#then had to go to work right after that and had a closing shift

[a-pute11as]

an extra bottle - patri guijarro

word count - 1.8k | summary - after hours on the beach of sneaky touches and not so subtle glances, needing an extra bottle of suncream seems like a good excuse for getting away from everyone.

MDNI 18 + - smut

the two of you had been at the beach for hours, not alone unfortunately, but surrounded by a few of your barca teammates who had tagged along on your offseason trip to mallorca. whilst the company was lively, it hadn’t stopped the tension from building between you and patri. lying on the sand in swimwear that didn’t leave much to the imagination, your bodies warm from the sun and far too close, had left you more flustered than relaxed. 

even your attempt to cool off in the sea had only led to more temptation, her hands trailing along your skin beneath the water, safely out of your teammates’ sight.

so naturally, when it came time to reapply your sunscreen, you asked your girlfriend for help.

you were turned away from patri, eyes locked on the gentle waves crawling up the shore, while she worked the sunscreen into your back. her hands moved slowly, deliberately, as if she were painting something delicate. she didn’t miss a single inch, smoothing it over your warmed skin with ease.

her hands paused at your shoulders before shifting again, kneading the tension that had crept into your muscles. the tension that had been building since you got there. your eyes fluttered shut, your head tilting slightly to give her better access.

“amor.” patri murmured, her breath brushing close to your ear.

“mhm?” you hummed, not opening your eyes.

“we’re out of sunscreen,” she said, a little louder this time, her hands drifting down to rest at your waist.

you turned your head, confused. “no, amor, i packed tw-”

but she cut you off with a pointed look, nodding subtly toward the villa behind you. “no, remember? you left the second one in our room.”

it took a second for the message to land, but then you saw the slight flick of her tongue across her bottom lip, how she caught it between her teeth, and suddenly it all made sense.

“o-oh, right, yes, i forgot to bring both.” you said, nodding a little too eagerly, voice raised just enough for the others to hear.

the two of you got to your feet, leaving your towels and bags behind, the ‘empty’ bottle in patri’s hand.

“we’re just heading back to the villa. need to grab more suncream.” she announced with a casual smile, giving the bottle a shake for emphasis.

“you just covered her in suncream.” jana laughed, her head tilting slightly.

“yeah, she’s still got streaks on her back, see.” bruna pointed out, brows furrowing.

“but now patri needs some.” you replied innocently, already backing away.

ona rolled her eyes, bumping bruna’s shoulder. “nena, they’re not going for suncream. they’re going to put their hands all over each other, just away from our eyes this time.”

you didn’t bother trying to deny it, she wasn’t wrong and you were already halfway gone.

“what? oh my god.” bruna’’s eyes went wide as she looked between ona, alexia and jana, who couldn’t stop themselves but burst into laughter.

“chicas, the suncream’s literally sticking out of your bag!” alexia called after you, grinning.

but patri just raised a dismissive hand over her shoulder, “adiós!” she sang, and the two of you disappeared down the path, already far too distracted to care.

the door had barely clicked shut behind you when patri guided you against the wall, her hands already sliding beneath the edge of your bikini top. patri’s body was pressed flush to yours, her hands roaming with a kind of urgency that had been building for hours.

“i thought we were going to the bedroom.” you teased breathlessly, turning your head just enough for her lips to brush your cheek.

patri’s voice was low, her breath hot against your ear, “i couldn’t wait.”

her fingers trailed down your sides, slow but deliberate, exploring skin she already knew by heart. you tilted your head back against the wall as her lips found the spot just beneath your jaw, and your hands reached to anchor on her hips.

patri kissed you like she’d been holding back all day, because she had. every glance at the beach, every brush of your skin under the water, every whispered word that danced the edge of teasing had been leading to this.

her fingers laced with yours as she tugged you away from the wall, guiding you down the hallway, breathless, bumping into each other with quiet laughs and heated touches. 

as soon as you stepped into your bedroom, your back was against the bed, “this,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “has been driving me crazy all day.”

her hands toyed with the ties of your bikini, pulling them, watching them drop. her hands followed immediately, mapping every inch of you that was now uncovered. 

her hand dipped between your legs, fingers running through your already wet folds, “god, i would’ve made that excuse sooner if i knew you were this wet.”

you couldn’t help but laugh slightly, your friends knowing the exact intention behind the two of you leaving but as soon as her fingers began to circle your clit your laughter turned into an explicit moan.

“dime que me quieres,” she whispered, lips brushing yours without kissing.

“i want you,” you breathed, barely making a sound.

then she kissed you again, deeper, slower. everything else faded. there was only the weight of her body, her skin pressed against yours and the heat from her body that you weren’t sure was from the sun or you.

she didn’t rush. every kiss and touch was purposeful, like she was reminding you exactly how much she wanted you, how long she’d waited.

patri’s mouth was hot against your skin, her lips dragging along your jaw before dipping to the sensitive spot that sat just beneath your ear. 

you tried to push into her hand, but she stilled you easily with her other one braced firm on your hip, “fuck, patri stop teasing.” you breathed heavily. 

her fingers didn’t press deeper, they just circled slowly, your hips moved instinctively, trying to chase more, but she pulled back just enough to keep you on edge.

“patri.” you huffed, your hand gripping her wrist, the build up of desperation getting too much.

she leaned in, her breath against your ear, “you think you get to act like that all day, wearing next to nothing, letting me touch you under the water like there was no risk and then not pay for it?”

you opened your mouth to reply, but all that came out was a sound between a moan and a gasp as her two fingers slipped inside without warning, slow but deep.

your back arched, a whimper leaving your lips as she started at a grueling pace.

“there she is,” patri whispered, her voice possessive, “does it feel good?”

you nodded, incapable of anything else, your hands clutching the sheets as she began to move. her thumb circled your clit with just enough pressure to keep you from tipping over, just enough to build you higher without giving you relief.

“say it,” she whispered against your mouth, her rhythm never faltering, “say you need me.”

you let out a broken sound, your forehead pressing to hers, “i need you, please baby, i-”

that was all she needed.

her mouth was back on yours, swallowing your moans as her fingers moved with intention, deeper, faster, giving you exactly what she knew you needed.

and as the pleasure crashed into you, she held you through it, her body grounding yours, her name the only thing on your lips as everything else faded.

the room was quiet, the only sound was your breaths slowly syncing again. her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, neither of you speaking yet. usually, there’d be a second round, more teasing, more tension, but the sun and sea had drained you.

“you good?” she propped herself up, a half smug grin across her face, her fingers stilling for a moment.

you raised your eyebrows, a smile tugging at your lips, “mhm you could say that, are you?”

“incredible.” she grinned, reaching down to pepper a kiss to your lips.

“we should go back out.” you sighed, though you didn’t move.

“let them wait,” she muttered, placing a few more kisses to your face.

when the two of you stepped back onto the beach, it was quieter than before. a few of the girls had shifted under umbrellas, sunglasses perched high, bodies stretched out with drinks in hand and towels kicked aside. 

alexia was the first to glance up, squinting slightly from where she was reclined on her lounger. she took one look at the both of you, your flushed cheeks, patri’s hair not entirely fixed and just smiled knowingly before tipping her sunglasses back down.

ona didn’t say anything at first. she just raised her eyebrows slightly as she handed you your water bottle, her eyes lingering for a second too long on the marks faintly blooming at the base of your throat. you tried not to react.

“did you find the suncream?” she asked, far too casual.

patri flopped down onto her towel beside you and stretched like a cat, matching ona’s casual tone, yet your body was heating up, “yep.”

jana leaned back on her elbows, glancing between the two of you before she murmured, “you were gone a while.”

“had to find the right bottle,” you said, a small shrug attached to your words, trying your best to stop the heat rising to your cheeks even more.

“mhm,” ona muttered, not even trying to hide her smirk, “did you walk into a bush on your way?”

patri reached behind her head to fix her ponytail, unfazed, “what’s your point?”

alexia let out a quiet laugh, “her point is you two aren’t as subtle as you think.”

“subtle wasn’t the goal,” patri smirked, sending a quick glance to ona. 

you shot her a look, “patri.”

she shrugged, then turned her head to look at you, a hint of something soft behind her grin. “what? i wasn’t the one who moaned when-”

you smacked her arm quickly, your hands coming up to cover your face as your cheeks heated up further, but the girls only laughed. not cruel, slightly teasing, but in the way that made you feel safe.

bruna, sitting at the edge of the group with a book in her lap, frowned a little, “wait.”

“no,” ona interrupted, giving her a pat on the knee, “no follow-up questions, bruna, just let it go.”

“but i don’t get it.”

[jinx-xxed]

Cuddling with Clark

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

This stuff is my fav to write so I had to do one with Clark :P || pure fluff, 716 words

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

It’s late when the door to your apartment opens and closes, ever so quietly.

There’s the barely-there clink of keys being dropped into a bowl, careful footsteps through familiar halls. Clark instantly feels some of the tension in his shoulders release as he walks into your shared home, like his body knows he’s free from danger here, like it’s his own little pocket dimension away from the rest of the world. Your scent wraps around him like a warm blanket, and your comforting heartbeat thuds faint in his ears from just a few rooms away. He tries his best to not make any noise despite his big frame, knowing you’re sound asleep.

You had no idea he was coming back so soon. After all, he’d told you it could take up to a week. The mission had concluded early, with him spurred on by his selfish desire to come home to you, to finish his work even quicker so he could have you back in his arms. Clark hadn’t let you know he was on his way home, knowing that if he did you would’ve ended up trying to stay awake for him, to greet him at the door, and he wanted you to get your rest. Plus, he also wanted to surprise you.

Although, in spite of all his efforts, it seems he failed in trying to be quiet, to not disturb you as he hears your sleepy voice when he’s just a few steps away from your bedroom.

“Clark? S’that you?” You mumble, eyes squinted, your head just barely poking out from beneath the covers.

Something in him immediately melts at the sight, seeing you so sweet and cozy under the pile of blankets like you had to make up for the fact you were missing his absurd body heat. “Hey honey, didn’t mean to wake you.” He whispers, making his way over while moonlight filters through the curtains.

You shift, shaking off the blankets just enough to open your arms for him without a word, eager to have your lover back after two days apart. The bed felt empty and cold without him to take up most of it, your apartment seeming barren when he wasn’t there to fill it with the smell of bacon in the morning and his deep voice coaxing you up. He smiles with a breathy chuckle, not hesitating for a second to join you in bed, having already changed.

You latch onto him like a magnet snapping onto the fridge, immediately curling into him, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. You sigh in contentment, everything finally feeling right again after those torturous, boring, and lonely two days. “Didn’t know you were coming back so soon.” You mutter, eyes already closed again, one arm draped across his ribs, moving with each rhythmic breath he takes.

“Things finished up earlier than we thought. I came straight back here.” Clark tells you, a hand coming up to brush through your hair, the sensation threatening to send you right back to sleep. He knows it too, thinks it’s funny the way you go limp in his hold just from that.

“Mm, good.” You say, every word slurred by your drowsiness. “Missed you s’much.”

There’s a kiss pressed to your hairline, his arms coming around you, solid and safe. “Missed you too, honey.” Your face is practically smushed against his chest, just the way you like it, so you can hear his heartbeat, hear each intake of breath into his lungs. “You and I are both off tomorrow… you know what that means?”

“Hm?”

His hold on you tightens for just a second, his leg moving beneath the covers to come between yours, properly tangling himself with you. His form pretty much engulfs you, an easy feat considering his size. “It means I get to make you your favorite breakfast tomorrow morning, and we get to be together all day, just lazing around.”

You hum happily at that, at the thought of being able to stay in bed with Clark right next to you, his hair tussled from sleep and his dimples showing with his smile, the two of you making up for the lost time. “That sounds amazing, baby.” You murmur, already looking forward to it as sleep steadily claims you both.

[j3llyc4kes]

so you sent nanami spicy pics while hes in a meeting. see where that gets you when he comes home! ^_^

you hear the front door close with a quiet thud, and your heart skips—you know that sound. the deliberate weight in it.

kento’s home. and he’s most certainly not pleased with you.

“you’ve had a lot of nerve today.” his voice is low, even, like silk with teeth. a quiet threat.

you’re already seated on the bed, playing sweet, but he doesn’t bother hiding the twitch of his jaw when he sees you—legs bare, one of his shirts hanging loose off your body, pretending innocence.

he’s across the room in two strides.

“sending me those pictures. while i was in a meeting.”

you open your mouth to explain, to tease but he’s already behind you, breath warm against your neck as he pulls you into his lap, your back to his chest, thighs draped over his.

“you wanted attention, didn’t you?”

his hand slides under the hem of your shirt, fingers grazing up your inner thigh. no panties. perfect.

“well, you’ve got it now.”

you whimper as he pushes two fingers in without warning—slow but firm—the way he always does when he’s been holding back all day.

“kento—”

“no, no. you don’t get to say my name like that after what you did.”

his other arm wraps around your waist, holding you in place, making you feel so small in his lap, chest rising and falling like he’s barely keeping control.

you grind against his hand instinctively—he tsks.

“such a needy thing,” he murmurs, fingers curling just right, just enough to make you moan.

“you’ll behave next time… or maybe you won’t,” he adds, lips brushing your jaw, voice rough.

“but either way—i’ll make sure you learn.”

“look at you,” he breathes, mouth grazing the shell of your ear as his fingers work you open — slow, firm strokes that leave you trembling in his lap.

“so wet already. you like being punished, don’t you, sweetheart?”

your answer is half a gasp, hips stuttering against the rhythm of his hand, trying to chase more. but he presses his forearm tighter around your stomach, keeping you flush against him. controlled.

owned.

“you don’t get to cum yet,” he mutters, and you feel the deliberate drag of his fingers slowing inside you—teasing your sweet spot, but not quite enough. your whole body aches.

“you know what you did.”

his tone sharpens, just a bit, as he shifts under you—the hard line of his cock pressing into your lower back through his slacks.

“my sweet girl sending me those photos. while i’m trying to talk business. lingerie, fingers between your legs, dripping for me.”

he groans, like he’s recalling it—the image burned into his mind all damn day—and suddenly, he’s not patient anymore. his fingers curl harder, rougher, right up against that spongy spot that makes your legs twitch.

“k-kento—!”

“that’s right,” he growls, the edge in his voice finally slipping loose. “say my name again. say it when you cum.”

his hand moves faster now, dragging wet, messy sounds out of you, and your head drops back onto his shoulder, thighs trembling wide open for him.

his other hand slides up to your throat, not squeezing—just holding you there, keeping you grounded as your whole body starts to tighten, floodgates threatening.

“you gonna squirt for me, darling?”

he kisses your temple, so gentle even with his fingers punishing you.

“go on then. make a mess. be a good girl and soak my lap.”

you try to hold it, you do, but then he whispers it again, voice absolutely wrecked with praise.

“my sweet girl,” and you break.

your body arches, legs jerking as you cry out, flooding his hand and thighs with everything you’d been holding back. he doesn’t stop—just rides it out with you, working you through every wave, murmuring against your skin like it’s only the two of you in the world.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers, nuzzling your neck, stroking you down from the edge. “that’s what happens when you act up, see.”

you’re panting, ruined in his lap, dripping down his wrist—and he’s still so composed.

but when he finally shifts you to straddle him, you already know what’s coming next.

“now,” he says, loosening his tie with one hand.

“let me show you what happens…when you behave.”

© j3llyc4kes

:3 please check out my other works! here’s the master list! <3

[omgitzmami]

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

ExHusband!Nanami x F!reader Smut

Warning- This content is for mature audiences ONLY 18+

Tags: smut w/ no plot, just pure filth, reader lowkey hates her ex husband but cant leave the dick alone, Nanami lowkey misses us, breeding, mating press, uncomfortable conversations

Notes- I feel bad for putting you guys through that angsty ass oneshot so here's something to make it up to ya'll.

You absolutely hate your ex-husband, Kento; he never had time for your marriage due to his demanding work life and never made an effort to fix it. So when he brought up the topic of divorce, you were shocked; you thought he’d wait for you to make that move. He gave you the papers, and you reluctantly decided to sign them. You kept his last name, Nanami, just because you didn’t want to file extra paperwork to change your name back—or that’s at least what you tell your friends.

What you don’t tell them is how every night your ex-husband mysteriously comes over to your home that you once shared with him, bending you over your kitchen countertop, fucking you like it was his last wish to be with you. Your moans filled the air as your skin slapped against each other.

His hips slam against your ass as he whispers nothing but sweet things in your ear. His groans and grunts muffled as he attempted to hide how good you felt. Not wanting to give you that satisfaction. He didn’t want to admit how much he missed you. How much he needed you. It was hard to speak, especially when he was balls deep inside of you.

He lifts you, and your legs wrap around his waist as he brings you to the couch. While you were completely naked, Kento was still fully clothed. It was typical for this type of occasion, as he would usually leave right after. As he lay you down on your back, you tried your best to unbutton every button he had, but your hands were too rough and you popped one, causing him to let out a slight chuckle as you revealed his stunning torso.

“You like what you see, honey?” You roll your eyes and scoff, “Oh fuck yo–” He slammed his hips into yours again, causing you to gasp, gripping onto his biceps. “What was that? Can’t hear you over the slutty noises you're making right now.” He continued thrusting into you, hard, rough, your brain felt like it was turning into mush, you couldn’t even form actual sentences as he then lifted both of your legs, bringing them to the side of your head, putting you into a mating press. 

Tears streamed down your face as he began to thrust into you, slowly, watching as his cock slid in and out of your leaking pussy. His hair, usually kept in his nice, slick back style, was now a mess, with strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Kennnn—it’s…it’s too much!” You could only form a few words as he began thrusting harder into you, causing you to cream around his cock, leaving a thick white ring around it. You were trying not to look at his cock sliding in and out of you by turning your head away from the oncoming scene. 

Kento obviously didn’t like that, so he grabbed your chin, snapping your head back to him, "No, sweetheart. You’re going to watch me while I ruin you." He grips your neck, not rough, but firm and possessive, exuding dominance and heat. You cum on the spot, eyes rolling to the back of your head, Kento felt you tighten around him; he knew he was close; his pace began to speed up, wanting to spill every single drop of his cum into you. Finally giving you that child you begged for years ago. He leaned down a bit, giving you a deep, passionate kiss, before dumping his hot, sticky cum deep inside of your ruined pussy. 

Kento didn’t move immediately, not that you wanted him to; you were in your own world, still coming down from your orgasm. The air was filled with the scent of sex, sweat, and yours and his release mixed. You felt him shift a little, his forehead resting on yours, “Tell me to leave, and I’ll go..tell me to stay, and I’ll be here, not just tonight, but every night. I’m tired of the back and forth with you.” Your breath hitched, you knew you’d have to face reality and admit this wasn’t the healthy way to deal with each other. But you didn’t expect it so soon, and you definitely didn’t expect it while he was deep inside of you, his cum filling your womb. “I don’t know–”

This was an uncomfortable conversation to have, while you both were now naked, him on top of you, balls deep inside, your legs cramped as they were folded up to your ears. Kento, still on top of you, brows furrowed, began to slowly slide out of you, causing you to whimper, stopping once he saw the tip of his cock.

“That’s not the answer I wanted…” You panicked, squirming around under him, trying to push your hips upwards, wanting to feel his cock stretch you out again as his cum began to leak out of you, “Please, Ken..I want you! Please…stay–” you didn’t know if you meant that or not, you just didn’t want his cock to leave your pussy ever again. You wanted him inside you forever. He had heard enough; he lifted you again from the couch, this time bridal style, pacing down the hall and barging into your bedroom. You gasp at the sudden change of position, your knees released from the aching position, but not for long.

He sits on the side of the bed, still holding you before placing you between his legs. He positioned you in front of his cock, faced away from him with your ass in view, positioning his cock at your entrance with one hand as his arm was wrapped around your torso. Before you could protest, he slammed your hips down onto his entire length, causing you to moan out his name.

You began to move at a steady pace, your hands placed on both of his thighs as you bounced on his cock. Kento laid back, his hands behind his head, as you did all the work. He loved watching your ass bounce and vibrate as you slammed your hips down, easily overstimulating yourself already. He loved hearing your sweet moans and gasps as his long, girthy cock hit all the right places inside of you. 

You sped the pace up, feeling yourself getting closer and closer, you wanted to cum all over his cock for the fifth time in a row tonight. You were so close until Kento swept you off your feet again, grabbing you from your thighs, his cock slipping out of you. Your brows furrowed, your mind filled with lust and annoyance as you wondered what he was up to. Your hole twitched, trying to clinch around nothing but air, attempting to replace that good feeling of being stretched out. 

He placed his arms around the back of your legs, putting your legs up in the air, locking his hands behind your head, now putting you in the full nelson position. “I’m going to ruin you for any other man…make you remember my name and my name only.” He thrusted up into you, filling you up completely. You let out a loud moan, your voice strained from the constant pleasure you were receiving.

The tip of his cock constantly hitting your g-spot sent you into bliss. Your head hung low, looking at the tiny bulge appearing on your stomach. His cock was hitting every nerve as he thrusted faster into you. Kento leaned his head down, licking your earlobe with the tip of his tongue. “I know, baby…I know” He cooed, thrusting even harder than he was before, making you let out a small groan, already fucked out. So overstimulated, you just wanted his cock in you forever.

He finally released into you, letting out such a nasty, animalistic groan. He slipped out of you with a loud pop, reaching down to grab his cock, slapping the tip against your battered clit. He let your legs down, you hardly had any energy left as you fell back into his chest, hair no longer tied into the messy bun you had, some of it hanging out in the back and the sides, the hairtie holding on for dear life.

He shifted around, placing you on your back on the bed. Kento leaned on top of you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, waving his hand in front of your face. “You still here?” he smirked, traveling down between your legs. You were so out of it, you didn’t even speak, just gave him a weak thumbs up.

He pried your legs apart again, feeling like an animal in heat as he watched your slick and his cum beading out of you. He slowly began lapping up the mixture the releases, so infatuated with his and yours taste combined. The tip of his tongue is traveling up to your clit, swirling around the swollen bud. You gasp, arching your back as you are overstimulated to the max.

You attempt to move your hips, but this fuels him further as he puts his hands on each side of your hips, pinning you down as he continues to eat your pussy like a starved man. You grip the bedsheets, knuckles turning white as you don’t even know why you signed those damn divorce papers in the first place, you might as well let him back into your life if he’s going to fuck you like this every night. Kento gave your clit a quick kiss before leaning up, spitting down onto your folds, his cock visibly hard again. You look up at him, eyes glossy, legs wobbly, going in and out of consciousness. Kento looked at you with a grin plastered across his face.

“I hope you don’t think this is the end of it, baby. This is just the beginning.”

Thank you for reading!

© omgitzmami ♡ all my lil creations are mine 🌷 2025

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Hey, Roomie

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: The day after your drop begins on a hopeful note, you wake feeling more grounded, the emotional storm finally passing. But the peace is short-lived when some unplanned visitors arrive, throwing your fragile calm into disarray. With tensions rising, you’re left to wonder: will their presence undo everything you and Natasha have fought to build over the past few days?

Warnings: 18+, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, age difference, older WandaNat/younger reader, Light BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, Light angst, Fluff, Smut, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Toys, Aftercare.

A/N: Hiii! Sorry this one took a while to come out. I know it has been a long time! But it turns out that a wave of kindness on here the other day somehow kicked my motivation into gear. Because of that, I finally managed to write, but I am being impulsive in posting this. Normally, I’d sit on a fic for a few days, reread it, and decide whether it’s complete trash or not, but I know my motivation might vanish if I wait too long. So if this isn’t my finest work, I’m really sorry! It’s the best I’ve got for now, and I hope you still enjoy it 🩵

Word Count: 13,421 words

P.S. This is a direct continuation of Oh, Malyshka…, so you should probably read that first!

NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

The morning unfolded in a hush, slow and syrupy, the kind of softness only a Saturday could offer. Light streamed in through the slats of the blinds in delicate ribbons, casting gentle shadows across the room. Natasha had already slipped away, her side of the bed long gone cold. She never could stay away from the gym for long, even if it meant leaving her girls tangled in bed without her.

You hadn’t moved much since she'd left. Wanda remained curled around you, her body pressed to yours, her heartbeat a steady lullaby beneath you. Her fingers idly combed through your hair in long, slow strokes. You could’ve stayed like that forever, suspended in the quiet, held in the warmth of her arms while the rest of the world stayed somewhere out of reach.

It was the soft creak of the stairs that signalled Natasha’s return, followed by the quiet, assured rhythm of her steps. She moved like always, deliberate and smooth, but the moment she appeared in the doorway, the atmosphere shifted. 

It was subtle at first, but something about her energy felt different. Tense, maybe. Definitely guarded. She stood still for a moment, framed in the doorway, her hair damp and curling faintly around her face, her workout clothes clinging to her skin. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes as she looked at the two of you, and then, without a word, she crossed the room and began rifling through the wardrobe with more focus than the task required.

You stirred slowly, pushing yourself up with a slight frown, your gaze following her every movement. Wanda shifted beside you, her touch still resting lightly on your hip as her brows knitted with quiet concern. 

She beat you to the question, her voice gentle but steady, “Nat? What’s going on?”

There was a pause, not long, but heavy. Natasha let out a slow exhale as she closed the wardrobe door a little too firmly and leaned back against it, her hand lifting to run through her hair. She didn’t look at either of you right away, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor instead. When she finally spoke, her voice was hesitant.

“My sister called this morning,” she said quietly. “She wants to come over.”

Wanda blinked and glanced at you, confusion clear on her face, before turning her attention back to Natasha. “Okay… and that’s a bad thing?”

Natasha shifted, her arms folding across her chest in a posture that looked far too defensive for the situation. Her gaze flicked to you then, briefly, before dropping again. When she spoke, her voice was softer still, almost as if she didn’t want to be heard. “Well… our malyshka (little one) is here.”

The words hit harder than you expected. There was no accusation in them, no malice, but they still landed with a weight you weren’t prepared for. Your stomach tightened, something inside you folding in on itself before you could stop it. You sat up straighter, masking the sudden sting behind a smile that felt too stiff, too bright.

“Oh. I mean… I can go,” you offered quickly, trying to make it easier for her. “It’s no big deal. I get it.” You forced a little laugh, waving your hand like it didn’t matter, even though something deep in your chest had already started to ache. “I’m not your wife. You don’t want your family to know about me. I understand.”

The silence that followed wasn’t long, but it was stark. Natasha’s head snapped up, eyes wide, and for the first time in a long time, she looked genuinely shaken. “What?” she said, almost too loud. Then, softer, apologetic, as if the sound of her own voice startled her. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I was worried about at all.”

She crossed the room in quick, urgent steps, coming to stand at the edge of the bed, her posture open now, hands hovering like she wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if she had the right. Her voice cracked just slightly around the edges, but it was full of warmth, of conviction.

“Do you really think I’d hide you?” she asked, incredulous. “She knows about you. Of course she does. I just haven’t told her everything yet, not who you are, but I talk about you all the time.”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected that, and Wanda sat up a little straighter beside you, her hand tightening on yours as she glanced between you and Natasha, her expression soft but searching. “Then… what is it, Nat?” she asked gently.

Natasha hesitated, then sighed as she dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, her shoulders finally relaxing. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to meet her,” she admitted. “It’s a big step. I know it is. And after last night, I didn’t want to rush you into something that might feel too much. Too soon.”

You stared at Natasha, lips parting but no words coming out. That twist in your chest had softened now, something fragile and aching loosening into something else, something warm, confusing, and terrifyingly gentle. 

It hadn’t been shame, it hadn’t even been uncertainty about you. It had been concern, plain and simple. She wasn’t afraid of what her sister might think; she was afraid it might be too much for you. 

And maybe she was right to worry, because now that the door had cracked open, your thoughts were unravelling too quickly to hold onto. You didn’t even know her sister’s name. You’d never heard her laugh, didn’t know what irritated her, what made her protective, or if she’d be blunt and cold or quietly judging. And if she was anything like Natasha… well, there was no chance she'd make it easy to get to know her.

And how would you even begin to explain what this relationship was, or how it had started, without it sounding like you’d just slept your way into their lives? What if she took one look at you and decided you didn’t belong here? That you were some silly girl playing grown-up, dragging her sister into a mess she didn’t deserve? 

You barely registered Wanda calling you until her voice grew a little firmer, a little more concerned. “Darling?” she repeated again, her hand stroking your thigh to pull you back. You blinked, snapping out of your spiral like surfacing from underwater.

“Huh?” you croaked, your throat tight as you dragged your eyes back to hers. “Sorry, I was just—”

“Spiralling,” Wanda said, smiling faintly, not mocking, just quietly affectionate. Her eyes narrowed a little with that teasing lilt she always used when she was trying to draw you back to yourself. “Your face gives it away, you know.”

You tried to laugh, but it caught in your chest. Natasha was already shifting behind you, her presence warm and steady on the bed. She reached out, her hand running slowly down your back, grounding you.

“You don’t have to meet her,” she said quietly, her voice lower now, trying to offer you an out. “I won’t be upset. It’s a lot. If you’re not ready, we can wait.”

But the shame had already risen, hot and bitter. Because it wasn’t that you didn’t want to meet her, you did. You just didn’t know how to believe you were enough.

“I do want to,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I just...” The words snagged in your throat before they tumbled out in a rush. “What if she hates me? What if she thinks I’m some… some homewrecker? I’m not your wife. I don’t have a job or a plan. I’m just a student with nothing to offer. And you’re both so—” Your voice broke as you looked between them, helpless. “You’re extraordinary. And I’m... I’m nothing.”

Everything went quiet for a moment. Wanda exhaled slowly beside you, like something in her had snapped taut. Then she moved. She shifted forward, fluid and sure, sliding from beside you to kneel right in front of you on the mattress. Her knees pressed to either side of your thighs, not quite straddling you, just close enough to make the space between you feel inescapable. 

Her hands reached up without pause, cupping your face firmly,  like she couldn’t bear for you to look anywhere else. And her eyes… they didn’t just shine with feeling. They burned.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” she said, low and steady, her accent thickening with emotion. “Not ever.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. You just stared, heart pounding.

“You are not nothing,” she continued, voice fierce but steady, every word laced with steel. “And you are not a homewrecker. You are part of us. Do you understand? We didn’t trip and fall into this. We chose you. We wanted you.”

Your lip trembled, and you gave a tiny shake of your head, but she wasn’t done.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” she whispered. “I see someone who makes us better. You soften us, make us laugh more, and feel more. You make this strange, beautiful thing we’ve built feel like something solid. Like home. Don’t you ever try to shrink that down to nothing.”

Natasha shifted closer behind you on the bed, her hand sliding from your back to your knee. Her voice was low and steady. “She’s right. You’re what makes us whole. We love you.”

Your breath caught, the words punching the air from your lungs. “You… you love me?”

Natasha’s eyes widened, just a little, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Her mouth opened once, then again, but nothing came out at first. Then, finally, a small nod. “We do,” she said. “It’s okay if you’re not there yet. Honestly… I think we both fell faster than we expected to.”

There was something rare and fragile in her expression, a shy smile from someone who so rarely looked uncertain, and it made your chest ache in the best way. And something inside you finally stopped running. “I love you, too,” you said, voice shaking. “Both of you. I love you so much.”

Wanda beamed, her whole face lighting up like the sun had cracked right through her. She surged up to kiss you, slow and deep and breathless, a kiss that said everything she hadn’t yet. “I love you,” she whispered against your lips.

Then Natasha practically nudged her aside with a muttered, “Alright, my turn,” before crashing her lips to yours in something rougher, hungrier, still full of emotion, but fiercer, more possessive. When she finally pulled away, your head was spinning, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, your whole face lit up in a dazed grin.

Natasha grinned right back at you. Her thumb brushed along your flushed cheek, a tender sweep that made your stomach flutter. “I’ll let her know she can come,” she murmured, voice quiet but certain. “Come on, let’s get ready, yeah?”

You nodded, the nerves still humming beneath your skin, but you let yourself be drawn into motion, guided gently by the steady presence of the women who loved you. The three of you ended up in the bathroom, enveloped by the mist and heat of the shower, the glass already fogged as water poured down in comforting waves.

Later, wrapped in towels and a little more grounded, you stood in front of the wardrobe, entirely overwhelmed by the simple act of choosing something to wear. The anxiety crept up again, fast and irrational, curling into your chest as you second-guessed every option. 

Wanda, of course, saw it happening before you even said a word. She padded over, still towel-damp and radiant, her hands landing on your shoulders with that steadying calm she carried so effortlessly. With her help, you found something that felt like you, and with Natasha’s low, appreciative whistle echoing down the hall as she passed by, you felt just a little braver, a little more sure of yourself.

Downstairs, you and Wanda drifted into the kitchen, the quiet hum of the late morning shifting into something playful and light. You moved around each other with ease, bumping hips and exchanging knowing smiles, swaying to whatever music filtered in through the speakers. 

