, against the places he had touched, against the places you wished he hadn’t. Your fingers lifted to your mouth, trembling, hating that the sensation was still there, that it lingered, clinging to you like something spoiled, something rotten.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, hot and unwelcome, threatening to spill over as the weight of it all settled deep into your bones. This was wrong—all wrong. Every part of you recoiled, your body rejecting the memory of Toby’s lips, the unwanted heat of his breath, the foreign press of his touch. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. You didn’t want him, didn’t want this moment, didn’t want the shape of someone else’s hands lingering where they had no right to be. The disgust curled in your stomach like something spoiled, like something taken from you before you could even flinch away.

Because it wasn’t his kiss you had spent countless nights longing for, pressed beneath the blankets, fingers ghosting over your lips as if you could summon the phantom of something that had never been given to you. It wasn’t his hands you wanted to feel, warm and sure, threading through your hair, gripping your jaw, tilting your face toward his like he needed to breathe you in. It wasn’t him you ached for, wasn’t him who had haunted every soft and aching part of you, lingering in the quiet moments where your heart whispered his name into the silence like a prayer.

No.

It was Joel.

Joel, with his impossibly soft lips, so achingly pink, so at odds with the rest of him, always pressed into that thin, unreadable line, always bitten raw when he thought too hard, when he let himself feel too much. Joel, whose touch you had memorized without ever having the privilege of knowing it fully, whose warmth had brushed against your skin in the moments between longing and restraint, in the spaces where your hands had lingered just a second too long. Joel, whose stubble you had dreamed of feeling against your own tender skin, scratching against the delicate line of your jaw, leaving a burn in its wake as he kissed you like he had been starving for you, like the moment had been inevitable since the first time his eyes met yours.

You wanted him—God, you wanted him—wanted to lose yourself in the slow, agonizing press of his mouth, to whimper into him as he took what was his, what had always been his, what you would have given freely if only he had asked. Wanted to feel the way his hands—large, calloused, steady—would cradle your face, holding you there, keeping you close, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers, like he needed to know you were real.

And standing there on the doorstep, the cold biting into your skin, your stomach twisting with the weight of a moment that had never belonged to you, never belonged to him, all you could do was press your fingertips to your lips, eyes burning, chest hollowed out and aching with a grief you didn’t know how to carry.

Because no matter how much you wished otherwise, no matter how desperately you tried to push the thought away, you knew the truth of it.

You only wanted Joel.

And Joel wasn’t here.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Joel and Tommy had made it back from patrol hours ago, boots heavy with dust, the cold still clinging to their skin. But his thoughts weren’t on the ride home or the sharp bite of the wind. They were on you. He wondered if you’d heard—if someone had told you he was back. If you’d been relieved to know he was safe, that he’d made it home in one piece. He liked to think you would be. That maybe, just maybe, you’d been waiting to see him.

He had spent the entire day drowning in the dim, suffocating quiet of his bedroom, the curtains drawn tight, shutting out the world like it might lessen the ache inside his chest. But nothing did. Not the silence, not the solitude, not the weak glow of the half-burned candle flickering against the walls, casting unsteady shadows over the wreckage of his own making.

He missed your face—missed the curve of your smile, the way your cheeks rounded just enough to make you look younger, softer, like something untouched by the weight of this world. He missed the way you looked at him, the way it made him feel something he hadn’t let himself have in too long. And now, sitting here in the thick, suffocating quiet, all he could do was hope—hope that maybe you missed him, too.

Crumpled scraps of paper littered the floor around him, a graveyard of failed attempts, of words that had never made it past the ink, of confessions that had died in his hands before they had ever been given the chance to live. His breath was heavy, uneven, dragging through his lungs as he sat hunched over, elbows braced against his knees, his face buried in his hands. His fingers curled tight into his hair, gripping at the strands like he could reach inside himself, pull the chaos from his skull, drag the words out of his traitorous, treacherous heart by force.

That goddamn heart. The old, battered, useless thing. Beaten down by time, by loss, by grief that had settled too deep into his bones, a part of him now, woven into the fabric of who he was. A heart that should have hardened by now, should have shut down, sealed itself off, stopped making a fool of him. But it hadn’t. That weak, worn-out thing had kept on beating, kept on loving, despite every reason not to, despite the past, despite the certainty that love only ever ended in ruin.

Despite you.

He felt fucking stupid.

Stupid for thinking this would be easy, for believing even for a second that he could lay his heart bare on paper when he had never been able to say it out loud. Not when it mattered. Not when you had stood in front of him, eyes wide and pleading, offering him something rare, something reckless, something he had wanted with every aching part of himself and still—still—he had let it slip through his fingers.

Every letter started the same—I’m sorry—because it was the only truth he knew, the only thing that had burned in his chest since the second he let you walk away. And every letter ended the same—ruined, ripped apart beneath the weight of his own cowardice, of his hands shaking as he scratched through the words until the ink bled so thick the paper tore beneath it.

His gaze dropped to the latest attempt—his last, failed attempt—the ink smudged and uneven, the words unraveling somewhere in the middle, buckling under the pressure of too much feeling, too much of you lodged between the lines. He had started with I’m sorry—because it was all he could offer, because it was all that he was—but the rest had turned into a tangled mess of hesitation, of crossed-out confessions and thoughts too raw to see the light of day.

It wasn’t enough.

Not for you. Not when you deserved more—deserved everything—the world, if he could rip it apart and carve something softer from its wreckage. But no matter how many times he started over, no matter how many times he picked up the pen with shaking fingers and a chest too full of things he didn’t know how to say, it always ended the same way.

He wanted to tell you.

Wanted to lay it all bare, to strip himself down to the rawest parts, to put words to the impossible and make you understand what you did to him—how you had wormed your way into the deepest, most guarded corners of his soul, how you had become something he could no longer separate himself from. But how could he? How could he possibly articulate something so foreign, so unnerving, so terrifyingly real? How could he explain the way you had upended his entire goddamn existence, cracked something open inside him that had been locked away for decades—something he hadn’t even realized was still there, something he never thought he would need?

How could he tell you—his sweet girl, his undoing—that in fifty-six years of being a man, of surviving, of standing on this wretched, merciless earth, he had never felt anything like this? That you had touched something in him that had never been touched before, something that had never even stirred, never even dreamed of waking up? That he had lived his whole life thinking he was past feeling this way, past the kind of hunger that keeps a man restless in his own skin, past the kind of longing that hollows him out from the inside?

And how could he ever admit that every night—without meaning to, without deciding to—the last remnants of his waking mind always belonged to you? That it had become a quiet, unspoken ritual, a habit carved so deeply into him that he barely noticed it anymore, like muscle memory, like instinct, like breathing. That as sleep pulled at him, as exhaustion weighed down on his bones, it was always you who filled the spaces between consciousness and dreaming. You, always you.

How could he tell you that in those stolen moments, when the world had gone quiet and there was nothing left but his own thoughts, he let himself have you in the only way he could? That his mind was greedy, starved, painting images of you in devastating detail—the soft sighs and sweet little whimpers, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms, the way your lips would part beneath his, trembling, pliant, waiting for more?

That in the darkness, in the safety of solitude, he allowed himself to sink into the fantasy, let himself imagine you tangled up in him, pressed beneath him, fingers twisting in the sheets, whispering his name like a prayer, needing him in the way he so desperately, so helplessly needed you? That he could see it, feel it—his hands tracing reverent paths over your body as though trying to commit you to memory, his lips worshipping you in slow, unhurried devotion, trailing from your temple to your cheek, your jaw, your nose, your throat, drinking you in, tasting, savoring, claiming? That he could hear the way you’d gasp his name, the way you’d shudder under the weight of his touch, the way you’d look at him—eyes wide, lips swollen, undone—like he was something worth wanting, worth keeping, worth loving?

And God help him—how could he ever admit that, for all his restraint, for all his goddamn willpower, more often than not, he was just a man? Just a weak, desperate man who unraveled at the mere thought of you, who came undone in the dark where no one could see, where there was no one to witness the ruin you made of him. That he could fight it all he wanted, could curse himself for it, could try to bury it beneath guilt and self-loathing, but it didn’t change a damn thing—because it was you. It had always been you.

How could he tell you that some nights, the ache of you was unbearable, a hollow, gnawing thing lodged deep in his chest? That he would lay there, eyes shut tight, fists clenched, jaw locked, trying so fucking hard to will it away, to pretend he didn’t feel this way, to pretend he hadn’t already lost the battle the moment you looked at him like he was something soft, something safe, something good? That no matter how many times he told himself it was wrong—how many times he reminded himself that you weren’t his to think of like this, to want like this—it didn’t fucking matter.

Because he did.

Because he always would.

And that was the cruelest thing of all—that no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to be better, to be stronger, to be the man he was supposed to be, he would always belong to you in ways he had no right to.

Joel swallowed, the weight of everything pressing down on him, settling deep in his chest like something immovable, something that had been there for years—decades, maybe—buried beneath grief and regret and every goddamn thing he had ever lost. But beneath the wreckage, something flickered, fought—a spark of determination catching at the edges of all the things he had ruined, all the things he had walked away from, all the things he still had a chance to fix.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached forward, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the scattered pages at his feet. He hesitated for only a second, barely long enough to exhale, then wrapped his hand around the pen, lifting it with a quiet, steady resolve.

And this time, he wouldn’t stop.

This time, he wouldn’t let the fear win. Wouldn’t let himself be ruled by the ghosts of the past, by the ugly, vicious voice in his head telling him it was too late, that he had already lost you.

This time, he would give you everything. Every unspoken thought, every aching confession, every piece of himself he had spent years keeping locked away. Because he owed you that. Because you deserved that. Because if there was even the smallest chance that you would read it, that you would understand, that you wouldn’t turn away—God help him, he would take it.

Because no matter how much it terrified him, no matter how much it threatened to unravel him from the inside out, the thought of losing you—of never getting the chance to make this right—scared him more.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Tag List

@bbyanarchist @kanyewestest @locked-ness @bambisweethearts @pedritospunk @ickearmn @joeldjarin @disco-barbiexx @sherrye22 @vxrona @ashhlsstuff @dendulinka6 @ashhlsstuff @r4vens-cl4ws @divineangel222 @jasminedragoon @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @handsintheeaire @jaxmom66 @ashleyfilm @kateg88 @tigerlillyyy

@jethrojessie @eddiemunsonsbedroom @flowerydindjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @oscarpiasstri81 @tldix @grumpygrumperton

@dendulinka6 @agnus04 @tigerlillyyy @vampiredoggies-blog @julwar67 @kateg88 @martuxduckling @guessitwillallworkout @anoverwhelmingdin @thottiewinemom @keepspassinmeby @disco-barbiexx @emisprocrastinating @cuteanimalmama @moulinrougcs @lottieellz101 @laliceee @grumpygrumperton @meet-me-backstage @spacegirl-3 @nixpat-blog @martuxduckling

@materialgirl-97 @valkyreally @suzysface @ro-nahime-things @spacelatinos4life @churchofjoemiller @peepawispunk @materialgirl-97 @6w1sdomt33th @churchofjoemiller @ccmoonshine @missladym1981 @ro-nahime-things @deansimpalagirl

[milunalupin]

❤️ with the prompt “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.” please!! thank you nicole ily <3

my lovely lovely san happy valentine's day !! thank you for the request ily so much <3

— do you wanna know a secret ?

remus lupin x reader ♥︎ 845 words

The air in the common room was thick with the excitement of Valentine’s Day. Some students were exchanging notes, others were planning for the dance that night, and a few were simply enjoying the sugary sweets scattered across the tables. You, however, found yourself hiding in a corner with your textbook, trying to focus on your charms homework. It wasn’t that you disliked the holiday—it just felt like a reminder of what you didn’t have: someone to share it with.

Of course, there was someone you'd like to spend it with. Remus, your best friend who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, whether it was a laugh, a kind word, or just a quiet moment together.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Remus appeared in the doorway of the common room, his messy hair falling over his eyes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cardigan. He caught sight of you almost immediately, and that familiar, warm smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your heart beat a little faster, but you pushed the feeling away. He was your best friend, and that’s all he could ever be, right?

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You looked up from your book and tried to smile. “Just, uh, trying to get some work done. You know, not everyone is celebrating Valentine’s Day with a dance or chocolates. I’m just not in the mood for all the… fuss.”

Remus nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I get it. The whole day just feels like a lot of pressure, doesn’t it?” He sat down next to you, shifting a few of your books to the side. “But, you know… if you want, we could just skip all that and hang out. Maybe take a walk around the lake, or—”

You blinked in surprise, cutting him off. “Wait, Sirius isnt forcing you into another double date?"

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wasn't really interested in her, it wouldn't have been fun for either of us."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. “Oh,” you said, awkwardly fiddling with a pencil. “Well, you don't have to just sit here with me. I mean, you could always ask someone else…”

“C'mon,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “like I need an excuse to spend time with you. Besides, I don’t need anyone else.” His voice softened at the last part, and his eyes lingered on yours just a moment longer than usual.

For a brief moment, the world felt very still. There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he was looking at you, that made your chest tighten. You’d always known Remus as your closest friend, the person who could make you laugh without even trying, the person who always seemed to understand you in ways no one else could. But hearing those words took you by surprise.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah,” you said softly. “A walk sounds nice.”

The two of you left the common room, walking through the nearly empty corridors. The castle seemed quieter than usual, many couples having gone to Hogsmeade to celebrate the holiday. As you reached the entrance hall, Remus turned toward you, his face more serious now, as though he were gathering the courage to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice hesitant. “Maybe I haven't been as obvious as I thought, but.. I care about you, more than I probably let on. And I guess I’ve been wondering if you.. feel the same?”

Your heart raced at his words, the question hanging in the air between you. It was all so sudden, but somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of the moment in your chest. “Remus,” you said softly, “I’ve always cared about you. You’re my best friend.”

There was a pause, and then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, Remus reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I think I want to be more than that,” he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing over your knuckles.

You felt your breath catch. For a long moment, you just stood there, looking at him, trying to reconcile the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. And then, with a soft laugh, you squeezed his hand.

“I think I want that too,” you said quietly.

Remus smiled, a mixture of relief and happiness in his expression. And just as the first snowflake of the evening drifted down from the sky, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender, quiet kiss—an unspoken promise.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled back, feeling more content than you had in a long time. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Remus.”

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

A Real Good Doctor (Part 2)

Doctor Harry

Part One

Where Y/N and Harry run into each other and one thing leads to the next.

Word Count: 8,273

Content Warning: Mentions of blood, falling, surgery, and light smut.

Harry pulls open the door to the café, stepping aside to let Y/N walk out first before following close behind. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of muffins  from the bakery next door. They walk side by side in a comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their coffees as the city moves around them.

Then, without any hesitation, Harry speaks. “Why didn’t you text me?”

Y/N glances up at him, caught off guard by how straightforward he is. He is not teasing, not smirking just asking. She shifts her coffee cup between her hands, looking down at the sidewalk as they walk.

“I didn’t think I was supposed to,” she says honestly. “I figured the number was just for medical stuff. Like if something went wrong with the stitches.”

Harry nods slowly, considering that. “That’s fair,” he says. “But you could’ve texted anyway.”

She exhales, still looking ahead. “I just didn’t want to bother you,” she admits. “You’re a doctor. You have way more important things to deal with.”

Harry stops walking for a moment, and she pauses too, turning to face him. He studies her for a second, then shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have given you my number if I didn’t mean it.”

Y/N presses her lips together, feeling a small pang of regret. She had not considered that. She had assumed it was just a polite gesture, nothing more.

She nods, shifting slightly on her feet. “I guess I didn’t think about it that way.”

Harry gives a small shrug. “Well. Now you know.”

There is no pressure in his tone, no expectation—just a simple statement. And somehow, that makes it feel even more significant.

Harry takes another sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward Y/N before he speaks again. “It’s not every day you rescue a cute girl off the sidewalk.”

Y/N lets out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Is that in the medical textbooks? Proper procedure for stumbling across injured pedestrians?”

He smirks slightly. “Something like that.”

The conversation settles between them as they continue walking, the cold air biting just a little more now that they are no longer inside the café. Y/N tucks one hand into her coat pocket, shifting her coffee cup to the other as they pass a row of shop windows, each one glowing softly with warm light. The displays are decorated for the upcoming holidays, twinkling string lights casting a golden hue onto the sidewalk.

Harry glances at one of the windows, where an array of books is stacked beneath a sign that reads Winter Reads to Get Lost In. Y/N follows his gaze, her lips twitching slightly.

“You a big reader?” she asks.

He hums, considering. “Not as much as I’d like to be. Work keeps me busy.”

She nods, taking another sip of her drink before tilting her head slightly. “Speaking of work, what kind of doctor are you?”

“Trauma surgeon,” he answers easily.

Her eyebrows raise slightly. “That sounds… intense.”

He gives a small shrug. “It can be.”

She studies him for a moment. “So my knee was probably the least exciting thing you’ve had to deal with.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t say that. At least you were conscious. That’s more than I can say for a lot of my patients.”

Y/N winces slightly at that, imagining the kind of high-stakes situations he must deal with on a daily basis. “And you still had the energy to stop for coffee and go on a run?”

“I try,” he says. “Some days are easier than others.”

She watches him as they walk, noting the way his shoulders sit slightly tense, like he is used to carrying more weight than just his own.

“So when you’re not patching people up, running, and drinking overpriced coffee, what do you do?” she asks, shifting the conversation to something lighter.

Harry glances at her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You make it sound like I have no life.”

She grins. “Do you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

Y/N rolls her eyes but feels herself smiling as they continue walking, the city stretching out ahead of them.

As they walk, their conversation flows effortlessly, jumping from books to coffee preferences to the best running routes in the city. The air is crisp, but the warmth of their drinks and the easy conversation makes it feel less biting.

After a brief lull, Harry glances at Y/N, his expression thoughtful. “What are you doing this weekend?”

Y/N hums, taking a sip of her coffee. “Not much, I think. Why?”

He hesitates for only a second before saying, “I was thinking… maybe we could get dinner?”

She slows her steps slightly, looking up at him. There is no teasing in his expression, no smugness—just a simple, casual invitation.

“Oh,” she says, a little caught off guard, though pleasantly so. “Like a ‘thank you for stitching me up’ dinner or…?”

Harry smirks. “I mean, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Y/N bites her lip, suppressing a smile. “I think I could be convinced.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “Any place in mind?”

She thinks for a moment before her eyes light up. “There’s this Thai place I love, but it’s kind of a hole in the wall.”

Harry raises a brow. “You’re not talking about Saap Thai, are you?”

Y/N’s jaw drops slightly. “Wait—you know it?”

“Know it?” He scoffs. “I’ve been going there for years. Best pad see ew in the city.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned that we both love the same obscure Thai place.”

Harry grins. “I’d say it’s a good sign.”

Y/N pretends to consider. “Fine. I guess I can meet you there this weekend.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, his voice warm.

As they continue walking, Y/N feels a quiet excitement settle in her chest. A few weeks ago, she never would have imagined any of this happening. But now, here she was—planning dinner with the doctor who quite literally picked her up off the sidewalk.

Their walk naturally loops back around to the coffee shop, the familiar scent of espresso and baked goods greeting them once more. Through the window, Y/N spots Poppy sitting at a small table near the front, scrolling on her phone, but not-so-subtly glancing up every few seconds as if to check on her progress.

Harry follows her gaze and nods. “Looks like your friend is waiting.”

Y/N exhales, part of her wishing she had a little more time before they had to part ways. “Yeah, I should probably get back before she starts interrogating me.”

Harry smirks, shifting his coffee cup between his hands. “I should let you go, then.” He tilts his head slightly. “But I’ll see you this weekend?”

Y/N nods, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.”

There is a brief pause before Harry steps closer, wrapping one arm around her in an easy, natural hug. For a second, she freezes, caught off guard, but then she relaxes into it, letting her arms wrap around him in return.

He is warm, solid, and his scent—clean, fresh, with a hint of something woodsy—lingers in the air between them. It is the same scent she noticed in his car, the same one that clung to his hoodie when he had wrapped her knee. Now, pressed against him, she can tell it is just him, and something about that makes her heart pick up slightly.

Harry pulls back first, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

Y/N nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she steps back toward the door. “You too, Doctor.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh before turning and walking down the street, disappearing into the flow of city traffic.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N steps back inside the café, bracing herself for the inevitable interrogation waiting at Poppy’s table.

The moment Y/N steps inside, Poppy looks up from her phone, her eyes already wide with excitement. She doesn’t even try to hide her smirk as she leans forward on the table, both hands wrapped around her coffee cup like she has been waiting for this moment all her life.

“Well?” Poppy says, dragging out the word. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to start guessing?”

Y/N sighs, setting her coffee down before sliding into the chair across from her. “Nothing happened,” she says, though the warmth in her face betrays her.

Poppy scoffs. “Nothing happened? Babe, I watched you walk off with a literal doctor who carried you through the streets of New York. And then you come back forty minutes later looking all—” She gestures vaguely at Y/N. “Like that.”

Y/N raises a brow. “Like what?”

“Like someone who just got asked on a date,” Poppy says, eyes sparkling.

Y/N groans, covering her face for a second before peeking through her fingers. “Okay. Fine. Maybe he asked me to dinner this weekend.”

Poppy gasps dramatically, nearly knocking over her coffee. “I KNEW IT!” She slaps the table, drawing the attention of the barista behind the counter. “I knew there was something there! Oh my god, tell me everything. Where? When? What did he say?”

Y/N sighs, unable to fight back a small smile as she leans back in her chair. “We’re going to that little Thai place we love.”

Poppy gasps again, clutching her chest like she has just received the best news of her life. “Oh, this is fate. This is a rom-com. He just happens to love the same restaurant? Babe, this is how love stories start.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but the truth is, a small part of her is thinking the same thing.

“It’s just dinner,” she says, though even she does not sound convinced.

Poppy grins knowingly, stirring her coffee. “Mmmhmm. Sure. And next week, I’ll be helping you pick out an outfit for date number two.”

Y/N shakes her head, laughing, but she does not deny it.

On the weekend, Y/N stands in front of her closet, scanning through her options with a mix of excitement and nerves. It had been a while since she had gone on a proper date, and despite telling herself that this was just dinner, she could not ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Harry again.

She pulls out a nice top, something flattering but not too dressy, and pairs it with high-waisted pants that hug her just right. She slips on a pair of flats, knowing she wants to be comfortable but still put together. The outfit is simple, effortless, exactly the balance she wants to strike.

Stepping in front of the mirror, she smooths her hands over the fabric and exhales. Her hair falls just right, and her makeup is light but enough to make her feel confident. She wants to look nice without feeling like she is trying too hard.

Checking the time, she grabs her purse and phone before heading toward the door. Her heart beats a little faster as she steps out, the anticipation settling in as she makes her way to the Thai restaurant where Harry is waiting.

Y/N arrives at the Thai restaurant just a few minutes early, the familiar scent of spices and sizzling dishes drifting through the air as she approaches the entrance. The small, tucked-away spot is just as cozy as she remembers, warm light spilling from the windows onto the sidewalk. She pulls open the door, stepping inside, her pulse quickening slightly as she glances around.

Harry is already there. He stands near the entrance, scanning the room before his eyes land on her. His expression shifts instantly, a small, genuine smile appearing as he takes her in. He looks effortlessly put together in a dark button-up with the sleeves casually rolled to his forearms, paired with well-fitted trousers. He looks good—really good.

“Hey,” he greets, stepping forward slightly. “You made it.”

She laughs softly. “Would’ve been awkward if I didn’t.”

He smirks, then gestures toward the host stand. “I got us a table. Ready to eat?”

“Absolutely,” she says, feeling the warmth of anticipation settle in her chest.

The host leads them to a small table near the window, tucked away just enough for them to have some privacy. The restaurant hums with quiet conversations and the clinking of plates, the atmosphere intimate but relaxed. They sit across from each other, the flickering candle on the table casting a soft glow over their faces.

Harry leans back slightly, resting his forearm on the table as he glances over the menu. “So, do you already know what you’re getting, or are you one of those people who has to read through the whole thing every time?”

Y/N tilts her head playfully. “I like to consider all my options.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I already know what I’m getting.”

“Let me guess. Pad see ew?”

Harry raises a brow, impressed. “Good memory.”

She shrugs, smirking slightly. “You said it was the best in the city.”

He nods, then gestures to her. “What about you?”

“I always go for the green curry,” she says, setting the menu down.

“Solid choice,” he acknowledges, closing his own menu just as their server approaches. They place their orders, and once the server leaves, Harry leans in slightly, his gaze settling on her with quiet curiosity.

“So,” he says, “is this the part where we ask all the typical first-date questions?”

Y/N arches a brow. “Is that what this is?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering. “Would you be here if it wasn’t?”

She exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

His lips twitch with amusement. “Good to know.”

She sips her water, meeting his gaze. “Alright, then. Typical first-date questions. What made you want to be a doctor?”

Harry thinks for a moment, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “I guess I’ve always liked the idea of being able to help people. My mum was a nurse, so I grew up around it. Seeing the way she cared for people, how she made a difference in their lives—I wanted to be able to do the same.”

