#‘​:/ this reminds me of something’ about and i found them with my little notes that say (from Nov 21st!) dream back lost/another way to know

[rosecoloredsunshine]

you're the closest to heaven that i'll ever be — johnny storm

masterlist | part two

PAIRINGS: johnny storm x stark!female!reader

SUMMARY: in johnny's universe, you are his everything. that is until he weren't able to save you in time, and when they were pulled in another universe during a mission, he saw another version of you that is alive.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, multiverse, spiderman-esque fic, a little world building, open ending, idk what i'm doing but just roll with it, there are some inaccuracies, reader is not really a doctor doctor (phd in business 😁), everyone is alive !!!!!, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: idk if this kind of fic had already been done before, but thus had been in my mind for quite sometime. some doesn't make sense, but i try to make sense of it iykyk lol. everyone is alive in this fic bc i said so!!!!!!!! i'm not sure if i want to write a part 2 of this, but i'll think about it (i'm just lazy lol). anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one!

It all started with a tremor. Not in the earth nor in the skies, but in reality itself. An unstable ripple tore through space-time over the ruins of what once was a Latverian outpost, long since abandoned but still dangerously volatile. The Fantastic Four had been dispatched to neutralize an energy spike that Reed had flagged suspicious. However, Reed had not anticipated just how deep the breach had already gone, or how the rift would pull them out of Earth-828 and all of a sudden slamming them into something, rather somewhere.

A new Earth. One that is teeming with familiar architecture and faint echoes of names they barely recognize, everything feels off.

Earth-616. They were lucky enough to land within the protected perimeter of the Avengers compound. Alarms had flared, and Stark AI systems immediately flagged their arrival as potential incursion, until Bucky, who was currently manning the base while the other Avengers were away, recognized their signatures. He had seen versions of them before. Well, sort of.

“Facial recognition in progress. Welcome, Jonathan Storm, Susan Storm, Reed Richards, Benjamin Grimm. Earth-828 identifiers not found in multiversal registry. Alert: cross-dimensional duplicates confirmed.”

“Facility overseer: Dr. Stark, Stark Industries Executive Director.”

You’ve always had a main conference room reserved on the 41st floor of the Stark Tower—sleek glass walls, walnut wood table stretching across the length of the room, and a buzzing holographic projection of global networks, economic forecasts, and defense analytics. The kind of environment you thrived in. A structured chaos, numbers and negotiations, walls that are tall enough to keep emotions out.

You had just shut down an aggressive pitch from a foreign investor, when your phone lit up on silent mode, flashing a name you rarely ignored. Bucky Barnes—very few people could pull you out of a board meeting, and he was one of them. You calmly and professionally excused yourself, and stepped out into the hallway, your heels clicking against the polished marble floors. You pressed the phone to your ear.

“Barnes?”

Bucky’s voice had that clipped tension you had come to know and recognize right away from past emergencies. “You need to get to the compound. ASAP. Something…or someone showed up. Four of them. Not exactly hostile, but not from here either.”

“And dad?” Your eyes narrowed slightly.

“Still off-world. Cap, Romanoff, Barton, Wanda, everyone’s out. It’s just me here, and them.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in ten, tops.”

That was enough to convince you to go back to the compound. You pivoted, already striding towards your own designated elevator, tailored blazer moving with each swift step. You didn't know then that in a different universe, you had died in Johnny Storm’s arms, and you also didn't know that he would crawl into this one.

The drive to the compound was a big blur of the city lights and thoughts. FRIDAY updated you the en-route, inter-dimensional signatures detected, arrivals confirmed not to be hostile, communications disrupted. Reed Richards, Sue Storm, Ben Grimm, and Johnny Storm—names you recognized from archived reports, not from this universe, but recognized them nonetheless.

Inter-dimensional incursions were not new to you anymore. The multiverse was a broken glass pane, cracked and scattered, forever shifting. But what matters the most was what, or rather who, fell through. By the time you stepped into the compound hangar, Bucky was already waiting. Dog tags, fitted tactical shirt, arms crossed, his vibranium arm flexed as though he was already on edge.

“They’re in the east wing.” Bucky muttered, walking beside you.

“Any aggression?”

“The stretchy one keeps talking science. The rock guy hasn't smashed anything. The woman’s assessing the area, and the fourth one…” he paused briefly. “He’s loud and impatient.”

You entered the main holding room, but it was more like a debrief lounge at this point—bright lights, reinforced walls, and monitors overhead. Reed, Sue, Ben, and Johnny turned simultaneously when you stepped in, confident and composed—Stark blood running through your veins. Commanding without even trying.

Reed tilted his head lightly, Sue regarded you with both caution and familiarity, Ben grunted something unintelligible under his breath, and Johnny…Johnny went still. You felt it, but you didn't know it, at least not yet. Still, there’s something about the way his expression crumbled for a split second, how his chest stilled and shoulders locked. It was as if the world had stopped rotating for him, and only to restart violently seconds later.

Grief really had a funny way of burning someone alive from the inside out. Johnny had seen your face a thousand times inside his dreams, broken memories, photographs that he could no longer bear to look at. In his universe, you had always been his everything—best friend, fiancée, and the woman who had seen through his flashy charm and fire-wielding ego, but most importantly, the man who could barely sit still long enough to talk about his feelings. You had called him out on his recklessness, you were the one who grounded him.

You had saved him, until he could not save you.

In his universe, he watched you die in his arms minutes before your wedding. He was too late. Johnny never forgave himself for what had happened, and he swore that he would never love anyone again. But now, here you were. Standing before him in a pressed charcoal suit, your Stark Industries pin clipped to your lapel, posture sharp and assertive. Your eyes, while familiar, did not carry the softness that haunted his memories.

You didn't know him. Not at all.

Johnny didn't even blink, and you had no idea why. You didn't even flinch, just crossed your arms slightly, assessing the four of them.

“I’m here on behalf of Stark Industries and the Avengers initiative,” you said calmly. “You are no longer in your home dimension. Earth-616, to be exact.”

Reed stepped forward. “That would explain the shift in vibrational frequency. I’m Dr. Reed Richards, and—”

“I know who you are,” your tone was polite, efficient, but firm. “My father had catalogued the Fantastic Four from multiple universes. Your presence here is abnormal, to say the least, but not entirely surprising.”

Sue exchanged a look with Reed, and Ben shrugged. But Johnny had not moved an inch. His eyes were fixed—burning, with something that is unspoken. Something that is agonizing. He took a shaky breath, stepping forward as though drawn to you by some invisible tether.

“You…” it spilled out of Johnny’s mouth. Barely a whisper, almost like a prayer.

You turned your gaze to him fully then. Johnny’s face—handsome, disheveled, bright blue eyes, and blonde hair slightly askew from whatever chaos they had come through. He looked at you with a strange devastation.

Johnny took another step, his voice breaking a little, with Bucky shifting closer, protective by default. “You’re alive…”

You raised a brow at him. “I don’t believe we have met before.”

Johnny blinked harshly, like he was holding back a tidal wave. He gave a small broken chuckle, but it was devoid of humor, only grief. “Yeah, we have. Or we had.”

“You must be confusing me with somebody else.” You said, remained composed, even as you felt something heavy settled inside the room.

Reed spoke up softly, cautiously. “Johnny, don’t.”

“You…you died in my arms. I couldn't save you,” his voice was raw, hands trembling. But Johnny didn't stop looking at you. “And you’re here. You’re…here. Alive and well.”

Sue closed her eyes briefly as though she had already witnessed this scene before. You inhaled slowly, calm but not cold. You glanced back at Bucky. There was a flash of concern in his eyes—he knew loss, and had recognized it immediately.

You turned back, locking eyes with Johnny. “I…I’m sorry about whatever had happened. But I’m not her.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched, but nodded slowly. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I know,” his voice was a broken whisper. “But you look exactly like her.”

In the silence that followed, you softened, just slightly. There was a small shift in your tone. “I understand. This must be very difficult for you.”

He laughed—painfully, soft, and reverent. “You have no idea.”

You eventually initiated the logistics—secure housing, containment, and possible ways to return them to Earth-828. Reed gave all the data needed as possible, Sue collaborated, while Ben asked about the whole place. Johnny remained mostly silent, but always near you—watching and haunted.

It was already late when the team arrived, finally back from their off-world assignment. The quinjet had landed just before midnight, kicking up a storm of dust and loose papers across the landing pad. But you did not need a visual, you already knew that they were here.

You waited exactly twelve minutes before heading down. The lights in the hallways were dimmed at night, polished steel and glass of the compound washed in cool, bluish tones, corridor screens still displayed Stark Industries dashboards—satellite updates, global activity patterns, neutral-linked alerts that are synced to your personal feed. The soft hum of machinery surrounding you—familiar and efficient.

When you reached the briefing room, the doors slid open automatically. The mood inside was markedly relaxed, war was over—for now. Whatever battle they had just returned from must have ended in their favor. There was no tension lingering in the air, only the calm disarray that followed adrenaline. The energy was warm, familiar—low laughter, scattered banter, bodies slouched in chairs, and armor half removed. Some had ditched their gear entirely.

They all looked up when you entered the room.

You quickly scanned the room quickly—Steve was leaning back in his seat, forearms resting on his thighs; Natasha stood behind him, arms folded, and a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth; Rhodey was beside Wanda, both of them in quiet conversation; Vision stood off to the side, as if waiting say his thoughts or opinions; Sam was perched casually near the end of the table; and both Bruce and Clint were in the middle of arguing over some minor mission detail. The only one that was not around was Thor, but you already knew he had returned to Asgard for a matter involving the bifrost.

Then there was your father. Tony was standing near the head of the table, his arc reactor glowing faintly beneath his black tactical undershirt, a half-empty espresso in one hand and a proud, tired grin on his face. You walked up to him, professional as ever despite the familial bond.

“Welcome back.”

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony said affectionately, arms open in invitation.

You allowed yourself the briefest lapse in composure, leaning in for a side hug, letting your hand rest on his back. Tony pressed a warm kiss to your temple, a gesture so casual, and deeply familiar that no one inside the room batted an eye.

“You cut another meeting short, didn't you?” He muttered low enough that only you could hear.

“Well I had to, Bucky called.”

“Always dragging you out of your high towers, huh?”

“Only when there’s something important,” you replied, pulling away from the side hug. “And this time, it was.”

“Alright, show me.” Tony’s tone shifted immediately to something serious.

“FRIDAY, let’s begin.” You turned towards the front of the room, and FRIDAY’s interface lit up at your voice command.

The room became silent as the lights dimmed, and the circular holographic projection table came alive, bathing the center of the room in cool light and flickering motion. You did not use the scripts, you didn't need them. You spoke clearly, posture straight, hands resting lightly on the edge of the table as you walked them through everything.

“Earlier today, four individuals arrived through what Dr. Reed Richards had identified it as an unstable inter-dimensional rift. Their molecular and vibrational signatures match that of Earth-828. They are currently contained and housed on-site under temporary status.”

A glowing map of the multiverse expanded across the table, folding over itself with rings and constellations of data. Earth-616 was centered in blue, while Earth-828 glowed in red.

“They call themselves the Fantastic Four. Their existence had been recorded in multiple other universes, though this is the first instance of confirmed cross-universal physical entry into our dimension from their team.” You continued.

FRIDAY had projected high resolution images; Reed’s molecular stretch in motion, Sue’s brief invisibility flicker, Ben’s stone form, and lastly, Johnny, surrounded by flame, hovering in the air with smoldering eyes. You noticed that from the corner of your version, Bruce’s interest.

“They are not hostile,” you clarified. “At least not at this time. Bucky did an initial assessment, and I’ve already spoken to all four.”

“They crash land into our universe and get a five star welcome?” Clint quipped, scratching his chin.

“They didn't crash,” you corrected. “They were pulled. They’re as stranded as anyone would be in their situation.”

Natasha stepped forward. “Do we know what caused the rift?”

“No, not yet,” you replied honestly. “Dr. Richards has a working theory involving harmonic convergence across layered multiversal tears, and one of those may involve our own previously recorded incursions.”

You paused. Then, with a subtle flick of your fingers across the hologram’s edge, you pulled up the compound’s schematics. “I’ve assigned them quarters in the east wing, and they’re secured. Not cells, but isolated enough that we can monitor movement and communication without giving them the impression of imprisonment.”

Rhodey let out a low whistle. “You did all that on your own?”

“I didn't think it's wise to wait for everyone to get back before making the decision.” You said plainly.

Steve nodded in approval. “Good call.”

“I also figured Bruce and Ben would either kill each other or get along splendidly,” you quipped with a faint smile. “So they’re currently as far from each other as the architecture allows.”

A ripple of low laughter passed around the table. Bruce glanced up with a soft smile. “What’s he like?”

“Gruff,” you said. “Surprisingly perceptive.”

“And the others?” Wanda spoke softly from her place near the corner.

“Well, Dr. Richards is brilliant, the kind of mind that could rebuild the whole compound from scratch with a coffee and screwdriver. Susan Storm has tactical precision, she’s already been memorizing layout grids. Then Johnny Storm…” you stopped yourself, a pause. Just long enough for Tony to glance at you. “Johnny Storm has a unique energy, one we should keep an eye on.”

“Flaming hothead,” Bucky offered dryly from the back of the room. “In every sense.”

You didn't bother to correct him, and you didn't speak again for a moment.

Tony folded his arms. “And you’re sure they’re not a threat?”

“If they were, we’d already know by now.” You met his gaze. “They’re shaken, stranded. But I believe they’re sincere.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then, FRIDAY’s voice filled the room. “Would you like me to archive the debrief for full internal access?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Log everything under multiversal priority class. Assign all access clearance to Level 4 and above. Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Stark.”

The projection faded, and the room slowly returned to its normal brightness. You took a moment to glance around familiar faces. The family you didn't choose, but in some ways, had grown into. The world was always changing, but this room remained constant, and you took pride in that. However, you remained quiet and stood by the projection table. You could feel her eyes on you before she even spoke. Wanda.

Wanda hadn't moved, nor laughed. Hadn't looked away from you since the moment you faltered during your rundown of the Fantastic Four. Her gaze was calm but piercing, like there was some unspoken understanding etched behind her irises.

A quiet voice in your mind sighed, “you shouldn't be surprised.”

You quickly shot her a glance, lips were still. Wanda hadn't said anything aloud, she didn't need to. It was both a blessing and a curse for you, being known so easily by someone like her. You met her eyes just for a second, Wanda didn't press, at least not yet. But you knew she knew what was running through your mind.

You cleared your throat, drawing the room’s attention again before anyone could fully disperse. “There’s…” you trailed off. “There’s one more thing.”

The tone in your voice was measured with control, you slightly shifted in your balance, and put both hands inside the pockets of your trousers. Your action no doubt pulled everyone’s attention back to you instantly. Your father raised a brow, Natasha tilted her head, Bruce paused mid-step, Sam eased back down into his seat, and Wanda stayed motionless.

Like the good old fashioned way a Stark would break a news, you gave it to them straight.

“There’s a minor issue,” you kept your tone even, professional, though your fingers subtly tapped against the table’s edge. Once, twice, and a third time before you forced them still. “It concerns Johnny Storm.”

There was a sudden flicker of alertness around the room, like soldiers instinctively tightening their grip on imaginary weapons.

“He’s not dangerous,” you clarified quickly. “None of them are, that hasn't changed. But Johnny Storm recognized me somehow.”

“According to what I had gathered from Reed and Johnny himself, my counterpart was a significant person in his life.”

A beat passed, then you said it softly but clearly. It was a truth that felt so foreign and yet inexplicably close.

“In their universe, my counterpart was his fiancée.”

The room went very still, but you kept speaking, voice steady even as your heart betrayed you with its weight. “We were told that we were supposed to get married, but I died minutes before the ceremony. Johnny wasn't able to save her in time.”

You didn't add the rest, not aloud. You didn't say how broken Johnny looked the moment he saw you. How he said your name like it was the last thing anchoring him to reality. How your presence seemed to rip open something deep inside of him. Instead, you forced the breath out of your lungs.

“That’s why he looked at me like that, like I was a ghost. Well I’m not her, obviously. But I think seeing me like this—alive, here, breathing. It was disorienting for him. That’s all.”

Clint leaned back slightly, arms folded. “Damn.”

“That…” Bruce trailed off, frowning thoughtfully, half processing the emotional and multiversal implications. “That kind of trauma layered with alternate universe memory, that’s—”

“Dangerous,” Natasha finished, sharp-eyed. “Not just for this Johnny guy, but for her too.”

Wanda’s voice finally entered the conversation, soft and certain. “It’s not just a memory, he feels it. Every single part of it.” She turned her head towards you slowly, “you’re feeling it too.”

Your fingers curled subtly against the side of the table. Wanda didn't need to ask for permission, she never did because she already knew. Wanda had seen the thoughts that you tried to suppress, like static behind your composure. Not longing or recognition, none of those, but something shaken. Like there was a part of yourself that was trying to remember a dream that somebody else lived. You looked away from her, then back towards the rest of the room.

“But he’s not a threat,” you said again. “He hasn't done anything inappropriate—no aggression, no pushing boundaries. He’s just grieving, and that’s all this is. It does not compromise anything.”

Sam leaned forward. “And you? You good with this?”

“I don’t have a personal attachment, I don’t know him.” You said straightforwardly. “But I understand that for him, this might be difficult. So we treat it like any other psychological impact of multiversal travel. We keep boundaries, we observe.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Rhodey asked gently.

“Yes, and if anything changes, I’ll report it right away. But for now, we give him space, and treat him like we’d want to be treated if our world shattered beneath our feet.”

Your father clapped his hands once, decisively. “Alright, we’ll monitor the situation. But good call telling us, kiddo.”

“Guy crosses universes just to find out his fiancée is alive somewhere else. That’s heavy.” Clint quipped.

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered from behind him, arms crossed. “It is.”

You began collecting your datapad and hologrid controls. One by one, they gathered their gear, drifting out into the corridors with quiet goodnights or murmurs about late night snacks, showers, or sleep. Steve gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder as he passed, Clint threw you a crooked smile, and Bruce placed a hand on your back in a familiar gesture of calm reassurance as he walked past. Your father, Tony, gave you a hug—that fatherly kind, and told him that everything’s okay. Finally, the room emptied until it was just you and Wanda left. She stepped closer to you, voice low.

“I can help, if you want,” she said softly. “I can block him out, or help you anchor yourself if it ever feels too much.”

“Thank you, Wanda.” You replied softly. “I may take you up on that.”

Wanda touched your arm once more, and then slipped out of the room, leaving you and your thoughts alone again. You rubbed at your temple, the lights were low and the room was quiet.

You should get some sleep, you know that, considering you have an early morning meeting with a new investor. Yet, as you stood there all alone in the darkened debriefing room, your mind drifted unwillingly to Johnny again—to the way his voice trembled, the way he said that you died in my arms.

You were not her, but somehow, you felt haunted.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: surprise, surprise

authors note: idk. i just got the random inspo for this scene, so here we are. lmao.

no tags, cause it's not important enough for one. i wrote this in like 30 minutes, so idek if it makes sense.

warnings: none.

words: 1.5k

masterlist

Solana has sat on it long enough. She knows this. Knows that the longer she goes without saying anything, the worse it’s going to be. Once upon a time, she did that. Waited too long to share such important news, and her poor husband found out in the worst way ever. Hearing and seeing his hurt made her swear in that moment that she would never put him through that again. And, she won’t.

Hence why it’s time.

Solana clears her throat, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him reach for the bottle of argan oil on their bathroom counter. With it being his turn to handle bedtime for Roro, she’d finished her nighttime routine around fifteen minutes ago.

“Baby?”

He responds, shaking the bottle and applying some to his open palm. “Yeah?”

She pauses, briefly distracted by the flex of his muscles from the simple movements. Pushing 60, the man has never looked better. Roman has always been a handsome man, but he seems to only get better with age. 

That’s how we ended up in this situation.

Shaking her head and refocusing on the plot, she moves from off the bed and walks towards the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know, I….I had my appointment today.”

Working the oil through his hair, still just as long, healthy, and luscious, he meets her gaze through the mirror. “Yeah, how’d it go?” And, Roman being Roman, offers an unnecessary apology, settling on a lazy twist of his hair into a bun. “You should have reminded me, I would have went with you.”

“It’s okay,” she assures. Solana thought about it. Considered asking him to attend but ultimately decided against it.

She’s still not sure if that was a good or bad thing. 

Roman washes his hands from the remnants of the oil, drying them before undoing the towel from around his wait. A blush creeps up her neck and ears, briefly turning away from his nudity as he reaches for his clothes off the towel rack.

Again….exactly how we got here.

“You know I….I mentioned I’ve been feeling….a little off, lately?”

He’s just slid his pajama pants over his thick legs when he lifts his head, his gaze meeting hers, expression completely dropped. “Solana…” Full lips dip lower, his frown deepening. “Is….”

And, right away, she’s closing that distance between them, palms flat on his chest. “No. No. I’m…I’m still in remission.” The visible sigh and release of tension in his face and body makes her gently peck his chest. 

Thank God.

She’s not sure what going through that again, not only for herself but for her husband and children, would even look or be like.

If she could even handle something like that again. 

“But, there is….there is a reason why I’ve been feeling the way I have.”

Roman’s hands settle on her hips, holding her close to him as he goes for a guess. A smart one. One she was actually also thinking it could be. “Is it that change shit?”

It’s the way he says it that has her holding back her smile. His bluntness has always been so humorous to her. “Menopause?”

“Yeah, that. The shit that makes women moody.”

Curious, eyes narrowed, “are you saying I’ve been moody?”

“Baby, come on, you know you’ve been a little irritable lately.” He doubles down, adding an understandable example. “You went off on the boys for not cleaning their rooms and ranted in Spanish for almost five minutes straight.”

She pouts. “Because you know how I feel about that.”

“Of course, I do.” His thumb rubs circles against her hips. “But, usually I’m the one getting into their asses. Not you.”

Fair point.

She’ll give him that. 

Solana rolls her eyes but easily settles back into the anxiety that had and still has her stomach flutter.

Or maybe that’s….

“So, it’s that?” Roman asks, clearly waiting for a confirmation of what he thinks to be true. “You’ve started menopause?”

Her mouth drops open, the answer stammered. “Not….n—not exactly.” Licking her suddenly dry lips and smoothing her palms up and down his skin, Solana manages a sweet smile. “Baby….” To think that she’s about to say this, about to tell him something she would have sworn up and down would never come out her mouth again is such an experience. Unbelievable, but oh so real. 

Here goes nothing.

“I’m pregnant.”

She thought about it a lot. What he would say. What he would do. How he would look, even. The crinkle of his nose, twitch of jaw, flexing of his mouth. All of the tell-tales that he was on the verge of a reaction, but what she didn’t expect was no reaction.

He sounds, looks, and seems completely unfazed. “Pregnant with what?”

Naturally, Solana frowns, answering what she feels should be obvious. “What…what do you mean pregnant with what? A baby, Roman.” 

It’s only then he looks at her, thick, bushy eyes furrowed. “Is this one of them TikTok prank shits?” She rolls her eyes, her husband breaking away from her to walk out the bathroom. “Tama. Lina. Where ya'll asses at, and what I tell you about getting your mama to do that shit to me?”

Blowing out a deep breath, Solana rubs her temples and walks out the bathroom after her oblivious ass husband. “Roman, it’s not a prank. I’m serious.”

He turns around, looking at her, doubling down. “So am I.” And there’s the reaction. “Solana. You can’t be pregnant. There has to be some mistake.”

Crossing her arms and shrugging, she works to help him allow the reality and truth to set in. “It’s not a mistake, Ro. I told you. I went to the doctor today.”

“Well, then her ass is wrong,” he continues, the sort of reaction Solana was expecting exactly what’s playing out in front of her, because she can see it. See the wheels turning in his head as he gradually shifts from denial and disbelief to shock and confusion. “Maybe she got your results mixed up or some shit. I’ll take you to another doctor tomorrow morning.”

“Baby, I’m not going to see another doctor.”

“Fine, then you can take home tests.”

“Roman!”

“Solana.” He matches her tone, gesturing to himself. “I’m almost sixty years-old.”

“Fifty-six.”

“Close enough. Round up.” She rolls her eyes, her husband continuing to panic in front of her. “I can’t give you anymore kids, so if you pregnant, it’s not mine.” He then stops, giving her a look of disbelief. “Baby, you cheated on me?”

Her nose turns up, just the thought of such a thing enough to make her want to empty her stomach for reasons other than this unexpected pregnancy. “Roman, don’t be ridiculous.”

But, he’s oh so serious. “How else you end up pregnant?”

She throws up her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe my husband who likes to have sex with me multiple times a week? Unprotected sex at that.”

“Again, almost sixty, Sol.”

“And, I’m almost 46,” she points out, reminding him that he’s not the only one shocked by how one’s biological clock even allowed for this. “But, clearly….clearly, we’re still fertile.”

Fertile enough to conceive. 

Roman is pacing across the floor, hands on his hips, speaking maybe more to himself than anything. “How did this happen?”

She gives a bored sigh, an adjective that matches her tone. “Did you miss the unprotected sex part, mi amor?”

“These damn kids already stressed me out as it is, and you’re telling me we’re having another one?” This time, it’s more so directed to her. He lifts his hand, counting it out. “Eight kids, Solana?” Roman shakes his head. “No, this has to be a mistake. I know you don’t want to, but I’m finding you a new doctor. Someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re talking abo—”

He’s silenced. Stops midway through his sentence. Not because of anything other than the fact that in the midst of his borderline ranting, Solana walked over to their dresser where her Birkin sits, pulled out the undeniable proof, marched back over to him and currently has her hand extended, item in hand.

He looks down, the furrow of his brows deepening as he slowly reaches for the photo. And, she studies him the entire time. The emotion of it all dancing in his eyes, mouth slightly parted. Surprise. Confusion. Disbelief. Wonder.

Solana’s lips settle into a sort of frown, watching the way his thumb moves over the tiny figure. A figure that’s so much more than that. 

So much more.

His voice is significantly lower, a hair above a whisper. “Is that….”

Call it pregnancy hormones or just the realization that once more, their love, so beautiful and pure, has resulted in the creation of yet another life, unshed tears start to brew in her eyes. “Yes, mi amor.” Solana moves herself into him, hugging him, feeling one arm naturally move around her, the other still holding up the sonogram. “That’s our baby.” 

[curlysswirlywirly]

charlotte linlin did not stumble upon you by accident. nothing about her fixation was whimsical, despite the carnivorous twinkle in her gaze when she first spotted you among the crew she meant to tear apart. she had a nose for bloodlines in the same way she had a nose for sugar, and yours carried the kind of rarity that pried her pupils wide.

your maternal branch stretched back to an old maritime clan that once occupied a crescent-shaped archipelago in the north blue. the clan was known for bone density that resisted fracture, unusually efficient oxygen intake that allowed them to stay submerged for periods longer than most fishmen, and dermal tissue with elasticity rivaling the longarm tribe. centuries of intermarriage with unrelated merchant houses refined that base consisting of slimmed frames, symmetrical faces, those irises with near-metallic luster. even your mitochondrial inheritance carried mutations in metabolic regulation that meant unparalleled endurance, something linlin’s personal doctors confirmed with a giddy sort of reverence.

to her, you were less a woman and more a walking genealogical blueprint worth hoarding. she thought of how your children might inherit sharpened teeth from katakuri, paired with the resilience and stamina etched into your cells. she thought of palate, too. your complexion had that warm, toasted undertone that reminded her of caramelized sugar, and your scent carried a faint mineral note of sea-salt that she insisted was “good enough to eat.”

when her eye landed on sanji, it was practicality rather than desire. germa lineage meant combat-viable spawn, a fleet of neatly engineered soldiers in the womb of her daughters. but with you, her logic grew feral, nearly devotional. she called it fate, though her homies whispered it sounded more like starvation.

she orchestrated the acquisition with precision. the tea party summons had been a trap layered under layers, bait disguised as diplomacy. sanji’s capture was public, his chains forged of his own family shame and duty. yours was quieter, more intimate: a hand clamping over your mouth in the velvet dark of a corridor, homies cackling while they bound your wrists, your screams muffled into the perfumed upholstery of a transport carriage. linlin didn’t risk you slipping into the sea or vanishing in rebellion. she wanted you delivered intact, swaddled almost like fine patisserie awaiting display.

by the time both of you were seated at her table, sanji slouched in iron cuffs and you dressed in something ornate she’d ordered overnight seamstresses to whip up, it was already decided. she declared you bride to her most cherished son, the one she considered a miracle, her katakuri. she slammed her hand to the table and the earth shook; nobody contradicted her. your skin tone she compared to almond sponge, the curve of your cheeks to strawberries pressed into cream, the balance of your figure a layered cake cut too clean to be real. she said it aloud, too, in her thunderous laugh, “a perfect slice for my katakuri!”

linlin had summoned him in that sing-song bark of hers, sugar sticking to the corners of her mouth from whatever tart she’d just shoved down. katakuri felt that heaviness he always did when she called. he bowed out of respect, more habit than devotion, and she wasted no time. she slapped the photograph onto the table with a laugh so loud the walls vibrated.