Somewhere in the background, Natasha kept appearing and disappearing, feigning the search for a coffee mug or her phone charger, but really, she was just watching. She held her phone loosely, pretending to scroll before sneakily snapping candid photos and videos, little stolen moments of you and Wanda in your element, soft and domestic and entirely yourselves.

The knock came just as Wanda was slicing into a red pepper, the blade tapping in a soothing rhythm against the chopping board. She paused mid-motion, glancing toward the hallway with a spark of knowing in her eyes, and then turned to you with a soft, reassuring smile. Her hands wiping clean on a tea towel as she crossed the kitchen.

“That’ll be her,” she murmured, voice warm and low, threaded with affection that grounded you even as your stomach flipped. She reached out to briefly squeeze your forearm, grounding you with her touch. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

You nodded, jaw tightening slightly as you clutched the wooden spoon with a white-knuckled grip. Nerves jittered in your chest, and before you could fully gather yourself, the sound came: soft footsteps crossing the hall, Natasha’s, you’d memorised the cadence by now, a door opening with a quiet creak... and then something unexpected. More footsteps. Not just one set.

Your brow furrowed as you straightened slightly, spoon pausing mid-stir. Muffled voices filtered through, then a light thud against the wall, followed by a very distinct giggle. Your blood turned to ice. Your body reacted before your brain caught up, posture snapping upright, heart clenching as your eyes widened. You knew that giggle.

You barely had a second to process before Natasha appeared in the doorway, her expression already softening when she spotted you. She offered a small, steady smile, one that said you’ve got this, a silent nod of encouragement, but then stepped aside, and your world tilted off its axis.

Yelena entered with a swagger in every step, leather jacket zipped up to the collar, and a familiar smirk stretched across her lips. Her eyes flicked over you with far too much amusement.

And right behind her, in all her casual betrayal, came Kate.

Your Kate. Your roommate. 

She strolled in with the same ease she used when raiding your snacks, her hip bumping the edge of the counter as she dropped her backpack on a stool like she’d done it a hundred times, and she may well have. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, lips tugging up into a grin.

“Hey, roomie,” she chirped, voice light as air and utterly unbothered. “Nice apron.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then the bottom dropped out of your stomach. “Kate?!” you gasped, voice cracking somewhere between disbelief and panic. Your hand flew to the counter behind you for balance as you stumbled a half-step backwards. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Kate tilted her head, clearly revelling in your horror. She folded her arms slowly, like she was settling in for a good show. “I am sure you have already figured it out, no?”

Wanda turned from the stove with a confused frown, her eyes flicking between the three of you as she instinctively stepped closer to you. Natasha was already scanning the room with sharper eyes, her brows drawn tight, the air suddenly thick with her tension.

“Kate Bishop is your roommate?” Natasha asked, her voice clipped, hard edges forming around every syllable. She stared at you, then Wanda, then back again, something rapidly unravelling in her expression. “This is the Kate you keep talking about?”

You made a strangled sound and buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god. This is not happening.”

Yelena raised a brow and gave a small, smug smile. “It’s very much happening,” she said dryly, eyes glittering with amusement. “And we’d like to discuss something important. Namely… how you three have been sneaking around, and very poorly at that.”

Wanda blinked rapidly, still clearly catching up. “What do you mean? What do you know?” she asked, voice hesitant and searching.

“Oh, everything,” Kate said breezily, reaching for a grape from the bowl on the island. She tossed it into her mouth and chewed with obnoxious calm. “After I called you two to come pick up a certain someone in full sub meltdown last night, I recognised your voices. You didn’t even try to disguise them, by the way, shame on you.”

Natasha's mouth opened slightly, but no words came. Her gaze flitted between you and Yelena like her brain had hit a lag spike.

Yelena waved her hand lazily in the air, like this was all routine. “And when I got the call from Kate, it all clicked. Her curious roommate with secret dommes? Your conveniently vague new sub and girlfriend?”

Wanda blinked again, slowly this time, lips parting with dawning horror. “So… this was a setup?”

Kate beamed, absolutely thriving in the drama. “A loving intervention,” she corrected cheerfully.

You groaned, turning away and leaning heavily into the counter, your hands gripping the edge as if trying to physically hold onto your last shreds of dignity. “I cannot believe you two schemed your way in here.”

Natasha finally found her voice, though it came out flat, stunned. “You’ve known since last night and didn’t say anything?”

Yelena shrugged nonchalantly. “We wanted to confirm it in person. And honestly?” She looked over at Kate with a gleam of shared victory. “Watching your faces right now? So worth it.”

Kate nodded sagely, already swinging one leg up onto another stool like this was movie night. “Better than any TV show.”

You stared at her in open betrayal. “I hate you,” you muttered. “This was so mean. You could’ve said something!”

Kate gave a smug shrug, her grin stretching impossibly wider. “You love me. And you know it.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “I want to die. Like, literally, I want the floor to swallow me whole.”

Wanda chuckled softly under her breath and leaned into your space, brushing a tender hand down your spine in long, calming strokes. “Sweetheart, it’s okay,” she whispered gently, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You shook your head, hair mussed and panic still prickling across your skin. “Nuh-uh. This is my villain origin story. I’m already plotting Kate’s murder. Not Yelena’s, though, pretty sure she’d kick my ass.”

Yelena barked a laugh and reached over to drop an affectionate arm around Natasha’s stiff shoulders. “I like her. Can we keep her?”

Wanda didn’t hesitate. Her hand curled tighter around your waist as she kissed the top of your head again, her tone leaving no room for debate. “We are keeping her. She’s ours.”

You blushed so hard your ears burned. The warmth of her voice, the claim she put on you, even in front of them, sent a flutter to your chest. You dared a glance sideways and caught the way Kate’s expression softened at the sight of Wanda holding you like that, her earlier teasing ebbing into something quieter.

Natasha broke the moment with a muttered “I need vodka.”

Yelena’s face instantly brightened, the spark of mischief and purpose lighting her eyes as she plunged her hand into her bag with the determined flair of Mary Poppins on a mission. “Oh! I brought vodka,” she declared triumphantly, producing a sleek, frosted bottle that gleamed under the kitchen lights. “Straight from Russia, none of that watered-down bullshit you get here.”

Wanda exhaled a soft laugh, her expression amused but unsurprised. “Of course you did,” she murmured with a calm smile, turning back to the stove. “Lunch is nearly done. Why don’t you all go sit?”

Natasha, still looking vaguely stunned from the earlier whirlwind of revelations, blinked once, then turned toward the dining room without protest. Yelena and Kate trailed after her, already chatting and laughing under their breath as they disappeared around the corner like the chaos twins they were.

You stayed rooted to the spot, your fingers clutching the edge of the counter a second too long.

Wanda caught the hesitation immediately. Her hand paused mid-stir as she turned to look at you properly, her gaze softening with that same intuitive tenderness that never failed to knock the air from your lungs. She wiped her hands on a tea towel, brow creasing slightly as she stepped closer.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” she asked gently, voice low and warm.

“They’re going to tease me,” you mumbled, staring down at the tiled floor. “Like… so badly. Especially now that they know.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed, her expression shifting with quiet concern as she prompted you to continue with a subtle nod. 

“They’re already menaces,” you muttered, your voice edged in anxious frustration. “But now that they know everything? That we’re together? That I’m your—” You cut yourself off abruptly, eyes flicking toward the doorway like the word might echo. “They’re going to be insufferable.”

Wanda stepped in close, her hands finding your waist, firm and grounding. Her thumbs moved in small, soothing circles through the fabric of your jumper.

“They might tease, sure,” she said softly, “but only because they love you. They’re excited. This…it’s something good. And they’re not laughing at you, Moya lyubov'(my love). They’re just happy you finally got caught.”

You groaned and buried your face against her shoulder, muffling your words into her collarbone. “I don’t want to go sit there while they plot how to make me combust from embarrassment.”

She huffed a gentle laugh and pressed a kiss to your hair. “I know. But maybe it won't be so bad. And if it gets too much, you can come right back here and I’ll chase them all out with a wooden spoon.”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded, melting into her touch for just a moment longer, letting her warmth push back the worst of your nerves. “Deal,” you murmured.

“Good girl,” she whispered, and the praise sank into your chest like warmth spreading through frost. She pulled away just enough to reach for the tray with the glass pitcher and a neat stack of tumblers. “Now, take these out there for me. You’ll feel better going in with something to do.”

You hesitated again, dragging your heels in the most reluctant whine. “Shoo,” she said fondly, pressing the pitcher into your hands. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

You exhaled dramatically but obeyed, clutching the tray like a shield as you turned toward the dining room, braced for whatever fresh embarrassment your friends were undoubtedly cooking up without you.

You could hear them before you rounded the corner, Kate’s voice bright and irreverent, Yelena’s deeper chuckle rumbling behind it, and Natasha’s quieter, controlled laugh trailing along like an undercurrent. 

But as you stepped into the dining room, balancing the tray carefully in your hands, the laughter softened, not stopped abruptly or cruelly, just a natural quieting as they registered your arrival.

“Ah! She’s here,” Yelena’s smirk returned instantly, her eyes gleaming with a familiar spark of mischief. Her lips curled up at one side like she was already plotting something. “Let me get you a real drink!”

Your chest tightened, and your throat suddenly felt dry despite the pitcher in your hands. You set the tray down with careful precision, your fingers lingering a moment too long as you arranged the water and glasses on the table. Your eyes flicked nervously toward Natasha.

She was sitting with her arms loosely crossed, posture relaxed but alert, watching you carefully. A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes were harder to read, calm, but with something unreadable simmering beneath. 

“She has one,” Natasha said in her usual clipped tone, nodding toward the water pitcher with a slight lift of her chin. Her voice was dry, almost teasing, but there was an edge of bluntness that made your stomach flip. “She brought water. See?”

Your heart skipped. You froze for a moment, caught between amusement and uncertainty. Was that a gentle ribbing? A warning? The way her gaze settled on you was so steady, so unreadable, half amused, half pointed, that you couldn’t quite tell if she was silently scolding you.

Yelena, however, barely paused. Her grin grew wider, teeth flashing as she slid a shot glass toward you with a deliberate flick of her wrist. “What, this?” She tapped the water lightly. “This is not a drink.”

Your lips parted, mouth dry, but you took the shot glass without hesitation. The burn went down fast, sharp and fiery, making the knot of nerves in your chest twist just a little less tightly. 

“Another, please?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, holding out your hand with a flicker of false confidence.

Yelena threw her head back with a delighted laugh, clearly pleased to see you playing along. “See? She was thirsty, Tasha,” she said, shooting Natasha a smug look as she poured another shot.

You caught Natasha’s eyes again. This time, her gaze sharpened, thoughtful and quieter than before. There was a flicker of concern behind her eyes, but she said nothing. You swallowed the second shot quickly, ignoring the flutter of anxiety that followed. 

Sliding into your seat, you forced a casual expression onto your face, hoping you looked more relaxed than you felt inside. But your heart hammered so loudly it felt like it might betray you.

Kate bumped your knee gently under the table, voice softening into something warmer and sincere. “Glad you’re here,” she said quietly. “I thought you’d never leave Wanda.”

You managed a small, grateful smile, the warmth in her tone threading through your nerves. “I was just getting the water. Sorry for taking so long.”

Kate’s eyes twinkled with amusement, giving you a look that silently screamed "liar", but she didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Are you doing better today?”

The question caught you off guard, and your cheeks flushed again. You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Much... thank you for last night.” You glanced down, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth “You shouldn't have had to deal with that, I'm really sorry".

Natasha and Yelena exchanged a look, but before they spoke, Kate’s eyes flicked to you again with quiet encouragement. “Shut up, idiot. I’m glad I was there. Look where it’s got us!” Kate giggled. “I finally know who your dommes are!”

You swallowed hard, trying to shove the flush of embarrassment and anxiety deeper down, far away from the surface.

Yelena rolled her eyes with exaggerated frustration, voice playful but sharp. “Exactly, it's all worth it! She wouldn’t even tell me who you were! Her own sister! I was starting to think you didn’t actually exist.”

Natasha’s voice cut in, a little sharper than before. “Why would I lie about having a sub?”

That hit harder than you'd anticipated. The word sub hung in the air like a label that didn’t quite fit. It made your chest tighten, your stomach twist. As if that was all you were to her. Not her girlfriend. Not the woman she claimed to love. Just... her sub, something she played with.

“Because you hate talking about anything, and that stopped me nagging at you to find someone,” Yelena shot back, her grin fading into something more teasingly accusatory.

Natasha’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly as she replied, voice low but tense. “You are literally my sister. Our sex lives should not be a topic of conversation.”

Yelena rolled her eyes again, unbothered. “Oh, come on. I was just trying to help after the shit with she-who-shall-not-be-named.”

“Don’t,” Natasha warned sharply, voice clipped.

You and Kate exchanged a glance, both of you falling quiet as the conversation between Natasha and Yelena teetered on the edge of something sharper. Kate’s brows lifted slightly in a silent "yikes", and you gave a small, tight-lipped smile and a nod in agreement. 

Yelena, to her credit, must’ve sensed the shift. She raised both hands in mock surrender, her expression softening. “My bad, sestra. I know it’s a sore subject,” she muttered with a quick glance at Natasha, then turned back toward you and Kate, the grin slipping back into place. “Shots to reset the mood?”

Kate gave an easy nod, already reaching for her glass. You managed a smile that felt too wide, too eager. “Yes, please,” you said, voice a touch too high, too quick, like you were trying to outrun the discomfort still crawling up your throat.

Yelena chuckled, clearly pleased to redirect the attention, and poured four fresh shots with a casual flourish. The three of you lifted your glasses in near-unison, downing them with varying degrees of grace. Kate made a face as the vodka hit her tongue, Yelena grinned like it was nothing, and you blinked fast against the burn, letting it drown out the tightness in your chest.

Natasha, however, didn’t move to pick up her glass. In fact, she didn’t move at all. She remained completely still, elbow propped against the table, her chin resting lightly on her hand, but her gaze was distant, fixed somewhere in front of her rather than on anyone else. 

You glanced toward her, instinctively seeking her out, hoping for even a flicker of connection, a glance, a smile, some quiet reassurance, but her eyes refused to meet yours. She looked past you like you weren’t even there, and the cold edge of that dismissal cut deeper than you’d expected.

The silence around her felt deafening, thick with something unspoken, and your throat tightened as your gaze dropped. Your hands slipped quietly into your lap, fingers curling and uncurling in restless little movements you couldn’t quite stop. 

The tension sat heavy on your shoulders, pressing into the fragile seams of your nerves, and though you were still at the table, surrounded by the soft murmur of conversation between Kate and Yelena, you suddenly felt very far away.

But before it swallowed you completely, Wanda swept into the room, balancing five plates like it was nothing. You stared, momentarily stunned. You knew full well you’d have dropped at least one trying to carry that many, but she moved with ease.

“Lunch is served,” Wanda announced with bright cheer, her tone light as she set the plates down one by one. When she reached you, she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze as she slid your plate into place, a small touch, but it landed like a balm. Then she moved with purpose, settling herself at the head of the table, right between you and Natasha, like she’d known exactly what she was doing.

The shift in the room was immediate. The tension didn’t evaporate completely, it still buzzed faintly beneath your skin, but it eased. Like the air itself had softened. With Wanda there, anchored between you, the tightness in your chest loosened enough to let you breathe again.

“Okay, this smells amazing,” Kate blurted out with delight, practically diving for her fork. She barely paused before cutting into her portion, already halfway to moaning with appreciation. “Wanda, I love you.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out quietly but clearly: “Get in line.”

As soon as they left you, heat bloomed across your face. You didn’t mean to say it, not out loud. You risked a glance toward Wanda, whose soft smile hadn’t faded, her eyes twinkling as if she’d heard exactly what she wanted to. But then your gaze flicked toward Natasha.

She was still, her posture too rigid, arms folded tight in her lap like she was trying to contain something. Her eyes flicked briefly to Wanda, then drifted back down to her plate, bypassing you entirely. The tiny crease in her brow hadn’t budged.

You shifted in your seat, hands in your lap tightening, the sting of embarrassment pooling behind your ribs. You hadn’t meant it to be too much. You hadn’t meant to overstep.

But before the silence could settle too heavily, Yelena was already leaning forward with a grin that was all too knowing, her expression laced with mischief and mock affection, eyebrows raised in playful judgment, ready to break the tension in a way only she could.

“Aww,” she said, voice playful and loud enough to fill the quiet spaces, “you guys are already in the ‘I love you’ stage. That is so cute.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed at Yelena with a sharp but affectionate glare. “Will you behave for once, Lena?” she said, tone teasing but with a sharp edge that suggested she could sense Natasha’s unreadiness for this.

Yelena just grinned, unbothered and unapologetic. “What’s the fun in that? Sisters are made to be annoying. It’s literally my job.”

Kate rolled her eyes, half-smiling with fond exasperation. “You’re a pain in the ass.” But there was something warm in her expression, like this was their usual rhythm.

“It’s okay, Kate,” Wanda said softly, her voice calm and steady as she reached out to rest a gentle hand on the table near yours, a quiet anchor. “We’re in that stage, and we’re proud of it.” Her eyes flicked to Yelena, who was now chewing thoughtfully. “She can tease all she likes. But if she keeps going, I’ve got plenty of stories to make her squirm. So go on, mladshaya sestra.”

Your mind settled at Wanda’s confirmation and her teasing of Yelena, but you cocked your head slightly, brows furrowed in concentration. “What is… mladshaya sestra?” you asked, attempting the pronunciation with a hesitant, sheepish smile.

“Little sister,” Yelena answered with a theatrical sigh. “Wanda here loves reminding me I’m a whole four years younger. Like I can’t do maths.”

“Well, when you act like a child, you deserve the reminder, hm?” Wanda said, her tone lightly admonishing but warm, the kind of voice that made you squeeze your thighs together beneath the table, hoping no one noticed.

Yelena ducked her head, cheeks tinting a soft pink, and Kate laughed openly, delighting in watching her girlfriend suffer. “God, I love when Wanda knocks you down a peg. Watching you squirm is my favourite pastime.”

“Don’t I know it,” you muttered, remembering the mortifying moment you’d accidentally walked in on Yelena tied up on Kate’s bed.

Kate let out a genuine bark of laughter, and even Wanda stifled a giggle behind her glass. Yelena, however, was thoroughly pink-faced.

“You’re all bullies,” she huffed, crossing her arms with a mock pout. “I will not stand for this.”

Kate grinned, leaning closer to Yelena with a teasing glint in her eye. “It’s okay, babe. You’re not the only one who squirms when Wanda uses that voice.” She glanced meaningfully at you.

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your neck. “Shut up,” you hissed, desperate to change the subject. “Anyway, this food is amazing, Wands. Thank you.”

“It is,” Kate agreed with a dreamy sigh. “We need to come here more often. Nothing hits like Wanda’s cooking.”

“Thank you, Kate,” Wanda said, her smile softening even more. “You both know you’re always welcome.”

Yelena shot you a cheeky grin. “Especially now you’re not hiding this one.”

You rolled your eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of your lips. The teasing was relentless, sure, but it didn’t feel cruel. It wasn’t isolating. In fact, there was something comforting about it, the way laughter rippled around the table and swept you along with it. You weren’t the only target, and more importantly, you weren’t on the outside of the joke. You were inside it, part of the chaos, part of them. It felt warm, safe, like you belonged.

The rest of dinner unfolded in a gentle rhythm. Yelena animatedly recounted stories from work, Kate chiming in with amusing anecdotes from her recent escapades. While Wanda shared little updates from the coffee shop.

You let yourself relax into it, the safety of the shared space wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Natasha’s silence still pressed at the edges of your comfort, but for now, the ache had softened just enough to let you enjoy the moment. 

Eventually, Kate and Yelena said their goodbyes, leaving you alone with Wanda and Natasha. The three of you moved around the kitchen in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, Wanda washing the dishes, you drying, and Natasha putting them away.

Soft music played in the background, filling the space with a strange domestic calm that only seemed to deepen the hollow pit forming in your stomach because Natasha was still quiet. 

You swallowed hard and broke the silence. “Nat… do you want me to go?” you asked quietly, holding a plate in your hands, drying it slowly.

Natasha looked up, startled, eyes wide as if your question had caught her off guard. "No. Why would I want that?” Her voice was tentative, laced with genuine confusion.

You lowered your gaze, searching for the right words as you tried to say what you’d been asked to express. “You… you seem like you don’t really want me here right now,” you admitted, voice soft but trembling slightly. “You called me your sub, not your girlfriend. You didn’t say you loved me. And you’ve barely looked at me. If you need space… or maybe this has changed things for you… Maybe you’ve changed your mind about us, I can leave. I’ll understand.” The words tumbled out in a rush, raw and honest, though you fought hard to hold back the sting of tears and rejection.

Wanda reached out gently, her hand settling on your shoulder in quiet support, but she said nothing, as if she knew this was a moment only for the two of you.

“Detka (babe)…” Natasha’s voice was quiet, almost brittle. “It’s not like that. I promise.”

You placed the towel down slowly, fingers lingering on the fabric as you tried to steady yourself. Then you reached out, gently touching her arm, not demanding, just… there. Hoping it might be enough to pull her closer.

“Then what is it like?” you asked, the question small and steady. You didn’t try to hide the hurt, there was no point. Your eyes searched hers, your thumb brushing lightly against her skin, as if she might speak more freely if you reminded her she was safe with you.

Natasha let out a breath through her nose and looked away for a moment, jaw tense. You saw the way her shoulders tightened, the flicker of something behind her eyes. Not coldness, it was conflict.

“I think…” she started, then stopped herself. Her gaze dropped to your joined hands, like they’d surprised her. “I think I was just… overwhelmed. Everything changed really quickly, didn’t it?”

You nodded slowly, encouraging her without a word.

“We were dancing around this thing for ages,” she went on, her voice low and uneven. “Then suddenly, it’s real. There’s no pretending anymore. No safety net. We had that scene, then the drop, then all this soft, vulnerable stuff between us—” she swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to yours, “—which I love, but it hit me harder than I expected. And then Lena showing up and being Lena... I just kind of shut down without meaning to.”

The corner of your mouth tugged into something small and sad. “I thought maybe it scared you off.”

“No.” The word came quickly, too forceful to be anything but honest. She stepped a little closer, like the thought alone unsettled her. “God, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t scare me off if you tried.”

Your breath caught at the intensity in her voice, and Natasha softened a bit as she noticed. She squeezed your hand gently.

“I’m sorry for my choice of words today,” she said, quieter now. “I was in my head. Not because I don’t feel it, I do. I love you. You are my girlfriend. But I was… Processing everything... very badly.”

You could see it now, the regret in her eyes, the stiffness in her posture that wasn’t distance, just fear. Just a woman trying to figure out how to let herself be loved again without losing her footing.

“I guess I’m not used to having this much good all at once,” Natasha said, the words landing quiet and raw. Her lips quirked at the corners in a tired smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s taking me a second to learn how to hold it.” 

You didn’t rush to speak. You just stepped in closer, your hands brushing against hers, and let the silence sit a moment longer. “That’s okay,” you said gently. “Me and Wands can hold it with you.” 

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you saw it then, the way her defences buckled just slightly, the flicker of something soft breaking through the carefully held stillness. She didn’t move, but her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her lashes fluttered like she was blinking back something too tender to show. 

Then you noticed it, a single tear tracking silently down her cheek. Your breath caught, and without thinking, you leaned in, your lips pressing gently to her skin where the tear had fallen. Just a kiss, featherlight. 

You started to pull back, but she caught you. Her fingers curled around the back of your neck, firm and certain, and then she was kissing you. The kiss was slow, deep, full of everything she hadn’t said earlier, every apology, every reassurance. 

You melted into it instinctively, your hands coming to rest on her waist, steadying the both of you. She kissed you like she needed to remind herself you were real. When she finally pulled back, her breathing was shallow, and she kept her forehead pressed to yours. 

“Mmm,” she murmured, her voice thicker now, rough around the edges. “That definitely helped clear my head.” 

A soft chuckle came from behind you, warm and amused. You blinked, startled, having completely forgotten Wanda was still standing quietly by the sink. 

“I bet she could help clear your head even more, Nat,” Wanda said, amusement dancing in her voice. 

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks instantly, and Natasha’s hand didn’t leave your neck. If anything, her grip tightened slightly. You nodded before you could think twice, heart thudding. Your voice caught somewhere in your throat, but the answer was already there, yes, whatever she needed. Always yes. 

Natasha didn’t move for a moment. She just looked at you. Her thumb brushed along the line of your jaw as her gaze flicked between your eyes. “Yeah?” she asked, her voice lower now, like a current running just beneath the surface. “You want to help Daddy clear her head, kotenok (kitten)?” 

You nodded again, but this time you found your voice, quiet and pleading. “Yes, please.” 

The smile that spread across her lips was slow, indulgent, and unmistakably hers. She leaned in close again, her breath warm against your mouth, but she didn’t kiss you this time. She let the tension bloom between you, let it settle in your chest like gravity pulling you toward her. 

And then Natasha moved fast, so fast you barely had time to gasp before she was hoisting you effortlessly over her shoulder, one arm braced against the backs of your thighs. “Bedroom. Now,” she called to Wanda over her shoulder as she started walking. Wanda just laughed, following with zero urgency. “I guess I’ll finish the dishes tomorrow.”

—

Natasha’s mouth was molten against your throat, each kiss a deliberate burn that seemed to brand her name into your skin. She moved slowly, nipping and teasing like she was savouring every tremble she pulled from you. Her hands gripped your hips with a possessiveness; she was not letting you drift, not letting you forget who held you there.

“Such a pretty girl,” she murmured against your skin, her voice thick with heat, every word pressing into you like velvet and steel. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, printsessa (princess).”

The promise in her tone made your breath stutter, your body already tilting forward, aching to give in, to be undone, piece by piece. But just as her hands began to roam, slipping beneath your clothes, a voice, softer but no less commanding, wove through the charged silence.

“Natasha.”

The name alone was enough. Not barked, or even stern, just… spoken,  a quiet invocation in the thick air, yet it carried enough weight to still everything. Natasha’s body halted mid-motion, her breath caught in her chest. Her head turned slowly, eyes narrowing as they found Wanda’s face.

Wanda hadn’t moved, her posture languid where she sat down, too relaxed to be accidental. There was something sharp behind her softness, an edge to her calm. Her expression was all indulgence, but her eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something knowing.

“Why don’t we teach her how to please you?” Wanda asked, voice warm and amused, mischief curling around each syllable like smoke. “You’re the one who needs to clear your mind, after all.”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. Her gaze flicked from Wanda’s teasing smile to your wide eyes, still dazed from the pressure of her mouth, from the shadow of her promise. Her brow arched, she looked sceptical, perhaps, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth, the subtle flicker behind her eyes… that told another story. One of curiosity. Of challenge. Of want.

She licked her lips, slow and absent, like she hadn’t meant to, like her body had moved without her consent. “I was in the middle of something,” she said at last, her voice a shade lower and rough with tension. Her fingers flexed against your waist, not letting go, but not holding quite as tightly either. “And I can clear my mind just fine by watching her fall apart for me.”

Her words held firm, laced with defiance, but her body told a different story. She had shifted subtly, leaning back just enough to signal a change. Her breath came slower, drawn deeper, like she was steadying herself against something unspoken. It wasn’t surrender,  Natasha didn’t surrender, but it was something close. A crack in the armour. A quiet moment where she allowed herself to consider the idea of being touched instead of touching. And Wanda caught it immediately.

Wanda’s smile deepened, slow and knowing, the kind you’d come to recognise, the kind that didn’t ask permission because it already knew the answer. It was the smile that meant someone's fate had been quietly, irrevocably decided. 

She tilted her head just enough to soften the edges of her intent, her voice a silken thread that looped around the two of you with effortless command. “Maybe,” she allowed, the word light, almost indulgent. “But that can wait. Let her learn how to worship you first.”

Her gaze flicked to you. “She’s eager. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

The words ignited something low and hot in your gut. You barely managed a breath, let alone a sentence, before nodding quickly. “Yes,” you whispered. “Please. I want to. Wanted to for so long.”

Natasha’s eyes returned to you fully then. Something unreadable passed through her gaze, part calculation, part hunger. Her grip eased, and as she let go, her fingertips trailed down your sides, deliberately slow, a final reminder of what she was granting.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t speak. Then her expression sharpened, lips curving into something darker, more deliberate.

“Strip,” she said, the word low and certain. “Then get on your knees. At the end of the bed.”

You obeyed with hands trembling in anticipation, peeling away your clothes under the heavy weight of their attention. Wanda stayed behind you, unmoving but ever-watchful. And Natasha was now seated at the edge of the bed. Still in command. Still powerful. But now... she’d allowed you the honour of trying to make her fall apart.

As your knees met the floor at the foot of the bed, the moment crystallised, dense with meaning, with expectation, with the kind of sacred tension that made your skin feel too tight to hold everything inside. 

Your breath was shallow, caught somewhere between awe and hunger, your hands quivering just slightly in your lap. You weren’t just kneeling in front of her, you were being allowed to. The gravity of it weighed heavily in your chest.

Wanda was behind you, close enough to feel the heat of her body, the gentle ghost of her breath against your ear as she leaned in. Her touch was light, a soft drag of fingers across your shoulder, then down your arm.

“Look at her,” she murmured, her voice honeyed and low. “She’s letting you in. Do you have any idea what that means?”

Your gaze didn’t waver. You couldn’t look away from Natasha. She sat like something divine and unreachable, her legs parted just slightly, hands resting on the bed beside her thighs, spine straight. Her eyes locked on yours with a heat simmering behind them that made your breath catch.

“I… I think so,” you whispered, your voice cracking on the way out.

Wanda's fingers trailed across your waist now, slow and sure. “It means you don’t rush,” she said, her lips brushing your skin with every syllable. “You don’t take. You earn. Every inch of her, every sound, every breath she gives you, you earn.”

Natasha’s lips twitched as she heard Wanda speak, not quite a smile, but the ghost of one, like her body considered the expression and thought better of it. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The silence she radiated said enough. It filled the room with weight and expectation.

You reached out hesitantly, your hands grazing the fabric of her trousers. Even through the material, the heat of her burned into your palms, an invitation and a warning all at once.

Wanda didn’t stop you. Instead, her hands found yours, as she curled her fingers over your wrists, not controlling, but teaching. “Slow,” she whispered, the word curling into your spine like smoke. “She’s not like me. She doesn’t fall easily. She makes you work for it.”

You swallowed hard and let the instruction settle in your bones. Then, with trembling precision, you found the button of Natasha’s trousers, and it slipped undone beneath your fingers with a quiet pop, the sound impossibly loud in the hush. Then came the zip, metal dragging against metal, slow and deliberate. Your own pulse pounded in your ears, louder than your breath, louder than Wanda’s voice, louder than anything but the impossible pressure of this moment.

Your fingers slipped beneath the waistband. Slowly, carefully, you began to peel the trousers down her hips, your palms brushing over the impossibly soft skin you’d only dreamed of touching for so long. Wanda’s hand returned to your shoulder, grounding you. Her other followed the line of your spine with maddening tenderness, sending a shiver rippling through you.

“She’ll never ask for this,” Wanda murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear like a secret. “She doesn’t know how to. But she wants it. She’s letting you in, you’re lucky, sweet girl.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to the bare curve of Natasha’s hip, your mouth worshipful, barely daring to breathe. Then another, lower. Each kiss was soft, grateful. The trousers slid down her thighs inch by inch, your hands moving with care, as if the act itself might break something sacred if done too fast.

Her underwear still remained, a final barrier, a line of black lace like a dare. But even that felt sacred. Something not to take, but to be invited past. Your breath trembled as you kissed along the edge of it. Then you looked up, silent and wide-eyed, asking for her permission without words.

Natasha’s eyes locked with yours. She didn’t speak. But something changed. There was a flicker, a softening. Then she reached out, her fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face just slightly. Her thumb stroked your cheek with such tenderness it nearly undid you. And then she nodded.

That was all you needed. Your hands shook as you slid the lace down, your lips following every new inch of skin like you were discovering the holy. You moved slowly until she was bare before you, and still she said nothing; there was barely a reaction.

For a moment, panic stirred in your chest. Had you done something wrong? Had you misread her? Were you failing and about to lose your chance?

Then Wanda’s voice came from behind you, soft and thick with warmth, as if she could sense the thoughts spiralling in your mind. “She’s holding herself together,” she said, her tone proud and knowing. “She always does. But she’s trusting you, and she will let go. Look closely, she's getting there, she just needs more. You’re doing so well, Little One.”

You turned your eyes back to Natasha, and this time, you saw it. The white-knuckled grip on the sheets. The rigid set of her shoulders. She was fighting herself, and right then, you made a silent vow to win that battle for her.

You shifted down slowly and began at the inside of her knee. A single kiss. Barely a whisper of your lips against soft, sensitive skin. You kissed again, higher now. Then again, closer to the warmth gathering between her legs. Each one lingered, drawn out and deliberate, your breath brushing her skin in hot, steady waves.

