Fuck.

She knew better than this. Knew she shouldn’t be getting attached—shouldn’t be developing feelings for anyone, least of all you—the newest and most insignificant member of The Seven. You were a rookie, barely a blip on the radar compared to her. An up-and-comer still trying to prove yourself, while she was already a god. Untouchable. Worshipped. Feared.

And yet… here she was.

As the two of you lay tangled together, her bare body pressed against yours, she couldn’t deny the unfamiliar ache stirring in her chest. She told herself it was nothing—just a fleeting indulgence, a moment of weakness she would cast aside by morning. But with every slow, steady rise and fall of your breath beneath her, she could feel it—something. Something she wasn’t supposed to feel. Something she didn’t want to feel.

Her fingers lightly traced along your skin, slow and absent-minded, as though committing the shape of you to memory. She rested her head against your chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of your heartbeat—a steady, human sound she could crush in an instant if she wanted to. The thought should’ve been comforting. Reminding her of her power, her dominance. But instead, it only made her hold you tighter, gripping you with an almost possessive desperation, as if she was afraid you might slip through her fingers.

She squeezed her eyes shut, silently cursing herself. She shouldn’t care. She couldn’t care. And yet, as her lips brushed against your skin, she knew with a sinking certainty that she already did.