#because she will just reach out and hold it and Even will let her.

[satellite-evans]

in his eyes

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: it doesn't matter what people say on the internet, because Lando loves you.

Word count: 3.3k+

Warnings: giving birth, angst, fluff, insecurity, nasty people on the internet

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The room was still and peaceful. After hours of pain and screaming, it was finally quiet. You could hear the faint beeping of the heart monitor in the background, but it was as if everything else had faded away. In that sacred silence, your heart felt fuller than it ever had before.

Lando’s voice broke through the quiet again, but this time, it was a little more hesitant, as if he were trying to put words to the flood of emotions swirling in his chest. “I always dreamed of this moment... but seeing her here, in my arms... it’s so much more than I imagined.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You had always known how much he longed for this day—how much he dreamed of becoming a father. But to witness it, to see him holding their daughter with such reverence, was beyond anything you could have ever expected.

“She’s so tiny,” you whispered, leaning in a little closer to get a better look at the little girl in Lando’s arms. "It’s hard to believe she’s ours."

Lando nodded, his thumb gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand, his gaze never leaving her face. “I just want to protect her. I want to give her everything. She’s going to have the best life.”

You smiled, feeling tears well up in your eyes again. You had always known Lando was capable of deep love, but seeing him like this, seeing him so vulnerable, made you fall even deeper in love with him.

“I have no doubt, Lando,” you said softly. “She’s going to have everything she needs... and more.”

Lando turned his head toward you for the first time since he’d been holding their daughter, his eyes glistening with emotion. He smiled, a soft, loving smile that melted your heart. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner. I can't believe she's mine as much as I can't believe I'm yours. We’re in this together.”

You reached out to gently stroke the side of his face, your thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. His words meant everything to you. There was no one else you’d rather share this moment, this journey, with. "I feel the same. You're going to be the best dad, Lando."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll try my best. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s happy.”

The quiet room filled with the sound of a small yawn from your daughter, followed by the soft rustling of blankets. Lando chuckled softly, clearly enchanted by the tiny noise. “She’s already got her own little personality, huh?”

You both laughed quietly, and the sound felt like music, the kind of sound that made everything else in the world feel right. “I think she’s definitely going to keep us on our toes.”

Lando nodded, but his eyes were still soft and full of awe. "I'm ready for that. As long as we’re together... we can handle anything."

Your heart fluttered as you looked at him, this man who had been your partner, your best friend, and now, the father of your child. There were no words to fully capture the depth of what you felt in that moment. All that mattered was that you were here, together, in this perfect little bubble of love with your daughter.

“She’s going to love you so much, Lando,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty.

He smiled at you, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he gazed at their daughter again. “I already love her more than I ever thought possible.”

As the moments passed, the three of you simply existed in this space, letting the world outside the hospital room fade away. There was no rush, no need for anything other than this precious time you had together, letting the quiet joy of the moment fill every corner of your hearts.

Lando's voice was low and full of affection as he spoke again, almost as if to himself. “This... this is everything I’ve ever wanted. You, her... us.”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "And we're just getting started."

The first few weeks after giving birth were a whirlwind of emotions, adjustments, and challenges. Your body was healing, and there were days when you felt overwhelmed by the exhaustion. Physical recovery was tough, and mentally, you wondered if you were doing enough. The sleepless nights, the constant feeding, the emotional rollercoaster—it was all a lot to process. But through it all, Lando was there.

You often found him hovering around you like a quiet guardian, making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. The first night you came home from the hospital, Lando insisted on taking the baby for a few hours to give you some rest. You were still recovering from the birth, and the thought of trying to breastfeed, soothe the baby, and manage the pain seemed overwhelming. But Lando stepped in without hesitation.

"I’ve got her, Y/N. You rest," he said, his voice soothing and steady as he gently took their daughter into his arms. You had to fight the urge to stay up, but you trusted him. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you slept soundly for a few hours, knowing your baby was safe and loved.

When you woke up, the sight that greeted you made your heart swell. Lando was sitting on the couch, holding the baby against his bare chest. His face, usually so focused and intense, was softened in a way you had never seen before. He gazed at her with such love and tenderness, whispering sweet words to her as she napped peacefully in his arms.

" I know I said it like a hundred times already but, she’s perfect, Y/N. Absolutely perfect," Lando had said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to disturb the serenity of the moment.

He made sure you didn’t feel the weight of the housework either. Whenever the dishes piled up, Lando was the one to wash them, even when he had been working on the simulator for hours or when the demands of his racing career were overwhelming. "I’ve got it. You just relax. You’ve done enough," he’d tell you. He even took on the responsibility of cooking, though you could tell his meals weren’t quite as delicious as when you were in charge. But it didn’t matter—what mattered was the effort, the care, the thoughtfulness he put into everything.

Lando was constantly reassuring you when you doubted yourself. He saw the way your shoulders would slump after a long day of caring for the baby, how the sleepless nights began to take their toll, and he’d be there to remind you that you were doing an amazing job. When you expressed how hard it was to adjust to motherhood and how difficult it felt to bounce back physically, Lando was quick to reassure you.

“You’re incredible. You brought life into the world, Y/N. That’s something amazing. You are enough,” he said with conviction, never once faltering in his support.

There were nights when the baby would cry, and Lando would take the lead, waking up to comfort her before you had even opened your eyes. He’d hold her, rock her gently, and whisper soft lullabies to her, making sure she felt safe and loved while you caught a few more hours of sleep. His patience was endless.

Sometimes, when you’d express that you didn’t feel like yourself, that you didn’t look like yourself, Lando would gently take your face in his hands, his eyes filled with love. “You’re the same Y/N I fell in love with. You’ll always be her. Nothing about you has changed, except maybe... you’re even more beautiful now,” he’d say with a warm, playful smile, easing the weight of your worries with his words.

Lando’s support wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. He never let you feel alone in this new chapter of your life. When you cried from the frustration of sleepless nights or the pressure of balancing it all, Lando would simply pull you into his arms. “I’m here, Y/N. We’re in this together,” he’d say, as you let the tears fall.

Even when you doubted whether you could be the kind of mother you imagined yourself to be, Lando believed in you completely. "I’ve never seen anyone do what you do with as much strength and love as you have. We’re a team," he’d remind you over and over again.

And he was right. He never let you feel like you were doing it alone. When you struggled, he didn’t hesitate to pick up the slack. Whether it was handling late-night feedings or changing diapers, he did it all with a quiet grace that made you admire him more than ever.

In those early weeks, as you both navigated the unfamiliar waters of parenthood, it became clear to you just how deeply Lando cared—not just for you, but for your little family. He did everything with the thought of making your life a little easier, even when he was running on empty himself.

"You’ve given me the greatest gift, Y/N," he told you one evening, after putting the baby to sleep. “And I’m so thankful for both of you.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

Lando smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to,” he promised. "I’m always going to be here."

And in that moment, you knew—you were never alone.

One sunny afternoon, you felt like you had enough energy to step outside. The last few weeks had been a blur of late nights, feedings, and tender moments with Lando and your baby. You loved every second of it, but you also needed a break, a small taste of normalcy. You had always enjoyed little walks and small outings with Lando, and today, you wanted to do something nice for him. He’d been so incredible, taking on the lion’s share of the care and support, and you wanted to return the favor.

So, you decided to walk to your favorite bakery. The idea was simple: get a couple of your favorite pastries as a treat for both of you. It would give you some fresh air and a little exercise, and you couldn’t wait to surprise Lando with something sweet. You’d always shared a love for pastries, and there was something comforting about going there alone, just to clear your mind for a while.

As you strolled down the street, the air felt crisp and refreshing. Your body was still adjusting, but with each step, you felt a bit more like yourself. It was the first time in a while that you didn’t feel overwhelmed, and you even caught yourself smiling at the thought of Lando, who was back at home taking care of the baby.

When you arrived at the bakery, you paused for a moment to take in the familiar, cozy atmosphere. The warm, inviting smell of freshly baked goods hit you, and you felt comforted by the thought of how much Lando would appreciate this little gesture. As you stood in line, your fingers fiddled with your phone, glancing at the screen before it was your turn to order.

“Hi, I’ll have two of the almond croissants and one of the chocolate eclairs, please,” you said, giving the cashier a friendly smile.

But then, as you stood there waiting for your order, you heard the sound of giggles behind you. You barely registered it at first, but then it came again—a group of girls, no older than your mid-twenties, talking and laughing loudly.

“You know, I saw Y/N out in public the other day…” one of them said, her voice dripping with that judgmental tone. “She’s huge now. Like, I know she had a baby, but how can she just let herself go like that?”

The other girls snickered in agreement. “Lando deserves someone better than her,” one of them added. “I mean, he could have anyone, right? Why stay with someone who just let themselves go like that?”

The words felt like a sharp slap to the chest, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to blur. You didn’t know whether to cry, shout, or just run out of the bakery. They weren’t whispering or trying to hide it—they were speaking loudly, thinking you wouldn’t hear. But you did. Every word stung.

You wanted to turn around and say something, to defend yourself, but instead, you kept your eyes on the counter, trying to hold it together as the cashier bagged your pastries. You could feel the heat rise to your face, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. It had been so long since you’d felt self-conscious, and yet, their words dug up insecurities you had worked so hard to bury.

You paid for the pastries with a forced smile, muttering a polite “Thank you,” before quickly exiting the bakery. You had to get home. You needed to get away from the cruel laughter that still echoed in your ears.

Once you were back home, the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there for a moment, taking in the quiet of the house. You set the pastries down on the kitchen counter, the warm scent of fresh-baked goods filling the air, but it did little to lift the weight that had settled in your chest. You could still hear the words from the bakery echoing in your mind, the sting of the comments, and the cruel judgments of people who didn’t know you or what you’d been through.

With a sigh, you rubbed your eyes, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Your heart was heavy, and it felt like everything was crashing down around you. Lando had been so caring, so supportive, and you didn’t want to burden him with this—it wasn’t fair to him. He had done so much to make you feel loved and beautiful, and here you were, doubting it all because of a few words from strangers.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake it off. You didn’t want to ruin this moment—this quiet, peaceful time at home with your family. So instead of seeking out Lando, you slipped quietly into the living room, phone in hand, and tried to lose yourself in something else.

You knew scrolling through social media wasn’t healthy—especially right now—but it felt like a distraction, something to fill the empty space in your mind. But the moment you unlocked your phone, it all came crashing in. The familiar blue light illuminated the room, but instead of calming you, it brought a flood of negativity.

The comments began to pour in, one after another, and with each notification, your chest tightened. The words were sharp, cruel.

"She’s disgusting." "Lando should dump her and find someone who takes care of themselves."

The comments continued to pile on, each one worse than the last. "Fat," "ugly," "why does she think she’s still worthy of him?" They cut through you like daggers, tearing into every insecurity, every vulnerability you’d tried so hard to hide. The words hit you harder than you could have imagined, and it felt like the air was being sucked out of your lungs. Your heart ached as your eyes filled with tears.

Before you knew it, the tears were flowing, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. The hurtful words from the bakery combined with the hateful comments made everything feel too overwhelming. You wiped your face quickly, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before you heard footsteps upstairs. Lando had gone up to check on the baby, and now, his soft footsteps echoed down the stairs as he walked back into the living room. When his eyes found you, his expression immediately shifted from calm to concern. His gaze locked onto your red, tear-streaked face, and he froze, clearly taken aback by the sight.

"Y/N…" he said softly, his voice full of worry as he rushed over to where you sat. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying to hide the phone in your lap, but he could see the pain in your eyes. He knelt down in front of you, gently taking the phone from your hand. You didn’t have the strength to say anything, so you simply let him read what was on the screen.

His face darkened immediately as he scanned the words. The anger was evident in the tightening of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice sharp and protective. His fingers clenched the phone as his eyes lifted to meet yours, filled with disbelief and fury.

“These people… they don’t know anything about you. About us,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. The softness in his expression faltered as he took in the full weight of your hurt. He sat down beside you, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you gently into his chest.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice soft but full of conviction. “Listen to me. You are amazing. You gave me our beautiful daughter, and your body—your beautiful, strong body—did something incredible. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Inside and out.”

The words melted your heart, but it was still hard to fight the weight of the hurt. You sniffled, resting your face against his chest, your voice breaking. “But the comments… they’re right. I don’t look like I used to. I don’t—”

Lando pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve never looked more beautiful to me. Not once, not ever. You’re the woman I love. These people? They can say whatever they want, but they don’t get to decide how I see you.”

His words washed over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the tight knot in your chest began to loosen. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his eyes full of love as he whispered, “If all the women in the world gathered together and shouted it, they couldn’t ever suppress your whisper. You’re perfect, Y/N.”

A fresh wave of tears stung your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness this time—they were from the overwhelming love you felt in this moment. Lando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual.

“I’ll always see you for who you truly are,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth and tenderness. “And if they don’t see it… that’s their problem. But as for me? I’m right here, loving you more every day.”

You laughed softly through your tears, feeling the tension in your chest dissolve. Lando’s playful tone lifted your spirits even more. "And let’s be honest," he added with a cheeky grin, "even if all of them did shout, I’d still be right here. Loving you. And no one can change that."

The gentle teasing helped lighten your heart, and for the first time in hours, you felt a small flicker of hope. Lando was right. His love for you wasn’t based on anything as fleeting as looks. It was about who you were, what you’d been through together, and the life you’d created. No one could take that away.

Lando pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips—gentle and reassuring, as if to seal the promise of his words. And for the first time since you left the bakery, you allowed yourself to believe it. You were enough. You were perfect, just as you were.

And you were loved, more than you could ever imagine.

[cowgirlvi]

Can you write about fucking Sevika pls she’s my baby

mdni. bottom sevika. sub-top fem-reader. age gap. strap-on usage. humiliation kink?

wc; 1,569

you have always admired sevika’s strength and dedication to zaun, and you’d often tell her as much; bombarding her with compliments, following her around like a stray animal she fed one too many times. to her, she’s always thought of you as an annoying, energetic bunny—bouncing around, full of energy, talking her ear off, pushing into her space with that relentless, juvenile enthusiasm. 

in bed, you’re no different. you’re just as eager, just as insatiable—pressing against her, hands roaming, lips tasting, taking in every one of her reactions with wide-eyed excitement. she can’t get you to shut up, can’t make your dirty motorboat-mouth stop blabbing to her about how tight her pussy is, how it’s gushing around your cock, and it’s embarrassing. she’s a grown woman, she’s feared and respected around the undercity, but none of that seems to matter to you. 

she’s somewhat ashamed that she’s letting you fuck her this way, knowing you’re so much younger than her, so incredibly moronic. with her strength and maturity, she feels like she should be the one taking control, breaking you down, pleasuring you—but here she is, giving in to the way you make her feel, always going back to you because you’re the best sex she’s had in a hot minute.

right now, you have her on her hands and knees, your pelvis smacking against the plush of her ass, and you relish in the way her strong body is trembling—all because of you. you’re fucking her like a bitch and sevika can only stay still and take it, because her tight hole craves this, and you know how to give it to her.

”fuuuck, i wish you could see the—hnggf—the way your pussy is gripping me, babe.” you’re whimpering and moaning as if you’re the one getting fucked, simply because the sight of sevika’s cunt around you is too much to bear.

sevika is gritting her teeth, burying her face in a throw pillow, grunting every time you drive into her. she rolls her eyes—half in exasperation, half in pleasure—because as ridiculous as you are, your strap is stretching her out just right.

sevika moans gutturally into the pillow. ”mmm—shut up, kid—hmphf!”

snickering, you press your chest to her slick, sweat-dampened back. you reach around to grope her large, hanging tits bruisingly tight. sevika gasps sharply, hissing through her teeth, because her breasts are so sensitive, so heavy that even the slightest squeeze sends a jolt of pain through her body. but she loves it—you know she does.

you can feel the heat radiating off of sevika’s body, can smell the musky aroma of your combined arousal and sweat. you’re drunk on it, intoxicated by the power you hold over this formidable, hulking woman who's trembling and mewling on your cock like a wanton whore.