She still didn’t make a sound. But her hips shifted forward, her legs parted a little wider, giving you more space, more access, more trust. And you felt her, not just physically, but in the way her breath had changed. Every exhale came through parted lips now, shallow and reluctant, as if she was trying to rein herself in and already losing ground.

Her scent curled around you, thick and intoxicating, threading through your lungs and settling low in your belly. It wasn’t just arousal, it was gravity, dark and consuming, drawing you closer with every breath. Your own need throbbed deep beneath your skin, heat pooling between your legs, but you held yourself steady. 

Natasha wasn’t something to be claimed; she was being offered, and that made all the difference. She had let you close. Let you see her like this. And for that alone, you would go slowly. You would honour her, worship her.

Then, finally, finally, her hand found your head. There was no force in it. No pressure, no command. Just a slow, deliberate slide of fingers into your hair, her palm settling with a weight that made your breath catch. It was a wordless “yes”. Permission, spoken in touch, not voice. A signal that the door had opened, and you had been chosen to step through.

Wanda didn’t break the silence. Her hand remained at the small of your back, her palm a steady warmth against your skin, a quiet tether to the moment. And then, the smallest pressure, just a nudge. Just enough to say, “Go on, now. She’s ready”. Just enough to give you the final permission you didn’t know you needed.

Your breath faltered, catching softly in your throat as you leaned forward, the rest of the world vanishing until all that remained was the warmth of Natasha. Your lips found her, finally, and the first kiss was nothing more than a whisper of touch, featherlight against her heat. A reverent offering, sacred in its restraint.

She didn’t speak. But her hips gave a subtle twitch, and the muscles beneath your hands tensed, brief and involuntary. Not resistance, just the ghost of restraint still clinging to her. But she let you stay. She let you breathe her in, taste her again, this time with your tongue. 

You parted her folds with careful, deliberate motion, dragging a slow line from bottom to top, savouring the slick heat of her, the taste, the way she shifted ever so slightly beneath your mouth. You did it again, mapping her with your tongue, deliberately avoiding the bundle of nerves. You would take this slow, no matter how much you wanted to latch onto it and hear her moan.

Then her fingers tightened in your hair. Her grip trembled faintly, and it undid something deep in your chest. She was grounding herself in you. She was holding on, not because she didn’t trust you, but because she did. 

So you moved with more intention. You tilted your head and finally gave her the smallest flick of your tongue over her clit, light and precise, just once, a tease, a test. And that was what broke the stillness. She inhaled sharply through her nose, breath catching in her throat, and your chest bloomed with something that felt dangerously close to pride. That was yours, that reaction. You’d pulled it from her, earned it, and now you wanted more.

And that was when you gave in, closing your mouth around her gently, lips sealing over her clit, tongue flicking with a slow, coaxing rhythm. Her hips lifted, rolling subtly up into your mouth like her body had finally accepted what her mind hadn’t dared speak aloud.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The more she moved, the more you learned her rhythm, the subtle tilt of her hips, the flicker in her breath, the places where her thighs twitched beneath your hands. You adjusted instinctively, your tongue chasing the pulse of her need, never frantic, but deep and purposeful. 

Then it came, not loud, not deliberate, but raw and unguarded. “God… don’t stop.” The words tumbled out of Natasha like they’d been torn from her, low and broken, bypassing every barrier she had tried to keep in place. 

It was a sound that went straight to your chest, wrapping tight around your heart and then dropping lower. You didn’t respond, you just pressed in deeper, tongue moving with renewed purpose, offering her nothing but devotion, nothing but worship.

She began to move above you in earnest, no longer holding back. Her hips rolled with frantic precision, chasing the edge she could no longer deny. That hand in your hair tightened again, guiding you just where she needed you, using your mouth like it was hers, because it was. 

Your tongue became her instrument. You let her use you, let her chase pleasure with a kind of desperation that made your whole body throb. Her soft gasps fractured into moans, each one louder, messier, more frantic than the last. The sound of her falling apart was addictive.

“Just like that,” she whimpered, her voice rasping as it cracked under the weight of what she was feeling. “So good for me… so perfect…”

The praise hit you like a jolt. Your breath stuttered, your cunt clenched around nothing, and a high, helpless moan slipped from your mouth right against her. You noticed it then, you were soaked, your need dripping down your legs, and you weren’t even being touched. She had reduced you to nothing but a tongue and a heartbeat, your only purpose to bring her pleasure. And you never wanted to stop.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” came Wanda’s voice at your back, once again grounding you in the swirl of sensation. Her hand rubbed slow circles along your spine, her touch tender and proud. “You’re making her feel so good.”

Natasha’s voice just grew more erratic, punctuated by sharp gasps and broken curses. “Don’t you dare stop,” she growled, raw and breathless, her confidence returning like lightning through the storm. “Right there! Fuck…right there, Kotenok (kitten), just like that…”

Then it shifted. Her voice rose into something higher, stranger, slipping into rapid Russian. You didn’t know the words, but the emotion was unmistakable, pleading, wild. Her thighs trembled around your head, her whole body shivering like a wire pulled tight.

And then she broke. Her moan was long and ragged, torn from the depths of her chest, her hips bucking erratically and helplessly. She held you there, trapped in the waves of her release, thighs quaking, gripping you like a vice.

You stayed with her through it, letting her ride it out, your mouth softening, kissing her gently through the aftershocks. Only when her grip eased, her body slowly going slack, did she finally let you go. She collapsed back into the mattress, limbs heavy, breath heaving in and out of her lungs like she’d run miles.

“Fuck,” Natasha breathed, her voice a rough scrape of satisfaction, chest still rising and falling in uneven waves. Her fingers dragged lazily through your hair, no longer guiding, just touching, lingering. “Printsessa (Princess)… you did so fucking good for me.”

The praise made something melt in your chest, your lips curling into a quiet smile. You exhaled slowly and let your head rest against the warm skin of her thigh, the scent of her still thick in the air, on your tongue, everywhere. 

There was a part of you that wanted to keep going, to see just how many more sounds you could draw out of her, how much more of her you could unravel, but her hand had gone soft. It didn’t feel like permission anymore. So you stayed where you were, sinking into the quiet intimacy, letting the rhythm of her breath calm the burning inside you.

Behind you, Wanda had moved, her presence now a gentle rustle as she padded across the room. A moment later, she was kneeling beside you with a cool bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and holding it out. Her hand rested lightly on your shoulder as you sat up just enough to take a few slow sips. When you lowered it again, she brushed a knuckle along your jaw and smiled, her voice low with affection. “There’s my good girl.”

The words wrapped around your aching body like silk, grounding and lifting all at once. She gave you a soft kiss to the crown of your head before turning to Natasha, who was still sprawled across the bed, glowing and flushed.

“There’s water if you need it, Nat,” Wanda said, her tone shifting into something firmer, more matter-of-fact, but still full of love. You understood it immediately. Wanda was balancing gentleness with respect, never coddling her wife, especially not when Natasha was laid bare like this.

“Spasibo, moya lyubov' (Thank you, my love),” Natasha murmured, her voice still raw but steadier now. She pushed herself upright with a slow breath, taking the bottle from Wanda and drinking deeply, her other hand finding your face again without hesitation. 

Her thumb traced along your cheek as if she needed the contact just as much as you did. You felt yourself squirm under her touch, heat rising again under your skin, your body still alive with need.

Then Natasha glanced at Wanda, a smirk curling across her lips, the kind that always made your stomach twist. “Wands,” she said, her tone light but teasing, “I think Malyshka (Little One) needs something.”

You whimpered and buried your face against her thigh again, like somehow you could disappear into her skin. But she only laughed, soft and knowing.

“Ah, ah,” Natasha crooned, her fingers now stroking through your hair again, more deliberate this time. “You did so well for Daddy. Don’t you want a reward?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat was too tight, your mouth too dry, but you nodded, desperate and eager. Of course you wanted a reward. You wanted Natasha, you wanted Wanda, you wanted the weight of their eyes, their hands, their mouths. 

You wanted to be used again, needed again. The slick between your thighs hadn’t stopped; it clung to your skin, sticky and hot, your clit throbbing so hard it bordered on painful. You were trembling, aching, body flushed, and completely, blissfully at their mercy.

“Wands,” Natasha said, her voice low but commanding, “get the special strap. I think you both deserve some fun.”

Your breath hitched. Wanda turned her head sharply, and the look she gave her wife made your stomach twist. Dark. Knowing. Hungry. Clearly, she knew what the ‘special strap’ meant, even if you didn’t. 

You remained where you were, still tucked against Natasha’s thigh, chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself. But it was useless. The moment Wanda disappeared into the closet, anticipation surged through you like a pulse of electricity.

When she returned, you saw it, a strapless dildo in her hand. Your breath caught. You’d never used one before. You’d seen them, sure, but it had always been a standard strap-on when Wanda took you. This was different. This felt more… intimate. More intense.

Wanda stripped and settled herself on the bed, back against the pillows, legs slightly parted. She looked effortlessly powerful, in control even when waiting. Natasha gave your cheek a light tap and nodded toward her wife.

“Go to Mommy, Detka (babe),” she said, voice sweet but firm as she gently nudged you away from her.

You stumbled slightly as you stood, legs unsteady from arousal, but made your way to the bed, crawling across the sheets on hands and knees. Natasha circled the opposite side and sat beside Wanda, her fingers brushing against her wife’s arm before taking the toy from her hand.

She held it out toward you, the smaller end gleaming slightly in the low light, and brought it to your lips. “Suck,” she ordered.

Your lips parted without hesitation, wrapping around the toy. You took it in slowly, letting your tongue swirl around it, wetting it thoroughly. You knew exactly what it was for now, and you wanted Wanda to enjoy it, you needed her to enjoy it. You worked your mouth over it with care, letting yourself drool a little, making sure it was coated. 

Both women watched you with hunger in their eyes. It was dark, heavy, predatory. It made your skin flush hotter, and your thighs press together, begging for friction.

“Good girl,” Natasha purred, one hand brushing through your hair. “Getting it nice and ready for Mommy, huh?”

You nodded, lips still wrapped around the toy, and Natasha’s responding laugh was low and dark, a sound that rolled through you like thunder. Her fingers gripped your jaw, holding you steady as she pulled the toy from your mouth, until it left you with a soft pop. You were panting, dizzy with want, mouth flushed and open, chest heaving.

Then she leaned across and caught her wife’s mouth in a kiss that stole the breath from both your lungs. Wanda moaned into it, her body arching, and you watched helplessly, heat blooming under your skin.

Natasha’s hand slid down between Wanda’s legs without hesitation, coaxing her open, fingers slicking through already wet folds. The kiss deepened. Wanda whimpered against her lips, needy and eager, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Then Natasha reached down, guiding the toy between Wanda’s thighs and slowly pressing it inside her. Wanda gasped, eyes fluttering shut as her hips lifted to meet the intrusion, her mouth parting in a broken moan. Natasha moved it deliberately, angling it just right as Wanda’s legs shifted wider, small sounds escaping with every breath.

You whined before you even realised you’d done it, the ache between your thighs now unbearable.

“Oh? You don’t like being left out?” Wanda teased, her voice breathy, sharp with amusement. “Didn’t you say you wanted to watch, sweet girl?”

You nodded helplessly, but the sound that left your throat was closer to a whimper. “I did, I… I do, but… not today, please, Mommy, it hurts.” Your voice cracked on the last word, your hips shifting forward as if your body could reach for something before permission was given. “It aches so bad…”

Wanda’s eyes softened, just slightly. “Oh baby,” she cooed, voice rich with mock sympathy, “Did making Daddy cum make your little cunt feel all empty and desperate?”

You flushed scarlet, nodding as you looked away, your whole body trembling with need. That’s when Natasha moved. She grabbed your waist with firm hands and hauled you forward, placing you astride Wanda’s lap, the other end of the toy nestled just beneath you now. It was perfectly aligned and utterly torturous. You could feel it there, solid and waiting, but she didn’t let you sink down yet.

Her hands slid down your sides as she pressed her body behind yours, her voice low and rough in your ear. “Look at you. You’re shaking.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, two fingers slipped between your thighs, sliding through your arousal with a knowing ease that made your head fall back against her shoulder.. You nearly sobbed at the feeling, clenching around her, your body slick and pulsing.

“Fuck,” Natasha breathed, the word guttural as her fingers curled inside you with surgical precision. “You’re soaked. Bet you’ve been dripping since I moaned for you, haven’t you?”

The pleasure was unbearable, and the need, the ache of it, had long since become something molten in your bloodstream. You nodded frantically, barely coherent. “I have…I can’t…please—”

Natasha shifted behind you, her body bracketing yours as her fingers curled again, hitting something inside you that made the room spin. You cried out, jolting forward, caught between her relentless hand and the anticipation throbbing inside your core.

“Please what?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice all heat and control.

“Please let me ride Mommy,” you managed, the words tumbling out on a broken sob. “I need her, I need her so bad, please!”

There was a beat of silence, thick with want, before Natasha chuckled, low and dark. She looked to Wanda, her mouth still hovering over your skin. “You hear that, Wands? Our little slut is begging. She’s desperate for you.”

Wanda moved in then, slow and deliberate, her touch already electric before it landed. One hand found your cheek, tilting your face until your eyes met hers, her gaze soft, but dark with promise.

“Then take it, baby,” she said, her voice like velvet over flame. “Be a good whore and take what you need.”

You whimpered at her words, trembling as her other hand moved between your legs. She replaced Natasha’s fingers with the head of the toy, guiding it with infinite care. The tip of it pressed against your entrance, and you felt your whole body still, heart hammering, lungs barely working.

And then, slowly, with a breath that shook all the way to your bones, you began to sink down. Every inch of the toy felt impossibly thick, burning as it stretched you, and yet it was perfect. Your body welcomed it, your muscles fluttering around the intrusion as you gave yourself over completely.

Natasha’s hands remained at your hips, steadying you, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin. Wanda was beneath you, her breath catching each time the toy shifted inside her, too, her lips parting in a soft moan that made your heart flutter.

“Just like that,” Natasha murmured. “We’ve got you.”

You sank down fully, hips finally meeting Wanda’s as the last inch slid in. You were shaking, overwhelmed, breathless. Full, in every possible sense. Wanda cupped your face again, her thumb brushing your cheekbone with almost unbearable tenderness.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispered. “You feel incredible, darling. So full of me.”

You couldn’t reply. You could only nod, your hands gripping her arms like a lifeline as the pleasure throbbed through you, sharp and thick and all-consuming. 

Natasha’s hands gripped your hips with a possessive strength, guiding your movements. She set the pace, coaxing you to move, to claim the pleasure that was already building inside you.

You trembled, breath catching as you lifted yourself, then sank back down again, every inch stretched, every nerve alive with exquisite fullness. Wanda’s low, raw moan beneath you flickered through your core like a live wire, and your own voice broke free, a desperate, shaky sound, raw and vulnerable.

Natasha’s eyes drank in every flicker of sensation, every tremble of your skin, every flicker of your submission. “Look at you,” she murmured, voice thick with pride and burning desire. “Taking Mommy so well. Does it feel good?”

You whined, nodding desperately, slowing your hips as you tried to respond. “Feels so good, I want—” Your words dissolved into a sharp moan as Wanda thrust upward abruptly, the unexpected motion sending a jolt through you both.

Her lips brushed the delicate shell of your ear, breath hot and teasing. “Faster, baby. Mommy wants to cum.”

You obeyed without hesitation, speeding up, hips rolling and grinding against her with a frantic rhythm that left you both gasping. Wanda shifted slightly beneath you, just enough to hit that sensitive spot that had stars bursting behind your eyes. 

And each time she moaned, your body ignited further. The sensation was overwhelming, to be both giver and receiver, to be held and to hold in return.

Natasha’s hands tightened around your waist, fingers digging in with just the right pressure to anchor you as your movements grew more urgent, more desperate. Her mouth found the curve of your neck, lips brushing and nibbling softly, tracing a trail of heat down your skin that made you shiver against her touch.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” she breathed, voice rough and raw with emotion. “So desperate, so fucking needy. All ours.”

You moved faster, driven by Natasha’s words, Wanda’s moans and the mounting fire in your belly, whining and gasping, lost to the tidal wave of sensation. Wanda was collapsing too, breathless, trembling beneath you, both of you unravelling while Natasha watched with dark, satisfied eyes.

And then you heard it,  Wanda’s voice, rough and trembling, cutting through the thick fog of sensation like a spark to dry tinder. “Shit…” she gasped, her breath catching as her arms that had made their way over your shoulders pulled you tight. “Baby, ah! Cum with me,” she commanded, her voice cracking with the force of her need.

You could feel it in her, the way her thighs began to shake beneath you, how her body arched, straining towards the release she could no longer hold back. The desperation in her voice sent a bolt of electricity straight through your core, and then she fell, and that was the final spark.

Your body shattered, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure surged through you. It was raw, blinding, and unstoppable, tearing through every inch of you with a force that stole your breath. You clung to Wanda, your nails digging into her skin as you both moved in frantic tandem, the heat and tension between you reaching its final breaking point.

Your cries tangled with hers, muffled by kisses, skin, hair, whatever you could reach as your bodies burned together. And through it all, you felt Natasha’s hands on you, firm and steady, grounding you even as you fell apart. Together they held you, anchored you, as the storm inside you broke and left you undone, breathless, and utterly spent in its wake.

Eventually, the only sounds left were your panting breaths and the faint creak of the bed beneath the three of you. There was a quiet reverence in the aftermath, a pause filled not with silence, but with intimacy and warmth. You all stayed there for a while, tangled together in sweat-slicked skin and shared breath, hearts pounding, letting the moment settle between you.

You nearly sobbed when Natasha gently lifted you off Wanda’s lap, cradling you like something precious before settling you down softly on the bed. A similar sound of protest escaped from Wanda as Natasha removed the toy from her as well, drawing a final soft gasp from her lips. Wanda didn’t move after that, her eyes fluttered shut, her body lax, thoroughly spent in the best way.

“You’ve wrecked your Mommy, Little One,” Natasha murmured with a quiet, amused pride as she looked down at her wife, who gave only a sleepy whimper of objection in response. Her cheeks were flushed, her thighs trembling slightly. She looked thoroughly undone.

You didn’t imagine you looked much better. You could feel the sweat cooling on your skin, your hair matted to your face, your thighs still twitching faintly from the aftershocks. Your chest heaved with the remnants of heavy breathing, and your limbs felt boneless.

Natasha looked less ruined, but there was a softness in her eyes, a rare vulnerability still lingering in her expression that told you this night had marked her just as deeply.

It was a long while before anyone moved, and when you finally did, it was only with quiet intimacy. There were soft touches passed between you, quiet praise murmured like lullabies. Wanda leaned into your side in the shower as Natasha cleaned you both up with warm cloths and whispered reassurance. You returned every touch with gentle hands of your own, wanting to give back just a fraction of what they’d given you.

Eventually, clean, dry and dressed in pyjamas, the three of you made your way to the sofa, wrapped up in blankets, half watching a film none of you truly had the energy to focus on. You nestled between them, Wanda tracing idle shapes into your thigh while Natasha curled one arm around your shoulder.

The fog lifted slowly, like mist rising after rain. When you began to feel your sense of self return, you turned to your right, gaze finding Natasha’s. The weight of tonight settled in your chest again.

“Thank you, Nat,” you said quietly, your voice still hoarse but steady. “For letting me do that. I know… I know it was a big deal for you.”

Her expression changed. She looked at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen from her, bare, open, and full of something that made your chest ache. A smile touched her lips, gentle and impossibly tender, before she leaned in to press a warm kiss to your forehead.

“It was,” she said simply. “But I love you, Malyshka (Little One). And I wanted to show that. You were so perfect.” Then her smile turned sly, her tone lightening just enough to tease. “You might even be giving Wands a run for her money.”

You let out a breathy laugh, cheeks flushed as you turned your head the other way in embarrassment, trying to hide the warmth spreading across your face.

“Excuse me?” Wanda’s voice rose in faux outrage from your left, her head lifting from the cushion as she fixed you with a dramatic glare, one brow arched in theatrical offence. “I taught her everything she knows.”

You grinned, unable to deny it. “I learned from the best,” you admitted, flashing her a look full of fondness and mischief. Then, with a slow turn of your head towards Natasha, you added with a sly little smirk, “So maybe you’ll just have to prove to Nat who’s better next time.”

Natasha gave a low chuckle, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Is this just an elaborate excuse to get Wands on her knees?”

You didn’t even hesitate, you nodded solemnly, though your grin betrayed you. “I meant it when I said I wanted to see.”

“You literally begged not to earlier,” Wanda shot back, mouth curling into a knowing smirk as she leaned closer.

“Shut up,” you huffed with no real bite, crossing your arms in playful defiance. “It was an intense night! I was overwhelmed!”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed, head tilting as her expression shifted into a mock-stern glare, her voice dipping low. “Watch your mouth, or it’ll get more intense.”

You swallowed, a flutter running through your chest at the teasing threat, and then you offered your sweetest smile, wide-eyed and innocent. “Sorry, Mommy. I’ll be your good girl.”

Her expression melted instantly, dominance giving way to affection as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “That’s what I thought,” she whispered against your mouth, and you basked in the warmth that came with it, completely wrapped in the playful safety of them both.

Natasha watched the exchange with a lazy smirk, one brow raised as she leaned back against the cushions, arms draped over the back of the sofa like she owned the world, which, in her opinion, she did. 

— Taglist: @chansawrelier, @angelicbrats, @brooklyn-r-dawson, @lizzieolsie216, @godhatesgoodgirls, @libbyofc, @sapphicandgraphic, @xblinkx2, @ciaoooooo111, @natashasmuse. If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please let me know.

[fiastomatocheek]

SHH DADA SHH!

pair: dad!luke hughes x fem!reader

genre: family, humor, fluff, slice of life.

warnings: none

summary: when lucy was two-and-a-half-year-old, she begins her potty-training journey, it turns out to be a little more chaotic (and hilarious) than expected. luke, ever the loving and enthusiastic dad, volunteers to help on his day off but forgets that lucy takes potty time very seriously.

fia’s note: sorry for being so inactive lately! life got a little busy, but i’ve been working on this fanfic behind the scenes. it’s actually inspired by one of the asks that was sent to me a while ago, and as soon as i read it, i completely fell in love with the idea. it stuck with me, and i knew i had to turn it into a full piece. i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @ruinix @when-im-with-you

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic

Thursday morning, you were half-focused, half-daydreaming at the kitchen table, eyes skimming over a pile of unread emails while sipping lukewarm coffee.

In the background was Lucy’s giggles, soft sizzle of batter hitting a pan.

Luke, as always, in his gray sweatpants, topless and messy hair, stood at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a pancake-flipping flair that would’ve made any brunch chef jealous.

“Ready for the flip?” he asked, tilting the pan with dramatic flair.

Lucy clapped from her perch on the toddler stool beside him.

“FIP it, Dada!”

Luke flipped the pancake, which landed with a perfect golden plop on the pan.

“Boom. NHL hands and pancake hands.”

From behind your laptop, you snorted. “Your pancakes are better than Jack’s, don’t tell him.”

“Oh, I will tell him,” Luke smirked. “I want full bragging rights.”

Lucy poked his leg. “Mo’ nanners, pwease.”

“Coming right up,”

Luke said, peeling a banana with the speed of a man who knew his toddler had exactly three seconds before she launched into full mode.

You smiled to yourself, listening to them. Mornings like this with Luke home, Lucy in syrupy good spirits were the small joys you held close. And now that potty training had officially begun, it made the peaceful moments even more precious.

“Alright, Luce,” you called as she stuffed her cheeks with pancake and banana slices.

“Remember, big girl rules today. If your tummy feels funny, where do we go?”

Lucy mumbled something around her bite, then swallowed.

“Da potty.”

Luke leaned down, high-fiving her. “That’s right. And who’s the best at going potty like a big girl?”

Lucy raised both syrupy hands. “Meeeee!”

But a few moments later, her mood changed.

Luke noticed first how her brows suddenly knit together and her lips pursed in that telltale frown.

“Luce? You okay, baby girl?”

Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hands on her belly.

“Tummy hur’,” she said quietly, her little face looking distressed.

You started to get up, but Luke was already in action.

“I got her!” he said confidently.

“C’mon, Luce, let’s go potty! Time for Big Girl Mission: Operation Tummy Rescue!”

He scooped her up gently, balancing her on his hip like a tiny sidekick.

“Mommy will give us a medal if we do this right.”

“She wants her hand held!” you called after them as they disappeared down the hallway.

“And no talking! She gets distracted! Luke!!”

But Luke had already entered the bathroom with the energy of a man ready to coach a Stanley Cup Final shift.

In the bathroom, Luke knelt down and helped her wiggle out of her pajamas and little undies, lifting her carefully onto the blue potty with duck stickers on the lid.

“Okay, we’re all set! You’re good to go. Need me to sing? Want the potty song? Wanna hear a story? Once upon a time, there was a—”

“Dada…”

Lucy hissed suddenly, looking at him like he had just committed a crime.

Luke blinked. “Yeah?”

She raised her hand slowly, index finger pressed to her lips.

“Shhh. Dada. Shh. No talk.”

He stared at her, stunned. “You don’t want me to—?”

Lucy nodded, deadly serious. “Shhh. Big poo.”

Luke’s mouth snapped shut. He held up his hands in surrender, then whispered,

“Okay. No talking. Big poop. Got it.”

After a beat, Lucy held out her hand toward him.

“You hold,” she added, barely above a whisper.

Luke took her tiny hand immediately.

“Right. Holding. Silent holding.”

He sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor in complete silence, lips sealed like someone had pressed mute on him.

After a minute, Lucy sighed, face scrunched in intense concentration.

“I fink it’s stuck,” she muttered.

Luke whispered, “Push like a champ. You got this.”

Lucy glared.

“Shhh!”

“Right, sorry. Zip,” he mimed zipping his lips.

From the hallway, you peeked in after noticing the eerie silence. Luke looked up at you from his spot on the floor like a man who had just seen war.

“She shushed me. Like five times.”

You grinned. “Welcome to the club.”

“She’s a tyrant,” Luke whispered.

“An adorable, pooping tyrant.”

You bit back a laugh and knelt beside him, reaching out to brush Lucy’s hair gently.

“You’re doing amazing, Luce. Want Mommy to hold the other hand?”

Lucy nodded slowly. “Mommy no talk too.”

Luke snickered, nudging your shoulder. “Told you.”

Five minutes later, the room erupted with Lucy’s triumphant declaration.

“I DID IT! I poop! Big poop!”

Luke clapped like she just scored a goal. “YES! Big poop for the big girl!”

Lucy stood up, beaming with pride.

“Flush, Dada!”

“Your royal highness,” Luke bowed dramatically, “your wish is my command.”

As the toilet flushed and you helped her wash her hands, Lucy looked between you both and said with great authority.

“No talk…when poop. Dada no talk next time too.”

Luke nodded. “Message received, boss.”

She squinted up at him. “You poop now?”

Luke blinked. “Wait—what?”

Lucy crossed her arms. “You poop. Mommy hold hand.”

You choked on your laugh as Luke stared at her, wide-eyed.

“I… uh I don’t think I need to poop right now, sweetheart.”

She patted his chest. “You tell me. I hold hand. Like bwig girl.”

Luke threw you a panicked glance.

You laughed into his shoulder. “She runs a tight ship.”

He looked over at you, mock serious.

“I got shushed…by a two-year-old. And not just once. Like seven times. I don’t even get shushed that much by Lindy Ruff.”

You smiled. “She just takes her bowel movements very seriously.”

[queen-of-signs]

❤️‍🔥 Your FS Before & After Meeting You! 💍(Mini-Reading)

Disclaimer: This is a collective tarot reading, so please keep in mind that it may or may not resonate with everyone. Take what resonates with you and feel free to leave the rest. Trust your intuition as you receive the messages. I'd love to hear if this reading resonated with you, so please feel free to let me know in the comments. (LGBTQ+ friendly) No sugarcoating!

Pile 1 -> Pile 2 -> Pile 3 -> Pile 4

Pile 1

Before meeting you: Your FS could have been in a rut. Your Fs is someone who used to have ideas, ambition, drive, etc. But right before meeting you, he could be in a really tough situation, and he can feel dead inside. He may live his life like a machine - wake up, go to work, come home, sleep and repeat. No spark in his life. Lack of self-care too. Dry lips/skin. No real excitement, no purpose. He could be "dead" single too. The cards are telling me that he would be in a "defensive" mode at work. He may even put on an act that he's doing good. It shows a man, possibly an air sign could have gotten him into a legal issue. Your FS may feel like the world isn't fair. He no longer believed that effort led to reward. Whatever happened between him and that air sign man, your FS truly didn't deserve that. He may have had some situationships or some flings but nothing real. He could have been creatively, emotionally and spiritually drained like a phone with 10% battery.

After meeting you: It wasn't instant fireworks, but your presence slowly gave a shift in his energy. he may not even realize it at first. After meeting you, he can have a flicker of curiosity and want to know you more. You would give him off a childlike enthusiasm. He would feel excited to meet you and may even move his home to be close to you and meet you whenever he wishes to. He would start hanging out more with you. He doesn't seem to have a big friend circle as well. Around that time, his past residual conflict or the legal issue itself would gradually settle down for good. At some point early on in your relationship with him, he may feel like you sound "too good to be true" and may even test you at times just to see your reaction bcoz he's not used to a stable, grounding relationship in his past. He may even wonder whether you're the one for him or would leave him. He can even appear suspicious of you at times early on. But even when his mind played tricks on him, something deeper pushed him forward, something he couldn’t manipulate or control like before in front of you. He would be unable to "act put together" in front of you as you see right through him and still, you chose to accept him as he is.

Check out my pinned post for a complete FS reading (Whispers of the Vow)!

Pile 2

Before meeting you: They are an introvert. Some of you can be bisexual here or homosexual. I'm getting strong feminine energy here and a bit of masculine energy. Your FS is not a lonely person, just live alone. "Do Not Disturb" mode is their default setting. They're the kind of person to go out with headphones in to avoid human interaction, even if they're not listening to any music. They can be from a privileged background as well. They could have rejected a romantic date in their past a few times like, "Nah!" Shy and reserved in person but can talk like a poet when chatting with someone, sending paragraphs of text. Attractive and sexy. They can have a pet and may like to go hiking, camping, bungee jumping, etc. They sure love the outdoors. They can be slightly older than you as well. Their energy is refined and filtered through a calm and collected lens. Also, they could have healed from an injury or some form of hospital recovery shortly before meeting you, nothing major.

After meeting you: WOW! Something cracked open! Your FS walls were as tall as the Great Wall of China would start to come down. It's cracking. It can happen so fast too. They may feel overwhelmed at first and might even go on to " detective mode" to know more about you. This is fated. They would feel like, "So, this is it!" The Divine just pulled a string and everything is aligned in both of your lives. You may notice them knowing things about you without you telling them. They want to build something real with you, not a whirlwind summer romance but a sanctuary. They would be the one who approach you first and things can move pretty fast between you both. Made for each other.

Check out my pinned post for a complete FS reading (Whispers of the Vow)!

Pile 3

Before meeting you: Well, Pile 3, your FS is doing well financially and has enough savings in their bank. Am getting both strong feminine and masculine energy here, it's balanced here. So, some of you can be attracted to women and while others could be attracted to men here. Your FS would be carrying a lot on their shoulders like carrying a backpack full of bricks. Career and family responsibilities are high here, man or woman. Your FS can be someone who can't sleep until they finish their work. Can be a workaholic and money-minded. For some of you, your FS can be self-employed and may own a business, while for some, they may hold a high position in a company and for others, your FS can be a hustler. Overall, they have $$$. People may take advantage of them as well. They could be financially helping someone and it may drain them really hard. Also, even if they have opportunities for a relationship, they may not get into one. Poor time management skills for your FS before meeting you. They won't even ask for help, hella stubborn. Your FS could have been planning on doing something new, like a project or an idea but it won't go well. Their plans or the vision they had were ruined and they suffered a lot mentally. Mentally hitting rock bottom and they could be forced to surrender and let go of things/people which they WILL.

After meeting you: Well, you showed up like spring after a harsh and brutal winter. You would be the one to make them realize that love wasn’t supposed to be earned through pain or transactional motives. It was something to receive. To nurture. To deserve. Still, some scars didn't heal clean. Their heart would ache for a real connection with you but for that, they would be forced to reopen their leftover wounds. You weren’t the one who hurt them, but you became the place where their healing could finally land. Meeting you flipped everything. Life threw the dice. They won't just fall for you, they will enjoy every moment of it. You would be the one to make them feel safe. They would be fulfilled, but still hungry for you. You will be the one to teach them that emotional stability and security isn't boring and it's the sexiest thing of all. You would bring out their desire to care, to provide, to hold and be held.

Check out my pinned post for a complete FS reading (Whispers of the Vow)!