Y/N listens intently, watching the way his expression softens slightly when he talks about it. There is no arrogance in his voice, no sense of self-importance. Just sincerity.

“That’s a good reason,” she says, nodding.

He shrugs lightly. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I work in publishing,” she says. “Mostly editing manuscripts before they go to print. It’s not quite as life-saving as your job, but it has its moments.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he says. “Books have probably saved more lives than I have.”

She smiles at that, tilting her head. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has said about my job.”

Their conversation flows easily, moving from work to travel, to childhood memories, to the small quirks that make them who they are. Time seems to slip away as the food arrives, the dishes filling the space between them as they eat and talk, neither of them feeling the need to check the time.

At some point, Y/N realizes how natural this feels—how easy it is to be here with him, to talk to him like they have known each other longer than just a few weeks. It is effortless, but not in a way that feels fleeting. It feels like something that could last.

And judging by the way Harry looks at her, like he is just as caught up in the moment as she is, she thinks he might feel the same way.

They were caught up in the moment, lost in the conversation, in the warmth of good food and easy laughter, until the sudden vibration of Harry’s phone cut through it. He barely noticed it at first, but when it rang again, more insistent this time, he sighed and pulled it from his pocket.

His eyes flicked to the screen, and immediately, his expression shifted. His relaxed demeanor tensed, his jaw setting as he read the caller ID.

“Sorry,” he murmured, glancing at Y/N before standing. “I have to take this.”

She nodded, watching as he stepped away from the table, pressing the phone to his ear. She could not hear much, just the low hum of his voice as he spoke in short, clipped sentences. His hand raked through his hair at one point, his posture stiff as he listened to whatever was being said on the other end.

When he finally returned, his expression was tight, his lips pressed together in a way that told her the night was about to change.

“I have to go,” he said, exhaling through his nose. “There was an accident. I need to scrub in.”

Y/N immediately sat up, nodding in understanding. “Of course. Go.”

He hesitated, glancing at the half-finished plates in front of them. “I feel bad cutting this short.”

She smiled softly. “You don’t have to. This is your job. People need you.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like he wanted to say something else, but he did not have time to linger.

“I’ll pay for it,” she added, waving a hand. “Consider it repayment for saving my leg.”

Harry shook his head, clearly not liking the idea. “I should at least—”

“Harry,” she interrupted gently, tilting her head toward the door. “Go.”

He sighed, but there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. Without another word, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a quick hug. It was warm, firm, and over too soon.

“Rain check?” he asked as he pulled back.

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

He lingered for only a second before nodding and rushing out the door, disappearing into the night.

Y/N watched him go, the space he left behind feeling oddly empty. With a quiet breath, she sat back down, staring at the table before shaking her head with a small smile.

So much for a typical first date.

When Y/N got home, she kicked off her flats, set her purse down, and immediately pulled out her phone. She already knew Poppy was waiting for an update, probably pacing her apartment in anticipation.

Y/N: So… the date was going great.

It took less than five seconds for Poppy to reply.

Poppy: WAS??? Babe, what happened???

Y/N: His job called. There was an accident, and he had to go into surgery.

Poppy: NOOOO. You’re telling me your date got interrupted because he had to go save lives?? That’s both tragic and ridiculously hot.

Y/N: I mean… yeah, basically.

Poppy: Ugh. What a man. Okay, but how was it before he had to go be a hero?

Y/N: Honestly? It was really nice. We talked, laughed, and we even like the same Thai place. It was just easy.

Poppy: So you like him.

Y/N stared at the message for a second before sighing.

Y/N: Yeah. I do.

Poppy: I KNEW IT.

Y/N: But what if his schedule is always like this? What if this happens all the time?

Poppy: That’s something you’ll figure out if it turns into something serious. Right now? It’s one date. And judging by the way you’re texting me, I don’t think it’s going to be the last.

Y/N chewed on her lip, thinking about the way Harry had hugged her before leaving, the way he had asked for a rain check like he wanted to see her again.

Y/N: Yeah… maybe not.

Poppy: Oh, babe. You’re done for.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head before tossing her phone onto the couch. Maybe Poppy was right. Maybe she was done for. But strangely enough, she did not mind the thought.

Later that night, as Y/N sat curled up on her couch, half-watching a show she had no real interest in, her phone lit up with an incoming call. The name on the screen made her heart stutter for a second.

Harry.

She hesitated, unsure if he had meant to call her or if it was some kind of mistake. But after a moment, she swiped to answer, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she said cautiously.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice came through, low and warm, a little more tired than it had been earlier. “I hope it’s okay that I called.”

Y/N sat up slightly, tucking her legs beneath her. “Yeah, of course. I just… wasn’t sure if you meant to.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “I did. Texts felt too informal. I felt bad about leaving so abruptly and—” He paused for a second. “I don’t know. I wanted to hear your voice.”

Her stomach flipped slightly at that. She swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You really didn’t have to feel bad, you know. You were literally saving lives.”

“Still,” he murmured, then exhaled. “How was the rest of your night?”

“Uneventful,” she admitted. “Poppy demanded a full debrief, obviously.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “I can only imagine.”

Y/N smiled before tilting her head slightly. “How did surgery go?”

There was a brief pause, then a sigh on the other end. “It was rough,” he admitted. “Multiple injuries, a lot of moving pieces. But we managed. Patient’s stable now, which is what matters.”

Y/N could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the weight of whatever he had dealt with tonight still lingering. She could not even begin to imagine the kind of pressure that came with his job.

“You must be exhausted,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but I wanted to check in.”

A warmth spread through her chest at that. “Well,” she said, smiling slightly, “I appreciate it.”

There was a quiet hum on the other end, followed by a brief silence that felt comfortable rather than awkward.

“Rain check still on?” he asked eventually.

Y/N’s smile widened. “Yeah. It is.”

“Good,” he murmured. “I’ll let you get some sleep, then. Just wanted to call.”

“Thanks for calling, Harry.”

“Night, Y/N.”

As she hung up, she stared at her phone for a long moment, unable to shake the small, ridiculous smile that had settled on her face.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to a text from Harry. She had not been expecting it so soon, but seeing his name pop up on her screen brought an immediate warmth to her chest.

Harry: Morning. Hope you slept well.

She smiled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before responding.

Y/N: Morning. I did, surprisingly. You?

A few minutes passed before her phone buzzed again.

Harry: As well as I could after a long shift. But I’ve got the evening off. I was thinking… if you feel comfortable, maybe we could have dinner at mine instead of a restaurant.

Y/N sat up a little straighter, rereading the message.

Harry: A proper date this time. No stitches involved.

She huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

Y/N: That does sound like an upgrade.

Harry: I promise I won’t make you run this time either.

Y/N: You’re really selling this.

Harry: So is that a yes?

She hesitated for only a second, not because she was unsure, but because the idea of going to hisplace made this feel a little more personal, a little more real. But she wanted that.

Y/N: Yeah. I’d like that.

Harry: Perfect. I’ll cook. Do you like red or white wine?

Y/N: Red. But now I feel bad that you’re doing all the work.

Harry: You can bring dessert if it’ll make you feel better.

Y/N: Deal.

Harry: See you at seven?

Y/N: See you then.

She set her phone down, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach. This was different from meeting at a restaurant. This was stepping into his world, seeing him outside of work, outside of the rushed moments they had shared so far.

Y/N stood in front of Harry’s door, balancing a sheet of homemade brownies in one hand while smoothing down her sweater with the other. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the last bit of nerves before pressing the doorbell.

Within seconds, the door swung open, and there he was. Harry, in a dark knit sweater and fitted jeans, his hair slightly tousled, looking far more relaxed than he had the last time she was here.

“You actually baked?” he asked, glancing down at the brownies with a small smirk.

She scoffed. “Excuse me, I happily took on the responsibility of dessert.” She lifted the tray slightly. “And these are homemade, by the way. Not store-bought.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “I’m honored.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, as he stepped aside to let her in. The warmth of his home greeted her instantly, the scent of something rich and savory filling the air. He reached for her coat, sliding it off her shoulders before hanging it by the door.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing toward the living room as he took the brownies from her.

Y/N stepped further inside, taking in the space properly for the first time. The last time she had been here, her focus had been entirely on her bleeding knee, on not ruining his furniture with her mess. Now, she could actually look.

His home was beautiful, but not in a showroom kind of way. It was warm and lived-in, filled with small details that made it feel personal. A large bookshelf lined one of the walls, stacked with an impressive mix of medical journals, classic literature, and a few well-worn novels that she suspected were old favorites. A record player sat near the corner, a small stack of vinyls beside it. The couch looked plush and inviting, a cozy knit blanket draped over the armrest.

“This place is beautiful,” she said, turning back to him. “I can actually appreciate it now that I’m not panicking about getting blood everywhere.”

Harry chuckled, setting the brownies on the counter before leaning against it. “Yeah, you were a little preoccupied last time.”

She smirked. “Just a bit.”

He crossed his arms, watching her as she took everything in. “Wine?”

She turned toward him, nodding. “Please.”

As he grabbed the bottle and two glasses, she let herself settle into his space, feeling more at ease than she had expected. This already felt different from their rushed encounters before. This was slower, intentional, and as Harry poured the wine, she realized just how much she was looking forward to the night ahead.

Harry poured the wine, handing her a glass before raising his own slightly. “To a proper date,” he said with a small smirk.

Y/N clinked her glass against his. “No injuries this time,” she added before taking a sip. The deep red was smooth and rich, warming her instantly.

Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with an amused expression. “So, homemade brownies, huh?”

She arched a brow. “Surprised?”

“A little,” he admitted, tilting his head. “Didn’t peg you for the baking type.”

Y/N scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I am a woman of many talents.”

He smirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

She tapped her fingers against her glass, pretending to think. “Well, I can run—most of the time, without falling. I can read an entire novel in a day. And I make a mean grilled cheese.”

Harry laughed, taking a sip of his wine. “Impressive resume. But I’m gonna need to try one of these brownies before I believe the baking claim.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ll be thanking me later.”

He nodded toward the living room. “Come sit while dinner finishes up.”

She followed him to the couch, sinking into the plush cushions as he took the spot next to her. The warmth of his home, mixed with the lingering scent of whatever he had cooking, made everything feel comfortable. Easy.

“So,” she said, turning toward him slightly, “is this how you usually spend your nights off? Cooking elaborate meals and drinking expensive wine?”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Not exactly. My nights off are pretty rare, so when they do happen, I try to enjoy them. Sometimes that means cooking, sometimes it means catching up on sleep.”

Y/N took another sip of wine. “Well, I feel honored that I made the cut.”

“You should,” he teased, smirking over the rim of his glass.

She nudged his knee with hers. “And here I was thinking you were this super serious doctor with no time for fun.”

Harry raised a brow. “You think I’m serious?”

“At work? Absolutely,” she said. “You were all business when you stitched me up.”

“To be fair, you were bleeding all over my floor,” he pointed out.

She laughed, shaking her head. “True. But you did joke about battle scars, so maybe I should’ve known you weren’t completely serious all the time.”

Harry shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I have my moments.”

Their eyes met, and for a second, the playful teasing faded into something quieter. Warmer. Y/N felt it settle in her chest, the realization that she liked sitting here with him, talking with him like this.

Before she could say anything else, a soft chime sounded from the kitchen. Harry glanced toward it, then back at her. “That would be dinner.”

She smiled, leaning back against the couch. “Alright, Doctor. Show me what you’ve got.”

Harry chuckled, standing up. “Prepare to be impressed.”

Harry made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he moved with practiced ease. Y/N watched him for a moment, sipping her wine, enjoying the sight of him in his element. There was something effortless about the way he moved—graceful, confident, like he belonged in any space he stepped into.

“You need any help?” she called out.

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “I’ve got it under control.”

She grinned, setting her glass down before getting up anyway. “I don’t mind playing sous-chef.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue as she wandered over, leaning against the counter beside him. The warm, savory scent of spices and herbs filled the air, and she peeked over his shoulder at the dish he had been preparing.

“That smells amazing,” she said, genuinely impressed.

Harry gave a modest shrug. “It’s a simple dish. Just takes a little time to get the flavors right.”

Y/N raised a brow. “So you can stitch people up and cook? Overachiever.”

He chuckled. “I try.” He glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “What about you? Besides baking world-class brownies, what’s your specialty in the kitchen?”

She exhaled dramatically. “Grilled cheese, remember? I do it really well.”

“Ah, right,” he said, nodding seriously. “That’s a tough one to master.”

She smirked. “Don’t mock me, Styles. You haven’t tried it.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Maybe next time, I’ll let you cook.”

Something about the casual way he said next time made her stomach flip. She busied herself by grabbing a couple of plates from the counter, trying not to read too much into it.

A few minutes later, Harry was plating the food, and Y/N helped set the table. Once everything was ready, they sat across from each other, the dim lighting adding an unexpected intimacy to the moment.

Y/N took her first bite, humming in approval. “Okay, yeah. This is incredible.”

Harry smirked, taking a bite of his own. “I’m glad you approve.”

They ate and talked, falling into the same easy rhythm they had earlier. Y/N learned more about his life outside of work—his love for music, the way he sometimes played the guitar to unwind, his favorite places to travel when he had the rare chance. He asked about her job, about the books she had worked on, about the things she wanted to do outside of publishing.

Time passed quickly, their plates empty before they even realized it.

Harry leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine. “Alright. I think I’m ready to try these famous brownies now.”

Y/N grinned, standing to grab the tray. “Prepare to have your expectations blown.”

She set the brownies down between them, cutting a piece for each of them. Harry took a bite first, pausing as he chewed.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “If you say anything less than amazing, I’m walking out that door.”

He swallowed, setting his fork down before nodding. “Alright. I won’t say it.”

Her jaw dropped. “Harry.”

His lips twitched, and finally, he gave in. “Fine. They’re amazing.”

She let out a satisfied hum, leaning back in her chair. “That’s what I thought.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re very competitive.”

“Only when I know I’m right,” she said, flashing him a teasing smile.

Harry took another bite, shaking his head fondly. “Noted.”

The night continued, conversation flowing effortlessly between them. At some point, they had both abandoned the dining table, moving back to the couch with their wine. The music from the record player hummed softly in the background, adding a warmth to the space that Y/N found herself completely at ease in.

Harry motioned toward the couch, nodding for her to join him. “Come sit. I’ll clean up later.”

Y/N hesitated for only a second before giving in, grabbing her wine glass and settling onto the couch beside him. Maybe it was the warmth of the room, the soft music playing in the background, or maybe it was the wine, but she felt drawn to him in a way that was impossible to ignore.

He sat close, not enough to cross any lines, but enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. He took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze flickering toward her before he smirked.

“You know,” he said, setting his glass down on the coffee table, “for someone who nearly took themselves out with a sidewalk crack, you carry yourself pretty confidently.”

Y/N let out an incredulous laugh, lightly nudging his arm. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “I mean, I did quite literally save your leg. You might owe me a little good-natured teasing.”

She rolled her eyes but could not help the smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. I’ll allow it. But if you ever trip over something, I will be keeping score.”

Harry hummed, pretending to consider. “Fair enough.”

She took another sip of her wine, setting the glass aside before shifting slightly to face him. “So, is this your signature move? Luring women in with wine and homemade meals?”

He raised a brow, smirking. “If it was, do you think it’s working?”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the teasing back on her. She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes. “I think I’m going to need more evidence before I make a final judgment.”

His smirk deepened, his green eyes flickering over her face. “Guess I’ll just have to prove myself, then.”

Something shifted in the air between them, a quiet tension settling in, thick and unspoken. Y/N could feel her heartbeat pick up slightly, her stomach flipping at the way he looked at her—not in a way that was rushed or expectant, but like he was simply waiting. Giving her the space to decide what happened next.

She exhaled, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “You really are annoyingly charming.”

Harry grinned, resting his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers just inches from her shoulder. “I try.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “How’s the knee?” he asked, nodding toward her leg.

Y/N glanced down, instinctively reaching for the fabric of her pants before looking back at him. “You want to see your handiwork?”

He chuckled, setting his wine down. “Of course. I take pride in my work.”

Rolling her eyes but smiling, she shifted slightly, pulling up the leg of her pants just enough to reveal the faint scar where his stitches had been. The skin had healed beautifully, barely a trace of the injury left behind.

Harry leaned in slightly, his fingers brushing over her shin just above the scar. “Not bad,” he murmured, tilting his head as he studied it. “Looks like I know what I’m doing.”

She laughed. “I’ll give you credit where it’s due.”

His thumb traced lightly over the skin for just a second before he looked up at her. “You said this one healed better than most?”

Y/N nodded, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah. I’m kind of clumsy. I have a few more from… various unfortunate incidents.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Care to share?”

Smirking slightly, she pulled up the sleeve of her sweater, revealing a faint, thin scar along her forearm. “Kitchen accident. I may or may not have grabbed a baking sheet straight out of the oven without a mitt.”

Harry let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “Impressive.”

She moved her hand to her knee, pointing at a faint scar along the side. “This one was from when I fell off my bike as a kid.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering over her skin, his fingers still resting against her shin. “Seems like you’ve been keeping me in business for years without even knowing it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, Harry’s voice dropped slightly, his smirk returning.

“Well,” he murmured, his thumb grazing over the edge of her knee, “if you ever need a more thoroughcheck-up…”

Her breath caught as his words sank in. She looked up at him, finding his green eyes already locked on hers, dark with suggestion. His hand rested lightly against her thigh now, the warmth of it seeping through the fabric of her pants.

Her gaze flickered over him—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his tongue flicked briefly over his bottom lip, the tattoos that curled up his forearm, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his sweater. Everything about him in that moment felt intentional, his presence heavy in the best way possible.

She swallowed, tilting her head slightly. “Is that part of your medical expertise?”

Harry’s smirk deepened, his fingers pressing slightly into her thigh. “Only for special patients.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had known there was something between them since the moment he had knelt in front of her on the sidewalk, but now—sitting here, with his hands on her, his voice low and smooth, his eyes watching her like he was waiting for her next move—she realized just how much she wanted to find out where this could go.

Y/N barely had time to process before Harry's hands tightened around her waist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled her flush against him. The heat from his body engulfed her, the air between them humming with a palpable desire.

His eyes scanned her face intently, gauging her reaction. "Is this okay?" he asked in a hushed tone, his voice hoarse with anticipation.

She nodded, a gasp escaping her lips. It wasn't enough. She nodded once more, this time with urgency, her fingers clutching onto his sweater as if to pull him even closer herself.

That was all the permission he needed.

Harry's lips found hers, tentative at first, seeking permission as their mouths explored each other. But when she responded eagerly, he deepened the kiss with fervor. One of his hands trailed up her back, his fingertips dancing along her spine, while the other hand remained on her thigh, pressing her firmly against him.

His taste was intoxicating – reminiscent of rich red wine that warmed her in a way that made her head swim. It was how he kissed her that left her breathless – unhurried yet confident as if he'd been longing for this moment.

Y/N's hands wandered up to Harry's broad shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath her fingers. Her heart raced as he tilted his head, their noses brushing against one another before their tongues tangled in an intimate dance that sent shivers down her spine.

When they finally broke apart just enough to catch their breaths, Harry's forehead rested against Y/N's as they shared a hot exhalation.

"Well," he breathed out, a thumb caressing circles on her hip. "That escalated."

Y/N released a shaky laugh, keeping her eyes closed. "Yeah. Not complaining though."

Harry chuckled softly, tightening his hold momentarily before relaxing again – as if still unsure whether or not to let go. "Me neither."

She opened her eyes, finding his already locked on hers, the green of them dark with desire. He scrutinized her for a moment, and for the first time since this began, he appeared hesitant.

"I don't want to rush anything," he confessed in a gentle whisper. "Tell me if this is too much."

Y/N smiled softly, shaking her head. "It's not."

His lips curved at the corners as his hand moved from her back to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking softly along her jawline. "Good."

And then, as if that was the reassurance he needed, their mouths fused once again – an explicit display of unspoken yearning. 

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before Harry kissed her again, deeper this time, like he had been holding back. His hand cradled her face, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her even closer. The warmth of his body, the way his lips moved against hers—it was overwhelming in the best way.

She felt herself sinking into him, her hands exploring the solid planes of his shoulders, the way his muscles tensed beneath her fingertips. Harry let out a quiet sound against her lips, his grip tightening at her waist before he shifted, guiding her back against the couch.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with restraint.

“I don’t,” she whispered, her breath hitching as his lips trailed along her jaw, down to her neck. “I really don’t.”

Harry exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against hers for just a moment before nodding. “Come with me,” he said, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.

He stood, pulling her up with him effortlessly, his hands never leaving her as he guided her toward his bedroom. The moment they stepped inside, the energy shifted—more intimate, more charged. The dim light cast soft shadows across the space, the faint scent of him lingering in the air.

Harry’s hands found her waist again, but this time, they moved slower, more deliberate. His lips hovered just over hers, waiting for her to close the distance. She did.

Their movements became unhurried, hands exploring, lips seeking. Harry took his time, his touch reverent, like he wanted to memorize every part of her. He guided her gently onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, his kisses deepening, his breath growing uneven.

“Are you sure?” he asked one last time, his green eyes searching hers, his thumb stroking slow circles against her hip.

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding, but there was no hesitation when she whispered, “Yes.”

Harry exhaled like he had been waiting for that, then kissed her again, slow and consuming, as the rest of the world faded away.

The night unfolded slowly, each moment stretching with quiet intensity. Harry took his time, his touch gentle yet sure, as if he was memorizing her, learning her in a way that felt deeply personal. There was something unspoken in the way he moved—no rush, no urgency, just deliberate care, like he wanted her to feel everything, every thrust, to know this was not just a fleeting moment.

Y/N responded in kind, matching his pace, her hands mapping the lines of his body, tracing the tattoos inked into his skin. She felt the strength in him as he moved within her, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch, the way his breath hitched when she explored the places he liked most, like the spot where his shoulder met his neck. It was intoxicating, feeling him unravel beneath her hands just as much as she was beneath his.

The room was warm, wrapped in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The faint sound of the city outside was distant, muted by the heavy presence of him—the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the way he murmured her name against her skin, and the way he moaned with pleasure.

He kissed her deeply, lingering as he pulled back just enough to look at her. “You okay?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek, his voice quieter now, rough with emotion.

She nodded, her lips parting as she exhaled, still catching her breath. “Yeah,” she whispered. “More than okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile pulled at his lips before he kissed her again, sealing whatever words might have come next.

Everything about him was careful, intentional. The way he moved, the way he held her, the way he whispered her name like it meant something more. And maybe it did.

By the time they finally settled, tangled in each other beneath the sheets, the night had stretched into early morning. Y/N felt the rise and fall of Harry’s chest beneath her cheek, his arm draped lazily around her, fingers tracing light patterns against her skin.

Neither of them spoke for a while, content in the silence, in the warmth of the moment.

Then, after a long breath, Harry murmured, “That was worth the wait.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh against his skin, tilting her head up slightly. “Yeah?”

He looked down at her, his expression softer now. “Yeah.”

She smiled, letting her fingers trail along his arm, tracing one of the tattoos there. “So… do I get to keep my status as your favorite patient?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he tightened his hold around her. “You were always my favorite.”

Y/N felt warmth bloom in her chest at his words, though she knew he was teasing. Mostly.

She sighed, her eyes growing heavy as sleep started to pull at her. “Hope you don’t have an early shift.”

Harry hummed, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry about that,” he murmured. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

And with that, Y/N let herself drift off, safe in the warmth of him. 

Y/N woke to the feeling of warmth surrounding her, the faint scent of something woodsy lingering in the sheets. The room was dim, early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. It took her a moment to remember where she was, why she felt so comfortable, why the bed beneath her wasn’t her own.

Then, she felt movement beside her.

Harry.

She turned her head slightly, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she found him still lying beside her. His arm was draped over his pillow, hair slightly tousled, his breathing slow and steady. He looked completely at peace, his features soft in the early morning light.

A small smile tugged at her lips. She had not expected to wake up like this, wrapped in his sheets, in hisspace, but it felt… nice.

She shifted slightly, stretching out her sore muscles. Harry stirred at the movement, inhaling deeply before his eyes fluttered open.

His gaze met hers, and for a second, he just looked at her, like he was still processing where he was, too. Then, a slow, sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” she echoed, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Harry let out a low hum, stretching his arms above his head before rolling onto his side to face her. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Sleep okay?”

She nodded, her smile growing. “Yeah. Better than I expected.”

His smirk was lazy, teasing. “Better than your own bed?”

She scoffed, nudging him lightly with her foot beneath the sheets. “Don’t push it.”

He chuckled, letting his hand rest on her hip, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against her skin. The weight of his touch was grounding, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Stay for breakfast?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

Y/N hesitated, not because she didn’t want to, but because she hadn’t expected the night to bleed into the morning like this. She thought maybe she would slip out before he woke up, before they had to talk about what this meant. But now, with him looking at her like that, like he wanted her to stay, she felt the hesitation fade.

“What’s on the menu?” she asked, raising a brow.

Harry grinned. “That depends. Do you trust me in the kitchen?”

Y/N bit her lip, pretending to consider. “I suppose you did impress me with dinner last night.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging her closer playfully. “You’re impossible.”