“god, you’re making a fuckin’ mess on me, vika,” you groan. you’re grinding against that spongy spot deep inside her, the one that hurts so good, and her creamy pussy is hugging your strap like a vice. “tighest cunt i’ve ever, ngh, seen.”

you piston your hips forward in one sharp, sudden thrust before setting an unbearably quick pace. sevika goes crosseyed when you slam against her cunt and the white cream from her pussy is splashing all over your abdomen, marking you with her essence. she’s panting harsh and ragged like a dog.

your pace never falters. each thrust is deep, deliberate, dragging out every desperate sound she tries to swallow down. your lips trail along her shoulder, teeth nipping at the corded muscles of her neck, determined to leave a mark, to claim this feared woman as your own.

”just hurry up,” she grits out, voice rough, uneven. “i’ve got—unghh—shit to do today.”

”shhh, just let me take care of your little hole,” you coo, slowing your thrusts just to tease, relishing in the way her muscles twitch in protest. sevika groans in annoyance but all you interpret it as is sultry desperation. “that’s right—ahh, be a good bitch for me.”

god, you’re ridiculous, insufferable. you have a dirty, whorish mouth, and sevika wishes she didn’t like it as much as she does. but every filthy word that spills from your lips sends a pulse of heat straight to her core, makes her clench around you with the vice of a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. she hates how easily you get under her skin, how effortlessly you reduce her to this—gripping the sheets, biting back moans, letting you have your way with her.

it’s humiliating, the way you narrate every slick, messy detail, your voice dripping with raw, unfiltered lust. fuck, sevika, you’re taking me so good—so tight, so needy. you like this, don’t you? being fucked like this?

she wants to snap at you, tell you to shut your damn mouth again, but all that comes out is a strangled groan when you drive deeper, angling just right. and fuck, she does like it. too much. more than she’ll ever admit.

your other hand snakes down to grip the thick base of the strap, using it as leverage to somehow slam into sevika even harder, even faster. the obscene squelching sounds of your animalistic fucking fills the obsolete room, punctuated by the sharp slap of your pelvis against sevika’s ass and the increasingly desperate grunts and moans spilling from her lips.

you can feel your own climax building, the pressure coiling tight in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment. but you hold back, gritting your teeth and putting every ounce of your strength into fucking sevika, determined to make her come first, to watch her shake and shiver when she orgasms on your cock.

“unghh, sevika—! are you close? fuck, i’m so close, baby,” you whimper, desperate for her to agree.

her broad back flexes with every jolt of pleasure that wracks through her, muscles shifting under sweat-slicked skin, a gorgeous display of raw strength and vulnerability all at once. she’s gritting her teeth, groaning, cursing under her breath, but her body betrays her. her thighs tremble like a baby deer and she’s almost mewling like a kitten. it’s cute; she’s taking it, letting you fuck her open, letting you own her in a way no one else does.

”you’re gonna have to work—mmmf—harder than that if you wanna make me come, sweetheart,” she says.

sevika lets out a deep, shuddering growl, but the moment your fingers press against that aching bundle of nerves, her whole body jolts. she exhales sharply, knuckles turning white as she grips the sheets even tighter. but you don’t let up. you rub harsh, teasing circles over her clit, matching the rhythm of your thrusts, coaxing her, dragging her higher and higher toward the edge.

“holy shiiit, sev,” you groan, burying your face in her shoulder, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against her flushed tan skin. you can feel how close she is, the way her thighs tremble, the way her breath comes in shallow, shaky gasps. “gonna come for me? huh? you gonna soak my cock like a good girl?”

she wants to fight it, she always fights it, but you’re relentless, pushing, pulling, fucking her with reckless abandon until finally, finally, she snaps.

all the bones in her body tense and she feels like a rock beneath you—hard muscles and all. her back arches, a choked, guttural sound ripping from her throat as her climax crashes over her. she’s shaking, trembling like a candle flame caught in a draft, fingers clutching the sheets for dear life.

“there she is,” you murmur, dragging your teeth over her jaw. with one last groan, her body melts into the sheets like butter on warm toast; satisfied and utterly spent.

you let out a breathy chuckle, shifting to kneel behind her. your hands smooth over her strong, sweat-dampened thighs, spreading them just enough to admire the mess between them. her cunt clenches weakly, spasming around nothing, and there’s a slick, glistening trail dripping down the insides of her legs.

“fuck yeah,” you whisper, mesmerized.

still flushed and panting, sevika lets out a breathless, “what?” but you don’t answer—not with words, at least.

instead, you slide the harness from your hips, letting it hang loosely around your thighs. with one hand, you spread her pussy lips open, holding her there, watching the way her overstimulated hole flutters, aching and empty. with the other, you slide between your own legs, fingers finding your needy, neglected clit, working tight circles over the sensitive bud.

“shit, baby,” you hiss, thighs clenching, hips rolling against your own hand. you’re so turned on, so wrecked from watching sevika fall apart, that it doesn’t take long before pleasure coils hot and tight in your core, ready to snap like an elastic band stretched too thin.

“fucking love this pussy,” you groan, staring at the way she twitches under your touch, the way her body still reacts to you even now, even in the aftermath of her orgasm.

your body trembles as the pleasure crests, your orgasm hitting you fast and hard, euphoria washing over you in sharp, electric waves. your breath stutters, your muscles tighten, your soaked fingers working you through it as your eyes remain locked on her little, ruined hole.

when it finally subsides—when the pleasure ebbs into a slow, pulsing afterglow—you slump forward, pressing lazy kisses to sevika’s shoulder.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @killerbait, @blackdykegirlblogger, @thatgrlnany, @imfckngfantastic, @addison12459, @saphhvi, @f3ralpuppyg1rl

(2/18/25)

[just-aake]

Detecting Love Part 3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 3 to Detecting Love. Sometimes being able to see lies isn't the only way to know the truth.

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: fluff, light angst, slight violence

Words: 6011

Everybody lies.

It’s a skill everyone picks up from the moment they understand the world around them—instinctive, reflexive, necessary. 

Some might even say it’s the glue that holds society together, smoothing out interactions, saving feelings, keeping secrets.

Because lying is one of the surest ways to get what they want.

And when you’re the one person who can see every lie, it means you’re also the one possible thing standing in the way of what they want. 

Your power has been with you for as long as you can remember, an ever-present weight you’ve learned to carry. You’ve adjusted, adapted, built your life around it. Every conversation, every interaction—filtered through the crimson glow of deception that only you can see.

But “seeing” is the crucial part of your ability.

Which is why, at this moment, stripped of your sight, you find yourself completely at Natasha’s mercy.

The soft cloth tied around your eyes steals your vision, replacing the world with darkness. You lean back against the armrest of the sofa, letting yourself sink into the plush cushions, the absence of sight sharpening your other senses.

A soft rustling sound. The clink of items being placed on the coffee table. Then, the telltale shift of weight as Natasha settles onto the sofa beside you.

You reach out blindly, fingers stretching toward where you think she is. There’s a shift—so subtle, so deliberate—and instead of warm skin, your fingertips grasp at nothing but air.

Your hand drops onto the cushion with a quiet huff.

“You know,” you mutter, tilting your head in her direction, “this isn’t exactly what I imagined when you asked if you could blindfold me.”

A melodic chuckle answers you, warm and teasing. 

And then, a gentle touch—her hand finding yours, fingers sliding between yours in a slow, deliberate motion. The heat of her palm against your own sends a small thrill up your spine.

And then she tugs.

You’re pulled forward, your balance shifting unexpectedly. Your free hand instinctively reaches out, fingers splaying against the back of the sofa just in time to steady yourself.

The sudden proximity makes your breath hitch. 

Even without sight, you can feel her—warmth radiating from her body, the faint scent of something so distinctly her lingering in the air between you. 

The soft exhale of breath ghosts over your lips.

And finally, the press of her mouth against yours.

It’s slow at first, a testing, teasing thing. A mere brush of lips, then another. 

You hum in approval, leaning in to deepen the kiss, but just as you begin to chase the sensation, she pulls away—just enough to be out of reach.

You frown, lips still parted. 

A quiet chuckle rumbles from just beside you, her presence shifting slightly as she dodges out of the way.

“Was that what you were thinking about?” Natasha’s voice is playful, laced with amusement.

You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. 

“More or less,” you admit, voice low. You tilt forward again, intent on finding her.

Only to be met with empty space. 

You sigh in exasperation, lips jutting out in an exaggerated pout. 

Natasha’s quiet laughter follows, rich and teasing, a warm contrast to your supposed frustration.

Then, she shifts, as smooth and quiet as the expert spy she is. 

A presence—suddenly close, just beside your ear, and a breath of warmth that sends a subtle shiver down your spine.

“Unfortunately,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with amusement, “I did have something else planned first.”

Before you can react, a gentle but firm nudge pushes you back into your original position. You huff in mock protest, but there’s no real resistance. 

Instead, you settle back against the sofa, patience threading through your posture as you listen to the subtle sounds of movement—the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of utensils, the faint scrape of ceramic against wood.

Then, Natasha speaks again.

“Open up.”

A brow arches instinctively, curiosity flickering in the absence of sight, but you obey nonetheless. Lips parting slightly, you wait. 

The moment the food touches your tongue, you process the flavors—unexpected, slightly off balance, but not bad exactly. 

You chew thoughtfully, trying to find the right words, as you now realize why Natasha had spent the last few hours in your kitchen while also forbidding you from entering the area.

“Mmm, oh, that’s…that was, uh…that tasted pretty good.” 

A beat of silence. Then, a soft exhale, barely containing amusement.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Natasha states flatly.

You grin, tilting your head in her direction, unbothered at being caught.

“Hey, between the two of us, who’s the one who can actually prove whether I’m lying?”

A featherlight touch brushes against your cheek—at the edge of the blindfold, her fingers tracing along the fabric. Then, a low chuckle, close and intimate.

“Right now,” she murmurs, “I’d say my odds are better than yours.”

You roll your eyes behind the blindfold, a grin still tugging at your lips. 

“Alright, Romanoff, what’s next?”

There’s a slight pause before you hear her retrieve another bite-sized offering from the table. Then, once again—

“Open up.”

You oblige, and the moment the different food hits your tongue, a genuine hum of appreciation escapes you.

“Oh, wow. That’s actually really tasty.” 

You don’t need your sight to know she’s suspicious. It’s in the split second of silence, the charged pause that follows your reaction. 

Then—an offended scoff and a shove against your shoulder. It’s light and playful but enough to push you back slightly. 

You react on instinct. Before she can retreat, your hand darts out, fingers wrapping around her wrist. 

A surprised inhale escapes her as you tug—not forceful, just enough to unbalance her.

The next thing you know, she’s half on your lap, her weight settling against you as she catches herself with her hands on your shoulders.

For a moment, there’s only stillness. Warmth pressing against warmth, shared breaths mingling in the space between.

“I’m not lying,” you say softly, your voice steady with sincerity.

You tilt your head slightly, aligning with where you think her face is, wishing—just for a second—that you could see her.

But then, she moves.

Her hands rise, cupping your face gently, her palms warm against your skin. A second later, her forehead presses against yours, grounding you in the closeness of the moment.

“I know,” Natasha whispers.

And you believe her.

A part of you aches to look into her eyes, to see the truth in them. To witness firsthand the way her gaze would soften, the way the world itself would fade in the presence of her unwavering adoration. 

But the blindfold remains—a barrier, yet somehow making every other sensation sharper, more visceral.

You exhale, a slow, teasing smile forming. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” you murmur, “but was the blindfold really necessary for this?”

There’s a slight shift with Natasha turning her head from you as if debating whether to admit something.

“Trust me,” Natasha mutters, her voice lower, more conspiratorial. “My cooking has gotten to the point where it may be somewhat edible, but the presentation definitely needs some work.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles in your throat.

She shifts again, her nose grazing against yours now, a barely-there touch that sends a flutter through your chest. 

And then, in the smallest of murmurs, as her lips brush yours.

“Plus,” she whispers, the words melting into your skin, “I could do this.”

Just as you anticipate the full press of her lips, the warmth vanishes.

You lean forward instinctively, chasing after the kiss that never lands. Your breath stirs the space between you, lips parting slightly in expectation, but Natasha has already moved away.

A quiet chuckle—low and knowing—echoes from a different angle now, just slightly off from where she had been before.

Your brow furrows. 

“You’re playing dirty,” you mutter, tilting your head as if that might help you locate her.

Another soft laugh. Then—

A featherlight kiss at the corner of your jaw.

Your breath catches, but before you can react, she’s gone again, retreating before you can pinpoint her exact position.

You turn slightly in the direction of the touch, but then—

A kiss, just beneath your ear.

It’s brief, teasing, her lips barely making contact before they disappear again. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to catch her, to pull her back where you want her.

Then—

A press of warmth at the hollow of your throat.

Your exhale stutters, heat curling low in your stomach. You tilt your chin up, attempting to track her movements, but Natasha is already gone, shifting to another spot before you can react.

Then, a whisper, her breath fanning over your collarbone—so close but maddeningly out of reach.

“Having trouble, detka?”

You let out a quiet growl of frustration, reaching blindly in her direction, but she slips past your grasp once again. Your pulse pounds beneath your skin, every teasing press of her lips winding you tighter, pushing you further into a mix of heat and exasperation.

“I swear to God, Romanoff—”

Her laugh is like silk and fire, smooth but entirely too pleased with itself.

Another kiss, this time against the side of your throat. A sharp inhale escapes you, but before you can turn toward her, she’s gone again.

Your hands finally shoot up, reaching out in the dark, determined to catch her this time. 

But Natasha is faster. 

A whisper of movement, the ghost of her presence shifting away just before your fingers can close around her.

Your head falls back against the sofa, a frustrated groan escaping your lips. 

“I really hate you right now.”

She hums in amusement, the sound vibrating against your skin as she hovers close, just beyond reach.

“No, you don’t,” she counters easily, seeing through your lie.

You exhale sharply, trying to school your breathing. 

“Debatable,” you grumble, though you know a red aura is probably around you at the moment.

Warm hands suddenly cradle your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin with deliberate tenderness. 

You barely have time to process the shift before she finally, finally presses her lips fully against yours, capturing you in a slow, intoxicating kiss.

The tension in your body melts instantly, frustration replaced by the relief of having her exactly where you want her. Your hands find her waist this time, pulling her in with no intention of letting her slip away again.

When she eventually pulls back, just enough to break the kiss but still close enough that your breaths mingle, she smirks against your lips.

“See?” she murmurs. “The blindfold was necessary.”

You shake your head with a breathless laugh, fingers tightening at her sides.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still hopelessly in love with me.”

You sigh dramatically at the truth of her words.

“Yeah, yeah. Now kiss me properly already.”

This time, when she does, she doesn’t pull away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The steady hum of the AC sends another chill through the room, making you shiver involuntarily. Rubbing your hands together for warmth, you glance down at the document in front of you before shifting your gaze to the woman sitting across your desk. 

“You want to transfer to another department?” you ask, scanning the request form. “Are you sure?”

The woman nods without hesitation—at least, on the surface.

“It’s been weeks since our break-up, but he’s still trying to get me to take him back,” she explains, frustration laced in her tone. “It’s getting to the point where I can’t get anything done without him hovering over my shoulder.”

Your frown deepens, arms crossing as you lean forward slightly.

“Do you actually want to leave your department?”

For a split second, there’s a flicker of hesitation, a moment where her expression wavers. Then, in a much quieter voice, she mumbles, “Yes.”

And there it is.

The red glow appears instantly, surrounding her like a warning flare only you can see. A lie—one spoken more to convince herself than anyone else.

You sigh, setting the paper down.

“Look,” you say gently, “if he’s harassing you, you shouldn’t be the one who has to uproot your life to avoid him.” You meet her gaze firmly, making sure she understands. “Let me talk to him. If he still won’t leave you alone, I’ll transfer him to a different facility. Does that sound okay?”

She hesitates. Then, a slight nod.

No red glow this time.

Instead, relief crosses her face, and you nod in confirmation. 

“Alright. That’s what we’ll do.” 