Pile 4

Before meeting you: Strong masculine energy here. Your FS can be someone who imagines the worst scenario in their head, which may never happen in their life. Your FS was almost ready for a new chapter in their life. They're their worst enemy. They could be in some form of situationship shortly before meeting you, which isn't serving them any good. Also, your FS can have a decent social media presence as well. But, this situationship made people look at them differently. Some people around them could have distanced themselves from your FS bcoz of their association with someone who doesn't have anyone's best interest at heart. Some level of scrutiny can be seen here from their friends, family and the people who know them well. They could be someone who worked hard to gain a strong reputation in the public but this situationship got them a trainwreck reputation among their people. They can get really defensive but also waiting for it to end. Either your FS got themselves into the situation willingly or was obligated to. Either way, they don't like it a bit. But the truth will come out eventually from their mouth. Their people would come to know what really happened. It can be an accusation or a situationship with someone, where the other person involved is using your FS clearly.

After meeting you: Just like the mist clearing at dawn, you showed up. They can be so much in love enough to make them feel dizzy in a fog of possibilities. They couldn't avoid your presence. You awakened something innocent and nostalgic in them like recognizing a song from childhood or catching the scent of a place they forgot existed. Your presence reminded them the kind of love they believed in before giving in to worldly desires. They wanted to believe in it again. A possible age gap can be seen here as well. Still, their inner child is skeptical and bruised. They may even act a little immature at times towards you, as they genuinely may not know how to handle being seen and accepted. Your FS can be really fragile on the inside and can act childish at times or may expect you to "baby" them at times. If they are a phone, you're their charger. Once they feel secure with you, things can move pretty fast, like from "Can we go out on a date today?" to "We should start saving for our future!"

Check out my pinned post for a complete FS reading (Whispers of the Vow)!

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

the cure to his nightmare

zayne x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || written after sylus's the cure to his curse fic - link in the story masterlist || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is smut - mdni || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous bonus

NINE

The event went on, a glittering blur around you.

You returned to your seat, the weight of the Starcatcher Award a strange, heavy presence in your lap, but your heart hammered in your chest so loud you could hear its frantic rhythm in your ears.

Your thoughts were a chaotic turbulence : Zayne, his smile, your shared memories, your agonizing past – every single fucking thing.

You knew, with a chilling certainty, that you had played this scenario in your head countless times.

You had rehearsed conversations, imagined confrontations, envisioned every possible outcome.

But had you ever truly prepared for its raw, visceral reality?

No. You had not.

When you should have, because you were a doctor. Zayne was a doctor. You were both, undeniably, fucking doctors.

And the chances of your paths crossing again were always astronomically high, given your shared world of medicine.

Unless you decided to shift careers, a thought you instantly dismissed, because you loved your job, you loved your career, you loved what you did with a fierce, unwavering passion.

Yet, surprisingly, there was no sharp ache in your heart now.

Just a stupid, fluttery nervousness, as if you were a teenager experiencing her first crush.

Then, the cold logic of self-preservation kicked in.

You reminded yourself: this was Zayne, the very person you had tried to escape from, the very person who had, with such careless precision, broken your heart into irreparable pieces.

And he was also the very person who had, in that cruel irony of fate, pushed you to become the formidable woman you were today.

Yes, you had told yourself you never truly closed the doors on a possible reunion.

But that didn't mean you'd let him in right away. Not a damn fucking chance. If he truly wanted you, truly wanted to grasp that elusive chance, he’d have to earn it.

Hard.

The event finally concluded.

This year, Zayne had not won any individual awards, but he had presented the latest, groundbreaking innovation he had personally crafted.

And the award he did receive was a massive research grant, a whopping amount of funding that every doctor in the hall would have dreamed of. That was far better than any trophy, you knew. It was cold, hard cash to do what a doctor truly wanted for their work – to push the boundaries of science, to save more lives.

The announcer opened the floor for mingling, and you stood there, a strange indecision holding you captive.

Should you go, or should you simply slip away?

A couple of doctors, their faces alight with admiration, approached you, congratulating you on your award, asking about your next plans. You engaged with them, grabbing this unexpected chance to learn from these esteemed colleagues, to forge new connections.

It was honestly nice, a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside.

But the deeper, more vulnerable part of you was just so nervous, just wanting to run, to flee, because Zayne was here, somewhere in this room, and you didn't know what to do or say if he came to you.

Then, a chill swept down your spine, a familiar tremor that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

You finally heard his voice, low and resonant, directly behind you, politely asking the other doctors if he could "steal the Starcatcher Awardee." The other doctors, recognizing his quiet authority, simply gave way, their smiles understanding.

Zayne held out his hand, his fingers long and elegant, and politely invited you over to the balcony for some air. You knew, with a sudden, desperate clarity, that you badly needed it.

You mentally slapped yourself for being like this, for feeling so giddy, so ridiculously like a teenager, possibly blushing like a fool when Zayne had smiled at you moments earlier.

You took his hand, your fingers brushing his, and felt the immediate, undeniable spark that arced between you.

You heard a faint, almost imperceptible gasp from Zayne as your skins touched, a silent acknowledgment of the electric current that had always existed between you.

He gently guided you outside, letting the cool, soft breeze wash over you, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

The first thing Zayne uttered, his voice low and steady, was a heartfelt congratulations for winning the award, adding how profoundly you deserved it.

You mumbled a soft, awkward thanks, your gaze fixed on the distant city lights.

Then you leaned on the railing, side by side, feeling this very moment in a strangely familiar way, as if you were back in college, back in the days when you were inseparable, when the world was simpler, and your paths, though competitive, were perfectly aligned.

A silence stretched between you, not comfortable, but turbulent, a whirlwind of emotions and unspoken thoughts swirling in both your minds.

Then Zayne broke it, his voice rough, shaky, a raw admission that tore at your heart.

"I… I missed you."

You knew you shouldn't be affected.

You knew there was a possibility that Zayne only missed the familiar chemistry between you, the intellectual sparring, the comfortable silences, but not truly you.

But as he faced you, turning fully, you saw his eyes. They were raw, stripped bare, staring deep into your very soul, holding nothing back.

He continued, his voice thick with emotion, admitting how deeply he regretted not realizing how important you were to him, how he had failed to recognize how his soul had screamed for him to be with you – how much he loves you.

Your eyes widened, a sharp, disbelieving intake of breath.

Loves – not loved, not past but present.

Before, you would have jumped into his arms without a second thought.

You would have uttered the same words back in a snap, a desperate, joyful echo. But you were not the same person. You had decided, with a quiet, fierce resolve, that you would make Zayne work hard for it.

So you replied to him, your own voice trembling, confessing that you, too, had missed him. But then, the truth, sharp and unyielding, followed.

"But you truly did hurt me, Zayne. And we were both too messed up, too confused about a lot of things. Things started out wrong. It… it broke us both."

You continued, your voice gaining a quiet strength.

"If I had stayed, if I had given you that chance back then, then we may have destroyed each other. Because there's too much doubt, too much poison, too many baggage that we still have to unload."

Zayne nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

You noticed how he hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but then you saw the fierce resolve harden them.

He took your hand, his touch gentle, almost reverent, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on your knuckles.

Then, before you could even speak, he asked, his voice low, earnest, "Could we try again?"

He rushed on, his words a desperate torrent. "I'm not expecting you to forgive me yet – I don't want you to. I want to earn it. I want to prove it to you that I love you and no one else. I want to show it to you, to the world, to fate itself, that you are my choice, my destination, the north of my compass, and that there's no other place I want to be other than your heart."

You stared at him, your mind a whirlwind of fragmented memories.

You remembered how you started, the messy entanglements, the people who were involved, the impossible situations you got caught in, and where you were now, standing on this balcony, bathed in the cool night air.

No. You couldn't go back to who you were before. That was a painful, broken past.

But you could move forward. One step at a time.

If medicine could evolve, could innovate, could redesign itself, then maybe, just maybe, you could too.

That the time apart, agonizing as it was, had allowed you both to meticulously clean the wounds, to painstakingly remove the debris that was keeping you from truly healing, to finally become whole in order to move forward, together, but differently.

You stared at him, the cool night air of the balcony a stark contrast to the sudden inferno that ignited within your chest.

You saw the raw hope in his eyes, the subtle tremor in his hand as he held yours.

You remembered the tangled mess of your past, the people caught in its crossfire, the agonizing journey that had led you here.

No, you couldn't go back to who you were before; that path was fractured beyond repair.

But perhaps, just perhaps, you could forge a new one.

And so, with a fragile hope blooming amidst the lingering pain, you agreed. A soft, almost imperceptible nod.

Zayne's response was immediate, profound, and utterly Zayne.

A slow, breathtaking smile bloomed on his face, a smile so genuine, so incandescent, it stole your breath all over again.

It wasn't the practiced charm he used in public, nor the detached amusement he'd sometimes shown.

This was pure, unadulterated relief, tinged with a deep, vulnerable joy.

He gently brought your wrist to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours, and then, with a move that made your heart ache, he pressed a soft, warm kiss to the hair tie.

It was a silent, potent gesture, an unspoken acknowledgment, as if he was telling you, 'I know. I know you're still holding on to me. And I'm here.'

You felt a fierce blush creep up your neck, coloring your cheeks.

How had he seen it? How had he noticed that tiny, seemingly irrelevant detail, when others would have dismissed it as a casual accessory?

It was then, in that quiet, vulnerable moment, that the full weight of his sincerity crashed over you. Because it was a fucking small hair tie that others would deem utterly irrelevant, an insignificant scrap of fabric.

But to you, it was more than just a memento; it was a symbol of hope. It was the quiet, steadfast promise of a future you had dared to dream of, even when the pain was unbearable.

And to Zayne, you knew, as his lips lingered on that unassuming piece of cloth, it was a symbol of chance.

A chance for your future. A chance for his future. A chance for your future, together.

You stood there for a moment longer, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights from the balcony, a profound silence enveloping you both.

The hum of the awards ceremony inside felt a million miles away.

Then, with a gentle squeeze of your hand, Zayne released you, his touch lingering, a silent promise. You walked back into the hall, the weight of the Starcatcher Award a testament to your hard work, but the true prize felt much more fragile, much more terrifying, in the delicate balance of your heart.

And that night, as you eventually parted ways, your new contact number now meticulously secured in his phone, your heart looked forward to something new.

Not without apprehension, not without the ghosts of the past, but with a burgeoning sense of hope.

Gone were the gnawing insecurities that had once consumed you.

Gone were the suffocating doubts about your own worth.

Zayne had promised to earn you back, and you knew, with a fierce, unwavering certainty, that you would make it damn hard for him. Because you knew your worth now.

You deserved to be chased, to be pursued, to be loved the way you should have been all along.

Little did you know, as you made your way back to your own unit in Skyhaven, a quiet sense of peace settling over you for the first time in what felt like forever, Zayne headed back to his.

He stared at your new contact details on his phone, the glowing screen illuminating his face, his heart soaring with a renewed sense of purpose, a new chance at life.

It was as if he had just embarked on a new, groundbreaking research project – but this one, he knew with absolute conviction, was infinitely more important than anything else in his life.

He would compete.

He would prove it to you, with every fiber of his being, with everything that he had – his brilliant mind, his unwavering heart, his very soul, and his enduring body.

He would dedicate himself to this pursuit with the same ruthless precision and relentless determination he applied to his most complex medical cases.

As he finally laid his head on his pillow that night, the usual nightmares that had plagued him for years were gone.

They were replaced by dreams, by fragile hopes of one day, one distant, beautiful day, being able to get your heart to fully open for him again.

No more fragmented memories of MC, no more of that entangled, fated destiny that seemed like an obligation.

And how he was, for the first time in so long, utterly at peace.

He had been able to express himself, to be truly vulnerable, to be true to himself on that balcony. All he ever wanted, all his soul ever yearned for, was to be with you.

Now, the next phase would begin.

He would make it clear, unequivocally, in ways that would carve the truth on the very ground beneath your feet and declare it to the heavens above – until it is clear that he only belongs to you and you alone – every damn fiber of his very existence.

★ 𝓯𝓲𝓷 ★

a/n :

i have always wanted to write a heavy one for zayne, and i hope this is a heavy, angsty one as i am always unsure of my writing direction.

and i want the non-mc to be someone great, someone who would know her worth, that she is a queen worthy to be pursued.

so no, zayne doesnt get to enter her life once again without proving that he is all in for her, cause again, nonmc is a queen.

if you have reached this part, thank you for reading and for the kind comments.

see you on the next fic, feel free to reblog, comment and check my other stories. ❤︎

[lucy-literates]

Hey you 😊

Glad your laptop works again 😊

I have another idea for Lewis, him and the younger reader have a fight, because he acts different in public and the reader thinks it is because of the age gap (28 - 40).

He storms off to the Silverstone GP and the reader decides to flight there too, even after a fight. Fred and Charles see her sad at the Garage and speak to her and When Lewis drivers over the finish line, Fred lets her speak to him and he realizes that she will be always there for him.

At home they make up with 🔥please 😊

Greetings 😊

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy it. Requests are open.

Always There

You weren’t sure when it started—when the shift happened. When the version of Lewis you had in private began to disappear the second cameras were on.

At home, he was soft, affectionate, always touching you like he needed the reassurance of your skin against his.

But in public?

He stepped three feet away, gave rehearsed smiles, answered press questions like you were just part of the entourage, not his. It made your chest twist.

And finally, last night, you’d said something.

“You act like I’m an embarrassment.”

He had flinched. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No one knows I’m your girlfriend, Lewis,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “You never post me. You barely look at me when we’re at events. It’s like I’m a dirty secret. Is it the age gap?”

He had exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching. “That’s what this is about?”

You had nodded, tears threatening. “Do you even want me anymore?”

That had been the last straw. He’d stormed out, muttering something about being late for Silverstone.

Still, even after all that—after the yelling and the way he left—you booked the flight.

Because love doesn’t just switch off. Even when your heart aches.

You didn’t have a paddock pass this time. You weren’t on the guest list. But you managed to slip in under the radar, kept to the back of the garage where the noise might drown out the storm inside you.

Charles spotted you first.

“Y/N?” He looked shocked, then softened. “You okay?”

You tried to fake a smile. “Just watching.”

He exchanged a glance with Fred Vasseur, who subtly nodded. The next thing you knew, Charles passed you his jacket to help you blend in more, and Fred leaned in close.

“If you want to talk to him… I’ll make sure you can.”

Your heart clenched. “Really?”

“You’re here. That means something.”

The race blurred. Your chest tightened every time Lewis’s car passed. You kept biting your lip, wondering if he even knew you’d come.

When he crossed the finish line—third place, but hard-fought—you couldn’t help the tears that slipped free.

And then Fred gently guided you forward.

“Go,” he whispered, nodding toward the waiting area behind the garage. “I’ll cover for you.”

Lewis was pulling off his helmet, sweat-slick and flushed, tugging off his gloves—when he saw you.

His entire face changed.

“Y/N—?”

You ran to him, not caring about the cameras or the crowd or the fact that he still reeked of fuel and adrenaline.

“I came,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Even after the fight. Because I’m still yours, even when it hurts.”

Lewis dropped everything.

Helmet. Gloves. Ego.

He stepped into you and wrapped you up in his arms so tight it knocked the air from your lungs.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathed into your hair. “You shouldn’t have had to come find me. I should’ve never walked away.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“Do you even want people to know about us?”

“Yes. God, yes,” he said fiercely. “I was trying to protect you. The press, the age gap… I thought I was keeping you safe, but I ended up making you feel like a secret. That’s on me.”

Your hands cradled his face. “I don’t want safe. I want real. You.”

And he kissed you, right there, in front of everyone.

Back Home – That Night

You barely made it through the front door before his hands were on you.

“Bedroom. Now,” he growled, voice low, eyes blazing with the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

You tugged him by the collar instead. “No. Here.”

He kissed you like he was making up for every second he’d been away. Desperate. Rough. Needy.

He lifted you onto the kitchen counter, pulling your thighs apart with shaking hands. “I don’t deserve you.”

You yanked his shirt off, fingers sliding down his chest. “You’re right. But I’m still here.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Clothes fell to the floor.

He filled you slowly, one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something breakable.

You gasped as he started to move, deep and unrelenting, forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips. “I’ll never walk away like that again.”

You held him tighter. “Good. Because next time, I’m dragging you back.”

He chuckled, thrusts quickening, and your moan got swallowed by his kiss. The fight faded into nothing. Only love remained. And heat. And the ache of wanting someone too much, even when they’re right in front of you.

You came first, body arching, sobbing his name.

He followed seconds later, face buried in your neck, whispering I’m sorry like a prayer between kisses.

Later, curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, you looked up at him.

“Post me tomorrow.”

He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I’ll post you right now.”

[nightshiftpodcast]

Night Shift Podcast: A 2025 Big Update

Phew, deep breath.

Here goes.

The Night Shift Podcast is coming back!

(@ me, that wasn't so hard, was it?)

It's July 2025 as I'm writing this, and on behalf of the whole Night Shift team, I'm really happy to say the show is on its way back to you.

Writing this post has me super anxious because it's been so long since the second season was promised, but things are moving again at last.

To answer some questions we've had a few times:

No, we didn't blast through the crowdfund money on other things. That was for this show and will always be for this show.

Yes, there likely will be new parts to cast soon, but we'll post about them when it's time.

I still can't give you a release date yet, as production takes time, and whilst I was all but unemployed during S1, I ended up with a pretty intense and high level job in the last two years. I have to make all this work around that.

I will post more updates as often as I can from here on out.

I know I said last year I wouldn't go into it, and I'm not obligated to explain the delay, but a little context is deserved for all your patience.

I'll put the rest below because it's a little heavy so you can stop reading here if you want, and leave you with this snapshot of editing on an interim episode between S1 and S2 which is coming together very nicely.

If you do want to read on, CW's are death of close family, general illness, and cancer. Thank you all so much for being patient with me. It's often very hard to create when you're going through hard times, and the state of the world hasn't cut any of us a break either. But it feels amazing to be back in the saddle.

💜💜💜

So, my story.

It started back at the end of 2022 right after Season 1 wrapped up, when I lost my grandfather very suddenly, which would turn out to be the first in a series of horrible events. A member of my immediate family got diagnosed with cancer less than a month later, and Ashe and I were planning our wedding at the time when I suddenly got sick myself. It took months for the NHS to diagnose an autoimmune illness, which I've been struggling with every since.

Then less than a year later my grandmother passed too from Alzheimer's. It wasn't unexpected, but it was hard and brought heaps of legal stuff with it. I got a muscle atrophy in my leg in April 2024 and had to start walking with a cane, and recovery is still ongoing from that (but we're almost there!) - and I went through a lot of self-discovery after learning how much adhd had been ruining my life for decades, and trying to adapt to that.

I was pretty depressed and very anxious, and every piece of world news was making it harder to want to write (and especially something set in America). How was I supposed to write a story about rising up against how cruel and strange the world can be, when in reality the weight of the real world was crushing me?

For the next year, I became a complete hermit and spoke to nearly no one besides my wife, best friend and family. I stopped going on social media. I worked, put on a happy face to my colleagues, then played D&D in the evenings to escape.

When I posted the update last year, I thought I was on the mend at last. My work mentor was helpful, but I found that whilst I could be creative again, I couldn't bring myself to work on Night Shift. I drafted out a whole novel in that time, 100k, guilt eating away at me with every page that I wasn't working on the thing I was supposed to be working on. Night Shift stopped being fun and started feeling like a ball and chain.

'I'll start on it next week'. I must've told myself that a hundred times. And as last year closed out, I started to think I might be able to.

Then in January, my mother's partner of five years also died suddenly in a very traumatic way. It's wrecked the first half of my 2025, to the point where I was ready to just give up on being able to make anything again. When we finished S1 in 2022, I never, ever could have guessed I'd lose three very close family members in less than three years, let alone everything else in-between.

Just last month, I even deactivated the Night Shift website thinking about how I was going to announce the project was done for. I'd thought about it over and over for the last year. But I waited, just a little longer, because deep down I knew I didn't want to do that.

Maybe that was the release I needed, allowing myself to close it down and then realising I didn't actually want that at all. I saw a few things and read a few things that filled me with hope and inspiration.

And it struck me: what I need more than anything right now is to write a story about rising up against how cruel and strange the world can be.

Suddenly, all this nostalgia and love for the show came flooding back in, and I got my groove back; I've put four episodes together in four days, and reactivated the site again. I'm still figuring out the shape of Season 2, and it'll be what it'll be, but I hope whatever that is, you enjoy it.

I'm not writing this all down for pity, more just to get it off my chest. It's been an incredibly tough 2.5 years, both personally and globally. To all the people who've sent messages of encouragement and love for the show, know that I see you and I appreciate you.

My big hope is that when this little show releases, it can bring everyone a bit of hope and escapism. At a time when everything feels dark, we need visibility and togetherness. I hope our little queer show can be a drop in that ocean.

Lots of love, and I'm going to do my utmost for you all. Wish me luck ❤️

If you have any questions, please feel free to send them through to our inbox. I'm going to try not to avoid it any more.

- Skye (formerly Julian)

[elryuse]

Appreciate it if you can make yandere Lynn. There's almost no one that write anything about her yet. So I'll appreciate it if you can make one.

Thank you

Miscalculations

Yandere Lynn X Male Reader

Tags : Obsessed, Obsession, Dark Romance, Regrets, Thriller, Crazy In Love, Pain, Toxic Relationship Words : 5,541 Words

Hope You Like It. More TripleS Members To Come In The Future..

You met her on a rainy evening in late autumn, the kind of night where the wind carried more than just fallen leaves—it carried fate.

You were working your shift at a modest little bookstore café tucked in between a pharmacy and a flower shop. Business was slow that night. The rain had kept most people indoors, and the few who had wandered in did so only for shelter. You had just finished wiping down the counter when she walked in—drenched, radiant, and utterly out of place. Her long black hair clung to her shoulders, her pale skin gleaming under the amber café lights, and her violet eyes scanned the place with a regal sort of disinterest before they landed on you. She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone was commanding, electric.

You remember fumbling your words as she asked for a cappuccino. Her voice was like glass—smooth, clear, but brittle in a way that hinted she could shatter you without trying. You couldn’t stop staring. She caught you, of course, and for the first time, a small smile tugged at her lips. "You're cute when you’re nervous," she said. That was all it took.

Her name was Lynn.

After that night, she came back almost every day. Sometimes she’d bring a book, sometimes not. Sometimes she’d stay for hours, sometimes just minutes. But she always found a reason to talk to you. You’d try to act cool, trying not to show how much your heart raced when she leaned in close, her perfume—a faint mix of vanilla and smoke—filling your lungs. You didn’t know how or why someone like her would even look at you. You weren’t special. You weren’t rich or popular. You didn’t have sharp features or a silver tongue. You were just… you.

But she chose you. One night, out of nowhere, she asked if you wanted to go for a walk after work. You said yes, obviously, and that night became the first of many. You held hands under streetlamps, kissed beneath umbrellas, and whispered about dreams and fears like the world outside didn’t exist. When she finally said, “Be mine,” you nearly cried.

You fell hard. Harder than you ever expected to.

At first, it was magic. Being with Lynn made you feel like you were living someone else's life—someone luckier, someone worth something. She would laugh at your bad jokes, tug on your sleeves when she wanted your attention, fall asleep on your chest during lazy afternoons. You would have done anything for her. And in a way, you did.

But as the months passed, things began to change—quietly at first, like a shift in the wind before the storm arrives.

Lynn stopped holding your hand in public. She stopped replying to your texts right away. When you asked if she was okay, she’d roll her eyes and mutter, “Don’t be so clingy.” You tried not to take it personally. Maybe she was stressed. Maybe she just needed space. But the space kept growing—wider, colder, darker.

You started noticing things you didn’t want to believe.

She’d come home late, sometimes not at all. Her scent would be different—different perfumes, different colognes lingering faintly in the air. When you asked where she’d been, she’d scoff and say, “Out. Do you have a problem with that?” You didn’t want to fight. So you bit your tongue and nodded. You made excuses for her in your head, excuses your heart begged you to believe.

You tried harder. You cooked her favorite meals. Bought her gifts she never opened. Wrote her notes she never read. You even tried dressing differently, changing your hair—anything to reignite the spark. But every attempt was met with cold indifference or sharp disdain.

“Why do you always try so hard?” she said once, sneering. “It’s pathetic.”

You stopped talking about your day, afraid she'd belittle it. You stopped expressing how you felt, knowing she’d mock it. Your world had started to shrink, and Lynn stood at the center of it like a queen surrounded by ashes. You knew you were spiraling, but you were too far in. You loved her too much. Or maybe you feared being alone more than you feared being unloved.

The emotional neglect turned into something worse.

She started saying cruel things—casually, like it was a habit.

"You're so boring."

"Why do you breathe like that? It's annoying."

"You should be grateful someone like me even looks at someone like you."

You laughed them off at first, but those words stuck. They followed you into your dreams. They poisoned your self-worth. You began to believe them.

But the worst part wasn't what she said in private—it was what she said when other people were around.

Lynn loved company. Her friends, her coworkers, guys you didn’t know but who looked at her like she was a goddess. She’d invite them over, make you sit there like a trophy pet while she painted you as the fool.

“He still thinks I love him,” she’d say with a smirk, sipping wine, her legs draped over the armrest like a queen. “It’s kind of adorable. Like watching a puppy follow you around no matter how many times you kick it.”

They all laughed. They always laughed.

You did nothing. You couldn’t. What would you say? That she was lying? That she used to love you?

You kept your head down. Stayed silent. Hoping the night would end faster than the last.

You felt yourself shrinking. You couldn’t breathe when she entered the room. Every step, every word, every sigh was a landmine. You walked on eggshells, hoping you wouldn’t trigger something worse.

You wanted to leave. You wanted to scream. You wanted to die.

The thought came quietly one night—slipping into your mind like a whisper: Would anyone care if you disappeared?

You didn’t even flinch at the thought.

Then came that night. The night everything changed.

You were at a party—one of her usual high-class get-togethers where everyone dressed in black and talked like they were better than you. Lynn was seated across the room, laughing with her friends, surrounded by people who adored her.

You stood alone, drink untouched in your hand, watching her.

You weren’t even listening—until her voice rose above the others.

“Y/n still thinks he means something to me,” she said, giggling. “God, I could cheat in front of him and he’d probably apologize.”

Someone asked, “Why don’t you just break up with him?”

Lynn tilted her head, smiled, and said, “Because it’s fun.”

That was the moment you snapped.

Something inside you finally broke free. The pain, the humiliation, the years of trying—it all erupted in your chest like a storm. You couldn’t cry. You couldn’t even breathe. You just knew you couldn’t keep living like this.

When Lynn stood up and left the table, presumably to take a call or find some quiet, you followed her out without thinking. Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum. Your throat burned. You rehearsed the words in your head: It’s over. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.

You found her near the street, standing by a lamppost, typing something on her phone.

“Lynn,” you called out, your voice shaking.

She turned, annoyed. “What?”

“I want to break up,” you said. The words felt heavier than any you’d ever spoken.

She laughed. A cold, hollow thing. “Excuse me?”

“I’m done,” you said, this time more firmly. “I can’t take it anymore. You treat me like garbage. You don’t love me. And I—I don’t even know who I am when I’m with you. I just want to be free.”

Her eyes darkened. “You think I care?”

Then she took a step toward you.

But that was when it happened.

A flash of headlights. A roar of an engine. A speeding truck.

You saw it. She didn’t.

It was coming too fast. Too close.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You lunged, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her hard out of the way.

Then came the impact.

Your body collided with the truck’s grill. The sound was monstrous—bones cracking, metal crunching, flesh tearing. Your body hit the pavement like a rag doll, blood instantly pooling beneath your skull.

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t feel.

But you could hear.

“No. No. Y/n—Y/n!!”

It was Lynn’s voice.

She was kneeling beside you, her trembling hands cupping your face, now soaked in blood. Her violet eyes—once so cold—were wide with horror.

“Oh my God, no. No no no no please—HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead to yours, sobbing uncontrollably. She called your name again and again, each time more desperate than the last.

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it,” she cried, her voice breaking. “You stupid idiot, why would you do that—why would you save me?!”

You could barely see her. Your vision was fading, the world turning dark around the edges.

Still, you smiled.

“I… I didn’t want you to get hurt,” you whispered, voice faint.

She grabbed your hand. Held it tightly.

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, please don’t die, please—I’ll change, I swear—I’ll fix everything—just don’t leave me…”

You closed your eyes.

Her cries were the last thing you heard.

There was blood under her fingernails, dried into a dark rust color that flaked when she clenched her trembling hands. It stained the sleeves of her blouse, smeared across her collarbone, and soaked the knees of her jeans where she had fallen beside your motionless body. She hadn’t even noticed how much of it there was until she was inside the back of the ambulance, and the paramedic tried to pry her away from you. She refused. Her fingers curled tightly around your limp hand, refusing to let go, as if her touch could anchor your soul to your broken body. She barely noticed the chaos—the scream of the siren, the blur of the night speeding past, the rapid voices of the medical team trying to stabilize you. Her ears buzzed like a television on static, and the only thing that broke through the noise was the growing, agonizing truth: You weren’t responding.

"Stay with me," she whispered, her voice hoarse and shaking, barely audible over the shrieking sirens. "Y/n… please… don’t you dare die on me. Please. Please." Her knees were pulled to her chest as she sat beside your stretcher, her body trembling uncontrollably. The air inside the ambulance felt suffocating, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the panic or the scent of blood clinging to everything. You looked so pale. Unnaturally pale. There was blood pooling from the gash on your temple, running down the side of your face like tears. Your lips were slightly parted, but no words came. Not even a groan. You hadn’t opened your eyes since the accident. You hadn’t moved since you saved her.

And that was what shattered her most.

You saved her. Even after everything.

Her eyes refused to blink, afraid that if she closed them, you’d vanish—that you’d slip into that final silence and never return. Her stomach twisted into knots. Every thud of her heart was heavier than the last. Her grip on your hand never loosened, even as your fingers remained cold, unresponsive. She could barely recognize you like this. You were always so full of life. Always moving, fidgeting, smiling awkwardly, saying the dumbest things just to make her laugh. Now you looked like a fragile, broken thing barely holding on. Like a puppet with its strings severed.

A flash of memory slammed into her like a bullet to the chest.

She remembered the first time she met you. It was a rainy night. The kind of rain that soaked everything in seconds, cold and harsh. She had just been rejected from a modeling audition she thought she would breeze through, and everything in her felt heavy—bitter, angry, disappointed. She ducked into that tiny café bookstore to get out of the rain, hoping for something warm. You were behind the counter, quietly reading a paperback, your glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose. You looked up, startled by her entrance. She was dripping wet, a little breathless, and clearly not in the mood. You looked like you were about to faint. Your hands shook slightly as you fumbled to greet her, stammering about the weather and offering a hot drink on the house.

She’d been amused. You were awkward. Shy. So different from the arrogant, sharp-mouthed men she was used to. You blushed when she thanked you. Your eyes avoided hers unless she caught you, and then you’d glance away like you’d been caught doing something wrong. She remembered thinking you were… harmless. Maybe even sweet. When she told you she liked extra cinnamon, you remembered. Every time she came back—because she did come back—you remembered every little detail. You didn’t try to impress her. You didn’t pretend to be someone else. You were simply kind. And slowly, without knowing how or when, she fell.

She fell first.

But that wasn’t the part that hurt now.

What hurt was remembering how quickly she let that love rot.

It started with her friends. They teased her when they saw pictures of you. Mocked how “plain” you were. "He looks like the type who apologizes after sneezing too loud," one of them said, cackling. "You can do better." "What does he even do for a living again? Oh… right." Their words burrowed under her skin. At first, she brushed them off, laughed it away. But they kept coming. And eventually, she started to look at you through their eyes—not the boy who made her laugh until she cried, but the boy who couldn’t afford to take her to Michelin-starred restaurants. Not the boy who held her hand when she was anxious, but the one who wore the same hoodie three days in a row. She hated herself for it, but the seed had been planted. She began to wonder if she deserved more. If maybe she was settling. If maybe—just maybe—she had made a mistake.

And once that thought entered her heart, everything changed.

She began treating you differently. Pulling away. Ignoring your messages. She knew it hurt you. She could see it in your eyes, every time she brushed you off. But you never stopped trying. You still brought her food when she skipped meals. Still asked how her day was. Still kissed her goodnight even when she turned her back on you. You clung to the hope that the girl you loved was still in there somewhere.

And what did she do?

She mocked you. In front of friends. In public. She made jokes at your expense and watched them laugh, never realizing those words would someday be the last thing you ever heard from her. She called you weak, pathetic, spineless—and when you finally had the courage to say you wanted to leave, she scoffed.

She told you she never loved you.

And even after all of that… you still chose to die for her.

The weight of it made her vision blur.

The ambulance jerked to a stop. The back doors flung open. Paramedics rushed in, voices barking orders. Someone tried to guide her away from your stretcher, but she resisted, staggering beside you, blood-slick hands reaching out. She shouted your name as they wheeled you through double doors, your body strapped down, oxygen mask over your face. She followed as far as they’d let her—until a nurse physically stopped her at the threshold of the ER.