She laughed, but the sound was cut off when he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her lips. It was different from last night—less urgent, more lazy, like he had all the time in the world to do this.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “So… breakfast?”

Y/N sighed dramatically, pretending to give in. “Fine. But only because I want to see if you’re as good at pancakes as you are at stitches.”

Harry smirked, his fingers grazing over her bare skin beneath the sheets. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

She laughed softly, knowing full well that she had no plans of leaving just yet.

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You?

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 1931

summary : After casually revealing your face on Tumblr, a well-known smut writer attend an ATEEZ fan meet, unaware of the consequences. When you sit in front of Yunho, something feels off—the way he looks at you, the way he lingers. Then, just before her time is up, he drops a bombshell. He follows your account. He’s read everything. And he’s not letting you go that easily.

genre : suggestive

warning(s) : Slight dub-con vibes (power imbalance), heavy tension, teasing, suggestive language, explicit themes, idol-reader dynamics, Yunho being way too confident and knowing, mild obsession undertones, reader’s worst (or best?) nightmare coming true. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this one got my toes curling SKSKKSKSKSK. Should I make part two?🤔

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐fic under the cut🪐

You never thought twice before posting your fics. Why would you? It was just writing—just words strung together for thirsty Atinys who craved something a little more. Some of your works had gone viral, and you had a loyal following of readers who loved every filthy thing you put out.

So when you finally did a face reveal on your Tumblr, you didn’t think much of it. A casual selfie, captioned with something dumb like “Since y’all keep asking… here, take it”. A few hundred likes, some teasing comments, and that was that.

No big deal.

At least, that’s what you thought.

The excitement of the fan meet buzzed in your veins as you finally sat down in front of Yunho. Seeing him this close was unreal—the warmth of his presence, the way his smile reached his eyes, the deep, smooth hum of his voice as he greeted you.

But something felt off.

You couldn’t quite place it at first. It was subtle—just the way his gaze lingered, a little longer than it should. The way he studied your face like he was placing you, as if you weren’t just another fan in his long line of meet-and-greet interactions.

Then came the compliment.

“You’re really pretty in person,” he murmured, and his voice had a weight to it, like there was something more behind the words.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Ah—thank you!”

The response felt automatic, but your brain was still trying to process the way he was looking at you. Not just with the usual idol-to-fan warmth, but with something… different. Like he knew you.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, rhythmic and patient, as if he was waiting for something. Then, just as the staff was about to signal your turn was up, Yunho leaned in ever so slightly.

And then he said it.

“You should be more careful about what you post, Jagiya.”

Your body stiffened.

Your mind blanked.

Did he just—

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, eyes widening in pure, unfiltered panic. But Yunho? Yunho just smiled. A slow, knowing curve of his lips, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I follow you on Tumblr,” he continued, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. His tone was smooth, casual, like he was discussing the weather. Like he wasn’t completely wrecking your reality in real time.

Your stomach twisted. No, this had to be a joke. A coincidence. There was no way—

“Mm.” His fingers brushed against the table, casual and lazy. “I recognized you the moment I saw your selfie.”

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

You had so much smut on that account. And not just any smut—detailed, filthy scenarios that had Yunho doing things that could get you banned just for thinking about them too hard.

“I—” Your voice came out weak, shaky, and you were suddenly painfully aware of how warm your face was.

Yunho chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “You look flustered,” he mused. “Why? You weren’t shy when you wrote all those things about me.”

He was teasing you.

No—he was toying with you.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table as you swallowed hard, trying to force your brain to work. But you could barely breathe under his gaze, let alone form a response.

He leaned in just a little more, close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of his cologne. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge behind it when he said—

“You wrote that for me, didn’t you?”

Your time was up.

The staff was gently urging you to move along, but you couldn’t move—wouldn’t—until Yunho tilted his head, gaze flickering to the line behind you.

Then, just before you stood up, he murmured one last thing—low, quiet, for your ears only.

“See you later, baby.”

You walked away from the table in a daze.

The voices of other fans, the bright lights, the excited chatter—everything blurred into a distant hum, like white noise. Your body moved on instinct, following the line toward the exit, but your mind was stuck. Frozen.

Yunho knew.

Yunho read your fics.

Yunho—Jeong Yunho—had been watching your blog, scrolling through your late-night thirst posts, reading every filthy thought you had ever put into words.

Your breath shuddered as you stepped outside the venue, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat burning under your skin. Your heart was pounding—too fast, too hard—like you had just run miles instead of sitting for a harmless fan meet.

Except it wasn’t harmless.

Because Yunho’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

"You wrote that for me, didn't you?"

A shiver ran down your spine, and you had to physically shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. No. No, there was no way this was real. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he was just teasing.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You nearly dropped it when you pulled it out, fingers trembling as you glanced at the screen. A notification from Tumblr. Someone had just liked one of your posts.

A post from two years ago.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened the app. The notification led you straight to the post—a particularly filthy piece about Yunho, one that had gone semi-viral when you first wrote it. And sitting right there, at the top of the notes—

A new like.

From a user you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse hammered as you clicked on the profile. It was nearly empty—just a default avatar, no posts, no bio. But there was one thing.

The blog name.

"ateezyunho1999."

Your mouth went dry.

No. No, no, no, this had to be a joke.

Then another notification popped up.

A message.

Your vision blurred for a second as you forced yourself to tap on it, breath shallow as you read the words.

"Come outside."

A pause.

Then—

"I'll be waiting."

Your hands shook as you stared at the message.

You could feel your own pulse in your throat, hammering like a warning. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Yunho was an idol. A celebrity. There was no way he would actually—

Your phone buzzed again.

The third message.

"Don't make me wait, baby."

The air in your lungs turned heavy. Your brain screamed at you to walk away, to ignore it, to go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

But your body?

Your body was already moving.

Like you had no control over yourself, your feet carried you toward the back of the venue, slipping past groups of lingering fans, past the staff still bustling around. You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this.

And yet—

As soon as you turned the corner, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the building, you felt him before you even saw him.

Yunho.

He was leaning against the side of a sleek black car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other holding his phone. The glow of the screen lit up his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jawline. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was the way he smirked when he saw you.

Slowly, he slipped his phone into his pocket, pushing off the car as he took a step toward you.

“You listen well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That’s good.”

You should have said something. Anything. But your tongue felt heavy, thoughts tangled into knots as you stood frozen in place.

Yunho tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in a slow, deliberate sweep. His gaze was too knowing, too intimate—like he had already stripped you down in his mind.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” he continued, his tone almost teasing. “But then again…”

A pause.

Then—

“I know what you want.”

Your breath caught.

Yunho chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He took another step forward, closing the distance between you inch by inch. He was so tall, so effortlessly imposing, and when he finally stopped in front of you, the heat of his body was enough to make your skin prickle.

“You didn’t think I’d notice you, did you?” His voice dipped lower, smooth like honey but edged with something darker. “You wrote all those filthy little things about me, and yet, when I look at you now…”

He reached out, fingers brushing along the side of your jaw, so lightly it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“You look so shy.”

A slow smirk curled at his lips as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was a whisper now, barely audible, but it wrapped around you like a vice.

“Do I match your imagination?”

Your breath came shallow, uneven.

The question sent a violent shiver through you.

You wanted to deny it. To shake your head, pretend you weren’t completely unraveling under his gaze. But the moment you tried to step back, his hand moved.

A firm grip on your chin.

Not rough, not forceful—just enough to keep you still. Enough to make your knees weaken.

He hummed, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, and his gaze darkened.

“You’re not answering,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

This was dangerous. This was a situation you had only ever fantasized about—except now, reality was so much worse. Because in your fics, Yunho was just a character, a version of him built from your own desires.

But this Yunho?

This Yunho was real. And he had read everything.

His thumb pressed against your lip, just enough to make you part them. The smirk that followed was pure sin.

“Mm,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “I wonder…”

He let the word hang in the air as his fingers trailed down, a featherlight touch along the column of your throat. A tease. A warning.

“Does the way I touch you match your imagination, too?”

Heat pooled deep in your stomach, a slow, unbearable ache curling at your core. Your body betrayed you before you could even think—back arching just slightly, like you were reaching for more.

Yunho saw it.

And he liked it.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, deep and pleased. “Ah,” he sighed, thumb tapping against your chin. “So responsive.”

Then, just when you thought he might close the distance completely, he pulled back just enough. Enough to leave you breathless, desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was deceptively gentle, like he wasn’t the same man who had just whispered filth into your ear moments ago.

Then, his lips curled again. That smirk.

“I should get going,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few words and touches.

Your body screamed in protest, but before you could even think of stopping him, he was already turning toward the sleek black car parked nearby.

The door opened. He paused. Then—

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

“Don’t stop writing,” he murmured. “I like seeing what you come up with.”

A slow, teasing wink.

And then—

He was gone.

[fruitswrl]

Valentines Shifting Pick a Pile જ⁀➴₊♡

" what your DR s/o loves about you + letter from your s/o "

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ what better way to celebrate valentine's day than to share your s/os feelings for you ?

i hope you find what you may be looking for, and if i was able to help in any way then i'm glad. and just like any other reading you find, take what resonates and leave what doesn’t

ꨄ take a deep breath and choose the treat you are most drawn to…

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Pile One 🎂~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : allergies, sneezing, procrastination, daze, 3, garlic, cracking knuckles, waiting rooms, secret dates, laughing till your stomach hurts, pasta, cooking dates, car rides, engagements, new york, big families, ponds/bodies of water, loss for words, gifts, best friends to lovers, lack of communication, forgiveness

ꨄ ok i get the feeling that your relationship with your s/o is a wild adventurous one, fast paced yet a long drawn out one. perhaps some of you have been with them before “ officially ” getting together. or maybe an on again, off again situation. i got the sense that, someone, particularly your s/o being confused regarding their feelings. maybe it took them longer than they would like to admit, just how deeply they feel for you. but oh my pile one, they feel so much for you ! 

ꨄ they may play it cool on the outside, but on the inside… they are totally gushing over you. maybe for the first time in a long time you’ve brought out their inner child and they are just entirely giddy being with you. you definitely have been in their head for a long time, no matter what they do they think about you. they have definitely caught themselves thinking things like “ oh you would love this dress. ” or “ i can't wait to tell you about this. ”

ꨄ they truly admire your willpower and ambition. you just don't give up. it’s a quality they wish they saw more in themselves, i mean overall you definitely inspire them to be the best version of themselves. i get the feeling that some of you may be shifting to a fame DR, specifically one in which you are an actor. i sense that you and your s/o work in the same/similar career. I think that's part of the reason they admire your ambition so much. 

ꨄ whether or not you are shifting to a fame DR, and this might only be for a select few, but i get the sense that you two at some point or another have had to keep your relationship hidden. secret glances, hushed voices, hidden rendezvous and all. maybe this was a source of conflict in your relationship, but i think your s/o actually really liked the thrill of it, whether they admitted it or not. 

ꨄ you two seem to be really competitive individuals, you both push each other to their best. even if your s/o shows irritation for this from you, they are really grateful deep down. i think they see you as their lucky charm, with you by their side what could go wrong ?

ꨄ you definitely keep them on their toes, they absolutely love what a free spirit you are. you're down for anything like spontaneous road trips across the country, or getting a ( deeply questionable ) tattoo late in the night. but that's not all, you are willing to do anything for the people you love and care for, heck you'd probably give some random stranger your car just because they needed to go to the store real quick. not because you are naive, but because that's how big your heart is. and i think that might be your s/o’s favorite thing about you.

love letter from your s/o

" hello dear, it feels so long since i've last heard your voice. when are you going to give me a call? i think we should go to that spot near the water next time and feed the ducks. i hope you are doing well lately, i've been meaning to check in on you, i'm sorry if i took too long. there's a lot going on lately–but i really miss you and i desperately want to take you out. maybe we could go see a movie as well? my mom’s been asking about you, i think she misses you too shes just too stubborn to admit it, i guess i got that from her, anyways, call me…

p.s. i finally found that shirt you used to always wear around the apartment, i swear it somehow still smells just like you. "

songs

ꨄ pleaser - wallows

" back in your room remain the words i wanna say to you

but couldn't leave my mouth "

" language of averted eyes

silence is what i do best "

" quite the people pleaser

if only i could please her "

ꨄ this is how we fall in love - chelsea cutler and jeremy zucker

" you are the reason i can survive "

" this is how you fall in love

let go and i'll hold you up "

ꨄ r u mine? - arctic monkeys

" she's a silver linin', lone ranger ridin' through an open space "

" i go crazy because here isn't where i want to be "

ꨄ bonus songs: cedar by gracie abrams and dog days are over by florence and the machine

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Pile Two 🤍~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : heavy water sign energy, 222, twin flames, mirrored souls, ice cream, 111, country life, past traumas, rough childhoods, religion, night sky, prayers, gemini, past lives, parties, drowning, separation, “written in the stars”, guitar, kdramas, moon, stars, lengthy conversations, blue lights

ꨄ well pile two, i felt such heavy emotional energy drawing cards for you. mostly just for how much you and your s/o feel for one another, but there might be some here whose s/o ( and maybe yourself too ) had their hearts broken in the past resulting in trust issues. it seems your s/o loves how much you trust them, and how they can trust you too. you are a very dependable individual, you've helped them heal from past hurt and to be able to open their hearts again. they feel like they can actually cry in front of you, free of judgement. you've freed them of a lot of emotional burden. perhaps they've done the same for you. it seems they view you as a literal angel, maybe you came to them in a really dark time in their life and “ saved ” them, and now they would like to save you as well. they are eternally grateful to you.

ꨄ it seems they adore how absolutely intelligent you are, you stimulate them intellectually in a way others bore them. you two probably have very similar hobbies and tastes in things, it seems reading is might be really important to the both of you. i can see that you two might share opinions and beliefs that others don’t, maybe that is part of how you both first bonded. ex: you two having a ( heated ) debate on something no one else particularly cares about but you both end up surprising each other by sharing the same perspective on something. along with your intelligence they admire how honest and direct you are with not only them but everyone, maybe that is part of the reason they trust you so much. you've shown them that even at their worst you will be there fully, right by their side.

ꨄ it seems that despite your honesty with others, to your s/o you have this air of mystique, they can't quite figure you out. i get the sense you might be playing into that as well… but you are not quite what you seem are you ? they desperately want to learn more about you, you are all consuming for them, they cannot even escape you in their dreams ( not that they'd want you to ). they love how in tune you are with your emotions, you are the stability in their life they never really had. you can easily manage making emotionally mature decisions with both your heart and head. maybe they are sometimes quick to anger, quick to let the highs of their emotions take over their actions and words. they really admire how mature you are ( despite the fact that i get the vibe that a lot of you guys are younger than your s/o ). with your high eq ( and iq ) you are a highly intuitive individual, able to pick up if something is off with your s/o. it makes them feel truly seen and cared for, especially in moments where they might not be able to express what they are feeling in the best way.

ꨄ they feel as though you are the one for them, no one else even comes close. pile two, your s/o only has eyes for you. i get the sense that for a lot of you, music is really important, and perhaps your s/o writes you loves songs. sometimes your s/o really worries for your well being, like making sure you've eaten, brushing your hair for you, getting you something from the store even when you say you don't need anything. it seems there's a chunk of you that may struggle with your mental health, and your s/o wants to make sure you're taken care of and wants to try and make you feel safe, ( even when you need your space or push them away ) they want you to know that just as you have for them they will show up, and they will stay.

love letter from your s/o

" love, this is hard for me to say, so i hope you can be patient with me. it’s nothing bad i promise. for the longest time i've been on my own, i haven't had the option to live life with the consideration of others, and i hope you haven't paid the price for that. you mean so much to me, and i don't think i've told you just how much. you are the breath of fresh air i needed, i can't remember the last time i felt like i wasn't drowning. you’ve shown me a different way to live, a different way to love. i have much to be grateful for, for one, you saving my life. i don't think i've ever mentioned that to you, but it's the truth, my truth anyways. no matter where we are, how far apart, i will always find you.

thank you for everything, but most importantly, for being you. "

songs

ꨄ come back home - bts

" i've seen the end of my life

i feel suffocated inside my heart

what is blocking my life is my fear towards tomorrow "

" why are you wasting your time?

my blood and sweat are truthful

now, let's imprint my name on that trophy and

come back home "

ꨄ kaleidoscope - chappell roan

" i guess we could pretend

we didn't cross a line

but ever since that day

everything has changed

the way i write your name "

" whatever you decide

i will understand "

" and love is a kaleidoscope

how it works we'll never know

and even all the change

is somehow all the same "

" and if you ever find

someone who could write

a better song for you

well i'd love to see them try "

ꨄ step on up - ariana grande

" you can't forget me

gave you the time of your life "

" what you need, babe, is a work of art

what you need, babe

come get it, i got it "

ꨄ bonus songs: angels by adrianne lencker and clean by taylor swift

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Pile Three 🍫 ~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : music dr/band dr, travelling on the road with your band, smoking, games, wild one, messy hair, all nighters, independence, leather, eyeliner, moles, dancing, life of the party, 777, jealousy, third party/love triangle (?), the seventies, money problems, extremely fast paced, rock music, lullabies , fashion, forbidden romance, red hair, spacing out, 333

ꨄ pile three, it seems you are quite the trouble maker aren't you ? and it seems your s/o loves it. they love how you embrace all aspects of your life even the ugly and dark parts, whatever life throws your way you take it and own it! you easily adapt to any situation, always saying the right thing, you could charm anyone. you don’t have to change for anything, you are the change ! it seems for a lot of you, you and your s/o may have rushed into getting together, your feelings overwhelming. you live in the moment and that means wasting no time, why wait to be together when you can right now ? you are such a rush for your s/o. you could probably talk them into doing anything. one thing you definitely are not is boring. spontaneous and wild. and a love for the times. others can’t decide if they want to be you or with you ( probably both ). and somehow you chose them, they can't really wrap their heads around it. i think in a lot of ways they don't feel good enough for you, that you may deserve better, but they definitely don't let these insecurities show ( they try not to anyways ).

ꨄ despite your overwhelming popularity and stardom, it seems you may be overly criticized by others. your s/o definitely loves you for your flaws and all. you just feel so authentic to them, you don't hide who you are for anyone or anything. others might think you are more focused on yourself and or work to have proper relationships with others, but that doesn't actually seem to be the case, not entirely anyways. you reassure you s/o and their insecurities, if they are maybe going a bit off the deep end rest assured that you are the one to pull them back to shore.

ꨄ they often find themselves daydreaming about you. maybe they want things from you they are scared to ask for. i think they are a lot more of a serious person than others think, and that scares them, how serious they are about you. but even when they think you might leave, you are still there. you give them hope for a better future. you wrecked their plans, and that may have been frightening at first for them, but now they can't imagine it any other way. no matter what happens they truly believe they were meant to find you.

ꨄ they are inspired by your positive outlook on life, you can find meaning in something others can’t, in something they can’t. you are a creative soul, something you are quite passionate about, and they are honestly a bit envious of that. they might be someone who is more methodical than wild and creative. you definitely made them think of love and relationships differently, maybe in the past they had a more cold, closed off, demeanor to it. they still have a long way to go it seems. despite their new perspective they might still become easily jealous of the others in your life. due to their own insecurities.

ꨄ this really might not be the case for everyone , but i get the sense that for the older shifters in this group your relationship may have started as hooking up / friends with benefits. i'm trying to keep this pg, but they definitely think of you, a lot. so do what you want with that…

love letter from your s/o

" think a lot has gone unsaid between us. some days i really don't mind, it’s who we are. but sometimes i think we could be more honest, but maybe that's just me. i know that i don't want to lose you, and that might mean showing you parts of myself i hate. but if that means you staying in my life, even for just a little bit longer than okay, you have me, all of me. i think even as much as it would hurt, even if you hated these other parts of myself, i would know that at least i was honest like you. i think you'd probably think this was cheesy and maybe a bit dramatic. god, i can see it now, you laughing, hopefully with me and not at me. it's fine either way though, i'll take what i can get. just don't make too much fun of me... "

songs

ꨄ strange love - halsey

“ and everybody wants to hear

how we chainsmoked until three

and how you laughed when you said my name ”

“ we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night

but the ending is the same every damn time ”

“ that's the beauty of a secret

you know you're supposed to keep it ”

ꨄ filter - bts

“ i'll be anything

you can pick and choose me, yeah ”

“ for you, every day i'll be new

it's not fun to stay the same all the time ”

“ you'll be wanting only me

yeah, because you are the one who made me ”

ꨄ triptych - samia

“ keepin' you awake, keepin' you awake on purpose hey, did i make a mistake and do my mistakes worsen? ”

“ i'll be good to you, i'm worth it you, i'm worth it ”

ꨄ bonus songs: to be alone by hozier and closer by rm

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

[deathofacupid]

synopsis: in which what begun as an arranged marriage, blossomed to love. for sukuna, at least. a/n: for my beloved @salsakiyoomi, whom i wrote this for, and who also inspired me. it's, like, 1.7k words, so definitely longer than i'd thought. banner credits to @/aquazero.

"do you think," he begins, his voice a hesitant murmur, so unlike the usual booming pronouncements of a king, that you almost miss it. "do you think it would be fair… to give us a chance?"

you glance up from your book, a collection of ancient poetry, the words blurring as you try to process his question. "sorry?" you ask, genuinely unsure if you’ve heard correctly. the firelight dances in his usually sharp, confident eyes, softening them in a way you’ve never witnessed.

he clicks his tongue, a nervous tic you’ve only ever seen him display in moments of extreme agitation, and shakes his head slightly. a flush creeps up his neck, staining his pale skin a delicate pink. it’s a startling sight on the usually stoic king.

is it embarrassment? fear? the thought is so foreign, so incongruous with the image of sukuna, that you almost dismiss it. almost. yet, as he stands there, fidgeting like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, you can’t fathom any other explanation.

sukuna clears his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet of the room. "i think… we could try," he says, the words coming out in a rush. a pause hangs in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities. "us."

you blink, your mind struggling to catch up. "what do you mean? we are married, are we not?" the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

"that’s different," he grumbles, scuffing the toe of his boot against the expensive rug. "that’s… not real."

you close your book, the leather binding snapping shut with a sharp sound. setting it aside, you watch him pace, a restless energy radiating from him. you’ve never seen him this… uneasy. vulnerable. it’s unsettling. "we sleep beside each other. we eat together. we share the same last name. what is not real?"

the answer comes quickly, almost too quickly, as if he’s been rehearsing it in his head. "our love. that’s not real."

you shake your head, a small, involuntary movement. "well, of course. we agreed that—"

"—fuck what we agreed to," he interrupts, the crude language shocking you into silence.

"sukuna," you breathe, your eyes widening.

gathering a sudden burst of courage, he steps closer, taking your hands in his. his touch, usually so demanding, is surprisingly gentle. "petal," he whispers, the nickname he only uses when he thinks no one is listening, "i want more."

"i… i don’t think that’s wise," you stammer, instinctively pulling back. the hopeful light in his eyes dims, and your stomach clenches.

"you don’t love me, sukuna," you continue, your voice trembling slightly. "we wouldn’t work like that. things are… perfect right now. the arrangement we have, we’re at the top. we don’t have to worry about… feelings. we—we don’t have anything getting in the way."

"who’s to say they would get in the way?" he counters, his voice laced with a desperate plea.

"we know they would," you insist, the years of carefully constructed logic solidifying your resolve. "and what makes you believe that—that i feel the same?"

"nothing," he admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. "i don’t know. but if we’re already ‘married,’ would it hurt to…?" he trails off, the question hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken desires.

"besides," you say, grasping at any logical argument, "we’re awful to each other."

"i don’t mean any of it, though," he protests, his voice rising in frustration.

"you did before," you remind him, the memory of his cruel words stinging even now. "and i don’t know if i can be with someone like that."

"people change," he whispers, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of understanding.

for a fleeting moment, you waver. you allow yourself to imagine it: a life with sukuna, not as a political alliance, but as something… more. a warmth spreads through your chest, a dangerous, tempting feeling. but then, the cold reality of your responsibilities crashes down on you. you can’t risk it. you can’t risk the stability you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

what if it all goes wrong? what if you have an irreparable fight? what if he uses his power as king to ban you from the battlefield? you love being out there, fighting alongside your troops, protecting your people. you won't be confined to some gilded cage. you won't be stripped of your purpose.

"no," you whisper, the word a death knell to his hopes. "no."

love was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty.

you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom. you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain.

the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

a love that was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna. you're playing a dangerous game, one you're destined to lose."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty. you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom.

you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain. the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

and in the quiet solitude of your gilded cage, you realize that the greatest sacrifice you made was not for your kingdom, but for yourself. you sacrificed your own happiness, your own chance at love, and in doing so, you condemned yourself to a lifetime of regret, a slow, agonizing decay of the heart.

the crown is yours, but the cost… the cost is everything.