She thanks you quickly, standing and heading toward the door. As you turn in your chair to discard the request form, you hear a sudden, surprised gasp.

Then, almost shyly, a mumbled greeting before hurried footsteps scurry away.

Without looking, you already know why.

“Everything okay?”

Natasha’s voice fills the room, smooth and unmistakable.

You glance back to see her stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind her as she gestures over her shoulder.

“That’s the third time I’ve seen her in your office this week.”

A teasing smirk tugs at your lips when you realize she’s been taking note of such things. You lean forward, elbows resting on your desk.

“Are you jealous?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, unimpressed. Without hesitation, she tosses the hoodie in her hands straight at your face, hitting you squarely.

You let out a muffled laugh, peeling the fabric away.

“Don’t tease me,” she warns playfully, settling against the edge of your desk. “Especially after I took the time to bring this to you.”

You hum in amusement, slipping on the hoodie. Immediately, warmth envelops you, and with it, her familiar, comforting scent. 

Natasha watches as you sink into the hoodie’s embrace, snuggling into the fabric like it’s second nature. There’s a pause before she quirks a brow.

“How come you keep forgetting to bring your own?” 

You glance up, smirk never faltering.

“Because I love yours so much.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, but the slight smile curling at the corner of her lips betrays any real irritation. Her gaze flickers downward as she plucks the paper smoothly from your hand. 

“A transfer?” she muses, raising a brow.

You exhale, leaning back into your chair. 

“Just some workplace romance drama.”

Your fingers find their way to her thigh, tracing slow, idle circles against the fabric of her pants. 

“You know how relationships between coworkers always get complicated.”

Natasha smirks, tilting her head slightly. 

“Is there something you’re trying to say here?”

You grin, about to tease her further, but a sharp beep interrupts the moment.

Natasha pulls out her comm device, checking it briefly before shutting it off with a sigh.

“I have to go,” she murmurs. “The team’s probably already at the hangar by now.”

“A new mission?”

She nods. 

“Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll probably be back for dinner.”

A playful look of apprehension crosses your face.

“Oh, uh…did you want to try cooking again tonight, or—?”

She shoves your shoulder lightly, making you laugh as she huffs in faux irritation, crossing her arms.

Still grinning, you scoot closer, uncrossing her arms just so you can hold her hands instead.

“I’m kidding,” you assure her. “I’ll wait for you to come back, and we can make something together. Sound good?”

Natasha exhales, her faux annoyance melting away into something softer. She nods, giving you a brief eye-roll before letting you hold onto her hands.

“Alright.”

You squeeze her fingers gently, tugging them slightly so she focuses on you again. Your thumb glides over the back of her hand in slow, soothing strokes. Then, the words leave your lips, unfiltered and true.

“I love you.”

It’s soft—barely more than a whisper—but woven with every ounce of affection you feel for her.

Her eyes search yours, something flickering behind her gaze. Then, she lifts a hand to your cheek, her thumb brushing along your skin as she leans in. 

The kiss is slow, lingering, and warm. Careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

When she pulls back, she hovers close enough that you can still feel her breath against your lips.

Her mouth parts slightly as if she wants to say something—as if she wants to say it back.

Your heart hammers at the thought, and for the first time, instead of fear, a surge of anticipation appears within you—to hear those words fall from her lips.

But she doesn’t say them.

The moment stretches, charged with something unspoken. And then, you exhale softly, filling the silence with your own quiet plea.

“Stay safe, okay?”

Natasha’s expression softens. A small, knowing smile lifts the corner of her lips as she whispers back, “You too.”

She squeezes your hand again before pulling away, slipping effortlessly back into her composed exterior. As she heads for the door, you watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering in your hands.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I swear I didn’t go near her this whole week.”

You barely suppress the sigh threatening to escape as you lean back in your chair, watching the man across from you. He sits rigidly, hands clasped together on the desk, his face carefully composed. But it doesn’t matter how well he masks his emotions.

Because the truth is written all over him. Or rather, it glows.

A constant red aura surrounds him, pulsing faintly as he continues to defend himself. His voice is smooth, and his delivery is nearly flawless—he might have been able to convince someone else if he had to. Maybe even turn the situation in his favor.

Too bad he has to face you instead.

You drum your fingers lightly against the desk, exhaling quietly. You’ve heard enough.

Rubbing your temple in exasperation, you make your decision.

“Alright,” you say, keeping your tone measured but firm. “I think the best option right now is to create some distance between you two. Why don’t you take some time off for yourself? And in the meantime, I’ll arrange for your transfer to another department.”

His expression tightens. “But—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Your voice cuts through his protest, cool and unwavering. You straighten in your chair, leveling him with a stare.

“Either you take the transfer,” you continue, “or you can gather your things and leave the Compound entirely. Your choice.”

For the first time in the conversation, his composure cracks. His brows furrow, lips parting slightly as if he’s struggling to process that you aren’t buying a single word of his defense. He looks at you as if searching for an opening, a way to manipulate the situation in his favor.

But you aren’t giving him one.

After a long moment, his jaw clenches. Then, reluctantly, he nods.

“Fine,” he mutters.

You nod once in return, already mentally filing the necessary paperwork to have him reassigned.

“Good. I’ll have the details sent to you by the end of the day.”

The meeting ends, and he leaves, his steps heavy with frustration. You watch him go, feeling a faint sense of relief that, at the very least, the situation will be handled.

It’s late by the time you make your way toward one of the labs. Most of the Compound has quieted down, the usual hum of activity reduced to only a few lingering agents and late-night researchers. 

You had planned to leave for the night since it’ll still be a few hours before Natasha returns, but something nagged at you—an instinct, maybe. 

A feeling that you should check in before heading out.

As you approach the lab, muffled voices filter through the partially open door. One is quiet and tense. The other is lower, insistent.

You frown.

Pushing the door open, your eyes narrow at the sight before you.

The woman who had come to you earlier stands backed into a corner, shoulders hunched as she clutches a tablet to her chest. 

The man—the same man you had just ordered to take some time away—looms over her, his stance rigid with barely restrained frustration.

“I just want to talk,” he presses, voice strained with forced patience. “You don’t have to act like I’m some kind of monster—”

“That’s far enough.” Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold.

Both of them turn. 

The woman’s eyes widen slightly in relief while the man’s expression darkens. He straightens, schooling his features into something less aggressive, something more controlled.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he exhales, clearly displeased to see you again. “She agreed to meet up with me.”

The red glow appears around him once again, and you internally groan at his constant attempts at lying to you.

You step forward between them, pushing the woman back behind you as you face the man with your arms crossed. 

“I gave you two options. This wasn’t one of them.”

His jaw tenses as his eyes flicker in suspicion between the two of you. A subtle anger forms in his expression. Then, in a flash of movement, he lunges with a punch.

You react quickly, your hand shooting out and grabbing his arm in a vice grip. With a sharp pivot of your body, you use his own momentum against him—slamming him onto a nearby table with a heavy thud.

He groans, winded but still struggling.

“Stay down,” you growl.

But he doesn’t listen.

His other hand scrambles blindly, knocking over a tray of glass vials before grabbing something solid. Before you can react, he slams the tray into the side of your head.

The impact sends a wave of pain through your skull, sharp and searing. Shards of broken glass cut into your skin, and something cold, almost slick, drips down your face.

You stagger back slightly but force yourself to recover and move.

With a burst of strength, you throw a roundhouse kick, your boot connecting solidly with his chest.

The impact sends him sprawling to the floor, where he stays motionless, unconscious.

For a moment, all you can hear is the ragged sound of your own breathing.

Then, the burning starts.

A sharp, stinging sensation spreads from where the liquid seeps into your skin, trailing down into your eyes. It burns, an unfamiliar heat that makes your vision swim.

You press a hand to your forehead, blinking rapidly to try and clear your sight, but the pain doesn’t subside, and your vision becomes even more distorted.

The woman rushes over, worry painted all over her face. “Are you—oh my God, you’re bleeding—”

“I’m fine. Just call the medic team,” you grit out, even as your head pounds with each pulse of your heartbeat.

Despite the pain, one thought drifts sluggishly through your mind.

Natasha is not going to like this when she gets back.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Is this going to take much longer?”

You sit perched on the edge of one of the medical bay beds, an ice pack pressed gingerly against the side of your head. The cool sensation numbs the dull throb beneath your fingertips, but the sting in your eyes remains persistent.

Dr. Cho, standing, you assume, at the other end of the room, hums in thought.

“Depends,” she responds. “Can you open your eyes fully without struggling?”

Your eyelids flutter slightly as you make an attempt, but the moment they part, an intense burning sensation forces them shut again. You exhale through your nose, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“It’s just that I have dinner plans tonight,” you explain, shifting slightly in your seat. “So I really need to be home sooner rather than later.”

Dr. Cho pauses briefly before revealing, “I’ve already informed Agent Romanoff. She’ll be here shortly to assist you home.”

Your mouth parts in betrayal. 

“What happened to patient-doctor confidentiality?” you ask, turning toward where you think she is.

Before she can answer, another voice emerges from the doorway—low, edged with quiet challenge.

“Were you going to try and hide what happened to you from me?”

Your back straightens instinctively at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

Your mind scrambles for a defense, but all that escapes is an unconvincing response.

“Wha–I uh…of course not.” 

Footsteps approach—calculated, steady. Then, before you can react, a warm hand cups your cheek, fingers tracing gently over your skin. Another hand, softer but firm, wraps around your own, carefully prying the ice pack away from your head. The loss of the cool compress makes you wince slightly, but the warmth of her touch quickly replaces the sensation.

Under her breath, Natasha mutters, “Terrible liar.”

You huff a small laugh. 

“Hey, you can’t be mean to me. I’m injured here.”

An amused exhale leaves her lips, and though you can’t see it, you can feel the way her expression softens. Then, a slight shift as Natasha turns away from you.

“Why can’t she open her eyes?” she asks, her tone dipping into something firmer, more concerned.

There’s a shuffling of papers before Dr. Cho answers.

“Her optic nerves were affected by exposure to a trial serum during the fight. The blunt trauma to the head certainly isn’t helping, either.”

Natasha sighs, irritation laced in the sound. Her fingers find the ice pack again, pressing it gently back to the side of your head. You flinch slightly at the contact before your hands instinctively reach for her waist, tugging her closer as you rest your head lightly against her shoulder.

“You should train more on not leaving an easy opening for them to hit you like this,” she mutters, the words tinged with quiet frustration. 

You chuckle, tilting your head slightly.

“Let’s not forget that I still took him down while blinded.”

Natasha huffs, exasperated, but she doesn’t push you away. Instead, she shifts her focus back to Dr. Cho.

“So what can we do to help her?”

There’s a sound of rustling before footsteps approach.

“These eyedrops should help alleviate the pain and speed up the recovery process of the serum’s effects,” Dr. Cho explains.

“What effects?” Natasha asks in concern.

You can practically feel the tension in her body, the way her muscles tighten subtly beneath your touch. 

Dr. Cho hesitates momentarily before answering, “We’re not exactly sure yet. The serum is still in its trial phase. But based on what we know, whatever effects there are should be temporary.”

Before Natasha can question the doctor further, you sigh dramatically. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you say, making a grabbing motion in the air, hoping someone will hand you the drops.

A hand—undoubtedly Natasha’s—swats yours down before setting the ice pack aside next to you.

“Hold still,” she murmurs.

You feel her fingers cup your cheek again, tilting your face up slightly. Then, with gentle precision, she coaxes your eyelids apart.

Cool liquid drops into your eyes, and immediately, a wave of relief washes over the burning sensation. A slow exhale leaves your lips as she repeats the process for the other eye.

It takes a few moments before the sting fully subsides. Your eyes remain shut as you wait for the discomfort to fade entirely. Then, cautiously, you let your eyelids flutter open.

The blurriness makes you blink rapidly, adjusting to the light of the room. The familiar shapes of the medical bay start to take form, Natasha’s figure sharpening before you.

But something isn’t right.

Your breath stutters slightly, eyes darting around as an unsettling sensation creeps into your chest. 

Natasha notices your hesitation immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice steady but edged with concern. 

You hesitate, your pulse picking up as your mind tries to make sense of what you’re seeing. Your brows furrow as you rub at your eyes, but when you look again, it’s still the same.

Her hands come up again, cupping your face, grounding you. Her warmth steadies your frantically beating heart. 

“Talk to me,” she murmurs, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

You exhale deeply, your gaze locking onto hers.

Then, quietly, you whisper,

“Everything’s gray.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You stare at the food on your plate, moving it around aimlessly with your fork. The once-vibrant colors that usually make a meal feel inviting are gone, leaving behind a dull-tinted palette.

Dr. Cho explained that the serum must have affected the nerves responsible for transmitting color signals to your brain. Thankfully, she assured you that the condition would be temporary. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say how long it would take for your eyes to fully recover.

Days? Weeks? Longer?

The uncertainty gnaws at you, making you lose even more of your appetite.

“You know,” Natasha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, calm and casual, “we could still order some takeout.”

You blink, looking up to see her sitting across from you, elbow propped on the table as she watches you.

“You don’t have to force yourself to eat that,” she adds, already reaching for your plate.

Your instincts kick in. Quickly, you maneuver your plate out of her reach, eyes narrowing in challenge.

“I like eating the meals you make me,” you say firmly. Then, to drive your point home, you take a large bite.

The moment the food hits your tongue, warmth spreads across your taste buds. Then, heat. A slow, creeping burn.

Your eyes widen slightly as the realization sinks in—it’s spicy. Uncomfortably spicy.

You cough lightly, reaching hastily for your water. Natasha watches calmly as you take a few gulps before finally catching your breath.

Swallowing hard, you manage to look back at her with as much composure as you can muster.

“See?” you rasp. “It’s not bad.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Then, slowly, a soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she rests her chin against her hand, a look of undeniable fondness in her eyes.

“Liar,” she mutters, amused.

The teasing tone makes you want to smile—until your gaze drops to your hands.

Your colorless hands. You turn them slowly, searching. Looking for the familiar glow—the telltale red aura that has always been there whenever someone lies. 

But there’s nothing. An unease tightens in your chest.

“How can you tell?” you whisper before you even realize you’ve spoken the thought aloud.

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks.

You lift your head, meeting her eyes.

“How can you tell that someone is lying?”

For a moment, she simply looks at you, expression unreadable. Then, something shifts in her gaze—understanding.

“Years of training and spy work help in that field,” she says, her tone light as she gives you a small smile.

You exhale slowly, the weight of everything settling heavily on your shoulders.

“I’ve had my powers my entire life,” you murmur. “Now that I can’t use them…it feels terrifying.”

Natasha listens quietly and attentively. 

“How does someone live like this?” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “Not knowing whether someone is telling the truth or not?”

Silence fills the room. The weight of the question lingers between you, and for a second, you regret bringing it up.

But before you can brush it off, Natasha speaks.

“Sometimes,” she says gently, “we just have to trust our instincts.”

You glance up, skeptical, but she isn’t finished. 

“Other times,” she continues, gesturing toward you, “there are things we just know are true.”

Your brows furrow slightly, but she holds your gaze with quiet certainty.

“It’s how I know you’re telling the truth every time you say you love me,” she murmurs.

She pauses for a brief second before offering you a soft smile.

“I can feel how true it is in my heart.”

Something inside you tightens at her words. 

To feel the truth of something rather than see it—it’s a concept that should scare you. But as you sit there, watching her, listening to the quiet conviction in her voice, you can’t help but want that.

To believe without hesitation. To know something so deeply that no confirmation is ever needed.

You swallow, steadying yourself before you ask the question that you’ve wanted to hear the answer from her for a while now but have been too hesitant to ask.

“Do you love me?”

The words leave your lips softly, but they carry a weight that settles in the space between you.

Natasha tilts her head slightly as if searching your expression for the reason behind your sudden question.

And then, after a beat, she stands from her seat.

You watch as she makes her way around the table, stopping when she’s close enough to lean against the edge beside you.

Her hand lifts, fingers brushing gently against your cheek before her palm cups the side of your face. Her thumb strokes your skin—slow, deliberate.

And then, finally—

“I love you,” she says.