“Ma’am, you have to wait here. Please.”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She was shaking, drenched in rain and blood, crying so hard her ribs hurt. They sat her down in a plastic chair outside the emergency room. The hallway was white, sterile, buzzing with fluorescent lights. Everything felt too bright. Too cold.

Hours passed.

She didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Her hands were clasped in front of her face like she was praying, though she didn’t believe in anything anymore. She kept staring at the floor, replaying your last words over and over in her head—“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” The kindest thing anyone had ever said to her. And she’d heard it with blood pouring out of your mouth.

When the doctor finally came through those doors, she stood on legs that nearly gave out beneath her. Her stomach twisted, heart ready to collapse under its own weight.

“Y/n L/n?” the doctor asked gently.

Lynn nodded wordlessly.

“He’s in stable condition. He suffered a concussion, a few broken ribs, and lacerations to the scalp and chest. We’re keeping him under observation for now. He’s sedated but stable. He’ll make it.”

The breath that escaped her felt like it had been locked in her lungs for years.

She fell back into the chair, covering her face with both hands as the sobs returned, raw and uncontrolled. Her shoulders shook as she cried. It wasn’t elegant or quiet. It was ugly. Broken. Real.

He was alive.

You were alive.

She was allowed into your room once they moved you to intensive care. The hospital lights were dim. Machines beeped softly beside you, monitoring every breath, every beat. Your head was bandaged. Your body covered in wires and gauze. You looked like a ghost of the boy she once knew—except now, she could see the truth.

You had always been the strong one.

Not the richest. Not the boldest. But the one who stayed. The one who chose love over pride, even when it hurt. Even when she tried to push you away. You were bleeding out on an empty road because you still believed she was worth saving.

She pulled the chair beside your bed and sat down, her hands gently cradling yours.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know how I became this person. I don’t know when I started hurting you. Maybe it was when I started listening to people who didn’t matter. Maybe it was when I started believing that love had to look perfect to be real.”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against the back of your hand.

“You were always there for me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. And I made you feel like you were nothing. But you were everything, Y/n. You are everything.”

She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“I know you might not forgive me. You shouldn’t. But if you wake up… if you still remember me… I’ll spend every single day making up for this. I’ll never walk away again. I’ll never let go again. Just please…”

Her voice cracked.

“Please come back.”

And for the rest of the night, she stayed there, curled beside your bed like a sinner at an altar. She didn’t sleep. She didn’t leave. Her arms never once left yours.

Because losing you—even just the possibility of it—was the most terrifying thing she had ever faced.

A soft groan escaped your lips as the brightness stung your eyes—pristine, white hospital lights casting their sterile glow across the clean room. The ceiling came into focus first, then the beeping of a nearby monitor made itself known, slow and steady, tracking your heartbeat like a quiet reminder that you were still alive. As you tried to move, you noticed a weight, warm and still, resting near your right arm. You turned slowly, your vision sharpening—and there she was.

Lynn.

She was asleep on the side of your bed, her body slouched forward, arms wrapped gently around your arm as if she had anchored herself there, afraid to let go. Her clothes were wrinkled, stained faintly with dried blood—your blood. Her hand trembled even in sleep, her expression twisted in unease, brows furrowed like she had been locked in a silent, sleepless battle all night. You could see it—her guilt written in the way her jaw clenched even as she rested, the dark shadows beneath her eyes telling you that she hadn't slept at all.

You didn’t want to wake her. For a moment, you just watched her, your heart conflicted between the pain she caused and the pain she now carried.

But even the smallest shift of the mattress beneath you was enough to wake her. As though your soul had whispered to hers.

Her eyes snapped open, bloodshot and dazed, but when she saw you awake—really awake—her breath hitched, and she immediately rose. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and pulled you into her arms. Her embrace wasn’t soft—it was desperate. Her body trembled against yours, her grip firm, clinging, as though letting you go would mean losing you all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. I was stupid. Reckless. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think it would ever go this far—” Her words came out in rapid, stammering bursts. “I never wanted to hurt you. I swear. I was wrong. I didn’t know how much you meant to me until—until this—”

You held her loosely, processing her words, the weight of everything that had happened pressing into your chest like a vice. After a while, you whispered softly, “It’s okay. It’s in the past now.”

But Lynn pulled away slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, her own still brimming with tears. “When we go home… what do you want to do?” she asked, voice shaking, eyes hopeful and fragile. "I just want to do it right this time."

You paused, your heart growing heavy.

“Home?” you echoed, your voice quieter now. You looked at her with eyes that no longer held the same warmth as before. “There’s no home anymore, Lynn.”

Her breath caught in her throat. You saw the moment those words registered in her, like a dagger sinking deep. “What… what do you mean?”

“I’m done,” you said. “We’re done.”

She froze. Then her face twisted—shocked, broken. “No… No, please, don’t say that. Please don’t—please,” she whispered, her voice splintering like glass. “I know I messed up. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough. But I was wrong. You were always enough. You were always more than I deserved. Please… don’t leave me. Don’t end us. I can fix this. I’ll change. I swear, I’ll change.”

But it was too late.

You were already hurt—your body wrapped in bandages, your chest still aching, but more than that… it was your heart that bore the deepest wound. You had given her everything—your time, your love, your loyalty—even when she started slipping away, even when she entertained others, even when her gaze lingered on the fantasy of someone “better.”

And now?

Now that the illusion had shattered, now that she saw the reality of losing you—she regretted it all. She remembered how you first met. You were just a simple guy, working part-time, trying your best to live honestly. She was the one who chased after you first, not the other way around. Back then, it was her heart that fluttered, her lips that smiled too much when you were around. She fell first. And she fell hard.

But slowly… her world crept in.

Her friends would laugh and ask why she was with someone like you. You weren’t rich, you didn’t drive a fancy car, you didn’t have connections or expensive taste. You weren’t flashy. You were just you. They told her she could do better. That she deserved better. Someone hotter, someone more refined. And over time, that whisper turned into belief. She started to drift, thinking that maybe they were right.

But they weren’t. And she knew that now. Now that she had nearly lost you.

Lynn collapsed into tears at your bedside, hands grasping yours so tightly it hurt. “Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded. “I’ll be better. I swear. Just give me one more chance—please…”

But you didn’t answer.

You just looked away.

Even now, she didn't know… that it was no longer about her begging or your forgiveness. It was about something that had broken deep inside you—something that couldn’t be patched back with sweet words or tearful apologies.

But Lynn wasn’t going to let go—not this time. Something had snapped inside her, and it wasn’t grief.

It was obsession.

She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

And if anyone dared to come between you and her now… they would learn exactly what happens when a once-cold heart burns with terrifying love.

This wasn’t over.

Not for her.

Time Skip – Two Months Later

The air felt different now. Lighter, freer. The days no longer felt like a punishment, and the nights were no longer suffocating. You had finally started to move on. Life, with all its mess and hurt, had given you a second chance. The incident was behind you, the wounds had healed—both the ones on your body and the deeper ones that scarred your heart. You took up jogging again, found comfort in new routines, and even began laughing with friends without feeling like you were betraying some memory. And most surprisingly, you found someone new. She was kind, understanding, patient—everything you needed. She didn't pressure you. She simply stayed by your side, gently showing you what it meant to feel loved again.

But for Lynn… things were far from over.

Her apartment had become a shrine of sorts—obsessive, suffocating, disturbing. Every wall, every surface, every inch of space bore traces of you. Printed photos of your smile, the old hoodie you forgot in her closet, even voice recordings from old phone calls played softly in the background like some twisted lullaby. Her eyes had grown dark with exhaustion and obsession. Her hair messy, her skin pale from staying inside for too long. She barely left the house, except for one reason—one purpose.

To see you.

She would follow you from a distance, hidden beneath a hoodie or behind a tinted car window. Watching you. Waiting. Her heart ached at the sight of you smiling, of you seeming… happy. But that ache quickly turned into something bitter and ugly the moment she saw you with her. That girl. That stranger who dared to touch what used to be hers.

At first, Lynn just watched. But the longer she saw you walking with this girl, holding her hand, laughing the way you used to with her, the more twisted her thoughts became. Her hands would tighten into fists in her sleeves, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. One night, she followed the girl. She memorized her routine. Where she lived. What coffee she liked. How she wore her hair when she was tired. Every detail. It wasn't enough to simply observe. She needed to know everything.

And with every discovery, the rage grew.

Her mind fractured deeper each night. Screams echoed inside her skull—shouts of those who wronged her. The friends who made her question her love for you? Gone. Just like that. No one had heard from them. No one asked anymore. But Lynn remembered. She remembered everything they said. Every whisper that you weren’t good enough. Every sneer that convinced her she deserved better. She remembered their laughter… and now, she remembered their screams. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she sat on the floor of her living room, the bloodstained sweater she once borrowed from you clutched to her chest.

A pool of red trickled through her memories, just as the soundtrack of her guilt and pleasure played on loop.

Giggles escaped her lips as she stared at the flickering candle beside your picture. “You’ll come back to me,” she whispered, stroking your photo lovingly, her fingers leaving red smudges across the glass. “They can’t have you. Not her. Not anyone.”

She lay down on the bed, wrapping herself in your scent, curling up with the worn pillow that once belonged to you. Her phone screen glowed dimly, showing the latest photo she took—of you and that girl, walking side by side under a golden sunset.

Lynn's voice broke into quiet laughter, shaky and hollow, as her fingers danced across the screen. “It’s okay… You’ll see. You’ll understand soon.” Her eyes welled with tears—not from sorrow, but longing. Desperation.

“I’ll get you back,” she whispered, pressing the photo to her lips. “Even if I have to burn the whole world down.”

And then one night—it happened.

You were lounging on the couch when your phone buzzed. Chaewon was calling. You smiled to yourself and answered, expecting to hear her sweet voice.

But all you got… was static.

Then a faint, low giggle.

Your heart sank.

And then, the voice you hoped you’d never hear again slithered through the speaker.

“Miss me?” Lynn cooed, giggling like a child with a secret.

You froze. “Where’s Chaewon?”

“Oh, she’s here with me,” she said in a singsong voice. “She’s a bit tied up right now.”

Panic surged through your chest. You stood up, pacing.

“What did you do to her? Lynn—what the hell did you do?”

“If you want your little girlfriend to still have a face by tomorrow,” she said coldly, her tone shifting, eyes no doubt narrowing through the phone, “you’ll come to the address I’m about to send you. Don’t be late.”

There was a pause.

And then, with a low chuckle: “You don’t want your girl to be beaten up… right?”

The call ended.

And your blood ran cold.

You didn’t hesitate. You got in your car and drove like hell to the address she sent. It was a remote, abandoned warehouse on the edge of town—one that hadn’t been in use for years. The moment you stepped inside, you saw her. Chaewon. Tied to a chair, blindfolded, her mouth gagged, bruises already forming along her cheek. You bolted toward her—relief mixed with horror—arms reaching out to help.

But then everything went black.

Pain exploded across the side of your head.

You collapsed, the cold concrete floor hitting your cheek as your vision blurred.

You must’ve been out for minutes. Maybe longer.

When your eyes fluttered open again, the first thing you saw was her.

Lynn.

Squatting right in front of you.

Her face was almost unrecognizable now—simpler makeup, pale skin, blood on her lip. Her hair was messy, tangled like it hadn’t been brushed in days. But it was her eyes that chilled you. They were no longer the eyes of the girl you once loved. They were sharp, vacant, and manic.

She smiled wide, tilting her head with a sick kind of joy.

“Hi,” she whispered sweetly. “Long time no see.”

Then she giggled. And the sound of it felt like knives behind your ribs

Lynn tilted her head, that haunting smile never leaving her lips. The blood on her cheek had dried, leaving a crimson trail that made her look almost inhuman—like a ghost of a love long lost, now twisted and cruel.

“I’ll make this simple,” she said softly, dragging the tip of the metal bat across the floor with a screech. “Be with me again… and I’ll let your sweet Chaewon go. Safe. Untouched. I promise.” Then her smile dropped. “But—if you refuse… if you dare to choose her over me—” her voice cracked, eyes twitching with fury, “then I’ll kill you both. Slowly.”

You stared at her, heart pounding in your chest. Every breath felt like a thousand needles pushing into your lungs. Chaewon whimpered behind you, her mouth tied with duct tape, her wrists shaking against the restraints. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and though blindfolded, her body screamed of terror.

Your lips trembled. “Lynn… this is insane.”

She leaned in closer. “Pick,” she whispered. “Now.”

You looked at Chaewon. The girl who made you smile again. Who gave you a reason to live. She didn’t deserve this. None of this. She was just a victim—collateral in Lynn’s broken fantasy. And suddenly it hit you like a train—if you truly loved her, you'd protect her. Even if it meant destroying yourself in the process.

You clenched your jaw. "Fine. I’ll be with you."

Chaewon shook her head violently, screaming behind the tape, as if pleading with you not to do it. But you turned your gaze away, because seeing her like that—so broken, so scared—was already killing you.

Lynn’s eyes widened in surprise, her lips curling into a trembling smile. “Really?” she asked. “You’re not lying, are you? You’re not saying that just to save her?” You slowly nodded. “Just let her go.”

There was a silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then Lynn threw the bat aside with a metallic clang and ran toward you—arms wide like a child meeting her lover after years of absence. She threw herself into your arms, hugging you like she never wanted to let go again. Her breath was erratic. Her hands trembled. But her voice—soft and trembling—was almost childlike.

“I knew it… I knew you’d come back to me.”

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your eyes locked on Chaewon as Lynn buried her face into your neck, giggling softly to herself.

You had chosen. Not for love. But for sacrifice.

And Lynn?

She had finally gotten what she always wanted.

[mandos-mind-trick]

It Meant Everything To Me

Summary: After being stung by a bug on a remote planet during a mission with Torrent Company, your life is suddenly in danger, and it's going to take something rather...unconventional to fix it. Little do you know your decision might mean more than you thought it would.

Pairing: Fives x reader

Word Count: 11,105 words (sorry)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, explicit sexual content, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, sex pollen, slight dubcon because of sex pollen, feelings, idiots in love, medic!reader, some slight descriptions of injuries but nothing too graphic, slightly possessive Fives, good bro Kix, we love wingman Jesse, language

A/N: Did I need to write another sex pollen fic? No. Has this one been plaguing me for days? Yes. So I wrote it. Bit rusty with the 501st boys but here we are. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Why did you have to bring me along again?” You ask into your comm, firing a shot at a droid from the bushes where you’re hiding.

“We just like having you around.” Fives’ voice sounds from your vambrace. You can picture the cheeky smile on his face beneath his helmet.

“I feel like Kix would have been more than capable of handling you idiots.” You say, flattening yourself in the dirt as a stray blaster bolt flies over your head. You weren’t necessarily trained for front-line combat, usually stuck at the back of the column to look after injured soldiers left behind by forward progress like most civilian medics.

You were getting more than enough combat experience hanging around these boys, though. They were making sure of that.

You let out a slow breath, pushing yourself back up to your knees to peer through the bushes. Droids are falling left and right as blue and red blaster bolts fly through the air. It’s utter chaos.

Yet, you trust the boys to take care of things. They’re here for a reason. The best of the best the 501st has to offer.

You take aim through a gap in the bushes, firing on another droid getting too close.

“Nice shot, Doc.” Jesse’s voice comes through the comm.

“Thanks.” You murmur, watching the chaos for any possible injuries you’ll need to treat.

You watch the field, the small droid army that had been guarding the base getting smaller and smaller as the boys work their magic. You keep a close eye out for any potential injuries, not that you don’t trust Kix can’t handle it, but you’d prefer he keep his focus on the fight and not one of these idiots catching a stray bolt to the groin.

You’ve gotten up close and personal with some clones for that very injury.

Just another day in your life.

You’re pulled from your reverie as something sharp pricks your neck. You slap a hand against the spot, pulling away to find a squished bug. You pick at the skin, pulling the stinger free. “Kriff.” It’s a decent sized stinger.

“You good, Doc?” Kix’s voice comes through the comms.

“Yeah, some kriffing bug stung me.” You say, the spot starting to throb painfully.

“Ooh kiss your mother with that mouth?” Jesse asks.

“Please, like you haven’t said worse.” You roll your eyes.

“Kriffing son of a bitch.” Hardcase grunts.

Yeah, like that. “What happened?” You ask, snapping back into medic mode.

“Hardcase took a shot to the shoulder.” Kix says.

“Drag him over here.” You say, pulling your pack off your back. You risk leaving the cover of the bushes, squatting down just past the treeline as Kix and Fives drag Hardcase over to you.

He grunts as he’s dropped, going limp. You roll your eyes, pulling off his spaulder before looking at the hole in his blacks. The skin is blackened and raw, burned from the heat of the blaster bolt. You open your pack, pulling out your med kit. “This is going to sting,” you say, pouring disinfectant over the injury. Kix kneels down on his other side, prodding at the wound.

“What’s the prognosis?” Hardcase asks, his helmet shifting side to side as he looks between you.

“I don’t know, Hardcase.” Kix says as you pass him a bacta shot. “You might not make it.”

Hardcase sighs dramatically, gripping your hand. “Distribute my sabacc credits evenly among the men, and give condolences to that Twi’lek from 79s.”

You roll your eyes again, but squeeze his hand as Kix jabs the injector into the wound. “You’re lucky that shot wasn’t further to the right.” You say, grabbing the gauze from your bag. “I told you to get bigger spaulders.”

“I keep forgetting.” Hardcase says.

A bead of sweat trickles down your spine as you pack your med kit back into your bag. The air is hot and heavy on this planet, your blacks already damp from sweat under your armor. It’s not as heavy duty or weighty as theirs, but you can only imagine how soggy they are under those helmets.

“Let’s get this communication tower down.” Rex says, the fight against the droids over. You quickly realize they were waiting on you to finish. “Hardcase, stay out here with Doc, the rest of you on me.”

Hardcase salutes him from his place on the ground before flopping back dramatically. You sit down next to him, fanning yourself. Sweat has pooled in your crevices, the day only seeming to get hotter and muggier.

You dig your canteen out of your pack, taking a long drink of the cool water. It soothes some of the heat for a moment, and your dry mouth. Has your mouth been this dry the entire time?

You offer the canteen to Hardcase and he takes it, pushing himself up to sit. He favors his right arm as he takes a swig, likely still in pain as the bacta slowly works itself through his system.

The jungle seems so quiet now that the fire fight is over with. The air is still and heavy, settling like a dome over the Separatist hideout. You’re aware and alert, and so is Hardcase, in case any straggler droids show up as the boys work to take down the communications tower, cutting one part of the Separatist army off from the others.

You slip your canteen back into your pack, leaning back against a tree. It’s getting hotter, and you tug at the neck of your blacks, trying to get some air between your skin and the tight fabric.

“You alright?” Hardcase asks, turning his head to look at you.

You nod, fanning yourself with your hand. “It’s hot.”

He hums, turning to look back at the building. He doesn’t seem bothered by the heat at all, not even a sweat breaking out on his forehead as you sit under the hot sun. You’ve always wondered if the clones were engineered to handle more extreme temperatures. You hadn’t read anything about it in the file you stole during a short stay on Kamino. Curiosity had led you to snooping about the clones and their genetic engineering. You’d simply made the excuse that it was to better understand how to treat them. Resources would be limited at times and if you knew how much they really could handle, then you could better allocate those resources between them.

You’d never give them less than you would anyone else, but that had been the excuse you’d come up with in case you got caught. You hadn’t, but you never do anything without a good reason thought up. Impulsivity isn’t your nature.

Sweat has soaked through your blacks by the time the doors open again, your hand falling to your blaster before you recognize your boys coming back through.

“Charges are planted.” Rex says, Kix offering you a hand to help you up off the ground. “Let’s get out of here and blow this place.”

“Hell yeah.” Hardcase says, putting his helmet back on.

Your group steps through the bushes again, slipping back into the jungle.

You’re not quite sure how far you walk before you hear the bang, jumping just a bit as the explosion reaches your ears. You’ve stopped for just a moment, long enough for them to detonate the charges and destroy the Separatist communication station. You take a moment to grab your canteen again, taking another big drink. Your mouth feels eternally dry, no matter how much water you drink, it doesn’t do anything to ease the ache in your throat. The canteen is half empty now, and you only hope you’ll come across water at some point so you can refill it before it’s completely empty.

You ignore the way your hands shake as you tuck the canteen back into your pack, slinging it over your shoulder again as you trudge along through the jungle.

The heat continues to intensify, sweat dripping down your forehead as you slowly weave through the bushes and roots. The wound on your neck from the bug is throbbing and achy, a bump forming where the stinger broke your skin. There’s an itch starting to build beneath your skin. Must be from the friction of your blacks and the sweat. Just what you need. Heat rash.

You can’t wait to get off this planet. You can’t wait to get back to the boring med bay, the greys and whites of the Resolute. You’d take cataloging over this. But the boys wanted you to come along, and here you are dragging ass behind them.

You pick up the pace, shoving past the exhaustion, something you’re well accustomed to. It’s not the first time you’ve had to push past the extremes, often pushing yourself further than sanity to save the lives of as many troopers as you can. You don’t want them to die, even if they do it with honor.

Your legs are starting to shake, sweat dripping into your eyes. The itch under your skin is intensifying, your fingers digging into the gap between your vambrace and rerebrace. The armor is getting heavier and heavier, weighing you down as your exhaustion continues to build.

Your vision is starting to swim, the colors of the jungle intensifying, becoming sharper. Your hand shakes as you lift it to wipe your brow, sweat soaking through your glove. The sun isn’t helping the heat any, bearing down on you through the trees. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought it was seeking you out, following you and shining its rays directly onto your head.

After a few minutes you finally stumble, sitting down hard on a root. Your pack nearly pulls you backwards and you quickly unclip it, letting it fall before it takes you with it. You need to stop, you need a moment just to breathe. The jungle around you is kaleidoscoping, the vivid brightness hurting your eyes.

“Doc!” Fives calls out, rushing to your side. His hand cups your face as you sit back against the tree, blinking away the dizziness. “Kriff, you’re burning up.”

Kix kneels down on your other side, grabbing his scanner from his belt. He holds it up to your face, and you can imagine his brows furrowing in concentration under his helmet. “A fever.” He tilts your head side to side, the motion nearly making you puke down Fives’ front. His fingers tug at the neck of your blacks, pulling them down slightly.

Jesse hisses, standing behind Kix. “That doesn’t look good.”

“What?” You slur, lifting a hand to the sore spot on your neck. The bump has gotten bigger, and it throbs as you brush your fingers over it.

“We need to find somewhere to set up camp.” Kix says, turning to speak to Rex. “I need to treat her before this gets worse.”

“There’s a clearing not far ahead.” Rex says, turning his gaze to you. “Think you can make it that far?”

You nod, standing back to your feet with Kix and Fives’ help. “Yeah.” You don’t sound very convincing.

Kix slings your arm over his shoulders as Fives grabs your pack, his grip around you tight to keep you upright as you stumble onward after Rex. If you weren’t so out of it, you might have been embarrassed or even ashamed. You can’t care about much besides putting one foot in front of the other right now, though. You don’t have that much energy to expend.

Kix is almost carrying you by the time you reach the clearing, half of the company jumping into setting up the tents while the others do a sweep of the area, making sure there’s nothing hiding in the trees that might cause a problem. You lean against a tree, fingers fumbling with your pack to get your canteen.

A gloved hand moves yours to the side gently, reaching in to grab your canteen for you. You look up at the familiar face of Jesse as he screws the top off for you.

“Thank you,” You breathe, taking a big sip. It’s almost empty now.

“You sure you’re alright, Doc?” He asks, brows furrowed in concern.

You nod. “Probably just heatstroke.”

He doesn’t seem convinced of your diagnosis, but he nods even as his brows pinch further together. He pushes himself to stand, moving himself in front of the sun, protecting you from its rays. It’s starting to lower in the sky, its rays reaching through the gaps in the trees.

“Come on,” Kix says, approaching you again. “Let’s get you in a tent.”

With Jesse’s help they get you on your feet, your legs trembling under you. Your body feels heavy, limbs dragging like you’re trying to move through mud. Everything feels harder than it should, even your breathing has become labored.

Kix and Jesse get you into the tent, Kix lowering you down onto the mat on the ground. It’s hardly comfortable, but you couldn’t care less right now. Kix turns on a lamp, casting a sterile looking glow in the tent as he digs through his own pack. Yours has been placed on the floor at your feet, your fingers reaching for your canteen. Your mouth is dryer than Tatooine, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. You take a long drink, drinking up every last drop of water.

“I need more.” You gasp, handing him your empty canteen.

“We’ll get you more soon.” Kix says, pulling out his med kit. He scans your forehead again, the scanner beeping ominously. “Your temperature is higher than it was.”

“That’s not good.” You say quietly, tugging at the pieces of your plastoid armor. You need it off, the weight of it pressing against your skin. That itch is still there, burning and scraping where you can’t reach it.

“Easy,” Kix says, grabbing your hands as you tear at the plastoid.

“I need it off.” You breathe, your chest tightening. It feels constricting, rubbing your blacks against your sensitive skin.

“Alright, let me help.” Kix says softly, easily peeling off a spaulder. He carefully removes your armor, setting the pieces next to your pack at your feet.

You can still feel the burn of fabric against your skin, though it has lessened a bit without the weight of your armor on your body. Kix tilts your head to the side, brushing back some of the hair that’s fallen out of your braid, the damp strands sticking to your skin.

“You said a bug stung you?” He asks, running his thumb over the bump on your neck.

You hiss as he presses against it, a sharp pain shooting through your body. “Yeah.”

He pulls his hand back, grabbing an injector. “When did these symptoms start? After you got stung?”

“I mean, I was hot before.” You say, wincing as he injects the bacta into your shoulder. “But everything else…” you let out a long breath. “Yeah.”

“It’s possible the bug released some kind of toxin into your bloodstream when it stung you.” Kix says.

What you wouldn’t give for a blood test right now. Maybe it could tell you what poison is coursing through your system right now.

Sweat continues to soak through your blacks, beading on your forehead and sliding down into your hair. Kix straps a monitor to your arm before rising, taking your canteen with him as he leaves the tent. You lay there, trying to take in deep breaths but your chest feels constricted. Your entire body feels constricted, like your very skin is starting to tighten and suffocate you.

“Easy,” Kix says, keeling back on the ground next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder. “Panicking isn’t going to help anything right now.”

“It’s...it’s too much.” You gasp, tugging at your blacks. They’re sticking to you like a second skin, the sensation enough to drive you insane. You feel like you are going insane, every nerve ending alight all at once, every sense on high alert. You’re pretty sure if you focused enough, you could feel your bones.

Kix’s touch is unbearable as he prods at your wound. “The bacta hasn’t helped any.” He says, worry evident in his voice. “Your heart rate is still high, and your blood pressure.”

That explains the painful pulsing behind your eyes.

There’s an ache starting to blossom deep in your pelvis, a deep cramping that’s building steadily. You press a hand to your abdomen, applying gentle pressure, as if that could get it to stop.

“How much longer until they arrive to get us?” You ask, tugging at your shirt.

“We’re not due to be picked up for another six hours.” He says. “Rex commed and they’re coming as fast as they can.”

“Kriff,” you breathe, rolling back onto your back. “I don’t think I’ll make it another six hours.”

Kix doesn’t say anything, but his silence is all you need to know.

The deep ache in your stomach intensifies, sharp shooting pain racing through your overstimulated nervous system. You grit your teeth, curling into a ball.

“What is it?” Kix asks, shifting to face you.

“Hurts.” You gasp, curling tighter into a ball.

“What hurts?” He asks, his hand on your shoulder.

His touch burns through your body, intensifying the ache in your stomach. You pinch your eyes closed, trying to breathe through the cramp. It’s worse than any cramp you’ve ever had. It nearly has you seeing double.

“Doc…” Kix says, his thumb stroking your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, the cramping starting to lower in your body. “Shit.” You force yourself to sit up, ripping your shirt over your head. “I can’t. I can’t take it anymore.”

Your skin nearly sighs in relief at the freedom from the tight material. You don’t care that Kix is seeing you in just your breastband. He’s a medic, he’s seen a lot of things. The last person who would judge you for having your tits half out is Kix.

You curl back up into a ball, the ache in your stomach starting to sink lower and lower until it’s pulsing between your legs. You squeeze your eyes closed, thighs pressing together. You try to breathe through your mouth, willing the ache to subside.

“Kix,” you breathe, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “What’s happening to me?”

“I…” he lets out a sigh. “I don’t know. I’m going to update the Captain, you try and rest.”

***

“How is she?” Rex asks, approaching Kix as he steps out of the tent.

“Not good.” Kix says honestly. He’s watched your decline over the last two hours. “Whatever that bug was...it injected some kind of toxin with its stinger.”

“Is there a cure for it?” Rex asks.

“I don’t know.” Kix shakes his head. “I couldn’t find anything in any databases.”

“Can you think of anything that might help?”

Kix shakes his head again. “I’m a combat medic, not a scientist. Bacta is useless, and a stim shot might make things worse. How far out is our extraction?”

“Four hours.” Rex says.

Four kriffing hours. How is he going to keep you alive that long?

He’s not sure you’re going to make it another hour, let alone four.

***

The pulsing between your thighs is intense, so intense it almost hurts. You grind against your palm pressed between your thighs, skin slick with sweat. It’s hot and you’re exhausted, yet the pulsing of your pussy refuses to let you sleep. You’ve given up on your pants, kicking them off into the growing pile at your feet, leaving you in just your breastband and underwear.

“What does it feel like?” Kix asks, dragging a hand across his shaved head. The two of you have been trying to brainstorm, with what little brainpower you have left.

“You want the truth?” You breathe, panting slightly from the exertion of simply existing.

“That would be helpful right now.” Kix says. You’d hit him if you could move your hands.

“It feels like I’m insanely horny.” You admit, trying not to get embarrassed. The last person that would make fun of you is Kix.

Kix hums, typing away at the datapad in his lap.

“I’m so horny it hurts.” You whine, grinding against your hand. “I feel like I might die if I don’t orgasm right now.”

“Feel free to…” he waves his hand. “If you need to.”

Normally you might feel ashamed for being so open with Kix, but neither of you seem to care right now.

You sink your hand into your underwear, fingers seeking out your pulsing clit. You’re soaked and it’s not just the sweat. You can feel the slickness of your folds as you start to circle your clit, sighing quietly from the sweet relief it’s finally getting. Kix doesn’t even glance your way, buried in his datapad as you masturbate next to him, seeking any kind of relief from the intense need burning through you.

“I think I found something.” Kix says, uncrossing his legs. “I think whatever toxin that bug injected into you was some kind of stimulant.”

“You don’t say.” You breathe, turning onto your back, still furiously rubbing your clit, seeking any kind of relief you can get, but the building pleasure only goes so far. It’s not quite enough, even your fingers dipping into your pussy isn’t enough.

“You’re only going to get worse if we don’t find some way to burn this toxin out of your system.” He says, still looking at his datapad. “There’s a little research on the holonet about toxins that can induce arousal, but…”

“But what?” You gasp out, pumping your fingers in and out of yourself.

“Prognosis isn’t good unless you can orgasm enough times to burn it out of your system.” He says with finality.

You let out a groan of despair, curling your fingers inside yourself. Your pussy is damn near tingling, light pleasure coursing through you but it’s not enough. It’s almost like your fingers aren’t enough, like you need something else, something more.

You let out a huff, withdrawing your hand. “It’s not working.”

“What’s not working?” He asks, finally glancing up at you.

“I can’t...I can’t get myself to…” You groan, flopping back dramatically against the mat. “I need help.” Your voice is soft, small, quiet, like you don’t want to admit it.

“Doc…” Kix says, setting the datapad aside. “I don’t know…”

“I need help.” You say again, scrubbing your hands over your face. “I’m going to die if I don’t orgasm and I can’t do it myself.”

Tears leak out of your eyes. It’s the truth. Your heart rate has only continued to climb, as has your fever. The bacta held it off briefly, but as the minutes pass, you can feel your blood pressure starting to rise again. The body can only take so much before it gives out. You don’t want to find out what your limits are.

Kix lets out a quiet breath, his hand falling to press against yours where it rests on the mat. “Let me go talk to the guys.”

You watch him go, laying there on the mat, the tears still streaming. You can just hear them outside, their bodies visible thanks to the glow of the small fire set up in the middle of the camp.

“She’s declining again. The toxin the bug injected was a stimulant. It’s sending her body into overdrive.”

“Is there anything you can do to fix it?”

“There is one thing...but you’re not going to like it.”

Their voices quiet down, and you can see them leaning in closer to each other.

“We have to what?”

“We can’t do that. She’s...not like that...we can’t.”

“We may not have any other choice.”

“She just needs to hang on for three more hours.”

“She’s not going to make it two if she doesn’t get help.”

It falls silent, only the sound of your labored breaths filling the air. You can almost picture the silent conversation, eyes glancing around, looking anywhere but at each other as they come to terms with what Kix is suggesting. Besides some harmless flirting from Fives, they’ve never pressed that boundary with you. There’s always been an unspoken rule with you. They don’t push past that boundary, and now they’re being asked to hurdle over it.