[skyguytoast]

AFTER MIDNIGHT (18+): GENERAL ANAKIN SKYWALKER X AMIDALA! READER (PADMÉ'S DAUGHTER)

summary: When Anakin Skywalker secretly meets with Senator Padmé Amidala, you, his daughter, demand to know why he is there. As secrets are revealed, unexpected truths come to light, leading to a new bond between you and your mother's lover. warnings: +18, age difference (reader is of legal age, Anakin must be around 30 years old), implicit cheating, slight exhibitionism, sex (p in v) word count: 5.9k a/n: So, it seems like I can’t get enough of writing about things that are probably not so appropriate. Anyway, I was taking a psychoanalysis class (Oedipus Complex? Does Freud explain it?) when this idea came up, writing about the reader being Padmé's daughter and having an affair with Anakin consumed my mind. I hope you like it ;) Kisses 💖 

The lights and sounds of traffic in the capital of the galaxy never ceased; Coruscant was alive at all hours, pulsing with movement, especially in its wealthier districts. The residential apartments in Upper Coruscant stood in the heart of it all—close to the Senate, to prestigious art buildings and grand museums. It was a respectable area, one that reflected status and security. And it was the view, the way the city seemed to breathe in tandem with the rising and setting of the sun and moon, that had convinced your mother to claim this penthouse as her own.

It was past midnight when you silently slipped out of your room, careful not to disturb your mother or her maids. But as you moved through the quiet corridors, a strange sensation settled in your chest. The apartment felt empty—no Sabé, no Dormé. A little unusual, but perhaps your mother had dismissed them for the night, craving solitude. Being the senator of Naboo had brought her both admiration and danger, assassination attempts and unwavering devotion alike. Privacy was a rare luxury.

You made your way toward the kitchen, the glow of Coruscant’s night sky filtering through the grand glass walls. Then, the sound of laughter caught your attention. Voices, low and familiar, drifted from the living room. Your mother sounded… happy. Amused. Curious, you moved closer, careful to keep yourself hidden behind one of the marble pillars that framed the open space.

Padmé sat on the plush couch, close—too close—to Jedi General Anakin Skywalker. Your brow furrowed. What was he doing here at such an hour? You had seen them interact before, of course. Anakin was a regular at your mother’s gatherings, often assigned to her protection. He had even saved your reckless self more than once when you disobeyed her and wandered into the lower levels of Coruscant, only to be dragged back home by her trusted Jedi friend.

But this was different.

Your breath caught as you watched Anakin’s gloved hand slide over your mother’s, his touch deliberate, intimate. Padmé’s gaze darted to the side, a fleeting moment of nervousness before she relaxed under his touch.

“We shouldn’t, Ani. My daughter might see us,” she murmured, her voice soft but warning.

Anakin exhaled, half amusement, half exasperation. “And? Your daughter isn’t allowed to see her mother happy?”

Padmé shook her head, an affectionate yet weary look in her eyes. How was it that Anakin, despite all his wisdom and power, still found it so difficult to understand that not everything was as simple as he wanted it to be?

Unable to stay hidden any longer, curiosity clawing at your mind, you stepped out from behind the pillar, crossing the room with measured steps. The moment your presence registered, Padmé and Anakin sprang apart—your mother’s eyes widened in concern, while Anakin exhaled sharply, unmistakably annoyed by the interruption.

“Why is General Skywalker here, mom?” you asked, voice calm but laced with suspicion, an eyebrow arched as your gaze flickered between them.

“It’s nothing, dear. Just a meeting about Republic interests—boring matters you wouldn’t be interested in,” Padmé said quickly, her words rushed. She cast a fleeting glance at Anakin, silently pleading with him to hold his tongue and not shatter the delicate excuse she had conjured.

Your skepticism didn’t waver. “A meeting about the Republic, huh? Isn’t there something in the constitution that states political discussions must be held in designated locations and reported to the Chancellor to prevent betrayals from seeping into our already fragile political system?”

Padmé inwardly cursed. That youth politics camp she had enrolled you in had clearly paid off—too well, in fact. Your arguments had sharpened, your persistence growing stronger with each passing day. Normally, she would have been proud of your structured reasoning, but right now, she only wished you’d let this go.

“Dear, this isn’t a discussion for children,” Padmé said, her tone even as she stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I’m not a child anymore, mom,” you retorted, your tone remaining diplomatic despite the defiance in your words. “And your inability to provide me with a convincing explanation for this ‘secret meeting’ leads me to believe that whatever General Skywalker is doing here isn’t in the best interest of the Republic, the Jedi Council, or whichever association you plan to use as an excuse.”

Padmé sighed, retracting her hand and crossing her arms over her chest, clearly frustrated. You were getting better at this than she had anticipated. “Alright, dear, you got me,” she murmured, glancing at Anakin briefly as she searched for the right words. “Anakin is here simply as a… friend.”

“A friend?” you echoed, skepticism deepening as you looked between them. Anakin, still lounging on the couch, seemed utterly uninterested in engaging in this debate, now tired of the exchange.

“And may I ask, mom, why exactly do you need a ‘friend’ in the middle of the night?” you pressed, tilting your head slightly.

Padmé exhaled, cursing your tenacity. You had inherited her stubbornness. “It’s complicated, dear,” she said carefully, her gaze flickering toward Anakin, who rolled his eyes, clearly growing impatient with the interrogation. She longed to change the subject, but she knew you wouldn’t let it slide so easily.

“If you don’t mind, mom, I should direct my questions to your ‘friend.’ Perhaps he can come up with a more convincing lie,” you suggested smoothly, keeping your tone as diplomatic as ever.

Padmé met your gaze firmly, then sighed, softening slightly. “Alright. But don’t push too hard—and when you’re done, you’re going straight to bed,” she warned, her voice carrying a note of finality. As she turned to Anakin, she silently pleaded for him not to say anything reckless that might expose them further.

"Thank you for your cooperation, mom," you said smoothly, stepping past Padmé with an air of composed confidence as your mom left the room, your focus now entirely on the Jedi lounging casually on the couch. Your gaze lingered on him, analyzing every detail, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the flicker of amusement in his blue-gray eyes. "I thought the Jedi used Republic funds for missions to seek peace in the galaxy, not to visit a ‘friend’ in the middle of the night," you mused, your tone carrying just enough curiosity to be disarming. "But perhaps even the Jedi indulge in a little misuse of public resources."

Anakin chuckled, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his amusement despite Padmé’s obvious tension beside him. He could feel her unease, the silent plea in the way she shifted slightly, but he couldn’t resist playing along. You reminded him so much of your mother—sharp, determined—but with a fire that burned differently.

“I wouldn’t call it an inappropriate use of resources,” he countered, mischief flickering in his expression as he awaited your response, knowing full well he was walking a precarious line.

“Oh?” you prompted, tilting your head slightly, your eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what would you call it, General Skywalker? A transport voucher for unauthorized visits to a ‘friend’ during non-business hours?”

He laughed, shaking his head, enjoying the way you sparred with him so effortlessly. You had Padmé’s intellect, but your wit was your own, sharper and more brazen.

“Well, I like to think of it as a tactical secret meeting,” he said smoothly, holding your gaze, though a part of him was aware of how dangerously close you were to unraveling him.

Your lips twitched, not quite hiding your amusement. "Tactical? Interesting. Because in my understanding, that term refers to battle strategies, combat initiatives, or military operations." You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, but keeping your expression light, playful. "Which clearly isn’t the case here. My mother is a senator, and while we both know she’s more than capable of handling a blaster, her battlefield is diplomacy. She’s fighting this war with negotiations, not weapons. She even filed a petition to reduce war funds, which makes it unlikely she’d suddenly abandon her progress to discuss battlefield tactics with you."

Anakin exhaled slowly, watching you with growing interest. You were relentless, unafraid to challenge him, to dissect his carefully laid excuses until they crumbled entirely. He hadn’t expected this conversation to be so intricate, but he wasn’t about to let you bet him so easily.

Keeping his smirk intact, he conceded, “Alright, you got me. This isn’t a tactical meeting.” He paused, as if crafting his next move. “Let’s call it… a diplomatic matter.”

Your eyebrow arched, that soft, knowing smile never fading. "Diplomatic? Intriguing. Because as far as I recall, Jedi involvement in politics is strictly conducted through their appointed representatives." You leaned back slightly, feigning contemplation. "And, if I remember correctly… you are not part of the Jedi Council."

A flash of irritation crossed Anakin’s face, fleeting but undeniable. You had struck a nerve, and you knew it. The reminder of his exclusion from the Council wasn’t just a simple observation—it was a wound that had never quite healed, a thorn lodged deep beneath his skin. And you, with your sharp tongue and knowing smirk, had just pressed on it.

He held your gaze, tension sparking between you like a live wire. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, calculating his next move, deciding whether to push back or concede.

“Maybe I should give you more time to think of a coherent excuse?” you suggested, your voice sweet but laced with challenge. Your teeth caught your lower lip, an unconscious attempt to mask your growing amusement.

Anakin’s eyes flickered downward, lingering just a moment too long. That smirk of yours—how he would love to erase it, to see something else take its place. A challenge met with something far more dangerous.

The air between you crackled, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t just a battle of words you were engaged in—it was something else entirely.

"Don't worry, little girl, I don’t need any more time," Anakin countered, his voice a low, velvety drawl that reverberated through the spacious room. "But I won’t stop you from taking a moment to rethink your accusations." His words held a teasing edge, a deliberate provocation.

You rolled your eyes at his arrogance but refused to let it rattle you. Maybe you did need a break—just long enough to see how far you could push this, how much you could make him unravel. If General Skywalker wanted to keep up his facade, you would let him. For now.

“Alright,” you said softly, turning away, your movements fluid as you crossed the room to the mini bar. “I’ll get myself a drink while I wait.” You plucked a glass from the counter, the quiet clink of ice against crystal filling the room as you poured a mix of lemonade and one of the most expensive spirits your mother owned. A mint stick twirled between your fingers before you dropped it in, stirring languidly.

Anakin watched you, captivated by the ease with which you commanded the moment, as if the conversation—and him—were something you could toy with at your leisure. His eyes traced the graceful curve of your movements, the sway of your hips, the way your fingers skimmed along the bottles, seeking the right one. He looked away, exhaling slowly. The last thing he needed was to be drawn to his wife’s daughter. And yet…

“You’re rather determined to uncover the reason I’m here,” he mused, voice deceptively casual. “I wonder what’s in it for you?”

You let out a breathy laugh, rich with mirth, tilting your head as if he had just told the most amusing joke. Anakin’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity flickering in his stormy gaze.

“Oh, I know why you’re here, General Skywalker,” you murmured, lifting your glass to your lips, sipping slowly as your eyes met his over the rim. “I just want to hear you admit it.”

His smirk deepened as he recognized the game you were playing. You were having fun watching him stumble over excuses, when all the while, you had already pieced it together. Fine. If this was a game, then he was going to play to win.

“So you think you know?” he challenged, voice thick with interest.

“Obviously.”

Anakin chuckled under his breath, finding your confidence dangerously enticing. But he wasn’t going to let you have the upper hand so easily. No, he would make you work for it. He leaned forward slightly, eyes darkening as he observed every shift in your expression, every slight movement that betrayed you.

“And yet,” he mused, standing and stepping toward you with deliberate slowness, “you still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

You twirled the mint stick between your fingers before pressing it against your lips, the gesture both innocent and tantalizing. “Don’t you Jedi have a code to follow?” you asked, feigning curiosity. “One that strictly forbids attachment?”

Anakin’s steps didn’t falter as he approached, his gaze never straying from yours. He could hear the teasing lilt in your voice, see the smug satisfaction in the way you smirked, believing you had won.

His own smirk deepened.

“I suppose you’re not wrong.”

You hummed, tilting your chin up slightly as he closed the space between you. “And as a Jedi Knight, you should already know this rule, right?” The mint stick twirled on your tongue, your voice laced with something almost dangerous.

Anakin’s eyes flicked downward, watching the movement of your lips. He exhaled sharply, the heat between you thickening. “Yes, little girl, I’m aware,” he admitted, voice dropping lower. “You’re quite the little interrogator, aren’t you?” He stepped even closer, the air between you charged with an unspoken challenge.

You held your ground, refusing to let him intimidate you, though your pulse quickened. “I wonder, are these rules mandatory… or can they be bent for personal aspirations?” you asked, your voice hushed, teasing, stepping back just as he advanced.

Anakin chuckled darkly, enjoying how you instinctively retreated, yet never truly backed down. It was thrilling, this push and pull, this careful dance between challenge and surrender. He took another step, closing the distance, his presence overwhelming as your back met the cool wall behind you. He caged you in with his arms, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“In theory, any good Jedi wouldn’t bend the rules,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against your skin. “They say breaking them leads to dangerous paths.”

Your breath hitched, your heart hammering against your ribs as the heat of his body pressed close. “And in practice?” you whispered, barely able to breathe the words.

“In practice,” he said, his gaze dipping to your lips, his voice molten, “some rules are harder to follow than others.”

The silence between you was charged, heavy with something forbidden, something electric. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the intensity of his gaze, the undeniable pull drawing you both dangerously close to the edge of something you weren’t sure either of you were ready for.

But neither of you wanted to stop.

"And don’t you think about the consequences, General Skywalker? What will happen if you get caught?" you asked carefully, using all your self-control to keep your voice from faltering under the weight of his imposing presence. Your small fingers found their way into his golden curls, gripping a handful and tilting his head back so his eyes met yours.

Anakin let out a slow, satisfied sigh, enjoying the way you pulled his hair as if you had some claim over him. Kriffing, he loved the mix of confidence and nervousness that radiated from you. His blue eyes darkened, clouded with something dangerous, and it took every ounce of restraint for him not to close the distance between you.

"Bold of you to assume that I would get caught," he murmured, his voice low, rich, that perfect cadence that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. His gaze flickered down to your lips, lingering for a fraction too long until you finally broke the silence.

"You're not what I was expecting, General Skywalker," you admitted, your tongue flicking between your lips to moisten them.

Anakin raised a brow, his hands sliding down to grip your waist, his touch firm, possessive. "And what did you expect, little girl?"

"That you were more old-fashioned," you replied firmly, though your breath hitched as his fingers tightened around you, pulling you flush against him. A sensual sigh slipped from your lips despite yourself. "More serious and boring, like the senators my mother dated."

He chuckled, his smirk widening. How wrong you were about him.

"Oh, little girl… I can be serious when I want to," he murmured, his voice thick with promise.

Anakin leaned in, pressing you fully against the wall, his nose brushing along your jaw, his breath fanning hot against your ear, making your pulse race.

"But boring?" he whispered, his lips grazing just close enough to tease. "Definitely not."

“I have my doubts,” you retorted softly, your voice stuttering for a moment as his breath brushed against that sensitive spot on your neck.

Anakin chuckled against your ear as he heard your voice break, your stubbornness making the situation more appealing to him. His grip on your hips tightened slightly, his large fingers digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“Don’t worry, little girl, I’ve my ways to make that for you,” he promised, his voice low and seductive as he trailed his nose from your jaw to your neck.

“And how do you expect to prove that, General Skywalker?” you urged, your breath coming in short pants at the anticipation that was building between you.

Anakin's smile widened as he heard the breathless anticipation in your voice, feeling your body trembling against him. He could practically taste your excitement, your desire, and it only fueled his own growing lust. His grip on your hips tightened possessively, fingers sinking into the soft, yielding flesh through the thin nightgown that separated you.

"Oh, I'll show you exactly how un-boring I can be, little girl," Anakin murmured, his deep voice dripping with sensual promise. He nipped at your earlobe before trailing his lips down the column of your neck, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. "I'm not like those stuffy senators your mother used to date. I'm a man of action, of passion..."

His hand slid up from your hip, skimming along your side until he reached the swell of your breast. He cupped it firmly, thumb brushing over the hardening peak of your nipple through the flimsy fabric. Anakin groaned softly at the feel of you, desire coursing through his veins like lava.

"And I always follow through on my promises," he growled, his blue eyes blazed with intensity as he captured your lips in a scorching kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, while the other hand continued its exploration of your curves.

Anakin walked you backwards until he pinned you in the wall with his muscular body. He could feel every inch of your softness molding against him, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to tear the nightgown off you and take you right then and there.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. "I want to worship every inch of you, little girl," he rasped, his voice rough with desire.

“Is this what you call diplomacy, General Skywalker?” You managed to retort, although your voice was trembling from the intensity of his kisses.

Anakin smiles grew wider, amused by your feisty response even as he felt the tremor in your voice and the way your fingers clung to his robes. It only spurred him on, igniting the hunger within him.

"Oh, this is just the beginning, little girl," he purred, his hot breath ghosting over your racing pulse. "Diplomacy is about finding common ground, compromising, negotiation..." His hand slid down to grip your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip as he pressed himself against your core. You could feel the hard evidence of his arousal, even through the confines of his jedi clothes.

"And I intend to make sure we both find our pleasure tonight," Anakin promised, his voice a low, seductive rumble. He rocked his hips against yours, letting you feel every thick inch of him. His other hand slid up your side to cup your breast again, thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your nipple between them until it pebbled beneath his touch.

"This is about something far more primal, little girl. Something raw and intense..." He captured your lips again, kissing you with a fierce, desperate hunger. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, coaxing you to respond in kind.

“Anakin,” you moaned softly, before correcting yourself under his intense gaze, your entire body softening under his touch. "General Skywalker, we can't, my mom is here"

Anakin froze for a moment, your words piercing through the haze of  lust that clouded his mind. He had let himself get so carried away, so consumed by desire that he had temporarily forgotten about the most important woman in his life - his wife, Padmé. Guilt and panic surged through him, even as his body still ached with want.

"Shh, don't worry, little girl. I'll make sure you stay quiet... one way or another." His hand slid down to grip your thigh, hiking your leg up higher around his waist as he pressed himself firmly against your core.

He captured your lips in another burning kiss, swallowing any protests or moans that might have escaped you. His other hand slid under your nightgown to palm the soft globe of your ass, kneading the supple flesh. He ground against your, the thick ridge of his erection throbbing with need.

Anakin's mind raced, trying to think of how to proceed without alerting Padmé. He knew you had to be quick and quiet. Breaking the kiss, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you towards the closest bathroom.

"Wrap your arms around my neck," he instructed softly, his voice strained with barely contained desire. "And keep those pretty lips of yours busy, little girl."

Anakin carried you to the bathroom, kicking the door to shut behind you, the soft click of the lock sounding obscenely loud in the charged silence. He set you down on the cool marble countertop, your nightgown riding up your thighs.

His hands slid up your smooth legs, pushing the fabric out of the way as he stepped between them. He cupped your face, tilting your chin up to capture your mouth in a hungry, desperate kiss. His tongue delved past your lips, stroking along yours, your sweet sounds giving him all he needed to continue.

Anakin's hands slid down to the straps of your nightgown, pushing them off your shoulders. The garment slipped down, baring the creamy swells of your breasts to his heated gauze. He pulled back just enough to drink in the sight of you , his blue eyes dark with lust.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he rasped, his voice low and rough with desire. His calloused thumbs brushed over your nipples, feeling them pebble under his touch. Leaning down, he took one into his mouth, sucking and flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue.

Anakin's other hand slid between your thighs, pushing your panties aside. His fingers found your slick folds, stroking through the wetness he found there. He groaned against your breast, feeling your arousal coating his digits.

"That's it, little girl," he praised softly, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. "You're so ready for me already, aren't you?" He slipped a finger inside your tight heat, pumping it slowly, teasingly. "I'm going to make you feel so good, baby. So fucking good..."

Your small fingers pushed at the robes of his Jedi clothes, Anakin smiled at your eager touch, amused and aroused by your desperation. He caught your wrists in his large hands, pinning them above your head as he pressed himself more firmly against you.

"Mmm, and I love it," he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "I love seeing you so hungry for it, so needy..."

His other hand slid down to the fastenings of his robes, quickly unlacing them. He shrugged the garment off, letting it pool on the floor at his feet. Beneath, he wore only a pair of simple black pants, the fabric straining over his thick, hard cock.

Anakin guided your hand to palm him through the fabric, groaning at the contact. He was so big, so hot and hard, pulsing with need. He rocked into your touch, seeking more friction.

"That's it, little girl. Feel how much I want you," he urged, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "I'm going to stretch this tight little pussy around my cock..."

He pushed your panties down your thighs, baring you completely to his heated gauze. Anakin took himself in hand, rubbing the swollen head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

You smiled softly, your air of confidence still remained, although a slight blush crept across your cheeks and chest. “you’re wearing a lot of clothes” You whimpered lustfully, your small fingers playing with the collar of Anakin's shirt.

Anakin smirked at your breathy observation, his eyes darkened with lust at the sight of your blush spreading across your creamy skin. "Not for long, little girl," he promised, his voice a low, seductive growl.

He took your hands and guided them to the hem of his shirt, encouraging you to remove it. You eagerly tugged at the fabric, your small fingers brushing against his toned chest as you revealed his sculpted abs and the defined lines of his torso.

Anakin shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor beside his robes. He stood before you, his powerful body on full display - all hard muscle and smooth, tanned skin. The scars from battles past only added to its rugged appeal.

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing them further apart as he stepped closer, the thick ridge of his erection pressing against your slick cunt. Anakin gripped your hips, pulling your flush against him as he claimed your mouth again, again and again.

He nipped at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, his hands roaming your curves possessively. "I'm going to mark every inch of this gorgeous body," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see you flushed and trembling with need, begging for my cock..."

You tugged on Anakin's hair, your small fingers tangling in his sand-blonde locks to tilt his neck to the side. Your lips found the sensitive skin of his neck, nibbling gently, the moans that escaped his lips only encouraging you to continue. "General Skywalker, I need you, please"

Anakin groaned, his head falling back as your lips and teeth worked over the sensitive skin of his neck. The feeling of your small fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, only inflamed his desire.

"Fuck," he gasped, his hips jerking forward as you nibbled and sucked at his throat. "You don't know how badly I need you too, little girl."

His large hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling your flush against him. He could feel every inch of your soft, warm body molding against his hard frame. Anakin's control was slipping, his hunger for you consuming him.

"I'm going to take you right here, little girl," he growled, his voice strained with barely contained lust. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget everything but the feel of my cock inside you."

Anakin captured your lips in a bruising kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue. He hitched your leg up higher around his hip, the head of his cock nudging against your cunt. With one hard thrust, he sheathed himself inside your tight, wet heat.

"Ah, fuck!" he cried out softly, his eyes squeezing shut at the incredible sensation of your walls gripping him. "You feel so fucking good, little girl. So perfect around my cock."

He began to move, thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes. The bathroom filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your ragged breaths and muffled moans. Anakin set a relentless pace, determined to bring them both to the edge of ecstasy and pleasure, your moans sounding like a sinful melody in his ears.

Anakin quickly covered your mouth with his large hand, muffling your increasingly loud moans and whimpers. His blue eyes flashed with a mix of lust and concern, realizing you needed to be more discreet.

"Shh, I know, little girl. You'll have to be quiet for me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your plump bottom lip. "Can't have your mother hearing what a dirty girl you are for me."

He continued to thrust into you, his hips rolling in a steady, deep rhythm. The new angle allowed him to hit that special spot inside you with each push, making your toes curl and your back arch off the countertop.

Anakin leaned down to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking the hardened bud with his tongue. His free hand slid between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub tight circles over your clit, wanting to feel you come undone around him.

"That's it, little girl. Take my cock," he urged, his voice a low, seductive growl. "I can feel you getting closer. Gonna make this tight little pussy mine."

He could feel his own release approaching, his balls drawing up tight as he chased your shared pleasure. Anakin knew he wouldn't last much longer, not with how incredible you felt wrapped around him, your silky walls fluttering and clenching his throbbing length.

Anakin slowed his thrusts, fighting to regain some semblance of control as he felt your body tensing and trembling beneath him. He wanted to draw out your pleasure, to make this moment last as long as possible.

"Shh, relax baby," he cooed softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "We have all night. No need to rush." He knew this was a lie, but right now he was too high to care about the risk.

He gentled his touch, trailing his fingers along your side in a feather-light caress. Anakin's lips brushed against your temple, your cheek, before capturing your mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. He poured all his restraint and self-control into the kiss, trying to calm your racing heart.

His hips continued to move, but with deliberate slowness. Each thrust was measured, each roll of his pelvis designed to stoke the embers of your desire rather than fan them into a raging inferno. Anakin wanted to feel every inch of you, to savor the way your body yielded to his touch.

He slid a hand up to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound and toying with your nipple. He could feel it pebbling under his touch, could feel the way her back arched to press yourself more fully into his palm.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let me feel you," Anakin murmured against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "I want to feel every inch of you, every little tremor and shiver."

He continued his sensual touch, determined to drive you to the brink of madness with pleasure. His cock pulsed inside you, thick, hard and ready, but he held it back, waiting for the perfect moment to let you both tumble over the edge.

Anakin felt your body go rigid beneath him, your walls clamping down around his cock as your climax crashed over you. He muffled your cries of rapture with his mouth, swallowing your moans and whimpers as he thrust deep, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming heat.

"Fuck, baby!" he gasped, his own release slamming into him like a freight train. His cock jerked and throbbed as he spilled himself inside you, coating your walls with his hot seed. Anakin's hips jerked erratically, each spurt of his climax prolonging your own as he filled you up.