It’s firm, unshaken. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Just truth.

A breath of relief escapes her lips as the words settle into the air between you, as if she had been waiting—aching—to say them.

Your heart swells, warmth blooming in your chest.

And in that moment, you understand what she meant.

You don’t need your power to know she isn’t lying. You feel the truth in every word.

Without hesitation, your hand reaches up to the back of her neck, pulling her down into a deep, lingering kiss.

She doesn’t hesitate either. She returns it instantly, sinking into the moment as if she had been waiting for this, needing this as much as you have.

When you finally pull back, lips still brushing against hers, you murmur against her mouth, “I love you too, Natasha.”

A grin spreads across her lips, her breath warm against yours as she presses a featherlight kiss to your lips—soft, lingering, a quiet savoring of the moment.

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice filled with warmth.

You barely have a second to bask in the glow of her confession before you catch the subtle scrape of ceramic against the wooden table.

Your instincts kick in immediately.

Without breaking eye contact, your hands find hers just as she tries to slide your plate away. With a firm grip, you press her hands down against the table, standing as you give her a knowing, pointed look.

“That doesn’t mean you get to take away my food, Romanoff,” you say, playful yet unwavering.

Natasha raises a brow at your challenge. She doesn’t pull away from your grip—at least, not yet.

Her expression shifts, mischief flickering behind her green eyes as she tilts her head slightly, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’m trying to prevent the person I love from getting further injuries from my cooking,” she counters smoothly.

Then, without warning, she leans in, her lips grazing against yours—so soft, so fleeting that it barely qualifies as a kiss.

It’s a tease, deliberate, and infuriatingly effective.

You instinctively chase after the sensation, leaning forward, but she stays just out of reach, hovering close enough that you can feel the smirk curling against her lips.

Her breath fans across your skin as she murmurs, voice a hushed, teasing challenge.

“Do you really think you can stop me from doing that?”

The words send a slow shiver down your spine, and in an instant, the playful tension between you crackles like a live wire. Your fingers tighten around hers slightly, your grip firm yet unyielding. A silent declaration.

Your body presses closer, the air between you thickening as you arch a brow.

“I think I have a shot,” you counter, voice low, measured, daring.

Natasha hums, the sound laced with knowing amusement. Her eyes flick down to your lips, lingering for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours, her own shimmering with something equal parts affection and mischief.

She tilts her head slightly, and the corner of her lips quirks up.

“You really are bad at lying,” she murmurs. 

And then, before you can respond, she closes the distance.

Her lips press against yours—not teasing this time, not fleeting. The kiss is slow but firm, filled with an unmistakable sense of certainty.

You lean into it without hesitation, swallowing any words she might have added, neither confirming nor denying her remark.

Not that it matters. 

You already know the truth without needing to see the red glow around yourself.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading! I know a lot of you were looking forward to this, so I hope you all were able to enjoy this part also.

[girlinaboxx]

what happened after the explosion..// sevika x reader ﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊ ﹒﹒

this is just a ramble, a short story—whatever you want to call it. no major warnings, just heavy angst.

you were losing your mind.

it was nearly 4 AM, and she still wasn’t home. six hours late. that wasn’t just late—it was unheard of. sevika was always late, sure, but never this late. maybe you were overthinking it. maybe you were being too naïve, too soft, too you to understand the kind of life she led.

but then again, maybe you weren’t.

a thousand thoughts raced through your head, each worse than the last. had a deal gone wrong? was there a fight? had someone stronger—meaner—finally taken her down? you tried to push those thoughts away, but they sank their claws in deep, festering, growing roots inside your chest. you had called. you had texted. hell, you had even stood by the door, keys in hand, heart in your throat, seriously considering breaking the one rule she made crystal clear:

“if i ever saw you at any of Silco’s— i will wreck your shit.”

a direct order. one you weren’t stupid enough to disobey. but if she didn’t show up in the next hour, you didn’t care.

then, just as your panic was reaching its breaking point, the front door creaked open.

relief flooded through you for exactly one second. then you saw her.

sevika wasn’t alone.

she wasn’t standing.

she wasn’t okay.

deckard stood in the doorway, her massive, half-conscious body draped over his arms. he looked at you like he was waiting for something, maybe for you to freak out, maybe for you to do something—but you couldn’t move. you couldn’t breathe.

because your baby was broken.

her shoulder was a mess of blood-soaked bandages and metal clamps, barely holding together the raw, exposed wound. she was awake, but only barely—bleary-eyed and exhausted, her head lolling against deckard’s chest. you’d never seen her look so small before. so… defenseless.

you wanted to scream. to cry. to shake her, demand what the hell happened, why she let this happen—why she always had to come home in pieces. but there was no time for any of that. you needed to pull yourself together. you needed to be strong. For her.

deckard didn’t say a word as he carried her inside, setting her down carefully on your couch before stepping back. you barely registered the sound of him leaving, the door clicking shut behind him. the apartment was quiet, except for her breathing—shaky, uneven, pained.

you dropped to your knees beside her, hands hovering over her as if she were made of glass.

she cracked one swollen eye open, her lips twitching like she was about to smirk, about to throw out some cocky remark to make you feel better. but nothing came.

instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, holding on like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

and then, for the first time in two years of loving her, sevika cried.

she buried her face against your chest, her broad shoulders trembling. tears—real tears—hot and silent, soaking into your skin. it shattered something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized could break.

you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer, cradling her like she was something precious, something fragile—something you would burn the world for.

you stayed like that for an hour. maybe longer. just rocking her gently, pressing trembling kisses against her temple, whispering things you weren’t even sure made sense. she never cried out loud, but you felt every sob against your chest as she soaked it in tears, in the way her grip on your shirt tightened to the point of tearing.

finally, she spoke.

“i can’t hold you like I truly want now..”

and just like that.. you heard your heart shatter, your fingers threaded through her hair, your lips brushing over her damp forehead.

“you still have me.”

and you meant it. every word.

no matter how many pieces she came home in, no matter how much she thought she lost—she still had you.

always.

[millyphobic]

☀ ‧₊˚ ┊SUNSHINE STEALER

✮ dreams are always selfish. or at least leon's dreams are. ✮

younger fem!reader x older!leon ❤︎‬ a pinch of smut, unhealthy obsession on leon's part, suicidal thoughts, heavily implied kidnapping | MDNI & DEAD DOVE

When you lay next to him late at night, Leon dreams.

He sees you barefoot and pregnant out in some beach area since you love the sea, toes buried in the sand and the sun beaming down on you. You got a cute sundress on, the one with sunflowers and whips around your ankles as the wind blows. Your tits sit all nicely on your swollen belly and you're laughing at something he said, hearts in your eyes and your hand in his.

He sees you with a babe in your arms, swaying and singing as you put their little girl to sleep. The walls are soft pink like spun cotton candy and you're the perfect shade of yellow for the nursery, swaddled in that buttercup-colored cardigan he got you as one of your many anniversary gifts.

Yellow was always your favorite color after all. Like the sun. Like gold and glitter and every valuable thing in the world. Like your wedding rings on your fingers and eye shadow you wear on date nights.

He sees you on their daughter's fifth birthday, crying and laughing as she blows out her cake candles. You're holding his arm so tightly a mark is gonna be there and he's gonna love it. As their little girl comes running to her Mama and Dad you wipe your mascara-stained cheek against his shirt and he's gonna wish this moment never ends.

He sees you late at night when their daughter is ten and at her first sleepover, crawling on top of him on the bed and straddling his waist now that the house is empty. No bra, no panties. Just a patchwork of stretchmarks on your hips and thighs and tits and damn, he just wants to hold you. You're still the most gorgeous girl in the world as you pull his boxers down, a cheeky grin on your lips as you get his dick to chub up. Twenty years later and you still sniffle as you take him in, nails digging into his chest as you sink down on his cock. It's the same, it's still the fucking same since the first hookup; every moan and sob and whimper is the exact same. When you cum your jaw still falls slack and your nose scrunches up, tears of ecstasy slipping down your face and hitting his chest.

It's a real shame he'll never see you again. You're not his wife. You're not the mother to his kids. You're a college girl with one too many shots in your system and a flight to catch tomorrow evening to go back home. You're a nobody to him and your family, already flunking out of college and crawling back like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Why'd you tell him all these things? That you love the beach and yellow and you wish to have kids in the future? That you're going home and never coming back here? You're too human for his liking, too real as he turns over to spoon your sleeping form. A beating, bleeding heart in that body of yours. You stir for just a moment, yawning and shifting so your body slots more nicely against his. He can hear your every breath, every movement you make. You're real, you're warm, and you're so beautiful it makes Leon want to kill himself.

And as he slowly begins to pepper feather-light kisses against his neck and shoulder, it really does dawn on him that he will kill himself when you leave. He can feel in the way his arms tighten around you and tears prick at his eyes. You picked him. Walked right up to him at the bar, you put your hands down his pants and groped him in front of the bartender after only a few drinks. You picked him because you're perfect for him and he's perfect for you. You're both perverts and failures but you actually get to escape your troubles on a plane while all he's got is a shiny Matilda in his nighttime dresser.

It's not fair. You shouldn't get the chance to leave him.

Leon doesn't realize he's let go of you and reaches for the dresser until the gun is already in his hand. It makes him dizzy and nauseous and he really should just walk out into the alley near his apartment and take himself out. You're probably stressed and disheartened from fucking up school and really, he should just let you be and not ruin your life any more then it already is.

But all the movement he's making has you stirring in your sleep again and he can already see the posters clear in his mind. Have you seen this girl? Went missing on a Friday night. Your parents' tear-stricken faces on the news and your photos plastered all over the media.

"...Leon?" You sound so sweet all grumpy, groaning and turning over to face him in the bed. There's no light in his room but you, no warmth in the world but you. He can't lose you, can't let himself sleep in a bedroom devoid of comfort again.

It's a real shame you'll never see anyone again. He brings the butt of the gun down on your head hard and there we go, you're out cold again.

[vincinnamontoast]

woven through pines

YELLOWJACKETS!AU vi x reader

synopsis: in the forest, love festers like something ancient—hungry, all-consuming, impossible to tear away.

words: 1.2k

contains: NO SPOILERS ! blood, mentions of violence, very slight nsfw, cannibalistic imagery, obsession/unhealthy devotion, co-dependency, survival themes, slight horror imagery, etc.

a/n: MAJORITY SAID YES SO HERE WE ARE :P I have so many drafts for this vi and yellowjackets au. I went insane hehe :>

you were bound to each other long before the crash, long before the trees closed in and the world narrowed to this.

It started before the cold, before the endless, gnawing hunger. back when love was something softer—though even then, with her, it was never truly tame. even then, there was a need, a pull, something just shy of dangerous. the wilderness didn’t create this. It only stripped away the pretense, left you both raw and real and reaching.

the first time the others truly see it—see what you and vi are—it’s in the firelight, when hunger is at its worst.

not the kind of hunger that gnaws at the stomach—that kind is familiar, constant, but bearable. that kind of thing is simple. 

no, this is something else. something deeper, something that has seeped into the marrow, turned your ribs into a cage of gnawing want, turned your heart into a beast with too many teeth. and vi—vi is the only thing that soothes it.

and that terrifies them.

because they have seen love before. they have seen devotion. they have seen desperation. but this—this is not love as they know it. this is something else.

It is love the way roots claim abandoned things, slow and unrelenting, pushing through the cracks until nothing is left untouched. It is love like ivy strangling the bones of old houses, sinking into the wood, impossible to separate, impossible to tear away without destroying the thing itself.

all of you have lost yourselves out here. you know it. they know it. the woods have stripped you of reason, peeled back the thin layers of civilization, left only want and hunger and need. you don’t remember where vi ends and you begin anymore, and maybe you don’t want to.

freckles dust her nose, her cheeks, barely visible in the dim light, but you know them by heart. you’ve traced constellations across them, kissed each one, memorized the way they shift when she smirks, when she scowls, when she’s looking at you like this—like she might devour you whole. she is gripping you too hard, too tight, fingers pressing bruises into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she doesn’t keep holding on. and maybe she should be afraid. maybe you should be, too. 

because you don’t know what you’d do if you ever lost her. and vi would tear the world apart before she let that happen. she would sink her teeth into fate itself, rip and snarl and fight until the trees burned and the sky cracked open, until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled in blood and devotion. she would hold onto you, and you would hold onto her—because love like this doesn’t wane. It only grows, winding through the cracks, steady as the earth beneath your feet.

the trees whisper above, their voices hollow and endless. the fire flickers, throwing frantic shadows across your bodies, casting your limbs into something inhuman. and vi is watching you like she sees something holy in the ruin of you. like she’s listening to something beneath your breath, beneath your pulse—some unspoken thing only she can hear.

“say it,” she breathes, her lips brushing your ear, voice raw, desperate, something starving. her fingers dig into your skin, like she’s trying to anchor herself, like she needs to feel you solid beneath her hands.

the fire crackles beside you, shadows twisting, but none of it matters. not the cold, not the hunger, not the eyes watching from the dark. just her. just the way she’s trembling against you, just the way her breath catches as she waits.

you tilt your head, just enough to catch her mouth, to taste the salt and copper and fire-smoke on her tongue. 

“I love you.”

she exhales, a ragged, shuddering thing, like those words are the only thing holding her together. and maybe they are.

because it’s the truth. because if she asked, you would let her pry you apart, piece by piece—lay yourself open and let her press her hands into your warmth. because if she needed it, you would let her sink her teeth into your ribs-–crack you open and press herself into the hollow space left behind.

the others are watching. maybe you know, maybe you don’t—but neither of you would care.

taissa’s jaw is tight, eyes dark with something unreadable. shauna’s fingers twitch, like she wants to reach out and stop whatever this is but doesn’t know how. lottie is the only one who smiles, slow and knowing, tilting her head like she understands. like she sees.

they are not afraid of monsters. they have done monstrous things themselves. 

but they are afraid of this. fascinated, yet afraid. 

because love should not be this consuming. love should not make people feral. love should not make people dangerous. 

and yet, here you are.

vi drags her teeth over your throat again, slow, teasing, before her tongue glides over the blood smeared along your jaw—the same blood she drew when your hands tangled too tight, when neither of you could tell where grasping ended and clawing began. her lashes cast shadows across her cheekbones, her blue eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide. fuchsia strands cling to her temple, damp with sweat, as she hums against your skin—slow, indulgent—savoring it, savoring you, like you’re something sacred, something she was always meant to consume.

you let her.

you let her because it soothes something in you, too. because the heat of her tongue, the press of her body, the way her hands grip you like she could keep you tethered to this world if only she holds tight enough—it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.

she murmurs your name against your skin, reverent, aching. you barely recognize the sound of it, barely recognize yourself in the way she says it, like a prayer, like an offering.

but that’s what you are now, isn’t it?

now, you are something else. something for her. something meant to be taken, worshiped, consumed. an offering—not just to vi, but to whatever force has taken root inside both of you, pulling you closer than you were tethered before, binding you together in something deeper than love, something raw and unshakable.

or maybe you are both just slowly seeping into what is more than a lost mind—sinking, unraveling, becoming.

the fire crackles. the wind howls. the trees loom overhead, ancient and unfeeling, and you wonder if this is how they love each other—wrapping and twisting and strangling until they are inseparable, until their limbs knot together so tightly that to take one away would kill the other.

vi exhales, pressing her forehead to yours. the fever between you is unbearable now, blistering, unbearable and perfect.

“If you asked me to,” she whispers, breath ghosting over your lips, “I’d let you take me apart.”

you smile, slow, sinking into her, into this.