“At least...let her decide. Let her have the autonomy to choose.”

Footsteps approach the tent and Kix ducks back inside. He comes over to your side, kneeling down next to you. His hand brushes your head, brows pinched in a frown. “They’ll do it.” He says quietly, wiping the sweat from your brow. “But they want you to choose.”

You already know that, but you let him say it. It’s a finality, the gavel striking on this situation, making it real. You’re going to have to fuck one of your friends, one of the troopers you’d trust with your life. Who better, though? It could be some random trooper you’ve never met before who you’ll never see again…

Maybe that would be better than a trooper you’ll have to face regularly.

How are you going to face them after this?

Who do you choose? Rex? You trust the clone captain with your life, but you’d never be able to be in the same room with him again if you asked him to do this. You can’t ask Kix. You need someone aware in case this goes awry, someone who might at least be able to keep you alive. Jesse would make it too romantic, and you know he’d catch feelings. You couldn’t do that to him. Hardcase would wind up bragging about it accidentally and you’re not sure you could handle that eventual reality.

That leaves…

Fives.

The one least likely to care about this, the one to play it off as a one-time thing, like many of his other flings. You’d be just another notch on his belt, like all those other faceless bucket bunnies he winds up bedding during shore leave. He won’t care, and he’ll make sure he forgets after all of this is done. He’ll pretend like nothing happened, and everything will go back to normal.

“Fives.” You whisper, squeezing your thighs together.

Something passes across Kix’s face, but you’re too out of it to put a name to it. “You’re sure?”

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

Kix is quiet for a moment before he nods. “I’ll...go tell him.”

Kix stands back up, leaving you alone as he ducks out of the tent again. You curl up in a ball, mind swimming with nothing but desire, nothing but an intense need to cum and fast.

The tent flap moves aside again, only it’s not Kix who enters.

It’s Fives.

He’s sans helmet, brows pinched as he approaches you slowly, like you’re a wild nexu about to pounce. He kneels down next to the mat, his gaze unreadable as he stares down at you.

“Hi, Doc.” He say softly, lifting a hand to brush some damp hair from your face.

“Fives…” you let out a soft gasp as a wave of pulsing pain throbs through your body. “Help me.”

You grab his hand, bringing it to your face. His glove is rough as it slides across your skin, your nerves alight and overstimulated from the simple touch.

“You really want me to do this?” He asks, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Yes.” you gulp, squeezing his hand weakly. “I need it.”

He swallows thickly but nods, sitting back on his heels to pop off his utility belt and kama, laying them near your own pile. Your own hands tug your underwear off, the soaked fabric bunching as you kick it off onto the end of the mat. Fives pops his pauldron off adding it to the pile on the floor. He makes to take off his spaulders but you stop him, grabbing his hands.

“Don’t bother.” You say, laying back on the mat and pulling him with you. “The faster we can get this done, the better.”

“This isn’t going to be comfortable for you.” He warns, popping off his codpiece.

“You really think I care right now?” You ask, tilting your head back.

“Suppose not.” He murmurs, settling himself between your thighs. His hands trail up your legs, gloves gone at least.

This is so unsanitary, but you’ll worry about that later.

He stares down at you for a long moment, hands paused halfway down your thighs, just resting there. You try to part your legs for him but he keeps them closed, something passing over his face before he sits back on his heels. “Turn over.”

You do as he says, turning over onto your stomach. Whatever is going to get you fucked faster. He finally pushes your thighs apart, just enough for him to slot himself between them.

“Kriff…” he breathes, sliding a hand down the back of your thigh. His fingers glide through your folds before two slip into you, your body opening easy around him. He curses again, pumping his fingers into you. “So kriffing wet.”

“Hurry up.” You breathe, shifting your arm to wave back at him. “No time for that. I need you...like right now.”

You hear him shift, his blacks opening to free his cock. You lick your lips at the thought of what it looks like. Unfortunately you know from medical experience exactly what he looks like, just how hung they all are.

Your pussy clenches at the thought of his cock finally inside of you and the relief it’s going to bring. Finally you’ll be free from the intense overstimulation burning through you.

He leans between your thighs, kneeing them open further to make space for him and his armor. The plastoid digs into your skin but you don’t care, far too focused on the way your body stretches around the tip of his cock. He lets out a quiet groan, sliding into you easily.

“Kriffing hell, Doc,” He groans, settling his weight over you as he glides home in one stroke. His hands come to rest on either side of you, his hips pressed tight against your ass.

He starts to rock his hips, slow and steady as his cock presses into you over and over. Arousal seeps out of you with every press of his hips, soaking into his blacks. The itching is still creeping under your skin, the monitor on your arm beeping from your increased temperature and heart rate. Fives shifts, grabbing it and ripping it off, tossing it somewhere to the side.

“Fives,” you breathe, pushing back against him. “Faster.”

His hips still, pressed up against your body. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to die.” you say, reaching out to grip one of his wrists. “So fuck me like you mean it.”

You can feel the weight of his stare for a long moment, wishing you could see his face in the artificial light of the lamp. It’s getting dark outside, the sun finally starting to set. “As the lady commands.” He says, lowering himself down on his elbows above you. His chest presses against your back, the plastoid armor covering his body cool against your heated skin.

His hips start to snap against yours in short, sharp thrusts, your eyes rolling back as you finally get some of the friction you’ve been dying for. Your hands grip the mat under your body, your hips pressing up against his, meeting his thrusts. For the first time in hours you’re finally starting to feel a hint of relief, an orgasm quickly building from the drag of his cock against that spot inside of you.

“Fives…” You breathe, fingers starting to cramp from how tightly they’re gripping the mat under you. Your clit is dragging across the rough material with every downward thrust of his hips, only adding to the pleasure coursing through you.

He curses, small groans leaving his lips. He’s trying to be quiet, even though the others outside the tent know what’s happening. The wet squelch of your soaked pussy can’t be helped, though, more and more arousal dripping out of you from the burning heat beneath your skin and the cramping in your abdomen.

“Oh, fuck, Fives.” You moan, back arching. “I’m gonna cum.”

“You gonna cum?” He leans down, groaning in your ear, breath hot against your sweat-slicked skin.

“Yes, yes!” You cry, your body shuddering as you’re thrown into an orgasm.

He slows his thrusts to languid movements, his body lifting off of you just slightly. There’s still a deep cramping in your stomach, the heat burning beneath your skin. It’s not enough.

“Again.” You breathe, reaching back towards him.

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “As you wish.”

He begins to thrust his hips against yours again, picking up the pace to a near brutal snapping of his hips. Already you can feel pleasure burning through you, almost as if you hadn’t just had an orgasm.

You cum twice more, shaking under Fives but this time he doesn’t stop, his hips still snapping against your ass in quick, short thrusts. The heat is beginning to dissipate, the itch finally calming. You’re a drooling mess, Fives’ hand wrapped around the back of your neck, keeping your head down as he plows into you. Breathy moans slip from his lips, his fingers curling into the mat like yours had. He’s close to his own orgasm. You’re shocked he’s lasted this long.

“Gonna cum.” He groans, his movements starting to get sloppy. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” you gasp, already getting close to another orgasm.

“Fuck…” he lets out a long groan, snapping his hips against your ass almost brutally before he stills, his cock pulsing inside of you as he cums.

Another orgasm shudders through your body at the feeling of him filling you, your body giving out as you lay flat against the bed. Fives collapses over you, pressing his face against your shoulder. He’s breathing heavily, almost as heavy as you are. You can feel his hot breaths against your sweat-slick skin.

“Feeling better?” He asks, pushing himself back up.

You are. The heat is receding from beneath your skin and the itch has been satiated. There’s still light cramping in your stomach but not nearly what it was before. In fact, you’re starting to feel cold. A shiver runs down your spine as you suddenly become aware of how much the air has cooled as it brushes against your sweat-slick skin.

Fives pulls away from you, your pussy clenching at the sudden loss. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, a wince crossing your face. That’s going to be fun to clean up later. Fives grabs a blanket from your pack, tossing it over you as you turn onto your side. He grabs his belt and kama before standing.

He won’t look at you.

“Fives?” You ask quietly as he redresses himself from the little he’d taken off. He hums, still avoiding looking at you.

A pang of hurt flashes through you. He could at least look you in the face after fucking you. He makes for the entrance to the tent, shoulders tense and tight.

“Fives!” You call, pushing yourself up onto a shaking arm. You’re exhausted, your brain fighting for something to say. You want to yell at him, beg him to look at you, but all you can come up with is a weak: “Thank you.”

He nods, glancing at you over his shoulder before he leaves the tent.

You lay back down, a tear sliding down your cheek from the awkward encounter. Maybe you should have chosen one of the others. Jesse would have probably kissed you after that.

Kix comes back into the tent kneeling down beside you. He straps the monitor back onto your arm, scanning your forehead to take your temperature.

“Your temperature has lowered significantly.” He says, setting the device aside. “So has your heart rate.”

“That’s good.” You murmur, snuggling under the blanket.

“The extraction team will be here in half an hour.” He says, grabbing your clothes from the end of the mat. “We should at least get you back into your blacks.”

Less questions that way.

You let him help you, easing your exhausted body back into your clothes, giving you at least a modicum of decency.

You’re half asleep when the ships touch down, Kix and another trooper easing you onto a stretcher. Exhaustion from the day and its events tugs at the back of your mind, all the adrenaline that had been pumping through you wearing off, leaving you shaking and weak.

You turn your head to the side as they get ready to load you onto the ship, meeting the helmeted gaze of Fives. He quickly looks away, climbing into the other ship with Jesse. You try not to let it bother you, but you can’t help but feel a bit hurt by his sudden avoidance of you.

Maybe it was as awkward for him as it was for you.

Maybe you should have chosen Jesse.

***

You’re back to work after some IV fluids and two days mandatory rest. Kix would have pushed for more, but he knew you’d break those rules anyway. A bacta shot had revived you after your return to the Resolute, but you did spend the better part of those two days resting. You still feel a bit sapped of energy, just your body ridding itself of the lasting effects of the toxic, the clone medical officer that had overseen your recovery said. The bump left over by the insect’s stinger has healed, down to hardly more than a blemish on your skin.

Your downtime also gave you a lot to think about. More precisely, to think about Fives and his reaction. You’ve come to the conclusion that he must have thought what happened between you meant more than it did. All he did was help keep you from dying in a rather unconventional way. That’s all it was. No feelings, no expectations.

Maybe he thought there were those things for you.

That’s why you seek him out after second meal, cornering him in the hallway. You’re glad he’s alone, catching him in one of those rare moments when Torrent Company isn’t moving together as a single unit throughout the flagship. It must be some miracle from the Maker, some kind of blessing after everything you went through.

“Fives!” You call out, his body stiffening as he pauses. He turns slowly as you run up to him in the thankfully quiet hallway.

“Yeah?” He asks, his brows furrowing as he stares down at you. Finally he’s looking at you, though he seems nervous. Maybe it was shame after all. Perhaps he feels ashamed for what he did, and in his shame he couldn’t look at you. You need to fix this stat.

“I just...wanted to talk about what happened...between us.” You say, suddenly nervous too.

He swallows thickly, lips pressing into a line as he nods. “Yeah.”

“I just...wanted to let you know that I picked you because I knew it wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

Something flashes over his face, his features twisting in almost a pained look for merely half a second before he cools them, finding his composure. “Right.” He clears his throat. “It wouldn’t mean anything.”

“And I also wanted to say thank you, again.” You quickly add, trying to ignore the way the look in his eyes is deepening.

He nods. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome.”

You nod, glad you got what you needed to say off your chest. “So...it just...it didn’t mean anything beyond you just saving my life.”

He winces, his gaze lowering from your face for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. It didn’t mean anything.” He shifts on his feet. “I should, uh, get going.”

“Right.” You say, stepping to the side. “I don’t want to keep you.”

He walks away without another word, his back tense and tight as he makes his way down the hall. You watch him go, something nagging in the back of your mind about the conversation that just transpired.

***

You don’t see Fives again for days.

If you thought more about it, you might have come to the conclusion that he was purposefully avoiding you, but as the 501st is thrown into another campaign right away, you don’t have much time to dwell on such things.

You’re busy as always, patching up troopers, saving their lives, doing everything you can to keep as many of them alive as you can.

It’s when things are beginning to calm in the med bay that you see him. Fives. He’s sitting on a gurney, waiting in line to be looked at. You nearly run over to him, elbowing one of your fellow medics out of the way as you come to a stop in front of him.

“Fives!” You say cheerily, his eyes widening as you appear in front of him.

“Oh, hi, Doc.” He greets you, clearing his throat. He holds out his arm, revealing a rather nasty scratch on the inside of his elbow. He’s already removed his vambrace and rerebrace, his blacks tugged up to his bicep.

You hiss through your teeth, grabbing some disinfectant and a bacta patch from the drawer next to the gurney. “That looks painful.”

“I’ve had worse.” He shrugs.

It’s true. You’ve seen him in worse shape.

“Still,” you say, your fingers wrapping around his arm to hold it still. “This might sting.”

He winces as you dab the disinfectant on the wound, careful to get any possible debris out.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” You say softly, wiping his arm clean.

“It’s been a busy campaign.” He says.

“Right.” You nod, placing the bacta patch over his wound, waiting for the lights to turn blue before stepping back. “Leave that on for a couple hours. It’ll probably scar though.”

“That’s fine.” He says stiffly, pulling his sleeve down. He slides off the bed before grabbing the rest of his armor.

“I’ll see you around.” You say to his back.

“Yeah.” He says, turning to glance at you over his shoulder before he leaves the med bay.

“Well that was awkward.” Mira, one of your fellow civilian medics says. “Usually he’s all up on you when you’re that close and personal with him.”

“He doesn’t get all up and personal.” You say, shaking your head.

She gives you a look. “Yeah. Sure.” She shrugs. “Something definitely happened between you two.”

Your face warms just a bit. Both Rex and Kix had agreed not to go into details about what happened during...that mission. They’d given the barest possible description. Just a bug bite that went wrong. Some bacta stabilized you until you could get proper treatment. Nothing about you fucking a clone to survive.

“N-Nothing happened.” You say, quickly disposing of the supplies you used.

“Mhm.” She hums in a disbelieving tone. “Let me guess...he saw you with someone else.”

You make a face. “What? Why would that matter.”

Mira rolls her eyes. “Please, he’s totally in love with you. He practically drools every time he sees you.”

“No he doesn’t.” You scrunch your nose. “He’s nothing more than a friend.”

“Mm so that’s it.” She says, making her way to the next clone in line. “You friendzoned him.”

“Can’t friendzone someone who has no feelings for you.” You say, moving to the next gurney.

“Uh huh. Sure. No feelings.” She rolls her eyes. “Girl, you’re denser than a doornail.”

You shake your head, focusing on the clone in front of you with a blaster shot to the shoulder. Fives doesn’t have feelings for you. Sure he’s comfortable and flirty with you, but so are the rest of Torrent Company. Hell, even some of the other clones in the 501st like to hit on the civilian medics. When you’re that up close and personal with them...you don’t blame them when they spend most of their time around each other.

Fives doesn’t feel that way about you...right?

He can’t. He’s just your friend.

You jab the bacta needle a little too hard into the clone’s shoulder, earning a yowl of pain.

“Sorry…” You make a face. “Got lost in thought.”

“No kidding.” He says, rubbing his shoulder. “You know, if things don’t work out with Fives, you’re more than welcome to hit me up.” He grins salaciously at you.

“Why does everyone think there’s something between Fives and I?” You ask.

“It’s pretty obvious how he feels.” The clone says. “You could ask any clone on this ship and he’d know. Hell, I’m sure even the General knows.”

Your face heats up, and you shake your head. “No, I still don’t think so.”

He shrugs. “Have it your way.” He jumps down off the cot after you wrap his shoulder. “Just keep my offer in mind.”

“Thanks…”

“Tup, ma’am.” He says, saluting you playfully.

You roll your eyes. “Get out of here, Tup.”

He chuckles and you move on to the next clone waiting to get his wounds addressed.

***

You’re starting to believe them.

Fives has continued to do his best to evade your presence, even going so far as to leave the mess hall with a half full tray of food when you enter. It hurts, knowing you’ve messed up your friendship with him. Even the others are awkward around you now, like they’re tiptoeing around live ammunition when you’re near. More than once it’s left you in tears. It’s not fair. You couldn’t have stopped getting stung by that bug and you couldn’t help what happened to you after.

Of course sleeping with one of your close friends, be it for survival or not, would make things awkward, and you don’t blame them for taking their brother’s side. Bros before hoes right? The thought that they might think of you that way makes you wince.

Kix is the only one acting normal around you, but then again, working in close quarters makes it hard to avoid each other. Perhaps it’s just guilt that keeps him cordial, that he couldn’t do more to help you, that he couldn’t fix what was wrong without having to resort to those means.

You’re not sure what to think anymore.

You finally grow tired of their attitudes after another campaign. You’re exhausted and overworked and perhaps a tad bit emotional over how many men were lost during this battle. It’s perhaps not fair that you corner Jesse as he’s coming out of the med bay covered in bacta patches.

“Jesse!” you call out, racing down the hall to him.

He turns, his brows raising in surprise for a moment before his face cools. “Yeah?”

You come to a stop in front of him, forcing his back up against the wall. “Spill.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“I want an explanation as to why you’re all treating me like I have the plague. Why Fives keeps doing everything in his power to avoid me.” You say.

Realization crosses his face for a moment before he lapses back into a neutral look, his back straightening. “I don’t really think it’s my place to-”

“Jesse,” you cut him off. “Please. I-I don’t know why you’re all so upset with me. It’s not like I could help what happened and…” you sigh. “I didn’t want it to ruin things between us. That’s why I wanted Fives to be the one to do it. I knew it wouldn’t mean anything to him.”

Jesse gulps, wincing as he stares down at you. “You thought it wouldn’t mean anything to him?”

“Well, yeah.” you shrug. “None of his other...escapades have meant anything.”

“Yeah, but...you’re...you.” Jesse says. “You’re our Doc. It was always going to mean something.”

You drop your gaze to his chestplate, frowning. “But I’m just a medic.”

“You’re so much more than that.” Jesse says softly. “To him, to all of us.”

Your shoulders slump, tears blurring your vision. Of course it would mean more to them than you thought. You’re not just some one night stand picked up at 79s. You’re…you.

“Look...I think it’s best you just sit him down and talk to him.” Jesse says.

“That would be easy if I could find him.” You say.

“He likes to hit the range after second meal.” Jesse says. “He’s there pretty much every day.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jesse.”

He nods, patting your shoulder. “Get some rest, Doc. You look like you need it.”

You look him over, at the many bacta patches covering him. “I could say the same to you. I don’t know why they’re letting you walk out of here right now.”

“It’s nothing too bad.” He waves you off. “Mostly just superficial.”

“Uh huh.” You say, but you take a step back. “Take it easy, okay? For me?”

He grins. “Anything for you, Doc.”

***

You do find Fives after second meal, just as Jesse said, in the range. You’ve only been in the training areas a handful of times, mostly responding to injuries the men get when they go a little hard on each other. Some bacta and a slap on the wrist is usually the standard of care for those kinds of injuries.

Fives is firing rather angrily at a droid, over and over and over. He’s tense, shoulders squared and you can see the way his brows are pulled together. You wait until he’s done, not wanting to startle him and possibly have to make your own trip to the med bay. Fives probably wouldn’t shoot you, but with him wound so tight, you can’t be sure.

“Fives?” You say quietly once he’s done, blaster lowered to his side.

He glances at you over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to talk.” you say as he raises his blaster once more.

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” He snaps.

“Because I want you to tell me what’s going on.” You say, shouting over the sound of his blaster.

He pauses, his shoulders sinking a bit.

“We’re friends, Fives. Nothing about that has changed.” You say.

“That’s just it.” He says, turning on you. He holsters his blaster, taking a step towards you. “Nothing changed. You made me…” he cuts himself off with a sharp breath, his hand curling into a fist. “And it was supposed to mean nothing?”

You gulp, eyes widening at the intense look on his face. “I-It wasn’t. That’s why I chose you. None of your other one night stands have meant anything to you.”

“Because they’re not you.”

The words echo in the silence, your heart beating hard in your chest. “What?”

He swallows thickly, taking another step towards you. “They weren’t you, Doc. They were just...distractions from what I couldn’t have.”

Tears burn behind your eyes, your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. “Fives…”

It’s all coming together for you. His playful flirting with you, the way he always made sure you sat next to him, his protective streak when you were caught in combat with them, his reaction after...his stiff avoidance of you after you told him it meant nothing to you.

Kriff, you’re an idiot.

His steps are slow, careful, like he’s approaching a wild animal. You don’t move, your body tingling from all of the realizations slamming into you left and right. They were right. They were all right.

He stops inches from you, staring down at you. You hold his gaze, a stray tear sliding down your cheek.

“It wasn’t supposed to mean anything to you.” You whisper.

“It meant everything to me.” He says quietly.

More tears slide down your cheeks, your breath hitching in your chest. His eyes are so big, so soft as they stare down at you. His hand lifts, sliding up your arm to your elbow. The touch is so gentle, so intimate.

“You have no idea what it meant, that you trusted me like that. You trusted me to take care of you when you were so vulnerable. But you didn’t know...how could you have known?” His grip tightens just slightly around your arm. “I tried to imagine it was just another bucket bunny, but...I couldn’t.” His hand slides up your arm, over your shoulder to your face where he cups your cheek. “It was you, Doc. It was always you.”

“Oh Fives,” you whisper, sniffling. “Everyone knew but me...I couldn’t see it. Why didn’t you say anything?”

His gaze drops from yours. “I didn’t know how you would feel about it, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“It wouldn’t have ruined anything.” You say, leaning into the rough fabric of his glove on your cheek. You can feel the warmth of his hand through it seeping into your own skin.

“Well, I know that now.” He says, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You groan, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his chestplate. “Couple of idiots, aren’t we?”

He chuckles, his arms wrapping around you. “I think you could say that.”

You lean against him for a moment, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest against you. The sharp shard of fear strikes through you at the thought that someday you might lose him, but you push it aside, focusing on the here and now.

His hands grip your arms, pulling you back away from him. One of his hands slides up your arm as you stare up at him, at the deep emotion shining in those big brown eyes. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lips. He stays there for a moment, just staring at you, taking you in.

“Kiss me, idiot.” You say, breaking the silence.

His face breaks in a grin before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and sweet, everything you hoped it would be. His hands drop to your waist as yours wrap around his neck, pressing against his pauldrons.

“I really hate your armor sometimes.” You murmur against his lips.

He smirks, kissing you again. “Would you prefer me without it?”

You pull back for a moment, pretending to think about it. “Well, you’ve seen me mostly naked, so it’s only fair.”

A wide grin forms on his face, his hand dropping to yours, lacing your fingers together. “Well, lucky for you I’m free this afternoon.”

***

The two of you slip into the barracks, giggling like a couple of teenagers, fingers entwined.

The barracks are miraculously empty, Fives approaching his bed to find a datapad sitting on top of the blankets. He picks it up, reading the text on the screen.

“Jesse.” You both say at the same time.

“Cheeky bastard.” Fives grins, tossing the datapad onto the bed next to his.

“I mean, I did corner him in the med bay yesterday.” You say.

“You did what?” Fives asks, turning to face you, halfway through pulling off his pauldrons.

You shrug. “I wanted answers. He’s the one who told me where to find you.”

Fives mutters something under his breath as he drops his pauldron to the floor, making quick work of his belt and kama as well. You help him remove the rest of his armor with well practiced fingers.

“You’re good at this.” He says, almost jealously.

You roll your eyes. “Calm down big guy. I’ve had to remove enough clone armor in the infirmary I know all the seams and pieces.”

“Right.” Fives nods, dropping the last piece into the pile on the floor, leaving him just in his blacks.

He pulls off his gloves before leaning down to kiss you again, his hands falling to your waist to tug at your own clothes. You’d dressed down today, finally free from the med bay until the next campaign.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” He says against your lips, tugging your shirt up before he pulls back.

You pull your shirt up over your head, goosebumps forming on your skin from the cool air in the barracks. Fives makes quick work of his own shirt, exposing his toned body to you. You lick your lips, tracing every line of his muscle. That was one way in which they all varied beyond just the way they styled themselves. Different clones with different jobs had different muscular builds. Fives is all hard muscle, biceps bulging as he tugs his pants down, kicking them off.

You try not to stare at the half-hard cock between his thighs, just as large and veiny as you imagined.

Fuck, he’s just as pretty as you imagined.

You tug your pants and underwear down, stripping off your breastband so you’re standing naked before him. His eyes trace over your form, a low whistle leaving his lips. “Kriff, you’re gorgeous.” he almost sighs, hands falling to your waist to pull you close, bodies pressed together. “This is how I pictured our first time going.”

You avoid his gaze, turning to look to the side. “I’m sorry it wasn’t.”

“Don’t,” he says, gripping your chin lightly to turn your face back to his. “I don’t know if I could have handled having to listen to one of the others in that tent with you.”

“Well, my second pick was Jesse, so…”

Fives rolls his eyes, moving you closer to the bed. “That idiot would have fallen in love with you after that.”

You grin, maneuvering yourself onto his bed. “That’s why I didn’t choose him.”

Fives crawls onto the small mattress with you, pushing your legs apart with his knees. You lay back, staring up at his face as he stares back at you. He pauses there for just a moment, taking you in under him. “This is how it should have been.” He says softly.

He leans down to kiss you again, his body pressing against yours. You hum at the feel of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His tongue presses past your lips, flicking against your own. You moan softly, sinking your fingers into his curls. His hips grind against your stomach, dragging his cock across your skin. You’re already wet, arousal seeping out of you at the prospect of having him again...properly this time.

Fives pulls away from your lips, kissing his way down your jaw to your neck. His teeth sink into your skin lightly, leaving a mark below your ear.

“Fives!” you complain, tugging at his hair. “Everyone will see!”

“Good.” he almost growls, kissing his way across your throat. “Let them.”

You swallow thickly at his show of possession, your hand sliding from his hair as he continues to kiss down your body. His hands cup your tits, thumbs running over your nipples.

“I love your tits.” he says, squeezing them gently. “Shame that they get hidden under armor so much.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “They don’t like it either. That armor is tight.”

“My poor girls.” He whines, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth.

Your laugh comes out as half a moan, back arching from the pleasurable sensation.

“I’ll give them love later.” He says, sliding the rest of the way down your body. “Right now, I have better things to do.”

You swallow thickly as your head lifts, watching him lay himself between your legs as best he can on the small bed. His warm breath fans against your wet folds, sending a shiver through you. His lips press against your inner thigh, blazing a path of kisses upwards. His gaze lifts to meet yours as his hands shift to grip your hips, adjusting your position on the bed before he leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds.

You gasp at the sensation, your thighs pressing against his broad shoulders. His mouth is warm as it closes over your pussy, his tongue licking another slow stripe up your folds until he reaches the spot that has your inhale turning into a gasp.

“Fives…” You sigh.

He focuses his attention there, dragging slow lines across your clit with his tongue. You flop back onto the bed, back arching from the pleasure. Little whimpers leave your lips as he teases your clit, your thighs already trembling. It hasn’t been that long, but the thought of it being Fives doing this has you riled up. You’re not going to last very long, not with his sweet mouth eating you like a man starved.

You don’t last very long.

Your thighs squeeze around his shoulders as your orgasm is ripped from you suddenly. You let out a cry that’s probably too loud, but you don’t care who could have heard you as your back arches off the bed, pressing your hips closer to Fives’ face. His hands hold your thighs, keeping you still as his tongue continues to tease your clit, working you through your orgasm.

It’s not until you’re writhing in his grasp, letting out little whimpers that he relents, lifting his face from between your thighs. His face is shiny with your slick, his tongue darting out to lick his lips salaciously. It’s obscene and yet, it has heat pulsing straight between your legs again.

He lets out a chuckle, pushing himself back up the bed until you’re face to face. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you again, his hard cock dragging against your stomach. His knee hooks under your thigh, pushing it up higher as he slots his body between your legs. He pulls away from your lips, holding himself up so he can grip his cock.

“Ready?” He asks, staring into your eyes.

You nod, breath hitching in anticipation.

He drags the head of his cock through your folds, gathering some of your wetness before he presses into you. His cock spreads you open, your hands lifting to grip his shoulders. The stretch is delicious, your body opening to him as he sinks further and further into you.

His forehead presses to yours as he seats himself fully into you, both of you breathing deep. “Kriff, you feel so good.” he groans, slipping his arms around you. “Better than the first time.”

You moan softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Fives?” He hums in response. “Move.”

He grins, kissing you. “As you wish.”

He begins to move, rocking his hips into yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, hands pressing into his back, feeling the way his muscles flex under his skin with every thrust. You moan softly, head spinning from the thought of being so close to him like this, without the added threat of dying if you don’t cum.

Though you feel you might pass away if he doesn’t make you cum this time.

The wet squelch of your pussy is loud in the empty barracks as he thrusts into you, the mattress squeaking a bit as he thrusts into you, slow and deep. It’s so different from the frantic fucking you had the first time. This is slow, intimate, dare you say romantic. He’s taking his time, drawing out your pleasure so it lasts as long as possible.

“Kriffing feel so good.” He groans in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Fives…” you moan, clinging to him tightly. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” He promises, tightening his hold around you, one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck as he grinds his hips against yours.

You’re getting close, the drag of his cock sending you reeling. He’s close as well, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. Your toes are curling, body squeezing his. It’s better than you thought, but that’s probably because it’s Fives.

“Fives…” you moan his name again, nails digging into his back as he picks up the pace, snapping his hips into yours.

“Gonna cum for me? Need you to cum for me.” He grunts, in your ear, lips brushing your skin.

You let out a whine, arching against him as you seek your second high of the day. His cock brushes that spot inside of you, stars nearly erupting behind your eyes.

“Right there.” You gasp, thighs shaking around his hips. “Fuck, right there!”

You’re being loud but you don’t care, nails dragging down his back as he focuses his thrusts right at that spot inside you. You cum with a cry, pussy squeezing around him. He lets out a loud groan, his hips stilling as he twitches inside you. His muscles go lax, his body falling on top of yours. He manages to keep himself from squishing you beneath him, his face pressing against your neck.

The smell of sex is thick in the air, but you don’t care. You’re shaking, still wrapped tightly around Fives as he lays on top of you. He’s breathing heavily, warm breaths fanning against your neck. You don’t want to move, your mind buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm still.

“You alright?” He murmurs, lips pressing a gentle kiss against your throat.

You nod, still holding him tightly. You don’t want to let him go yet. You want to hold him here, keep him here forever.

But you can’t. You both have lives you have to go back to, jobs you’re expected to do.

You’ve never understood desertion, but now you do.

“Fives?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“Yeah?” he breathes, pushing himself up so he’s staring down at you.

You stare up at him for a long moment, taking in his face, those soft brown eyes. “Don’t die.”

His lips twitch as he stares back, something flashing across his face. “I don’t plan on it.”

“Good.” You pull him back down against you. “I’d never forgive you if you did.”

He chuckles, rolling over so you’re on your sides. He pulls the blanket up over your bodies, tucking you against his chest. The moment is tender, soft, intimate. So different from what you had the first time.

You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Fives?” You murmur, resting your cheek against his chest.

He hums, his fingers drawing patters on your bare back.

“How long until the others break in?”

He thinks for a moment, going still before you feel his grin against the top of your head. “Long enough for another round.”

“Good.” You say, pushing him over onto his back, sitting yourself up over him. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

He smirks, his hands settling on your thighs. “Yes, ma’am.”

@kaminocasey @rosechi @mxkyrie @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @padawancat97 @bamfahsoka @thrawnspetgoose @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @dukeoftheblackstar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @freesia-writes @returnofthepineapple @wings-and-beskar @dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @madameminor @clio3kantarella @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @originalcollectionartistry @maddiedrmr @idontgetanysleep @sinfulsalutations @clonemedickix @523rdrebel @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sunshinesdaydream @mooncommlink @lickylickylicky @sweetheartsnips @commanderblood @crosshairlovebot @ghostperson69 @jediknightjana @jedi-hawkins @dalu-grantkylo @hellhound5925 @salaminus @tallrock35 @euphoriacafe @lamiliani @sleepycreativewriter @yagurlyvonne @cw80831 @trixie2023

[idkyetxoxo]

Five | Damned | Fire and Ice

Pairing - Eris Vanserra x reader

Word count - 3k

Warnings - Sexual content (explicit, smut!), threats

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Kallias was returning to the Autumn Court—and I was not meant to go with him.

He said it would be a brief diplomatic stop, a formality to reassert Winter's stance after Beron's latest passive-aggressive jab cloaked as a political gesture. 

"There's no need for you to endure that again," he'd said.

And yet... I insisted. I offered arguments. Strategic reasoning. A united front. The optics. None of it worked. Then Viviane intervened.

I still don't know how she did it. Some combination of guilt-tripping, flattery, and a quiet threat veiled in affection. 