He held you close, one hand tangling in your hair as the other gripped your hip, pulling you tight against him. Anakin pressed soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, murmuring words of praise and adoration against your skin. "That's my good girl. You took me so well, I'm proud of you, little girl"

As your breathing slowly returned to normal, Anakin gently eased out of you, his softening length slipping from your well-used cunt. He tucked your head under his chin, holding you close as he gathered you into his arms.

"I know we can't tell anyone about this, but I want you to know that I... I care for you deeply, little girl. More than I should," he admitted softly, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and lingering desire. "You've gotten under my skin in a way no one else has."

You smiled softly, your cheeks colored with a post-orgasmic blush. "I admit it, you're not boring, General Skywalker, I hope my mom stays with you"

Anakin chuckled softly, a genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at your flushed face. He tucked a stray strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your flushed cheek.

“I’m glad you don’t find me boring, little girl,” he murmured, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief and delight. “And I certainly hope your mother stays with me too… for many reasons.”

He winked at you, the implication clear in his tone. Anakin knew he would have to be more careful in the future, to find ways to be alone with you without arousing Padmé’s suspicions. But for now, he was content to hold you close, to bask in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

"Get some rest, little one," Anakin murmured, his voice a soothing lull, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. And who knows? Maybe another opportunity will arise for a... more private conversation."

The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with unspoken promise. Before you could respond, he effortlessly scooped you into his arms, cradling you as if you were something precious. With careful ease, he carried you back to your room, his warmth lingering even as he gently laid you down on the soft sheets.

Pulling the covers over you, his fingers brushed against your skin, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His gaze softened, shadows playing across his features as he took in the sight of you nestled in bed.

"I'll be in the next room if you need me," he assured, his voice a low, velvety whisper. He leaned down once more, his lips pressing another delicate kiss to your forehead, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Sweet dreams, little girl," he murmured, stepping back, his presence retreating into the dim glow of the corridor as he left you to the embrace of sleep.

[hazydoe]

Waitress

Warning +18 only car sex, age-gap,dirty talk,mentions of masturbation,ride lol

English is not my first language

The restaurant was my refuge and my routine. A modest place, with worn-out walls and tables that had seen better days, but it held a warmth that only those who worked there could understand. The mornings were always the quietest, with the sun filtering through the windows and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. It was in those moments, before the midday hustle arrived, that I could think about my dreams, about university, about everything I wanted to achieve. But it was also in those moments when he arrived.

Joel Miller. I didn’t know his name until weeks later, but from the first day he walked into the restaurant, I knew he was different. It wasn’t just his appearance, though that certainly caught my attention. It was something in his gaze, in the way he carried his silence like armor, yet with a vulnerability that only someone who had lived a lot could have. He was older than me, that much was clear, but there was something about him that drew me in in a way I couldn’t explain.

At first, he was just another customer. He came with his brother, Tommy, and sat at the same table every morning. He always ordered the same thing: black coffee, scrambled eggs, and bacon. I served him with a smile, as I did with everyone, but I noticed how his eyes lingered on me a little longer than necessary. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just intriguing. And then, he started coming alone.

Every morning, without fail, Joel showed up at the restaurant. Sometimes he arrived early, right after we opened, and other times just before my shift ended. He always ordered the same thing, but what he really wanted was to talk to me. I knew it from the start. His questions were simple at first: what my name was, what I studied, if I liked working there. But little by little, the conversation grew deeper. He told me about his life, about his daughter, about the things he had lost and the ones he still held onto. And I, in turn, told him about my dreams, my fears, what it meant for me to be in university and working at the same time.

I don’t know exactly when I started to like him. Maybe it was the way he listened to me, as if every word I said mattered. Or maybe it was the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, something he didn’t do often, but when he did, it seemed to change everything around him. What I do know is that when he asked me out that night, I couldn’t say no.

My shift is over, and the restaurant is silent. The lights are off, except for the faint glow from the kitchen, where I hang up my apron and gather my things. Joel is outside, waiting for me by his truck. I saw him arrive a few minutes before we closed, and though he didn’t say anything, his gaze said it all. Now, as I step into the parking lot, the cool night air brushes against me, and he straightens up when he sees me.

"I can take you home," he says, his voice deep but soft. It’s not a question, but an offer that carries something more, something we both feel but don’t say.

I look at him, hesitating for a moment. I know what this implies, what could happen. But I also know I don’t want to say no. So I nod, with a shy smile. "Okay."

Joel opens the passenger door for me, and I climb into the truck. The interior smells like him: like leather, wood, and something indescribably masculine. He gets behind the wheel, starts the engine, and we drive away from the restaurant. The radio is on, but the volume is so low it’s barely audible. The silence between us is comfortable, but charged with a tension that grows with every passing second.

I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t ask. Joel doesn’t say anything either, but every now and then he glances at me, his dark eyes reflecting the light of passing headlights. Finally, he stops at a secluded spot, a small overlook that faces the city. He turns off the engine, and the silence becomes absolute.

For a moment, no one speaks. Joel turns to me, and I feel my heart beat faster. He raises a hand, brushing my cheek with his knuckles, and I close my eyes, letting myself be carried away by the sensation.

"You’re incredible," he murmurs, his voice rough, almost a whisper. And then, his lips find mine.

The kiss is soft at first, exploratory, as if we’re both testing the waters. But it soon intensifies, and I feel the heat spreading through my body. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer, and I respond with the same urgency. My fingers tangle in his hair, and I feel his breathing quicken against my skin.

Joel slips his hand under my blouse, and a shiver runs through me as his fingers find my skin. I lean back, giving him more access, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity. His mouth moves to my neck, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites that make me moan. I, in turn, fumble with his belt, feeling him tense under my touch.

The space in the truck is tight, but that only adds to the intensity of the moment. Joel helps me out of my uniform, and I help him out of his jeans, until there’s nothing between us. We look at each other for a moment, and in his eyes, I see something I hadn’t seen before: a mix of desire and tenderness that makes me feel both safe and vulnerable at the same time.

I start to ride him, climbing onto his thick cock, his hands exploring every inch of my body as his lips find mine again and again. I feel him readying himself, and then, slowly, we become one. A moan escapes my lips, and Joel muffles it with another kiss. The rhythm is slow at first, as if we both want to prolong the moment, but soon it becomes more intense, more urgent.

My hands grip his back, my nails digging lightly into his skin as he pushes deeper into me. Every movement he makes makes me lose control, and soon I feel the world around me fading away. Joel looks into my eyes, and in that moment, I know we’re connected in a way that goes beyond the physical.

"You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this to happen," he says as I move and he limits himself to enjoying it, giving me firm slaps on the ass. "I just want to take you away from that job so all those men stop looking at you with lust, wanting you as much as I do. I bet they’ve been jerking off thinking about you, just like I have," Joel says, and feeling desired only makes my need grow even more.

"You’ve been jerking off thinking about me?" I say as I adjust myself so he can see how I move on top of him, and he can also see how my breasts bounce with the motion. "Yes, baby, all the time. You look so damn sexy in that skirt. I just wanted to press you against the wall in front of them and let them see how much you enjoy this."

"No one else will make me feel like this, I promise," I say as I move more erratically, with more need. My legs are trembling, and my hair is a mess. "God, Joel, I won’t last much longer."

With one final thrust, we both reach our climax, our bodies trembling with the intensity of the moment. Joel collapses onto me, his breathing ragged against my neck, and I hold him, feeling our hearts beat in unison.

We stay embraced in the tight space of the truck, our ragged breaths slowly syncing. Joel gently strokes my hair, and I feel strangely at peace.

[th3cadav3r]

NSFW JayVik Headcanons

content: mlm ship(could be m4m, m4tm, or tm4tm), penetrative sex, semi-public sex, mention of breeding kink, praise kink

author’s note: Sorry I’ve been gone for like a week, I’ve been recovering from a cold. I’m working on a much longer JayVik fic that someone requested so I figured that I’d just drop this simple little list of headcanons in the meantime. Enjoy!

Jayce’s favourite position when he’s topping is cowgirl. He always either places a pillow underneath Viktor’s bad leg or just holds it up gently for extra support. He also loves holding Vik’s tiny waist with his huge hands because it’s the hottest thing ever

His favourite position while bottoming is missionary. He loooves looking at his lover while he gets pounded like there’s no tomorrow

Viktor’s favourite position when he’s topping is doggy style, specifically him standing up while Jayce is bending over something(desk, bed, etc)

His favourite position when he bottoms is spooning. It puts no pressure on his bad leg plus this allows Jayce to moan and say FILTHY things in his ear

Speaking of Jayce saying filthy things, he will without a doubt say the most dirty things that come to mind and regret it immediately after the whole ordeal. It doesn’t help that Vik usually teases him about it

“What was it you said you’d do to me last night? ‘Breed me like a bitch in heat,’is that correct?”

“OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU REMIND ME”

Viktor on the other hand has nothing to regret because any filth that comes out of his mouth is always in Czech and he refuses to translate when Jayce asks what he said

Jayce moans really loud. He just can’t help it. Oftentimes Viktor will have no choice but to cover his mouth with his hand or make him bite down on something just to shut him up, especially when they’re fucking in the lab

Viktor on the other hand took a while to finally become comfortable with making noise. He used to stifle any noise that threatened to escape him, but nowadays he doesn’t mind letting Jayce know just how good he’s making him feel by way of whining and groaning

They were both already very familiar with each other’s bodies before their first time due to the many anatomical and biological studies that they’ve done on one another

During their first few times together, Jayce pretty much treated Viktor like he was made out of porcelain. He constantly checked in on him, asking if his leg was okay and if anything hurt etc. While it was very flattering that he was being so considerate, Viktor got a little tired of constantly having to reassure Jayce that he was fine. They talked about it afterwards and luckily Jayce is a quick learner so it wasn’t much of a problem

Sex is usually spontaneous. One second they’re going over equations and the next second one of them is bent over the desk with their ass high in the air

They’ve almost gotten caught several times by Heimerdinger and several others but does that stop them? Nope not at all

Jayce is a lot more focused on Viktor’s pleasure than his own. He’ll make sure that he cums at least three times before he finally allows himself to

It takes a lot for Viktor to cum. The only sensation that has been consistent in his life is intense pain—lots of effort has to be put in to make him feel something stronger than that. Luckily, Jayce knows him like the back of his palm—he knows how to make him feel pleasure that overrides the pain

They both definitely got emotional after their first time. It was nothing like either of them had ever experienced before, so they spent a good half an hour just holding each other afterwards

Jayce has really sensitive nipples. This is was discovered by accident, but now Viktor takes full advantage of this almost every time they get intimate

Jayce is an absolute sucker for praise. All Viktor has to do is pat his head or call him a good boy and he’ll get in the mood instantly

Aftercare is usually very light because Viktor falls asleep right after. But in the rare case that they’re both wide awake, they’ll just start building stuff together while still being completely nude

[doe-eyed-fool]

Waiting

{Lucifer x Eve!Reader}

Warning(s): Verbal/Mental/Emotional Abuse, Mentions Of Blood/Injury, Angst With Happy End

Two humans, the very first created, a man named Adam and a woman named Eve. Both created to be made for each other, to live out their immortal lives in the garden. However, their love was broken. Adam, demanded control from Eve, she was to obey his every command without question.

But Eve refused to be a slave for the man she was meant to be her equal. One day, she had finally had enough of him and ran far away from the garden.

Alone, she rested beneath the shade of a great apple tree. Her weeping caught the attention of an angel. He looked down at the woman, at first, not approaching. He only watched her for a moment, admiring her beauty. Though, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Eventually he flew down.

"Excuse me, miss?"

The woman gasped and looked up from where she sat. The before her was a pale Seraphim Angel. His golden hair seemed to shine in the soft sunlight, his wings fluttered as they folded into place, bright blue eyes meeting hers.

"Why do you cry?" His voice was so gentle and comforting to her. The woman sniffled before wiping her eyes. "My husband, he can be so cruel." She tells him. "I know I was made for him, that I am to be his bride. But I just can't stand it any longer!"

The angel didn't need to be told much else than that. He knew of Adam and his ways, so he could sympathize with the woman. The angel leaned down to offer his hand. "I am sorry. To think anyone could mistreat such a gentle being."

The woman looked at his hand for a moment before taking it, and rising to a stand. "Who are you?" She asks. The angel smiles and bows slightly. "Lucifer Morningstar. It's a please to meet you."

"The Lucifer Morningstar?" The woman gasped in awe. A sudden urge to bow her head, upon realizing just who she was speaking to. Lucifer chuckles. "The one and only. And you must be the lovely, Eve."

Eve nods her head. "I am." Her breath hitched slightly as she felt Lucifer's finger tips at her chin. He moved her to look up from her bow. "Please, raise your head. There's no need to be so formal, dear."

"But, you are-"

"I am aware of who I am." Lucifer interrupts. "If I wanted to command respect, I would have my head held high, and looking down upon you like the rest of those uptight angels." He said with a chuckle. "You need not worry, please, relax yourself."

Eve smiled slightly. Who knew Lucifer Morningstar could be so friendly. She was taught her whole life to respect the angels above, without them, she would be lost. No, without them, she would not even exist.

But with Lucifer, Eve felt so...calm. Like she, for once, could truly be herself. Without the fear of being judged or frowned upon.

And that's how it was, for some time after. Soon, the two grew to be close friends. Well, that's what they liked to tell themselves. Truly, the two had began to develop feelings for each other.

Though, they dare not act on said feelings. For they knew if they were to, Heavenly punishment would befall them both.

And so, they tried to ignore their feelings, and stay friends. However, it wouldn't be long before Heaven learned of their close friendship. Lucifer was warned to leave Eve to Adam, as it was not his place to intrude.

But that never stopped Lucifer, he'd sneak away to see her as often as he could. He taught her so many things about the world around her. And even the world above her. He would tell her stories, and sharing his dreams. One day, Lucifer asked Eve to meet him under the apple tree where they first met, so he may finally tell her what he's been planning for many years.

"Are you sure no one saw you?" Asked Eve worryingly. "I'd hate for you to get into trouble because of me." Lucifer offered her a reassuring smile. "No one saw me, I promise. Now, there's something I want tell you. And I would love to hear your thoughts."

Eve nods. "Alright, what is it?" A look of excitement graced Lucifer's features. He took a breath before explaining his dream, of gifting humanity free will. They would be able to think for themselves, feel what they truly feel, go anywhere, do so many wonderful things. Because, they will have the choice to do so.

Eve couldn't have been more thrilled with the idea. If Lucifer's dream could become reality, that would mean she too would be freed from the limits of the garden. Freed from her controlling husband. And free from the watchful eyes of Heaven.

"I think it's an amazing idea, Lucifer!" Eve says cheerfully. "Just think of everything we could accomplish if we only have the will to do so! I could be whatever I wanted, not just some bride. I could leave this garden, I could be free!" She went on, her heart thumping wildly with excitement.

"I could be with you." She said to Lucifer. "And no one could tell me it's wrong."

Lucifer's cheeks turned a light shade of gold. "I-I suppose you're right." He said with a smile. "So, you really think it could work?" Eve nods. "I do, I really do!"

"Good." Lucifer waved his hand, and suddenly an apple manifested in his palm. "Because all I need now, is for you to take the first step." Eve looked at the apple with curiosity as Lucifer handed it to her.

"Just one bite is all it will take."

Even looked up from the apple at Lucifer. "And I will be free? To do what I want, and, to be with you?" Lucifer nods. "All that, and more, my dear. You'll be free to do whatever. Is there anything you'd want to do first?"

Eve paused as she thought about it, then finally, she answered. "I would like to be my own person. Not someone who was made for someone else."

Lucifer nods. "I couldn't agree more."

"Maybe I could have a new name?" Eve wondered aloud. "But what would be called?" This time Lucifer was quiet as he thought. Then, he answered.

"Y/n. I've always liked how that name sounded."

Eve hummed before testing the name a few times. "Y/n. My name is, Y/n." She nods. "Yes, I like that name. Even more so, because you gave it to me." Y/n once again looked at the apple, new waves of excitement washed over her at the thought of a new life.

Y/n then brought the apple close to her mouth, and took a bite.

Freedom, was within her reach. And yet, what would follow, would lead Eve to regret that one action for the rest of her life.

"Lucifer Morningstar. You have been accused of conspiring against Heaven, tempting Y/n into committing an act of sin, and betraying Heaven and it's people. How do you plea?" Sera, lead Seraphin asked as she looked down at Lucifer.

Lucifer glared back up at her, his body ached as it had beaten and battered by battle. His left upper wing suffered a heavenly spear wound, now unable to move it or heal it properly, thanks to the angelic chains that tied him down. Both restraining him, and quelling any of his magic.

Y/n's cries were heard throughout the courtroom, her pleas for the court to forgive Lucifer would not be heard. She too, was bound by chains, as she was just as guilty as Lucifer for falling for his temptation.

"Guilty." Lucifer spat. "I will admit that, I am guilty of everything you've said. But I will not admit guilt for doing what I believe is right. Your old ways of thinking will be your undoing."

"It will be your undoing, Lucifer Morningstar." Sera narrowed her eyes. "Heaven has no room for souls who wish to throw off the balance of good and evil. And you certainly have." This time, she looked to Y/n as well.

"Because your actions, sin has found it's way to Earth. Humanity will become corrupt and wicked, thanks to your free will. Humanity will know pain, suffering, death, all because you both acted out of line."

"Please!" Y/n cried. "He didn't know! He didn't know this would be the result! Please, forgive him!"

"And act as vile as this can not be easily forgiven." Said Sera lowly. "It will be decided now, what your punishments will be."

"Eve, shall be indefinitely kept under the watchful eye of your rightful partner, Adam."

Y/n felt her heart plumet into the pit of her gut. But what came next was far more worse that what she could have imagined.

"Lucifer Morningstar. For your transgressions against Heaven, you will be exiled. Casted down, into the fiery pits of Hell, where you will live among the rest of sinful souls who will reside there, for all eternity."

"No!" Y/n tried to jerk out from her chains, but her attempts were in vain.

Lucifer barely had time to catch another glimpse at Y/n before the ground beneath him gave way. The chains that bound him vanished just in time for him to be sent falling down. As Heaven's light grew smaller and smaller, Lucifer yelled out in fury and sorrow, for he has lost everything.

His wails so loud, that it could still be heard from within the courtroom, until finally the portal closed, and Y/n was met with deafening silence.

"Lucifer..." A broken sob left her. "Lucifer!"

Sera looked to the angels who held Y/n in place. "Escort her back to Adam." She said before dismissing the court. Y/n, still chained, was lead out of the room.

Soon she was back in the garden, where Adam was waiting for her.

"About time!" Adam groaned before looking to the two angels. "I'll take it from here." They both nod and let Y/n go, before swiftly leaving the two.

Adam looked furious as he approached Y/n. "You have got some nerve! Bad enough you tried running away from me, but going behind my back and plotting with that defective angel!?"

Y/n, through her tears yelled back. "What did you expect!? From the moment I was created, you have controlled every little thing I have ever done. You told me how to act, how to think, and how I should feel! Lucifer was the only one who ever made me feel like I was more than what I was made for! Of course I left you!"

Adam's anger only grew as she went on. Suddenly, he grabbed her arm tightly, making her flinch. "Left me? No, you haven't left me. You don't get to leave me! And I made sure you won't ever try to again." He jerked her towards him as he walked, his grip on her arm tightening, so that she would not get away.

"Let me go! Where are you taking me?" Y/n asked in a panic. After another moment or two of walking, they reached a large clearing within the garden, surrounded by large trees.

In the middle of the clearing, was a giant cage, similar to that of a bird's cage. Golden, shining as it reflected the sun's rays. A rather fancy looking prison.

"What is this?" Y/n muttered fearfully. Adam pulled her along once again, until they reached the entrance of the cage. Adam looked down at her before smirking. "You're new home."

Y/n barely had time to think before she was thrown inside, the cage door slamming shut behind her. She turned to face Adam, who stared back at her with triumph. "Now, let's see you try and leave me again."

Y/n grabbed at the bars and glared at Adam. “Let me out!”

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Adam responded. “I can’t trust you to be loose, just for you to crawl back to that sinful traitor.”

“He isn’t a traitor! He didn’t know all of this would happen, otherwise he would have never done it!” Y/n argued. “If his fellow angels would have just heard him out, or helped him, maybe things would have turned out different.”

“Oh please.” Adam rolled his eyes. “Listen up, you’re not leaving this cage. Not until you are ready to admit that you are mine and mine only. Got it?”

Y/n wanted to scream, to yell at the top of her lungs how much she hated Adam and everyone else who looked down at Lucifer. But it wouldn’t do her any good.

She was trapped. Forever separated from the one she cares for most. From the one she loved, more than anything or anyone else. Forever.

Forever, and yet, Y/n was ready to wait. She would wait forever if that’s what it took. She would not give up on Lucifer, like so many have. She wouldn’t love anyone other than him.

She would wait for him.

Waiting. It was all Y/n could do. She waited until her final breath was drawn. Waited long after her soul entered Heaven. Waited as she was kept under Adam’s watch.

There were times she was sure she would go insane. And all the while, Adam did nothing but watch, and savor in her suffering.

Even in death, she was not free from her prison. She was not free from him. She would not allow herself to be called Adam’s wife, therefore she would remain trapped.

But she’d rather go on for all eternity than give Adam what he wants.

The only power she had was what was gifted to her when she entered Heaven. She and Adam both, once they were given their wings, were also give an angelic power.

But because of the cage Y/n was trapped in, her magic was restricted. But the power was there, waiting for her command. If only she had the freedom to do so.

With a sigh, Y/n made up her mind right then. If she were to get anywhere, she would have to gain Adam’s trust.

If that’s what it takes then…

So be it.

One night, Adam visited her once again. And Y/n finally gave in.

“Is there nothing I can do, to convince you to free me?” Y/n asked. Adam shrugs. “You already know, Eve.”

“I told you my name is-”

“Your name is Eve.” Adam said firmly.

Y/n bit back the urge to argue. She couldn’t afford to upset him now. “You wish for me to be your wife so badly?”

“I don’t need to wish for anything. You are my wife, always have been, always will be.” Adam tells her, matter-of-factly. “All you gotta do is admit it. And maybe, I’ll consider forgiving you.”

Y/n held back a sigh before speaking. “I don’t want to be trapped. And all it will take is admitting I have been your wife from the beginning?”

“Mhm. Tick-Tock, I’m not gonna keep wasting time here.” Adam said impatiently. Y/n could laugh. Adam claimed that she was his wife, that she belonged to him only.

And yet. He was disloyal to her. Really, Y/n was nothing less than a trophy. Something pretty to look at. Not a wife. Nothing more.

“Then.” Y/n reached her hand outside of the bars. “I will be yours, and only yours.”

A lie. A terrible lie. But this was what Adam wanted to hear. And it would get her one step closer to freedom.

There was a brief pause of silence between the two. The, Adam took hold of her hand, and before Y/n could start to speak, she was harshly pulled towards him. She was just able to stop her face from colliding with the bars, the look in Adam's eyes frightened her.

"Let me make this very clear right now." Adam started. "I won't hear another peep out of you about Lucifer ever again. If I do, I make you regret it, to where you will yearn for this cage. The sooner you accept that bastard is gone the better. He isn't coming to save you. Got it?"

Y/n tried her best to stay calm and collected, she gave a nod of her head. "As you wish."

It was Hell in paradise with Adam. Every moment Y/n spent with him wore down on her mentality more and more. As if it weren't enough with him reminding her that Lucifer was a "traitor" and would never return. But he would continue to treat her as less than, as if she never were his equal.

And truly, she never was.

But it would not last much longer. With every passing day, Y/n's power grew, though she kept her potential hidden from Adam. If he were to ever find out, it would be the end of her.

After months of perfecting it, Y/n was able to cast a shroud of invisibility upon herself. Though, the time it would last was limited to only twenty minutes.

Her plan was simple. Cast the spell, sneak out to the furthest reach of Heaven, and go through the portal that loomed above Hell. There, she would find her way back to Lucifer. Free, at last.

She would do it that very night. She flew as fast as she could throughout the heavenly city, those below her oblivious to her presence. Y/n made it just outside of the city before the spell wore off completely.

From there, she would have to keep flying, and hoping that no one would notice she was missing. Finally, finally she made it to the portal. Her heart pounding in her chest as she stepped towards it. Y/n gave one last look back at the distance city, deep within herself, she was fearful.

She knew Adam would eventually find out and come looking for her. But it was a risk she was more than prepared to take.

Y/n turned back to the portal, took a breath, and went through.

The view from Hell this high up was all so new to Y/n, just the sight of it made her feel uneasy. As if the suffering from the demons below reached all the way to her. She would not ponder it much longer, she needed to find Lucifer.

She took off as fast as she could, at the start, she was clueless as to where to begin. Until she saw it. A large castle that loomed ominously in the distance.

Lucifer, throughout all his time alone, was desperate to find anything that would distract him. That would keep his mind occupied, to forget about the place he once called home, and fill the void that she left behind. But nothing ever helped.

Even in the brief moments of solace he had, his mind would always conjure up the memories of Y/n.

Lucifer had done everything in his power to find a way back, if only to reach Y/n. But there was nothing he could do, he was trapped, doomed to spend eternity in this horrid place.