“look at her! look at this sweet little parfait i’ve found for you. perfect face, perfect body, perfect blood. my son, you’ll put a baby in her, won’t you? i want to see what you two can bake me up.”

katakuri didn’t touch the photo right away. he didn’t want to. your face stared back, captured mid-turn, hair spilling across your shoulder, expression caught between confusion and irritation. he felt something twist in his chest but kept his voice even. “mother, this isn’t necessary.”

linlin snorted, slapping her palm against the table so hard the plates rattled. “necessary? of course it is. you’re my strongest son. you deserve the finest dessert. she’s it. she’s cream and honey rolled into one, she’s the next generation of sweetness. don’t play coy with me. i want to see her belly swell with my grandchild.”

he clenched his jaw beneath the scarf, eyes fixed on the photograph now, because avoiding it was worse. you were stunning, he couldn’t deny it, but stunning didn’t erase what this meant. “you’re asking me to—”

“not asking,” she interrupted, dragging the word into a growl. “deciding. she’ll be yours, and you’ll be hers. i’ll have little petit fours running around before long, carrying that bloodline forward. think of it — mochi and her lineage mixing. delicious.”

katakuri’s hands curled into fists at his sides. he wanted to argue, to tell her he wouldn’t treat a wife like livestock, to admit the thought of you seeing really seeing him was enough to choke him with dread. but linlin was grinning, her teeth flashing, already convinced.

she shoved the photograph across to him. “take it, dream of her. she’s yours to crack open, son. don’t disappoint me.”

he picked it up finally, the edges trembling faintly between his fingers. your eyes looked up at him from the glossy paper, alive in a way that made his throat dry. he tucked it under his arm and left without a word, her laughter following him down the hall like an aftertaste he couldn’t spit out.

he read the reports. your bounty had been climbing steadily, not luffy’s level but high enough that you weren’t brushed off as decoration. wanted posters pinned up, stacked on tables, ink smudged from being handled too often. big eyes glaring at the viewer, tan skin sharp against the cheap print. your crimes listed in heavy strokes: sabotage of world government supply lines, theft of artifacts, destruction of naval outposts. reckless, but effective. enough to draw attention, and enough to prove you weren’t just another pretty face.

what linlin really salivated over was buried deeper, in the footnotes of marine intelligence. he had heard that your mother’s mother’s mother had carried a fragment of something old, something beyond devil fruits or haki. an ability the scholars at ohara once tried to categorize but lost before they burned. bloodline inheritance, rare and erratic, showing only once in a generation. you were the first in centuries to manifest it, and you’d used it just enough to confirm the suspicion.

katakuri sat with this knowledge heavy in his hands, heavier than the photograph. if you came here, you’d be celebrated in a way that was just another brand of prison. he knew it because he’d lived it.

knowing soon you’d be dragged into this menagerie of siblings who only saw you as leverage, he wondered, when you stood across from him, would you look at him the way you looked from the paper? or would you see what he hid, and leave him bare in ways his scarf could never protect.

to her children, her rationale was obvious: sanji would anchor alliances with germa, you would enrich the family’s genetic catalog. linlin’s gaze lingered on you longer than it did on him, though, and everyone noticed. her tongue rolled the word delightful when she looked at you. she imagined bloodlines and banquet courses in the same thought, and in her world, the difference barely mattered.

she never just called you by your name. every time you entered the dining hall she came up with a new one. éclair, truffle, mille-feuille, my precious baklava, her voice booming. her eyes devoured you, always. she coddled you as if you were some delicate confection that might melt if she didn’t keep you close. 

she built you an entire tower that leaned almost obnoxiously above the rest of totto land, a candied monument stuffed with every luxury she could think of. trudy, the dresser with a shrill personality and too many opinions about your color palette, demanded you wear gowns so layered and sparkly that you could hardly breathe. frills to your knees, silk stitched so fine you were scared to spill frosting on it. big mom paraded you around as if you were a prize she had snatched straight from the heavens, stuffing your plate at every turn, coaxing “one more bite, my darling flan, you’re too thin, don’t you want to be sweet and plump for mother?”

katakuri was spared from this lunacy, for now. you didn’t even hear his name until linlin wanted you to. everything else was siblings circling you with their own brand of smugness, dangling information like candy they’d never let you bite. they bragged about his strength, about how he was undefeated, about how he carried the family’s reputation on his back. some laughed when you asked specifics, others leaned in close just to whisper “you’ll see” before vanishing down the hall. nobody said you’d need to crane your neck until it hurt just to meet his eyes. six-teen feet. and you were barely five foot eight.

linlin’s obsession wrapped tighter with every day, and the dread settled heavier. you weren’t sure whether to hope your supposed betrothed would be kind, or whether kindness even existed in this family at all.

he thought you were beautiful, anyone with a pulse could see that, but the idea of being tied to you made something coil in his stomach. an uncomfortable weight. a wife meant someone who would eventually see him unmasked, and that thought was unbearable. he respected your strength, but he kept his distance, his silence a wall taller than his frame.

linlin’s idea of subtlety was dumping a ten-tiered cake in front of you and demanding you finish the first three layers before she grew bored. every meal was a spectacle, and every spectacle was aimed at the same goal of plumping you up, softening you out, turning you into the sugared doll she envisioned standing beside her son. she’d clap her massive hands together and shriek “more syrup, more cream! feed my little caramel drop, she needs to be ripe!” servants scurried like ants, piling pastries higher than your head, ladling chocolate thick enough to drown in.

you tried to keep up at first, politeness winning out over resistance, but your stomach rebelled long before linlin’s appetite waned. nausea rolled heavy, your tongue coated in sugar, teeth aching with every forced swallow. she noticed when you pushed plates away, her grin sharp as she leaned down, voice booming through the hall. “not enough, darling! a wife for my katakuri mustn’t be brittle. she must be rich and filled out like a proper sweet roll. keep eating! you’ll thank mama later.”

it wasn’t optional. trudy, your sentient dresser, screeched if you left a tart untouched. compote pouted theatrically if you declined another slice of fruit cake. perospero laughed every time you looked green, muttering about how linlin liked her sweets with cream, not crumbs. every angle was covered, every sibling enlisted in the performance of fattening you up.

sickness became your nightly routine. curled in silk sheets with your stomach churning, breath shallow, wishing for plain rice or salted broth, anything that wasn’t drowning in frosting. sanji was livid, whispering through gritted teeth during stolen moments in corridors that it was abuse, that it was poisoning you. he’d glare at the dessert carts wheeling in as if he could set them ablaze with his eyes alone.

linlin, of course, only laughed harder. “she’ll plump up beautifully! a perfect bun in the oven before long, you’ll see.” her voice cracked the chandelier, her joy vibrating through every brick of that castle. and you sat, spoon trembling in your hand, stomach raw from indulgence you hadn’t chosen, realizing the empress of sweets wanted to bake you just as much as she wanted to feed you.

your own trickiness offered you some reprieve.

the tower was never as locked as linlin believed. guards grew lazy when the corridors stretched long, when the feasts dulled them into sugar-drunk stupors. you learned their patterns, the doors that creaked and the ones that didn’t. slipping out became an act of survival.

sneaking out with sanji had become ritual. the two of you carved little slivers of freedom into the suffocating clockwork of totto land. slipping into kitchens, stealing wine, sitting cross-legged on marble floors while he fried something savory and you let him talk. you never got caught, and you almost started to believe you never would.

but that night, trudy had stuffed you into something ridiculous made of thin silk, neckline dipping low, hem too short to cover your thighs when you sat down. “a proper sleeping ensemble for a bride-to-be,” she’d chirped, her wooden drawers snapping shut in satisfaction. you left anyway. silk slippers on cold tiles, determination pushing you through the same halls you’d learned by heart. except you misstepped. one wrong turn in the labyrinth, one shadow cast differently, and suddenly the path you knew twisted into something foreign.

the castle at night was cruel. drafts clawed at you through stained glass windows, the chill sharp against bare shoulders. you wrapped your arms tight around yourself, muttering curses under your breath, trying to retrace your steps. you told yourself you weren’t afraid, but the corridors stretched endlessly, the candlelight too sparse, the sugar-sweet smell of the place cloying until it turned nauseating.

and then you stumbled right into your groom-to-be.

feet stopped in front of you first, boots that could crush your whole body if he stepped wrong. you dragged your gaze upward and it just kept going, taller and taller, until your neck strained. sixteen feet of muscle, scarf hiding half his face, eyes unreadable in the dim light. katakuri.

your body reacted before your brain caught up. heart slamming, heat pooling embarrassingly low, terror prickling at your ski,. you masked it the only way you knew how: with words. “so this is the part where you stomp me back to my tower, right? …or maybe eat me, since your mother already thinks i’m a tart.” it came out a thin, half-baked, desperate humor coating nerves so raw they almost shook.

he didn’t laugh. he crouched instead, so suddenly you flinched, but the movement was careful. even at half-height, he still towered over you. his eyes ran over you, not lasciviously but with a kind of restrained concern. he could see you were cold. the tip of your nose faintly pink, skin goosebumped beneath the silk trudy had condemned you to.

without a word, he shrugged off the heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders. thick, warm, smelling faintly of mochi flour and the sea air that sometimes slipped past the candy walls. he draped it over you, not touching more than he had to.

“go back,” he said finally, rumbling in a way that made the floor hum beneath your slippers. “this isn’t safe.”

you swallowed, trying not to stare at the width of his chest, the impossible reach of his arms, the way he filled the entire corridor just by existing. “you’re—” your voice cracked, so you steadied it with a crooked smile. “you’re taller than the stories.”

he didn’t react, just straightened to his full height again, making your neck ache as you followed him up with your eyes. “keep the cloak,” he added, and that was all.

he turned, silent, walking you through the corridors as though he’d been doing it his whole life, and he had. when you reached the familiar door of your tower, he didn’t wait for gratitude. only lingered a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if committing you to memory, before vanishing back into the dark.

you clutched the cloak tighter once you were inside. the first meeting with your so-called fiancé, and he hadn’t said more than a handful of words. but you could still feel the weight of his size in every part of you, the gravity of being so close to something that large.

terror, relief, and something else you couldn’t name tangled in your stomach as you lay back against your bed, his cloak swallowing your small frame whole. morning light spilled through the tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily over piles of dresses, ribbons, and scattered sweets. trudy’s hinges screeched before she even entered, because she always knew when something was off in her domain. today, something was.

“what is this?” her wooden face contorted in horror, arms rigid at her sides. the cloak. the massive cloak of katakuri lay draped over your chair, spilling onto the floor, smelling faintly of hi.

you grinned innocently, lounging atop a pile of silk, flipping your hair over one shoulder. “oh, this?” you said, “i found it in the hall. thought it’d make a nice blanket.”

trudy’s drawer-hinges squealed. “blanket? this is a man’s coat! and that man! you—” she stopped, tapping her wooden chin. “this is scandalous! you cannot sleep with—ugh — him’s cloak!”

you smirked, stretching your legs provocatively, letting the cloak droop just enough to show how it swallowed you whole. “don’t be so uptight. it’s perfectly normal. ‘sides, it keeps me warm at night. and it smell... so sweet.” you twirled a strand of hair around your finger, eyes sparkling mischievously. “besides, it’s not like i actually met him properly. just… happened to stumble right into his feet.”

trudy’s jaw (if she had one) would have dropped. she slammed herself against the dresser, rattling drawers. “you stumbled into katakuri?! and you… kept his cloak? this is — this is… i cannot!”

you feigned a yawn, letting your hand lazily drift over the heavy fabric. “don’t get your gears in a twist. no one knows. and if they did, you’d keep it a secret anyway, wouldn’t you?” your tone was teasing, but the undercurrent of danger amidst a family that would devour you in a heartbeat was crystal clear.

trudy whirred angrily, drawer knobs rattling. “i… i… this is unprecedented. utterly improper. you—”

“i’m fine,” you interrupted sweetly, snuggling further into the cloak, hiding your hands beneath the folds. “see? perfectly fine. warm. safe. and i get to… remember him. that’s all.”

trudy huffed, spinning around, refusing to look at you, muttering curses under her little wooden breath. you let out a giggle, stretching luxuriously, letting the cloak engulf you like a fortress of someone impossibly huge and unknowable.

you had been delivered to him under the pretense of marriage, but it felt more like sacrifice. you thought of linlin’s obsession with your “genes” and felt your stomach twist, because she hadn’t factored in how utterly overwhelming the physical act of creation with this man would be.

brûlée never did anything without a little bite in it. she told you where to find him with that sly curl in her lip, already knowing you’d run headfirst into the fire. but her tone lacked its usual sting, softened by the smallest flicker of approval. “he won’t entertain you,” she said, brushing lint from her skirts, “but if you’re fool enough to try, you’ll find him there.”

later, you slipped out past trudy’s fussing. she gasped when she saw you without paint and powder, hair unpinned and falling over your shoulders, clothes loose and comfortable instead of stiff and constricting. you smirked at her horror, waved her off before she could squeal, and vanished down the quiet corridors.

the night was heavy with the scent of sugar, everything on totto land always coated in sweetness, but the place brûlée sent you was different. the courtyard was half-forgotten, lanterns dim, no sugar-coated fountains or frosting-lined paths. katakuri was there, exactly where she said, towering at the edge of a balcony, the sea spread out below and the stars scattered overhead.

you thought he was watching the constellations, head tilted back, shoulders squared. it looked peaceful until you noticed his fists were tight at his sides, his jaw set beneath the scarf.

you cleared your throat, quietly, like you could ever spook him. ridiculous, considering his sheer size. he turned fast, quicker than you expected, cloak shifting with the movement.

“you shouldn’t be here.” his voice was sharper than earlier, almost a growl.

“probably,” you admitted, stepping closer anyway, bare feet against the cool stone. “but brûlée told me where you’d be. that must mean something.”

his brows drew together, a faint ripple of irritation flickering across his face. “she shouldn’t have.”

“well, she did.” your tone carried more boldness than you felt. “so now i’m here. are you going to throw me back in the tower, or let me stay for a while?”

he stared down at you, silent. the silence stretched so long you thought he might actually pick you up and haul you back, but instead he sighed and turned away.

you took it as permission, slipping up beside him, leaning on the railing. “so. what is it? you like watching the stars? hiding from your family? or both?”

katakuri’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something close. he shook his head. “not the stars.”

you waited, pressing him with your silence. he exhaled again, slow. “i watch the horizon. i need to know what’s coming before anyone else does.”

you blinked at him, trying to digest that. he wasn’t avoiding people because of shyness or mystery, but because he carried a burden none of his siblings could really shoulder.

still, you tilted your head, softened your voice. “but sometimes, it’s nice to just look at them. they’re beautiful.”

his gaze flicked to you, sharp and searching. after a long pause, he said, almost reluctantly, “yes. they are.”

for the first time that night, you felt like he wasn’t speaking about the sky at all.

trudy knew something was happening the moment you started humming through breakfast. “you,” she hissed when no one was near, “you’re sneaking out.”

you blinked with exaggerated innocence, picking at a fruit tart. “you make me sound so wicked.”

“you are wicked! look at you — fresh-faced, flushed, glowing,” she snapped, eyes darting to the loose silk you’d thrown on that morning. “don’t think i don’t notice the fabrics disappearing from your wardrobe either. what are you doing at night? who with?”

you leaned close, murmuring, “with your worst nightmare.” and then added, before she could sputter, “or your future brother-in-law. depends how you look at it.”

she nearly dropped dead on the spot. scandalized didn’t even begin to cover it. you let her stew in the implication all morning, teasing with half-answers, watching her clutch at her pearls.

trudy sulked. drawers slammed themselves shut when you tried to tug a chemise free, doors creaked menacingly whenever you slipped in late, silks puckered from nowhere if she felt you were pushing boundaries. the old armoire was offended beyond reason. “gallivanting every night in indecency,” she groaned in her stiff, scolding voice, “making a fool of yourself for a man who ought to be left alone.”

it only made you grin harder, lingering before her mirror, tugging a sash just a bit lower to get a rise out of her. she would cough and clatter, muttering about scandal and ruin, but she still let you go. trudy had no lock on your ankles, just her disapproval.

katakuri had learned to expect you once dusk bled into the courtyards, he didn’t ask why you kept finding your way out of the chamber they’d locked you in. he could guess. routine had taken shape without either of you naming it: the scratch of your silk slipper against stone, the faint glow of your lantern climbing toward the terraces where he liked to linger.

tonight you’d decided not to behave. you carried yourself deliberately, silks rustling in a way that drew attention rather than cloaked it. you held the lantern high enough to catch his jawline in amber light and asked, with the smallest tilt of your chin, “do you like my silk?”

the question stopped him cold. katakuri had no business looking at you the way he did, no business imagining the glide of that fabric against his palm. his answer came slower than his pulse, an awkward, gravel-thick “…yes.”

your route to him required climbing a high stone platform, a ledge where the lantern halo made your face look far too tempting for his composure. you slipped once, cursing under your breath, until his hand wrapped around your arm with terrifying ease. he steadied you like you weighed nothing, broad palm covering half your upper arm, fingers indenting the silk. first touch, unsanctioned, and it burned through both of you.

you banked the moment without wasting it. you leaned closer than courtesy allowed, lantern swaying, shadows shifting over his mouth. you teased him again, “careful. i might think you want me climbing just so you can put your hands on me.”

he didn’t answer. he held your arm a beat too long before letting go, jaw set tight beneath his scarf.

katakuri never broke his mother’s rules. but tonight he broke his own. he stayed still, listening, when you tilted your head and told him things you’d never risk saying to linlin, things only a captive bride bold enough to test her future husband would dare.

it was impossible not to imagine how loving him would even work, when every night you found yourself sitting at his side and looking at him far too long. his body was monstrous in its dimensions, not grotesque but commanding, cut from a different cloth of existence entirely. his hand alone could span the length of your back with ease, fingers pressing into either side of your ribcage if he ever laid them there.

your shape wasn’t lost on him either. you were not slight everywhere, you carried yourself with proportion that couldn’t be ignored. your dresses did no work hiding that, and you didn’t try much to temper it. you were aware of the contrast, the way his looming shadow turned you into something pocket-sized by comparison, a doll to be picked up without effort. and that thought burrowed into your mind.

you began to draft little plans in secret, if you were going to commit yourself to him. how would intimacy even begin when his fingers alone were thicker than your wrists? how would you bridge the sheer scale of him? you thought of your thighs around his hips, of his hands circling your waist entirely, of being lifted and set wherever he pleased. you wondered if he’d be careful, or if he’d lose that discipline you’d spent weeks battering against.

you wanted to see how far the restraint went when his body could so easily swallow yours whole. committing to him meant learning how to be carried, maybe even devoured by someone so impossibly larger than you.

you could be his dolly if you had to. you could be more than that too. you already were.

weeks bled into one another under the weight of wedding preparations, and there was no mistaking the fact that charlotte linlin was savoring every moment of it. every morning you were pulled from bed and shoved into some confection-colored gown, fabrics layered so heavily with ruffles and lace that you could hardly move without creaking like an overstuffed pastry cart. attendants powdered your skin, rouged your mouth, brushed your hair until your scalp burned. trudy clicked her wooden teeth in smug delight every time the wardrobe snapped shut on another garment deemed “perfect for the bride.” you barely had room to breathe, yet you smiled sweetly, because it entertained linlin to see you dolled up, and because you learned quickly that it distracted most from how restless you actually were.

feasts were endless. tables broke under the weight of meat, candied fruit, elaborate cakes taller than you were. linlin’s laughter shook the walls when she ate, children shouting over one another for favor. you saw sanji across more than one hall, eyes darting anywhere but yours. his knuckles were always white when he held the plate.

siblings circled like carrion birds, each with their own interpretation of you. some looked at you with distaste, some with curiosity, a few with open jealousy.

your nights with katakuri became your tether. he tried to make them shorter, to push you away with brusque words, yet you learned to show up regardless.

ritualistically, you were still dressed each morning in gowns so low-cut sanji nearly fainted on sight. linlin loved it, thought it hilarious, and so the dresses grew tighter, shorter, more revealing. you never dressed like that for him before. you saw the longing in his eyes, the despair too, and it hurt to know that both were twisted together.

you weren’t supposed to wander without an escort, but brûlée always slipped you through the cracks when she felt indulgent. one afternoon she dragged you into a side parlor, far from linlin’s shrill laughter, away from the chorus of seamstresses measuring and remeasuring your frame. she shoved a tray in your lap, piled high with sweets so gaudy you almost gagged at the scent. glistening caramel, marzipan swans, spun sugar roses. you pushed them around with your finger until she rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath before snapping her fingers at a servant. minutes later, bowls of pickled radish and dried squid appeared. hardly gourmet, but it wasn’t sugar, and that meant more than you could say. you thanked her sincerely, and she waved it off, cheeks mottled red.

she sat opposite you, lounging inelegantly, chin propped on her palm, sharp features softening with uncharacteristic patience. she didn’t usually look at anyone the way she was looking at you then. you realized quickly she wasn’t there for idle chatter.

“you’re drowning in gowns and cake while the island shakes,” she said finally, picking at her teeth with a lacquered nail. “they keep you away from it all, but it’s there. jinbe standing against mama. that straw hat brat raising hell. plots crisscrossing like spiderwebs. none of it touches you because they want you busy rehearsing smiles. but you should know. the house isn’t steady. it never was, but now it trembles.”

you leaned forward, fingers sticky with caramel you hadn’t wanted to eat, pressing into the hem of your skirt. “and him?”

her mouth twitched, as though she hadn’t meant to open that door but couldn’t stop herself. “he’s not made for tenderness. but you... you get under his skin. i see it.”

you stayed still, waiting.

brûlée’s eyes narrowed, searching your face for cracks. “so i have to know. do you love him, or are you stringing him along for survival? don’t answer for his sake, or for the theater they’ve built around this wedding. answer for mine. he’s my brother. he carries all of us on his shoulders. if you’re playing, you’ll crush him without even realizing it.”

you shifted uncomfortably on the settee, swallowing against the sugar film coating your tongue, throat dry, stomach queasy. it wasn’t a exactly a question you could dance around. she wanted an answer, and for once you couldn’t play coy or clever. your chest felt caught between ribs that didn’t want to expand, your throat raw from holding back what you hadn’t wanted to admit to anyone yet.

you stared down at the half-gnawed marzipan swan, its sugar wing stuck to your fingertip. nothing about the sweets room or the endless parades of gowns had ever made you feel smaller than this.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, voice quiet enough you weren’t sure she’d catch it. but she did. her brows ticked up.

“freedom was all i thought about when i was first brought here. it still is, most days. i miss my captain. i miss my crew. i miss the ocean. i don’t know if freedom means more to me than… him. because when i’m with him, he makes me feel… i don’t know. safe. sometimes it’s frightening, how much i start to want that. but when i think of the sea, it feels like home. i don’t know which i’d choose if i had to, and that scares me.”

brûlée didn’t interrupt. her hand hovered near her mouth, still and uncharacteristically thoughtful.

“i can’t picture myself living here alone. this island eats people whole. but... maybe i could endure the sugar and the ceremonies if it meant i wasn’t alone, if it meant he was beside me. i just… wouldn’t want to wound him if he’s already looking at me like i’m not something temporary. i don’t want him to regret letting me in, if he really has.”

brûlée leaned back, eyes flicking across your face like she was cataloging every syllable, testing for weakness. then, slowly, she let out a long breath.

“at least you’re not pretending,” she said, almost grudgingly. “most would lie. you didn’t.”

your thumb worried the sticky wingtip until it tore off in a little rip of sugar. you popped it into your mouth just to keep from talking too fast, but the words tumbled out anyway.

“do you think he… loves me?” you asked, soft, almost embarrassed, your eyes avoiding hers.

brûlée’s mouth twisted into something caught between a grimace and a smile, her jagged teeth showing for a moment before she hid them. she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and stared at you with a sharpness that made you feel stripped bare.

“you realize that’s a childish question,” she said, but her tone wasn’t cruel. “love’s not something he gets to practice much. he’s built for mother’s commands, not for… that.” she waved a hand vaguely, as if “that” could cover all the ways you made her brother unravel.

you pressed, a little desperate. “but does he?”

her eyes narrowed, then softened just slightly. “he lets you near him. closer than anyone else, closer than even me. you think that’s nothing? he waits for you. he listens when you speak. he lets you see what no one’s supposed to see. so maybe he doesn’t call it love, maybe he doesn’t even know if that’s what it is. but whatever it is, it’s yours. only yours.”

your stomach flipped, sugar-heavy and nauseous, but not from the sweets this time.

brûlée leaned back, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe the audacity of it all. “so yes. in his way. maybe not in the way you’ve known it before, but in the only way he knows how.”

in the end, loyalty was louder than comfort. you could never abandon the promise you made when you took that first step onto the deck of the thousand sunny. no matter how sweet the silks, no matter how steady the hand offered to you, freedom tasted better. you would leave totto land carrying the favor of charlotte katakuri, your figure softer with the ten pounds of sugar and cream pressed into you during your confinement, your pockets filled with memories of stolen moments, and your heart aching from what you turned away. you would return to your captain, to your shipmates, to the ocean that had always been yours, and you would not look back until the sea itself forced you to.

but in some other life, one untouched by obligation and the pull of the horizon, you would have stayed. you would have lived in a home that smelled of baked flour and roasted cacao, the sound of a kettle whistling in the mornings while katakuri sat at the kitchen table, far too large for the chair yet somehow making himself small for you. you would have brushed the powdered sugar from his jaw, scolded him softly when he stole bites of your breakfast, and earned that quiet laugh he never gave anyone else.

he would have carried you effortlessly, one arm under your thighs, the other pressed against the small of your back, because your body weighed nothing to him. you would have learned how easily he bent when it came to you, how a man sixteen feet tall could bow down to touch his forehead to yours, how his massive hands could be tender enough to cup your cheeks. evenings would have ended with you stretched across his chest, your ear pressed against the steady thrum of his heart, while he stroked slow lines down your spine, his breath stirring the hair at your crown.

and sometimes, when the quiet closed in, hehe would have preferred you above him, always. your palms planted against the breadth of his chest, your knees braced against the firmness of his ribs, your body moving with deliberate grace. there, he could see you clearly. it gave him the illusion of restraint, with his strength leashed, his weight surrendered to you, though his hands never failed to anchor you when you leaned too far forward or faltered. he spoiled you this way, with his patience and with his adoration, with the certainty that in his world you were sovereign. he would kiss you until you couldn’t think of anything but him, until the only loyalty that mattered was to the man above you, the one who wanted nothing but to keep you, to cherish you, to taste every part of you until you begged for rest.

a child would have come from that love. your child, his child, a being large-eyed and perfect. he would have been unflinching through every ache of your body, holding you in ways that relieved weight, feeding you morsels when your hands were too weary. he would have sworn in quiet, breathless mutters that you would never go without. and afterward, when the infant slept on his chest, he would return to you. lifting you into his lap as if you were spun sugar, brushing his lips across your knuckles with a reverence that never dulled. he would murmur against your skin about the day, about the world, about nothing at all, just to keep your eyes on him a little longer.

you would have grown old together, in that other life, where the sea was only a distant sound and the horizon meant nothing at all.

[teacups-diary]

Chocolate Milk!! (Rusty James x Reader)

Notes: THANK YOUUUUU @nayasxo!! And you're very right, I think Matt Dillon is his hottest in Drugstore Cowboy too (that reminds me I need to finish that movie, oopsies) BABY'S FIRST RUMBLEFISH REQ!! So thank yoouuuuu!! and ty ty for the patience!!! my study period was p6 today so unfortunately it took a while ALSO I LOVE WHEN PEOPLE COME BACK, REQUEST ANYTIME!!! hopefully this is goooooood

"You promised to take me there" You point out, you knew Rusty James forgot most things, you didn't mind, you seemed to be the only chick with enough patience to not mind, he pauses "Yeah?"

"Yeah" You nod, you seem to look up at him like he's actually worth something, that's always nice, he likes that, so he shrugs "Well we can go to Benny's this afternoon then I'll take ya to the park or whatever pretty place ya wanna go, huh doll?" He squeezes your shoulders and you shrug

"Alright" You nod a little, following along beside him you liked Benny's it's a half decent little place considering where you live, so you follow alongside him, he's like a local celebrity, you still think his brother is to blame for that

You've never loved Motorcycle Boy so you supposed you couldn't really comment on the fact Rusty James looked up to him so much, even if you had your own gripes with the fact, that's just what happens with brothers, you sort of end up looking up to them somehow

You entered Benny's tucked under Rusty James arm, he gave your back a little pat and told you to go sit with the boys, you sat by Steve, you tended to do that, Steve was pretty damn respectful with you and Rusty James trusted him almost as much as he did Motorcycle Boy

He got himself a chocolate milk and you some random thing you always tended to ask for, you were in between him and Steve, he just leaned forward at the little booth blah'ing about gangs and all that jazz, the other boys sat

Tucked under Rusty James arm, you always got called 'Rusty's girl' or 'Rusty James' girl', he didn't like when people just called him Rusty or James so you tended to smile a little more when called Rusty James' girl just to cement saying the full thing in peoples heads

You stared into the chocolate milk that Rusty James had swirled with his finger like it was some delicacy that needed stirring, you looked into the small whirlpool inside the cup

This was the difference between you and Rusty James, he just went with his gut, you thought things through, with each teeny airbubble, each thought arose, with each small, unhearable pop, the thought left your head and went into the gentle whirl of liquid, you stared into the cup

After about five minutes of this you felt a tap on your shoulder, perking and looking to Steve who nodded to Rusty James who grinned and pet your head, you'd told him forever ago not to do that, but he found it funny enough he'd take a swat to the arm

"Spacing out?" Rusty James squints with a small smile, you would deny it but Rusty James always thought you were like Motorcycle Boy in that area, you just gave a little nod as Rusty James sipped his chocolate milk

"Uh huh" You nod a little and Rusty James just grins and kisses your temple "That's the way to be" He joked with a nod and sipped his chocolate milk, you gave a little smile back

Hell, after that you were back to overthinking and staring into the little chocolate milk left, you laughed a little to yourself every time you heard Rusty James laugh, you were ninety percent sure you had a minute long nap in between too

That was always funny, you perked up after a second now and Rusty James gave a grin and just suggested "Park?" and you nod with a little smile "Park" You agreed as you stood up

[katherinecrighton]

Favorite "humans being human" history posts, please

I've seen the collections of favorite tumblr fiction posts; now I'd like to see what your favorite "humans being human" historical posts are. (Because sometimes it is Nice to be reminded that compassion is not something easy for us to lose; we laugh at the same bad jokes; there are entire fossil records of our kindness.)