Kallias—powerful High Lord, feared by entire legions, folded like a snowflake on her tongue. 

Two hours later, I was on the way to Autumn beside him.

I told myself I wasn't doing it for him. For Eris. But I didn't believe that lie any more than Viviane did, judging by the knowing look she gave me as we'd departed.

So yes—I knew I was going to see him again. Eris Vanserra. Heir to a rotted court. Son of fire. My mistake, my new addiction.

I also knew I had to stay composed. Poised. Civil. And I was right up until the moment I saw him.

He was standing just off to the side, behind Beron and a ring of his advisors, draped in Autumn's signature red and gold. 

His face was carved from cool stone—expressionless, unreadable. A mask he wore so well, it might as well have been skin.

But I felt him.

Even from across the stone courtyard, the air changed. The heat, subtle at first, crept up the back of my neck. Not oppressive—intimate. Familiar.

I lifted my chin and smiled sweetly, a sugary grin honed from years of court diplomacy. A weapon as much as a shield. I didn't expect him to smile back—not here, not in front of them. 

But I wanted him to feel it. Wanted him to know I had not forgotten.

His eyes flicked toward me briefly. No change. No softening. Just that same brutal indifference that made most people cower.

And then I walked past him. A step. Another. Close enough that the gauzy sleeve of my gown brushed his hand—bare where his glove had slipped. Skin to skin.

It was like striking flint.

The heat that surged between us in that single breathless moment made my knees weaken. It scorched a trail up my spine, lit a thousand sparks beneath my skin. 

He did not move. Did not speak. But I felt his breath hitch. The tiniest shift in the rigid line of his shoulders.

And just like that, I remembered everything.

The way his mouth had moved on mine like a dying man given one final taste of life. The feel of his hands on my hips, searing, grounding. The way we'd broken apart as if we were on the edge of unravelling everything we'd ever known.

We hadn't spoken since but I knew what we weren't done.

"High Lord Kallias," Beron drawled, forcing my attention back to the moment. His smile was all teeth and smoke. "How lovely to see Winter again."

"Charmed," Kallias replied coolly, his fingers just barely brushing mine in the silent signal to behave. To stay alert.

I could feel Eris behind me. Not just his presence—his awareness. Focused and sharp. Like a predator watching a flame flicker near dry kindling.

I said nothing as we were led deeper into the manor. But I let my shoulder brush his again.

We tried to stay away from each other. Truly, we did. 

But that kind of longing, the kind that lives in your marrow, that scrapes at your ribs when you breathe can't be ignored for long. It was unbearable. 

Every moment apart left a wound, and the ache of it finally became too much.

So my so-called 'short walk' dutifully approved by both Kallias and Beron, wasn't just to stretch my legs. It was a pilgrimage of anticipation, of desperation wrapped in civility. 

I knew where my feet were taking me. I knew who would find me.

And he did. Of course he did.

The moment I stepped beyond the wards, the pull snapped taut between us, an invisible thread drawn so tight it sang in my bones. A spark had been lit between us days ago, and now it was an inferno. There was no going back.

"I've missed you," he breathed against the back of my neck, the words like a prayer spoken at the altar of my skin. 

His body was already pressed to mine, the hard length of him insistent and aching through layers of clothes. He trembled slightly, like someone holding a sacred relic in shaking hands, terrified it might shatter.

I tilted my head, a smirk tugging at my lips even as heat pooled low in my belly. 

"The sly fox has emotions after all," I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair—thick and soft—and tugging until he growled low in his throat. 

He turned me, fast and sure, his hands gripping my waist with reverent desperation.

Then we were moving, stumbling, breathless until we were inside. An old library, dust-drenched and forgotten, its velvet-draped windows filtering the late afternoon light into shadows and gold. 

The door slammed shut behind us, and then I was pressed against it, the wood cool at my back, his mouth crashing onto mine.

There was no gentleness in his kiss—only heat and urgency, the kind of hunger born from nights of sleepless torment and years of pretending not to care.

"This is so wrong," I gasped against his lips, even as my hands were already working at the laces of his tunic. My fingers trembled. I didn't care.

"Then stop me," he growled, stripping the fabric from his body with practised efficiency. 

His bare chest was a masterpiece of scars and sinew, the body of a warrior carved by survival and sacrifice. 

And yet—there was no arrogance in the way he looked at me. Only awe. Like I was something rare. Like he was scared this would be the last time.

I didn't stop him. I couldn't.

His fingers made quick work of my dress, peeling it from me layer by layer until I was bare, flushed and gasping. 

His eyes drank me in with such naked reverence that my knees nearly buckled. 

There was no shame in his stare. Only worship.

My bra joined the growing heap of discarded clothing, and his hands were on me—palming, caressing, mapping the shape of me like he needed to memorise it. 

He lay me down across a velvet couch, its fabric worn and sun-warmed, and hovered over me as if he were afraid to break the moment. Or maybe me.

He ground against me with maddening precision, our bodies separated only by the final fragile layers of cloth. 

It was almost worse than being naked—so close, so intimate, so devastatingly restrained.

And then, at last, those barriers fell away. His underwear vanished into the chaos of the room, and I took a moment, just a heartbeat, to look at him.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Not in the way statues are beautiful. Not polished or ideal. But real. Powerful. Scarred. His body told a story of war and pain and victory. And now he was mine, at least for this moment.

He kissed a path down my body, mouth reverent, teeth grazing lightly until he reached my hips. He used his mouth to tug my underwear down, eyes never leaving mine, and spread my legs with a kind of solemn ease, like this was something sacred. 

And maybe it was.

He paused then, just for a breath, his amber eyes carefully searching mine, full of emotion too complex to name. 

I nodded. And then he entered me—slow, deep, inevitable. And the sound we made together was pure surrender. A low, broken symphony of want and relief and something that felt too much like love.

He moved like he was trying to memorise the shape of my soul and I let him. Because in that moment, there was no past, no future, no right or wrong. There was only us.

And it was unbearable. And it was everything.

His name fell from my lips like a prayer, broken and breathless. "Eris—"

He groaned at the sound of it, his pace stuttering as he pressed deeper into me. Our hips aligned like they'd done this before in another lifetime, like we were finding our way back home through instinct alone.

"Gods, you're—" he choked, voice hoarse, "—perfect. You're perfect. I can't— I can't stop."

"Don't," I gasped, clawing at his back, pulling him closer. "Don't stop. Ever."

The rhythm turned desperate, his thrusts deeper, faster, each movement hitting some molten part of me that made me keen. 

He fucked me like it would never be enough��like no matter how deep he went, how close we got, there would always be some small part of him still reaching, still needing more.

Our mouths found each other again—clashing, teeth scraping, tongues tangled in a kiss that was more like a battle cry than a caress.

"I need—" he growled, breaking the kiss, resting his forehead to mine as his body shuddered against mine. "I need all of you. Every fucking inch. Every sound, every breath."

"You have it," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. "Take it. Please—Eris—take all of me."

His control snapped.

He cursed, low and guttural, as he angled his hips and drove into me with a brutal precision that had me moaning like I was falling apart. 

The sound of our bodies filled the library, wet and rhythmic, obscene and holy all at once.

"Say my name again," he panted, lips trailing down my throat, teeth grazing my collarbone.

"Eris," I whispered, then louder—again and again, like it was the only word I remembered. Like it was the only word that ever mattered.

He lifted my leg over his shoulder, the angle hitting a spot so deep I cried out, nails sinking into his skin. He hissed and leaned in to kiss the sound right off my mouth, swallowing it like a man starving.

"You ruin me," he whispered into my skin. "You fucking ruin me."

"I want to," I gasped, and I meant it. "Ruin me back."

And gods, he did.

He flipped me without breaking rhythm, hands greedy on my waist as he took me from behind, one hand snaking into my hair to pull my head back so he could kiss the curve of my neck. His other hand slid beneath me, fingers pressing against that aching bundle of nerves with devastating skill.

I was already falling apart—clenching around him, crying out with every thrust, needing, needing, needing—

"Please," I begged, not even sure what I was asking for anymore. "Please don't stop. Please."

He moaned, like the sound of me breaking was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. "Say it again."

"Please."

"Again."

"More—Eris, please—more."

His fingers moved faster, matching the punishing pace of his hips, and I shattered. The climax ripped through me like lightning, sharp and white-hot and all-consuming. 

My cries echoed through the walls as he fucked me through it, holding me tightly, anchoring me to this moment while my body convulsed around him.

And then he was falling, too.

He cursed, loud and raw, burying himself deep as he came undone, his hips jerking, voice cracking. He clung to me like a lifeline as the tremors overtook him.

For a moment, we didn't move. Just breathed. Just held. Just existed.

And then he kissed my shoulder. My neck. My cheek. Each press of his lips softer now. Slower. Like he was saying goodbye to something he couldn't bear to lose.

I turned in his arms and looked up at him, both of us flushed, dazed, tangled in each other.

"You still think this is wrong?" I whispered.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "If it is... then I'll gladly be damned."

The heat still lingered on my skin—his hands, his mouth, the imprint of his body pressed into mine like a brand I'd wear long after we parted.

We were tangled in silence, breath still shallow, clothing half-done and fingers fumbling with buttons and clasps. 

My bodice hung loose, the ribbon lacing slipping through my shaking hands, and Eris's jacket was crooked on his shoulders, his shirt only half tucked. 

His hair was dishevelled—gloriously so and his lips were still red from where I had kissed him like I'd never get the chance again.

Because maybe I wouldn't.

"I'll find a way," he said, voice rough as embers. He was already at the window, checking for guards, always aware, always calculating. "For us."

My heart ached. "We'll figure it out."

He turned then, crossed the room in three long strides and kissed me again. Not like a goodbye but like a promise. His hands framed my jaw, tender and fierce all at once. Like I was the only thing he believed in anymore.

And then the door exploded open. Not figuratively. Literally exploded.

It slammed against the stone wall with such force that a tapestry fell from its hook and fluttered to the floor beside us.

We jerked apart like we'd been burned—not from each other, but by the blast of fury that entered the room.

Beron. His presence sucked the heat from the space, replacing it with a cold, violent rage that was far more terrifying than fire. 

His eyes scanned the scene, our tousled hair, flushed faces, clothes in a state of hurried disarray. The closeness of our bodies. The unmistakable scent of what had just transpired still thick in the air.

"I knew it," he hissed. "I knew you had him bewitched."

I froze. Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to speak, to protect myself, but Eris—without touching me, stepped in front of me.

Not a shield. A wall of flame.

His voice was low, lethal. "She didn't do anything to me."

Beron laughed, a sound like cracking timber. "Of course she did. Look at you. Look at what you've become."

Before either of us could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

"She did nothing wrong." 

Kallias. Gods, Kallias.

He stood just behind Beron, the silver lining of frost already creeping beneath his feet. His blue gaze flicked once to me, softening just for a heartbeat and then narrowed on Beron like a blade.

"She is a diplomat of Winter. My sister. If you lay a hand on her, you declare war."

Beron turned on him. "Your sister is nothing but a scheming little witch who's seduced my heir. She's jeopardised centuries of political balance."

"I don't care if your balance was built on ash," Kallias bit out. "She is not your pawn. And I will not stand by while you threaten her."

The room was pure chaos. Rage and cold, fire and loyalty. Beron's face was red, trembling with fury. "You would pick her?" he snapped at Eris. "Over your own court? Over your blood?"

Eris said nothing. But his silence said everything.

He did not move aside. He did not explain. His body remained between mine and his father's fury, still and unwavering. His shoulders were taut, but his eyes flicked to mine once and held.

Don't speak, they said. Not because I was weak. But because this moment, this battlefield, belonged to him.

And Beron saw it too.

"Very well," he snarled, turning toward me. "But mark me, girl—should you remain in Autumn, you will not leave unscathed. I will destroy what you love most. Slowly. Publicly. And I will start with him."

He left in a whirl of flame and smoke, his guards quickly retreating after him like hounds who had nearly snapped their own leashes.

The silence that followed was deafening. Eris still hadn't moved. I touched his back, gently. He didn't turn.

"Don't make me forget you," I whispered, voice trembling now that the danger had passed.

"I never could," he murmured, voice hollow.

Kallias stepped forward, snowlight clinging to him and held out his arm.

There was no hesitation in his movements, no anger on his face but that was what made it worse. His expression was unreadable. A High Lord's mask, carefully constructed, carved of ice and restraint.

That was when I knew I'd crossed a threshold we wouldn't be able to uncross. Not yet. Not now. And maybe not ever.

I looked at his hand, his strong, steady hand—the one that had held mine when I was little and afraid of the dark, the one that had pulled me out of frozen lakes, who had guided me through courts filled with wolves. And yet, right now, it felt like a chain.

But I didn't fight him. Didn't protest. Didn't even speak. I slid my hand into his, cold meeting cold, and let him lead me away. 

Away from the heat. Away from him.

I didn't dare glance over my shoulder at Eris—because I knew what I'd find. And it would break me.

Instead, I kept my chin high, spine stiff, heart locked in my throat as Kallias led me past Autumn's heavy carved doors. 

My shoes made no sound against the stone floor, but I could feel the echo of every step like it was a bell tolling some final, terrible thing.

The moment we stepped beyond the threshold of the court, Winter's air rushed to meet us, sharp and bracing. It stung against my cheeks, gnawed at the corners of my mouth. 

I welcomed the pain. I needed it.

Because beneath my skin, deep in my bones, there was still fire.

The memory of his mouth on mine. The searing press of his hands gripping me. The way he said "I'll find a way" like he meant it. Like it was a vow.

And gods, how I wanted to believe him. But belief didn't stop wars. Or fathers. Or politics.

Kallias winnowed us home without a word. No frost shimmered beneath us like it usually did, no flourish of showmanship or theatrics. Just silence and shadows and the violent emptiness of space folding around us.

We landed in the snow-covered clearing just behind the Winter Palace, the great marble structure looming before us, every icicle like a dagger waiting to fall.

I released his arm and wrapped my own around myself. Not for the cold. For something worse.

He didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me, eyes like frozen moons, the hurt hidden too deep to touch.

"I'll give you space," he said eventually, his voice quiet. Too quiet.

I nodded, throat tight, eyes burning.

He turned, cloak snapping behind him as he walked toward the palace, leaving a trail of frost in his wake. I watched it disappear.

And I stood there, surrounded by snow, with the phantom kiss of fire still burning against my lips.

A/n - Yeah sooo... they got caught. Oops x

Okay but first things first—can we take a moment to appreciate the pictures. Left is basically Eris with those wide, betrayed golden eyes. Right is Eris, pre-chaos, just offering her his whole damn heart. Middle is THE BUTTERFLIES. One icy white. One flaming orange (on fire). If that's not peak symbolism I don't know what is!!

I hope the heat made you blush and the ending made you scream into a pillow, because that's the vibe we're going for :)

There's one more part left and while I already know what's coming, you don't. So buckle up. It's gonna hurt (in the best way).

Thanks for reading <33

Fire and Ice tag list - @thisfireheart @smol-grandpa @theworthlessqueen @awkardnerd @seasttarr @foreverme123 @historygeekqueen @booksstarryskies @human169 @holpol13

[storiesoferoda]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐧 જ⁀➴ 

part 6; prev part: spill your guts

Summary: Clark finally gets his second chance at taking you out; hopefully, this one goes better.

Warnings: none, fluff <3

Word count: 1,818

Author's note: See!!! told you it would be out later today, and if it's tomorrow for you, sorry! I Also incase anyone cares its maroon in a taylor swift kinda way if that gives you any insight

You had closed your phone that night, not bothering to see if Clark texted again, and then did not check it again when you woke up, leaving your phone on do not disturb. You almost turned it off when you got into work and realized he wasn't there, but you refrained. 

Which proved to be the right move. 10 minutes after everyone had meant to be there, you heard the squeaky wheel of the chair next to you. You looked over to see that Clark possessed a single rose and your favorite coffee. 

“Hi,” he said, holding out both for you to take. You take them, setting them on your desk before looking back up at him. “Is this the apology?” you question curiously. “Are you buying my affection back?” you half laugh, and to be honest, if he brought you a coffee every day for the rest of the week, your ‘hatred’ would be almost a distant memory by then. 

“No,” he said, sitting down. “I was hoping I could get another chance.” 

“Another chance, Kent?” you questioned, taking a sip of the coffee, and oh my god, it was perfect. It was sweet and cold, and it was your exact order down to the milk. 

“Please, if- only if you want. If you don't want to, I will just apologize, and we can both move on,” he said sincerely. “I feel horrible, and I want to make it right.”

You stared at him, taking another shift. Your gaze pierced him, but you finally tore away from your coffee. “So what does this second chance entail?” 

“I’ll handle everything, you just show up, yeah?” 

“Okay, sure, don't mess it up.” 

“I really hope I don’t.” your heart fluttered at that. 

── .✦     

The only information you had for this date was the singular message Clark had sent you. It was a simple text that read:

TODAY'S DATE: location: secret

Dress code: casual 

Time: 6:30 sharp 

See you soon :) 

For some reason, the smiley face gave you butterflies. But what really made your heart soar was when he brought over even more flowers. Even bigger than the last time. You had asked multiple times on your walk where you were going, but he didn't budge. He had one of three responses: "Somewhere, it's a secret, you’ll find out,” which you had let out a groan to every time, and every time without fail, he would squeeze your hand and smile, showing his dimples. It was like heaven on earth. You had reservations about a second chance, but once again, the conversation flowed, the vibes were right, and it felt like once again, your stars were aligned. 

You two had been walking for a hot minute after getting on the subway, and you actually had no idea where you were going, but you watched as he pulled a door open to a cafe and motioned for you to move forward. “A cafe? Seems like a quick restaurant. Are you going to leave me again?” 

“Low blow, but I deserved that. And no, this is our first stop.” First? As you reached the register, you watched as Clark ordered two peppermint hot chocolates. And you felt bad at how much this many had given you, so in an attempt to even the field, you reached for your purse, but one hand shot out to grab your arm, and the other handed over his card. “My treat,” is all he said. A smile escaped you; it was a bit awkward for you as you stood to wait for the coffee, mostly because physical touch was your love language, and you had a need to be close to him, but everyone has this thing called boundaries, and you didn't want to cross his. So you stood back and waited as the barista called his name. He grabbed both of them before returning to you, holding the door open for you once again, setting out on this mission. 

The night was chilly as it got to the later months, and tonight was no different, but you both were warming up with the cocoa. And thankfully, not even five minutes later, he opened another door, and as soon as you stepped into the store, you almost gasped. It was the most beautiful bookstore you had ever seen, walls and walls of books, old, new, used, and fresh off the press, there was absolutely everything there for you. Clark had just let you take it all in, and he watched as you stared at the tables of new releases and the wall of bookmarks before speaking up. 

“Get whatever you want,” he said. 

“What?” you turned 

“Whatever you want, one, five, ten,” He said, completely serious. 

“No, no, I couldn't.”

“It's fine, I promise. Please,” he said. 

Your eyes lit up. “You're really pretty when you're happy. Like your whole face lights up,” he blurted out, and you turned away, hiding the blush creeping into your cheeks. "Sorry,” he said. 

“No, no. It's just more so I have never had a compliment like that,” it was true most of them had been about your appearance, not so much your light. You started to circle around the books, looking at all of them, picking up the ones that were especially interesting or pointing out which ones you had read, which were a lot of them. Sometimes you’d find an empty spot to set down the cocoa, and it would always find its way into the hands of Clark. 

“I actually really like that one,” he said, pointing to the book in your hands. 

“You’ve read it?” holding up a copy of Sally Rooney's Normal People. He nodded. “I won't spoil it, but it was sad and good in a really beautiful way.” You smiled. 

“Clark, are you a reader?” you smiled and joked, and he nodded. 

“I like to read more than being on my phone, so a couple of years ago I deleted all my socials and started other hobbies.” 

“Very profound of you, Clark I think you're better than most people in the world, better than me.” 

He shook his head, “No, no, it just wasn't good for me, but I do indulge sometimes on my computer. I'm not totally off the social grid, just don't post.” he picked up his own book and started looking at some, putting two in his hand for later. Eventually, the bookstore took you in its grasp, and the more you looked, the more you wanted. 

And for only a split second, you had two books in your hands before they found their way into Clark's hands, and he held onto them for you. You guys had spent more than two hours in that bookstore; it was an even bigger surprise to learn that there was an upstairs, and even the stairs had more books piled onto them; it was book heaven to you. And the whole time, Clark follows you around like a lost puppy watching the books you pick with a smile on his face. 

And as part of his promise, when you get to the register, Clark pays for yours and his books and even takes the bag and carries it back on the way out. He looks over to you as he carries a huge bag that must be heavy, and you can't help but feel the tiniest bit bad, but the bag looks light in his hands. 

“I have one more thing if that's okay with you,” he says, looking at you with a smile. 

“Yeah, lead the way, this is your date after all,” you say and motion for him to lead you. 

── .✦     

The third and final stop of the night had been a hidden little food truck in the parking lot. And according to Clark, it would be the best thing you've ever tasted. You had chosen the birria tacos, and Clark surprisingly chose an order of four tacos and a huge burrito. You laughed at him when he ordered it, but then you realized he was 6 '4 which was much taller than you, and roughly 230 pounds of pure muscle; he had to get it from somewhere. 

The dinner was phenomenal, he wasn't wrong, and you even got ice cream after. As you two walked home, you both had your own ice cream cones and talked as the night moved around you two. 

“The other day, it was an emergency, I have an well a well-trained dog and he got lost and I had to get him back, and while it happened, he kinda…kicked my ass.” He laughs. "He's a strong dog and not well trained.” 

“You have a dog?” you questioned, taking a bite of the waffle cone. 

“Well, more of a foster situation, but the point is, I'm so sorry I ran out on you like that, you deserved an explanation. And no one deserved that, especially not you. Running out like you're trying to get away from a bad date, because on my end, I had an amazing time, and I did today too.” 

“I did too. It was definitely even better than the first one.” 

“Is that because I bought you stuff?” 

“No,” you say as you shake your head, yes joking with him. His shoulder knocks yours as you approach your building, seeing it in the distance. You drop your trash in the trash can and continue walking. “No, I just had an amazing time with you, Clark. I really like hanging out with you without all the work stuff.” 

“Me too, I'm glad you joined the Daily Planet cause I wouldn't have met you if you didnt.” his face was a bit maroon. You smile at him, and in that same moment, his hands make their way to your face, pushing back hair as your breath catches and your heart practically stops. He leans in closer, his breath hot on your neck as he whispers, “Is this okay?” You only nod, and he plants a small kiss on your neck, on your cheek, and finally on your lips. 

And for a moment, everything makes sense. Your face feels hot, and your head is pounding, but everything feels right as you return it, deepening the kiss. He breaks away, a smile forming on his lips as his forehead hits yours. “I had a great time tonight.” 

“Me too.” It was breathless, but god, were you breathless after that. 

“Goodnight, y/n” 

“Goodnight, Clark,” you smiled, going on your tip toes to plant a kiss on his cheek, taking the bag from his hands, taking your books, and returning the rest. You smiled as you pushed through the door. You turned back to see him watching as you walked onto the elevator, only motioning to leave once the elevator closed again. 

As the elevator motioned to move, you felt your phone buzz. 

Clark: Thank you for a second chance.

(🏷️: @ifilwtmfc , @casiiopea2 , @clark-kents-bae , @nightmaredressedlikeadaydream57 , @otakusimp1 )

Comment or dm me to be added or removed from the taglist!! (Also, if you could specify if you want all Superman fics or just this series, it would be greatly appreciated!! )

[kathlare]

wildest dreams

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a dreamy getaway in Los Cabos, Lando and Amelie bask in domestic bliss, cheeky pranks, and the sizzling tension that only deep love—and playful chaos—can create.

Wordcount: 6.8 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

July 16th, 2025 - Comporta, Portugal

The villa was quiet. The only sound came from the ocean brushing against the shore outside, a rhythmic lull that usually sent everyone to sleep early after long days under the sun.

But not Max and Amelie.

They were still sitting outside on the terrace, half-drunk, barefoot, and wrapped in throw blankets stolen from the living room. A half-empty bottle of rosé sat between them, condensation dripping down the glass, and an almost-finished bowl of popcorn was resting on Max’s knee.

The air was warm, humid with salt and breeze. The lantern lights hanging from the pergola above flickered softly, casting a golden glow over Amelie's flushed cheeks and Max’s messy hair.

—I can’t believe Pietra knocked out before me,— Max laughed, swirling his wine glass lazily. —Usually I’m the one passed out by ten.—

Amelie grinned, pulling her knees to her chest. She had one of Lando’s t-shirts on—big and worn and smelling like his cologne—and bikini bottoms, her hair still wet from the night swim they’d all taken hours earlier.

— She was exhausted, Max. You dragged her into playing tequila pong with you and Lando like we’re nineteen.—

—And you didn’t stop me,— he said, accusingly, raising a brow.

—I wanted to watch you lose.—

He rolled his eyes but laughed.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the peaceful kind, while Amelie toyed with a loose thread on her blanket and Max leaned his head back to look at the stars.

—You ever think about it?— Max said suddenly, eyes still on the sky.

Amelie tilted her head. —Think about what?—

—All of this. The future. Like… what comes next. After the noise and the paddocks and the social media shit. After we’re not hot and interesting anymore.—

She snorted. —Speak for yourself, Fewtrell. I’ll be hot until I’m eighty.—

—Okay, true,— he chuckled. —But you know what I mean.—

Amelie quieted. Her gaze dropped to the rim of her wine glass. The crickets chirped softly in the background, the kind of sound you didn’t notice until everything else was still.

—Yeah,— she finally said. —I think about it all the time.—

Max shifted in his seat, turning a little to face her better. —And? What do you see?—

Amelie chewed on her lip for a second, then shrugged. —I dunno. Something slower, I think. Less eyes. A garden. Maybe two cats... oh wait, I already have that.—

—Who both terrify me, by the way,— Max pointed out.

—They’re harmless.—

—Björn threw a glass off the shelf because I looked at him for too long.—

—He’s dramatic. Fits right in with the rest of us.—

Max laughed again, a warm, easy sound, and took another slow sip of his drink. The kind of buzzed where you’re not drunk, just soft. Honest.

—You ever get tired of it?— he asked after a moment. —All the attention? The noise?—

Amelie was quiet again. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and looked out toward the dark silhouette of the ocean, glittering faintly under the moonlight.

—Sometimes,— she admitted. —I mean… I love what I do. I love performing, and I’m grateful, always. But yeah. I miss normal shit. I miss walking down the street holding someone’s hand without it being a headline. I miss dates. Like… proper, cheesy dates.—

Max blinked. —You and Lando don’t go on dates?—

She gave him a look. —Max, when do we have time? When we’re not working, we’re traveling. And when we do go out, it’s always this whole thing. Security, disguises, a million people whispering around us. I love him, I do. More than anything. But sometimes I wish I could just… go to a fucking movie with him. You know?—

There was a long pause before she added, almost shyly.

—I don’t want a perfect life. Just a little more normal.—

Max watched her closely for a second, softer now. His usual teasing gone. Just a friend looking at someone he’s known through too many seasons.

—Does he know that?—

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her throat felt a little tight. The wine wasn’t helping.

—I don’t think so. I mean… it’s not like I’m unhappy. I’m not. He’s everything to me. But maybe I’ve just been scared to say it. Because we worked so hard to get it right this time. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.—

Max’s brows furrowed. —Ames, telling someone what you need doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you honest.—

She gave him a small smile. —I know. I just… sometimes it’s easier to pretend everything’s fine than risk shaking the boat, you know? Especially when you’re in love.—

He nodded. They were both quiet again, the sound of waves filling the space between them.

—You really love him, huh?—

Her smile grew, soft and almost sad. —I always have. Even when I didn’t want to.—

Max was about to say something when a quiet voice cut through the terrace.

—It’s two in the morning.—

Both of them turned.

Lando was standing barefoot by the sliding glass door, his hair a mess of curls from sleep, wearing only his boxers and one of Amelie’s silk robes—green with little palm trees embroidered on it. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but his voice was clear.

—And you’re both loud as fuck.—

Amelie’s heart jumped a little, but she tried to mask it with a small grin. Max only raised his hands in mock surrender.

—Sorry, Dad.—

Lando narrowed his eyes. Then looked at Amelie. Something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

She offered him a soft smile. —Sorry, Lan. We got carried away.—

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked between the two of them for a second longer. Then finally nodded once, rubbing his hand through his hair.

—Come to bed,— he said, voice gentler now.

Amelie stood slowly, barefoot on the warm tile, and reached over to gently squeeze Max’s arm before walking past him. —Night, Maxy.—

—Night, Ames.—

Lando held the door open as she passed, and gave Max a quick, tight nod before following her inside. They didn’t speak again until they were back in the bedroom.

The room was dim, lit only by the glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. Amelie walked straight to the bed and slipped under the covers, tugging Lando’s robe from his shoulders as he crawled in beside her.

He didn’t say anything at first, just settled beside her, arm draped across her waist, his face buried in her neck.

She thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, until...

—You wanna go on more dates with me?— Lando’s voice was low, almost shy, spoken directly against her skin.

Amelie’s breath caught.

She shifted slightly to look at him, his curls tickling her cheek. His eyes were open now, watching her carefully in the faint light.

—You heard that,— she murmured, not quite a question.

He nodded. —Not everything… just enough.—

Her throat went dry. She bit her lip, fingers playing absently with the edge of the blanket between them. She didn’t want to lie. Not to him.

—It’s not that I’m not happy,— she whispered. —I am, Lan. I really am. I just… I miss the little things, sometimes. Like sneaking out to a shitty diner at 1am or going to a fair and getting candy stuck in our hair. I miss not needing disguises, or tinted windows, or having to think about what picture might end up on some account.—

Lando stared at her, eyes soft but a little tired. —You think I don’t miss that too?—

Her lips curved. —I know you do. You used to drag me to McDonald’s at midnight for milkshakes just because you were bored.—

He smiled at that. —I still would if you’d let me.—

—We’d have fifteen photos taken before we got to the drive-thru window.—

—Then we’ll rent the whole fuckin’ place. Fuck it.—

Amelie laughed softly, and Lando shifted closer, hand coming up to brush a few strands of hair from her face.

—I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t tell me these things, Ames. Ever. You’re not ungrateful. You’re human. And I’m your boyfriend.— He kissed her cheek, lingering there. —I wanna give you all of it. The big shit and the small shit. And if what you need are dumb, normal, stupidly cheesy dates? Then I’ll give you that too.—

She blinked at him, overwhelmed. His voice, his words, the way he always made her feel like she wasn’t asking for too much.

Her chest squeezed. She leaned forward, nose brushing his.

—I love you, Lan.—

—I know you do,— he whispered, kissing her gently. —I love you more.—

She smiled against his lips, curling into him as he tugged the blanket higher over them.

And somewhere in the quiet of the room, with the waves humming outside and the wine still warm in her blood, she whispered.

—Thanks for hearing me.—

Lando tucked his face into her shoulder, holding her a little tighter. —Always, cariño. Always.—

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

liked by dayman_daily, unionjackbarbie, and others

ameliedayman: newsflash pal

View all 92,001 comments

maxfewtrell: that’s crazy. not one photo of me. after everything we’ve been through → ameliedayman: @maxfewtrell you were asleep for 3/4 of this dump babes → lando: @maxfewtrell he woke up just for lunch don’t give him too much credit

ciscanorris1: obsessed with the barefoot white dress energy. she’s not a girlfriend she’s a nymph → ameliedayman: @ciscanorris1 i love you come over i have cake

flo_norris_showjumping: i’m stealing the black dress and the wine glass → ameliedayman: @flo_norris_showjumpping respectfully no

charles_leclerc: didn’t get an invite to surf. fake friend. → ameliedayman: @charles_leclerc you can’t even swim without complaining 🙄

lando: still trying to recover from slide 3. pick me up before my next race pls → ameliedayman: @lando no bc u made me take that barefoot

alex_albon: pls share where that arcade is i need a rematch → ameliedayman: @alex_albon i’m not scared. pull up

jadenhossler: she reads ONE book and now she’s better than everyone → ameliedayman: @jadenhossler you don’t even know how to spell “book”

f1sluttycorner: not to be dramatic but this entire photo dump smells like “girlfriend of the paddock” world domination → landoscarfan: @f1sluttycorner Lando is just living in her vibe now and he’s THRIVING

hotgirlinsector3: this white dress gave Lando the audacity to win silverstone idc → mclarenmuse: @hotgirlinsector3 it’s not the shoes, it’s the barefoot girlfriend magic

gridgossipcentral: remember when ppl said she was bad for him?? lmao look at her glowing and him winning → lanmelie4everrr: @gridgossipcentral they healed each other’s inner child and now we’re all reaping the rewards

landozonlyfan: she’s cute or whatever but why is she everywhere lately

trackrat90: manchild poster is kinda fitting since she’s dating one 🤷‍♀️ → gridgirl69: @trackrat90 you sound poor and single

f1gatekeeper: we miss the old Lando

pietrapilao: honestly i deserve a photo credit and a therapy voucher → ameliedayman: @pietrapilao i paid you in wine and trauma

stellaperez: glass of wine = crisis. black dress = violence. noted. → ameliedayman: @stellaperez who told you about the crisis

lanmelieupdates: THE BLACK DRESS??? she’s fighting for her life and we’re just watching → gridheartbeats: @lanmelieupdates she dressed like that and Lando STILL lets her outside. stronger man than me

f1gfcore: white dress barefoot book girly??? SHE’S A VILLAIN IN A ROMANTIC TRAGEDY → mclarenmoments: @f1gfcore and i’m sobbing in the audience

pitlaneprada: she’s surfing, reading, dressing like an angel, playing arcade games and dating lando… some of us are NOT ok

georgerussell63: why are you always in a dress or doing crimes → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 i multitask

emmachamberlain: who let you cook like this??? → ameliedayman: @emmachamberlain chef certified, michelin delulu

lanmeliecontent: YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE THIS SOFT AND HOT AT THE SAME TIME → wagsdeluxe: @lanmeliecontent she’s posting like she doesn’t know we have heart problems

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

The next morning bloomed warm and golden, the Cabo sun already climbing high as soft music drifted from the kitchen speakers. The scent of fresh fruit and salt hung in the air, lazy and sweet.