“I know.”

and that is all that matters.

because the hunger will never leave. because it will claw and gnash and bite. and the trees will watch and they will claim lives that are not their own.

but if it must consume you, at least it will consume you together.

like roots splitting stone. like ivy sinking into ribs. like the forest reclaiming what was always meant to be its own.

a/n: someone tell me not to make a midsommar vi au too (lowk already did oops). will maybe have the rest of my little yellowjacket vi drabbles out soon :3

[nakylvr]

I need a one shot of the vampire Sophia where she’s always cold because like one day she comes home and then you notice how cold she is you’ve always noticed but it never got so bad where she won’t stop shivering and as you said it’s winter time so it’s even more colder then usual

🐻-anon

this is pretty short, sorry 😭🙏

— FROSTBITE

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, vamp!sophia, human!reader, f!reader

it had started getting colder during the winter season as the holidays approached, and while you were pretty accustomed to the cold weather, your girlfriend was not.

sophia was always cold, no matter what. with her having no real body temperature, she felt like a freezer whenever she would hug you or cup your face with her hands. and when winter came around, she was only colder.

you were sitting on the couch of your apartment, a blanket draped over your legs as you sip on a cup of tea you'd made while watching a movie. sophia had told you she'd be home soon, but that was thirty minutes ago. you didn't worry too much, though. you knew sometimes she would have to make a pit-stop and bite someone if she didn't want to bother you. she was always good about it when she would take some of your blood, never taking too much and pulling away before you would feel the notice and pass out, so you didn't mind when she did. you understood anyway, though.

the front door opens with a click, and you lean to the side over the arm of the couch to see sophia walking in. she slowly closes the door behind her, not removing her coat as she walks towards you. it's when she's standing in front of you that you notice her visibly shaking.

"are you okay?" you instantly ask, setting down your cup and looking up at her.

"yeah." she nods. "just cold," she mumbles.

"i can see that," you reply, moving the blanket off of you and standing up. "you want to go to bed?" you grab one of her hands that's freezing cold. and while it would normally make anyone flinch at the coldness, you had grown used to it.

sophia merely nods her head, her lip quivering slightly from the cold.

without another word, you start walking to your bedroom, turning on the little heater while heading in. once reaching the bed you turn and face sophia. "i love you, but you're not wearing this coat in my bed," you say, letting go of her hand.

"i'm gonna freeze," sophia complains in a mumble.

"you always are," you respond. "just take it off."

"okay," sophia grumbles, sliding the coat off her shoulders and setting it down on the dresser.

the instant she's close enough to you, you grab her hand again and pull her down onto the bed with you, hearing the quiet gasp of surprise she lets out making you giggle. looking over at her, it's evident she wants to say something but isn't for some reason, making you roll over onto your side to look at her better.

"are you okay?" you ask gently.

sophia nods, "yeah." but she is still shivering as she shuffles closer to you. "uhm, do you think you could, uh," she stammers over her words slightly, trying to figure out how to word it. when you look at her with confusion she lets out a little sigh. "do you think you could hold me tonight?" she mumbles, barely audible.

your expression softens at her words, sensing the vulnerability in them with how hesitant she was about asking it. "of course," you say with a smile. "come here." you hold your arms out to her.

sophia rolls over so her back is facing you, feeling your arms wrap around her and pull her flush against you, making her breath hitch in her throat. she immediately feels the warmth of your body, and when you pull the blanket over you both all she can think about is how this isn't so bad. she was scared of being vulnerable, of being this comfortable with someone who knew what she was and what she could do. but, she didn't feel scared when it came to you. she was comfortable with you.

"i love you," she whispers quietly, grabbing your hand and intertwining her fingers with yours.

"i love you too," you respond in the same voice, pressing a kiss on her shoulder. "get some sleep, it's supposed to get colder overnight."

"mm," she hums, nodding a bit. "then you'll call out of work?" she says in a hopeful voice.

a light chuckle escapes your lips. "yeah, sure," you answer. "because my girlfriend is a big baby who can't handle the cold."

"you know i'm already always cold," sophia whines.

"i know," you say, kissing her neck. "but i love you and your weird vampireness."

"that sounds derogatory," sophia says.

"only if you take it that way," you reply. "now go to sleep, i'm tired."

"fine," she grumbles under her breath, forcing herself to close her eyes.

the next morning, you ultimately had to call out of work because sophia wouldn't let go of you. you were now her personal heater in her words, and she didn't ever want to let go of you.

[thecuriousbeauty]

Under His Watch- Part 2 (Harry Styles x reader)

Series synopsis: Y/N, an ambitious FBI intern, joins the homicide department, where she catches the eye of the brooding head detective, Harry Styles. As they tackle high-stakes cases together, Y/N uncovers a side of Harry no one else sees. Are they just boss and intern, or something more?

A/N:- This is picking off from where we left, so I highly suggest you read Part 1 first. Thank you for all the love and comments about the series, I appreciate you all so much.

Warnings: Talks about gun shot wound, smut. Fingering, spitting, penetration(p in v)

Word count: 9.3k

_________________________________________

The cold hum of the ambulance filled the small space as it sped down the winding road, sirens wailing outside, slicing through the night. Inside, the soft beeping of medical equipment was the only other sound. Harry sat close to the cot where Y/N lay, her face pale from having a bullet through her arm. She winced with each bump, but her eyes remained locked on him, half-lidded and tired. 

The moment replayed in his head over and over, each second more unbearable than the last. He hadn’t reacted fast enough, hadn’t shielded her like he should have. He managed to tackle the man and shoot a bullet through his shoulder who was aiming his gun at y/n, but he wasn’t quick enough. The guy had shot y/n at the same time. I should’ve done more. I should’ve moved. I should’ve protected her. She was just starting out, an intern under his watch, and he had promised to keep her safe. But now she was hurt, and he had let it happen. It’s my fault, he thought, as the weight of the guilt pressed down on him, leaving him powerless and hollow.

Harry’s jaw clenched as he fought to keep his own emotions in check. His fingers hovered near her hand, the urge to reach out strong, but he hesitated, not wanting to make her feel vulnerable, yet all he could think of was how much he cared. 

“You should have stayed in the car.”, he finds himself muttering. 

“And let him shoot y-you?”, she asked, her voice raspy and her eyes flick to the white bandage on her arm, quickly tainting red. Harry noticed her breath hitching and a little bit of fear running through her eyes even though she tried to mask it. 

Harry gently turned her head back to him, index and thumb finger holding her chin, “Don’t look, y/n. Stay with me, okay?”

Y/N managed a weak nod. 

“You got hurt because you tried to protect me.”, Harry says softly, shaking his head. “I was just doing my job,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering as the adrenaline began to wear off, exhaustion creeping in.

“C-Couldn’t let the mission go s-south..” She offered a weak smile, her voice raspy. “Are you mad that I didn’t listen to you?”

He swallowed hard, the weight of his feelings pressing against his chest. How could he ever be mad at her, when in that moment, she had shown him exactly what kind of person she was? She was brave, unyielding, and selfless, and every one of those qualities only made her more admirable in his eyes.

“No,” Harry said, his voice soft, almost too soft. He leaned forward slightly, his expression genuine. “I’m not mad at you.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty, but all she saw was sincerity.

"You didn’t listen to me, and I shouldn’t have let you even come along," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, yet his words held a depth of emotion he wasn’t sure he was ready to express.  “But I can’t be mad at you. Not when you were doing what you thought was right… Not when you were doing it to protect me, to protect that little girl, to help catch a criminal.”

Her hand shifted just enough to brush against his, the touch soft but intentional. Harry finally allowed his fingers to set

tle over hers, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing the back of her hand in a silent promise. “You’re one hell of an intern,” he murmured, his words more tender than he intended. His gaze softened as he studied her, noting the way she tried to fight through the pain, the way she still cared about their mission, even now.

Harry leaned closer, his breath catching for a moment. "And promise me next time you'll let me do the heavy lifting."

Y/N gave him a small, knowing smirk before her eyes fluttered shut again, the exhaustion of the mission and her injury catching up to her. Harry sat silently beside her, his presence a silent assurance. 

________________________________________________

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as Harry carefully navigated the streets, the next day. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, her arm in a sling, but she was looking better than the day before — a little more alert, though still a little pale. The bullet had only grazed her arm, so recovery wouldn’t take too long. She had insisted on going back to her flat, not wanting to stay in the hospital any longer, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that she shouldn’t be alone just yet.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay for a bit?” Harry asked, glancing over at her as they neared her building. “At least until you’re settled in?”

“I’ll be fine, Harry,” Y/N replied, her voice soft but steady, the same determination that had led her to ignore his warnings the day before now pushing her to insist on independence. “It’s just my arm, not my whole body. I can manage.” She gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ve done enough already.”

He parked the car in front of her building, but his concern was still evident. “I don’t know, Y/N. You’re injured. You’re not supposed to be lifting anything, and what if something happens? I’d feel better if I stayed for a bit.”

Y/N bit her lip, feeling guilty for pushing him away. “I appreciate it, really,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But I’m okay. I don’t need to be babied.”

Harry let out a slow breath, still unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue further. Instead, he got out of the car and went around to open her door, offering her a steadying hand as she carefully climbed out. “Alright,” he said reluctantly, “but I’m still making sure you have dinner. And maybe a little something extra for tomorrow.”

Y/N’s heart softened at the thought. "Harry, you don’t have to—"

“I know,” he interrupted with a grin. “But I want to. So, where’s your kitchen?”

Once they got upstairs, Harry settled her on the couch with a blanket, making sure she was comfortable, while he busied himself in her small kitchen. Y/N tried to offer help, but he just gently shooed her away, telling her to relax. She couldn’t help but watch him, the way he moved with such care, every gesture deliberate. He wasn’t just making food — he was making sure she had enough to eat, enough to last. It was as if he was taking care of her in ways she hadn’t known she needed.

By the time he finished, a warm, hearty meal of pasta and grilled vegetables filled the apartment with a comforting aroma. Harry set the table, a little extra portion already packed for tomorrow.

"Here you go," he said, sitting down across from her, his eyes meeting hers. “It’s not much, but I figured it’s better than hospital food.”

Y/N looked at the plate in front of her, but it wasn’t the food that caught her attention — it was the thought behind it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for her like this. Sure, people had helped her out in the past, but it wasn’t the same. Not like this.

“I—thank you,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “This means a lot.”

Harry smiled, picking up his fork and digging in. “You’ve been through a lot. The least I can do is make sure you’re fed and taken care of for a night.” He paused, his eyes softening as he watched her. “You really don’t have to do everything on your own, you know. You’ve got people who care about you.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart suddenly feeling like it was too full. She wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, this open, but with Harry, everything seemed to fall into place. "I know," she said quietly, finally allowing herself to let the walls down. "But it’s hard to let people in sometimes."

Harry nodded, understanding, his eyes not leaving hers. “I get that.” 

They ate in comfortable silence, the conversation flowing easily between them — about the case, about small things in their day-to-day lives, and even a few personal stories shared between bites. It felt… normal. Natural. Like they’d known each other far longer than they actually had.

When they finished, Harry cleared the dishes and made sure everything was put away for the night, leaving her apartment neat and tidy. He didn’t rush. He wanted to make sure she had everything she needed before he left.

As he finished up, Y/N sat on the couch, her arm resting gingerly on a cushion. Harry turned to her, standing near the door, his hand resting on the frame.

“Well,” he said, a slight hesitation in his voice, “I should probably let you get some rest.”

Y/N looked up at him, her heart racing. She couldn’t deny the warmth she felt whenever he was around, the way he seemed to care without even asking for anything in return.

Before she could say anything, Harry moved closer, bending down slightly to press a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured against her skin, his voice barely above a whisper, and then, with a small smile, he turned and left, leaving her with a heart full of warmth and a lingering feeling of something deeper between them.

As she sat there, hand resting on her cheek where his lips had just been, Y/N couldn’t help but smile to herself. She was beginning to realize that Harry wasn’t just her partner in the field; he was someone she could trust — someone who cared for her in a way that made her feel safe, even when the world was anything but.

And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to care about him, too.

____________________________________________

Two days later, Y/N was back at her desk in the FBI office, much to Harry's dismay. He had insisted she take a full week off to recover from the gunshot wound, but Y/N had pushed back. There was too much work, too many files to go through, and far too many lessons to catch up on. 

As soon as she walked through the door, the team of detectives greeted her with a chorus of smiles and welcoming remarks. They had all been concerned about her recovery, but now that she was back, the playful teasing began almost immediately.

Eliza, who had a knack for teasing everyone in the office, was the first to speak up. “Look who’s back!” she said with a grin, crossing her arms as she leaned against a nearby desk. “We didn’t think we’d see you until next week! Did Harry finally stop hovering long enough for you to escape?”

Ethan, always quick with a joke, added, “Yeah, I’ve never seen him so worried. He was practically pacing yesterday. Thought he might’ve had a panic attack waiting for you in the hospital.”

Y/N’s cheeks immediately flushed at the mention of Harry’s concern. She had caught glimpses of his worry during her recovery, but hearing it from her colleagues made her suddenly feel self-conscious.

Nora raised an eyebrow with a slight smile. “I think Harry’s got a soft spot for you. It was kind of cute seeing him so protective.”

Cole, ever the playful one, gave a chuckle. “Oh, definitely. You two looked like an old married couple when he was fussing over you. I’m just saying, we all noticed.”

Y/N shot him a mock glare. “You guys are ridiculous,” she muttered, trying to hide the fact that her heart was racing a little faster at their teasing. 

Eliza grinned widely. “I ship it,” she said dramatically, her voice teasing. “I think you two are the perfect match. Don’t try to hide it, Y/N. The way Harry was looking after you? That’s textbook romance material right there.”

Y/N’s face went from pink to crimson in an instant. “Stop it, Eliza,” she said, covering her face with her hand in embarrassment.

The team burst out laughing, all of them thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. Just as the teasing reached a peak, the office door swung open with a soft creak, and Harry walked in. The moment he stepped into the room, the energy shifted. The playful chatter stopped abruptly, and the entire team grew quiet. Y/N’s heart skipped as she turned to face him, still feeling the warmth on her cheeks from the teasing.

Harry looked around, his brow furrowing slightly as he noticed the sudden silence. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice neutral but with a hint of curiosity. His eyes flicked over the group, landing on Y/N, who was still trying to compose herself.

Ethan leaned forward with a smirk. “Oh, nothing, Harry. We were just talking about how much you were hovering over Y/N when she was at the hospital. You know, the whole ‘I’m so worried I can’t stop pacing’ thing.”

Y/N could feel her face burning as she glanced up at Harry. His expression softened at the mention of his concern for her, though he quickly glanced back at the team with a small, knowing smile.

“It’s my job to take care of my team,” Harry said with a shrug, though his eyes lingered on Y/N for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with a glance back at the team, he added, “I’d rather worry too much than not enough.”

The playful teasing began to die down, but Eliza wasn’t quite done yet. “So, when’s the first official date, you two?” she asked, her voice full of mock sincerity.

Before Y/N could react, Harry gave the room a long, pointed look. “Enough, Eliza,” he said with a smile, his tone warm but firm. “Let’s get back to work.”

With that, Harry turned and left the office, his footsteps light as he disappeared into the hallway. The moment the door closed behind him, the team erupted in laughter once more, their teasing only escalating.

Y/N sighed and shook her head, trying her best to appear unbothered, though she couldn’t help but feel a little giddy from the whole interaction.

__________________________________________________

Y/N walked down the hallway, coffee in hand, a stack of files tucked under her arm. She knocked lightly on Harry’s door before stepping inside, her usual warmth filling the room despite the slight sadness that had been lingering in her chest all day.

"Hey, I brought you those files you asked for," she said with a small smile, placing them on his desk. She set the coffee down beside it, the steam rising in soft tendrils. “And your coffee, of course.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Harry’s fingers brushed hers as he took the coffee, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her chest at the simple touch. She had been trying to ignore how much she cared about him, how much her heart raced whenever he looked at her, but moments like this made it harder to deny. 

Harry caught the fleeting moment in her eyes, his expression softening as he looked at her. "Thanks, Y/N," he said, voice quiet, sincere. There was something in the way he said her name, a tenderness that made her stomach do a little flip.

But the moment passed, and she cleared her throat, pushing the thoughts aside. She wasn’t here to get lost in her feelings. “I should probably let you get back to work,” she said, her tone a little more businesslike, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper.

As she turned to leave, Harry’s voice stopped her.

"Y/N," he said gently, standing up from his desk. "You okay? You seem… I don’t know, a little off today."