Here are my favorites-- add on yours.

The story of the RMS Carpathia, with a follow-up (aka one of if not the best pieces of short nonfiction historical writing in the modern age and one that reduces me to tears every goddamn reread)

Bronze-age grave of teenage gamer girl lovingly buried with her sheep ankle bone collection

The 1st-2nd century CE Roman tombstone with a bar joke that reads like a Dril tweet

And even earlier: A 4500-1900 BCE Sumerian bar joke

"Please know that there's an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that's beautiful to you"

Reconstructing Otzi's shoes

The Paleolithic grandmother and the child's fingerprint

Stone-age toddlers had art lessons

Ice-age children played in megafauna-footprint puddles

There once was a little boy who loved ducks

The oldest human burial found in Africa is a toddler; they made a pillow for his head

Henry Kenelm Beste's father loved him very much

"A Timeline of Humanity"

"I have a folder called Time is a Flat Circle in which I collect evidence of humanity. Here is most of them."

"I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today. It's right-handed. I am right-handed"

A 3rd century dog carved on a marble tomb; a 1st century dog lovingly described and named for posterity

Patrice, a 1st-2nd century dog, was dearly loved

And: we found a Paleolithic dog, buried with its bone

Humanity, unified across time by everyday experiences

The Golden Record sent into space in the 1970s

Ancient Egypt had archaeologists

Egyptian figurine of a woman waiting for her bread to finish baking

The graffiti of Pompeii

Ancient Greek tourist graffiti at the tomb of Ramses V

Hidden messages on circuit boards

The earliest examples of someone chewing on the end of their pencils

"im having feelings about the uffington white horse again"

The vast relatability of Medieval marginalia (and cats peeing on things)

Potoooooooo

What our ancient ancestors would think, seeing us prosper

Engage with older art; it keeps you from forgetting their humanity

"They were just like you and me. They write don't forget eggs, and wondered if their neighbors secretly hated them or if they are reading into it too much. They loved and were loved and they wondered. They wondered about you."

"Why do you study history" web-weaving

And ending on a high note: Ea-nasir and his shitty copper

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[asxgard]

I wanted something where Abbott gets involved with a younger resident — maybe everyone in the ER knows about it, except the interns, since it’s their first day. Maybe the resident doesn’t like Trinity’s style, and Trinity goes to complain to Jack, but Jack defends his resident.

In Your Defense | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!resident!reader

Requested

Summary: After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’ve been floating around ideas of my own of Jack with a resident👀so this was fun!

Sorry it took a bit! I got distracted with a few other things, and I wanted to make sure Companionship got out yesterday. Plus, this became a lot longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it @mayabbot !

Word Count: 2.7k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap, semi-established relationship, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, mild Santos hate due difference in style, Pittfest

not beta read

The thing about Dr. Jack Abbot was, you did not need a label to know what you meant to him. There was no officiality of a title, even though you were both serious about each other — but frankly, the title was just a word. You knew where you stood, spending nights in his apartment and cooking breakfast together. He never hesitated to remind you that you belonged to him. Not in the overly possessive way, but in the silent always there type of way.

Jack had a past, and while you never pushed, he opened slowly. He had held you out of reach for some time before you realized what was truly brewing between you, and after he began to share, you thought the slow, quiet way you existed around each other was enough. He had loved and lost, he had fought and sacrificed, so you always assured him there was no rush. Not with you. You supposed there would be something to be said when you finished your residency, since that was a big priority in your life, but that was still a year away.

Like most things, your relationship with Jack did not stay secret for long in the halls of the Pitt. You really should have known better — Princess and Perlah were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out things like that, and the bet did little to keep it private. You were unsure who had started it, but you were surprised that it was Robby who had walked away with the money. It felt like cheating, since he had insider knowledge after catching the two of you at a bar, but you never said anything.

Waking up in his bed alone was not uncommon — since after your dayshifts you sometimes would just wander to his apartment as opposed to your own. You would curl into his sheets and his smell, even when he would not be home all night. He never minded, and frankly even encouraged it. Working opposite shifts than him cut back on time you had together, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you were back on nights due to your flip-flopping schedule.

He looked worn down when you arrived at the Pitt for your shift, bright-eyed from a full night's rest in his bed. He followed you into the staff lounge so you could put your lunch away and he poured a bit of coffee to top off your thermos.

“Is it a ‘good morning’ type of morning, or a quiet ‘let me contemplate’ type of morning?”

He pursed his lips, “Neither. I lost a vet last night, spent two hours coding him.”

You sucked in a breath, knowing it had been a rough one for him. Those nights were far and few between, but never handled them very well. He was getting better, but oftentimes, he found himself on the roof.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” You said, knowing there was not much to say that would actually make it feel any better. “I made dinner last night, I left some leftovers in your fridge.”

He nodded, “At least we’ll have tonight and tomorrow together.”

You smiled, “I’m looking forward to it. Meet at yours?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

You chuckled, “Go get some rest, old man.”

An eyebrow rose in a challenge, “You won’t be saying that later.”

You smirked, “Counting on it.”

He gave you a rushed kiss on the lips, ensuring it was quick and private, before he was out the door. You sipped on your coffee and let out a long sigh, moving towards the charge desk and greeting Dana with a grin.

You let out a low whistle when you looked up at the board, “Damn, they got hammered last night.”

Frank Langdon stepped beside you to lean against the desk, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to say the Q word? Don’t you dare, or I swear to god.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “It was one time over a year ago. Who do I look like? Shen? I’m no longer an amatuer.”

“I’m so glad I don’t work with him much. He’s like a walking jinx at this point.”

“He’s not so bad.” You laughed, “I see we got some newbies.”

Langdon glanced over his shoulder, “Two med students, an intern and an R2.”

“Oh, fun.”

—

You learned all the new faces over the course of the next hour. You found you liked the med students well enough, and the R2, Melissa King, but the intern was beginning to rub you the wrong way. Calloused and indifferent did not mesh well in the chaos of the Pitt, or the team player attitude Robby always tried to instill in everyone.

Santos was the type of person you had vehemently disliked during your med student rotations, and after hearing a few cruel nicknames she had picked for Whitaker and Javadi, you brought it to Langdon’s attention. According to Jack, Langdon had walked into the Pitt with the same type of overconfident attitude, and Robby had taken him under his wing and straightened him out. Maybe you thought he would pass on the wisdom. Not to mention, it took the drama off your plate. You had enough worries keeping your relationship with Jack away from Gloria’s ears, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of something.

“Trust me, I hear you. She already ordered something without clearing it with me first.”

Your nose scrunched in annoyance, “We don’t need someone like that down here.”

“Maybe you could let her shadow you…” he said, a smile growing as your annoyance did. “Show her the ropes. You know, that whole no-nonsense but still empathetic thing you’ve got going on might be right up her alley. You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

You deadpanned, “You owe me. Like super, major—”

“You’re the best!”

You wished you had gone to Collins instead.

Try as you did, the brashness of Santos did not quell under your careful hand and you grew more frustrated with her poor bedside manner and knack for doing things before clearing them. Just when you stepped away to use the restroom, she ordered BPAP for one of your patients and nearly killed him. Yelling was not in your wheelhouse, nor was letting something like this get the better of you, but as the shift ticked on, your fuse grew shorter. Screaming would be the worst teaching tool, but she seemed to railroad over any and all of your advice.

You passed her off to Mohan to take an hour seeing your own patients without Santos’ shadow. At the end of the hour, Mohan only gave you a knowing glance before getting back to it. By the time you went to complain to Langdon, he had disappeared. Just a bit after that, Robby sent Collins home.

Taking a deep breath, you pep-talked yourself into holding it in until the end of your shift. Then you could pass the news on to Robby and go home to forget about it.

—

When the mass casualty event was called, you fiddled with your hands, rubbing anxious circles on one of your palms. The shift had beat you up and left you out to dry, and you knew you were not likely to get out on time. Anxiety thrummed through your system, or perhaps it was the anticipation

Jack’s face was a welcomed one and you wanted to thank whoever you could that he had showed up when he did, a mess of supplies from his truck. With both Robby and Jack at the head of this, you knew the team would get through it. One patient at a time.

Robby placed you in the pink zone, with instructions to float over to yellow if they needed help. Jack found you in the supply closet trying to grab what you could to prepare for the influx in your zone, and he seemed to read you like your shift had been written on your face.

The braindead boy who no one could help. The drowned little girl no one could have saved. Dana being punched by an angry patient, which set your teeth on edge. The anguished screams of grieving family members. Your frustration with the cocky intern. Langdon abandoning you. Collins going home early. The anticipation of all the blood and loss that was sure to be waiting for you as soon as the first cars arrived with the Pittfest victims.

He squeezed your hand, “Find me if you need anything. I got you.”

There it was, that silent, all-knowing ‘always here’ anchor you had needed given in just a few simple words and a giant gesture. You smiled at him and squeezed his back, exhausted and relieved all at once.

You kicked it into gear, getting to work in your zone. Trying to ignore the tragedy around you and just focus on the medicine was easier said than done, especially getting more and more covered in blood as the shift dragged on. It truly was a blur, except for the fact that each patient was clear as day in your head.

Intubating, assessing, applying pressure to wounds, checking on the status of the operating rooms for your more critical patients, forwarding a few to red. Rinse. Repeat. A never ending cycle of carnage.

Mel whizzed past you and you looked back down at your patient, checking his pulse points. He was as stable as he was going to get, and you waved McKay over to him so you could run by yellow zone to see if they needed anything.

Whitaker’s wide eyes greeted you, “She’s doing a REBOA.”

You stopped dead, “What? Who?”

His eyes looked over to Santos, who was leaning over a patient. All the blood rushed from your head, anger and fear tangling together.

Mel was beside you then, tapping her fingers together in an anxious fashion, “I told her—I tried—“

You swallowed before rushing forward. She had already inserted the balloon, and there was not much you could do. You had only done one before, during a mass pile up over a year before, but it was under Jack’s careful supervision.

“Are you insane?” You hissed low, trying not to cause a scene.

Santos only glanced at you, “Patient was bleeding out, need to—“

“No, no, no, no.” Something snapped and all the frustration you had been feeling all day came barreling out of you. “What you need to do, Dr. Santos, is clear shit like this with your senior resident. With an attending. Literally anyone else. Mel already told you no and what do you do? This is how people die. Doctors feeding their own fucking egos and not letting themselves be checked.”

She simply stared at you, “It’s already—“

“No, this was rash.” You glanced down at the patient, seeing that the balloon was likely already in place, but from Donnie’s grim features, the patient was not doing much better. “If it worked? Amazing, great. You saved a patient. But if you keep doing this shit, someone is going to die. You’re not as infallible as you seem to think you are.”

You felt him before you saw him, a once calming presence now beside you and it made all your hairs stand on end. Like you had been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

At the hospital, he was your attending, you were the resident and you definitely should not have lost your cool like that in the middle of the shitstorm that was already occurring. You physically braced yourself, steeling your composure and trying not to wince. Jack did not scold in public, but you had made a scene.

Jack’s attention had been pulled away from his patient at a particular voice carrying through the air, growing louder as it continued. Your voice. Unmistakable and in the chaos, completely unnerving. It was not like you to shout, or yell, especially in the mess the Pitt had found itself in. He was walking towards your voice without even thinking about it, gait rushed but not running.

“She performed a REBOA.” Mel told Jack as he approached, eyeing each of you warily. “I told her not to.” She gestured to you. “She told her not to.”

You felt Jack’s eyes on your face, and you glanced over to him. He took in your features and looked back to Santos.

“A REBOA? Are you shitting me?”

“Dr. Abbot, I couldn’t get any of the attendings and the patient was bleeding out. No other options.” Santos told him, looking at you again. “I don’t think her yelling about it, or at me right now is exactly—“

“She is a resident and you are an intern. You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

You blinked, half surprised, half thankful. You never wanted your relationship with him to bleed into the professional act you two played whenever you were in the hospital. You never wanted him to play favorites or defend you when you didn’t deserve it. But a part of you relished in him supporting you. Especially after dealing with her going over your head your entire shift.

Two nightshift nurses — Alma and Riley — and Donnie exchanged knowing glances, hiding their smirks well, while Santos just stood there. Jack looked back to you and raised an eyebrow, asking if you were okay without any words.

You gave him the tiniest of nods, likely not to be seen as anything more than a twitch, but Jack caught it easily. You were okay, for the most part anyway. You could talk to him about all of it later. You hoped this could all be behind you soon, as mild embarrassment for yelling in the ED crept up your cheeks. You would pass along the information to Robby and let him handle it. He would be likely to scold you for losing your cool and yelling like he had earlier with Langdon, who was now back floating through zones with little explanation as to why he had left.

Santos looked between you two like she was trying to read you.

Jack had his focus back on the patient, asking Donnie for her vitals.

“Carotid’s weak. Radial’s barely there.” Donnie said.

“Another three cc’s in the balloon.” Jack advised and Santos followed the instruction.

Whitaker looked up, “Radial’s much stronger now.”

“Lock the balloon. Check the wound.”

“Wound’s dry, barely a trickle.”

“That’s because there’s no blood going to her legs.” Mel whispered from beside you.

“Get IR and Vascular on the case.”

The patient began coming to, opening her eyes and looking around her tiredly. There was a relief in the sight, but the fact that this would only make Santos more bold in the future made you worry.

Jack leaned in close to Santos, “That was reckless and could have killed the patient. You need to follow the chain of command here.”

Santos gave a tense nod, her tiny smile disappearing.

You stepped away when Jack did, finding a few moments when you pulled off your gown to replace it with a fresh one. He stepped behind you to tie it while you reached for new gloves.

“It’s been a shift.” You explained simply, not even needing him to open his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it later.”

You turned to face him, “No, if you’re going to scold me, I’d rather you do it now. Get it out of the way.”

He studied your face. “Can’t change anything now. She did save the patient, but she could've just as easily made it worse. And you lost it for a minute. You know as well as anyone that yelling achieves nothing.”

You cringed, remembering your med school days.

“But you weren’t wrong.” He added, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him. “She took an unnecessary risk and hopefully next time, will try to find an attending, or a resident. I’ll mention it to Robby, maybe he can help her get back on track. The Pitt doesn’t need any more egos, I think we’re at capacity.”

A small smirk broke through on your lips, “Thank you.”

“You feel good enough to get back to it?” He raised a careful eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. You parted without ceremony, heading back to your respective zones and got lost in the work.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged

Did my own feelings about Santos bleed into this? …maybe. She grew on me, but oh my god she really was getting on my last nerve for most of this season. I hope season 2 comes with some growth from her.

[bytemee]

HOUSE OF BALLOONS — YU JIMIN.

“you're in my world now, you can stay, you can stay. but you belong to me, ooh, you belong to me."

synopsis. karina wasn’t used to sharing. seeing you laugh with someone else? that didn’t sit right with her.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). 18+ (smut), g!p reader, pet names (she calls u puppy like it’s ur name), unprotected sex, p in v, jealous!karina, dom!karina, sub!reader and bad writing ahaa...

words. 1.6k

authors note. i could go for a chipotle burrito but damn do they be taxing

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karina was used to having all eyes on her. she was the kind of girl who walked into a room and made everyone else feel like background noise. and you—shy, awkward, always fumbling over your words—were her favorite plaything.

it wasn’t like you were dating. she just liked keeping you close, liked the way you turned red when she got too close, and liked knowing that you’d drop everything the second she called.

but tonight, you weren’t where you were supposed to be.

she had invited you to the party—expected you to hover near her like always, expected you to wait for her to give you attention. but instead, you were downstairs, sitting on the couch, laughing at something some random girl said.

karina didn’t like that.

she watched from across the room, arms crossed, lips pursed, as she saw the way you were smiling—actually smiling—in front of someone else.

when the girl leaned in a little too close, touching your arm, something snapped.

before you even realized what was happening, karina was in front of you, slipping between you and the girl with a sickly sweet smile.

"oh, i see you’ve met my little puppy," she said smoothly, tilting her head. "careful with this one. she gets nervous around new people.”

you were about to open your mouth to say something then she sat down on your lap, draping her arms over your shoulders. you swallowed hard, your face going pink, completely caught off guard.

karina had always been shameless with her teasing, but this—this was different. she was staking a claim, making sure everyone in the room knew exactly who you belonged to.

the girl you had been talking to gave an awkward laugh, clearly unsure of what to do now that karina had inserted herself into the situation.

"uh, i was just—"

"leaving?" karina finished for her, still smiling, though it was obvious she wanted her gone.

the girl hesitated, looking between the two of you before mumbling some excuse and disappearing into the crowd.

you barely had a second to process what just happened before karina’s fingers were suddenly in your hair, twirling a loose strand between her fingers as she leaned in even closer.

your eyes widened, your face burning up under the intense stare she was giving you. you swallowed thickly, your hands gripping the couch, unsure of where else to put them.

and then, just when you thought she couldn't get any closer, she did, her lips brushing against your ear. "don't look so surprised, puppy."

she pulled away just enough to look into your eyes again. then she got up from your lap, smoothing out her skirt before grabbing your hand and pulling you upstairs, away from all the prying eyes.

and you let her.

karina didn’t waste a second. she shoved you into the first empty room she found, kicking the door shut behind her before pinning you against the wall.

it didn’t matter whether you were hers in name—because in every way that counted, you were. and tonight, she was making sure everyone knew it.

her lips crashed against yours, rough and claiming, like she had something to prove. and maybe she did. maybe she needed to remind you exactly where you belonged.

karina was a damn good kisser, and the longer she kissed you, the harder it got to stand on your own. your fingers curled into her shirt, clinging to her for support, a quiet gasp slipping past your lips.

she loved this. loved how easily she could pull you apart, how simple it was to make you forget everything but her.

when she finally pulled away, a thin strand of saliva still connected you for a brief second before it snapped, leaving you breathless. your head spun, your lips swollen, and you just stood there, waiting—because she was the one in control, and you both knew it.

her nails raked across your skin, making their way under your shirt, and you bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan.

"you don't want anyone else, do you, hm?" she asked, her voice low and soft. she leaned in again, her lips brushing against your jaw, the gentle touch a sharp contrast to the way her nails dug into your hips.

you shook your head quickly, your heart racing in your chest, because no, no, you only wanted her. you only ever wanted her.

karina hummed, satisfied, her grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. "good," she murmured, "because i don't like sharing."

her teeth grazed your skin, and your breath hitched, fingers twitching where they hovered uncertainly at your sides. you wanted to touch her, wanted to pull her closer, but you knew better than to move without permission.

she noticed, of course she did, and it made her smirk against your throat. "what is it, puppy?" she taunted. "you want to touch me?"

you nodded, swallowing hard. "please," you whispered, barely able to get the word out.

karina pulled back just enough to look at you, tilting her head like she was considering it. her fingers trailed up your sides before she finally grabbed your wrists and guided your hands under her skirt until your fingers brushed against her underwear.

"there," she breathed out. "is that what you wanted?"

she was so wet, and the thought that she was this turned on because of you—because she was claiming you as her own—made you whine, the sound almost desperate.

"karina," you pleaded, the bulge in your pants growing more uncomfortable by the second.

karina's smirk widened. "you want me to touch you?" she asked, her breath hot against your ear.

you nodded frantically, still unable to form words, too overwhelmed by desire to do anything except obey.

"use your words." karina's grip tightened on your wrists.

"please," you whimpered, voice shaking. "please, touch me, i need you."

she hummed, satisfied. "that's what i like to hear."

and then her fingers were working at the buttons of your jeans, her other hand reaching under your shirt, sliding up your stomach before pressing against it to push you onto the bed, her lips finding yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless.

"karina," you moaned. "i—fuck..."

she didn't waste any time. as soon as you were flat on the bed, she crawled on top of you, straddling your waist, grinding against your thigh as her fingers wrapped around your cock.

karina chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. "you're so sensitive," she purred, her hand moving slowly, teasingly.

you whimpered, your hips moving involuntarily. you were starting to unravel, quickly losing control. karina knew it, and she loved it.

"is this what you wanted, puppy?" she asked, her lips brushing against your neck. "you like it when i touch you like this?"

all you could manage was a ragged moan in response.

her hand moved faster, sending a shock through your system, and you threw your head back, eyes squeezing shut. it felt so fucking good, and you couldn't think, couldn't speak, could only let her do whatever she wanted.

then suddenly she stopped.

your eyes snapped open, and you let out a whine, desperate for more.

karina ignored you, instead pulling her underwear down, kicking it to the side before she straddled your waist again, lining herself up with your cock.

her hands pressed against your chest for balance as she started to move, rolling her hips at an excruciatingly slow pace.

you groaned, your fingers digging into the sheets, trying to keep yourself from just taking over and flipping your positions. you knew that would just earn you a sharp slap and a scolding, something that you would much rather avoid.

karina leaned down, hovering her underwear above your mouth, a wicked glint in her eyes.

"open up," she commanded.

you obeyed, and she stuffed the fabric into your mouth. it tasted like her, and the thought of that alone made you twitch inside her.

your hands moved to grip her thighs, fingers pressing into the soft skin, holding her steady as she rocked her hips.

she let out a breathy moan as you tightened your grip on her. "fuck," she panted, her breaths coming in short gasps. "just like that."

you tried to say something, but all that came out was muffled by the underwear she had shoved into your mouth. karina smirked, her pace increasing, the heat in her core growing stronger, spreading through her body. she threw her head back, a few strands of hair sticking to her forehead.

"fuck," she groaned. "i'm gonna cum."

she could feel it building, her walls clenching around you, and she knew she was close. she knew the sight of her falling apart would send you over the edge, too, and that's what she wanted, needed, craved.

her grip tightened, nails digging into your chest, her breathing erratic, her hips rocking faster, harder. she was right there, teetering on the edge, and then finally, she toppled over.

"fuck!" she cried out, her orgasm ripping through her, her legs trembling.

the moment she started to come undone, so did you, unable to hold back any longer; you groaned into the underwear, your head thrown back, your spine arching off the mattress, thrusting your hips upwards as you came.

your hands held her in place, gripping her thighs so hard they would leave marks, but neither of you cared.

karina slumped against you, her chest heaving, her face buried in the crook of your neck. she was panting, trying to catch her breath, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart against your skin.

after a few moments, she pulled away, sitting back on your lap, a satisfied smile on her face. she reached forward and slowly pulled the underwear out of your mouth, her gaze fixed on you, taking in the aftermath of what she had done to you.

"mmm, looks like my puppy is satisfied."

you blinked, trying to clear the haze from your mind, but all you could focus on was the sight of her sitting on top of you, the mess dripping down her thighs, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen.

she looked so perfect.

"do you understand now?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. "no one else gets to touch you like this. no one but me."

you nodded, still unable to find your words.

"good," she purred, leaning in and kissing you, soft and gentle, a stark contrast to how she had been before.

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[vrystalius]

hiii there, i was wondering if we please get some more recruiter/salesman cutesy stuff?? you’re such a good writer (love your work) and we do NOT have enough fics of him being an enamoured wife guy on this app. thank you <3 😔

Secret Love Notes.

You keep slipping small love notes into all his pockets and suitcases to remind him that his wife loves him no matter what.

Pairing: Recruiter/Gong Yoo x wife!reader

Summary: You leave small love notes all over for him to find and he cherishes every single one of them.

Words: 0.7k, short and sweet!

Genre: fluff <33

Your husband never admits it out loud to you, but he notices how you slip little love notes into his pocket when folding up the laundry or when packing him a bento box. They have cute little encouragements and affirmations written on them along with some doodles of you two together, holding hands, kissing and whatnot.

You think you’re being sneaky by crouching a little when approaching his coat hung up by the entrance, stuffing a small folded note into his chest pocket.

Whenever he is about to go out the door, you hand him his leather suitcase and a colourful bento box you packed for him. Once you found out Gong Yo only plain loaves of bread or sometimes even nothing at all, you always insisted on packing some food for him so your poor husband can eat something home cooked every day.

Even if the box doesn’t match his aesthetics, he savours every bite and would never shy away from letting out a loud hum of content.

Gong Yoo sat comfortably on a wooden bench by the metro station, well aware of the two mobsters following him the whole day, but who cares?

He leisurely opened up the bento box. His face brightened up at the sight of another small love letter presented to him.

“Keep it up! You’re going great ♡ Your wife loves you ~ ☆ “

Accompanied by your sweet words was a chibi doodle of you doing a heart with your index finger and thumb and him as a chibi too, holding a pair of chopsticks and giving you a wink. He chuckled quietly to himself and folded the note to keep it in his pocket by his heart.

Once, after successfully recruiting a new player, Gong Yoo handed the confused and wounded man your love note with a confident smirk. That man was lucky to have escaped the games but was kind of confused on why a handsome looking salesman gave him a love letter that reminded him to “stay hydrated!! ☆ (drinking coffee doesn’t count >:( )”

He tries to leave behind as many love notes as you lovingly prepare for him, but his doodles were kind of wonky and presented you in a rather disturbing light.

Sticking to his trusty craft of origami your husband instead began leaving small paper roses for you to find as a way to leave his own love messages.

A paper rose in the fridge, in the pocket of your jacket, in your bag and on your pillow; they change colours based on the day too. Blue and red are the most frequent and popular ones though for some reason. Probably because those are the only kinds of coloured paper he owns.

After every day you leave letters behind for him, Gong Yoo always tries to come home on time to properly thank you for them. Pampering you is his favourite activity, meaning you get banned from the kitchen and forcibly made comfortable on your bed or couch with cushions and blankets to keep you warm and cozy.

To return the favour of you preparing bento for him, he’ll cook you a fine dinner that could rival that of high-end restaurants. Afterwards, he’ll make himself comfortable right next to you to plant well deserved kisses all over your face and body and let his hand travel over your body freely, tracing invisible patterns.

A man like him should not be holding a woman like you, that’s what he’s always thinking. You are way too good for him, too gentle, kind, loving, too much of everything good.

“I love you. More than letters or silly paper roses can convey. Allow me to demonstrate just how much I love my wife, hmm?”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

The amount of smut and non-con about this man is INSANE, I just need to live my silly life as a wife with him where we snuggle on the couch like a boring cuddle every night and then go to sleep while he read a book and I knit like grandparents 🫶😭 Anyways, hope you enjoyed it anon!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[tfwbluu]

PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader

WARNINGS — porn with little plot, pet names, light choking, ki’s lowkey possessive, slight size kink, oral (f. rec), raw sex (stay safe), praise, fingering, squirting, creampie, overstimulation.

WORDCOUNT — 2K

NOTE — this is purely self indulgent because i’m down bad TT i haven’t wrote smut in so long pls bare w me. lmk if i missed anything in the warnings !

As the weather grew colder and Christmas approached, the festive spirit had already begun spreading. Homes were glowing with decorations, and you were no exception. You found yourself setting up some lights on the tiny Christmas tree Jungwon had insisted he’d get for you.

“It’s no fun if we don’t decorate a little bit!” he had complained. Unable to say no to him, you had simply agreed, though decorating wasn’t usually your thing.

Sitting on the couch, lost in thought, you didn’t hear the door open or the faint “I’m home” that followed.

Riki walked in, noticing you hadn’t heard him. With a mischievous smile, he decided to tackle you from behind, making you yelp in surprise.

“Caught you,” he teased, his voice playful.

You let out a small pout but slowly relaxed into his arms. “You scared me,” you murmured, resting your hands on his arms.

A stray thought flickered through your mind as you noticed his arms. ‘Have they gotten bigger since last time?’

“What’s my baby got running through her pretty little head?” Riki asked, moving you onto his lap, positioning you sideways so he could see your face.

“Nothing much,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I was just thinking about what to get you and the others for Christmas. Honestly, I have no idea.” Your fingers idly played with the rings on his fingers.

“You know you don’t have to get us anything, right?” Riki chuckled. “I’m sure the guys would be more than happy if you just made them that steak of yours again. Remember how they devoured it last time?”

You smiled softly but shook your head. “I’d feel bad not giving you guys something when you all keep showering me with gifts…”

Your hands finally settled on his, the size difference between your hands and his catching your attention.

Riki hummed thoughtfully, letting you sit in silence for a moment. Then, an idea seemed to light up his mind, making him sit up a little straighter.

“There is something I’d like to have for Christmas,” he said, pulling you closer.

“Hmm? What is it?” you asked, looking up at him with curious, doe-like eyes.

“You.”

Before you could process his words, Riki pushed you down onto the couch, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. His hands cradled your neck while yours pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

A small moan escaped your lips as his hand slipped under your shirt, caressing your waist. The chill of his rings against your skin sent goosebumps racing across your body.

His kisses grew more feverish, each one more desperate than the last, as if silently begging for more. His tongue flicked against your lips, before he pulled away slightly, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

“Let’s move somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” he murmured, pulling away just enough to look into your dazed eyes.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words. Smiling at your silent agreement, Riki effortlessly scooped you up into his arms and carried you toward your bedroom.

Riki skillfully opened the door to your room, locking it behind him before settling you gently onto the bed. Hovering above you, he captured your lips in another kiss, this time deeper, more desperate. Your hands wrapped around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly, eliciting a low groan from him.

His lips trailed from your cheek down to your neck and collarbone, suckling softly on the sensitive skin, leaving faint marks that would remind you of this moment. You leaned back, granting him more access, and he took full advantage, his hands slipping to the hem of your (or rather, his) oversized shirt, silently asking for permission.

“Go ahead, Ki,” you breathed, your voice soft yet full of anticipation.

With your approval, he gently removed the shirt, revealing your bare chest. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight before him, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Not wearing anything underneath, huh, baby?” he teased, pressing a kiss between your breasts.

“That wasn’t on purpose,” you mumbled, cheeks flushed crimson as his lips moved closer to your sensitive peaks.