The suffering, and the sinful acts of the humans he once sought to liberate, did very little to help his fragile mentality. He was certain he'd go mad here, loose himself to the wickedness of Hell's clutches.

Perhaps he already has. Many times, had the demons of Hell tried to overthrow him. And many times, had Lucifer deliver a fate worse than death upon them.

In many ways, Hell has corrupted Lucifer. His dreams crushed, his hope destroyed, his will to live...fading.

Though he was king, he would suffer all the same as the demons and sinners he reluctantly ruled over.

The only joy Lucifer had, though in brief moments, were his creations. If there was only one mercy granted upon him from Heaven after his punishment, is that he kept his angelic powers.

He could still create, though, it would mean nothing down here.

Ducks, a silly creature to most, but meant the world to him. A small collection turned into a time consuming hobby. He became somewhat dependent on them, making each one better than the last.

It was silly, but it helped.

In this moment, he felt calm though he knew it would not last.

Tap Tap

Lucifer groaned. "Another damn hellcrow." He rose from his desk and made his way to the balcony. He took hold of the curtains that covered the windowed door, and opened them, preparing to shoo away the creature.

As soon as he moved back the curtains, his eyes widened at the sight of an angel standing on the edge of the balcony. But not just any angel.

"Y/n..." Her name fell from Lucifer's mouth in a hushed tone. He swore his heart stopped beating right then, and the hellscape around him faded into a blurred nothingness. And all that he could see, was her.

Y/n met Lucifer's gaze, both falling into stunned silence, only broken by the sound of the doors being opened by Lucifer's magic. Y/n stepped into the room, but kept her distance.

Is it you? Have my prayers been answered? Is it really you standing there, or am I dreaming once more?

"Is it you? Lucifer?" Y/n spoke carefully. He looked different, and yet, nothing has changed. His sapphire eyes now a deep scarlet, she could see razor sharp teeth peaking through his agape mouth, claws at the tips of his fingers. More so, he looked so...lifeless...

You look different, your eyes look tired Your frame is lighter, your smile torn Is it really you, my love?

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n reached her hand out, but Lucifer took a step back, a look of sadness on his face. "I...It is me yes but..." He trailed off, his gaze falling away from her. "I'm not how you remember me. The Lucifer you knew, is gone."

I am not the man you fell in love with I am not the man you once adored I am not your kind and gentle husband And I am not the love you knew before

"I'm not who I was. I've changed, this place...it's ruined me. Every day I felt myself dying, and turning into...this." Lucifer motioned at himself, disgusted, ashamed. "I have done things that would make you sick. Things that I would have never thought I could ever do. But..."

Lucifer looked back to Y/n, and took a step towards her. This time, Y/n moved away, unsure of what to think at first. What he said confused her, maybe even frightened her a bit. He couldn't have changed that much, could he?

"But, no matter how I've changed, I never once stopped thinking of you. You were the only constant, the only memory that had not be tainted. So many sleepless nights were spent dreaming of the day I would see you again."

Would you fall in love with me again If you knew all I've done? The things I cannot change Would you love me all the same? I know that you've been waiting, waiting for love

Y/n furrowed her brows, the confusion was there again. What he said was so different than how he acted. He's changed and yet...

What kinds of things did you do?

It wasn't Lucifer himself that made her uneasy.

Y/n kept her distance as she spoke. "What all have you done while you were here?"

It was the fear of loosing him entirely because of this place.

Left a trail of red on every island As I traded friends like objects I could use Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands But all of that was to bring me back to you So tell me

Lucifer exhaled shakily. "It became clear that I was doomed to rule over the sinners who found there way here. The demon who spawn from the darkest of pits as well. They became bolder over time, all while I became stronger." He went on.

"If there was any chance I'd see you again, I could not allow them to kill me before that happened. So...I made sure no demon could ever challenge me again." Lucifer looked down at his hands, they were trembling. "It keeps me up at night, the way my power has changed. Angelic and demonic alike..."

"But I would do it all over again, if it meant seeing you."

Would you fall in love with me again If you knew all I've done? The things I can't undo I am not the man you knew I know that you've been waiting, waiting

Y/n said nothing as she turned away from him. "Y/n?" Lucifer murmured. "My name is Eve, Lucifer. You know that. Surely your memory hasn't been warped too."

If that's true, could you do me a favor? Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here

Y/n looked over her shoulder, a cold look in her eyes. "You'd do well to call me by my true name."

How could you say this? I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat Carved it into the olive tree where we first met A symbol of our love everlasting Do you realize what you have asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots

"What?" Lucifer's face scrunched in confusion. "You want me to call you, Eve?" Y/n looked away from him again. "That's right. I don't know why you keep calling me by that other foolish name. My name is Eve, it always has been."

"What are you saying?" Lucifer asked in bewilderment. "I gave you that name. It was the name I chose after I told you about my plans for humanity. 'Y/n', it's the name you had when you became a free human. You wished to be your own person, not "Eve" who was made for someone else!"

Only my husband knew that So I guess that makes him you

Penelope

Y/n turned to face him fully, tears falling from her eyes. "Only the real Lucifer would know that, so I guess you're him!" Lucifer was taken back, he wanted to comfort her, to make those tears go away.

"Y/n..."

I will fall in love with you over and over again I don't care how, where, or when No matter how long it's been, you're mine Don't tell me you're not the same person You're always my husband and I've been waiting, waiting

Penelope

Y/n took a breath to calm herself before speaking. "You haven't changed, not in the way you think you have. No matter what you've done, no matter how long it's been, no matter what, you are still the same Lucifer I fell in love with all those years ago!"

Now Lucifer felt tears gathering in his own eyes. "Y/n.." Waiting, waiting (Penelope) Waiting, waiting

Y/n approached him. "I would have waited for as long as it took. I would love no one else. No one made me feel half as important or free as you have. You were my everything then, and you are my everything now. I've been waiting for so long..." Her cries making it more difficult for her to properly express herself.

Lucifer pulled her in close and held her tight. "I know." He cradled the back of her head. "I know you have, my love. I know because, I have been waiting for you as well. You were all that consumed my every thought. Nothing else mattered to me, but you." Waiting, oh For you

Lucifer and Y/n pulled away from each other slightly, only to close the gap once more as their lips met.

How long has it been? Twenty years

They broke the kiss, only to both utter the words they've been dying to say for so long.

"I love you."

Tags-

@just-a-simpe

@graham-mckrackers

@circescircle

@sweeneyblue1

@luna4839493749374984

@citrusbatsandhoneybees

[arget-star]

As Complicated As We Are

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

Summary: Celebrating your first Valentine's Day with Sakura! (Reader and Sakura have graduated high school! They are around 20/21)

tags: fluff, surprise v-day gift

a/n: I did NOT intend for this to be anything longer than a short drabble, but once more, I think about Sakura receiving love and affection and black out and when I come to this happens. This piece is a bit rushed and messy but it's still written with love.

wc: 2.5k

You treat the day like any other.

Wake up beside Sakura, offer a whispered good morning as he slowly rouses. (He’s been working on Keisei Street until dawn for the past few days; the upcoming holiday brings more trouble than it’s worth.) Make omurice he’d once told you is even better than Kotoha’s, then subsequently made you swear to never, ever share such information.

You wouldn’t dare betray his confidence like that. The memory of his flustered face and the quiet way he’d complimented you make you smile every time you crack open the eggs. Sakura appears in the kitchen, summoned by the scent of fried rice, dressed in his beloved white t-shirt and black sweatpants, yawning and scratching absently at his chest. Slowly, he makes his way to the kotatsu, folding his legs underneath him with another yawn.

“Just a few more minutes,” you assure him, tossing in a handful of scallions into the pan. He hates vegetables he can see; mixing in a few here and there to be buried underneath more overwhelming flavors usually works. You even managed carrots once, though he’d caught on to your scheme and quietly picked them out, leaving them in a small pile at the edge of his plate.

He’s quiet as you work, propping his elbow on the low table and resting his head against a closed fist, watching you through hooded eyes. He perks up once you deposit the plate of steaming omurice in front of him. “Looks amazin’,” he murmurs, fingers curling around his spoon.

“Thank you!” You beam, sitting down with your own plate. He’s already chomping away by the time you take your first bite—and it is delicious, if you do say so yourself.

Halfway through, he speaks around a mouthful of rice. “They gave me the night off for patrol.”

“Oh?” You take another careful bite, grateful for the excuse to hide your reaction. Nakamura-san deserves the biggest box of giri-choco for this favor alone.

Sakura sets down his spoon. Stares at you, briefly, then looks away. “Ya ain’t plannin’ some big thing tonight, are ya?”

You’re planning something, but nothing grand. As much as you’d love to spoil him, make up for all the years he went without being loved, smothering him would only scare him. You swallow your food and shake your head. “Nope. I promise, Haru.”

Red spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You use his nickname sparingly; mostly when emphasizing some emotional point or to remind him that with you, he’s safe. (And, selfishly, you enjoy the knowledge that name is for you alone.)

He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like good as he swipes his spoon from the table. Pressing your lips together, you reach for your water, afraid your expression may give you away.

Sakura doesn’t mention the holiday for the rest of the morning as you get ready for work. For your part, you chat aimlessly about the latest drama between market owners on the street, grateful the florist you work for stays out of the petty antics.

It’s the kind of conversation you’d normally have while prepping dinner together, followed by Sakura suiting up for his patrol. With all the extra foot traffic, however, he’s been leaving about the time you come home.

You miss those evenings together. Things should settle down after tonight, thankfully.

Drowsy, Sakura nods in all the appropriate places, scoffing when you describe the band of young kids—high school first years, you assume—thinking they can stir up trouble. All they’ve managed so far is knocking over some display signs and stealing merchandise from the grocer.

“The new generation of Bofurin has it well in hand,” you laugh, catching the way his reflection rolls his shoulders in the bathroom mirror. “You know you’re the first person I’ll call if I’m ever in trouble.”

“Bunch’a lame idiots.” Sakura huffs, stretching his neck first on one side, then the other. The crack is audible even from across the (small) room.

You hum in agreement, rummaging through a drawer for your hairbrush. Item in hand, you turn from the mirror to Sakura, watching fondly as he stretches his arms overhead. “Hey. Promise me you’ll try to get some rest today.”

He startles, that crease forming along his brow. An involuntary reaction, you’ve learned, ingrained into his very soul by an unfeeling world. He’s better at hiding it these days, unless you manage to catch him off guard.

“Wha—I ain’t sick!” Immediately, he presses a palm to his cheek to check his temperature. He only naps when he’s under the weather (or recovering from a particularly nasty fight.)

“I didn’t say you were.” You point your hairbrush at him. “You are exhausted. This is the first night you’ve had off in a week, and I’d like to avoid you falling asleep at the dinner table.”

Realization flashes across his expression. You miss him. He misses you, too, as a matter of fact, and now he understands why he’s been feeling extra irritated on recent patrols. It’s not just lack of sleep getting to him.

He lowers his hand. “…I’ll be fine.”

Your entire plan culminates in a small, wrapped box tucked neatly inside your purse. Sakura working all evening did have some advantages—namely, leaving you free to come up with something for your first Valentine’s Day together.

Initially, you’d waffled on the idea of a gift at all. This is a holiday lauding love and relationships, after all, which is not a topic Sakura’s all that fond of having shoved in his face. Yours is a quiet love affair. Safe. Neither of you need elaborate gestures or grand proclamations showing the world how in love you are. (Genuinely, you’re happy for those who do that kind of thing. The romance of it all is easy to get swept up in. But it also sounds a little exhausting, and you are more than content with more subtle gestures.)

Sakura’s contradictory nature wasn’t lost on you, however. You know how desperately he wanted to be included in said lauded holiday, if only because it meant he was accepted by his peers.

After voicing your concerns to Kotoha, she’d encouraged you to proceed with a gift. Something simple. Traditional. And wasn’t it a stroke of luck she had a kitchen you could use? And furthermore, with Sakura working from dusk ‘til dawn, you had plenty of time to perfect your gift! In return, you promised to help her try out a new recipe or two for Pothos’ menu.

All that was left, then, was asking Nakamura-san if he could spare Sakura on what would undoubtedly be a busy night. It spoke to everyone’s belief—everyone who knows your boyfriend, at least—that he deserves to enjoy these special moments, as Nakamura-san agreed without hesitation.

Now, every step closer to home fills you with a giddy sort of nervousness. Your fingers wrap tightly around the strap of your purse. Will he like the gift?

What a silly thought. You know he will, no matter how his temper rises. It’s just another involuntary reaction, one you’ve seen slowly but surely soften.

The last few blocks on your route home pass by in a blur. You’re unlocking your apartment door before you know it, slipping your keys back in your purse with a cheery call of, “I’m home!” Bracing a hand against the wall, you remove your shoes, then neatly place them next to Sakura’s.

“Welcome back,” comes his delayed reply, followed by the sound of water splashing. You peek around the corner to find Sakura standing over the sink, holding a small pot presumably full of rice, gently swirling it the way you’d once shown him. He’s taken to cooking quite well; if you had to hazard a guess, you’d say he even enjoys it.

Padding over to him, purse hanging from your fingertips, you gently brush your arm against his. “Thanks for the starting the rice.”

Sakura ever so slightly leans into you, his body heat a welcome change from the chill outside. A smile blooms along your face, and as if in response, the beginnings of one soften his features as well. He’s absolutely radiant when he allows himself to relax like this. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re askin.’ Just walked around a bit.” Slowly, he tilts the pot over the sink again, watching as the last of the water trickles over the rim.

It’s then you notice he’s in a fresh t-shirt and actual pants. He must have showered, too, because you catch the faint scent of soap as he moves. Satisfied the rice is clean, he again turns the tap on, filling the pot with water.

You take a moment to really assess him while he focuses on the water levels. His eyes are more alert than they were this morning, his cheeks returned to their natural color compared to the sleepless pallor they’d been sporting. Warmth curls in your chest; he’s the type to push himself until he can’t give any more, never advocating for his own well-being. He took it easy today only because you said so, and he hates disappointing you more than he hates being idle.

Sakura shuts off the tap. Lifts the pot from the sink, placing it gently in the rice cooker. He looks at you funny once he turns the device on. “What’s wrong? Didn’t ya wanna make chicken katsu?”

That is the plan—you’d mentioned as much before heading out the door.

(”Unless there’s something else you’d like me to make,” you said, buttoning up your jacket.

Sakura, hands shoved in his pockets, shrugged. “’S your favorite. And today’s….it’s fine, alright?” Flushing, that was the second and last acknowledgement he’d made about the holiday.)

“You look well-rested. I’m glad. And yes, I still do. However,” you reply, pulling the small box out of your bag and turning to face him, “I can’t wait any longer.” The festive red wrapping crinkles in your hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Haruka.”

The box hangs in the space between you both. Sakura, stunned, stares at the box, then slowly lifts his mismatched gaze up to you. Color rises in his cheeks. You don’t move, don’t speak, don’t do anything beyond gently smile and wait patiently for his thoughts to settle. He’s grateful for it, once the blaring alarm bells of ‘romantic intent’ cease ringing.

Sakura snatches the box from your hand with a harshness he doesn’t mean. You retract your arm while he murmurs an apology. “It’s alright. I know this is a surprise.”

He’s fixated on the box again, clutching it with both hands, fingers digging into the wrapping. “Thought ya said you weren’t plannin’ anythin’!”

“Well, to be fair, you asked if it was some big thing, and it’s not.” Your purse thumps dully when you set it on the counter. Sakura frowns.

“Sha—shaddup,” he retorts, thumb tracing a rapidly forming tear. “….Can I open it?”

“Please.”

The sound of paper ripping fills the space, until the last of it flutters to the tatami. He glances at you, as if still seeking permission. You dip your chin and he pries open the lid of the box, tossing it carelessly next to the rice cooker. He tilts his head. Six circular chocolates stare back up at him. “Chocolate?”

Well. You counted on him not knowing the finer points of today’s tradition, but him not knowing anything sends a pang through your chest. “Mhm. Girls give gifts to the men in their lives—”

“I know that!”

“—and traditionally, it’s chocolate. For romantic relationships,” and now your face heats, “tradition dictates it should be homemade. While you’ve been away, I spent the evenings at Pothos with Kotoha. She helped me find the recipe and ingredients.” You rock back on your heels. Fidget with the buttons on your jacket. Explaining it all makes you suddenly nervous; you’re surprised Sakura hasn’t cut you off and removed himself from the situation entirely.

Sakura’s mouth parts. “Ya did all that for me?”

“I know they’re not gourmet or anything. Some of them are a bit lumpy.” Regret comes sweeping in; why didn’t you just buy some fancy chocolates instead? He wouldn’t have felt obligated to pretend to like them. You could just laugh it off, say you attempted normal couple things and then forget about it.

“…fine.”

You didn’t realize Sakura was talking. “Huh?”

“Said they look fine.” He’s holding one up, examining it in the kitchen light. All your self-doubt comes to a screeching halt. Sakura doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean. If he doesn’t see any flaws in them, then this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

“Really? The molds took some getting used to. Oh! I know you prefer savory things, so they’re all dark chocolate. Three of them have a raspberry filling.” You point to the row on the left side of the box. Sakura considers this a moment, then pops the one he’d been holding—a pure dark chocolate—in his mouth.

You can’t bear to stand quietly while he chews. You open the cabinet next to the sink, removing a cutting board. A bowl follows. Sakura swallows just as you step towards the fridge.

“Thank you.” His voice is soft, full of wonder and adoration.

“You’re welcome.” Your voice is equally soft. Sakura has set the box on the counter by the time you spin around to face him. He’s staring at it with something close to reverence, a fingertip tracing along a corner.

He whips his head up at your approach, eyes wide, like a child caught in the act of breaking a rule. If only you could ease that latent fear so deep within him. Slowly, you reach your hands out, cupping his still-pink cheeks between your palms. He tenses. You gently stroke your thumbs along the curve of his cheekbone, waiting for his shoulders to ease.

They do, after a handful of heartbeats. He blinks, easing back to the present. Only when you’re sure the shadow has faded completely from his eyes do you lean up and press a soft kiss against his lips. Sakura never reciprocates right away. He always hesitates, like his mind just cannot process the fact he’s being touched so lovingly.

He kisses you back gently. Chaste, nothing more than a faint pressure before he pulls back. The faint taste of chocolate lingers on your mouth. You remain in place, still idly smoothing your thumbs on his skin. He’s on the verge of saying something; courage pools underneath his skin, determination flashing in two-toned irises. “I missed havin’ dinner with you.”

“So did I,” you whisper, as if admitting a long held secret.

Steam hisses out of the rice cooker. You both jolt, shocked out of your little bubble. Laughing, you release Sakura from your hold, feeling like you’re floating as you retrace your steps to the fridge. “Guess we should actually make it then, hm?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and something in his voice makes you look back at him over his shoulder. Another chocolate is held delicately between his thumb and pointer finger. A raspberry one, if you’re not mistaken. The corners of his lips are turned upward. “Mind if I have another before dinner?”

“Not at all.”

[pedroscowgirl]

I know places

Professor!Joel miller x fem!college student (legal)reader

This is part 2 of this story. So pls read that one first if you haven't yet :))/ Main masterlist

Warnings!! smutt so minors DNI Big age gap(it's legal and reader is in college), power imbalence (professor x student), no!outbreak, possesive joel, jealousy, size kink, p in v (wrap it up), breeding, risk of getting caught, Joel is able to pick reader up, reader is able bodied, lmk if i forgot something! wc: 2,2k A/n: I kinda hurried this one cuz I'm so excited for the next chapter but i hope you still like this. And excuse my Spanish if it's not right and lmk if you want me to tag you for the next chapter! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated cuz i love ti know what y'all think of it :)) Also I've given up on moodboards cuz it took me longer to find a good one than to write this fic

Weeks passed, and in that time, you found yourself gravitating toward another presence on campus. Professor Ramirez was charismatic, sharp-witted, and effortlessly charming in a way that made it easy to talk to him. His warmth contrasted with Joel’s brooding intensity, and you soon found yourself spending more time in his office, seeking him out between lectures, sharing inside jokes, and slipping into easy conversations in Spanish—something that only made your connection feel even more intimate.

One afternoon, after yet another of your engaging discussions, you stepped out of Professor Ramirez’s office, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder when his voice followed you into the hallway.

“¿Nos vemos mañana?” (See you tomorrow?) he asked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

You turned back, flashing him a playful smile. “Sí, claro, hasta mañana.” (Yes, of course, until tomorrow.)

There was something undeniably flirtatious about the way you said it, the way you lingered for just a moment too long, biting your lip before finally waving goodbye. The moment felt lighthearted, harmless even—until you turned around and locked eyes with Joel.

He had just stepped out of his office, standing a few feet away, watching the exchange unfold in real time. His expression was unreadable, his brows slightly furrowed as his gaze flickered between you and Professor Ramirez before settling on you, filled with something dangerous, something possessive.

Your breath hitched, but you schooled your features into indifference, forcing yourself to turn away and walk rapidly toward the elevator at the end of the hall. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of guilt, and something else you refused to name making your steps quicker.

The elevator doors were nearly closed when suddenly, a foot shot between them, forcing them open. Joel stepped in, his broad frame taking up space, his presence immediately suffocating. The doors slid shut with a soft ding, sealing you both inside.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How do we always end up in the elevator togheter?” he mused, his tone light, almost teasing, though there was a tension in his voice that betrayed him.

You crossed your arms, keeping your gaze locked on the metallic doors in front of you. “Because I’m too fucking lazy to take the stairs,” you shot back, your voice laced with irritation.

Joel chuckled softly, but the sound didn’t hold any real amusement. His hands found their way into his pockets, and for a moment, silence filled the confined space, the air thick with unspoken words.

Then, his voice dropped into something quieter, more serious. “I saw you with him.”

You stiffened, but still refused to look at him. “And?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You know student-professor relationships are illegal, right?” His voice was firm, but there was something else there—something almost vulnerable beneath the authoritative tone.

You scoffed, finally turning to face him with a sharp glare. “You made that very clear last time.”

The weight of your words settled between you like a thick fog. His jaw tensed, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t.

The elevator doors slid open, and without giving him another second of your time, you stepped out, leaving him behind. You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin, as you walked away, your pulse racing with the thrill of knowing exactly what you had just done.

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

The following days, your frustration lingered like a stubborn storm cloud. Joel had no right to say what he did. No right to act like he was the moral compass in your life when he had been the one to cross that line first. The thought of it gnawed at you, filling you with a mix of anger and something dangerously close to heartbreak.

It all came to a head late one evening when you found yourself alone in the library, lost in thought as you absently flipped through the pages of a book. The air shifted before you even saw him—you felt it. That unmistakable presence.

Joel.

You didn’t look up. Instead, you turned another page, feigning indifference. But he wasn’t buying it. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, his eyes scanning your face carefully.

“You’ve been avoidin’ me,” he finally said, voice lower than usual.

You let out a sharp exhale through your nose. “Maybe I just don’t feel like being lectured again.”

Joel sighed, leaning forward on the table, hands clasped together. “That’s not what I was doin’.”

You snapped the book shut, finally meeting his gaze. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it felt like.” Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. “You’re worried about me having something with another professor now? Are you scared he’ll fuck me before you get to?”

His jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a tooth. His fingers twitched where they rested on the table, his entire body wound up like a spring about to snap.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You leaned forward, challenging him. “Oh, I think I do.”

His nostrils flared, and for a moment, you thought he might get up and leave. But he didn’t. He just sat there, watching you, a storm brewing in those dark eyes. The weight of his stare sent a thrill through your spine, but you refused to look away first.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, darlin’.”

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have engaged in it.”

The tension was thick enough to suffocate, but before either of you could say another word, a group of students entered the library, breaking the spell. Joel exhaled sharply, standing up without another glance your way.

But as he walked past you, he muttered low enough for only you to hear, “This ain’t over.”

And you knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t.

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

Joel’s jealousy had been growing more and more for days. Every time your hand lingered on Professor Ramirez’s arm, every flirtatious smile you threw his way, every time you spoke to him in soft, teasing Spanish—it all drove Joel insane. And you knew it. You loved pushing him, making him watch, making him burn with something he refused to name.

Tonight, you decided to take it even further. You slipped into a miniskirt again, pairing it with knee-high socks—the same kind that had once left Joel speechless. The halls were quiet, most students and staff already gone for the night, leaving just you and Ramirez standing outside his office, finishing up your conversation before parting ways.

Then his hand landed on your waist. Light, casual, but lingering. His face was close, his breath warm as he murmured something lowly to you. It didn’t even matter what he said—you knew what it looked like. And just as you expected, Joel saw.

He stepped forward, his presence impossible to ignore, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade.

“Young lady, can I talk to you?”

His tone left no room for argument. Ramirez stiffened at the interruption, hesitating before nodding and stepping away, leaving in a hurry—so fast he even forgot to lock his office door.

Silence hung heavy between you and Joel, the air thick with tension. Then suddenly, his lips crashed onto yours.

You gasped into the kiss, caught completely off guard by the force of it, by the way his hands gripped you like he was claiming you, like he was staking his territory. It was rough, desperate, fueled by weeks of frustration and jealousy. He barely gave you a second to process before lifting you off the ground with ease, pushing the door open and stepping inside Ramirez’s office, kicking it shut behind him.