Y/N paused, her back to him, a brief silence stretching between them before she turned back around. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she felt a pang in her chest.

"I’m fine," she lied, but Harry wasn’t buying it.

He studied her for a moment before walking over to her, his expression concerned. “Come on, I know you better than that. What’s going on?”

Y/N hesitated, not wanting to burden him with her feelings, but something in the way he was looking at her made it impossible to keep the truth to herself. “It’s just… well, these are my last two days with the Homicide department,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’ll miss the team, and… I think I’ll miss working with you the most.”

Harry’s heart tightened at her words, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure of how to respond. He hadn’t realized how much her leaving would affect him until now.

“You know, Y/N,” Harry began, his tone softer than usual, “we’re all still going to be in the same building. We won’t be far apart. And, hey,” he added, his voice a little lighter, “after your internship is over, you could always join the Homicide department for real. We’d love to have you.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered up to meet his, and a small smile tugged at her lips, though the sadness didn’t quite leave her gaze. “I don’t know. I’ve learned a lot here, and it’s hard to think about leaving. But maybe I’ll consider it… if you’ll still have me.”

Harry’s smile was warm, genuine. “You cracked some of the cases we couldn’t in the short time you were here, and you’ve learnt so much, so quick. Of course we’d have you, y/n.”

Y/N’s chest warmed at his words. “Thank you, sir..”

He nodded, head turning to the phone as it rang, but not before he asked her, “Are you going to Ethan’s party tonight?”

 His question was casual, but there was a hint of something in his tone, something that made her heart skip a beat.

She paused for a moment, surprised by the question. She hadn't thought much about the party, not with everything going on in her head, but now that Harry had mentioned it, the thought of spending more time with him — even outside of work — made her feel both nervous and excited.

"Yeah," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I’ll be there. Ethan’s been reminding me about it every day this week." 

"Good," he said. “I’ll see you there.”

________________________________________________________

Y/N walked into the lively party, the soft hum of chatter and the clink of glasses filling the air. The warm glow of fairy lights adorned the walls, and the scent of fresh flowers and cake lingered in the air. Her eyes scanned the crowd until she spotted Ethan, who was laughing with a group of friends by the punch bowl.

“Hey, happy birthday!” Y/N grinned, making her way over to him.

Ethan looked up, his face lighting up with a wide smile. “Y/N! I’m so glad you made it! Thank you, thank you for coming!”

Y/N chuckled, giving him a quick hug. “Of course! Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As they chatted, Y/N’s gaze subtly drifted across the room. She hadn’t seen Harry yet—her boss, and the man who made her pulse race every time their paths crossed. She had dressed up tonight. The red dress she wore hugged her curves in all the right ways, its fabric flowing slightly at her knees. The color made her stand out among the crowd, and for once, she didn’t mind the attention. But deep down, she couldn’t help but wonder if it would catch Harry's eye.

And then, there he was.

Harry stood across the room, talking to some colleagues, but his eyes met hers almost immediately. His gaze lingered longer than usual, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened. He gave her a small wave, his lips curling into a subtle smile, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

Y/N tried to remain composed, turning back to Ethan to finish her conversation. But she couldn’t help the flutter in her chest.  When she finally turned back toward Harry, she could see him making his way toward her, his tall frame parting the crowd effortlessly.

"Looks like someone’s popular tonight,” Ethan teased, nudging her with an elbow, his voice playful.

Before she could respond, Harry reached them, his presence commanding the room even as his tone softened with her.

“Y/N,” he said, his deep voice wrapping around her name. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “You look… stunning.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the unexpected compliment. She hadn't been ready for it—not like this. She had never heard him speak to her like that before. He wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate, especially at work. His gaze, though, was warm, and there was something undeniably intense about it.

Harry is absolutely stunning in this look. His silky gold shirt catches the light, adding a subtle glow that highlights his natural charisma. The shirt clings just enough to emphasize his physique, while the loose, effortless vibe still makes him look laid-back yet polished. The jeans fit him perfectly, showing off his figure without being too tight, and the boots give the whole outfit a bold edge, with just the right amount of ruggedness. His hair, styled into loose curls, frames his face in a way that feels so natural and effortless, giving him a touch of rockstar flair. The tattoos on his arms are on full display, adding an extra layer of intrigue to his look, hinting at a deeper personality and experiences. He looks effortlessly chic, like someone who's confident in their own skin and doesn't need to try too hard to captivate.

“I—uh… thank you,” she stammered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “You… you look great too.” She cursed herself inwardly, knowing how awkward she must’ve sounded.

Harry chuckled softly, the corner of his lips curving up. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he said, his voice teasing as he glanced at Ethan.

Ethan just rolled his eyes, knowing better than to interrupt whatever was about to unfold between them.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, his tone more serious as he looked back at Y/N, “I really meant it. You look beautiful.”

Y/N’s stomach did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. It was the first time he had ever said something so direct to her. His words hung in the air, and she felt a sudden rush of warmth spread across her skin. She was definitely flustered now, her usual calm composure slipping away.

“Thank you.”, she said, hoping that she wasn’t blushing too much.

For a moment, the space between them seemed to grow heavy, the world around them fading into the background. Y/N found herself looking up into his eyes, and it felt like the chemistry between them was undeniable now. The air hummed with tension, and she could feel her pulse quicken.

Ethan, sensing the growing awkwardness, excused himself with a grin. “Well, I’ll let you two catch up.” With that, he was gone, leaving them alone together.

"So," Harry began, "Care for something to drink?”

 "I think that’s a good idea," she said, her nerves slowly easing. "Maybe something non-alcoholic, though. I’m not sure I trust myself with anything stronger tonight."

Harry nodded, clearly amused. "Fair enough. I’ll go easy on you." He motioned toward the bar area. "How about a soda or something?”

"That sounds perfect," Y/N replied, smiling as they made their way over to the bar. The soft chatter of the party still buzzed in the background, but the closer they got to the bar, the more the noise faded, leaving only the hum of conversation between them.

As they reached the counter, Y/N ordered a cold lemonade, Harry opting for iced tea, and they leaned casually against the bar, the glasses in front of them clinking lightly as they were placed down.

Y/N took a sip of her lemonade, enjoying the cool refreshment, and then she realized she was rambling, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I’m sorry I’m late," she said with a sheepish laugh. "I meant to get here earlier, but, well, the neighbour’s cat somehow got in my flat, I ran out of mascara and some last minute outfit changes. I swear, if the universe could find a way to make me late, it would."

Harry, who had been quietly listening to her explanation, couldn’t help but smile as she continued. There was something endearing about how she seemed to get lost in the details, her hands gesturing as she spoke, her eyes wide with the intensity of her words.

"Sounds like quite the evening," Harry said, his voice warm, but his expression was softer than she expected. He was looking at her with this amused, almost fond expression, as if he enjoyed hearing her talk. “It’s good that you made it, though.”

Y/N, now realizing she’d been going on a bit too much, suddenly stopped herself, feeling a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I just—I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she said, her face flushing slightly as she tried to compose herself.

Harry chuckled, his gaze never leaving hers. "You don’t need to apologize for that," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "I don’t mind listening. It’s nice hearing you talk about… well, anything, really."

Y/N blinked at the sincerity in his tone. It was unexpected and, in a way, incredibly grounding. It wasn’t just the usual polite conversation, he was flirting with her.

So she decides to do it back.

“So, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than work clothes. Is this a new Harry I’m seeing?” she asked, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Harry laughed. “What, you think I only own suits and vests?” he teased back, a slight smirk of his own forming. 

“No,” she replied, his gaze never breaking from hers, “I’m just surprised you’ve never let us see this side of you before. You clean up pretty well.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks. Guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” he said, her voice light but with an edge of confidence.

“What does that mean?”

“That I’d love to hang out with you some time.”

She takes a sip of her drink, before replying, “Are you asking me out?”

“Would you like that?”, he questions her back.

“I think I would.”, she smiles, and he grins, going to say something but a guy comes and slaps his shoulder. “Styles! Long time!”

Harry catches up with his friend for a few minutes, but y/n notices that he’s looking at her most of the time, his eyes flick down to her dress, her legs and quickly back up. When he leaves, Harry leans in to tell her, “I have to say. You’re making it hard for me to focus on anything else tonight.” He didn’t elaborate, but his tone was heavy with meaning, making the space between them seem all the more charged.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, trying to deflect the heat she could feel in her chest. “I’d say I’m not the only one causing distractions around here,” she shot back with a playful smile, scanning the room, but she could feel his gaze still on her.

“You’ve got me there,” Harry replied, his voice dropping slightly, playful but tinged with something else. “But it’s hard to focus on anyone else when you look like that.”

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, though her lips curled into a smile.

Harry smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You like it.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she suddenly realized how close they were. Knees touching, and his lips were so close. So close she could kiss him. Before she could think about it some more, Eliza appeared at her side.

“Alright, enough of the talking,” Eliza said with a playful glint in her eyes. “Time to get you two on the dance floor!” Without even giving them a chance to protest, she grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her toward the crowd, a smiling Harry reluctantly following behind.

Y/N tried to laugh off the sudden shift. “Eliza, we don’t have to—”

“Nope!” Eliza interrupted with a wink at Harry. “You’re both going. It’s happening.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at her friend's persistence. “You really think you can play matchmaker in the middle of a party?”

Eliza’s grin widened. “Absolutely. Now let’s dance!”

Before Y/N could protest again, Eliza had them both at the heart of the dance floor, the music filling the air. The crowd around them moved to the rhythm, and so did they, y/n swayed her hips to the beats, raising her arms in the air. Harry’s hands graze her waist, like he was testing waters and when she moves back against his back, his hands hold on to her hips as he moves with her. She can feel him press against her, and the sexual tension is now hard to ignore.

His tattooed hands, clad with rings, wrapped around her, lean fingers that she’d love to have elsewhere. As the song changed, she turned around to keep her hands on his chest and he looked down at her. Harry's gaze was steady on hers, but it wasn’t her eyes he was focused on anymore. She could feel his attention shift slightly, his eyes drawn down to her lips, and for a brief moment, everything else in the room seemed to blur out of existence.

Y/N’s breath hitched, caught in the intensity of the moment. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Harry’s face either, watching as his eyes lingered on her lips with an almost palpable intensity. It wasn’t subtle—there was no mistaking the way his gaze softened, his lips parted slightly, as though he were struggling to resist the urge to close the space between them. 

For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with something unspoken. She could see the way his eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes, as if weighing the decision, the choice he hadn’t yet made.

“Do you..wanna get out of here?”, he finally whispers. 

y/n found herself nodding, “Let’s go.”

With that, Harry’s hand moved to slide over hers, gently grasping it as they weaved through the crowd and out. They were moving so fast, Harry almost tripped over twice, making her giggle. 

As soon as they were in his car, both of them didn't hesitate. Harry’s hands cup her cheeks as their lips mold together. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like a question being asked and answered in the same breath. Y/N’s heart fluttered as she felt Harry’s lips press against hers, a warmth spreading through her like nothing she had ever experienced. There was no urgency, no rush—just the quiet exchange of something deeper, something they had both been holding onto.

“About time we did that.”, he says, still breathless and wanting more of her. She hums in agreement as his tongue swipes against her bottom lip. She parts her lips, letting his tongue slip in and leans over so she can get closer to him, her hands weaving into his hair. He makes it easier by quickly moving his hands to her hips so he can effortlessly shift her to his lap and she squeaks in surprise, making him laugh into the kiss. 

He groans as he feels her press herself against him, and he grows so hard, it’s almost painful. He’s been trying to calm his little friend all night. 

“Bloody hell, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum in my pants.Let me drive us home first, alright?”

She laughed, moving back to her seat. “Alright.”

The car ride was quiet, brimming with anticipation of what was about to happen, and Harry’s hand rested on her thigh, making her squirm in her seat. She just wanted to press his hand to where she most needed him.

“You okay, love?”, he asks, taking the turn that leads to his house.

“Uh huh.”

The minute they make it inside his house, y/n’s pulling him close, connecting their lips again. “Feisty, I like it.”, Harry mumbles against her lips, his hand tracing up her thigh while the other holds her hip.

“Harry..”, she whispers his name, different from all the times she had called out to him, and he loved to hear it. 

“Don’t worry y/n, I got you.” His hand finally moves to her centre, fingers directly pressing onto her clit over the material of her panties making her breath hitch and a small moan escape her lips. “Oh baby, you’re so wet. No wonder why you were squirming in the seat.”

“All for you, Harry.”, she replies, parting her legs a little as he taps against her inner thigh. His fingers move the panties to a side and he slides two fingers inside her, fingers sleek against the wetness. 

“Oh fuck..”, she moans, her back pressing against the wall. “Please Harry..”

His skilled fingers move in and out of her, curling inside and hitting just the right spot, pleasuring her perfectly. “Wanna taste you, baby, come on, let go for me. I bet you taste so sweet.”

Her eyes roll back and her knees grow weak, but Harry holds her as she reaches her high. He takes his hand from out of her dress and brings his fingers to his mouth, licking each finger clean while looking at her. 

“Knew it, sweet as honey.”, he murmurs, and y/n giggles, catching her breath before moving her hands to start unbuttoning his shirt. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah? I can show you more.”, he smirks, watching as y/n runs a hand over his abs, tracing his tattoos. “Show me. Take me to bed, Harry.”

“With pleasure.” He scoops her up, hands splayed over her ass.

“Wait! Let me take off these heels.”, she says, making both of them laugh as she struggles to unbuckle it and Harry helps, strong enough to hold her up with one hand and help her remove the heels with the other. 

“Okay now, let’s go.”, she giggles.

“As you wish.”

They share kisses on the way to his bedroom, while she works on the button on his pants, now that she’s thrown his shirt somewhere on the way. “I like your tattoos, makes you look a lot hotter.”

“Thanks, love. Oh shit..” He moans as she palms him over his boxers. “Can I take this off?”, he asks, his hand moving to her back to the hook of her dress.

“Sure.” She lifts her hips so he can slide it down her legs, and he slides down her panties as well. His boxers are on the floor as well, and they both just stare at each other for a minute. 

“Fucking hell, you’re a beauty. Gorgeous.”, Harry’s eyes rake over her body, one hand moving to cup her breast in his hand. Every inch of her was beautiful. Her smooth, soft, skin, her breasts were the perfect size to cup in his hands and her nipples were perked up, he earned a soft moan when his thumb brushed over it.

“Is that gonna fit inside?”, she finds herself asking, looking at him quickly rip open a packet of condoms from the night stand and roll it on to his dick. He laughs, loving the ego boost. “We’ll make it fit.”

He lines himself up with her entrance, eyes admiring her glistening pussy. “That’s the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks redden under his gaze, and she takes in a breath when he pushes inside her. Slowly at first, letting her adjust.

“Fuck me, Harry..”, she moans, the slight pain turning into pleasure.

“That’s just what I’m gonna do.”, he promises, hand squeezing her breast and the other gripped her hip as he started to thrust his hips. y/n didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him, all of him. His weight on top of her. She wanted to squeeze him in further and further. She watches his face. Hair sweaty, the beautiful features of his face contorted in pleasure and she loved that she was the one making him feel like that. She wanted to watch his sweat drop onto her.

“You feel so fucking good.”, he grunts, going faster and she holds on to his back, wanting to say the same thing back, but her mouth doesn’t know how to form words at the moment. 

“L-Louder, love, wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”, he demands, and she doesn’t hold back on her moans. The hand on her breast moves to her jaw. “Open.”

She opens up for him, just as he asked, and his lips pucker a little before he spits, right onto her tongue. She moans, something like electricity zapping through her body. 

“You like that, don’t you? Such a dirty girl. Swallow.”

She does, then pulls his face down to press their lips together again. “I-I won’t last much longer.”, she warns.

“Me neither.”, he agrees, quickening his pace. 

They cum with their lips locked together, helping each other through their orgasms, riding it out. “You okay?”, he grins when he finally pulls away and she grins back at him, tired, but feeling amazing because she just had the best fuck she’s ever had in her life. 

“I’m great. You?”