“Hmm,” he hummed in amusement, his lips latching onto your right nipple while his hand cupped and teased the other. He alternated between soft kisses, flicks of his tongue, and gentle sucks, drawing whimpers from you as your body arched under his ministrations.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging at it with need, silently pleading for him to remove it. Riki obliged, swiftly discarding the fabric before resuming his trail of kisses along your body.

“My,” kiss. “Pretty,” kiss. “Girl,” kiss.

You sighed, hands pulling his face back up to meet yours. Your lips melded together in a fervent kiss, the heat between you both intensifying as your hands explored the expanse of his bare skin, savoring the warmth of his touch and the electricity sparking between you. Riki broke the kiss, leaving you breathless and whining in protest as you instinctively chased his lips.

“Patience angel,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His hands slid down to your pajama pants, tugging them off slowly along with your panties. You tried to lift your hips to help, your body trembling with anticipation.

When he finally had you bare, his eyes darkened at the sight of how wet you were. He groaned, settling between your legs and hooking them over his shoulders. His arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he glanced up at you, silently asking for permission.

Growing impatient, you reached down and gently pushed his head closer. He smirked, taking it as a clear sign to continue. With a lingering kiss to your folds, he dragged his tongue slowly up your slick heat, making you shudder.

A moan escaped your lips, your fingers gripping the sheets as the tension inside you grew. Riki’s tongue worked skillfully, alternating between broad strokes along your folds and flicks against your clit. When he sucked on your swollen bud, your moans grew louder, hips arching off the bed in response.

“Fuck... Riki~!” you cried, your body quivering as his hand moved to join his mouth. Two fingers slid into you with ease, curling perfectly to hit the sensitive spot inside you. He continued his relentless assault, his lips and tongue never straying from your clit as his fingers worked you closer to the edge.

“I—I’m close! Riki!” you gasped, the pressure in your stomach snapping as your release gushed out. He groaned, eagerly lapping up your juices, his hand still coaxing more from you as your body spasmed beneath him.

You collapsed back against the bed, panting heavily, your head spinning from the intensity. But just as you thought he was done, his lips returned to your overstimulated core.

“Can’t—!” you tried to protest weakly, your body too sensitive.

“Yes, you can, angel. Take it like a good girl,” he growled, his voice laced with determination as he continued devouring you. Despite the overwhelming sensations, your hips bucked instinctively against his mouth, chasing a pleasure you could barely handle.

Before long, another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, and you cried out his name as your release coated his tongue. He drank it all, not wasting a drop, and when he finally pulled away, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at you.

“Sweet,” he remarked, his voice husky and satisfied as you lay there, your chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to regain your breath.

Riki leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as you tried to steady your breathing.

“You okay, pretty?” he asked softly, tucking the stray strands of hair away from your face.

You gave him a small, tired smile and nodded.

“I need words, angel,” he murmured, his tone gentle but firm.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, your voice just above a breath.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Good,” he replied, his voice dropping a pitch. “Because I’m not done yet.”

Before you could fully process his words, he slipped off his pants, his arousal springing free and standing proudly against his stomach. His body loomed over yours, exuding raw desire.

He carefully turned you over, guiding you onto your stomach, your front pressing against the soft sheets. A small groan escaped your lips at the soreness, but your curiosity got the better of you as you glanced back at him. His hands spread your legs apart, and you felt the tip of his cock teasing your folds.

“Riki...” you moaned softly, your body trembling in anticipation.

Without a word, he slowly pushed into you, both of you moaning as he stretched you out, filling you completely. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size before he started moving.

With each thrust, you felt your body arch against him, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you. The pleasure was overwhelming, and your moans threatened to spill over, but you instinctively buried your face in the mattress to muffle them.

Riki noticed immediately and leaned forward, his right hand wrapping around your neck as he pulled you upright.

“Don’t hide from me, angel,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “I wanna hear how good I make you feel.”

A shaky cry left your lips as he thrust into you harder, the sound unrestrained this time.

“Fuck...” you whimpered, your mind a hazy mess. The coolness of his rings against your neck, the way he filled you perfectly—it was all too much.

He tugged you into a messy kiss, his lips capturing yours as both of you moaned against each other. When he released you, he gently pushed your back down, letting you brace yourself against the bed once more.

“Feels good, yeah?” he asked, his rhythm relentless now.

“Y-Yes!” you cried, your voice high-pitched and desperate.

“My good girl, taking me so well,” he praised, his lips trailing kisses along your back and shoulders.

“Hmm~! Your good girl!” you managed to reply through your moans.

“Yes, you are,” he affirmed, his voice filled with pride.

His thrusts grew faster and more erratic as he chased his release, one hand gripping your neck lightly while the other found your clit, rubbing in time with his movements.

“Rikiii!” you wailed, your body trembling as your orgasm hit, pulsing around him.

He groaned, burying himself deep inside you as he followed right after, his release spilling into you in hot spurts. He stilled, his breaths heavy as he let himself empty completely.

As he pulled out, he watched as his cum dripped from your swollen folds, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

Riki turned you over, gently cradling your face as he captured your lips in a heated kiss. His fingers gathered some of his release, pushing it back into you, eliciting a muffled moan as you melted into the kiss.

Before you could recover, you felt the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance again. Your eyes widened, and you gasped softly.

“Just one more, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his voice deep and coaxing. Without hesitation, he pushed inside you again, filling you up.

Your body trembled, the overstimulation making you whine, but he only responded by moving your legs up over his shoulders, letting him reach even deeper. Each thrust had you crying out, his movements calculated and intense.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. “All mine to fuck, hmm?”

You couldn’t form a response, your mind blank from the pleasure. Instead, you moaned mindlessly, your back arching as he kept hitting spots that left you breathless.

Riki leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed your hands beside your head, pinning you to the bed.

“Hope you’re ready for the rest of the night, angel,” he murmured, his tone filled with a teasing affection. “I want to make the most out of my Christmas present.”

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ it's a gift (you keep those) ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ giving him a plushie that reminded you of him┊1k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, crushes, probably ooc but he’s so cute & wade is hard to write for, written for dp&w logan so idk if he got gifts in xmen, i forgot about laura, they are in touch and have a wonderful father-daughter relationship, i’m so sorry, edited

➤ author's note: i have so many thoughts but too incompetent to write

logan’s never sure who will appear when he opens the door as wade’s quite the extrovert, either vanessa or one of his many other friends whom he’s now become somewhat acquainted with, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to meet the familiar eyes of the cute neighbor who lived a few doors down. he nervously scratched the back of his head, suddenly becoming aware of his shabby appearance, “uh, are you looking for wade?”

“no, i was actually looking for you!” god, your smile is so bright, it’s blinding. he normally hates perfume of any sort as it’s so overpowering to his heightened senses, but the one that you wore smelled so lovely like always. is that a new shade of lip gloss you’re wearing? it really suits you. (why on earth is he noticing all of these details out of the blue? he needs to snap out of whatever spell you put on him after being introduced when he first showed up and only interacting in passing since then).

“looking for me?” he repeated, in disbelief, trying his best not to allow his surprise to slip into his voice. considering he isn’t from this dimension and not the most agreeable person to be around, he had no friends of his own yet and hasn’t been visited by anyone since he got here. a beat of panic struck him, thinking that he was in trouble for something and you came to complain. he really couldn’t think of any other reason you were here for him even though you were so cheerful.

you were carrying some shopping bags with you, dropping them on the ground before reaching into one and pulling out a large fuzzy plushie of a gray cat hidden under layers of glittery tissue paper, “i saw this cutie when i went shopping with my friends and thought it looked like you!” you held it out for him to take, looking so proud of the stuffed animal.

he hesitated for a second before accepting it, trying to take in the fact that you were reminded of him in your day-to-day life. it made his heart flutter, and he found himself dumbfounded by the feeling. he was frequently teased by his roomate about his little “crush” on you, claiming that it was oh so obvious and that the sooner he accepted it, the better, but he never realized until now how pathetic he was when it came to you. was the wolverine really getting butterflies like a fucking schoolgirl in his old-ass age? thank god no one was home right now to bully him about it, he would never hear the end of it.

“it does not look like me,” he scoffed playfully after a quick examination.

“no, it definitely does! it’s a big, grumpy kitty—” you took a step closer to hold it with him, pointing at all the similarities you observed, although it was clear you were exaggerating for laughs. “see the little frowny face and ears? it could be your identical twin separated from birth! willy mentioned that you act like a cat most of the time, and i think it fits perfectly!”

the smile he didn’t realize was plastered on his face faltered at the last piece of information, grateful that you didn’t notice. that idiot has been talking about him to you? he might as well forget about any chance of getting with you, because knowing how he yaps without a filter and loves to play matchmaker, you probably think he’s a freak of some sort. “only good things, i hope…”

you giggled, the sweetest sound he ever heard. “of course, he’s really fond of you… well, maybe a bit too fond, but you already know about that!” you opened your mouth to continue the conversation or say something else, but your phone started ringing and you excused yourself, looking a little shy as you grabbed up your bags. “i’ll talk to you later!” you sounded so excited about the prospect of it before leaving, your voice and footsteps becoming fainter as you walked back to your place.

“wait, you didn’t take back the cat—”

“it’s a gift! you keep those!”

“oh… right…”

he lingered for a moment, unable to say much in response since you left in such a rush. when was the last time someone gave him a present? staring at this brand new item, he still couldn’t see the resemblance in any way, but knowing that it was a gift from you gave him a rare feeling of happiness which returned every time he looked at it from then on among his few possessions. 

“oh my goodness, what is this adorable thing?!” wade exclaimed when he saw it sitting on the couch where logan slept, picking it up to gawk at before tossing it up in the air and catching it before it hit the floor. “ooh, let me guess, it’s a gift from her, isn’t it?” 

the mutant groaned at his mocking tone. “put it down before you ruin it with your grubby hands,” he commanded, snatching it from his grasp (rough enough to make his point clear, but carefully enough not to tear it apart). his roommate didn’t even bother pretending to be offended like he usually would as he was simply overjoyed that his “ship” was coming true. “it doesn’t mean anything, don’t make it weird.”

“it doesn’t mean anything?! how can you say that when it’s going to be the first gift you give to your first child together—”

“first what??”

“nevermind, what are you gonna name it?”

“i have to name it?”

“have you never owned a stuffed animal before? you have to name it! how heartbroken is she going to be when she asks what you named it and you say that you haven’t done that?! she’s gonna think that you don’t value her gifts!” you would think the world was going to end if he didn’t do so if you heard the way he was speaking.

“fine, i’ll name it…” he looked deeply into the toy’s soulless eyes, noting how soft the outer material was against his calloused hand, “... fluffy…”

“that’s such a shitty name—”

“shut the fuck up, it’s been decided.”

[knightyoomyoui]

[+18] "The Melody Of Touch" (COMMISSIONED)

ft. TWICE's Minatozaki Sana (x Male Reader & other TWICE members)

TYPE: Fluff, Smut

WORD COUNT: 7286

COMMISSION REQUEST BY: @vl-45

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui DESCRIPTION: Y/N, a blind TWICE fan whose world is shaped by sound and emotion, not sight. After a heartfelt encounter at a fan sign, Y/N forms a rare and deeply personal connection with all nine members... especially Sana. As love, loyalty, and fame intertwine, both Y/N and TWICE learn that the truest way to be seen… is to be understood beyond appearances.

You have never seen the colors the world raved about, but you’ve heard them.

The world had always spoken in vibrations. The buzz of the city’s heartbeat underfoot, the hush of falling rain like a whispered secret, the softness in someone’s breath when they were about to cry. To you, who had been blind since birth, sound was sight, and feeling was everything.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, felt the way TWICE’s music did.

Each song painted landscapes in your mind.

“Feel Special” shimmered like sunlight on warm skin. Each note from Jihyo’s voice a golden beam that made you sit a little straighter, breathe a little deeper. “Cheer Up” was summer fireworks bursting behind their ribs, chaotic and wild, but joyfully alive. And then there was “One in a Million”, a lullaby dipped in longing. The kind of song that made the world go quiet inside them, reminding you what it meant to feel wanted.

Music was more than entertainment. It was identity. And TWICE, unknowingly, had been a lifeline.

When you got the rare chance to attend a TWICE fan sign, your chest felt too small to hold all the emotion. The event was loud, frantic, filled with fans holding placards and phones. But you weren't there to see. You were there to hear.

With a friend gently guiding you through the crowd and to the table, you clutched an audio recorder instead of a camera, your thumb brushing over the smooth metal like a talisman. It hummed quietly, in rhythm to the heartbeat in your palm. The closer you get to the members, the louder the world seemed to roar, but none of it mattered.

Then came the moment.

“Hello!” a bright voice chirped. “What’s your name?”

It was Dahyun. Her voice sparkled, full of energy and kindness. You introduced yourself, speaking clearly despite the nerves buzzing through you.

One by one, you met each member and they became gentler on conversing with you to sympathise on the fact that you can’t be able to see. Sana’s voice was warm and bubbly, like a fizzy drink tickling the soul. Chaeyoung spoke slowly and curiously, asking you how they found their way through music. Tzuyu was quieter, but her laughter had an elegance that lingered.

Then… Jihyo.

Her voice was different, not louder, not softer… but grounded. Like a lighthouse during a storm.

“You don’t watch our performances?” she asked gently. There wasn’t judgment in her tone, just curiosity.

You smiled slightly. “I feel them instead. The rhythm. The energy. The way your voices rise and fall. That’s how I see you all.”

The air around them seemed to pause.

Jihyo didn’t speak immediately. You could sense her leaning in, as though trying to see you not with her eyes, but with her heart.

“That’s… beautiful,” she finally said, voice thick with something unspoken. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

You nodded. “It’s just how I live. TWICE is color to me. Even if I don’t know what red or blue is.”

A long moment passed, quiet but full. Jihyo reached for something on the table. Paper, maybe. Then a light brush of contact,  her fingers grazing yours as she placed something in your palm.

“This is… my number. I don’t usually do this, but—” Her voice lowered into a whisper. “Message me. I mean it.”

Your breath caught, unexpected that the idol herself initiated to keep in contact with a fan she just met today. “A-are you sure?”

“I am,” she said, firm but kind. “There’s so much more I want to ask you. So much I want to understand.”

The security guard gently nudged the line forward. Jihyo gave your hand one final squeeze before letting go.

Later that night, in the still of your bedroom, you ran your fingers over the paper. A small Braille sticker had been added on the back by your friend: Jihyo. You smiled, unsure whether the butterflies in your chest were from excitement or disbelief.

You messaged her.

“Hi, this is Y/N. From the fan sign. I don’t even know if this is real, but… thank you. For today.”

They expected silence.

Instead, a voice note came through.

You listened.

“It’s me,” Jihyo said softly. “I’m glad you messaged. I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said. About how you ‘see’ us. It made me wonder if I’ve ever really listened to our music the way you do.”

There was a pause. A soft breath. You can’t believe this is happening, you’re talking privately with a member of the group you stan.

“Would you mind if I… asked more sometime? Or even shared new songs with you before they release? I’d love to hear what you feel.”

You clutched the recorder again. For the first time in a long time, they felt seen.

Without needing to be looked at.

In the days that followed, voice notes became routine. Jihyo’s messages arrived in the mornings, sometimes rambling, sometimes thoughtful. She described her days in detail — not just what she did, but how it felt to do them.

“I was in the practice room today. The floor was cold under my knees. Momo made us rehearse this part like 30 times until my thighs were burning. But it felt good. Like we were sculpting something invisible.”

You replied honestly, openly. You shared how you mapped spaces through echoes, how you knew someone was smiling by the lift in their voice, how music felt different depending on where it hit their body.

“Sometimes a bass line is like thunder in my ribcage,” You explained once. “But your voice in Feel Special? That hits me behind the eyes. Like it’s rewiring something.”

Jihyo didn’t just listen, she responded with wonder.

“That’s incredible. You make it sound like music is a sixth sense.”

What you didn’t expect was for the rest of TWICE to slowly reach out.

First was Dahyun, who sent chaotic voice notes filled with laughter, silly impressions, and random rap freestyles she was practicing. Then Mina, calm and dreamy, who sent recordings of quiet piano melodies and stories she made up to help herself fall asleep. Chaeyoung asked to describe her paintings, what colors felt like emotionally. Jeongyeon sent dorm gossip, giggling through stories that painted hilarious scenes in Y/N’s head.

One by one, they came.

And yet, Jihyo remained the anchor. The quiet tether to all of them.

One night, she sent a note that you played over and over.

“You know, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. I’ve had people say they love me thousands of times. But you… you make me feel like someone is finally listening for the right reasons.”

You sat on the floor for hours after that, the recorder warm in their hand.

The world was still dark. But it was no longer lonely.

You never thought your world would expand beyond sound and touch. But it did through voices that carried warmth, through conversations that didn’t treat blindness as a limitation, but as a different kind of lens.

It began slowly, like petals unfolding.

Jihyo kept her promise. After that first week of exchanging voice notes, she invited you into her world.

“We’re working on something new,” she said one night. “Still rough, but… I want you to hear it before anyone else. Can I send it?”

She didn’t ask if you could handle it, or if they’d understand it. She just trusted.

You listened, sitting in the dark like always, letting the layers wash over you. The demo wasn’t polished as expected, raw vocals, a sparse piano track, the ghost of a beat that hadn’t been finalized. But even in its unfinished state, it moved.

The second chorus dipped unexpectedly, the melody softer than the first, like the singer was folding into herself.

You recorded their thoughts.

“That part where the chords shift and your voice trails off… it sounds like a person pulling back just before they cry. I don’t know if that’s what you meant, but that’s what I felt.”

A few hours later, Jihyo responded, voice low and a little shaken.

“That’s exactly what I meant. You caught it. I didn’t even tell the producer that’s what I was going for.”

From there, something shifted.

The voice messages became longer. More vulnerable. Jihyo began sharing things not just about work, but about herself. Her fears of disappointing fans. Her exhaustion. The loneliness of being a leader in the spotlight.

You listened. Not because you felt obligated, but because you understood. Because the absence of sight had sharpened your ability to hear emotion like a heartbeat under a floorboard.

And Jihyo… she had so much heart.

Words of you reached the rest of TWICE quickly. Not through gossip, but through affection.

“She listens like no one else,” Jihyo told them during practice one day. “She hears more than some people see.”

It was Dahyun who made the first move.

She popped into your inbox with a 40-second voice message that started mid-laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’ve been told you like sound, so I’m officially letting you in on my secret freestyle raps. Don’t judge. No beat. Just chaos.”

You grinned the entire time. Dahyun’s energy was contagious as always, bubbly and wild, like an unshaken soda can ready to burst. Every word she rapped ended with a laugh or an apology.

Then came Mina. Soft, deliberate, as if she were building a safe space with every syllable.

“I don’t sleep well unless I tell myself stories. Sometimes I imagine I’m on a boat, drifting through a foggy lake. No sounds except the water and maybe… a cello playing somewhere in the distance. Do you want me to send those sometimes?”

You did. And she did.

Momo, ever the perfectionist, reached out next. Not to talk, but to ask.

“Can I send you a clip from our rehearsal? It’s just the beat and my footwork. I want to know if it feels balanced. You might notice things I can’t.”

The audio came with the low thump of feet on a polished floor, and the sharp huff of breath in perfect intervals. You sat still, eyes closed, counting the beats. It was slightly off, the pause between the fourth and fifth beat just a hair too long.

“You’re hesitating there,” you replied. “Right before the spin. Maybe you’re second-guessing it?”

Momo sent back a gasp. “I knew something felt off!”

Even Jeongyeon, reserved and guarded, joined in. Her messages were casual, always starting with:

“You’ll never believe what happened in the dorm today.”

She told stories about Sana refusing to share snacks, Chaeyoung sleep-talking about spaghetti, Nayeon trying to get Tzuyu to wear glittery heels. Through her voice, you could feel the camaraderie, the laughter, and the tiredness beneath it. The weight of being “on” all the time.

Tzuyu’s approach was different. Quieter. Thoughtful.

“You’re blind, but you notice emotional shifts. That’s… kind of like psychology. Have you ever thought about how your perception works?”

They had deep conversations about empathy, about social cues, about the mind. You found Tzuyu’s voice steadying, the kind that asked deep questions not to test, but to learn.

And then… there was Sana.

Nayeon didn’t just send messages. She performed them.

“Right now, I’m wearing a pale yellow blouse with little pearly buttons. And my nails are this soft lavender shade. Do you like purple? I feel like it would be your color.”

She described the world like a poet. The way light hit a leaf. The exact motion of her smile. How Sana’s hair bounced when she laughed.

You felt like you were falling into a painting they couldn’t see, but could feel.

Nayeon often ended her messages with “I wish I could show you everything.” and you would respond with “You already are.”

But it was Sana who unraveled them.

Her voice notes weren’t flashy or poetic. They were intimate. Precise.

“Do you know what vocal layering is? In ‘Alcohol-Free,’ my harmony comes in under Jihyo’s in the second verse. You probably feel it more than hear it.”

She explained things like breath control, resonance, how she shaped vowels differently depending on emotion.

One night, you asked something bold.

“Can you sing just your layer from ‘Feel Special’? I want to isolate it in my head.”

A few hours later, a recording came through.

Sana’s voice. Alone. Raw. Just her line, stripped of production.

“You make me feel special…”

It cracked a little at the end. She hadn’t edited it.

You cried quietly as it played again. And again.

The next day, Sana sent a single message:

“It’s scary being heard like that. But with you, it feels safe.”

Jihyo noticed the shift before anyone said anything.

During a late call, she asked gently, “You and Sana… are you okay?”

You hesitated. “We’re… close. I don’t know what it means yet.”

Jihyo didn’t sound hurt. Only thoughtful.

“She’s hard to read sometimes. But if she’s showing you that part of herself, it’s real.”

That night, Jihyo sent a final voice note.

“We all feel safe with you, Y/N. I know it’s unusual. This bond. But I’ve never seen the girls open up like this. Especially not to someone who expects nothing from us but honesty.”

You replied with something simple.

“You’ve given me more than you know.”

And you meant it.

Because for the first time, You weren’t the person people pitied or romanticized as “inspirational.” You were simply known. Heard. Valued.

And TWICE who are idols loved by millions, had found something too:

A way to be themselves with someone who could see them, without ever looking.

At first, no one outside of TWICE knew about you.

You were just a voice on the other end of the line. A presence in private group chats. A pair of unseen ears that made each member feel heard fully and deeply. But you can only orbit stars for so long before someone notices the gravity.

It began with a blurry photo.

A fan had taken a picture of Sana laughing in a café, leaning toward someone who wasn’t visible. The caption simply read:

“Who is she with? Not staff. Not a member. Look how she’s smiling.”

The fandom’s corners lit up overnight. Speculation swirled: a mystery friend, a secret girlfriend, a stylist, an ex. No one could prove anything, but the whispers grew teeth.

TWICE didn’t say a word publicly.

But inside the group chat, tension rippled.

Sana: “It’s nothing. It’s just a rumor.” Sana: “But you know how fast these spread.” Jeongyeon: “Should we say something?” Jihyo: “We can’t. Not yet.”

You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t want to make it harder. But it gnawed at you, the feeling that your presence and your invisibility had made things worse.

A few days later, someone doxxed you.

An anonymous post revealed your full name, photos from old public profiles, even a rumor that you were “using your disability to get close to TWICE.”

“Blind fan manipulates idols with sympathy.”“TWICE’s soft-hearted members are being targeted.”

The comments were nothing short but cruel.

“Of course he feels safe, he can’t even see who he’s hurting.”“TWICE deserves better.”

It escalated fast. DMs flooded in. Some threatening, some mocking. A box showed up at your apartment.Your friend told you that inside of it were shredded photocopies of fan letters you’ve sent to TWICE in the past, torn and defaced with red marker.

"STAY AWAY."

You sat still for a long time.

You weren’’t scared, not exactly. You were used to being unseen. But this… this made you feel exposed.

And worse: guilty.

You didn’t reply to any of TWICE’s messages for two days.

Jihyo was the first to call.

Her voice trembled slightly as she left the voicemail.

“I know what happened. I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. Please don’t disappear on us.”

Then Dahyun.

“They’re just scared of what they don’t understand. But we know you. We love you.”

Chaeyoung sent a shaky voice note.

“You matter. Not because of your story or your condition or whatever people are twisting it into, but because you see us. And we’re not letting you go.”

But it was Sana who said what no one else did.

She didn’t send a voice note.

She showed up.

You heard the knock, slow and deliberate.

When you opened the door, the air shifted. The scent of vanilla and light citrus wafted in are familiar, from one of Sana’s favorite lotions. Then came the soft click of her boots on the hardwood. Hesitant. Controlled.

“I used the address you gave Jihyo in case of emergencies,” she said quietly. “I figured… this was one.”

Your throat tightened.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t be alone.”

She crossed the room without asking, placing something into your hand. A necklace. The pendant was small, warm from her skin.

“I’ve been wearing this on stage for weeks,” she said. “I wanted you to have it now.”

Your fingers ran over the charm. A tiny, textured sun. Braille had been etched into the back.

“You’re light.”

“I don’t want to be a reason TWICE gets dragged,” You said, voice cracking. “I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

“You didn’t hurt us, YN. You healed us,” Sana whispered.

Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hollow.

Then Sana stepped closer, so close you could feel the shift in air when she spoke.

“You said my voice feels like it lands behind your eyes. So what does it feel like when I do this?”

She leaned in. Her lips pressed gently to your forehead, featherlight. A kiss without pressure but full of intent.

Your breath stilled.

“That… felt like being seen,” you whispered.

Sana exhaled shakily, forehead resting against yours

“I think I’m falling for you,” she said. “And I don’t care if the world can’t make sense of it.”

That night, Sana stayed.

They didn’t kiss again. There was no need. They simply lay together, You curled close as Sana whispered stories about her childhood, her fears, her dreams. She described the stars, not what they looked like, but what they meant to her.

“When I was little, I used to wish on the brightest one. I didn’t always know what to wish for. Now I think… it was you.”

You teared up. Not from sadness, but from the ache of being cherished.

But the peace didn’t last. A few days later, a video leaked. Footage of Sana entering your building, her face visible, her hair unmistakable. Fan forums exploded.

“So it’s true.” “They’re in love with a fan?” “What even is this? Pity? PR?” “Blind or not, this is crossing the line.”

Sasaeng fans dug deeper. Someone claimed a member of TWICE was also romantically involved with you. Rumors spiraled:  first Jeongyeon, then Sana, then Jihyo. Edited photos surfaced. Lies disguised as "concern."

And It was chaotic. You began receiving hate at an alarming rate. Threats. Stalkers. Someone threw a drink on them outside a café, yelling, “Stay away from TWICE, freak.”

You didn’t flinch. But inside, something broke. Not because you were hurt, but because the people you loved were being torn apart for simply loving back.

When JYP Entertainment released a vague, rehearsed statement about “unfounded rumors,” it only fanned the flames.

So TWICE made their own move. They went live. All nine. Jihyo sat front and center, voice steady as she spoke.

“We’ve seen the things being said about someone very close to us, someone who’s given us more comfort and understanding than many of you can imagine.”

Jeongyeon leaned in. “We’re not confirming or denying relationships. That’s not the point.”

Nayeontook Sana’s hand. “The point is: love takes many forms. And we’re allowed to find peace outside the stage.”

Sana didn’t say much. But she looked directly into the camera, voice unwavering.

“We know who’s real in our lives. And we won’t apologize for choosing them.”

The fandom split that night. Some fans left angry and betrayed, proving themselves to be not true supporters as they seem to be.

But many stayed. And even more… began to listen.

Later, Sana texted you.

“You’re not our secret anymore. Now I don’t want you to hide. Not from this. Not from me, okay?.”

You recorded a reply, voice soft but sure.

“I never needed to see you to love you, Sana. I know the world sees us now.  And I won’t hide either.” The next day, you woke up to stillness.

No barrage of notifications, no new threats or rumors. Just the hush of early morning pressing like cool cloth against fevered skin. The fallout of TWICE’s livestream had changed the conversation overnight. The nastiest voices had scurried back into shadow, and the ones who remained were- if not entirely accepting- at least quieter, tentative, curious.

It felt like stepping into fragile sunlight after weeks underground.

But bruises didn’t fade with gossip. Your jaw was still tender from the thrown drink, and your cane-sweeping arm ached from an elbow caught in a fleeing crowd. The worst hurt, though, was internal: the way you still flinched at sudden footsteps, the way voices outside your door made your pulse sprint.

So when Jihyo texted “We’re coming over. Don’t argue,” you almost did. Pride and fear jostled inside their ribs. But then came a second message, softer:

“If you don’t let us in, we’ll sit in the hallway all night and sing off-key. You really want that?”

You laughed, tension breaking like thin glass, and typed a single word: “Fine.”

They arrived in shifts to avoid paparazzi. Mina and Dahyun first, slipping inside with grocery bags that clinked: ramyeon packets, honey-citron tea, soft rolls of gauze and cooling gel pads Mina had insisted on. Chaeyoung followed, carrying a sketchbook and something that smelled of fresh paint. Jeongyeon and Tzuyu came next, shoulders squared as if daring anyone to step between them and the apartment door.

Last were Sana, Jihyo, and Sana, bundled in oversized hoodies, masks tugged down only after the lock clicked shut.

You stood still in the center of the living room, listening: nine distinct patterns of breathing, nine heartbeats shifting the air. For a moment the room felt too small to hold that much life, and then Sana’s arms were around yours, warm and trembling.

“We’re here,” she whispered, brushing fingers down your spine in slow, grounding lines.

No one rushed. They made space for silence, for shaking exhalations, for the soft thud of Dahyun setting groceries down. Only after Y/N’s shoulders loosened did conversation begin, gentle and ordinary: “Would you like tea?”, “Did you sleep?”,  “Have you eaten?”

Normalcy as first aid.