Max and Amelie were laid out on matching lounge chairs by the pool, sunglasses on, limbs stretched, a half-hearted conversation about the latest F1 gossip bubbling between them.

—You know he’s going to wear those horrible flame swim trunks again, right?— Amelie muttered, eyes closed.

Max snorted. —He loves those. Says they’re lucky.—

—They’re a crime.—

Just then, the sliding glass door to the villa creaked open and Lando stepped out, barefoot and squinting in the sun. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt and board shorts, two icy glasses of some fruit thing in hand, condensation already dripping down the sides. His curls were damp from the outdoor shower, and his eyes found Amelie’s instantly.

—Hey, sunshine,— he called, walking toward her. —Made you something cold. It might be 90% pineapple, though.—

Amelie pushed her glasses up and sat forward with a grin. —That’s exactly how I like it.—

Max groaned. —You guys are disgusting.—

Lando handed her the glass, leaned down to kiss the top of her head, then turned back toward the kitchen, only to freeze when he spotted someone else entering the room.

Pietra had come down the stairs in a little sundress, still tousled from sleep, eyes squinting in the light.

She stopped in her tracks, saw Lando mid-simp, and smirked.

—Aww. Look at this domestic little lovebug.—

Lando sighed, tipping his head back. —God, not you too.—

Pietra ignored him and walked past, stealing a piece of pineapple from his glass. —You’re such a simp. Like, full-send, ring-shopping, neck-kiss-level simp.—

He gave her a look, but he was grinning. —Yeah, well. She’s worth it.—

Pietra paused mid-chew. —Okay, fine. That was actually kinda sweet.—

Lando leaned against the counter, twirling his glass. Then, lowering his voice just slightly. —Hey… actually, I wanted to ask you something.—

Pietra raised an eyebrow. —Uh-oh.—

—No, no. It’s a good thing.— He glanced out toward the pool. Amelie had her head tipped back now, sunglasses on, legs stretched across Max’s lap as they argued about whether or not the hotel next door had real flamingos. —I’m trying to plan something for her. Just a little date night. Something normal, just for us. But I need like… a few hours without her around.—

Pietra smirked. —You want me to kidnap her?—

—I was thinking more like… drag her to that fancy beach boutique you were complaining about not visiting yet.—

Her grin widened. —Ah, strategic distraction. You want me to girlboss her away from the premises.—

—Exactly.—

Pietra crossed her arms and nodded approvingly. —Say no more. I’ll get her to try on 27 overpriced dresses and buy coconut oil she’ll never use.—

Lando grinned, relieved. —Thank you. You’re saving romance as we know it.—

Pietra saluted him with her glass. —Go make your stupid little fairy lights date or whatever. I got this.—

Minutes later, she emerged poolside with her own glass and plopped dramatically onto the empty lounger beside Max.

—Okay, ladies, we’re going shopping.—

Max sat up. —We are?—

—No, me and Amelie. You’re staying here to help Mr. Romance rearrange patio furniture or whatever.—

Amelie cracked one eye open. —Shopping? Now?—

—Yes. You promised to help me find that linen set I liked, remember? It’s urgent. Like, fashion emergency urgent.—

Amelie hesitated, looking back at Lando, who just gave her the most innocent, relaxed smile as he sipped his drink.

—Unless you’d rather sweat out here and listen to Max debate flamingo migration patterns?—

—I’m literally reading an article right now,— Max muttered, scrolling his phone.

Amelie laughed and pushed her sunglasses into her hair. —Fine, but I’m not trying anything on unless there’s air-conditioning.—

—Deal,— Pietra said, grabbing her hand and tugging her up.

As the girls disappeared toward the villa, Amelie tossed a curious glance back at Lando. He waved casually, still sipping his drink.

As soon as they were out of sight, Max let out a long sigh and sat up, slapping his hands on his knees.

—Alright, Romeo. Spill. What’s the plan?—

Lando looked over at him, a grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth. —Drive-in movie date. Old school. Vintage speakers on the windows, popcorn buckets, fairy lights, the whole thing.—

Max blinked. —Wait… like a real one?—

—Rented the whole thing,— Lando said, clearly proud of himself. —Private screen, classic movie, her favorite candy… and I got the guy to let me bring her car in, just for the vibe.—

Max stared at him, equal parts impressed and annoyed. —You’re making the rest of us look so bad, mate.—

Lando just shrugged. —She said she missed normal. I figured I’d give her some cheesy, movie-montage kind of night.—

Max stood, stretching his arms overhead. —You got fairy lights?—

—Box in the garage.—

—Cool. I’m on setup duty then?—

—You’re on everything-that-doesn’t-involve-flammable-wires duty.—

—So… everything.—

Lando snorted, handing him the now-empty glass. —Come on, let’s go. We’ve got three hours before Pietra starts pretending she “accidentally” spent half her credit limit.—

—She will do that,— Max muttered, following him inside.

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

liked by ameliesbabe, fewtrellfreak, and others

ameliedaymanupdates: Amelie was seen out shopping around Cabo today with Pietra.

View all 29,003 comments

lanmelie4everrr: she’s out shopping meanwhile lando prob trying on her sunglasses back at the villa 😭 → mclovindrivers: @lanmelie4everrr he already picked out a matching outfit don’t worry 💅

daymaniac: imagine being a surfboard in cabo right now. that close to amelie. → f1fangirl420: @daymaniac AND potentially lando in swim trunks. spiritual experience tbh → wagsupreme: @f1fangirl420 don’t bring the trunks into this i’m WEAK 😭

softforlanmelie: no pics of pietra? that woman is literally our aesthetic board → maxiesgf: @softforlanmelie the most powerful duo to touch a beachside boutique

champagnetruths: lando definitely carrying all the bags while she tries on jewelry

ciscasburner: bet lando’s her emotional support boyfriend today → norifairy: @ciscasburner he’s like “yes babe that bikini is stunning” for the 7th time in a row 💀💀

ameliesbabe: honestly if i saw her walking around cabo i’d just sit down and cry → pitlaneprincess: @ameliesbabe same. the hair?? the skin?? the walk?? lethal.

landobehaved: no way she’s slaying cabo like that while i’m here looking like a boiled shrimp → sunburntfan44: @landobehaved lando would still call you cute, he’s that boyfriend

wagswatchdaily: amelie in cabo = lando’s screen time skyrocketing → lanlore: @wagswatchdaily he’s been suspiciously quiet… he’s taking pics isn’t he 😭 → gridgossipgirl: @lanlore that’s the man behind the “get ready with me” angles

callumsburner: callum probably watching these stories like 😐 “appropriate swimwear pls” → teamamelie: @callumsburner meanwhile checo’s somewhere hyping her up 💅

mclovenotes: the way pietra and amelie are the hottest, most underrated duo → fewtrellfreak: @mclovenotes max and lando won the lottery and they KNOW it

glamnelie: she wakes up, eats fruit, soft smiles, shops, drinks wine, reads. she’s living the pinterest life → gridmother: @glamnelie don’t forget: she’s also dating THE Lando Norris. that’s goddess behavior

wagsunited: her being on a casual shopping trip while the rest of us are fighting for our lives on stan twitter 😭 → helmetkisser: @wagsunited she’s living in peace while we’re in the trenches and honestly? good for her

lanmeliecore: if lando shows up with beaded bracelets and a tote bag we’ll know who to thank → sundazef1: @lanmeliecore amelie’s cottagecore gf influence is STRONG and unstoppable

mclarensupremacy: imagine walking into a boutique and seeing her in a white linen set… I’d evaporate

maxywatch: pietra and amelie being seen together again?? we are so back → sunshinepierrez: @maxywatch give us the shopping vlog you cowards

landoismybfirl: lando somewhere in the villa drinking green juice and waiting for her to come back with candles and seashell earrings → chaoswags: @landoismybfirl and she’ll say “look how cute this is” and he’ll go “yeah baby i love it” without even knowing what it is 😭💘

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

The sun was already beginning to dip over Cabo, casting soft gold across the coastline as Amelie slumped into the cushioned seat of the black SUV, her head gently thudding against the headrest. The bags from the last five shops sat neatly packed in the trunk—linen dresses, overpriced sunscreen, random shell jewelry Pietra swore she needed.

Her sunglasses were pushed into her hair, strands clinging to her temples from the heat. She was exhausted, mildly sunburnt, and increasingly suspicious.

—Okay,— Amelie muttered, glancing at Pietra standing outside the SUV. —That was the sixth store. And you barely looked at anything in there. Be honest... are you avoiding the villa?—

Pietra froze for a second, then turned, a little too casually. —What? No. Chill. I just… want to look at one more place. That’s all.—

—That’s what you said two stores ago.— Amelie raised a brow. Her tone was light, but she was watching closely now. —You’re stalling.—

Pietra blinked, opening her mouth, then shutting it. Then she forced a smile. —Wow. I see the conspiracy theories are strong today.—

Amelie leaned forward, suspicious. —Did Lando ask you to keep me out of the villa?—

—What? No way,— Pietra said quickly, waving a hand like she was brushing off a ridiculous bug. —I’m just… trying to help you relax, okay? Maybe you don’t want to get back to that whole ‘everyone staring at you’ vibe just yet.—

Amelie narrowed her eyes. —Relax? Pietra, we’ve been walking in and out of stores for hours. I’m tired, and my feet are killing me. I want to go back. You’re the one dragging this out.—

Pietra glanced around like she was looking for an escape route, then shrugged. —Maybe I am. But maybe there’s a reason.—

Amelie’s heart skipped. She bit her lip and put two and two together in a snap—the late-night text from Lando, Pietra’s weird behavior, the never-ending store crawl.

—Wait a second,— Amelie said, voice low but firm. —You’re stalling because Lando found out I want a normal date. And you’re trying to keep me busy until he’s ready?—

Pietra’s eyes flickered away, and her grin got tight. —Maybe. Maybe not. Who’s counting?—

Amelie exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up like a storm. —Look, I don’t want to fight. I’m tired, and I just want to get out of these damn heels.—

Pietra hesitated, then nodded slowly. —Okay. Maybe we should head back.—

Amelie’s shoulders relaxed a little, relieved but still wary.

She slid into the SUV and clicked her seatbelt.

As the door shut, Pietra’s phone buzzed.

—Wait a sec,— Pietra said, pulling out her phone. —My mom’s calling.—

Amelie groaned, resting her head back with a dramatic sigh. She shot Pietra an exasperated look.

—Seriously?— Amelie muttered, eyes narrowing but saying nothing.

Pietra just smiled, scrolling through her contacts. —Yeah, gotta take it.— She waved off Amelie’s look without a word and stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Amelie rolled her eyes but stayed quiet, the exhaustion making her not want to start anything.

Outside, Pietra pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed quickly.

—Hey, Lando. Yeah, we’re on our way back now.— She glanced at the SUV, then lowered her voice. —She’s getting tired, so I’m wrapping things up early. You can start getting ready.—

Lando’s voice buzzed softly through the phone speaker. —Got it. Can you give me like… 30 more minutes? I want to set everything up properly.—

—No problem.— Pietra smiled, hanging up and slipping the phone back into her pocket.

She took a deep breath, casting a glance at the black SUV before heading toward the driver’s side.

Just before opening the door, she crouched down silently by the front tire—no one watching—and pulled a small pocket knife from her bag.

With a precise flick, she pressed the blade into the rubber and made a small puncture, careful not to make a sound.

The tire hissed quietly, the damage enough to force a delay without making it obvious.

Pietra stood, brushing her hands on her dress and slipping into the car.

Inside, Amelie’s patience was fraying, though she kept her irritation carefully hidden.

Her foot tapped lightly against the floor as the minutes ticked by.

—Everything okay?— Pietra asked smoothly, eyes flicking to Amelie.

Amelie gave a tight smile. —Sure. Just… ready to be done.—

Pietra’s lips curved into a secretive smile, the plan unfolding exactly as she’d hoped.

—I'm ready. Let’s go—

And for now, Amelie had no idea she was about to be stuck just a little longer.

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

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

The villa stood quiet under the deep violet of the Cabo sunset, framed by golden lights that flickered warmly through the palm trees. The black SUV rolled to a slow stop on the cobblestone driveway, the headlights cutting across the wide front entrance. Amelie didn’t even wait for the engine to go off before she unbuckled her seatbelt with a sharp click and threw open the door.

She was tired. Her back ached. Her feet were on fire. And all she could think about was slipping into her pajamas, pouring herself a glass of wine, and crawling under a blanket with Benny. Preferably without Pietra casually steering her into yet another “charming little boutique.”

The back of the SUV slammed shut as Pietra jumped out with a bounce in her step. That alone made Amelie pause, narrowing her eyes as she dug through her purse for the keys.

—We’re finally home,— she muttered, heading up the stone steps.

She reached the door, keys in hand, ready to fling it open when she realized Pietra wasn't following.

—P?— Amelie turned around. —You coming?—

Pietra stood frozen a few feet behind her, grinning like she’d just heard the world’s best joke. One hand rested on her hip, the other clutched the strap of her purse. There was something… smug about her. Suspiciously smug.

—What?— Amelie asked, her brow furrowing. —Why are you looking at me like that?—

Pietra didn’t answer.

Instead, she tilted her head toward the SUV. And just as Amelie’s confusion was about to shift into full annoyance, a familiar voice drifted out from the other side of the vehicle.

—We’re not staying.—

Max’s head popped around the back of the SUV, casual as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. He looked freshly showered and far too pleased with himself.

Amelie blinked. —What?—

—We’re heading out for dinner. Somewhere… far. Probably doesn’t even have cell service.— He grinned as he walked over to Pietra and opened her door for her like a damn chauffeur.

Pietra gave Amelie a wink as Max helped her in. —Have fun.—

Amelie took a step forward, hand still gripping her keys. —Wait. What do you mean have fun? Why aren’t you...?—

Max was already halfway back into the SUV. —Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out. Eventually.— He threw her a wink of his own before disappearing inside. The engine hummed back to life, and with one final smirk from the window, they rolled down the drive and into the night.

Amelie stood frozen for a moment, her heart thudding fast in her chest. She turned back toward the villa, suddenly unsure of what to expect. Her fingers fumbled with the keys as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Silence.

Everything looked normal.

The kitchen lights were on. A glass sat on the counter. Her tote bag was where she left it. No candles, no flowers, no romantic music. Just the soft hum of the AC and the distant sound of waves beyond the balcony doors.

She dropped her purse on the kitchen stool and kicked off her shoes, her brows still drawn tight in suspicion. —What the hell is going on?— she muttered to herself, walking slowly through the space.

She peeked into the living room. Nothing.

Bedroom? Still untouched.

She sighed, fingers raking through her hair as she made her way toward the balcony. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe everyone had gone insane and she was just tired—

Then she stepped outside.

And saw it.

Down below, on the soft white sand of the private beach, was a handmade setup straight out of a movie.

A small drive-in cinema screen had been strung up between two tall wooden posts, glowing softly under a line of fairy lights. Cozy beanbags and thick blankets were spread out across a large patterned rug. A projector hummed quietly from behind a low table stacked with popcorn buckets and her favorite snacks. The unmistakable opening scene of Grease was already flickering on the screen in black and white.

And standing in the center of it all was Lando.

Hair tousled, barefoot in linen pants and a white t-shirt, a bouquet of yellow tulips in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket.

He looked up the moment he heard the sliding door and smiled.

Amelie froze, her hand clutching the balcony rail.

Her heart cracked open like it always did with him—too fast, too real, too much.

She didn’t even think. She turned and bolted down the spiral stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet as she sprinted across the lawn and down onto the sand.

Lando held the tulips up like a peace offering. —Surprise.—

She reached him, panting slightly, eyes wide.

He opened his arms with a hopeful grin, clearly expecting a hug.

Instead, she punched him—soft but swift—right on the arm.

—Ow, what the hell?!— he laughed, jerking back.

—That’s for keeping me away all day,— she said, voice breathless with disbelief and emotion.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could get a word out, she threw her arms around him and kissed him.

Hard.

The tulips bent awkwardly between them as Lando made a surprised noise and melted into the kiss, his free arm wrapping tight around her waist.

When she finally pulled back, Amelie rested her forehead against his and whispered, —You idiot.—

He grinned. —Takes one to love one.—

She snorted, brushing a hand down his chest. —Show me everything.—

—Yes ma’am.—

Lando took her hand and guided her toward the little beach cinema setup like it was their own secret world. And maybe it was.

Because for one night, under the soft Cabo stars, they weren’t celebrities, weren’t running from cameras, weren’t hiding from the world.

They were just Amelie and Lando.

Two kids in love.

Watching Grease with sand between their toes and tulips between them.

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

liked by daydreamlanmelie, norrisnation, and others

lanmelieupdates: Amelie & Lando both posting sunset pics at the same time? Date night confirmed 🔥🌅✨

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sunsetwags: lando saw the sunset and said “lemme wife her real quick” 😭 → softlanmelie: @sunsetwags he’s 0.2 seconds away from dropping to one knee i’m scared → f1fangirl420: @softlanmelie say psych rn i’m not ready 😭😭

norrisnation: THEY’RE POSTING THE SAME SUNSET LIKE WE WON

amelieangelz: she’s glowing like she just got kissed under the sun don’t TOUCH me → lanlips: @amelieangelz she did. she absolutely did. check his story 😭 → seatbelts4lan: @lanlips you mean OUR story bc that’s OUR couple

maxxybby: can’t believe i used to think they were just friends 💀 → chaoticwags: @maxxybby girl we ALL lied to ourselves for years it’s ok → lanmeliecore: @chaoticwags “just friends” my ass they were soulmates in denial

lanfan88: they really soft launch hard launched then re-launched every week 😭 → amesupremacy: @lanfan88 we’re just living in their romcom

sunsetkneesocks: LANDO’S HAND ON HER WAIST IN THAT PIC HELLO⁉️ → daisyslick: @sunsetkneesocks that man is in love and not hiding it 😭🫠 → ameliesicedcoffee: @sunsetkneesocks the hand placement is CRAZY

wagscentral: not them giving us pinterest material for free

daydreamlanmelie: this is why he’s been driving like a menace lately… he’s too happy → pietrasbf: @daydreamlanmelie happiness buff unlocked

maxielagenda: max seeing these and pretending he doesn’t care 😭 → charles_gf: @maxielagenda he misses the third wheeling era

lanxmelie4life: THEY’RE MAKING ME BELIEVE IN LOVE AGAIN → breakupwithmepls: @lanxmelie4life we are not surviving their wedding i fear

lanxmeliecore: ok but how is this not a romcom promo?? → nails4lan: @lanxmeliecore she’s the manic pixie dream gf and he’s obsessed

shesthechicane: i just KNOW she picked the matching sunset pics 😭 → prayingforlando: @shesthechicane he’s giving “yes babe” energy always

waggednready: she’s literally glowing. like??? lando be serious. → lanstan44: @waggednready man is DEF eating his greens and kissing his gf daily

yalllovedramaa: y’all acting like this is the second coming of christ it’s just a date 💀

helmetnheels: they post ONE photo and f1 twitter combusts 😭 → pitwallproblems: @helmetnheels they control the algorithm i fear

lonelyinlap3: it’s giving too curated tbh

pitlaneprophet: not y’all romanticizing two millionaires on a beach → grillthegridwife: @pitlaneprophet let me romanticize in peace 😭

lanmelie4prison: lando could do better lol sorry not sorry

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

The stars stretched endlessly above them, scattered across the ink-black sky like glitter flung by some careless hand. The moon was thin but bright, casting a silver sheen over the sand and the tips of the waves that lapped gently just a few meters away. The only sounds were the hush of the ocean, the occasional crackle of their nearly burned-out bonfire, and the faint buzz of cicadas in the distance.

Lando lay on his back, hands folded behind his head, eyes on the constellations. Amelie was beside him, curled on her side in one of his hoodies, her cheek resting against her arm as she watched him more than the sky.

They had been like that for a while—quiet, warm, full from dinner and still glowing from the movie setup he’d surprised her with. Her fingers had found his during the end credits and hadn’t let go since.

—This is kinda perfect,— she murmured after a while, voice low, like she didn’t want to break the spell.

Lando smiled, still looking up. —Yeah… I know we always joke about being main characters, but this feels obnoxiously cinematic.—

She snorted softly. —Right? There should be a slow indie ballad playing in the background.—

—Probably Phoebe Bridgers or something French,— he added.

A beat passed. Amelie blinked at the stars above, suddenly overwhelmed by how infinite they were. How small they were in comparison.

—Do you wanna play something?— she asked.

Lando turned to look at her. —Like what?—

She pushed up on her elbow and reached behind her, grabbing something from the tote bag she’d brought down earlier. When she turned back, she was holding a small red box with white letters.

WE’RE NOT REALLY STRANGERS

—Oh no,— Lando groaned, already grinning. —You brought the feelings game.—

—Yup.— She opened the box and started shuffling the cards. —Suffer with me.—

—You know I will. Go on, then.—

She picked one at random, reading it under the firelight. Her brows lifted. —Okay, starting strong: What about me feels most familiar to you?—

Lando didn’t even hesitate.

—Everything,— he said. —You… you feel like home. Like I’ve known you before I actually met you. Which sounds creepy, but you know what I mean.—

Amelie blinked slowly, her chest going soft and tight at once.

—Okay, asshole,— she said, laughing through the lump in her throat. —Top that answer, I dare you.—

He smirked and plucked a card for her. —Alright then. What part of your life do you feel most misunderstood in?—

She hesitated.

Her gaze dropped to the sand between them, fingers idly tracing shapes.

—I think… people think because I smile a lot and laugh and post pretty photos, that I’m fine all the time. That I’ve moved on from things that still keep me up at night. But I haven’t.—

She swallowed hard, then looked at him.

—Except with you. You don’t pretend I’m okay just because I look okay. You see all the mess and still… stay.—

Lando’s throat worked as he stared at her.

—I don’t think there’s ever been a second where I wanted to leave,— he said.

She reached for his hand again, squeezing it tightly.

—Your turn,— she whispered.

He pulled a new card, then laughed under his breath.

—Oh god. This one says: What do you think our relationship teaches others?—

Amelie tilted her head. —That’s a good one.—

—I think… it teaches that waiting can be worth it,— he said. —That love doesn’t have to be instant or perfect right away. That sometimes it’s messy and complicated and full of timing issues, but if you want each other, you make it work.—

He looked at her.

—That’s what we did. We made it work.—

She smiled, blinking quickly.

—It also teaches people that “just friends” is a lie.—

—True.— He smirked.

Another card. Another silence. Another laugh. And slowly, as they went deeper, the cards stopped being a game and became confessions.

Lando’s next pull was quiet. He didn’t read it right away. Just stared at it for a second too long.

Amelie noticed. —What’s it say?—

He turned it in his hand, then met her eyes. There was something more serious there now. Something delicate.

—What’s something you’re scared to tell me?—

Her breath caught, but she nodded for him to go on.

Lando sat up slightly, propping himself on an elbow. His voice was low, almost careful.

—I’m scared that someday… you’ll outgrow me.—

Amelie’s brows drew together. —Lando.—

—I don’t mean that in a self-pitying way, I just… I know who you are. How big your world is. You’ve always had this magic, this light. And I’m afraid one day, my life, my job, the travel… it won’t be enough. Or maybe it’ll be too much. That you’ll wake up and realize you need something steadier.—

She sat up now too, cross-legged in the sand, facing him completely.

—You idiot,— she whispered, her eyes wet but fierce. —I have the steady thing. It's you.—

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, her voice thick with emotion.

—Do you know how many people in my life I’ve had to let go of? How many I’ve loved and lost or pushed away because it was too hard to keep them close? And then you... you stubborn, patient, annoying boy, you stayed. Even when I told you not to.—

Her fingers curled into his.

—You make me feel safe. And I don’t feel safe with anyone.—

Lando let out a shaky breath. His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

—Sometimes I think about the night I first met you, you know? Online, during lockdown, when we were just being idiots playing video games. You made some dumb joke about marshmallows and I laughed so hard I choked on my water.—

She laughed now, soft and watery. —I remember that.—

—And I just knew,— he said. —Even then. I had no clue how or when or what we’d become. But I knew you were gonna matter. That you’d wreck everything I thought I knew about love.—

She leaned forward, forehead resting against his.

—We’re so screwed,— she whispered with a grin.

He laughed, brushing his nose against hers.

—In the best way.—

A breeze rolled in from the sea, ruffling their hair, sending a fresh wave of that salt-heavy air over them. The bonfire was down to embers now, casting a soft amber glow that flickered across their faces. The stars above twinkled brighter than ever.

—Okay,— Amelie whispered after a moment. —Your turn. Pull another one.—

Lando didn’t even look. He just picked one and handed it to her.

She read it slowly. Her voice went a little quieter.

—What do you imagine our life looking like in five years?—

He let out a soft exhale, thoughtful.

—I think… we live near the water. Maybe Europe, maybe Mexico. Or both. Two places. You’d have a studio with huge windows and terrible acoustics because you like the echo. And I’d still be racing, probably, but taking more time off. We'd make space for normal days. Grocery runs. Lazy mornings. Not constantly rushing between flights.—

Amelie nodded, eyes dreamy and far away.

—I think I’d want a garden,— she said. —And cats. More cats. Maybe one dog if it behaves.—

Lando laughed. —Björn would never allow it.—

—He’d try to kill the dog in its sleep, for sure.—

—What else?— Lando asked.

She looked at him, something glowing in her chest.

—Maybe… a kid. One. Just to see what we’d make together.—

That knocked the air out of him.

His face went soft, eyes wide and tender.

—You’d be the best mom.—

Amelie shrugged lightly. —You’d be the softest dad. Spoiling them rotten.—

—Obviously.—

They were quiet again for a moment, watching the stars blink above them.

Then Lando murmured, —You really think we’ll make it five years?—

She turned to him, kissed his shoulder.

—I know we will.—

He didn’t reply right away. Just tugged her close, tucking her against his chest as they lay back down, their limbs tangled and the sand cool beneath them.

—You’re it for me, you know,— he said into her hair. —You always have been.—

Amelie closed her eyes, heart full to the point of aching.

—I know. You’re it for me too.—

And above them, the stars kept shining, endlessly.

[butterli5]

Remus woke up every morning at 4.30 a.m. sharp.

There was something comforting about the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the oven as it warmed up, the familiar coolness of the flour-dusted counters, the soft hiss of the espresso machine sparking to life. He’d start the day by rolling out the dough he’d left to proof the night before, shaping it into loaves of bread he never failed to decorate with delicate patterns, flowers and butterflies and intricate shapes. Marlene would tease him sometimes, saying that no one cared how pretty a sandwich slice looked, but he couldn't help it. There was a certain kind of peace in making something beautiful, even if it only lasted until the lunch rush.

And like clockwork, at six sharp, Remus would hear the quiet purr of a car pulling up just outside. He didn’t even need to look. Regulus Black.

Remus would flip the closed sign to open, already setting the coffee order down by the window table closest to the kitchen door. Just the right temperature, because he knew Regulus hated it too hot. That same table had practically become his. Every day for a year now, Regulus came in with one of his well fitted suits, fancy coats and polished shoes, a sight way too unfair for a human at the crack of dawn, and then sat there with his book or his laptop, sipping quietly as he watched Remus bring out the day’s trays one by one. The usual breads. The croissants. The cinnamon rolls. The specialty of the day that always carried some odd twist or strange combination, depending on Remus’ mood.

Regulus noticed it all. The way the patterns on the loaves changed with the seasons. The way Remus’ hands moved, quick, practiced, elegant, dusted with flour and glinting with faint scars from years of hot trays and sharp knives. The way his apron always hugged his waist, tied messily but snug, fabric shifting as he moved. Sometimes, Regulus lingered a little too long watching him, the edge of his coffee cup resting against a smile he never let show. They never talked a lot, the handful of times they would try to it would end up in flustered words and flushed cheeks and awkward silences, Remus running away to the safety of his kitchen to bang his head against the wall while Regulus picked up his stuff and lamented the embarrassment of being one of the best lawyers who somehow managed to mess up a simple sentence when faced with honey colored eyes and brown caramel curls.

They didn't need words though, Remus learnt his tastes, the things he loved and the ones he didn't finish and always watched with his heart in his throat the pleased look on Regulus' face when he had a bite of the latest recipe Remus tried thinking of him, his eyes closing and a small hum that ma'aged to revebrate through his bones in the quiet of the place.

Regulus, who had found the shop by accident one day driving by, made sure to wake up every morning an hour before he needed to get to work just so he could sit down alone with Remus and watch him go about his morning, watching the way he would hum some tune or furrow his brows ever so slightly as he fixed a slightly askew muffin on the display. He also drove by 30 minutes during his lunch break even though the firm had free lunches for all the employees. He knows, because he installed that rule. Always managing to scribble a neat "thank-you" on the napkin whenever he didn't manage to see him before leaving.

Every other Sunday, he’d bring a little girl with him. Luna, his goddaughter, light-footed and sharp-eyed and wearing glittery shoes that tapped against the floor with every step. She’d climb onto the booth seat and immediately demand the “sparkly jam thing” that Remus always managed to have, as if he knew exactly when she was coming.

Remus usually kept to the kitchen more on those days after he would have made them their order, which definetly wasn't his job, but everybody knew that no one else makes a certain black haired man's drinks other than him, and it was not because he didn’t want to talk, but because he’d combust if he stayed too long watching Regulus with her. The soft curve of his smile as he cut her pancakes into moons. The way his voice dropped, gentle and lilting, when he asked, “What’s our verdict today, darling? Toastie or tart?”

That particular Sunday, it was quiet in the café. Rain whispered against the windows, and Luna was coloring with the tiny box of crayons Remus kept just for her, a paper napkin doubling as her canvas. Regulus sat beside her, thumb lazily flipping a page of his book, when Remus stilled in his place behind the counter as Luna, chin resting in her hands, asked Regulus what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday.

"If you could have any flavor and any icing in the whole wide world what would you choose uncle Reggie?" she asked in that cute whisper voice of hers that always managed to make him smile.

Remus stilled, only barely hiding the turn of his head as he eavesdropped. Regulus had smiled faintly, adjusting the little girl in his lap as she tugged on his scarf.

“I’d go with green icing,” he told her. “And lemon, maybe. I like lemon.”

“Green like the forest fairies mom talks about, I love green! Mine would be purple though!” Luna declared. “With pretty flowers.”

Remus smiled softly to himself as he set down two drinks, a hot chocolate and a cappuccino with a swirl of cinnamon, and quietly noted the date on the small calendar stuck to the fridge. So today was Regulus’ birthday.

He didn’t say anything. But that night Remus spent hours in his kitchen after closing, making the cake just the way he knew Regulus would like it the next morning, a hint of thyme in the soft green buuttercream because he didn't like overly sweet things, the layers soft and spongy and every detail Regulus had mentioned to decorate it even if he only got 3 hours of sleep that night.

The next day Regulus showed up as usual, tired, stylishly disheveled, black coat buttoned all the way up despite the spring chill already fading.

His usual coffee was already waiting for him.

But this time, once he’d finished his breakfast, Remus appeared from the kitchen with a box tied in dark green ribbon. He set it gently on the table, his fingers fidgeting with the ties of his apron, a blush rising high on his cheekbones.

Regulus blinked, then raised a brow. “What’s this?”

“Just…” Remus cleared his throat. “Luna said it was your birthday yesterday. You don’t seem like the party type, but.. well, lemon. Green icing. And purple flowers.”

Regulus stared at him for a second too long.

Then he smiled, soft, real, just a little breathless.

“You made me a cake?”

Remus shrugged, suddenly shy. “I just felt like baking.”

Regulus leaned forward, resting his hand over Remus’ flour-dusted fingers. “You do realize you’ve just set the bar for all my future birthdays, don’t you?”

Remus grinned. “Good. I’ve got years to keep raising it.”