Your back hit the desk, your fingers tangling into his hair as he kissed you deeper, hungrier. His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing, gripping, possessive in a way that made you whimper. The wetness between your legs grew unbearable—you had wanted this, craved this, and now it was finally happening.

Joel pulled away just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, his breathing heavy.

“You really think I was gonna let him have you before I did?” he rasped, voice dark with something dangerously close to obsession.

He slid your panties down, leaving your skirt bunched around your waist, his rough hands spreading warmth across your bare skin. The cool air sent a shiver through you, but it was nothing compared to the way he looked at you—like he owned you, like he was about to ruin you.

His belt clinked as he unfastened it, the sound making your stomach tighten in anticipation. Then his pants hit the floor, and without warning, he thrust into you. A sharp scream tore from your throat, the sudden fullness overwhelming.

Joel chuckled darkly, his breath warm against your ear. "Baby, I’m not even half in."

Your wide eyes darted downward, taking in the sight of him stretching you, so much more than you had expected. A flicker of fear flashed across your face—fear that he wouldn’t fit, that he might break you in half. He caught the look and laughed, his fingers gripping your waist tighter.

"Don’t worry, darling," he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw. "I’ll make it fit."

His hands found the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head in one swift motion. He paused, his dark eyes gleaming as he took in the sight of your bare chest.

"No bra?" he mused, amusement curling at the edge of his lips. "You’re such a little whore… not even wearing one for your other professor."

A sharp smack landed against your breast, making you gasp, your back arching into his touch.

"No," you moaned, breathless. "It was for you, Joel."

He smirked, his grip tightening as he brought his mouth down to your nipple, sucking harshly before biting just enough to make you cry out. His other hand roamed over your waist, down between your thighs, fingers teasing where you were already dripping for him.

"Call me professor, baby," he muttered against your skin.

Your breath hitched as he lifted you effortlessly, guiding you down onto him inch by inch until he was buried deep inside you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness. Before you could adjust, he carried you across the room, pressing you against the bookcase with a possessive growl.

Then he moved.

Each thrust sent books tumbling to the floor, the sound barely registering over your moans. He fucked you like he meant to leave his mark, like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. His grip on your hips was bruising, his pace relentless, each snap of his hips sending shockwaves through your body.

"So fuckin’ tight," he groaned, biting at your throat, marking you in ways that wouldn’t fade overnight. "Bet he couldn’t make you feel like this."

Your moans turned to cries, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the shelves as he took you harder, deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the office, mingling with the creak of the bookcase and the ragged breaths you both shared.

A wicked smirk curled on his lips as a thought crossed his mind. He leaned in, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. "Do you find it hot? Knowing I’m fucking you in his office? Knowing he could return anytime?"

The thought alone sent you spiraling. Your walls clenched around him so tight he groaned, his grip tightening as he fucked you even harder, his chuckle dark and knowing. "I’ll take that as a yes." A whimper escaped your throat, your body trembling as the heat coiled tighter inside you.

He pulled back slightly, his dark gaze locking onto yours. "Imagine it, baby. Imagine him walking in right now, seeing you like this, pinned up against his bookcase, dripping for me, coming all over my cock. You think he’d be jealous? “The bookcase rattled with every snap of his hips, books tumbling, papers scattering.

"Joel—" your voice was a broken plea, and he knew exactly what you needed.

"Come for me, baby," he ordered, his fingers pressing harder against your clit, his pace relentless. "Be a good girl and let me feel you."

The pressure inside you shattered, and you came with a sharp cry, your body trembling violently as pleasure crashed over you. Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as waves of ecstasy wracked your frame.

Joel groaned deep in his chest, his thrusts turning erratic before he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a possessive growl. He stayed there for a moment, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curving into that damn smirk. "Told you I’d make it fit."

And you knew, without a doubt, that this wouldn’t be the last time.

Not even close.

Taglist: @morganlolitta lmk if u wanna be added

[aller-geez]

Oxygen

Written & illustrated by: allergeez 🖤

Hey! Remember back in August how I teased a Svelex fic set for Elex’s birthday? NWELL, I FINALLY FINISHED IT 6 MONTHS LATER ✨

Just under 8k words, CW: Illness & Injury (fever, pneumonia, difficulty breathing, passing out) Medical Settings (hospital/ER scenes, oxygen use, discussions of health conditions), Mild Alcohol Use (social drinking, light references), Themes of Self-Neglect (pushing past physical limits, refusing to ask for help)

Though Oxygen explores themes of stubbornness, friendship, and vulnerability, at its heart, it’s a story about learning when to let go—and knowing when someone cares enough to catch you.

Summary: S7en has never been great at self-preservation, but for Elex’s birthday, he’s determined to pull off the perfect surprise. Weeks of planning, secret coordination, and late-night prep have all led to this—one flawless night where everything goes exactly as planned.— There’s just one problem. S7en is sick. Really sick. And he’s been hiding it.

With the weight of the day pressing down on him, the only thing keeping him going is sheer stubbornness and the desperate hope that he can hold out just a little longer. But as the night unfolds, his body has other plans, and no amount of willpower can fight the inevitable.

As reality comes crashing down, S7en is forced to confront a truth he’s spent his entire life ignoring—he’s not invincible. And sometimes, pretending to be okay only makes things worse.

Prologue:

S7en had never worked so hard on something in his life.

For weeks, he had been obsessively planning Elex’s birthday party—late nights spent hunched over sketches, paint drying on his fingers as he designed the perfect decorations, hours scouring online shops for the exact shade of green streamers that wouldn’t make Elex groan about “clashing aesthetics.” He’d snuck around behind his back to pull together the guest list, bribe people into secrecy, and track down the most obnoxiously over-the-top cake he could find. It had to be perfect.

Elex deserved perfect.

And, as always, Elex had no clue.

Which, honestly, wasn’t surprising. The man could smell a lie from a mile away, sniff out bullshit like a bloodhound, but when it came to anything about himself, he was painfully oblivious. S7en could have probably told him, straight-up, “Hey, I’m planning a surprise party for you,” and Elex still would have just grunted, shrugged, and gone back to chewing on whatever plastic thing he’d picked up that day.

The same way he had completely failed to notice that S7en was getting sicker by the hour.

It had started as a scratch in his throat, nothing major—just the kind of raw, dry feeling he chalked up to too many sleepless nights and the absolute joke that was his hydration levels. He ignored it, popped a cough drop, kept going. He had too much to do to slow down now.

But then it got worse.

The scratch deepened into a constant ache, turning into that burning, sandpaper sensation that made every swallow a chore. His voice had started rasping sometime around day three, but he played it off, clearing his throat and mumbling that it was just from talking too much.

Then came the congestion.

Thick. Unshakable. A slow-building pressure behind his nose and eyes that made his head feel too heavy, too tight. He kept sniffling between sentences, breath hitching every time he tried to take a full inhale, but he was damn good at keeping it subtle.

Elex never noticed.

When he felt a sneeze creeping up, he’d duck into another room, press the back of his wrist hard against his nose, and wait it out. If he got caught off guard, he’d twist away, stifling into his sleeve so violently it left him dizzy. It left his chest tight, his head pounding, but it was better than Elex hearing and asking questions.

There was too much to do.

If he let himself sneeze once, it would turn into five. Maybe ten. And if that happened, he’d never get through his never-ending to-do list.

So he fought it. Again and again.

S7en had become a professional at dodging suspicion. He had to be—Elex might have been oblivious about some things, but he wasn’t stupid. If S7en so much as sniffled too obviously, the badger would latch onto it like a feral dog with a bone.

So S7en adapted. He learned how to mask it, how to time it, how to slip away just before his body betrayed him.

But sometimes… it got close.

The first time was late—way too late.

S7en had been running on a handful of energy drinks and sheer force of will, hunched over his desk, hand-painting decorations that no one but him would care about. The apartment was silent, save for the soft glow of his desk lamp and the occasional sound of Elex shifting in his sleep.

Which was a problem.

Because that meant every single noise S7en made was way too obvious.

He had been trying—really trying—to keep himself together, but his nose was done playing nice. The burning deep in his sinuses was unbearable, and no matter how much he bit his lip or rubbed furiously at the underside of his nose, it wasn’t stopping.

The tickle teased mercilessly, rising, falling, rising again.

Don’t. Don’t. Not now.

His breath hitched.

He jerked forward, smothering the sound into his hoodie sleeve as hard as he could.

“Hhh’NGXT!—h'KXT’chh!"

He held still, heart hammering in his chest.

The silence stretched.

Then—

A sleepy mumble from the bed.

“...Why you sneezing like a bitch over there…?”

S7en froze.

Shit.

He hadn’t even realized Elex had woken up. The badger’s voice was thick with sleep, slurred and lazy, but there was just enough suspicion in it to make S7en’s stomach drop.

Think. Think.

“Fucking… dust?..,” he muttered quickly, sniffling once for effect. “The paper’s covered in it.”

A long pause.

Then—

A heavy sigh, followed by the sound of Elex flopping onto his other side.

“Go to bed, dumbass,” he mumbled.

S7en stayed still until he was sure Elex had drifted off again.

Then, finally, he slumped forward, burying his face in his arms.

Too close.

The second time was worse.

They were sitting on the couch, half-watching some dumb action movie, Elex’s feet propped up on the coffee table as he mindlessly chewed on the plastic cap of a water bottle. He was in a good mood, talking non-stop about how he "just had a feeling something cool was gonna happen" on his birthday.

Which would have been hilarious if S7en wasn’t actively trying not to sneeze on him.

His nose had been itching relentlessly for the last five minutes. That awful, creeping burn was rising up again, and no matter how much he rubbed at his nose discreetly, it wasn’t enough.

Bad timing. Really bad timing.

His breath hitched—barely enough to make a sound.

Too close.

He needed to get out of there.

Stretching his arms in an exaggerated yawn, he forced his muscles to stay loose and casual as he pushed himself off the couch.

“Gonna grab a drink,” he muttered, already heading toward the kitchen.

“Get me one,” Elex called after him, not even looking away from the screen.

S7en didn’t answer.

Because the second he was out of sight, he barely made it to the sink in time before a violent—

"Hh—! HHAHH—! HAHDT’tchhiew!! Hh—! AHHDT’tchhiiuhh!"

—ripped through him, bending him forward with the force of it.

His hands gripped the edge of the counter, breath shuddering as another chest-deep cough tore out of him immediately after. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to get it together before—

“You good in there?”

S7en nearly jumped out of his own damn skin.

Elex’s voice was casual, distracted, but S7en knew him too well.

The badger had noticed something.

Shit.

He barely had time to smother another cough into his sleeve before he forced his voice to sound normal.

“Yeah. Just—fucking—dropped something.”

A pause.

Then, mercifully, Elex just grunted, attention snapping back to the movie.

S7en exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples.

Too close. Again.

By the end of the week, he knew.

This wasn’t just a cold.

The signs had been there for days, creeping up on him like a slow, inevitable landslide. At first, it had been subtle—a scratch in his throat, a little extra weight in his chest. But now? Now, every breath ached, every inhale felt like dragging air through soaked fabric.

His lungs weren’t just tight anymore. They were drowning.

And when he coughed—because, at this point, there was no fighting it anymore—it wasn’t some weak, dry little thing he could brush off. No, it was deep, raw, rattling, the kind of cough that came from somewhere low and dangerous, scraping the bottom of his lungs like a dull blade.

It hurt.

And Elex still didn’t notice.

Because S7en made sure of it.

He had perfected the art of hiding it.

Whenever Elex was around, S7en played it off like nothing was wrong. He timed his coughing fits so they happened when Elex was in the shower, when he was digging through the fridge, when he was too distracted ranting about something to notice the way S7en had to brace himself against the counter just to stay upright.

If a sneeze hit, he bit back against it with everything he had, muffling it into his hoodie sleeve until his head pounded. If he couldn’t stop it, he’d make sure to stifle it into near silence, no matter how much the pressure made his already aching sinuses throb.

His voice was going hoarse, his breathing was labored, but he pushed through, kept talking like nothing had changed.

When his hands started shaking, he simply curled his fingers tighter around whatever he was holding—a drink, his paintbrush, the edge of the counter—until they stopped trembling long enough to keep up the act.

His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy, but if Elex glanced at him for too long, he’d just mutter something about being exhausted and wave him off.

Everything needed to be done.

And he wasn’t about to let a little cold ruin it.

Even as it got harder to stand without swaying.
Even as his lungs tightened like a vice with every breath.
Even as his body screamed at him to just stop.

He pushed forward.

Forward. Forward. Forward.

August 10th:

The morning of Elex’s birthday should have been easy.

After all, S7en had spent weeks planning every last detail. The decorations were set up, the cake was waiting in the fridge, and their friends were in on the plan, all waiting for the big reveal later that night.

All he had to do was get through the day.

And yet, when Elex jolted awake that morning—cocky, buzzing with birthday energy, already texting half his contact list like he was about to throw himself the most legendary party of all time—S7en could barely sit up without his vision blurring at the edges.

The second he lifted his head, a fresh pulse of pain slammed through his skull, a migraine so sharp it felt like his brain was trying to escape through his eye sockets. He swallowed against the nausea, trying to ignore the way his throat burned, raw and swollen, while his chest tightened with every inhale.

Bad. Really bad.

But he didn’t have time for bad.

So, S7en forced a grin, let Elex’s nonsense birthday rambling wash over him, and powered through.

“S7en, I swear to God, my birthday instincts are going crazy today,” Elex announced, cracking open an energy drink before he was even fully sitting up.

S7en barely managed to hold back a pained wince at the sound of the can popping. Too loud.

“Oh yeah?” he croaked, then immediately regretted speaking. His voice was wrecked, rougher than usual, like he’d spent the entire night screaming into a pillow.

Not ideal.

But if Elex noticed, he didn’t say anything—too busy stretching with an exaggerated groan before flopping onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His mismatched eyes gleamed, that lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yeah. It’s like—I dunno, a sixth sense,” Elex went on, taking a sip of his drink. “Like, I just know when something big’s about to happen.”

S7en hummed, noncommittal. “Birthday instincts,” he repeated flatly.

“Exactly.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you might need a refund, dude.”

Elex snorted, waving him off. “Nah, nah, it’s real. Watch—by the end of the day, something sick is gonna go down, and I’m gonna be totally right.”

S7en bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, because if Elex had even the slightest clue about the party, he would not be this calm. But the badger, for all his cocky bravado, was utterly, hilariously clueless.

Good. That meant S7en’s work wasn’t for nothing.

But as he pushed himself up, the room lurched sideways, and his stomach twisted violently.

Shit.

He froze, pressing his hands into the mattress to steady himself, willing the dizziness to pass. But his lungs ached when he took a breath, and his ribs felt like they were wrapped in tight, unrelenting bands.

Breathe. Breathe through it.

Elex, of course, was too busy hyping himself up to notice.

“Bet something sick happens before noon,” he said, checking his phone. “Maybe I’ll win some crazy giveaway. Or, like, get free food somewhere.”

S7en forced out a breathy laugh, ignoring the sharp, rattling sensation in his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Something like that.”

Because at the rate he was going?

Something was gonna happen before noon.

Just not the kind of surprise Elex was expecting.

S7en just had to get through the morning.

Then the afternoon.

Then the party.

Simple.

Except nothing about this was simple when his entire body was actively trying to betray him.

He had barely been upright for two minutes before the pressure in his sinuses flared up again, an unbearable, burning tickle crawling its way deeper. His breath caught just once—a sharp, involuntary inhale—before he forced it down, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting.

Not now. Not in front of Elex.

Elex, still riding his birthday ego trip, had zero idea what was going on, stretching like he had all the time in the world. Completely unaware of the absolute war S7en was fighting just two feet away.

"Alright," Elex announced, cracking his neck. "I’m thinking pancakes."

S7en barely heard him. His focus was on not sneezing.

The burning sensation spiked, his nose twitching, his breath threatening to hitch again. He clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his mouth, willing the tickle to settle.

No luck.

It was coming, fast.

Shit. Move.

Before Elex could glance his way, S7en swung his legs over the bed and pushed himself up, heading straight for the bathroom. Too fast. His vision swam, dizziness crashing into him all at once, but he barely managed to keep himself upright, gripping the doorframe for balance.

He shoved the door shut behind him, barely able to hold back the gasping inhale before—

"Hh—! Hhh! HAHPT’tschiew!! HAH! AHHDT’shiiiiew!!"

Fuck.

He doubled over against the counter, pressing the heel of his hand against his nose, his breath still stuttering from the sheer force of it. The moment he tried to straighten, another thick, chest-deep cough forced its way up, scraping like sandpaper in his throat.

His lungs felt wrecked. His head was pounding.

And he had approximately five seconds before Elex came looking for him.

Swallowing hard, S7en quickly turned on the sink, splashing cold water onto his face, trying to erase the obvious flush creeping into his cheeks. A second later, he heard Elex’s footsteps outside the door.

“You dying in there?”

S7en cleared his throat, ignoring the sharp pain it sent through his ribs. Make it sound normal.

“Chill,” he called back, voice rough but controlled. “Didn’t know I had to schedule my pisses around your breakfast plans.”

Elex snorted. “I mean, you do. But I’ll allow it, since it’s my birthday.”

S7en exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the sink.

Too close. Again.

By the time S7en forced himself back into the kitchen, Elex had already trashed his pancake idea in favor of raiding the fridge for anything edible. He stood with the door wide open, shoving a piece of cold pizza into his mouth like he wasn’t the absolute most unhinged person alive.

S7en could barely look at food without feeling his stomach twist unpleasantly.

"You good?" Elex asked around a mouthful, finally giving him a passing glance.

S7en shrugged, keeping his movements casual, despite the way his body screamed at him to sit the hell down.

"Tired," he muttered, heading for the cabinet where they kept their mugs. If he had something in his hands, it’d be easier to look normal.

Elex didn’t press, which was both a relief and kind of funny, considering if their situations were reversed, S7en would have had him in a chokehold demanding answers. But Elex just yawned, stretching again.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Big day. You should nap or something."

The irony almost made S7en laugh.

Yeah. Sure. Great idea. He’d get right on that.

As soon as he survived the next fourteen hours.

But as he reached for a mug, the telltale prickling started up again. His breath hitched before he could stop it.

Shit. No. Not here. Not now.

Keeping his back firmly to Elex, he pressed his wrist hard against his nose, willing it to stop. His shoulders tensed as the itch flared up, teasing mercilessly.

Hold it. Hold it. Hold it.

Elex, blissfully unaware, just kept rambling, his voice distant, drowned out by the relentless burning in S7en’s sinuses.

It was winning.

S7en had no choice.

With as much control as he could manage, he ducked his head into the crook of his arm, forcing the sneezes silent.

"Hh'NGXt! Ktchhh!—h’NNgch!"

The pressure was brutal, his skull throbbing with the effort of holding them back. His lungs seized painfully, a cough clawing its way up, but he swallowed it down, knuckles tightening around the counter.

He waited.

Nothing.

Elex hadn't noticed.

Slowly, carefully, S7en straightened, schooling his expression before turning back around.

Elex was still halfway through his pizza, scrolling through his phone with zero clue about the absolute disaster happening right in front of him.

S7en let out a shaky breath, grabbing his mug with slightly unsteady fingers.

He just had to get through the day.

That was the mantra he kept repeating in his head, over and over, like a scratched CD skipping on the same damn track. Just a few more hours. Then the party. Then the moment when Elex would finally see the absolute masterpiece S7en had spent weeks putting together. Then—maybe—he could breathe.

If his lungs still worked by then.

It was getting harder to ignore. Everything.

The aches had settled deep into his bones, like he was dragging concrete around his limbs. His head pounded relentlessly, his chest felt like it was wrapped in steel wire, and his breath was turning shallow, forced, unnatural.

And Elex?

Still didn’t notice.

Somehow.

It was actually impressive, in a way that was borderline offensive.

Because anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell that S7en was not okay.

His skin was pale, fever-glazed, dark shadows lingering beneath his eyes. His voice had gone from a little hoarse in the morning to full-blown wreckage, scraping and raw like he’d been swallowing glass shards for fun.

And yet.

Nothing.

Elex was still living in his own little birthday world, sending obnoxious texts to his friends, hyping up his own damn existence, and loudly debating whether he should get a new tattoo or a pet snake to mark the occasion.

S7en was dying in real time, and Elex was googling exotic pet names.

Ridiculous.

By the time they left the apartment, the sun was too bright, the air too sharp, and S7en was too damn tired.

He had planned to stay inside, get through some last-minute details, maybe even steal a moment to sit down and pretend his body wasn’t actively staging a rebellion.

But Elex, in all his unmatched, chaotic glory, had insisted on going out.

“It’s my birthday,” he had said, flashing a grin that should be illegal. “You’re legally required to follow me around and do dumb shit all day.”

S7en had just barely held back a groan.

The first stop was some hole-in-the-wall shop Elex swore had the best snacks on the planet. S7en, running on sheer force of will and the lingering effects of a third energy drink, followed him in, head pounding, lungs on fire.

He was so focused on staying upright that he didn’t notice the way his sinuses had been slowly tightening, congestion pressing like a vice behind his eyes.

Then, as he shifted his weight, something shifted with it.

A sudden, sharp readjustment deep in his sinuses sent a blinding tickle straight through his nose, pressure tipping over into something unstoppable.

Oh, fuck.

His breath hitched dangerously, his nostrils twitching, the overwhelming sensation building too fast for him to fight.

Not here. Not now.

He turned sharply on his heel, heading toward the corner of the store, hand clamped over his nose.

The moment he was out of sight, he braced against the shelf, burying his face into his sleeve as his body gave up.

“Hh—HhAH’DTschhh! Hh! HHhih—! HAHDT’tchhhiiew! Hhh! AHHDT’tsschueh!!!”

His ribs screamed in protest, his vision swimming from the sheer force of it. His breath hitched again, another wracking cough tearing out of him immediately after, leaving him shaking, dizzy, breathless.

Too much. Way too much.

He forced himself upright, swallowing against the rawness in his throat, fingers digging into the shelf for balance. He needed to move before—

“Sven?”

Shit.

He barely had time to school his face into something remotely normal before Elex appeared around the corner, holding a pack of sour candy and a soda, looking infuriatingly relaxed.

“You find something?” Elex asked, popping open the drink like nothing was wrong.

S7en cleared his throat, biting back the unbearable urge to cough again. “Nah. Just looking.”

Elex blinked at him, then tilted his head slightly.

For half a second, S7en thought—hoped, really—that maybe Elex was finally putting two and two together. That he’d look at him and actually see what was happening.

But then the badger just shrugged.

“Cool. Let’s hit the gas station. I wanna see if they have those weird energy drinks from Japan.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

S7en swallowed back another cough, another wave of exhaustion, and nodded.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice scraping at the sides. “Sure.”

And without much more, he followed Elex back out into the sun, lungs screaming, heart pounding, the warmth of the afternoon too sharp, too heavy against his feverish skin.

The heat pressed down on him like a weight, making the air feel thicker, harder to breathe, and for a moment, as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the world tilted dangerously beneath his feet. He forced himself forward, keeping his stride even, controlled, ignoring the way his vision blurred at the edges.

The party was just a few hours away.

He just had to last a little longer.

But his body? His body was done.

The fever that had been simmering beneath his skin all morning had finally boiled over, turning into a suffocating, all-encompassing heat that made the world feel distant and unreal. He felt like he was walking through a fog, slow and sluggish, barely tethered to his own movements.

His hoodie, usually something soft, comforting, familiar, now felt like a weight pressing down on his overheated body. The fabric clung to his skin like insulation, trapping the fever in, suffocating him from the inside out.

It was getting harder to think.

Harder to breathe.

Every inhale was tight, shallow, unsatisfying, as if the air itself had thickened, turning into something too dense to pull into his lungs. He knew he should have eaten something, but the mere thought of food made his stomach twist violently, nausea crawling up his throat.

But none of it mattered.

None of it could matter.

Because Elex was still completely oblivious.

So when the badger shoved his phone into his pocket and announced they were going to the arcade, S7en nodded.

When Elex cracked another joke about his “birthday instincts,” S7en forced out a laugh, even though his ribs ached from the effort.

And when a sneeze built out of nowhere, sharp and relentless, he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting, forcing it back, forcing his breath to even out before it could betray him.

It was fine.

He could do this.

And then—

Elex threw an arm around his shoulders, dragging him closer, leaning some of his weight into him in that effortless, careless way he always did.

S7en felt his legs nearly give out beneath him.

It was only for a second. A brief, involuntary dip in his balance that he corrected just in time, locking his muscles in place before he could actually collapse.

Elex didn’t notice.

Because of course he didn’t.

He just kept talking, laughing, existing, completely unaware that the world around S7en had started to tilt dangerously again.

That the sounds of the arcade were beginning to blur into a low, distant hum.

That every inhale was tighter, shallower, harder to take in.

That S7en, for the first time all day, wasn’t sure if he could keep this up.

A single thought forced its way through the haze.

You’re not gonna make it to the party.

The arcade was a neon-lit blur, the pounding music and overlapping voices slamming into his skull like a hammer to glass. His fever had reached new, unbearable heights, making the room feel hot and cold all at once, the flashing lights too bright, the noise too much.