Over steaming mugs, Mina proposed an idea. “I want to record something for you,” she said, voice like still water. “A…sound journal. All of us, day to day. So when you’re anxious you can press play and remember we’re close.”

Chaeyoung flipped her sketchbook so you could feel the raised lines of freshly applied puffy paint. “And I’ll draw tactile pieces,” she added. “You can trace them. Art you don’t need sight for.”

Jeongyeon nudged Tzuyu, who cleared her throat. “We also contacted a therapist experienced with trauma and disability,” she murmured. “Online sessions at your pace.”

Your throat thickened. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already did, Y/N.” Jihyo said. “By letting us in.”

That evening, they rearranged the apartment. Jihyo orchestrated like a gentle general: clearing clutter from walkway corners, labeling pantry shelves in Braille stickers Nayeon slapped on with proud little squeaks, installing a soft chime on the front door so Y/N always knew when it opened.

It wasn’t pity. It was partnership by matching your world instead of forcing you into another shape. Each adjustment whispered “You belong. You’re safe now.”.

Night stretched on, lids of tea tins clinking, laughter popping like sparkles, but inevitably quiet settled. One by one members drifted to the couch, the rug, against bookshelves. Some dozed. Tzuyu read in a low murmur beside a weary you, her voice a smooth river. Mina hummed chords under her breath, recording them on her phone for later layers.

Only two people remained fully awake: you and Sana, perched on the floor by the balcony door. Moonlight spilled silver across them. Through the glass, city sounds pulsed faintly: distant sirens, a scooter whine, the hush-rush of cars like tides.

You traced the ridged sun pendant now hanging at your neck. “You know… I keep thinking this is a dream. Any moment I’ll wake up and still be that lonely fan writing letters in the dark.”

Sana’s fingers curled over your. “You were never just a fan, Y/N. You changed how we hear ourselves.”

Wind rattled the railing. Their joined hands stayed still, but energy shimmered between skin, a humming wire.

“I want to kiss you,” Sana said as she faced your side-profile in a breathless honesty. “But only if you feel ready.”

Your pulse skipped. “I am. But maybe…slow?”

“Then we’re doing it slow,” she promised.

She guided your hand to her cheek first, letting you memorize the curve, the faint heat, and its plumpness. Nose, lips, a small freckle near the corner of her mouth she’d once joked about covering with glitter on stage. Only when exploration turned into certainty did she lean forward, lips brushing softly. No rush, no heat yet, just greeting.

You sighed into it, tension uncoiling. A second kiss followed, deeper, a question that you answered with parted lips. Their world filled with her taste: sweet tea, a hint of citrus balm. A quiet whimper escaped Sana, vibrating against your mouth, and need crackled like static.

But footsteps shuffled in the hallway, Jeongyeon checking windows, and they pulled apart, laughing hushed. Boundaries respected, desire banked like glowing coals.

“Soon,” Sana whispered. “When it’s just us.” And you nodded.

During the next week, routines knitted themselves.

At morning: A group chat audio round-robin where each member sent thirty seconds of “What I’m doing” so that you pay attention to a chorus of mundane intimacy. Dahyun brushing teeth while rapping, Momo counting sit-ups, Mina playing scales.

At afternoon: Physical therapy with Jeongyeon, who insisted stretching eased the cane-arm ache. She narrated each movement, praising every centimeter of progress until your cheeks burned.

At evening: Psychology talks with Tzuyu via voice call. They dismantled anxiety triggers, built coping strategies, and did breathing rhythms that matched to your favorite BPMs of TWICE songs.

Some nights someone stayed over; other nights all nine departed quietly, letting you reclaim solitary space. Boundaries became braided cords: flexible, strong.

The fandom, surprisingly, began shifting too. After the livestream, a wave of supportive hashtags trended. For every hateful comment, five gentle ones surfaced, fans sharing stories of their own disabilities, mental struggles, queer identities. You listened, amazed, as community bloomed in cracks left by cruelty.

Then another storm rolled in.

Dispatch posted alleged “exclusive photos” of Sana entering a boutique hotel with a “mystery partner.” The partner’s face was blurred, body swathed in black, and easy for headlines to claim it was you. A follow-up article insinuated a “polyamorous entanglement among members and one fan,” dripping with scandalized language.

The internet howled again.

Sana was shattered. She called you, voice thin as rice paper. “It wasn’t you,” she kept repeating. “It was my cousin from Osaka, she missed her flight home and I booked a room. I swear…”

You soothed her, though anger simmered in your gut. After the call, they hit record and spoke. A message for TWICE, but also themselves:

“I refuse to be apologetic for loving and being loved. Let’s answer lies with truth, not secrecy.”

They suggested a controlled interview: honest, protective, boundary-setting. Jihyo took the idea to management; surprisingly, JYP agreed, desperate to steer narrative back to music before comeback promotions.

A week later, you sat beside Jihyo and Sana in a small studio, lights dimmed. The journalist, a respected woman known for sensitivity, asked frank questions.

“Did any member of TWICE enter a romantic relationship with Y/N?”

Sana’s fingers slid into yours. Microphones captured the faint hitch of breath.

“Yes,” Sana said. You looked at her “I did.” She paused, voice firm. “And anything beyond that is private and consensual.”

“Are other members involved romantically as well?”

Jihyo shook her head slightly. “We all love him deeply. Each bond is unique. Some friendship, some family, one romance. But we stand together.”

The journalist turned to you. “How do you navigate public scrutiny?”

You inhaled. “I do it by remembering that blindness doesn’t make me fragile, and their fame doesn’t make them untouchable. We meet in the middle, where human hearts beat.”

When the segment aired, there was backlash of course, but also overwhelming admiration. The calm transparency disarmed many skeptics. Sales spiked for TWICE’s upcoming album preview. Hashtags trended again, this time mostly celebratory.

A month from the first fan sign, TWICE planned a quiet anniversary dinner at the dorm, but Mina secretly booked a small studio instead: empty, acoustically rich, floor lined with plush mats and scattered pillows.

When you arrived, guided by Momo’s hand, you heard it first: the heartbeats of anticipation and the hush of bodies waiting. Then music: the demo Jihyo had once shared, now fully produced. It swelled through speakers, but the girls didn’t sing along. Instead they moved around you, brushing fingertips over arms, shoulders, hair as they mapping gratitude in touch.

Mina knelt, pressing a wireless headphone set into your  palms. “Isolate the layers,” she murmured. “See what you feel.”

You slipped them on. Vocals peeled apart: Dahyun’s airy ad-libs glittering like distant bells; Chaeyoung’s low harmony hugging the root note; Sana’s ribbon-bright refrain; Jihyo’s steady mezzo holding everything upright.

Tears gathered in your eyes. “It feels like…home.”

Nayeon slipped behind, wrapping arms gently around your waist. Her lips near your ear: “And you are our home too, Y/N.

Later, when laughter faded and others drifted off to clean up, Sana stayed. She rested her head on your lap, humming fragments of old ballads. Fingertips danced idly along your thigh. Innocent, yet promise-laden.

“Come back with me tonight?” she asked.

Heat coiled low in your belly. Images flickered with silk sheets, whispered names, skin against skin. Still, you spoke steady: “Yes. But we set our pace together.”

Sana smiled against their jeans. “Our pace. Our rules.”

Their palms met, heartbeat to heartbeat, the night vibrating with anticipation. Smolder, not yet blaze. But the spark had been struck, bright enough to light every shadow.

Before leaving the studio, Jihyo pressed a small recorder into your han. Its edges cushioned in velvet so they’d know by touch it was special.

“Record your voice sometimes,” she urged. “Tell us how you feel. We want to listen, too.”

You clutched it, moved beyond measure. “Deal.”

Outside, Seoul’s night wind carried muffled city noise with mix of car horns, distant chatter, neon buzzing. But beneath it, you heard something else: nine distinct heartbeats woven with their own, a living chord neither fame nor rumor could unmake.

You smiled into the dark, ready for whatever came next. When the night had fully wrapped the city by the time you followed Sana into her apartment that is quiet, warm, scented faintly with vanilla and citrus. No cameras, no noise, no shadows trailing them. Just two people and the echo of something long building between them.

Sana didn’t flick the lights on. She didn’t need to.

“Do you want anything?” she asked softly. “Water? Food?”

You shook their head. “Just you.”

It was the most honest thing you have ever said.

She took your hand- slow and intentional - and led you into her bedroom. Fabric rustled. The bed creaked gently. Sana closed the door behind them, sealing the moment.

You didn’t know what to expect. You only knew what you felt.

A heartbeat. A breath. A presence coming closer.

Then lips, feather-light at first, were brushing over yours  like a whispered yes.

Sana didn’t rush. She let her fingers speak before anything else. Tracing your  jawline, she murmured, “Tell me what feels good. What you want.”

You swallowed hard. “Let me… touch you first. Learn you.”

Sana guided your hands gently over her collarbone, down her sides, along her ribcage. Her skin was soft and fleshy, warmed by anticipation. Every breath she took told you something new: when she leaned into a palm, when she shivered slightly at the graze of fingertips over her stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered.

She chuckled, low and flushed. “You haven’t even seen me.”

“I don’t have to.”

Their hands found the hem of her shirt. Sana helped them lift it over her head, then pressed her forehead to theirs.

“You make me feel seen,” she breathed. “More than any stage ever has.”

She kissed you again, deeper now, hunger threaded through it. Her lips were plush, movements fluid, but there was nothing careless. Every shift was a question, every sigh an answer.

You leaned back on the mattress, pulling her gently with them.

The air grew heavier, thick with need but still lined with reverence. Sana straddled you, guiding your hands to her hips, her thighs, then up again as she let you explore slowly, mapping her with care.

“Is this okay?” she asked when fingers brushed the underside of her bra.

You nodded. “Yes. You?”

“More than okay.”

She unclasped it herself, guiding it away, then pressed your palms to her bare handful pair of breasts. You memorized the softness, the heat, the stillness of her nipples. The way she trembled just slightly beneath their touch made something inside them ache with tenderness.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Sana whispered.

“Warm,” you said honestly as you squeezed their softness, feeling her skin sink through the gaps on your fingers.  “Like your heartbeat’s under my hands. Like I could stay here forever.” “Then stay, and never let go. You can have me whenever you want, baby.” Sana tugged your head deeper into her chest, your face pressed on her cleavage. “Would you like to give them a taste? I want to feel your mouth on them too, baby.” You nodded in response before ducking in and capturing her nipple into your mouth, sucking it gently. Sana gasped and bit her lips as she whimpered at the gentle pulling of her skin through your moist lips. You coated them with your spit before proceeding to another, in which Sana making sure to guide you around her tits while brushing your hair slowly. It’s like she’s nursing a baby in her arms for a breastfeed.

“You’ve done a good job, my Y/N, but now I want more of you.” She lifted you away from her delicious mounds and kissed the corner of your mouth, then began tugging at your clothes in return. Bit by bit, you allowed it from your shirt to your pants as your skin revealed in increments, matched by kisses and murmured reassurances.

When you lay fully exposed beneath her, you felt held, not vulnerable.

Sana ran her mouth down to your chest, kissing the sensitive space over your sternum, dragging her tongue lightly to test your reactions. You gasped when she grazed a nipple with her teeth, nothing harsh, just enough to ignite.

“You’re so responsive,” she said softly. “I love that.”

You arched slightly beneath her, fingers sinking into her hair. “I love you.”

She paused.

The words hovered in the air, weighty, tender, and full of permission.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And I’m yours. All of me.”

Then her mouth was back on yours, lips and tongue mapping a new geography. She took her time, sliding lower, her breath hot along your stomach, her fingers never far from theirs.

When she reached the center of their desire, she hesitated just long enough to ask, “Do you want me to?”

You whispered, “Please.”

She removed your underwear, releasing your erect cock into the air for the first time to her full sight. Sana hummed seductively as she smelled its fragrant smell, hovering it all over her face and peppered your length with smooches. If only you can see how dangerously sexy Sana has been staring at you with your throbbing cock in her hand, slowly pumping it with all ease while wobbling your balls using the other. Sana moved with practiced grace, but her intention wasn’t to perform, it was to connect. Her mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses and licks between your thighs, then deeper until she reaches your balls and underside of your shaft, tasting you slowly as you responded with every twitch and moan.

Your world narrowed to pure sensation: her tongue were now swirling at the tip then goes for a push to take you more in her mouth, the pressure of her fingers circling gently as she bobs her head to your cock, the hum of her approval when you gasped and bucked beneath her.

She didn’t stop until your climax crested and crashed like a wave, you cried out, fingers clenching in the sheets and onto her hair, body arching as you release lots of cum on her warm mouth.

When it passed, Sana emptied every drop and swallowed them obediently before returning to you, kissing you and cleaned the residue in your tip through the aftershocks. She then went curling beside you and stroked your hair.

“You taste incredible,” she murmured.

You, still catching your breath, turned to press a kiss to her cheek. “Your turn.”

She laughed. “Only if you’re ready.”

“I want to learn you,” you said. “Show me how.”

With gentle instruction, Sana guided you, from what pressure to use, what pace she liked, where her moans deepened into whimpers. You paid attention to everything: how her thighs trembled, how she gasped when your mouth found the right spot, how her fingers tangled in the sheets and grip your head when she was close.

When she came, she cried out your name, voice cracking with pleasure and surrender as she squirted her love juices onto your mouth, with some staining your face wet.

You and her together lay tangled afterward, bare skin pressed to bare skin, sweat cooling in the quiet room.

No one spoke for a long time until both decided to go for some few rounds. As per Sana’s request, she wanted you to sent her into various positions she wanted to try: whether in missionary, on fours, cowgirl, and straddling you in sitting position around the bed, in which you did your best to give her the best experience possible with you. Your intimate session ended with Sana having the biggest smile of satisfaction in her face, laid beside you who is covered with sweat as well from the alternating changes of pace you both had went to on the rhythm of your bodies joint together. She shifted her leg below your abdomen, and slowly succumb together on exhaustion.

The morning after, you woke to Sana tracing letters on your back.

“Guess what I’m writing.”

You smiled, groggy. “No idea.”

“L-O-V-E,” she said, giving it also a slight tone like how it was sang in Talk That Talk. “It’s cheesy but I don’t care.”

You turned, pulling her closer. “Neither do I.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple, lips lingering. “You still feel safe with me?”

“Always.”

You stayed wrapped in each other a little longer. Before breakfast, Sana has given you a quick blowjob as she saw your morninghood in full effect, triggering her hormones to help it relax. After you filled her mouth with the protein of your warm cum, both of you are now downstairs as you watch Sana hum while making eggs. You leaned against the counter, smiling at her off-key tune.

It wasn’t a performance. It was real life. Messy, quiet, and beautiful.

TWICE’s next public event was a fan showcase for their new album before they kickoff their world tour. They low-key, invited you who is sitting in the front row, guided by Jeongyeon and Dahyun, a quiet badge pinned to your shirt: “Guest of Honor.”

No scandal. No whispers. Just love.

When Sana performed her solo stage, her final note lingered longer than written, and she looked directly at you as she sang it. The crowd noticed. There were soft sighs, a few happy cheers, but no outrage.

Thankfully, the fandom had grown in acceptance for you.

Backstage, later, Sana tucked herself into your side. “They see us now.”, she whispered.

You held her hand. “Thank you for that, Sana. But what’s more special about you is that, like the girls, you’ve always seen me… only is it that yours had you charmed by the nature of me.”

And in the quiet that followed, it was true. Sight didn’t matter. Sound did. Touch did. So did the heartbeat. It was simply a melody combined that all followed to this moment. 

And the love that is messy, blazing, and soft…  was always something you will always feel. - EPILOGUE -

The room was quiet, heavy with anticipation and something unspoken. All nine members of TWICE stood in a loose semicircle in front of you. Sana stood closest, her hand entwined with yours, squeezing gently, grounding, and steady. On the table in front of them sat a sleek, black case.

You tilted their head. “What’s going on?”

Jihyo cleared her throat, voice warm. “This was Sana’s idea… but it became something all of us wanted to do.”

“You gave us a different kind of strength,” Dahyun said. “You reminded us our voices mean more than stage lights.”

“You heard us,” said Jeongyeon softly, “even when we weren’t singing.”

“And you never needed eyes to truly see us,” Chaeyoung added, her voice trembling.

Sana guided your hand to the case. “We thought… maybe now, we could help you see the world that made everybody saw us because of you. It’s a signature of gratitude for having you entering our lives, Y/N.

“It’s called a sensory-vision assist device,” Mina said. “It uses audio feedback and environmental mapping to simulate sight.”

“It’s not perfect vision,” Tzuyu added gently, “but it’s a step.”

With shaking fingers, you opened the case. Sleek glasses rested inside. “Try them,” Nayeon whispered. “We’re right here.”

You slid them on.

The world flickered, there were blurred shapes became outlines, motion gained light. And then, Sana’s face: soft, glowing, shimmering… now all in bright colors.

“Oh my God, I can… I can see you,” Y/N breathed. You then turned to the rest, they were just simply breathtaking as well indeed. “I can see all of you.”

Sana touched your cheek, eyes shining both in joy and emotions that is rising. 

“Now you see us, like we’ve always seen you.”

You reached up to touch her cheek, and let out a soft laugh full of tears. “Wow. Y-you’re even more beautiful to look at, more than I could ever imagine.” “I know.” Sana smirked. The girls didn’t acted like they’re disgusted. For once, they let their friend run her joke which is undeniably true anyway, as well as to preserve the wholesome view in front of them. The room burst into applause and gentle laughter. “Now you can get to have this visual of mine anytime you like, it’s also to make sure you’ll never found anybody better than me.” She boastfully pointed herself. “You don’t know how much I just became even more loyal to you, Sana.” You pinched her cheeks and kissed her forehead before she giggled as she invited you to hug which was joined afterwards with the other members as well.

[blackenedsnow]

helloooooo, your writing is amazingggggg and i was hoping it would be okay if i requested a shadowww x reader. Where Maybe sonic ask shadow to bring medicine to you (to try and introduce you to shadow as your sick with something or have a major injury, etc). Shadow prehaps is annoyed but agrees anyways, then however when he meets you sees maria in you. Then veryday to be sure you get better shows up in the morning to help take care of you, and slowly the two become friends then prehaps at the end share a kiss and become lovers? Idk it sounded cute in my head lol.

familiar

WARNING: Illness

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Sick! Reader

NOTE: This is such a cute request and I'm pretty proud of this! Sending you all the love, and I hope this brightens your day a little! Take care of yourself <333

SUMMARY: Shadow reluctantly delivers medicine to you at Sonic’s insistence, but upon meeting you, he’s struck by a haunting familiarity.

It was late afternoon when Shadow approached the house tucked away at the edge of the city, a small bag of medicine clutched in his gloved hand. The only reason he was here, he reminded himself, was because Sonic had all but begged him to.

“Come on, Shadow,” Sonic had said earlier, exasperated but hopeful. “They’re too sick to go anywhere, and I’m tied up with something. Just drop it off and say hi. You might even like them!”

Shadow had scoffed at that. “Highly unlikely.”

Yet here he was, standing at your door. He knocked, sharp and deliberate, and waited.

A muffled voice from inside called, “Coming!”

The door creaked open, revealing you. Despite the exhaustion evident in your eyes and the pallor of your complexion, you greeted him with a weak but genuine smile.

“Oh, you must be… Shadow?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded curtly, holding out the medicine. “Sonic sent me. He thought you might need this.”

You accepted the bag with a quiet “thank you,” looking up at him with an expression so open, so trusting, that it stopped him in his tracks. For a fleeting moment, he was no longer standing at your doorstep but aboard the ARK, looking into the kind eyes of someone he thought he’d lost forever.

Maria.

The resemblance wasn’t physical, but there was something about your demeanor—gentle, unassuming, and kind despite the pain you were clearly in—that tugged at a memory buried deep in his chest.

“You okay?” you asked, noticing his prolonged silence.

He blinked, snapping himself out of the moment. “Fine. Just… don’t forget to take the medicine.”

You chuckled lightly, the sound hoarse but pleasant. “I won’t. Thanks again, Shadow.”

He nodded again, turning on his heel and disappearing into the fading daylight.

To Shadow’s own surprise, he returned the next morning.

It had been a restless night. Thoughts of Maria swirled in his mind, but they mingled with the image of your weary yet kind face. He told himself he was simply being thorough, ensuring you were following the instructions for the medication.

When you opened the door again, wrapped in a blanket and looking just as surprised as you were grateful, Shadow felt the smallest pang of relief.

“You’re back,” you said, stepping aside to let him in.

“You didn’t seem capable of taking care of yourself yesterday,” he replied bluntly, though there was no malice in his tone.

You laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

It became a routine. Every morning, Shadow arrived with something—soup, tea, a fresh supply of tissues—and checked on you. At first, his visits were brief and businesslike. He would make sure you had what you needed and leave with little more than a nod. But as the days passed, the conversations grew longer.

You learned to expect his dry wit and sharp observations, and he found himself oddly drawn to your quiet resilience. Despite how miserable you felt, you always thanked him sincerely, your gratitude genuine and unassuming.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” you said one morning as he set a cup of tea on your bedside table.

“I know,” he replied simply, sitting in the chair he’d claimed as his own.

“Then why?”

He hesitated, his crimson eyes flicking to the floor. “You…” he paused, looking back at you with a sigh. “I don’t know.”

You didn’t press him, sensing the weight of his words, but your soft “Okay, thank you.” carried more meaning than either of you acknowledged.

By the time you were well enough to venture outside again, the bond between you and Shadow was undeniable.

“You don’t have to come by anymore,” you said one evening as he walked you back to your door after a short outing. “But… I’d miss you if you didn’t.”

He paused, his gaze meeting yours. There was something unspoken in his eyes, something vulnerable.

“I’d miss you too,” he admitted, the words slow but sincere.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His eyes widened, and for the first time since you’d met him, Shadow looked genuinely flustered.

“Thank you, Shadow,” you whispered. “For everything.”

His lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, a rare and precious sight. “I... You’re welcome.”

And from that moment on, his visits were no longer about ensuring your recovery—they were about seeing you.

[paintedwritings]

The Battle Between

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 9.9k

Read Part 1 Here!

Summary: Reader now knows that she’s pregnant, with the Spymaster of the Night Court’s baby, after a one night stand. Cue inward groaning. How in the Mother was she supposed to navigate this?

Warning/Notes: Thank you everyone who liked and responded to the first part! I’m excited to write this part, and maybe a part three depending on how this one ends. Angst??? A little, there is gonna be hardships and talk about dangerous pregnancies and fears so just keep that in mind. There is a little self harm in the form of snapping a rubber band–nothing too bad, but just something to keep in mind.

This is my first taglist, hopefully I did it right! Please let me know if there are any problems with it. 

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Y/n 

Pregnant. 

With a baby.

No matter how hard she tried, that one thought kept elbowing its way through all of her defenses, a relentless battering ram against the flimsy walls of her denial. The rest of the day was a blur, a chaotic symphony of buzzing white noise as she finished her shift at the clinic. She had found herself outside a bakery with her sister and friend as she pushed her cinnamon bun around on the plate, their presence barely registering. Mari chatted about her latest project, her voice a distant hum she couldn't focus on. Lena nudged her knee, a question lingering in her wide, familiar eyes: Are you okay?

No.

Y/n was not okay. In fact, she was so far from okay that she couldn't even bring herself to say the problem out loud. Saying it out loud made it real, and she was so not ready to accept it yet. Not even close.

She hadn't even reached a century in age. She was supposed to have all the time in the world to find someone to share this kind of joy– because isn't that how she should feel? Shouldn't she be happy about this kind of news? Some fae tried for decades, for centuries, and weren't able to fall pregnant. And somehow she has a one night stand with a guy she only just met and it happens to her? What had she done to the Mother to warrant such bad luck?

She stared into her empty apartment. She had no idea where Lesa was tonight, couldn't find it in herself to care. She hadn't even remembered the walk home, missed the worried glance between Lena and Mari as they made their own ways home. 

She wasn't ready to tell her sister or any of her friends, so them not being here was really for the best. Her eyes snagged on the bookshelves, the coffee table, even some of the opened cabinets. The kitchen doubled as a dining area, and the two small bedrooms squished together in the back were no bigger than the one bathroom they had access to. 

I can't raise a baby here.

The thought came out of nowhere, bitch-slapping her with a fresh wave of tears as she slid down her door, her hands grappling her poor strands of hair – she could practically hear them screaming as she pulled and yanked just to feel anything other than this numbness. There was absolutely no way she would sleep tonight, not between finding out the…news, and doing her best to forget the man who had gotten her into this mess.

No.

She reminded herself that this was not his fault, not entirely. It took two to tango, and gods, she had wanted to. Why hadn't she made sure to take a tonic afterwards, though? She had had so much going on it hadn't even crossed her mind, especially not with her abysmal attempts at forgetting that night, and the male, so viscerally. But, she was a healer, and a damn good one, taking a tonic should have been at the forefront of her thoughts. Not to mention the signs of early pregnancy that she had been so spectacular at ignoring: She had been utterly exhausted, chalked that up to the hard labor at the clinic and the late nights. Her nausea, which had been so out of the ordinary, she had convinced herself that it was stress, that she just had a lot on her plate. Cauldron, she had even had a sausage bagel the other morning and something about the smell had completely turned her off, and she had just brushed that off.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks painted her face, the outside mirroring her feelings perfectly. She had made mistakes, and they had led her to this point. She was doing her best to come to terms, honestly. But, all she kept coming back to was how this would change her plans: Would Madja take away her internship? The older fae hadn't alluded to this being a problem, but the internship was supposed to last a year and a half– this baby would disrupt at least a third of that time, if not more. She'd have to find her own place, buy all kinds of baby things– gods, what did babies even need? She had absolutely no idea– and that would surely drain her savings. And that's not even considering what would happen once the baby was here, how would she continue to work twelve hour shifts, or over-nights? 

She shook her head, trying desperately to reign in her growing panic. Stress was bad for a baby, right? She'd have to brush up on her readings, reacquaint herself with the information. She knew at this point, the baby was only the size of a pomegranate seed, so maybe stress wasn't her biggest problem right now.

Trying to remember her mother's soothing voice, she took a deep breath. She used to say that if she ever found herself with too much stress, or too many problems, to look at them one at a time. To start with the most ‘in the now’ concerns.

She could do that. Right now, her most pressing concern was to calm the storm that brewed and swirled chaotically inside of her. She needed to keep herself from falling victim to her panic. 

She made her way to the bathroom, splashing cool water on her face. Taking in her reflection, she wondered how something so monumental could leave her looking so… normal. Her hair remained the same shade, her face still symmetrical with both sides meeting in the center of her heart-shaped chin, and her eyes were the same color, still vibrant– still completely her. 

The quiet enveloped her for a moment, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room her only solace of time passing. But it didn't matter, not really, because she always came back to the same question:

How could this have happened? The question burned as it travelled through her, even as her mind provided the answer it already knew by heart: She had—happily—participated in said event that had caused this entire fiasco.

The memories of that night, of him, still resonated with her. She could still picture him perfectly, his dark curls, his honeyed eyes, and that beautiful, rare smile of his. She could hear his laugh, feel his tongue on her– in her. She could still hear his seductive, deep voice in her ears, the way his body had perfectly slotted with hers. And how he had used his body like it was built to sin. The memories were vivid, potent, and now… tainted. Each one a stark reminder of the impossibility of her current situation.

A soft shiver traced its way up her spine, entirely unrelated to the chill of the evening. It was a familiar sensation now, a subtle, cool brush against her skin, the gentle caress of shadows. She’d dismissed them for weeks, attributing them to lingering residual magic or perhaps her own overactive imagination. But tonight, they felt different—agitated, almost pulsing with an urgency she couldn't quite decipher. 

Exiting the bathroom, her bare feet padding softly against the cool tile, she did her best to remind herself that she couldn't change this, wondering how she got here, what she could have done differently– none of that actually changed the fact that it had happened.

“I'm pregnant.” She said aloud to no one in particular. The sob that followed the words did little to soothe the ache in her chest, in her belly. She found herself cradling her stomach, her hand smoothing over the skin that still looked the same, that hadn't grown yet. 

Even as she groaned, collapsing onto her own bed after the longest day of her life, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she could feel the shift in her worries. How in the Cauldron was she going to tell him?

She hadn't so much as seen him around Velaris, or any of the Inner Circle for that matter. The last point of contact had been when Cassian dropped her off at her apartment that morning. Since then, she'd been actively avoiding any places she may accidentally stumble upon them:Rita's, but that was really more because she was busy, she tried to go to the markets a little later in the day, and she even avoided the bookshops she knew Cassian's mate was known to linger in. She didn't know why she was going to such great lengths– well, that wasn't true, not entirely. If she happened to stumble across him, she didn't want to risk him not remembering her, or worse,  of her making a fool out of herself when it was just one night. 

Y/n wasn't an idiot, she knew that the shadowsinger didn't date, gods, he had never been seen in public with any female more than once unless she was a member of the Inner Circle. He was mysterious and alluring and very much untouchable. How could she possibly spring this on him? There wasn't a scenario in her mind where this went well, where he didn't tell her to leave him out of it.

She screamed. Into her pillow. Full force.

Little did she know that somewhere in the corners of her room, the smallest, sneakiest tendril dwelled, keeping an eye on her. And, if it's chaotic whirls or uncoordinated spirals said anything, it had heard everything.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Azriel

The clang of steel echoed through the private training ring deep within the House of Wind, a rhythmic symphony of combat that usually brought Azriel a measure of grim satisfaction. 

Today, it was just noise. 

Cassian, a whirlwind of muscle and easy power, moved with his usual devastating grace, but Azriel was off. He had been off for weeks, and it had started grating on his nerves. He didn't react this way, not to anything, especially not to a female that he had a one-night stand with.

He blocked a sweeping kick that normally would have sent him reeling, but his parry was sluggish, his return strike lacking its usual viper-quick precision. He ducked under a heavy sword swing, his shadows flaring erratically around him, a tell-tale sign of his unsettled mind.

"Lost your edge, brother?" Cassian's voice, usually a booming laugh in the ring, was laced with a knowing smirk as he effortlessly dodged a strike that was too low to the ground. He ducked under a wide swing, his focus miles away, almost taking a glancing blow to the temple.

Azriel parried Cassian's brutal overhead swing, the clash of blades jarring his teeth. He returned with a low thrust, aiming for Cassian's knee, but his movement was a beat too slow, his focus fractured. He saw Cassian's eyes narrow, a flicker of concern mingled with amusement. Another block, then a sidestep that wasn't quite fluid enough. Cassian's elbow caught him squarely in the ribs, a breath-stealing impact that would usually infuriate him into faster, deadlier action. 

But today, it just felt dull, distant.

 Cassian grunted, twisting away from a half-hearted swipe to his legs. Azriel felt a flicker of heat, not from exertion, but from Cassian hitting too close to a nerve. He pushed back, harder, trying to banish the apple-blossom scent and the memory of soft, intoxicating skin from his mind.

His shadows swarmed chaotically, proving no help to him in the ring today. If he was being honest with himself, they hadn't been much help to him the past few weeks. Ever since that night. Almost as if he had lost his complete control over them, as if they now answered to another that he wasn't privy to. 

 "Or just dreaming of... ghosts?” Cassian quipped, a predatory grin on his face as he pressed his advantage. Something knowing glinted in the war General's eyes, an assessment that screamed he knew more than he was letting on. 

Azriel couldn't help the soft, but deadly growl that slipped from between his lips. He rushed Cassian, his sword sweeping wide as he feigned right, but Cassian saw it from a mile away. His footwork was amateur at best, his movements sluggish and sloppy. Cassian merely sidestepped the wild lunge, his own blade a blur. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he expertly hooked Azriel's sword, wrenching it from his grasp with a clang that echoed loudly through the silent training ring. 

Azriel found himself suddenly disarmed, breathless, and glaring at the empty space where his weapon had been. Cassian, breathing only slightly harder than normal, lowered his own sword until its tip rested gently against Azriel's throat. 

"Like I said, brother," he murmured, his grin widening, "definitely off your game."

He withdrew the blade, sheathing it with a decisive click. "You done for the day? Or do I need to kick your ass again?”

Azriel didn't bother with a response. Quietly getting to his feet, he grabbed the sword and placed it in its home amongst the other blades and scabbards. He made his way to the water cooler, ignoring the concerned look etching its way onto his brother's face with expert precision. 

An all-too-familiar ache took over him, his hand finding his chest on instinct. He hadn't been able to shake the emptiness that burrowed deep within him. It had only gotten worse the past few weeks, that sensation becoming a close friend– or enemy– that had stayed past its welcome.

“Seriously, Az, what gives?” Azriel loved his brother, he did, but that didn't mean his insistent poking and prodding didn't drive him up the wall. 

Had he been off his game lately? Yes. That didn't mean he needed constant check-ins, though. This was his problem, and he'd be damned if he didn't figure it out on his own. 

“Not sleeping well, that's all.” Vague, but hopefully enough to satiate Cassian's curiosity. 

That was an understatement, though. Azriel had never really slept well, he bordered the insomniac line, and usually found more comfort in resting, then actually sleeping. He had never known what he was missing out on, his sleep schedule perfect for his spy work, but that night? 

The night spent with her. 

Y/n.

The memories of that morning, weeks ago, flooded him. He had woken up then, the midmorning sun beaming in through the glass doors. For the first time in his five centuries of life, he had felt completely at peace. There were no lingering nightmares, no stress about upcoming missions; he hadn't even woken up to go to training. His shadows had kept to themselves in the corners, quiet and content, not rousing him. He had been shocked when he realized he had slept so late, had been even more shocked when he realized the beautiful fae he had brought home was nowhere to be found. The only signs she had even been there: his naked body and her lingering apple-blossom scent.

Ordinarily, Azriel made sure to go somewhere else, either the female's apartment or maybe even an inn. Never, had he brought a female back to his home, to his room. It made things complicated. Sometimes, it gave the wrong idea, made them think that because he'd brought them home, he'd want to continue the previous night's activities. He didn't like to give them false hope, no, it was much easier this way. 

His bedroom was his sacred place, the space he went to get away from everyone else, where no one could touch him. For some reason, though, he hadn't even thought about bringing her there. It had been instinct, he had wanted to see her splayed out on his bed. It made it easier to convince himself that she had been his, even if it was just for that night.

He hadn't even changed his sheets, hadn't allowed the House to do it, either. Admitting why he felt comfort in that scent, in her, though? Well, he hadn't even attempted to touch that line of thinking; it was too dangerous, too vulnerable. He simply accepted that he couldn't change what brought him comfort; why should he have to explain it?

He'd been expecting to wake up with her in his bed, his arm slung around her– maybe even have a passionate morning rendition of the night before. But, instead he'd woken up to find her gone, her side of the bed cold and deserted. She had begged Cassian to bring her home, gods, she hadn't even wanted to see him. It made him wonder if she had had as good a night as him. She had seemed to enjoy herself, if her three orgasms, that he had on constant repeat in his mind, were any indication.

No, she must have enjoyed herself, right?

Then why did she flee?

He shut that thought down as quickly as it came. He didn't have time to ponder her thoughts or what might have been. It was a one night stand and he needed to accept that. He needed to get her off of his god-damned mind.

“That's never stopped you from handing me my ass before,” Cassian continued, his eyes burning into the back of Azriel's head. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to be. 

And, he had taken her home that morning. Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn't a little irritated with his brother over it. He could have woken him, could have told him she wanted to go home, he would have gotten her there safely. And, maybe, he wouldn't be feeling this incomplete mess, he'd have… closure.

Surely that was all he needed.

Crushing the cup in his hand before tossing it into the bin, he shrugged, “Maybe I thought you deserved a win,” before Cassian could respond, Azriel was out of the training ring and walking to his room, ignoring the sound of his name being called. 

He held his breath the whole way there, trying desperately to reign in his jumbled feelings. He was the spymaster for crying out loud. He didn't falter when faced with enemies, or wars, or missions– nothing shook him. He needed to be a solid force for his family, his court to rely on– not some heaving mess of a male.

Azriel's mind was a maelstrom. He shot through the halls of the House of Wind, propelled by an urgency that overshadowed all else. His earlier ache had solidified into a heavy, leaden weight in his chest. He reached his room, barely registering the familiar darkness before his eyes snapped to the balcony doors and  that clawing, nagging voice in the back of his head made itself known once more.

Why couldn't he move past this, past her?

He slammed his fist against the wall beside the balcony, the sound echoing in his room. He heard the crack, felt it deep in his body as his knuckles caved under the laden stone of the wall. The skin splitting easily, the blood pooling as he took in the wrecked bones.

He couldn't find it in himself to care, not when it was the safest, most comfortable feeling he'd had in weeks.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Y/n

Strong, calloused hands cupped her face. Deep, molten pools of honey staring intensely into her own deep wells. His lean body pressed against hers, shivers running the length of her arms as they chased his shadows.

“Azriel,” she breathed, his teeth catching her bottom lip as she let her hands roam over every glorious inch of him she could reach. His skin was dipped in pure heat, the places her fingers met only enhancing the warmth blossoming in her core.

She couldn't get enough, not as he finally breached that distance, his mouth claiming hers in with an animalistic glint in his eyes. He didn't simply kiss, he savored, he coaxed, and then devoured. His fingers found their way to her scalp, wrapping around the hair there and pulling, just enough to elicit a moan from her, just enough for his tongue to slip in. He ate the noises slipping from between her lips, his tongue quickly won the battle of dominance. 

Her hands found their place on his sides, running along the muscle and finding the curve of his ass as he continued to kiss the daylight out of her. He groaned and shifted against her aching core, right where she wanted him. She could feel his arousal, could do nothing but beg for him to end her misery.

“Please,” she whispered between kisses, “Please, don't stop,” his smile resembled something sinful, something utterly devilish, it only appeared for a moment, just long enough for her to rock her pelvis against his, a hiss coming out.

“Patience, pretty,” he cooed, his tongue finding the pulse point on her neck, sucking and licking before placing a soft, almost reverent kiss to it. 

“We have all the time in the world.”

Y/n woke with a brutal start, the moonlight from her window barely lighting enough space for her to throw herself out of bed and whip the door open. She had mere seconds between slamming into the bathroom, her knees cracking against the tile floor before retching violently into the porcelain bowl.

She’s not sure how long she stayed there, her hair a mess of waves around her, hugging the toilet like it was her best friend, all the while her throat constricted and burned as she continued to vomit, her stomach swirling dangerously.

She heard Lesa's door open, but couldn't pull herself away from the toilet long enough to investigate. Not that she needed to, the small blond poked her head into the bathroom, sleep still lingering on her delicate features.

“You okay?” She yawned. Her feet making soft noises as she padded over, collecting Y/n's hair and holding it back as another tremor made its way through her.

She barely managed a ‘no’ before the sickness took over. Lesa cooed quietly at her, grabbing a rag and wetting it before dabbing Y/n's face, securing her hair with a leather band, and flushing the evidence down the toilet.

Finally, after what felt like hours, her stomach settled. The cold compress the only real relief against her shaking limbs. She leaned against the tub as Lesa handed her a glass of water and some medication. 

“I can't believe you're still this sick,” she shook her head, golden curls getting tucked behind her ear as she took care in watching over her friend. “Are you sure it's just stress? I know it's rare for fae to get sick, but this isn't normal.”

If she had more energy she may have cursed herself for not having the foresight to stay with Lena. Her sister was many things, but a healer was not one of them. She would be worried, but she wouldn't have put it together this quickly. She could already see the wheels spinning in Lesa's intelligent gray eyes as she mentally ticked off all the possibilities.

She had met Lesa at a herbalist retreat years ago. Lesa had made a comment about how she thought the moonbloom flowers she and Y/n had been tasked with researching were in love– and therefore couldn't be seperated. Y/n had thought she was a quack– and to be fair, she is– but she’s her quack. The two quickly found shared interests and common ground when they realized they were both in school to become healers. It hadn't taken long for their bond to solidify, and they'd been thick as thieves ever since. 

She wiped her mouth with the rag, dropping the disgusting thing in the laundry basket as Lesa slowly helped her to her feet. They remained quiet as they made their way to the living room couch, there was no way either of them were getting back to sleep. She could already see dawn cresting the sky as daytime began to take over, the moon finding its home lower in the sky as minutes ticked on.

Lesa brought her a pack of bland crackers and more water, settling next to her as they watched the sunrise. She didn't pressure or ask invasive questions, she just sat there and waited until Y/n was ready. 

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered so quietly she wasn't sure Lesa could hear her. Lesa hummed, as if she already suspected, her hand rubbing soothing lines up and down her back. “And, I'm terrified,” she added, even quieter. 

Lesa smiled at her, pearl, straight teeth on full display as she worked her magic. Lesa had this magnetic pull, she could make anyone feel at ease, it was just her personality. She’s kind and gentle, and a huge gooey romantic. And Y/n couldn't think of anyone else she wanted helping her at this moment.

“That's normal, being terrified– I mean.” She laid her head on Y/n's shoulder, her sweet cinnamon and cardamom scent wafting around them. “It's a massive adjustment to a person's life, even in the beginning before anything really changes.”

She felt the tears forming, and did her best to hold them back as she said, “I don't know if I'm happy about it.” She let out a hysterical laugh that definitely bordered on crazed. “Gods, Les, what does that say about me?” Running her hand down her face, smearing the stubborn tears that had fallen, she met her friend’s kind– completely non-judgmental face.

“It doesn't say anything about you. It just means that you're coming to terms, that you need time to find a balance between what you thought your life would be, and how this could change things.”

This would change things, there was no doubt about that. There were so many aspects of her life that would be different than how she expected them to be. But, despite all that, she found herself leaning into Lesa, her warmth a shield against all those scary, and troubling thoughts.

“What would we do without you?” She said affectionately.

Lesa giggled, “Crash and burn, no doubt. Now, since you're feeling better, I'm going to go get the others so we can have a proper chat about this,” Y/n groaned, already dreading the interrogation she wouldn't be able to escape. 

Despite that, she smiled for the first time since finding out this life-altering news.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

The interrogation with her sister and friends had gone about as well as she could have hoped for:

Lesa had remained a pillar. Staying unbiased and guiding the conversation effectively. And, she threw in a few ‘oohs,’ and ‘ahhs,’ whenever Azriel was mentioned– they all knew he had to be the father, he had been the only person she’d been with in nearly a year–the timing matched perfectly.

Mari had stared at her for about three minutes, her mouth falling open in a perfect 'O' of shock. Then her gaze had shifted from that of surprise to concerned. A faint crease appeared between her brows as if she was trying to fit this unexpected piece into the complex tapestry of Y/n's life. "Is this something you want?” Not once, in their seventy-five years of friendship had either of them ever mentioned children. They were simply young in terms of fae.

Peri– the quietest of them had been a rock amongst her storm. She listened intently, didn't move or speak for a long moment. Then, with a quiet solemnity, she simply reached out, her hand finding Y/n's and squeezing, her gaze steady and filled with an unspoken, deep understanding that bypassed all the chaos. She had put her arm around her and didn’t let her go.

Lena had gone through the full spectrum of emotions. She had started with denial–she had actually laughed. And when Y/n hadn’t yelled “psych” and started laughing too, Lena’s laugh had quickly morphed into hysteria. That had quickly bled into outrage, mainly at Azriel, briefly cursing him through their shared tattoo, or threatening to make good on her scrote to throat comment.

When she finally calmed down, her anxiety had strapped its shields and lifted its blades. She had been the one to voice the question they all had: How are you going to tell him?

She hadn’t been able to answer that, and it only made the pit in her stomach evolve into something aggressive and terrifying. Maybe she could just like… send him a postcard or something? 

She wondered how long she could get away with ignoring this. She probably had another few weeks before she really started showing, not a lot of time, but maybe enough to wrap her head around it.

The real issue was that she didn’t actually know how to get in contact with him. If she did, what would he say? She hadn’t gotten the impression that he was the kind of male to be cruel or outright ignore her, but she really didn’t know him that well. And, this wasn’t like she was asking for a second date, this was a baby.

Cauldron, how did one even begin to introduce that into a conversation. “Hey, shadowsinger, remember that one night weeks ago when you rocked my whole world. Well, surprise! Here’s a forever present in the form of my womb.” 

She couldn’t stop the physical reaction to that stupid thought, her head nearly slamming against the table. She’d give herself a few more weeks to figure it out, maybe then she could finally start to wrap her head around this whole thing.

Hours later, the soft clinking of glass and the gentle murmur of voices filled the air in Madja's busy clinic. The afternoon rush had just ended, and interns bustled between treatment rooms and the apothecary, each absorbed in their end of day tasks.

She hummed a quiet, off-key tune as she carefully arranged newly mixed Sunpetal Bloom salves on a display shelf. She prided herself on the perfect order of her workspace, a small pocket of calm in the sometimes hectic environment. She reached for another perfectly preserved Moonwhisper Leaf, her movements precise and practiced. 

Yet, even as she focused, a strange undercurrent of anticipation prickled at her skin. The energy in the clinic felt... different today. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor, like distant thunder, seemed to vibrate beneath the stone floor. She paused, tilting her head slightly, doing her best to convince herself it was nothing but fatigue–she hadn’t slept much last night between the nightmares and sickness.

She put the last vial away when she heard the distinct chirp of the front bell. She had a few more hours before the end of her shift, so without hesitation she grabbed her clip-board and made her way towards the charming sound. 

She came to an abrupt halt when her eyes collided with the back of a very large, very identifiable male. 

Maybe if she turned back now–

He spun around, his wings swiping through the air, the action causing the loose hair around her face to move chaotically. Hazel eyes collided with her round ones, her mouth slightly agape as she blinked like a moron. In all fairness, he stared at her just as dumbly, as if he couldn’t think of one possible reason why she would be here.

Beautiful. It’s really the only way to describe this male. Or yummy, that also worked. His hair curled slightly behind his ears, his massive wings gleaming a soft pink against the golden rays of the sun. His leathers sinfully tight against his impressive, powerful figure. 

She wet her lips subconsciously, his eyes immediately snapping to the action, his eyes darkening to the purest obsidian. She blushed furiously at being caught practically salivating over him, in front of him. 

Before either of them could come up with something to stammer out that would definitely be stupid or completely inappropriate, her spine stiffened as pain attached itself to her. The edges of her vision shredded with deep purples and twisted reds as her mind finally caught up with her magic –sensing the pain in the room. 

On instinct, her eyes scanned for the cause. Her sensory perception peeled around the edges of her vision as she located the injury in one of his hands, a phantom pain taking over her own as she took a closer step. 

When she's in close proximity and focusing, she sees or feels flickers, distortions, and concentrations of energy where pain or injury resides. It can help her to pinpoint injuries, even unseen ones like internal bruising or hairline fractures, with incredible accuracy. 

It's like a thermal map for discomfort.

Healer mode snapped into place, immediate and absolute. She moved towards him, closing the distance between them, her steps purposeful. When she reached him, she gently took his injured hand in hers, her touch firm, but careful. 

Despite her professionalism, she did her best to avoid his gaze, an easy feat when she needed to assess the extent of his injury anyways.She barely managed to capture the hiss that whizzed by her teeth as she got a better look at the mangled bones. This was not a small injury, from the looks of it, every single bone had shattered leaving nothing but jagged and loose pieces of bone floating about. 

Gods, he could have severed tendons or important ligaments, any healer would have to be very careful when trying to move his bones back into their rightful place. That wouldn’t account for the time it’d actually take to meld them back together, even then, he’d still have to wait for his own healing magic to set them. This process would take hours, and probably several sessions.

"What happened?" Her voice, though low, was sharp with professional demand. “And when?” She readjusted her grip to his wrist, trying to see if the injuries had ricocheted to bones further up his arm.

His feet readjusted, ever so slightly, almost as if unconsciously, before he let out a low, “I think I–broke it.” His fucking voice. She slammed so hard against her instinct to move closer, to smell him. Gods, what was happening to her?

Once again, it took her mind an embarrassingly long moment to out pace her body, but when it did–

Had he said he ‘thinks’ he broke it?

His hand was so far past broken, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to fix it without the help of more healers. It would have been easier to reattach a severed hand. This was practically a thousand piece puzzle, each piece the exact same color, no distinction whatsoever.

Her head shot up on instinct, catching him already looking down at her, eyes hooded, Adam's apple bobbing. She couldn’t help but notice the stubble he’d grown, his skin kissed by the sun as if he’d spent the morning in an open training ring– her eyes narrowed, he’d better not have been training in this state. 

That thought kicked her right back into gear, “Yes, Azriel, it’s broken, shattered would be more precise,” she murmured as she went back to watching his hand, doing her best to hide the slight tremor in them as she resumed her movements. She held her breath as she took in the scars adorning his skin, the brutal marks that promised the memory of pain. She swallowed hard, it took an awful lot for fae skin, especially with Illyrian healing, to scar like that. 

She missed the way his eyes heated as she spoke his name, the sound rolling off her tongue coated in honey. She began leading him to the back of the clinic, bringing him to one of the sickbeds so they could get started.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“A few days.”

“I need you to be more specific than that, shadowsinger. Sit.” She demanded, placing her clipboard on the desk as she washed her hands, black gloves sliding on seamlessly. She also grabbed a rubber band and wrapped it around her wrist. Snapping it just once.

“Two days ago. I–” he looked sheepish, just a tad bit as her disapproving eyes bore into him. “I thought it would heal itself.”

That, she believed. He watched her intently as she fluttered about in her environment, her ease and determination making it obvious how talented and dedicated she was to her work. She placed salves, needles, rags, and a pair of tweezers on her stainless steel cart. All sorts of medicines and herbs littered along the walls, along with charts and posters, "Our healers run on coffee, good intentions, and the sheer disbelief that you actually tried that." Y/n had found it funny, and it usually worked as a good icebreaker, so bonus.

“What did you do?” She put a pair of magnifiers on, pulling up a seat next to where she had his hand displayed for her. She placed her hand over his, skin to skin contact usually worked best, but Madja had found gloves that could mimic the sensation, still allowing them to be safe and avoid cross-contamination. Cauldron, she loved the new ideas and trinkets that fae all over came up with these days.

As soon as her hand hovered underneath his she could feel the violent hum of her magic as it did its best to navigate the injury. Her eyes watched the thin, silver strand of her magic as it followed the natural path of the injury from start to finish. She could see that his knuckles had made the first impact, the bones flattening against what had probably been a steady, firm surface– more than likely stone or cement. 

Phantom flares of pain bounced along her bones as she did her best to take it away from him. 

He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation of her magic moving from her body to his, the immediate relief of pain as she sucked the feeling into her magic and through her own body– her magic was truly fascinating, some would even say amazing, but it came at a price. She couldn’t take his pain without transferring it somewhere else. In this case, straight into her own body. But, her body had always been better at handling pain and she naturally healed faster than ordinary fae. Not to mention her pain tolerance was through the roof, whether because of her magic or from taking others' pain so often, she wasn’t sure. 

It was a small price to pay when it came to helping her patients heal faster, and have a more comfortable experience. 

“I punched the wall,” he said, so low she almost missed it. “It’s made of obsidian stone, my hand went straight through,” she stopped, her enlarged eyes meeting his, a small smile pulling at his lips as he took her in. Large goggles adorned her face, eyes the size of saucers and her nose turned up to keep the glasses on as she stared at him.

“You broke through obsidian stone?” She finally pulled away, placing his hand down slowly. Wheeling her chair over to her clipboard as she recorded her findings. Detailing her professional thoughts and her findings, while also adding insights and possible solutions.

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He said simply. 

She guessed that was the end of that conversation. The how didn’t matter too much, though. She knew the general way he’d broken his hand, and the rest? Well, she had just wanted to know more. She cursed herself inwardly, she should not be asking this man more questions than necessary. 

She hadn’t even had a moment to think about her pregnancy during all of this, though she did quickly make sure that her glamours were intact. Surely now was not a good time to mention it? He seemed… vulnerable. And, she had only known for a few days, she hadn’t expected him to just walk into the clinic she worked at. She thought she had more time.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she stood, her hands crossing as she informed him of her professional opinion. “So there’s good and bad news,” she said, her eyes meeting his, each time seeming to make it harder to look away. “The good news is that it doesn’t seem to have traveled past the bones in your hands, the ones directly surrounding your knuckles were affected the most.” She crossed her legs as she leaned against the desk, doing her best to keep eye contact.

Come on, Y/n. He’s just like any other patient. It doesn’t matter that she knew what it felt like to have those fingers inside of her.

NO. 

Gods, what was wrong with her?

She snapped the rubber band once, twice, three times just to be safe.

She cleared her throat, “the bad news is that you’ve completely wrecked the bones that did break. They aren’t healing because the impact caused them to break into pieces that then, over the course of two days, have moved and mixed in such a way that they can’t mend themselves back together. Imagine a cup of dice being shaken. Your bones are the dice, your hand–the cup.”

He stared at her like she was speaking another language. He scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he asked, “But it can be fixed?”

Without hesitation, “Yes.” She offered him a piece of paper, the one she’d been taking notes on, a small diagram of the bones drawn out to make it easier to understand. It would help any other healers that may need to work on his injury.

“As long as you don’t use it, try and keep it elevated, and-under no circumstances- should you be training.” Her eyes hardened, locking with his as he swallowed, hard. She may not be the most intimidating, but he was hurt–which made him her patient, even if just for a short while– She doesn’t mess around when it comes to her patients' health. So she stared into his eyes, “Capiche?” 

His jaw twitched, somewhere between a grimace and a wicked grin. It was incredibly sexy. She slipped her finger between the band on her wrist and let it fly. Bad Y/n. “For how long?” She did her best to hide the shock from the cool coated sensation that wrapped around her wrist, was that a…shadow?

Pointing at the diagrams she handed him, she continued, “This outlines the treatment method, you are free to consult any other professionals you trust, I know you and your family work with Madja a lot, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you out. When you choose a healer, I’m sure they’ll give you a timeline for your restrictions.”

His fingers in his uninjured hand tightened on the piece of paper, the white sheet folding slightly. He didn’t meet her gaze as he asked, “What if I want you to do it?”

She blinked. Surely, he didn’t mean that? Madja was much more successful in more complex injuries like this. She had spent centuries traveling courts and helping the Inner Circle of the Night Court. She had much more experience. Y/n had meant it when she said the injury could be healed, but Madja would be much faster, and he was lucky enough to have her at his beck and call.

She floundered for just a moment, catching the slight flush on his cheeks as he finally looked at her again. “I mean I– I can do it if you’re comfortable with that. But, I’ll warn you, my magic takes a lot more energy from me than hers. We’d have to do it in probably three or four sessions over the course of a week or two.”

“Works for me.” He spoke, his deep voice sending goosebumps down her spine. 

“You’re really not gonna like my restrictions for you,” That wicked grin was back as he stood to his full height. She quickly got to work wrapping his hand and keeping it secure for the night, adding in a touch of her magic to keep it from swelling and causing him pain. 

“If taking a few weeks off training means getting to see you more, it’ll be worth it.” 

She nearly fell off her chair. “I’m sorry, what?” She must have started snapping her rubber band subconsciously because his good hand reached out, stopping her movements. Small red dots bubbling from she’d repeatedly snapped it. 

He flashed his teeth, just barely, “Please, stop doing that.” When she didn’t yank her wrist away he slowly peeled the stupid thing off her wrist and tossed it in the bin.

He stared down at her, his thumb running over the underside of her wrist a few times. Her skin tingled where he touched her. Then he was jerking away his hand as if she burned him.

She rubbed her chest, the tight, heated sensation intensifying at the action.

She should tell him. Now would be the perfect time. Right?

But, she’s technically his doctor now, surely telling him she’s pregnant with his child broke some kind of bylaw. Yes. She would wait, take a few more days. She’d tell him during his last session and it would be fine. 

Spinning on her heel, palms meeting the cool marble surface of the desk, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“So what time works for you tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better, I can be here as early as six,” She tried not to balk, six am? She had not been sleeping well, and that sounded awfully early. And she had no doubt that tomorrow morning her would hate her right now for agreeing. That didn’t stop her though.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

She spun her pretty ass right back around, disbelief on her face. She was proud of herself, when he let out a small, rough laugh, she only faltered for a moment.

“Azriel!” She hushed him, making sure her door was completely closed. “If I’m going to fix your hand you cannot ask me things like that.” She whisper-yelled. Doing her best to ignore the chaotic thrum of her pulse, or the breath escaping her hold. 

The stupidly adorable grin was back, “Why not?”

“I’m your healer for starters, it's– it’s completely inappropriate.” She straightened her scrubs, nervously flipping her pony off her shoulder. Plus, it made her nervous, and made her stupid heart do a stupid little flip that definitely resembled something awfully close to hope. 

“So I’m not allowed to ask you out while you’re healing me?” 

“Exactly.” She allowed a small smile to slip from her as he finally seemed to understand. It would be for the best if they stayed professional, she could worry about the personal later. She hoped saying it enough would make it true. But then–

“I guess I’ll just wait until we’re done then.” Her eyes widened, wait–that wasn’t what she meant–

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Little Ghost,” oh gods, now he was calling her that? She so did not want that to stick. All she could do was watch as he effortlessly walked out of the treatment room, her head tilting she allowed herself the glorious vision of his ass. It was glorious. 

She found herself going to snap the rubber band, but was just met with the now healed skin. He had seemed rather… uncomfortable with her snapping it. Odd.

She watched the door long after he left. Her heart taking its sweet time to calm down. 

It was going to be a long couple weeks.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Out of everything that had happened in the past month, she regretted this the most.

Dawn was just cresting the horizon as she made her way to the clinic the next morning. She had woken up late, dropped her coffee, and stepped in dog poop on the way out of the door and into work. 

She was cranky, exhausted, and really starting to think that this baby was some reincarnated crazy person hell bent on revenge in the form of morning sickness. 

Nevertheless, she persevered because she had told Azriel that they could start his treatment as early as he wanted. And the bastard had chosen an ungodly hour of the morning, and she had been too flustered in his presence to tell him she didn’t function properly before eight a.m. Yet another thing having a baby would ruin. 

She let out a frustrated huff as she tried the keys to the clinic, too many bags filled with supplies. She couldn’t get the key in, and nearly screamed when a calm, butterfly-inducing voice spoke from behind her.

“It seems doors have it out for you, Little Ghost,” She let her head drop against the glass, her breath granted life in the frost-chilled morning. He was early. Why wasn’t she surprised that he showed up early?

“I promise, I’m usually more put together,” she spoke, her voice muffled against the store.

He let out a small chuckle, casually taking the keys from her hand and sliding them into the intricate lock. “Why do I feel like that’s not entirely true,” she groaned as they made their way inside, him holding the door open and lingering outside for just a moment longer before following her lead.

She went about flicking lights on and setting her things down before facing the unforgettable presence that came with Azriel. It was then she noticed he had something in his hand, the other one still secured in the makeshift splint she’d given him yesterday.

Her eyes widened, it looked like coffee.

A godsend.

“I didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I brought tea.”

She couldn’t help the way her chest warmed, he had thought of her when he didn’t need to. When she hadn’t expected him to.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly as she took the cup offered. The warm liquid quickly finding its way down her throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He gave her a panty-melting smile. Gods. No one should look as good as him in the morning. His cedar and night scent lingering in the air as they made their way to the room they’d be working in. No one was due at the clinic for another few hours, so she’d be able to focus on piecing his bones back together.

“I wanted to.” 

A simple statement that sent her mind into a very not simple freak-out.

“You are something…else.” She said with nothing but kindness in her tone. She may not know this male well, but what she did know… well, there wasn’t one thing she hadn’t liked, hadn’t wanted to know more about.