And still—he kept moving.

Elex was having the time of his life, completely in his element, button-mashing through some fighting game like it was a life-or-death battle. S7en barely processed what was happening, just stood there, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, rocking slightly on his heels to keep himself upright.

The floor tilted beneath him again, nausea coiling tight in his stomach.

Just a little longer.

Just a little—

“Dude, you’re terrible at this,” Elex announced, nudging him toward the machine. “Come on, you gotta play at least once. Birthday rules.”

S7en knew if he sat down, he wasn’t getting back up.

But Elex was staring at him now, actually looking at him, and S7en had to move, had to do something, had to make sure Elex didn’t catch on.

So he shrugged, smirked through the absolute exhaustion dragging at his limbs, and picked up the controller.

The match was a disaster.

His hands were too shaky, his reflexes too slow, but somehow—somehow—he made it through without drawing too much attention.

By the time they left the arcade, the sun had begun to set, and the cool air should have felt refreshing. Instead, it only made his fever chills worse.

S7en barely made it through the door before he was shrugging off his hoodie, the fabric sticking to his overheated skin. His t-shirt underneath was just as bad, suffocating, but Elex was already grabbing beers from the fridge, completely unaware of the absolute train wreck standing behind him.

Elex tossed one over without looking.

“Happy birthday to me,” he announced, cracking his open. “Now drink, coward.”

S7en caught the can out of reflex, but the thought of alcohol sent an immediate wave of nausea rolling through him. He hesitated, fingers tightening around the cold metal, trying to psych himself up.

If he refused, Elex would notice.

So he lifted it, took a sip—

And nearly gagged.

The second the liquid hit his throat, his stomach flipped violently, his body rejecting it on instinct. He swallowed it down, forcing his expression to stay neutral, relaxed, normal, but the warmth rising in his throat told a different story.

Fuck.

The carbonation burned going down, only agitating his raw, sore throat further. He barely contained a cough, throat clenching as he forced himself to lower the can casually, like nothing was wrong.

Mercifully, Elex had already turned away, completely distracted by his phone buzzing on the counter.

“Rex?” he muttered, before picking up.

S7en exhaled silently, relief cutting through the fever haze.

“Yo, what’s up?” Elex answered, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he grabbed his keys.

S7en barely processed the conversation, his focus slipping in and out as Elex and Rexar started talking about car problems, something about the transmission, something about a weird noise.

Then, finally—finally—Elex headed for the door.

“I’m gonna check my car while I talk him through this,” he said, already halfway outside. “Don’t drink all my beer while I’m gone.”

S7en barely managed a smirk, lifting the can in mock cheers as the door swung shut.

The second the lock clicked, his whole body gave up.

The first cough was immediate, tearing through his chest with enough force to make him double over against the counter. The sound crashed through the empty kitchen, harsh and unrestrained, his body finally allowed to react after an entire day of suppression.

Then another. And another.

It was unstoppable now, his body making up for all the times he’d held it back, a brutal mix of hacking, gasping coughs and desperate, shuddering sneezes.

"Hh—hhAHH’Tschh! Hhh—! HhhAHH—! HAHDT’tchhhiew!! Hhh! AHHDT’tschhhiu!!"

His body jerked forward with each one, raw, painful, messy—his breath barely catching before another slammed into him. His hand scrambled blindly for his phone, barely able to see through fever-glazed eyes as he pulled up his contact list.

The party. The guests. He needed to check the plans.

He hit the first name.

Freya.

Her face appeared on screen, and the second the call connected, she took one look at him and frowned.

"Geezus, S7en. You look like death.”

S7en sniffled hard, rubbing at his nose with his wrist, attempting to smirk, but it came out more like a grimace.

“Damn, angel, don’t hold back,” he rasped.

Freya narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Are you seriously still running this party?"

"Obviously."

"You can barely hold your damn phone up."

S7en rolled his eyes, regretted it immediately when the movement made his head swim. "I’m good."

Freya looked like she wanted to reach through the screen and shake him, but before she could argue, another rapid-fire sneezing fit tore through him, leaving him breathless and hunched forward over the counter.

"Hhh! HAH—hhAHDT'shhiiew!! hHh—! HhHPTT’tchhiEW!! hh—! HAHHDT’tchhIEEW!!”

Freya just stared.

Then—flatly: “Uh-huh. Sure. You sound great.”

S7en groaned, sniffling thickly as he waved her off.

"Look, just—are we still good for eight? I don’t have time for a lecture.”

She sighed, clearly not thrilled, but nodded. "Yeah. Everything’s set."

"Good. See you then."

And with that, he ended the call before she could press him further.

Next.

Kriia picked up on the second ring.

And just like Freya, she took one look at him and immediately frowned.

"Yo. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Evening to you, too," he muttered, sniffling into his sleeve.

"You look like you lost a fight. With, like. A bus."

S7en snorted, regretted it instantly as another cough tore through his chest, sending a sharp, tearing pain through his ribs.

Kriia’s expression shifted, concern settling in. "Dude. Are you sure you should be doing this?"

S7en waved her off before she could start, ignoring the way his vision blurred at the edges.

"It’s Elex’s birthday. I’m not ruining it.”

Kriia exhaled slowly, like she was debating whether to fight him on this. But in the end, she just muttered, "Your funeral, man," before confirming the plans.

S7en ended the call and dropped his phone onto the counter, fingers digging into the surface as another wave of dizziness hit.

The door clicked open again.

Shit.

His body snapped upright on instinct, throat still burning, lungs still raw, but Elex was already stepping inside, phone tucked away, beer still in hand.

"Apparently Rex’s transmission’s fucked," he muttered, completely unaware of what had just happened.

S7en forced a half-smirk, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tough break."

Elex flopped onto the couch.

"Whatever. Commute’s gonna be shit, though."

S7en swallowed hard, ignoring the fire in his chest.

"Yeah," he murmured.

Everything was too hot, too loud, too sharp at the edges. His body was dragging, fever weighing him down like cement blocks strapped to his limbs, but the worst part was his head. It was pounding relentlessly, a deep, throbbing ache that had settled right behind his eyes, making his vision swim every time he moved too fast.

And yet—he still almost forgot the damn restaurant reservations.

It wasn’t until Elex, now two beers deep, kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and stretched like he had no plans to move for the rest of the night that it finally hit him.

Shit.

"Alright, get up," S7en said, standing way too fast. The floor tilted. He gritted his teeth, planted his feet, forced himself to stay upright. "We got dinner reservations."

Elex blinked at him, caught mid-yawn. "Wait—what?"

S7en sighed, rolling his eyes like his head wasn’t spinning in slow, miserable circles. "You really thought I wasn’t taking you out for dinner? What kind of boyfriend would I be?"

That earned him a grin, lazy and smug. "Damn. I really am the best."

S7en snorted. "Uh-huh. Now get your shoes on."

And just like that, the plan was back on track.

As long as S7en didn’t pass out before they got there.

The drive was a blur.

S7en shouldn’t have been driving. He knew that.

His vision swam every time he shifted lanes, his hands felt unsteady on the wheel, and every time he blinked, his fever-hazed brain took just a little too long to process what was in front of him.

But if he let Elex drive, that meant questions. That meant attention. That meant a risk he couldn’t afford to take.

So he forced his fingers to grip the wheel tighter, focused on the road like his life depended on it.

Which, honestly, it probably did.

By the time they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, his knuckles were white from how hard he’d been holding on.

Just a little longer.

Except—when they got inside, it all went to hell.

S7en barely processed what the hostess was saying at first, his fever-glazed brain lagging behind reality.

“…I’m really sorry about the mix-up, but unfortunately, we don’t have a reservation under that name.”

S7en blinked. "…What?"

The hostess winced. "It looks like there was an error in our system, and we’re completely booked for the night."

Elex frowned, looking at S7en. "Didn’t you book this, like, a week ago?"

"Yeah," S7en rasped, throat raw, jaw tightening. He turned back to the hostess, forcing himself to stay calm. "So… what’s the wait time?"

She gave an awkward smile.

"About two hours."

S7en nearly laughed out of sheer exhaustion.

Elex sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Welp. Guess we’re going home, then."

And for the first time all day, luck was on S7en’s side.

Because that was exactly what he needed to happen.

He gave the hostess a half-hearted nod before turning back toward the door, shoulders tense, every muscle aching.

Fine. Home it was.

S7en still should not have been driving.

His head was swimming, the world tilting at the edges, but he was too stubborn, too deep into the lie to stop now.

Elex, meanwhile, was perfectly content, reclining in the passenger seat like he hadn’t a single care in the world. "Honestly, I wasn’t that hungry anyway," he mused. "Good call, though. The universe clearly wants me to have homemade pizza instead."

S7en made a noise that might have been agreement, though it came out more like a weak exhale.

His grip on the wheel was tight, too tight, but he didn’t trust himself to loosen his fingers without them shaking.

Then—a problem.

The congestion that had been building behind his eyes all day shifted suddenly, sending a sharp, burning tickle straight through his sinuses.

His breath hitched violently, the urge to sneeze crashing into him like a tidal wave.

No. Not now. Not while driving.

He swallowed hard, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, clenching his jaw so tightly it hurt. His fingers flexed against the wheel, breath quivering, trying desperately to force it back down.

It wasn’t working.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His vision blurred, breath stuttering, but just as his body jerked forward involuntarily, he lunged for the volume knob on the radio, cranking it up just in time.

"Hh’NGXT! K’tshhh!—h’NNgch!"

The pressure made his ears ring, his head throb twice as hard, but Elex didn’t even flinch.

"Okay, why the hell is the music so loud now?"

S7en sniffled subtly, shifting in his seat. "Needed to wake myself up."

Elex huffed a laugh. "Damn. Didn’t know dinner cancellation trauma hit you that hard."

S7en forced a smirk, even as his sinuses screamed in protest. "Devastating."

And then, thankfully, mercifully, they pulled into the apartment lot.

The second the car was in park, S7en let go of the wheel like it had burned him. His fingers were stiff, locked from how tightly he’d been gripping it the whole drive.

Elex stretched, groaning dramatically. "Man, what a weird-ass birthday. Hopefully, the universe has one more surprise left for me."

Yeah.

You have no idea.

S7en forced himself to stand, lungs protesting, vision blurring dangerously for just a moment.

Almost there.

He just had to get inside.

Just a few more steps.

Just a little—

His breath hitched again, and he clenched his jaw, swallowing it down.

Not yet.

Not until he was alone.

S7en barely made it through the door before chaos erupted.

“SURPRISE!”

The apartment exploded with noise—cheering, shouting, laughter—all blending into one deafening wall of sound.

Elex’s reaction was instantaneous.

His fists shot up, body twisting instinctively, already halfway through swinging on whoever had dared to startle him.

For a split second, S7en had a horrifying vision of Freya or Kriia getting decked in the face, but just as Elex’s arm tensed, realization hit.

His narrowed eyes scanned the room, taking in the decorations, the crowd of friends, the drinks already in waiting hands.

Then—he turned to S7en.

That stupid, crooked grin stretched across his face, all sharp teeth and amusement, his previous fight mode already forgotten.

“You little shit,” he muttered, clapping a heavy hand on S7en’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “You actually got me.”

S7en barely held back a grimace at the sudden contact, his body thrumming with exhaustion, but he forced himself to grin through it.

“Told you your birthday instincts were trash,” he rasped, barely audible over the noise.

Elex laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah—okay, you win.”

The moment should have felt like victory.

And in a way, it did.

S7en had done it. The party had come together exactly how he planned, every detail falling into place just as he had imagined.

He had made it.

But as the music turned up, as drinks started passing between hands, as people settled into the celebration, S7en realized—

He still had to survive the rest of the night...

By the time everyone had arrived, the apartment was a perfect mix of chaos and celebration.

Music blasted.
Drinks flowed.
Elex was in his element, soaking up the attention, grinning like an idiot as his friends hyped him up.

S7en stayed near the edges, tucked into the background, letting the night move around him.

Everything felt far away, like he was watching the party from the other side of a glass wall. The fever had dragged him into a dreamlike haze, every noise muffled, every movement just slightly out of sync.

Still, he could see Elex—laughing, teasing, play-fighting with Rexar over some inside joke about "Toad Biscuit" merch.

The night blurred around him—colors bleeding together, laughter twisting into an indistinct hum, the weight of the room pressing down too heavy, too hot, too much.

S7en had spent the entire day pushing forward, ignoring the way his body was crumbling beneath him.

This was the last thing.

Just one more step.

One more task.

Someone called for cake.

The words barely registered, muffled beneath the fever’s grip, but his body moved on instinct.

S7en stepped toward the table, striking a match with trembling fingers.

The tiny flicker of fire blurred before his eyes, swaying unnaturally, and it took him a second too long to realize—it wasn’t the flame that was moving.

It was him.

The floor lurched beneath him like the ground had been ripped out from under his feet.

His chest tightened—seized—refused to expand.

A sharp, deafening ringing filled his ears.

His vision tilted violently, everything twisting into a warped, spinning mess of distorted colors and movement.

Far away—too far away—he could hear Elex’s voice, lighthearted, distracted, still caught up in the conversation, still completely unaware.

S7en tried to step forward—to finish what he started, to keep going, to keep standing—

But his knees buckled.

His breath stuttered dangerously, shallow and weak, his body losing the battle he had forced it to fight all day.

And then—

Elex’s voice sharpened, cut through the fog.

Something in his tone shifted—not joking anymore, not distracted anymore.

Alarm.

Realization.

“Wait—Sven!?”

Elex saw it happening.

But he was too far.

He was on the other side of the room, still surrounded by people, still grinning one second ago, still completely oblivious to just how wrong things were.

Then he turned.

And his stomach dropped.

He saw it—the way S7en swayed violently, the way his fingers slipped, the way his breath hitched in a way that had nothing to do with laughter.

His body was giving out.

Too fast.

Too soon.

Elex moved instantly, shoving through the crowd, but he was too late.

S7en’s body tilted forward, his orange eyes rolling back slightly.

The match slipped from his fingers, flame snuffing out before it even hit the ground.

His legs crumpled.

And before Elex could reach him—before anyone could react—

S7en hit the floor.

S7en drifted somewhere between consciousness and nothingness, floating in the thick, fevered haze of half-awareness. His body felt heavy, his limbs like lead, his chest wrapped in tight, suffocating bands that wouldn’t let him breathe fully.

He could hear voices.

Familiar, but distant—like sound carried through waterlogged fabric, muffled and uneven.

Then, one voice cut through the haze, clear and sharp.

“His blood oxygen was at eighty-one percent when they brought him in.”

That was bad. Even he knew that was bad.

A sigh—low, exasperated, but not surprised.

Elex.

“Geezus fuck,” he muttered, voice strained with something tired, frustrated, guilty.

The other voice—a woman’s—continued speaking, firm but calm, the kind of voice used to dealing with stubborn, repeat offenders.

“He has pretty severe pneumonia," she said, matter-of-fact. "You’re lucky he passed out when he did. If he’d stayed upright much longer, he probably would’ve just stopped breathing entirely.”

S7en didn’t have to see Elex’s face to know exactly what expression he was making.

Jaw clenched.

Hand rubbing over his face.

That rare moment when Elex wasn’t just annoyed, but genuinely upset.

And not at anyone else.

At himself.

S7en could practically hear the weight settle in his voice when he muttered, “…I should’ve noticed.”

The woman—whose voice was familiar in a way that took too much effort to place—sighed through her nose, not unkind, but firm.

"Yeah," she agreed bluntly. "You should have."

A pause.

Then—paper rustling, the sound of something being shifted from one hand to another.

“These are his prescriptions,” she continued. “Antibiotics, steroids, inhalers—we’re trying these this time. Make sure he actually takes them.”

That voice.

The realization hit sluggishly.

ER nurse.

He knew her.

She had been there every time he’d landed himself in this exact same situation.

Enough times to know him by name.

God, that was embarrassing.

Elex sighed again, and S7en could hear the distinct crinkle of the paper bag as he took it from her.

His voice was quieter this time. Tired. Guilty.

“I got it,” he murmured.

Another pause.

Then—her voice softened just slightly.

“Just… be more observant next time, yeah?”

No sharpness now, just gentle warning.

“Could be worse, next time.”

No argument. No defensive retort.

Just the quiet sound of Elex nodding.

S7en wanted to laugh.

If only he had the breath for it.

After a moment, a long, heavy sigh broke through the silence.

Then—the soft creak of a chair being dragged across the tile.

S7en felt more than heard Elex drop into the seat next to his hospital bed, elbows resting on his knees, the weight of exhaustion settling into his frame.

Then came the sound of both hands dragging down his face, a quiet but telling frustration behind it.

S7en almost would’ve gotten away with pretending to still be asleep.

Almost.

Except—his damn ear twitched.

Elex caught it immediately.

"I know you’re awake, dumbass," he muttered, voice low and uncharacteristically gentle.

S7en hesitated.

Then, slowly, he cracked his eyes open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent light overhead. The world swam for a moment before settling, and when his vision finally focused, the first thing he saw was Elex watching him.

Worried. Tired. Like he’d just come back from a war he hadn’t even realized he was fighting.

S7en’s ears flattened instinctively in embarrassment, a quiet flicker of shame settling in his chest.

The room was small, sterile, impersonal—the same goddamn hospital he had spent far too much time in over the years.

And the weight of his failure hit him all at once.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

A shift in his nose made him suddenly aware of the cannula, delivering pure oxygen to his wasted lungs.

His fingers twitched, reaching up to pull it off, but Elex’s hand was there first—firm but gentle, gripping his forearm.

"Don’t," Elex said softly.

S7en stilled, swallowing hard, ears pinning further against his head.

A beat of silence.

Then, in the same quiet, unusually careful voice, Elex asked,

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

S7en hated how much that question hurt.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Elex. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his lap, claws absently picking at the thin hospital blanket.

"I—" He stopped, voice raw, barely above a whisper. He swallowed, trying again.

"I didn’t want to be the reason your birthday sucked…"

Elex stiffened slightly.

S7en continued, ears still pressed flat, tail curling closer to himself.

"I worked so hard to make it perfect," he muttered, barely breathing the words. "And after everything, we’re still here. Another—" his voice wavered, thick with frustration, "another claustrophobic, shitty little hospital room."

Silence.

S7en braced himself for Elex to be pissed. For the usual snark, sarcasm, maybe even an exasperated rant.

But instead—

Elex sighed, slow and deep, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer than S7en had ever heard it.

"Dude. I don’t give a shit about some stupid party."

S7en blinked, glancing up at him hesitantly.

Elex ran a hand through his messy, dark green hair, shaking his head. "You really think I care about that more than you literally—collapsing in front of me?" His voice wavered slightly, jaw clenching before he forced it back down.

S7en didn't know what to say.

Elex exhaled sharply, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees.

"I should’ve noticed." The words came out quiet, guilty. "I mean, fuck, you looked awful all day. I just—I was too caught up in my own bullshit to pay attention."

S7en shook his head weakly, ears twitching. "Not your fault."

"Not entirely," Elex agreed, mouth quirking slightly. Then, more serious, "But you’ve gotta stop doing this, man."

S7en swallowed, feeling suddenly very small.

"You don’t have to—I don’t know—carry everything yourself," Elex continued, voice softer now, tired but firm. "It’s okay to tap out sometimes. Party or not."

S7en hesitated.

Then—finally—he met Elex’s gaze.

And what he saw there wasn’t annoyance, or frustration, or the usual bullshit banter.

It was genuine concern.

That made something tighten in his chest in a way that had nothing to do with pneumonia.

The corner of Elex’s mouth twitched into something softer, and after a pause, he added,

"By the way, next time you try to fake being fine, maybe don’t fucking pass out in the middle of a party. Kinda ruins the illusion."

Despite himself, despite everything, S7en huffed a weak, breathless laugh.

"Noted."

Elex rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it.

And for the first time all day, S7en finally let himself relax.

The end 🖤

[multiversefanfics]

Kissy Kissy

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary: Sam wants to kiss you, you want to kiss Sam, but neither of you will make the first move. Warnings: cussing, mention of sex

You've known the Winchester boys for a very long time, they were like brothers to you, well Dean was. You had a huge crush on Sam, but it doesn't seem like he's interested in you, Dean doesn't know either even though he suspects things but will never say anything because he doesn't know for sure.

The boys were on a job, and you waited patiently for them to return. Usually, you went with them, but this time, you chose to stay back and clean up a bit. The house wasn't dirty because you were barely in it, but you needed to keep busy. You danced around while you swept up the kitchen, singing along to the song playing.

You were so focused on dancing and cleaning you didn't hear the front door open until you turned around and were surprised by them, you screamed and threw the broom at Dean who quickly caught it with one hand "A little warning next time would be great." You rolled your eyes clutching your chest "Sorry, Sweetheart thought you heard us." Dean chuckled and handed the broom back to you.

You smiled up at Sam who came over giving you a big bear hug. "Someone missed me." You giggled, hugging him back "Of course I missed you. What's not to miss." Sam cleared his throat and put you down "I mean, you know uh never mind." Sam shuffled away into the kitchen. You looked over at Dean, who ignored the little interaction between you and Sam and went straight to the TV

"So, Dean." You strolled over, sat down beside him, rested your feet on his lap, looking over at him, he sighed and looked over at you "Yes, Y/N." You loved bothering Dean more than anything "Did you miss me as much as Sammy did?" Dean rolled his eyes and moved your feet off of him "One, only I get to call him Sammy; two, no, I didn't." You heard Sam walk up behind you guys "She can call me Sammy." You looked up at Sam, who stood there smiling like an idiot.

"You guys make me sick." Dean stood up and walked to his room you giggled and watched Sam walk around the couch and sit down "I'm assuming he got beat up on the job." Sam nodded and turned the channel on the TV. You watched as Sam flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch you couldn't help but admire his focused face. "You know, if you took a picture, it might last longer." Sam uttered, not taking his eyes off the screen you felt your cheeks heat up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." You looked down at your hands sheepishly "I didn't say I didn't like it." He looked over at you and smiled, you met his gaze and smiled back at him soon; you were both staring at each other, and just like in the movies, the two of you slowly leaned into each other as if a magnet was pulling you both in. Your eyes flickered from his lips to his eyes basically begging him to kiss you.

Suddenly, he pulls back "Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." You sighed and sat back against the couch "It's okay, I don't know what I was thinking, uh, I'm going to go lay down." You quickly got up from the couch and headed toward your room. You looked at Dean's door, and before you knew it, you were knocking on it. You earned a 'come in' and you quickly walked in leaning against the now shut door.

Dean looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows, followed by an eye roll when he saw the look on your face "What's wrong?" You slowly slid down the door, groaning on the way down. "Sam and I almost kissed, but he pulled back and apologized and said he didn't mean to. Dean, all I wanted these past few months was to kiss Sam, and each time we got close, he backs away or you walk in, and he gets all scared." You took a deep breath and looked up at Dean.

He rolled his eyes and walked over, picking you up off the floor, his hands on your shoulders he looks you dead in the eyes and smirked "It sounds like you both need to grow a pair." You pouted and leaned your forehead on his chest, he kissed the top of your head and let out a deep breath "I'm sorry, sweetheart why don't you lay down in here and I'll go get you some cold water." You nodded against his chest and walked over to his bed still pouting

He shook his head at you and went downstairs to get you water, where he found Sam pacing back and forth in the kitchen "Whoa there, flash, what's up your ass?" Dean already knew, but he needed to hear it from Sam. He stopped pacing and looked at Dean "I almost kissed Y/N, but I pulled back and now I think she hates me." Dean chuckled and grabbed a bottle of water

"What's funny?" Dean shook his head looking back at Sam "You both need to grow a pair; I have an idea why don't you take this water to my room and give it to her and then just kiss her." Sam took the water bottle and paused "Why is she in your room?" Dean could see how mad Sam was getting, Sam liked you a lot and the thought of losing you to Dean sent him into a frenzy, seething with jealousy.

"Relax, Hulk. She came up there to talk to me after you pussied out, go kiss her so we can all move on." Sam walked up the stairs without another word and into Dean's room "Sorry, Dean, I hope you don't mind I borrowed a pair of your sweat- You're not Dean." You sat up on Dean's bed, looking at Sam "Yeah, I need to talk to you." Sam sat down in front of you, handing you the water bottle, you took the bottle from him, drinking some of it.

Sam took a deep breath, cupped your cheeks, and pressed his lips to yours; you gladly kissed him back. You crawled into his lap and straddled it. The kiss deepened, not wanting it to end, but something about needing to breathe got in the way of that. The two of you slowly pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. "I've been wanting to do that for years!" Sam uttered breathlessly.

Just then, someone cleared their throat behind Sam "Now that you two love birds finally kissed, can you get off my bed before you end up having sex on it." Sam rolled his eyes and lifted you off the bed, you squealed and wrapped your legs around his waist, as you passed Dean, you had Sam stop walking "Might want to get some ear plugs, it's going to be a wild ride." You winked at Dean, and Sam continued to his room.

A/N: If you would like to be tagged in future fics either comment, message, or fill out this form and you will be added to the tag list🥰

Main Masterlist - Sam Winchester Masterlist