He hummed in acknowledgement as he settled into his chair.

It didn’t take long for her to gather her supplies where they needed to be and placed her magnifiers on. Her magic was fully rested and ready to take on the task.

“Is it alright with you if I use my bare hands?” She asked, washing them in the sink. “My magic works better with contact, and the gloves can mimic it, but with an injury so complex– I figure any little boost we can give can’t hurt.”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat, “if you think it will help.” 

She smiles reassuringly, expertly ignoring the way his breathing hitched. “Today we’ll focus on getting your bones back to where they belong. That’ll probably take a few hours, if you need a break for any reason just let me know.” She pulled her chair up, his hand at her mercy. 

Then she began her work.

It was a long and slow process, Azriel hissing slightly every time she had to let the conduit of his pain slip from her grasp. Not something she enjoys, but is necessary to ensure she’s not severing his pain receptors. 

“Not a morning person?” He asked, his voice tight as she maneuvered a particularly jagged piece of bone to its rightful place.

She grimaced, not taking her eyes off his hand, “What gave me away?”

“Well when I mentioned coming in this early yesterday you looked horrified at the idea. And this morning you were cursing the sun when I–”

“I get your point,” she cut him off, embarrassment climbing through her. She had to remind herself that he was the Spymaster of the Night Court. People cowered at the mere mention of him, it was his job to notice the small things. She wasn’t special. And she needed to remember that. 

“I’m used to staying up late either studying or working, the mornings always come too soon. And, that may or may not irritate me sometimes.” She watched as the silver thread made its way seamlessly through the portion of bone she’d set back into place. A relieved sigh coming from him as the pressure released.

She wanted to keep him talking, though, because she was about to move onto another jagged piece that would definitely be uncomfortable. The more distracted he was, the more likely the pain would be background noise.

“Does that mean you’re a morning person?”

He tilted his head, “I’m an every time of day kind of person, I don’t sleep much.”

That caused her to stumble. He didn’t sleep much? He hadn’t even stirred that morning when she'd woken up in his arms. He had had such a relaxed and innocent face, not a crinkle in sight. She had assumed he wouldn’t get much sleep with his job, but she had started doubting when she slipped out so easily.

Before she could shove a foot in her mouth, she said, “That surprises me, you stayed asleep that–.” His head lifted so quickly, deep hazel chasms catching hers and holding her hostage. The movement of his body caused the aluminum tray with all her goodies to shake, her carefully crafted workspace falling victim to her inability to filter her thoughts.

“That morning?” He prodded, her face flushing as she realized she’d just stepped over a very thin line she hadn’t even realized she’d been walking. Forget pregnancy announcements, he seemed ready to delve into her early morning disappearance.

She swallowed, focusing back on his hand, the feeling of his eyes burning into the side of her skull. She never should have agreed to healing his hand. She should have insisted that he work with Madja, or someone else that hadn’t slept with him. She had just wanted to help him, and maybe she hadn’t wanted yesterday to be the last time she saw him before he disappeared forever. She wanted a few more interactions before the inevitable, denial or refusal regarding this baby. Their baby. 

This was such a sticky situation and she had no idea how to navigate it. Confliction had become her most sought after companion. One moment she wanted to shout the truth from the top of her lungs, beg him to stay, to help her; and next she wanted to take this truth and shove it so deep inside of her that she forgets it, or gets to keep the way he’s looking at her, even if just for a little while longer.

“For someone who isn’t a morning person, you certainly couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” She felt his pulse flutter, his body betrayed his empty sounding words. 

She took a deep breath. She supposed he deserved an explanation, and at least she could sort of answer this one. “I didn’t want to get away from you.” Her gaze briefly flicked to his before focusing once more.

“But, I also didn’t think you’d want to wake up with me there.” She managed to move the tricky piece in the right direction, her movements short and quick to avoid more damage. “I’m not an idiot, I’m well aware you don’t do attachment. I guess I didn’t want to be collateral.”

He openly gaped at her, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. “You don’t know me very well, Y/n. So I guess I can’t blame you for having that perception of me.” He ground the words out, he almost seemed hurt by her admission, but it had been the truth. The only one she could offer him.

She thought that’d be all he said on the matter as minutes ticked by in tense silence. Her magic still deftly stitching him back together. Then he murmured, his voice low, “It didn’t really matter that you didn’t stay,” her eyes narrowed as they met his, where was he going with this? “You had already made your way in,”

He didn’t speak after that, and she had been too stunned to respond. The revelation was all-consuming as she took the next hour or so to finish his hand. When she finally managed to put the bones back to their rightful places, she helped set bones and splint his hand. She had used the last dregs of her magic to meld them together temporarily. Long enough for her to regain her magic in the next few days, just in time for their next session.

Her mind kept bouncing back to what he had said. Maybe she had been worried for no reason. Perhaps, she had made a big enough indent in his life that he’d decide to stay, to be a part of this baby’s life. 

Maybe– maybe she was being selfish, trying to put the inevitable off, taking the time she needed, while actively denying him his. A painful twist took place in her stomach.

She couldn’t do this to him. He deserved to know. And if the roles were reversed and he kept something like this from her, something so monumental that it would potentially change her life–well, she’d be pretty upset. 

“Azriel,” she began, meticulously cleaning her area up as he flexed his wrist, moving the blood throughout his arm after sitting stiff for so long. “I–I need to tell you something.” When she found herself without anything else to clean or put away, she began wringing her hands, anxiety taking over her being.

She swallowed the sand in her mouth, the heavy feeling of her tongue fighting against her thoughts as they tried to spill out coherently. 

He must have understood the panic in her tone, or her body language, honestly who knew at this point. But, he stood in front of her in an instant, his fingers lifting her chin so their eyes could meet. 

“What’s wrong, Little Ghost?” He whispered, worry laced in his tone.

She felt the tears well in her eyes as the words, finally, slipped past her lips. As they found their mark, “I’m pregnant.”

He just stared at her, he didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable– for the interrogation, the demand for answers, or even yelling.

He didn’t do any of those things, though. His eyes simply slipped from hers, his hand falling to his side as he took a step back. His good hand ran down his face, and then dragged through his hair roughly. 

Her hand flew to her mouth, trying her best to hide the quiver in her lips. She couldn’t stop the shaking, didn’t dare move as she watched him digest the information in real time. 

Finally, finally, he looked at her, his tortured gaze meeting her tear-filled one. A broken, “I’m sorry,” falling from her lips as her head dropped.

He didn’t approach, didn’t offer a reassuring smile or kind words. He simply croaked, “I can’t do this.” 

And walked out.

Taglist! @anon1227 @hbizates-blog @zanaorian @meritxellao @iangelofmusic @sheblogs @paleidiot @lou-diaries @lreadsstuff @randomramblesfanfiction @waka-babe @whyucloudingmymind @bravo-delta-eccho @sttvrdustt @astraealupinblack @adventure-awaits13 @a-part-of-a-fandom @vern0268 @mich0731 @walle1908 @lilac-witch @waytoomanyteenagefeels @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @bbontenswhhore

[andvys]

You said you were gonna grow up (then you were gonna come find me) ⭐︎ S.H.

⭐︎ Warnings: slight angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, childhood best friends to lovers, allusions to cheating (but not really), mentions of sex, mentions of unrequited love, hurt/comfort

⭐︎ Summary: You and Steve used to be inseparable, best friends since childhood, you shared something special, something rare. You promised each other forever but... promises are never to keep... right?

⭐︎ Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

⭐︎ Word count: 10k

⭐︎ Author's note: To my Steve girlies who have read (and still mourn) I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss -- in the middle of writing this little oneshot, I noticed that Steve and reader reminded me of someone, and then I realized that it's basically Steve and Cheer in a different universe (if Steve hadn't fucked up as badly as he did). This is... what they should have been.

Also shoutout to @hellfire--cult for inspiring me to finish this oneshot (finally) and @ghost-proofbaby thank you for picking a title for me, and for your sweet words about this little piece, you're both the bestest

⭐︎ my library

divider by @saradika (I screamed when I saw the folklore dividers)

♡

The smell of weed and smoke lingers in the air, music blares through the house and bounces off the walls, laughter and giggles come from every corner, conversations he couldn’t care less about yet listens in on because what else is there to do at a party? 

Steve once found himself at home in such gatherings, now he feels nothing but bored as he watches the people instead of interacting with them like he once used to do. 

He used to be on the dancefloor, at the keg stand, pressing some girl against the wall and kissing her neck before taking her upstairs into one of the empty bedrooms – but those days are long over and they are not to be missed, not in the slightest. 

Now he is sitting out in the backyard of some stranger’s house, sipping on a lukewarm soda and waiting for Robin to get sick of this party so he can take her home before going to his empty house and crashing out on his new bed. Seeing as she’s jumping around on the dancefloor with Vickie, it doesn’t seem like she'll want to leave anytime soon. 

 A sigh falls from his lips and he slumps his shoulders in boredom. 

He could be socializing, talking to girls, flirting with them, with the ones who keep waving at him and sending him suggestive, overly sweet looks – he isn’t interested. The past few months were wasted ones, disastrous dates, one or two meaningless hookups, girls who weren’t interested in him but only in sex – that was his reality and he didn’t want that anymore, he doesn’t want that anymore, he wants something real, he wants to feel something, he wants someone to want him for more than just that one thing, he wants a connection, a bond, he wants… you. 

Steve’s lips part, his eyes lighten up, glowing just like the stars in the night sky, he sits up straighter and cranes his neck to see you better, his heart skipping in a way it hasn’t in a long time, he forgot what it feels like… but of course you are the one to remind him of the way his heart can skip and flutter when he feels something, you have always been the one, the only one. 

Not even Nancy could make him feel half of the things you could make him feel. 

But he blew his chances with you – the only chances that ever mattered. 

He hears your laughter, your beautiful giggles that he missed every day since you left, even from all the way here, he can hear the voice that accompanied him throughout most of his life… until it didn’t. 

You were his best friend, the only friend that mattered until he found Robin. You were with him from the moment your mothers introduced you both to each other, joined at the hip, you went through it all together, different hobbies, different friend groups, first crushes and rough school days, arguments with so called friends, first parties, first drunken nights, you went through so much and you did it all together, you experienced everything together. 

Steve would sneak into your room, late at night, he would use the vines on the wall as a ladder, no matter how many times you scolded him, he still climbed up because he wanted to see you so desperately, even when he spent the whole day with you, it just wasn’t enough, you’d spent the nights whispering and talking about the newest gossips, sometimes he would paint your nails or braid your hair, sometimes you would just lie next to each other and listen to some new album and sometimes you would cuddle and fall asleep in each other’s arms, it was a regular thing, it was something constant. 

But then something changed, you both got curious, you both started acting upon feelings that have been there for a long time already, feelings that were no longer innocent and childish turned into something more. 

You were each other’s first kiss, it was nothing more than a peck at first… and then it was a second and a third before you kissed for real. And then, it was just another regular thing, you started cuddling and kissing every night, smiling and giggling through it all, holding hands and pulling each other closer and closer. 

Those innocent kisses turned into makeout sessions and those turned into your first time. 

It was his first time and yours, you shared it with each other, like you shared everything else together. 

It was filled with nervous giggles, blushing cheeks and shaky touches, you were both scared to do something wrong but you assured one another and you both did your best, he took care of you and you of him. It was slow, it was soft, it was perfect. A night he will never forget. 

Nothing ever came close to this moment, nothing came ever close to how you made him feel. 

Steve should have asked you out after that night, he should’ve, but he didn’t, he chickened out, he got scared and he left the next morning without saying goodbye. That was his biggest mistake. 

To this day, he doesn’t know how you felt about it all, you never spoke of this night again, you never mentioned it again, you both acted like nothing happened, you continued your friendship like you didn’t ruin it. 

He kept coming over, everything stayed the same… but it didn’t. 

You started slipping away from him and he was too busy to notice, he became captain of the basketball team, girls started noticing him, he started going on dates even though you were all he could think about, it felt wrong to hold their hands, to kiss them, to touch them, he felt as though he was betraying you but his new friend Tommy encouraged him, spoke lies into his ear about how you went on dates on the nights you canceled on him. 

He was hurt, he was angry, and it only was a matter of time before he invited a girl who wasn’t you into his sheets. 

He hated how he felt afterwards, but he didn’t stop, he kept going and before he could even blink, he was the most popular boy in school, he was King Steve, the guy who could have anyone but still only had eyes for one. 

Though your shared nights became less frequent, you still spent time with him, even when you weren’t fond of Tommy and Carol, his big parties or the way he treated girls, you were still there and it bothered him that he couldn’t have you. 

It was clear that you didn’t feel the same, despite the many signs that he had missed at that time. He was your best friend, just your best friend, just Steve. He could’ve made a move, he could've asked you out on a date, he could’ve finally confronted you about your night together and how you felt about it, how you felt about him, but he was scared and it was ironic really, because he was good with girls, very charming and cocky, smug and arrogant but not with you, no, not with you. You made him nervous, you made his chest feel weird, his stomach too, you made his heart race and flutter, you made his skin feel hot and his mind all crazy. 

You got him bad. 

You made him fall in love. 

But he was a coward when it came to his feelings for you, he really was, he didn’t even want to admit them to himself, so he watched you slip through his fingers instead of taking action and making you his. His feelings got stronger despite the distance that slowly grew between you.

You were still there, physically, but your mind was somewhere else and you seemed so far away.

He left notes in your locker, just like he did when he was a kid. 

And you did the same to him. 

You waved at each other from afar and shared smiles, you still drove around town and sang along to your favorite songs after an occasional trip to that one diner out of town, you sometimes slept over and left your sweet scent on his pillows, driving him crazy with it. You were still each other’s best friends. 

But then Nancy stepped into his life and that was it, at that point, it was already crumbling, your friendship was hanging by a thread and it earned its final blow when you moved away for college. 

Occasional calls and letters were all that existed between you at that point, it drove him crazy, it made him sad. He suffered heartbreak when you were gone and you weren’t there to mend it, you weren’t there to hold him, to wipe his tears and tell him that he would be alright – how could you? You were the reason for that heartbreak and Nancy was the one who gave him the final push to open his eyes to the feelings he kept pushing away and feeling so scared of. 

When he realized what a mistake he had made, it was far too late to fix it and he never stopped regretting the actions he took and didn’t take. 

But now you are here, you are back. 

He hasn’t heard your voice in so long, he hasn’t seen your beauty in forever, he missed your presence so dearly. 

One year, one whole year without you. 

Are you here to stay for the summer or are you back for good? He hopes it’s the latter, this town felt anything but home without you here. 

Steve stares at you, he stares and stares without shame. His lips are curled into a soft smile, his cheeks already blushing as he takes you in. 

You are so gorgeous. 

A confident smile is lingering on your lips, your makeup is a little bolder than it used to be, back then, but it suits you, your skirt is short, your top is tight, your cleavage is showing and your skin is glowing, your hair is much longer than he remembers it to be, a few highlights added to your pretty hair color and styled into waves. 

You have always been a sight for sore eyes, he was aware of your beauty from a young age, he called you his princess, his sweet, cute and beautiful princess. But you are more than just beautiful now, you are stunning, bewitching, you are heavenly. 

His heart jumps at the sound of your giggle, his skin heating up so rapidly that it catches him off guard. 

Steve watches you, he watches for what feels like forever, you’re here with friends, girls you used to hang out with back in high school. 

The smile never leaves his lips as he keeps his eyes on you, his heart fluttering more and more each passing second, eyes continuing to light up at every sound of your giggle. 

When you step away from your friends and walk back into the house, he wastes no time to follow, grabbing the chance that he once missed, he goes after you and leaves his drink abandoned on the floor. 

He brushes past a group of guys playing beer pong, dodging the dancing people on the dancefloor, keeping his eyes on your body as he follows. Your skirt is swaying, your waves are bouncing, your hips are shaking slightly, your sweet scent lingers in the air and he can’t help but inhale it deeply, it’s still the same scent that he missed on his pillows and the hoodies you used to steal.

With your back turned to him, you stop in front of the snack table and pour yourself a cup of the overly alcoholised punch. 

Steve doesn’t approach you right away, standing by the doorway, he decides to watch you for a second longer, feeling giddy and nervous now that he is so close to you again. 

You nearly choke on the punch, the bitter taste of alcohol overpowering the fruity taste, you scrunch your brows together and swallow it down in disgust, unimpressed by this drink after all the different kind of cocktails you have tried in the past months on your night outs to bars with your girlfriends from college. 

A sigh falls from your lips and you take a second, much needed sip. 

It feels weird to be back home in Hawkins, the town is much quieter than the big city you called home for the past year and you feel that weird tingly shudder on the back of your neck, knowing that he is so close somewhere. 

Steve. 

You miss him so much, you miss him everyday, but it’s been so long, you can’t even remember the last time you have talked to him. You know that he still works at Family Video and his friend Robin moved into his house with him after his parents moved away from Hawkins, for good. 

But that’s all, you don’t know if he is single or if he is dating – you fear your heart wouldn’t take the information very well, which is ironic really, you haven’t seen him in so long, all you have are your memories, some of which you kept in a shoebox under your bed, pictures, notes, letters and little presents from him. Steve was nothing but a ghost these past months and yet it didn’t stop your heart from falling deeper in love… even with just the boy in your memory, the one that will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

A sigh falls from your lips as you look down at the red beverage in your cup, you close your eyes and take another sip and swallow it but this time in delight, you welcome the burning in your throat. 

“You still make that cute face when you don’t like something.” 

The voice you have just been thinking about sounds deeper than it did when you left. 

Those shudders at the back of your neck, run down your spine and transform into heat across your whole body, your heart skips a few beats.

You turn to face him, sloshing the drink around in your cup, you nearly spill it on the white tiles beneath you. Your breath hitches in your throat and your chest tightens when you look at him for the first time again, those hazel eyes that you have missed so much staring back at you with excitement yet nervousness and you have no doubt that your own eyes match the look in his. 

Your lips curl into a shy smile, your cheeks heat up so quickly and you nearly crush the plastic cup in your hand when you let your eyes roam his body. He somehow got even taller, his arms look stronger and his shoulders wider, his hair got longer too, a spitcurl hanging over his forehead, his cheeks are rosy, a stubble covering his jaw and chin, your eyes move down his arm, stopping at the black hair tie around his wrist that momentarily steals your breath away and fills your chest with hope. You lick your lips and swallow as you stare at the veins in his hands. 

There he stands with his stupid, still perfectly styled hair and his Levi’s that are always way too tight around his crotch, looking down at you and reminding you of how much taller he is and always was. 

“Hey,” he breathes, nervously, happily. 

“Steve,” you say with a smile on your lips, “hi.”

Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know what to say, your heart is beating so hard, he can feel it in his throat, he feels so nervous, you make him nervous. His charm, his flirtatious side still fades into nothing when he is around you and the world around him still disappears when he is with you, some things truly never change. 

He wants to take a step closer and wrap his arms around you, he wants to hug you and never let go again but he doesn’t want to overstep so he forces himself to stay in place. 

“Y-You’re back,” he smiles, trying to hide his excitement. 

You nod, probably a little too quickly. 

“Yeah, I’m back,” you nod again, feeling awkward and tense standing here before him after all the countless nights you spent thinking, dreaming about him. 

He breathes heavily and fidgets with the hair tie around his wrist, “for the summer or…?”

You shake your head, unable to look away from his beautiful eyes. 

“No, I-I transferred to uh the community college here…” You scrunch your face up when you see the surprised look on his face. “I know, lame right? Moving away from Chicago and back to your hometown is uh not the.. move.” 

Not the move? He repeats in his head. 

This might be the best day of his life – the day he had been waiting for, for your return. 

Steve’s eyes widen, he purses his lips as he starts shaking his head, raising his hand a little, he steps closer to you. 

“No! No, I’m just surprised, that’s all, I didn’t think you’d ever come back… honestly,” he chuckles nervously and brings his hand up to scratch the side of his neck. “But I’m happy to see you back here again.” 

Happy is an understatement, the feelings in him can’t be put into words, they do not exist. 

Your eyes soften at his words, your smile transforming into a soft one, hope swirling inside of you. 

Did he miss you like you missed him? 

“I’m happy to see you,” he adds, his cheeks heating up at his admission and your beauty doesn’t help his case, his eyes roam your body, your pretty features, your soft skin, the chain around your neck that looks oh so familiar, his heart starts beating faster, his hands shaking from the giddiness lingering in him. “Y-You look…” Stunning, mesmerizing, gorgeous, sexy, adorable, like an angel or a goddess. “Amazing.” He breathes, blushing red.

Your eyebrows pull together as your wide eyes fill with emotion. 

You see the way he looks at you, you see the redness in his cheeks, the shyness in his eyes that surprises you the most. 

You take a shaky breath, cursing at the way your cheeks heat up and glow so hotly. 

“Thank you,” you say without stutter, to your own surprise. “You don’t look bad yourself, Harrington,” you smirk at him, smugness taking over your blushing features when you see him looking down in nervousness. 

Did you just make Steve blush? 

You open your mouth again, feeling the urge to compliment him again when a whistle interrupts you and wipes the smirk off your face, instead a look of disgust takes over your features when you turn your head to see Tommy Hagan looking you up and down with a perverted smile on his face. 

He pushes his way between you, earning a glare from Steve, whose face turned stone cold and angry. Tommy grabs a red solo cup and pours himself some of the punch while he continues to give you nasty looks, chuckling when looks at your cleavage, “shit, now I get why Harrington always kept his favorite toy to himself,” he smirks and takes a sip of his drink before he steps back to wink at Steve, wiping his chin and looking back to you, “you really grew up.” 

Your lips curl downwards, your brows pull together in a frown. 

“Dude, what the fuck,” Steve frowns at him, giving him a disapproving look. 

Tommy always made you feel uncomfortable with his comments and his weird looks, but it was something else back then. This is new, this is disgusting. 

“If I knew back then that you were hiding these behind your sweaters, I would’ve definitely hit it,” he chuckles darkly as he stares at your boobs. 

Bile rises in your throat and your grip tightens on your cup, the urge to throw your punch into his face growing strong. 

Steve rolls his eyes, a frustrated sigh falls from his lips and he steps towards his former friend, he places his hand on his chest and pushes him back as he takes a protective stance in front of you, protecting you from Tommy’s prying eyes. 

“Alright, that’s enough, asshole,” Steve mumbles angrily. “Leave her alone or I swear to–”

“You swear to what, man? You and I both know you can’t do shit,” Tommy laughs at Steve, his eyes crinkle in amusement, irritating Steve further. 

Steve might’ve lost most of his fights, but he wouldn’t lose one if it came to you. 

He clenches his jaw and glares down at him, feeling rage burn within him. 

“Seriously dude, get lost, alright?” He demands, his voice sounding deeper, more serious than before. 

You look over Steve’s shoulder, feeling safe and protected by him, the way you always did, just even more now. Your stomach flutters with warmth, your heart swelling in your chest. 

To your surprise, Tommy steps away without another word, continuing to chuckle at Steve and the glare on his face. He gives you another look. 

“Call me if you–”

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Steve says through gritted teeth, feeling hot rage flushing through him. 

Tommy takes another sip as he walks backwards, winking at you before he finally turns around and leaves the kitchen, allowing you to finally breathe. 

Steve runs his fingers through his hair and huffs, turning back to you, his features instantly soften. 

“I’m sorry about him.” 

You shake your head, your smile reappearing again, “it’s not your fault,” you shrug, “some people just never change.” 

“Yeah…” He mumbles, wondering if you changed at all, “did you?”

Did you change? You ask yourself. Maybe, surely college has shaped you in some way, being away from home, being independent and all alone, meeting new people and being pushed into situations you would have never allowed as a teenager, did change something in you. 

You got more confident, a little bolder too, you tried new things and did them without shame, something that was once impossible when you were still here and an insecure teen. 

You tilt your head to the side and give him a sly smirk, “why don’t you find out?” 

The anger Tommy left him with fades away, the flirtatious tone in your voice catching him by surprise and you take it even further when you take a step closer to him after placing your drink on the counter, you look up at him with your big eyes that still drive him crazy. 

He doesn’t remember you to be this flirty… this bold but he can’t complain, it makes the fluttering in his stomach feel so much more intense. 

Steve’s lips curl back into a smile, he blinks at you, looking into your eyes intensely, with want and need – nothing changed, if anything, the magnetic force between you has intensified, even when there was mostly only radio silence between you both in these past months. 

Steve licks his lips, a sliver of his confidence slipping back in when he sees the way you look at him, eyes roaming his face and his body. Though his cheeks are still burning and his heart is still racing, no matter how much confidence he can find within himself, you are still you, you are still the girl that holds his heart in the palm of her hand, the one who has him captivated in every way possible, the one who has had him wrapped around her finger, from a very young age. You aren’t just a girl to woo and impress for a single date, you aren’t someone he would forget if a conversation or a date went wrong, you are the one he always wanted to grow old with, to experience everything with, to spend a life with the one who is his everything – one wrong move and he loses it all… again. 

He doesn’t bother to ask if you are with someone, if you are dating and taken, the thought is disturbing to his heart. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks as he slowly reaches for your hand and you allow him to take it when you slip your palm against his and give his hand a squeeze.

He nearly crumbles to his knees when he feels your soft touch again, it’s been too long. Your hand always fit into his so perfectly, like it was made to be held by him. 

You nod, whispering a sweet ‘yes, please’. That’s all he needs to hear before he pulls you closer to his body, pushing you in front of him slightly, keeping a protective stance right behind you as he never lets go of your hand, basking in the feeling of having you so close again, of being able to smell your perfume again and the sweet scent of your body wash. 

He rubs circles on the top of your hand, pressing his other hand on the small of your back as he pushes through the crowds of people. He leads you to Robin first, needing to make sure that she will get home safe without him. He finds her playing beer pong with Vickie and a few of their former bandmates from high school. He taps on her shoulder and when she turns around, Steve grows more nervous than before, because her eyes grow wide when she sees you next to him, excitement flashing in them and a big grin appearing on her face after a long moment of staring at you. 

She knows all about you. 

She knows all about his feelings and his regrets. 

She knows how much he missed you. 

She was there when he cried and never stopped talking about you. 

So after greeting you, probably a little too enthusiastically, she moves closer to Steve, raising her eyebrows at him and giving him a teasing, yet pointed look. 

“Go and don’t worry about me, Vickie can drive, she’s not drinking tonight.”

“You sure?” 

She nods, her waves bouncing as she moves her head a little too quickly. 

“Steve I’m fine, go and get your girl,” she winks at him, squeezing his shoulder before she moves back, giving him another look that says nothing but ‘i mean it, don’t fuck it up this time, this is your chance.’ 

Steve nods at her, smiling and feeling reassured by her. He holds your hand tighter and pulls you away before you can properly say goodbye to his friend that you only know from your days in high school. You look back at her to find her staring at the two of you, grinning from ear to ear, she raises her eyebrows at you, eyes glowing as she gives you a smirk and a small wave of her hand. 

You feel a little confused by the teasing look on her face but smile and wave back at her nonetheless before Steve whisks you away and out of the room.

It isn’t weird to hold each other’s hand, to be back together in his car like nothing ever happened, like you never stopped doing this, like things are still normal between you. He makes small talk, it’s not awkward or weird, it’s… nice, anything is as long as you’re with him, even the silly jokes makes or how he tries to quote Shakespeare but fails miserably, he makes you laugh and you… you make him smile. 

You stop by the gas station to grab a six pack and some snacks to share before you drive to the lookout, to the place you always went to when you wanted to be alone together. 

You get comfortable on the hood of his car, as comfortable as you can get on the rough surface. It’s a little chillier out here in the woods, the wind that blows through the trees makes goosebumps arise on your skin. Steve, of course, has to use the opportunity to throw his jacket around your shoulders, rubbing your arms to warm you up as he moves close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin. 

You feel something stir within you, something only ever he could make you feel. 

You grab the denim and pull it tighter around you, glancing at him through your lashes, you feel your cheeks heat up when you find him staring at you already, a soft smile playing on his lips that you can see, even in this darkness. 

“Thanks Stevie.” A grin tugs at your lips when his smile moves into a flustered one. 

Steve licks his lips, he removes his hands from your body and busies himself with opening the beer bottles for you and him, “you’re welcome, honey,” he whispers, winking at you. 

You look away from him with blushing cheeks, hiding the smile on your face as you tilt your head down but nothing goes unnoticed by him, he sees the flustered expression in your features, the cute smile you’re trying to hold back. 

He scoots closer to you until his shoulder is pressed against yours, he offers you the opened bottle. You glance at his hand, taking in the size of it, how big it is, how his veins pop, how long his fingers are – it makes you squirm and clench your thighs together and he notices it, he looks down and he almost regrets it, almost. Your skirt has ridden up, it nearly covers nothing, at this point. Your skin looks so smooth, thighs so soft, he wants to touch them, kiss them, feel them wrapped around his head. 

His skin heats up, his lower stomach tingles, he craves you, in every way possible, he just wants to… feel you, he wants to feel you close, he wants your skin on his, he needs to know that you are truly back. 

Your touch sends shivers down his spine, it makes his stomach flip. 

He blinks, looking down at the bottle he is still holding, watching the way your hand curls around it, fingers grazing his own. Your hand is so much smaller than his, the urge to compare the size of his own to yours growing strong. 

“Steve?” 

Your soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts, he blushes, cheeks burning maroon. He shakes his head a little, squeezing his eyes shut as he furrows his eyebrows, he removes his hand from your bottle, already missing the touch of your hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he runs his fingers through his hair, “I got a little uh… distracted.” 

He instantly regrets it when his eyes fall back on your lap again, your giggle makes him blush even deeper, he eyes you from the side, watching the way you press your lips against the bottle, you take a sip, trying to hide the smirk on your lips. 

He feels a sudden sense of nervousness rushing through him – here he is, in the presence of the girl of his dreams, the girl that slipped through his fingers, the girl that should be his and he is messing up. He begins to stutter, trying to distract himself once again, this time from your legs, from your soft skin, from how much he wants to touch and kiss you, from how beautiful you are but you make him stutter, you make it difficult for him to talk, you make it impossible for him to be smooth, to flirt with you the way he always did with other girls and suddenly, he is reminded of why he was always so scared of revealings his feelings to you, there was too much at stake, he didn’t want to lose you. 

He always felt so pathetic around you, like a stupid kid in love, one that can’t talk to his crush without blushing, without stuttering. 

And this is exactly what you always adored about him. 

But he doesn't know it, he doesn’t even realize it, he doesn’t even see the way your eyes always light up, the way they soften as you look at him, the way you admire him. 

Before he even takes a sip of his beer, he already feels like he is drunk, his skin is hot, his mind hazy, he feels happy, at ease, like he is floating, all because of you, you make him feel so… light. 

He is drunk on you, without having touched you properly, your presence is enough. 

He wonders how you are holding up, what emotions linger inside of you — you look so calm, relaxed. 

You fall into a comfortable conversation, catching up on the things you have missed in each other's lives, since being separated. And while your eyes stay glued on the night sky, only glancing at him every once in a while, he watches you, with a fluttering feeling in his chest and a smile on his lips. 

You laugh with each other, getting lost in the memories that you both start bringing up, joking and slapping each other’s shoulders softly as you start to tease one another about the stupid things that you both have done in the past. 

You have changed, not only physically did you get even more beautiful, you got something that you didn’t have before, a boldness that you always admired others for. You used to be so shy, anxious to ask the simplest questions, too nervous to hold eye contact for longer than two seconds, even with him, sometimes. But now, despite you choosing to look at the sky instead of him, he can tell that you are not that shy girl anymore, who was afraid to look into his eyes. You are confident, comfortable in your own skin, not afraid to be you, not afraid to gaze into his eyes when you tilt your head to look at him. 

He wonders what or… who caused it, the change in you. 

Was it just the circumstances? The big city that pushed you out of your comfort zone? 

New friends? Being on your own? Or… was it the experiences you have made in these past few months that have shaped you from an innocent, shy teenager into a confident, young woman? 

His stomach churns at the thought of the things you have done while being away from home, or better yet, who you have done them with. He has no right to be upset about it, he knows it, yet he can’t stop the sinking feeling inside of him as he thinks of the hands that have touched your body or the lips that kissed yours, if you had dated someone, if you are someone else’s right now. 

The question tumbles from his lips before he can even stop himself. 

“Do you have anyone?” 

The storm that was just raging in his mind, the string of questions that followed now silenced as he stares at you, waiting for your answer with a racing heart and clammy hands. 

The sound of crickets and the rustling of the trees are the only sounds now filling the space around you.

“You mean… a boyfriend?” 

He nods and you shake your head at that. You bring the bottle up to your lips, taking a much needed sip. 

“No, I don’t,” you murmur as your eyes roam his face, “why?”

You notice the frown on his face, the way his lips are curled down and his eyebrows are tightly scrunched together. 

“Just wondering… someone like you still single?” 

“What do you mean…?” You ask slowly.

Steve huffs, shaking his head with a smile on his face. 

“I mean… Come on, honey. You’re funny, you’re smart and you’re just… you’re amazing,” he sighs adoringly, hazel eyes running up down and your face and your body. “You’re beautiful, a fucking catch.”

You almost want to scoff at his words, you want to roll your eyes and look the other way. A catch, right. A catch he never wanted. Your heart betrays you when it flutters and prompts a girlish giggle to fall from your lips. 

“Stop.”

He nudges his shoulder against yours, grinning at your flustered face, “it’s the truth.”

Steve feels relieved to know that you don’t have anyone waiting on you, that there isn’t some guy out there that got the girl he always wanted. 

“You have to say that,” you shake your head and drink the last drop of your beer before you throw the bottle down on the grass, making a mental note to pick it up later. 

Because he is your best friend, because he was always your best friend, no matter what – so of course, he has to say these words to you. 

He rolls his eyes at you, huffing, “I’m not just saying that.” 

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, the way his words can make you feel like that shy teenage girl again, you try to steer the attention away from you. 

You press your palm against the cold, almost icy hood, leaning back, you tilt your head to the side and gaze at him, loving how long his hair grew, how his features are more… manly now, though the boyish grin still lingers. 

“What about you?” You whisper, swallowing the bitterness on your tongue. “Got anybody, Stevie?”

He shakes his head quickly, almost frowning at your question. 

“Me? No… no one really… felt right.” He says with a look of longing in his eyes, the one that is only reserved for you. 

The tension in your chest disappears, almost instantly, you have an idea of what you would feel like had the answer been a different one. 

“I was seeing a girl… for a while but uh… like I said, it… she didn’t feel right,” he admits with a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

You nod, swallowing harshly. 

“Why didn’t she feel right?” You’re aware of how small, how shaky your voice sounds. 

You wait, wait and wait for him to answer your question, the answer he tries to find in your eyes as it seems because he won’t stop looking at you, it’s like he is searching for something, like he is trying to figure you out, like he is trying to make sense of the question you just asked. 

He doesn’t give you what you want, as always, Steve Harrington pretends like nothing happened, like nothing had been asked. 

But you know what he means, you know exactly what he means, you had someone too, back in Chicago. 

He was nice, he was good to you, in more ways than just one but no matter how much you tried not to think of him, you always failed. He was always there, always in the back of your mind, always ready to haunt you and remind you that he is and will always be the only one that your heart will belong to. 

Your relationship was only short lived, and you left him the moment you realized how unfair it was to stay with him when your heart was somewhere else, when you couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. 

Something rustles in the bushes, something echoes loudly through the woods, something that would have normally made you flinch, doesn’t even faze you now because he is here. You feel safe in his presence, you always did, not even the darkest night or the loudest storm could make you feel afraid as long as he was by your side. 

And yet, you scoot closer to him, not even noticing that you do until his fingers brush against yours and sparks shoot through your entire body. 

And through his. 

You clear your throat and take a deep breath, “yeah… I had someone… but he didn’t feel right either.” You say softly, vulnerably as you meet his eyes again. 

A soft ‘oh’ leaves his mouth and he nods, looking down at the bottle in his hand, he brings it up to his lips and downs the rest of it. He feels his stomach churning, his insides crawling at the mere thought of you with someone who isn’t him and it makes him feel awful, it makes him feel ridiculous because wasn’t that his own fault? He blew his chances with you. He let you go, hell, he didn’t even fight for you. 

He puts the bottle down, wipes his mouth and runs his fingers through his hair before he turns back to you to find you staring at him just the way you always did, with your big doe eyes, those pleading and begging looks you never stopped throwing at him. 

He’d have to be blind to not see it – he always did, he just never allowed himself to admit it, not even to himself, not even when you were all he ever wanted. 

“Why didn’t he feel right?” 

Steve watches the way your lips curl downwards, the way you squint your eyes at him, the softness fleeing as you glare at him instead.

And suddenly, the air around you feels different, tense for another reason, heavy and filled with something neither of you ever addressed before. 

While you take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself – Steve tries to mend the aching in his chest, the hammering that feels just too strong. 

“Why didn’t she feel right, huh?” You ask, scooting away from him and getting off the hood, placing your feet back on the ground, you don’t even bother to smooth down your skirt. You cross your arms over your chest and stand in front of him, demanding the answer you tried to ask softly before. 

Steve sighs, growing fearful and anxious, feeling like he is messing up yet again, like he is about to lose again. 

But you are close, so goddamn close, even through the anger in your eyes, you still stand in reach, your knees now brush against his. He straightens his back, fighting the urge to reach for your hands and just pull you into him, showing you why no one ever felt right. 

He promised Robin, he promised her that if you ever came back, he would go and get you, he would come clean about it all, he would make it all right again. 

“This goes both ways, Steve. You can’t just ask me and then–”

“Because no one is you.”

He won’t fail this again, no matter how scared he is, he just can’t. 

Your lips part in surprise, a painful look crosses your eyes, though the anger doesn’t fade away just yet. You uncross your arms, and shake your head at him. 

His words should bring you joy, shouldn’t they? 

But as you stand here before him, his knees brushing your own, his golden brown eyes staring at you with nothing but love, you can’t help but feel your heart aching because why now? Why not then? 

“So… it took me to leave town… go to college… for you to say this?” You whisper, holding back a choke as your eyes well up with unwanted tears. 

His own eyes panic when he sees just how much pain there is inside of you, how much you hid it. He reaches forward, taking your hand in his, he sighs in relief when you don’t push him away like he thought you would. 

“It was always there. Before our first kiss, before our first time, and then it never stopped. But you were… you were scary. Feeling love that strong at such a young age– it wasn’t in my plans. I was scared… I was scared of loving you and losing you. It happened before.” 

His parents. 

He loved them unconditionally, he loved them no matter what they did and didn’t do, he loved them and he lost them – they abandoned him and then they forgot about him. 

Your eyes show nothing but pain, your heart breaks, all over again, for him. 

And you’re stunned, so goddamn shocked because that word fell from his lips. Love. He loved you. 

You curl your hand around his, squeezing them tightly as he gets off his car, standing tall before you again. 

“You… still could have–”

“Risked it?” Steve interrupts you, furrowing his brows as he looks down at you. “No… I wasn’t going to risk it. Risk losing you…” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself, “now I see how stupid that was because I lost you anyways.” 

His eyes well up with tears, his voice almost cracks and you finally… finally get to see a glimpse into his heart, how much pain he was always hiding.

“No… I don’t think you lost me.”

“Honey, we haven’t talked in–”

“What you felt for me… Is it… Is it past tense?” 

Steve should see the hope in your eyes, he should hear it in your voice too, but he is so scared, so nervous at this moment. 

Everything he had always been afraid of was losing you because of his feelings and he can’t help but wonder, what if he confesses his love to you now and his saddest fear creeps in and he will lose you for good, forever? 

“Why do you want to know?” He asks, shakily. 

You hold his hands tighter, taking another step closer until you are chest to chest. You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, you look up at him, begging with your eyes, yet again. “Because I deserve to know, Steve, do you still have feelings for me?”

He takes a long pause, feeling like his heart might explode, feeling like the ground might disappear beneath him if he doesn’t finally give you the whole truth. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips, the ones he craved to feel on his own for years, his body aches for you just the way his heart does, desire running deep but love taking full control, driving both his heart and his mind insane over you. He feels the pounding from his chest to his throat, his eyes glossy with tears he shed so many times over you, over his regrets. 

“Yes,” he whispers, already feeling his chest deflating as the pressure slowly sinks away, “like I said, they never stopped.”

Tears spill down yours and his cheeks, his shoulders slump in relief and you, you finally breathe. You sniffle and a giggle falls from your lips, one that makes him furrow his brows but smile because now he can see the happiness in your eyes, the joy from hearing this from him. 

“Oh, thank god,” you whisper and throw your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest, you hug him tightly, catching him off guard. 

It takes him a moment, it takes him a very long moment. 

His glassy eyes are wide, his heart is threatening to break free from his chest. He wanted this, he wanted you for so long, he feels like this is too good to be true but when he feels your tears seeping through his shirt and how you cling to his body, like you are afraid that he might disappear if you let go, he finally relaxes. His eyes close gently, tears spilling down his cheeks, he melts into your touch and curls his arms around you, cupping the back of your head, he holds you closely, tightly. 

“I missed you so much,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head, he gives a first kiss again. 

“I missed you, Stevie,” you murmur into his chest, holding onto his shirt. 

He moves even closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you rise to your tippy toes, wanting to feel more of him, as though he isn’t close enough already, not even when your chest to chest. 

Steve breathes in your scent, the one he used to sink his face into when it still lingered on his pillows, when he longed to feel you in his arms, when he craved you so badly but felt too cowardly to make the move he just made now. 

You cling to one another, like you never have before, not even when he held you during nights you needed him the most, when you were both so convinced that you were nothing more than friends… when just friendship was never something possible between you. 

Steve’s eyes are shut tightly, he is so lost in the feeling of you, feeling so warm, so safe, so loved in your embrace. 

How can his heart race so fast yet feel so… calm? 

You don’t know how much time passes as you stand there in each other’s arms, you are so lost in the moment, you couldn’t care less about anything around you, about the time, about your surroundings, about the world – only you and him matter, nothing more. 

He cups the side of your face when you begin to pull away to look at one another, glossy eyes gazing into each other, lips begging to be connected. His fingers brush through your hair, he tucks your front pieces behind your ears and caresses your cheeks. His hazel eyes flash with adoration. You are so beautiful. It makes his heart clench in his chest.  

You slide your hands up his chest, moving up to his neck and cupping his cheeks, your stomach growing with anticipation the closer you both move to each other. 

No words are spoken, there is no need for them, your eyes tell everything, just like your touch when your lips finally connect. 

Your hearts stop beating, time stops ticking, the world stops moving. 

Everything around you stops. 

Just absolutely everything. 

Your eyes flutter shut, just like his. 

A kiss you both never stopped craving finally happening, not only in your minds, but in reality. 

Steve sighs in contentment, a whimper following close behind, your lips move slowly, softly with each other, you savor each and every second, even when you know that this is only the beginning of it all. 

Nothing and no one could ever compare to this, no one could ever come between you, you are two puzzle pieces, ones that were made for only each other, no one else to match you both. It’s only you and him. Your hearts know, you know, he knows. 

The way he kisses you so gently, so sensually, makes your stomach flip in ways it never did before, not even back then when you shared first and second kisses. 

And Steve, he feels like he is in a dream that he never wants to wake from again, he is too scared to open his eyes and find himself in his lonely bed, surrounded by the scent of you that he only imagines, that forever lingers like a kiss upon his skin. 

But your whimper is real, your lips are real, you are real, your lips taste just like they did before, sweet and peachy, like home. 

You only pull away to catch your breath, smiling when Steve chases your lips with his own, nuzzling his nose against yours as a soft giggle falls from his puffy lips, “god… I missed you, princess.” He murmurs against your lips, knowing that he will keep repeating these words, over and over again, he feels like he has been blessed by the universe. 

Your best friend’s eyes shine so brightly, the love in them that you always craved to see, is so evident, it’s all out in the open now, all in reach, all there for the taking – when not even a few hours ago, you didn’t even know where he was, if he still thought of you, if he still cared for you… 

Tears escape your eyes and he wastes not second to catch them, to wipe them away and kiss your wet cheek. 

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, feeling like his heart might break, knowing that you have suffered just the way he did, when he thought that you moved on, that you had forgotten all about him just like everyone else did when that was never even the case, when all you did was long for him, love him, even from afar. 

“I love you,” he whispers in relief, feeling like the weight of the world is off his shoulders, “I love you so fucking much, you’re my–”

You cup his cheeks and pull him down once again, kissing him deeply. “You.” Kiss. “Don’t.” Kiss. “Know.” Kiss. “How.” Kiss. “Much.” Kiss. “I.” Kiss. “Dreamed.” Kiss. “Of.” Kiss. “This.” Kiss. “Moment.” 

Steve's heart flutters the way it never did before, butterflies go wild in his stomach, his eyes crinkle and he smiles so brightly, his cheeks hurt. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, “I love you so much, Steve Harrington, you have no idea how much–”

His lips are on yours, pressed against them so strongly as he pulls you into another deep, passionate kiss before you can even finish your sentence. He kisses you in a way no one ever did before. 

His thumbs linger on your cheekbones, his tongue parts your lips so effortlessly, your own clashing against his as the softness of your feelings disappears and transforms into something needy, hungry. This kiss is much faster, much rougher, much more passionate than the first, you get lost in it so quickly. 

When he takes a step back and he sits back down on the hood of his car, he moves his hands down to your waist, pulling you in between his legs. 

Your arms move around his shoulders, your hands get lost in his hair, fingers gripping it tightly as moans escape you. The kiss makes you feel so hot, your stomach burns, your skin feels like it’s on fire as his hands move up and down your back, slipping underneath his jacket that is still around your shoulders, under your shirt and then, he touches your soft skin with his cold hand, something that makes you shiver yet lean closer against him. 

He moans against your lips, he is so intoxicated by you, needing more and more, like you’re his own personal drug. He could keep doing this, he could take you right here, right now. He could taste you, unravel you with his tongue, with his fingers, he could hold your hands and make love to you like he always wanted to, like he hoped he’d get to tonight – because he thought that this might be all he would get, a night with you, only that and no more, because how could you ever want anything more than this with him after all the times he messed up with you? After he let you slip through his fingers like it was nothing?

But this won’t stay a single night, this won’t be one that will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

This will turn into more, so much more. 

He doesn’t want to mess it up again, he wants to take it slow, he wants to give you everything you deserve, everything he craved to give you, all these years, everything he dreamed about, during the day and the night. 

So as much as he wants this, you, your bare skin on his and your whimpers blessing his ears, you deserve more, you deserve to be taken on a date first. 

“Hang on,” he whispers against your lips, cupping your cheeks again, his lips curl into an amused smile when he opens his eyes to see your smudged lipstick that is no doubt on his face now too, your hair a mess just like his own, “I want to… fuck… I want you so bad, I couldn’t stop thinking about this, about you. But I want to take it slow, I-I want to do it right this time, I want to take you on a date and–”

You cut him off with a kiss, once more. Pressing your lips against his plush ones, over and over again until it makes you both giggle. He grabs your waist and pulls you down on his lap, grabbing your cheeks, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Slow is good,” you whisper, caressing his cheek as his fingers run up and down your spine underneath the denim jacket. “I like slow.”

“Yeah?” He smiles.

You nod, though an almost sad smile makes its way on your lips, “you know, I kinda thought you forgot about me until all of this.” You wave your hand around, wiping at your wet cheek as a soft laugh tumbles from your lips. 

You weren’t the only one who stopped calling, who stopped sending letters, he did too, but not for the reasons you thought, clearly. 

A deep frown appears on his face, he tightens his hold on you, raising his hand up towards your face, he cups your cheek. Despite everything he just said, despite the kiss, you still don’t understand just how deep his feelings for you are, how his heart isn’t even his own because it is completely, devotedly yours. 

“I could never forget you,” he whispers with a sad smile on his face, “you’re all I ever think about, now and then, even when we were kids, even when I was… King Steve,” he rolls his eyes at the nickname he used to be so proud of. “You never once left my mind, not once.” 

The smile that makes his way to your lips makes his heart skip a beat, he kisses your cheek, letting his lips linger for a moment. 

“So please, let me make it right, let me fix everything… go on a date with me?” He asks with nothing but hope in giddiness in his voice. 

You squint your eyes and tilt your head, giving him a teasing smile as you pretend to think but his soft eyes make your teasing an impossible task at this moment, you wipe the lipstick off his mouth and nuzzle your nose back against his. 

“I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie,” you whisper, feeling your heart burst from joy and love. 

The one thing you always wanted, you always craved now finally happening, at a moment when you least expected it. 

Coming back home made you so nervous, knowing that you would see him again after all this time of being apart, knowing that your feelings will only continue to grow, no matter the tie between you, filled you with a sense of… dread, because you couldn’t help but wonder – does he even want to see you? 

But, to find out that he had spent every passing moment, thinking about you, about your past, wanting you back and willing you to come running back into his arms lights up everything inside you again – flames you have tried to put out, burning stronger than ever. 

Steve’s eyes well up with tears of joy again, he cups the back of your neck, his lips brush against yours, he can’t even describe his feelings with words, so he doesn’t even try, but he shows you the happiness you brought back into his life, the happiness that was just gone when you were… gone. He kisses you, once, twice… He keeps kissing you, over and over again, unable to stop himself from going back in for more, consumed by love, by gratitude and happiness to know that you came back. 

To know that you won’t haunt his what if’s. 

He won’t chase your shadows wherever he will go. 

Your scent won’t linger from just his memory alone. 

He waited and waited, and he let the lamp burn and now… now you are here, you came back, you came back to him. 

Here, at the lookout where you used to sit on your saddest days, you find your way back to one another again. 

As you embrace the future written for you, you know that the rings on your fingers won't only be imaginary ones like the ones from your childhood. 

[unabashegirl]

The Cover {h.s} — I

Best friends. A fake relationship. One weekend in Edinburgh—and maybe a shot at something real.

Author's note: This is a repost of the original story I first shared on Patreon. I’ve done a bit of light editing throughout—tightening up the prose, tweaking a few lines, and adding in some original text that was previously only on Patreon (including a few extended moments I really loved). Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading!)—your support means the world. I hope you enjoy this version just as much, if not more. 🤍

wc-> 4.5K

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The soft hum of the evening surrounded them as they sat on Harry’s plush couch, nestled in the heart of his spacious home. The minimalist decor of his living room reflected the careful balance between his hectic life in the spotlight and his need for peace. His house, though large, was warm, with low lighting that gave it a cozy, intimate feel. The air was thick with the scent of the coffee table candles he’d lit earlier—notes of sandalwood and something sweet.

Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.

He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.

Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.

Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.

She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.

But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.

And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”

Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.

He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”

“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”

Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”

Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.

Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.

But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.

Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.

“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.

Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.

“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”

He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?

“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure.

Harry’s smile widened into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Positive. And besides, who wouldn’t want to show off a date like me?” he teased, his tone light, but his eyes still holding that warm, comforting sincerity.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety easing just a little. Maybe, just maybe, having Harry with her wouldn’t be so bad. It might even be the perfect distraction—from her family, and from her feelings. If she could keep them in check, that is.

“He’s going with you?!” Maddie’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and full of disbelief.

Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her bedroom, groaned and yelled back, “I know!”

Maddie appeared in the doorway a second later, her eyes wide with shock and excitement. “Harry Styles—your best friend and international superstar—is going to a wedding with you. As your date. This is… this is insane!”

Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sigh as she flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, I’m still trying to process it.”

Maddie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, let’s go over the logistics because this is a lot to unpack. First of all, the wedding is a whole weekend, right?”

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “It’s in Edinburgh, so we’re going up on Friday, staying until Sunday. Two full days of family, dinners, receptions, and a ton of small talk.”

“And Harry knows this?” Maddie asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Y/N bit her lip, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “No, not exactly.”

Maddie’s eyes widened even further. “Wait, so you haven’t told him it’s a whole weekend thing? What if he backs out when he realizes it’s not just a one-night event?”

Y/N sat up straighter, her anxiety returning in full force. “I mean, I hope he won’t. He offered so casually, but I didn’t get into all the details.” She winced, feeling a bit guilty for not being completely upfront. “It’s just... he said yes so easily, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him with everything all at once.”

Maddie shook her head, pacing the room in thought. “Okay, well, you’ve got to tell him. He’s going to need to know what he’s signing up for. The last thing you want is him backing out last minute.”

“I know,” Y/N agreed, sighing. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I just… I really hope he doesn’t change his mind. It’s already going to be awkward enough dealing with my family, and having Harry there is the only thing keeping me sane.”

Maddie stopped pacing and turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Well, there’s something else we need to focus on.”

“What’s that?” Y/N asked, dreading the answer.

“Your outfits!” Maddie exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is a wedding weekend in Edinburgh with Harry as your date. You need to look absolutely perfect every single day.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maddie, please don’t make this into a fashion show. I’m already freaking out as it is.”

Her roommate crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her, nudging her playfully. “Listen, if you want your family to shut up about you being single, you’ve got to show up looking like the best version of yourself. And besides…” She shot her a knowing look. “It wouldn’t hurt for Harry to see you in a new light.”

Y/N peeked up at her through her fingers. “What do you mean?”

Maddie grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as I’ve known you. Maybe this is the chance to finally turn his head, you know? If he’s going to be by your side all weekend, you might as well look stunning while you’re at it.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, but she quickly shook her head. “Harry doesn’t see me that way, Mads. He’s going because he’s a good friend. That’s it.”

“Maybe. But maybe not,” Maddie said with a wink. “Either way, we’re going to make sure you look incredible. Now, where’s that suitcase of yours? We’ve got some planning to do.”

The next day, Y/N stood outside Harry’s house, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She smiled as she reached for the familiar key in her pocket, the one Harry had given her ages ago. She slipped it into the lock, the click of the door unlocking bringing a sense of comfort. Harry’s house had always felt like a second home to her—sometimes more of a home than her own apartment, if she was honest.

Walking inside, the familiar scent fresh linen greeted her, making her feel instantly at ease. She made her way into the kitchen, glancing around at the cozy space before setting the flowers down on the counter. After a quick search for a vase, she arranged them carefully, letting out a satisfied sigh once they were settled. The bright colors of the flowers added a little warmth to the room, something she liked doing whenever she visited.

“Harry?” she called out, already heading towards the back of the house and into the familiar hallway that led to his bedroom.

“Closet!” his voice echoed, slightly muffled, from somewhere in the bedroom.

She stepped inside, smiling to herself. His bedroom looked like it always did—neatly chaotic, with a mix of designer clothes and random bits of his life scattered about. But one thing caught her eye immediately: his Gucci suitcase, already lying open on the floor, ready to be packed.

He’s really going through with it, she thought, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her.

As she approached the closet, Harry emerged, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. His damp curls clung to his forehead, and water still glistened on his skin. He caught her eye and grinned.

“Didn’t hear you come in,” he said, toweling off his hair as he glanced down at the suitcase. “I figured I’d start getting things ready for this weekend. here we come.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning against the doorway of his closet. “You’re already ahead of me. I haven’t even started packing yet.”

Harry shot her a playful look. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you choose your outfits. You know I have opinions.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart lightened by his teasing. But as she looked at him—standing there so casually, like this whole wedding weekend was no big deal—a knot formed in her chest. It was all starting to feel very real, and the idea of spending an entire weekend with him, pretending he was her date, was starting to feel overwhelming. Still, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his presence, the one place where everything seemed a little less complicated.

Y/N lingered by the doorway of Harry’s closet, watching as he continued to dry his hair, the smell of his cologne mixing with the steam from his shower. She glanced again at the Gucci suitcase on the floor, neatly positioned and ready to be packed. A wave of guilt hit her. She hadn’t told him everything yet—about the wedding being an entire weekend event.

Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight. “So, uh, Harry… there’s something I need to mention about the wedding.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, still toweling his hair, his grin never faltering. “What’s that? Do I need to brush up on my dance moves?”

She let out a small laugh, then bit her lip. “It’s not just the wedding ceremony, you know. It’s kind of… a whole weekend thing.”

He stopped drying his hair, the towel resting on his shoulders as he turned to face her fully. “A whole weekend?”

Y/N nodded, her heart picking up its pace. “Yeah. It’s in Edinburgh, and there’s a dinner on Friday, the ceremony and reception on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. It’s like… a three-day event.”

For a moment, Harry just stared at her, blinking. His eyes searched her face, processing what she’d just said.

“Wait, so it’s a full-on wedding extravaganza?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

Y/N nodded again, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I should’ve mentioned that before. But I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Scare me off? Y/N, I’m already committed to this. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He tossed the towel aside and crossed the room, leaning casually against the wall beside her. “A weekend in Edinburgh with you? Honestly, that sounds like a good time.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with relief, though a part of her was still nervous. “You sure? I mean, it’s a lot—my family, the pressure… all of it.”

Harry shrugged, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ve done crazier things. Plus, I’m kind of looking forward to charming your family.” His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “So, when do we leave?”

Y/N smiled, her chest filling with warmth. He really wasn’t backing out. He was in this with her, and somehow, the weekend ahead didn’t seem so daunting anymore.

Y/N and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, plates of Indian takeout spread across the coffee table. The comforting aroma of curry and naan filled the room as they half-watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days playing on the TV. They had seen it a million times, but it never got old—Harry always laughed at the same parts, and Y/N always teased him for knowing the lines better than she did.

As Y/N scooped up a bite of butter chicken with a piece of naan, she noticed Harry glancing at her with a mischievous look in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What’s that look for?”

Harry grinned, leaning back against the couch, plate balanced on his lap. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “I’m still processing the fact that you’re actually going.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still all in,” Harry assured her, nudging her playfully. “But I had a thought… Why don’t we drive to Edinburgh?”

Y/N blinked, lowering her fork. “Drive? Like, from here to Edinburgh? That’s over eight hours, H.”

“Exactly!” he said, his eyes lighting up like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Think about it—if we drive, we have complete control. If things get weird at the wedding, we’ll have a getaway car. No waiting around for flights or relying on anyone. We can just leave whenever we want.”

Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “You’re planning our escape before we’ve even arrived?”

He shrugged, popping a piece of naan into his mouth. “I like to be prepared. And besides, it’s not just about the escape plan. We’d get a proper road trip! Snacks, music, random stops at those little roadside places—remember the last time we did a long drive?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Yeah, and you made us stop at every service station just to try the food.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Exactly! Imagine all the snacks we could pack—crisps, chocolate, samosas. And the music—oh, the music! I’ll make the ultimate road trip playlist. We’ll sing along the whole way, windows down, no stress.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You just want an excuse to sing loudly and off-key, don’t you?”

“Hey, I have excellent taste in road trip tunes,” he said, pointing a fork at her in mock offense. “Besides, don’t you think it’d be fun? Eight hours in the car, just us, no rush.”

She tilted her head, contemplating the idea for a moment. As much as she loved the thought of a carefree road trip with Harry, she was more focused on practicality. “Look, I get it. But it’s just… flying is so much quicker. We’ll be there in less than two hours, and we won’t be exhausted by the time we get there. We need our energy for my family and the whole wedding thing.”

Harry leaned back against the couch, pouting playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She looked over at Harry, who was now munching on a piece of naan with an expectant grin on his face. He seemed to sense her change of heart and glanced up, eyebrows raised in question.

“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Let’s do it!”.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Really? Are you serious?”

Y/N nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, why not? It could be fun. And I guess having the car would be good for flexibility. If we need a quick escape or just want to explore a bit…”

Harry’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Right”.

-> part II

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