“Me too.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

___________________________________________

The morning light streamed softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The air was still, peaceful, as though the world outside had paused for just a moment. Harry and Y/N were nestled together in the bed, the soft sheets tangled around them. Y/N rested her head on Harry’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her into a contented state of relaxation.

Harry’s fingers gently stroked her hair, his touch tender as he traced slow, gentle circles on her scalp. Y/N shifted slightly, her eyes still closed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she felt the warmth of his embrace.

“So,” Harry murmured softly, his voice still thick with sleep. “Do you always look this cute in the mornings, or is it just me?”

Y/N chuckled, her lips brushing against his chest as she laughed. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just you,” she teased, her voice playful. “I’m usually a total disaster before coffee.”

Harry grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You’re a total disaster? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest, “you’ve never seen me before 9 a.m. on a Monday. It’s a whole other level of chaos.”

Harry let out a soft laugh, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her back. “I’m sure it’s cute chaos.”

Y/N lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his with a playful glint. “Maybe. But only if you can tolerate it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “I think I can tolerate a little chaos, especially when it looks like you.”

She couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through her chest. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Harry leaned in, brushing his lips softly against hers in a gentle, lingering kiss. It was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that didn’t rush, but simply savored the moment. When they pulled back, their eyes met, the unspoken connection between them more evident than ever.

“You know,” Harry said, his voice soft and teasing, “if you keep looking at me like that, we might have to start the day over.”

Y/N laughed, resting her head back against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. “I think I could be convinced to stay here a little longer.”

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Harry said with a soft smile, pulling her in closer. His lips brushed against her forehead in another gentle kiss, his voice low and sincere. “This is perfect.”

But something inside her turned as she came back to reality. He was her boss, and she was his intern. How could they make it Harry, sensing the subtle change in her mood, paused in his movements. He had been so focused on the softness of their time together, the easy jokes, and the warmth of her presence, but now, he could feel the shift. Her breathing had become just a little more uneven, the tension in her body noticeable despite her efforts to remain relaxed.

“Y/N?” Harry’s voice was gentle, but there was an edge of concern. He shifted slightly, tilting her chin so that she met his gaze. “What’s on your mind?”

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his question. She hadn’t realized how much she had been lost in her own thoughts. She tried to smile, but it came out a little weak, and Harry wasn’t fooled. He’d always been able to read her, and now wasn’t any different.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing it off. “Just... thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Harry pressed softly, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. 

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to his chest for a moment. 

“I... I just keep thinking about how this is... complicated,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re my boss, Harry. I’m your intern. And I don’t want to make things difficult for either of us.”

Harry was silent for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin, his gaze thoughtful. “Today’s the last day you’re my intern, y/n. We won’t be working with each other as much in the next few months. So it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“What if I decide to work in homicide after my internship and exams?”

He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her nose. “Then we’ll figure it out. There is no rule that we can’t date co agents, you know.”

“There isn’t?”

He shakes his head. “And if they make one by that time, I’m the head of my department! Leave it up to me. But I’m not letting you go.”, he tightens his arms around her and she slowly smiles. “No?”

“Never.” 

She smiled softly, resting her head back on his chest, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on his skin as she let the quiet comfort of his embrace settle over her.

________________________________________________

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual midday noise—the clinking of trays, low murmur of voices, the hum of casual conversation. But for Y/N, it felt like everything had slowed down, the noise fading into the background as she stared at the pile of study materials in front of her. The detective exam was coming up soon, and despite all the hours she’d put into studying, her nerves seemed to have a life of their own, making it harder to focus.

She was trying to hide it, trying to keep the tension in her shoulders from showing, but she couldn’t stop the anxious fidgeting. Her fingers drummed against the table in a rapid rhythm as she flipped through her notes one more time, but the words were starting to blur together. The pressure of the exam, the weight of the expectations, it all felt like too much in that moment.

From across the table, Harry watched her, a soft frown forming as he noticed how tightly wound she seemed. They didn’t work in the same department anymore, but they still met for lunch at work whenever they could. She’d been quiet the past few days, and it was clear why now. He could see the nerves written across her face.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was gentle but firm, drawing her out of her spiraling thoughts. “You’re overthinking it. You’ve been studying for this for months. You know this stuff.”

Y/N glanced up at him, trying to force a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling... I don’t know, stuck. Like, I can’t get everything to stick.”

Harry’s eyes softened, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze fixed on hers. “You’re going to be fine, Y/N. You’ve worked hard. You’re one of the smartest people I know. Don’t let a little stress make you doubt yourself.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she finally allowed herself to relax into the weight of his words. “I just keep thinking, what if I mess it up? What if I’m not ready? I’ve been preparing so much, but what if it's not enough?” Her voice was almost a whisper, the anxiety creeping into her words.

Harry gave her a reassuring smile, his eyes warm and steady. He leaned closer, his hand resting over hers on the table, giving it a comforting squeeze. “You’ve been doing this for a long time now. You’re more than ready. You know your stuff better than anyone else in that room. And even if you make a mistake? It’s not the end of the world. You’ll bounce back, like you always do.”

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her chest ease a little as Harry’s calm presence wrapped around her like a shield. She let her eyes linger on his hand over hers, the steady warmth of his touch grounding her in the moment.

“You always know how to calm me down,” she said, her voice a little quieter, softer. It wasn’t the first time Harry had been there for her in moments like this, when doubt and pressure threatened to overwhelm her. It was one of the many reasons she trusted him, not just as a colleague, but as a friend. Someone who had always supported her.

Harry gave her a crooked smile, his thumb gently brushing over the back of her hand. “It’s easy when you’re this easy to calm down,” he teased lightly, trying to get her to relax a bit. “But seriously, you’ve got this. I’m not worried, so you don’t need to be either.”

She managed a small smile, feeling the weight on her shoulders begin to lift. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“You do,” he said, his voice steady. “Maybe not always about the exam, but I know you have it in you. Just breathe. Take it one step at a time. You’re not alone in this, alright?”

Y/N nodded, her chest feeling lighter as she looked at Harry. His words had a way of breaking through her walls, reminding her that she wasn’t doing this alone. They had been through so much together, and even if they didn’t work in the same department anymore, his presence in her life still meant everything.

“I guess I just needed to hear that,” she admitted, feeling a bit vulnerable but also grateful. “Thanks, Harry.”

“No problem,” he replied with a smile, his fingers giving hers a reassuring squeeze before he pulled his hand back. “Now, let’s get back to work. You want me to quiz you on the most difficult stuff?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge flickering in her eyes. “You really think you can handle it?”

Harry leaned back in his chair with a confident smirk, clearly not phased. “I’m pretty sure I’m the right person for the job. You ready?”

“Bring it on,” she said with a grin, her nerves starting to settle now that the pressure didn’t feel so heavy.

The next few hours passed in a blur of study sessions, laughter, and Harry’s teasing as he quizzed her on everything from case law to criminal psychology. By the time they finished their lunch, Y/N felt a little more confident, the weight of her nerves lightening with every bit of encouragement Harry gave her.

_____________________________________________

Y/N smiled as she unpacked the basket, feeling a sense of relief wash over her now that the exam was behind her. “I still can’t believe you packed all this,” Y/N said, grinning at the spread Harry had prepared. She eyed the selection of sandwiches, fresh fruit, crackers, and a couple of chocolate bars he’d included, the treats neatly arranged in front of them. It was simple, but everything looked perfect for a relaxing evening.

Harry chuckled as he poured them both a glass of sparkling water. “I know you like the little things, so I figured we’d go all out for the first time you’re free from that exam. You’re allowed to relax now, you know?”

Y/N laughed, reaching for a sandwich. “I think I could get used to this.”

They ate together, talking about everything and nothing. Harry teased her about her overthinking during the exam, saying that she’d probably over-prepared and knew more than half the people who’d be taking it with her. Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her.

Then they just laid on their blanket, picnic basket forgotten for now as they looked up at the night sky.

The sky above them was breathtakingly clear. The stars were scattered across the heavens like diamonds, twinkling in the vast blackness. The full moon bathed the landscape in silver, casting soft shadows on the grass around them.

She could feel the quiet comfort of his presence next to her, the warmth of his body next to hers despite the coolness of the air. There was no rush, no need to speak, just the shared silence between them, peaceful and full of unspoken understanding.

For a while, they didn’t say anything, just stared up at the stars. Harry’s hand, resting on the ground near hers, brushed lightly against her fingers, a casual touch that made Y/N’s heart flutter unexpectedly. She turned her head slightly, catching him glancing at her with a small, almost unreadable smile, before he returned his gaze to the sky.

“So many stars,” Harry said softly, his voice low and thoughtful. “It’s hard to believe how far away they all are.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze shifting to his profile. The soft glow from the moon casting shadows over his features.He looked so beautiful. She couldn’t help it—everything about this moment felt perfect. Harry, beside her, always there for her, always steady. 

It felt like the right moment, the perfect time to finally say the words she had been keeping in her heart for so long. Turning her head, she met his gaze. His eyes were soft, watching her with a curiosity that made her heart swell. “Do you know something, Harry?”

“What is it, love?”

“I love you.”

Finally, Harry smiled, a soft, affectionate grin, and he reached out, gently kissing her lips. “I know, silly. I love you too.”

She grinned, kissing him again. “It’s nice to hear you say it.”

“I’ll say it a thousand times for you, and more. I love you, I love you..”, he kept saying as he kissed every inch of her face and she giggled, knowing that this was just the start of something beautiful.

__________________________________________________

The echo of her footsteps rang through the hallways of the FBI building as Y/N hurried down the corridor, her heart racing in anticipation. The results of her detective exam had just been released, and the moment she saw the passing mark, she couldn’t waste another second. She needed to tell Harry. She needed him to know that all the late nights, the stress, and the pressure had finally paid off.

She passed.

Y/N smiled to herself, the excitement bubbling in her chest, but it quickly faded as she spotted Eliza and Ethan ahead. Her friends waved at her, but her focus was fixed only on one thing: finding Harry. She raised her hand in a quick, distracted greeting, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

“Hey, Y/N!” Eliza called out, but she was already on the move, her footsteps quickening as she tried to get past them.

“What's the rush?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, we’ve gotta celebrate together—”

But Y/N was already a few paces ahead, not wanting to waste another second. “Later! I’ll catch up with you guys later!” she called over her shoulder, her mind racing toward the one place she needed to be: Harry’s office.

When she reached the door, she didn’t knock, instead pushing it open and stepping inside, breathless and flushed with excitement. Harry sat behind his desk, speaking into the phone, his posture relaxed but his attention fully on the conversation. His office was as immaculate as ever, the view from his window stretching out over the city. But for now, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the result of her exam.

She paused, standing there for a moment, waiting for him to notice her. Harry’s eyes flicked up at the sound of the door opening, and his smile bloomed instantly when he saw her. He waved her in, his gaze flickering with a mix of curiosity and affection.

“Hang on a second,” he said to the person on the other end of the call, a brief but polite interruption. “I’ll call you back in a bit,” he finished, ending the conversation and setting the phone down on his desk.

“Y/N,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an amused glint in his eyes. “What’s got you running in here like this?”

“I... I passed,” Y/N said, her voice breathless as she stepped into the office, her hands still trembling from the rush of nerves and excitement. “I passed the exam, Harry. I did it.”

Harry’s expression softened, his smile widening as he stood up from behind his desk, clearly just as thrilled as she was. “I knew you would,” he said, moving toward her with long strides.

Before she could say anything more, Y/N stepped forward, her arms wrapping around him in a tight, spontaneous hug. She felt his arms go around her immediately, pulling her close. For a moment, they stood there, simply holding each other, the quiet joy of the moment enveloping them. All the tension, all the uncertainty, it was gone. All that mattered was the accomplishment, the love and the shared happiness between them.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. Harry smiled down at her, his hand gently cupping her cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. I knew you had it in you.”

They had another minute of silence before Harry interrupted it.

“So,” he began, his voice low, “now that you’ve passed... you’ve still got to decide what comes next, right?”

She nods, pulling back. “That’s why I’m here.” She looked up at him with respect, and admiration. During her internship, being part of no other department gave her the rush like how she felt being part of the homicide department. That was where she wanted to work. The group of people she loved working with and she hoped she could bring a lot of cases to justice and just do her best. She would be working alongside Harry, if everything worked out. Her mentor. The one who had guided her, taught her, and believed in her from the very beginning.

“I’d like to join the homicide department, if you’d have me.”, she tells him.

Harry grins proudly. “I told you we would always be open to having you on board, y/n.” He extends his hand, professionally. “Welcome to the department, Detective Agent y/ln.”

She clasps his hand, smiling wide. “Thank you, Detective Agent Styles. Thank you for everything.”

________________________________________

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[jhyoos]

Of Roses And Steel

chapter eight : all is found

knight sevika x queen reader

mentions: fluff, sevika being soft, royalty au, medieval au, angst, caitvi, reader finally gets a break

notes: this is just a filler. still important stuff in here though

↲ previous chapter

The water was warm as you dipped your feet inside, the gentle ripples lapping against your skin. A strong hand traced up the back of your leg, gripping your calf, guiding it toward soft lips that pressed a lingering kiss against your skin.

Sevika.

She reclined in the tub, her broad shoulders and battle-worn body sinking into the steaming water. Her back rested against your lap, head tilted back between your thighs, completely at ease. Naked and vulnerable, she let herself melt under your touch, her usually hardened exterior softened by exhaustion and trust.

You dipped your fingers into the scented soap, lathering it into her damp hair. Slow, deliberate strokes massaged her scalp, working through the strands as the warm water trickled down her back. She let out a low, satisfied groan at the sensation, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to do this for you every day,” you teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Sevika chuckled, the sound deep and husky. “I won’t hold you to it, beautiful,” she murmured, though the way she leaned further into your hands told a different story.

You rolled your eyes but smiled nonetheless, continuing your work until the last of the soap had been rinsed away. The room smelled of lavender and warm oils, the steam curling in the air around you both, turning the space into something intimate, something safe.

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, letting your lips linger against the damp skin. “I’m done,” you whispered.

Sevika reached up, her fingers grazing your knee in a silent thanks, her body sinking further into the water, fully trusting you to take care of her—even if just for a little while.

As you rose to your feet, preparing to step away from the tub, a firm yet gentle grip closed around your wrist. You barely had time to react before Sevika's fingers tightened just enough to make you pause.

You looked down at her, your brows raising slightly in curiosity. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice soft but wary.

Sevika tilted her head back against the edge of the tub, gazing up at you with lidded eyes, exhaustion mixing with something else—something unreadable. The steam curled around her, making her dark skin glisten under the dim lighting.

“Get in with me,” she murmured, her voice deep, almost coaxing.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “No, because it’s gonna lead to something besides bathing,” you countered, crossing your arms.

Sevika smirked, her grip still firm on your wrist as she pulled slightly, just enough to make you waver on your feet. “It won’t. I promise,” she said, her tone softer now, almost earnest. Her thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, her gaze searching yours.

For a moment, you hesitated. You knew her—knew how easily she could twist a promise into something else, knew how quickly things could shift between the two of you. But there was something in her eyes tonight, something tired yet longing, something that made your resolve waver.

Sevika tugged again, just enough for you to take a half step closer. “Please,” she added, voice quieter now, laced with something unspoken.

And just like that, you sighed, already knowing you’d lost this battle.

You undressed yourself, letting your clothes create a small pile before getting in. The warm water embraced you as you lowered yourself into the tub, settling in front of Sevika. Her body, solid and familiar, pressed against yours as she relaxed back against the curve of the tub. You let out a small sigh, the heat soaking into your muscles, easing away the lingering aches.

“How’s your arm?” you asked, tracing your fingers lightly over her shoulder, just above where her mechanical limb should have been.

Sevika exhaled through her nose, rolling her remaining shoulder slightly. “It’s healed mostly. Still can’t do my usual training.” There was frustration laced in her voice, a familiar edge.

You hummed, resting your chin on her shoulder. “Jinx said she’s almost done with your mechanical arm. She wants to add new tweaks to it as an apology.”

Sevika scoffed, tilting her head to the side, letting it rest lightly against yours. “With how long she’s taking… I better be able to fly.”

You chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her damp skin. You knew how much she hated being without it—how vulnerable she felt. Sevika was a fighter, a warrior through and through, and without her arm, she felt incomplete.

“You’ll be fine, Sev,” you reassured her, running your fingers absentmindedly through the water.

She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “The castle… is it almost done being built?” There was something hesitant in her voice. “Living in someone else’s home doesn’t feel right.”

You sighed, closing your eyes briefly. “A few more weeks and it’ll be ready.” You hesitated before continuing, voice softer. “I’m afraid of my coronation.”

Sevika turned her head slightly, her good arm shifting beneath the water. “Why?”

“So many of my people lost their lives during the battle.” You swallowed, the guilt heavy in your chest. “I feel like they hate me…”

Sevika shifted then, her full attention on you. “No one hates you,” she said, her voice firm. “Not on my watch.”

Her words were final, unshakable, as if she could will them into truth by sheer force alone. You wanted to believe her, to take comfort in the certainty in her voice. You wanted to believe that when the time came, your people would still look at you with trust instead of resentment.

Sevika’s fingers found yours beneath the water, squeezing gently. “You led them. You fought for them.” She turned her head just enough to look at you fully. “And you won.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah… we did.”

Sevika smirked, shifting slightly to nudge your nose with hers. “Damn right, we did.”

After a few weeks, the castle was back to normal—of course, with a few tweaks of your own. You upgraded to the latest furniture, ensured the maids had new kitchenware, and made small improvements that made the place feel more like home. You settled in quickly, relieved to sleep in your own bed again. The memories it held, both good and bad, clung to you like the lingering scent of rose petals in the halls.

Sevika had her mechanical arm returned by Jinx before she and the Piltover family departed. Jinx apologized once more, and this time, Sevika simply placed a heavy but affectionate hand on her head in silent acceptance. For a while, things felt normal again. But one thing never changed—you missed the presence of your father. Every day, during your coronation rehearsals, you passed the towering painting of him. You would always say something as you walked by:

"I’ll make you proud."

"I’ll see you tomorrow."

"I hope you’re looking down on me."

And now, the day had finally arrived. Your coronation.

People from all kingdoms had come to witness it, a historic moment that had never before occurred in Zaun's history. They came not just to see the rise of a new ruler, but to behold the woman who had brought about Ambessa Medarda’s downfall. You had gained a name among them—The Rose. Delicate, beautiful, but armed with thorns sharp enough to draw blood.

As you prepared for the ceremony, the maids worked efficiently to dress you in your coronation gown—a deep, shimmering red masterpiece. The fabric cascaded like liquid fire, sculpting around your form before fanning out in a breathtaking train. The one-shoulder design wrapped elegantly around you, as if the dress had been molded to your body by the hands of fate itself. A pair of matching red gloves, adorned with delicate embroidery, completed the ensemble, adding a regal edge to your look.

The maids had just finished securing the last folds of your dress when the door opened. Sevika entered, her heavy boots muffled against the plush rugs. The maids hesitated at her presence, their hands momentarily still before resuming their work when you gave no sign of protest.

"Yes, my love?" you asked, catching her reflection in the grand mirror before you.

"Why are there so many people here? How many invitations did you send out?" she questioned, her arms crossed.

You turned slightly, adjusting one of your gloves. "I only sent them to Piltover. I don’t know why, but different kingdoms have come. Never in Zaun’s history has this happened. At least, that’s what the priest told me," you mused.

Sevika’s brow furrowed. "I made sure the place is heavily guarded. I don’t want anything happening to you."

You smiled at her concern. "Nothing will happen, Sevika. They’re just a bunch of dumb rich people."

The maids finished their work, stepping back to allow you to admire your reflection. Your hair was an intricate display of artistry—half-up, styled into three braided roses that sat elegantly at the back of your head, with the rest of your dark curls cascading down your back. Small pearls, like dewdrops, were delicately placed throughout, giving an ethereal touch to your regal appearance.

You turned to face Sevika, carefully spinning to let her take in the full effect. "What do you think?" you asked, watching her reaction.

Sevika took a slow step closer, her gaze running over every detail before she met your eyes. "You look gorgeous," she said, voice low and sincere. She leaned in, her breath warm against your lips before pressing a lingering kiss to them. You melted into it, savoring the quiet moment before pulling away with a soft chuckle.

"Go and do your duties, Sev. Go socialize," you teased, brushing a gloved hand against her cheek.

"Yes, ma’am," she murmured with an amused smirk before reluctantly stepping away and exiting the room.

"Time for makeup, ma’am," one of the maids said gently.

"Of course," you replied, taking one last glance at yourself in the mirror.

Tonight, you were not just a woman. You were a queen.

The grand hall of the castle shimmered under the golden glow of chandeliers. Every seat was filled—lords and ladies from distant kingdoms, envoys bearing gilded gifts, and the people of Zaun who had fought beside you, all gathered to witness the crowning of their queen. The air was thick with anticipation, a quiet hum settling over the room as they awaited your arrival.

You stood at the edge of the towering double doors, your heart pounding in your chest. Beneath your gloved fingers, the fabric of your crimson gown felt smooth, grounding you as you took a breath. This was your moment—one you had fought, bled, and suffered for.

The doors opened slowly, and as the light poured through, so did you.

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. You walked forward with measured grace, your chin held high. The crimson gown trailed behind you like a river of blood and fire, a symbol of power and rebirth. Each step was deliberate, echoing through the hall as you approached the raised dais where the priest stood, the Zaunian crown gleaming in his hands.

Sevika stood at the side in her polished armor, her mechanical arm glinting under the light. Her gaze was unreadable, but you knew her well enough to feel the pride beneath her rough exterior. Vi and Caitlyn stood nearby, their expressions softer—supportive.

When you reached the dais, the priest stepped forward, his voice echoing through the chamber.

“Who comes forth to claim the crown of Zaun?” he asked solemnly.

“I do,” you said firmly, your voice ringing with authority.

“And by what right do you claim this throne?”

You lifted your chin, your voice unwavering as you declared, “By blood, by battle, and by the will of the people.”

The priest gave a nod of approval before turning to the crowd. “Do you, the people of Zaun, accept this woman as your rightful queen?”

A beat of silence. Then, the hall erupted in sound.

“Long live the Queen! Long live The Rose!”

The chant echoed through the chamber, fierce and unwavering. You swallowed back the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you as the priest turned back to you, lifting the crown.

“By the power vested in me, I crown you Queen of Zaun—may your reign be long and just.”

He lowered the crown onto your head, its weight settling against your hair. For a moment, everything was still. You weren’t just a daughter anymore. You weren’t just a survivor. You were a queen.

Turning to face your people, you stepped forward to deliver your speech.

You inhaled deeply, allowing your voice to flow through the chamber—strong, poised, and undeniably feminine.

“My people,” you began, letting your gaze sweep across the faces before you. “I stand here today not only because of my bloodline but because of you. You have endured pain, loss, and hardship. You have bled for this kingdom, and because of your strength—we are still standing. I would not be here if not for your loyalty and courage.”

Your voice softened slightly, the vulnerability behind your words raw and honest.

“This crown upon my head—it does not only belong to me. It belongs to every hand that held a sword in battle. To every heart that mourned a loved one. To every family who still calls Zaun home. My father, the late King Silco, built this kingdom on strength and ambition. But I will lead with more.”

You paused, letting the words sink in. “I will lead with compassion. With wisdom. With justice. No hand will go unfed, no voice unheard, and no enemy will dare threaten our lands again.”

The room hung on your every word.

“I am your queen, but I am also your protector. Your shield and sword. My reign will not be one of fear—but of hope. Together, we have proven that Zaun cannot and will not fall. Let our enemies tremble, for The Rose has bloomed, and her thorns are sharp.”

A wave of applause broke out, the sound deafening. You could feel the energy of the room—this was not just ceremony. This was a promise.

You lifted your hand to quiet the room as you spoke your final words.

“To those who would seek to harm my people—know this. Zaun will always rise. And I will rise with it.”

With that, you stepped back, the applause growing louder, thunderous in your ears. As you descended from the dais, Sevika met you halfway, her expression unreadable but her hand warm when she grasped yours.

"You did it," she murmured softly.

"No," you said, squeezing her hand. "We did it."

And as the celebration echoed around you, you knew—this was only the beginning. You were no longer a girl who lived in the shadow of your father. You were a queen—a force to be reckoned with. And no one would ever take that from you.

The grand hall had been transformed for the celebration. Opulent chandeliers cast golden light over the polished marble floors, and the scent of roses and fine liquor lingered in the air. Music played—a blend of Zaunian and Piltoverian styles, a silent testament to the merging of two worlds under your rule.

The room was filled with nobility from every corner of the continent. Some had come out of genuine respect, others out of obligation, and a few merely to see if the newly crowned Queen of Zaun would falter under the weight of her crown.

One by one, they approached—dukes, duchesses, foreign royals—all offering their congratulations.

“You must tell me,” an older noblewoman from Piltover cooed, her gloved hand resting delicately against her chest. “How does it feel to rise from the ashes? To wear the crown of a man as formidable as your father?”

You held your glass aloft, the deep red of your wine swirling like blood. “It feels deserved,” you said simply, offering a polite smile before shifting your gaze elsewhere.

A nobleman from Noxus, draped in deep crimson robes, smirked. “And how did you do it? What did it take to reach this throne?”

You turned toward him, tilting your head slightly. “More than most could endure.”

He chuckled, clearly expecting a more elaborate tale, but you offered nothing more.

Each conversation was the same. They wanted the details—the suffering, the blood, the triumph. But tonight was not for storytelling.

Eventually, you excused yourself from the latest conversation, weaving through the crowd until you reached the balcony. The cool night air was a relief against the warmth of the room. Below, the city lights of Zaun twinkled like stars against the darkened streets.

“Do you need anything to drink?”

You turned at the familiar voice. Sevika stood behind you, her broad frame relaxed, but her sharp eyes scanning your face as if assessing how much of the evening had worn you down.

“Yes, please,” you sighed, exhaling the tension that had settled in your shoulders. “Scotch would be really nice.”

Sevika’s brow lifted slightly, amusement flickering across her features. “Wow… scotch,” she said, as if the choice was unexpected.

You smirked, resting your hands against the cool stone of the railing. “What? Did you think I’d ask for wine like some delicate princess?”

She huffed out a quiet chuckle. “No, but still. You don’t seem like a scotch drinker.”

You turned your gaze back toward the city, the lights below mirroring the stars above. “A lot has changed.”

Sevika lingered for a moment before nodding, slipping away to fetch your drink. And as you stood there, the weight of the crown still settling on your head, you realized something—this night wasn’t just a celebration. It was a message.

After a few glasses of scotch, the warmth spread through your body, leaving your limbs loose and your mind light. Sevika had been watching you closely, the ghost of a smirk on her lips as she finally reached out, her firm grip landing on your shoulder. She turned you to face her, her dark eyes scanning yours.

“You okay, beautiful?” she teased, her voice smooth, edged with amusement.

You hummed, tilting your head, feeling reckless under her gaze. “Mhm… but I’d be better if you bent me o—mmm!”

Before you could finish, Sevika’s hand clamped gently over your mouth, her chuckle vibrating against your skin. “Someone’s had a little too much,” she mused, shaking her head. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Without hesitation, she took your hand, fingers interlocking with yours, her warmth grounding you in the sea of dizziness. As she led you through the grand hall, past murmuring nobles and lingering guests, she made a simple yet firm declaration:

“The Queen is retiring to her chambers early. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

There was something final in her tone—no one dared question it. You couldn’t help but giggle, intoxicated by both the scotch and the woman at your side, as she guided you away.

The moment you entered your chambers, the door barely clicking shut behind you, Sevika was on you. Her hands, strong and sure, worked at the laces of your gown with an urgency that made your breath hitch. Fabric pooled at your feet as her lips found yours—hot, demanding, and completely consuming.

Your hands fumbled at your corset, but she helped, her calloused fingers making quick work of the intricate ties. The moment it loosened, she pulled it away, and her lips trailed lower, pressing against your collarbone, then your shoulder, her breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“I love you so much,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in her hair as she held you close.

Sevika paused, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. A softness flickered in her expression before she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

She grabbed the crown from off your head, putting it down on the nightstand.

Sevika laid you down gently on the bed, pulling off the last piece of fabric on your body. Your panties.

You bite your lip as you giggled watching her pull them down. “I’m gonna wipe that smile right off your face once I’m done,” she says.

She was correct.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You stirred slightly, shifting beneath the soft silk sheets, only to realize you were still wrapped in Sevika’s embrace. Her arms were snug around your waist, her steady breath brushing against your skin. Your head rested against her chest, rising and falling with each deep inhale, and you could hear the rhythmic beat of her heart beneath your ear.

She looked so peaceful like this—so relaxed, so beautiful. The hardened warrior softened by sleep, her features smooth, lips slightly parted. You allowed yourself to watch her, to take in every detail before she inevitably woke.

Soon enough, her lashes fluttered, and her dark eyes slowly opened, landing directly on you. A lazy smirk curled on her lips as she caught you staring.

“Are you gonna do this every time we sleep together?” she asked, voice husky from sleep.

You grinned, completely unashamed. “Most likely, yes.”

She chuckled, pulling you even closer before pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck. The warmth of her lips sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could react, she captured your lips in a deep, slow kiss. Her hands roamed lazily over your sides, fingers brushing against your bare skin, her touch familiar and intoxicating.

Then, with a smirk, she rolled over, pinning you beneath her with effortless ease. Hovering over you, she ran her fingers along your jaw before tilting your chin up, her lips hovering just above yours.

“Is it too early to fuck again?” she asked, teasing, her breath fanning against your lips.

You tangled your fingers in her hair, pulling her down until your lips brushed. “It’s never too early.”

And with that, you captured her lips once more, pulling her into you, the morning quickly becoming something much more than just another sunrise.

taglist : @tinycherry0 @thesecondhandwoman @abbysleftbicepp @artfairyyyyy @bunninel @furrytaesss @savedforlaterr @veladeangl @5t4r1i9ht @imheadintothemountains @adora-moonshine @sevikasrightboob @80saturn @littlerainsprite @runawaybaby3 @rhian88 @athena-winters13

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 17

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- Hii guys! I appreciate all the love! Hope you’re loving the series so far! 🤍 Next chapter will be out Thursday! Don’t forget to like and reblog, it really means the world!

Billie’s POV

“Billie!”

“Forget about it. Don’t bother trying anymore.”

“What are you saying?” I watched her continue to pace.

“You break all your fucking promises! You couldn’t even prioritize me this one time!” She shouted, her voice higher pitched than usual.

“Billie I have to take care of myself too! We’re not married! We don’t have to be attached at the hip every second of the day!” I yelled.

“That’s not-“

I cut her off, grabbing her duffle bag and tugging on it so she’ll stop. “You’re not gonna do this again! You’re not gonna disappear and stop talking to me just because I couldn’t cancel my life to be in yours!”

She yanked it back aggressively, “What difference does it make! I don’t see you unless I make the effort! Our plans don’t matter to you!”

“That’s not true! I could’ve just cancelled on you, but I made the effort so this wouldn’t happen again!” I shouted, successfully taking her bag out of her hands, causing her to stumble a bit. “Stop pushing me away!”

“Stop breaking my heart! Every time, you tell me you’re going to make time for me, then you find something more important, you break my heart!” She pulled her bag out of my grasp by the straps, pushing me backwards so I wouldn’t fight it.

My stupid high heels gave in, causing me to fall between a coffee table and the couch. She dropped the duffle, letting it fall by her feet and immediately reaching her arms out.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean to-“

I smacked her hands away, grabbing onto the side of the couch and helping myself up. “Don’t.” I glared at her.

She sighed, watching me take off my heels.

“Fine, Billie, have it your way. You want me to come see you so bad, and when I finally do, you find things to be mad at me about. I can’t do everything you want me to do whenever you want me to do it!”

“OH! So she CAN stand up for yourself?” She snaps.

For some reason this was my last straw. “You are such a fucking asshole! Nothing is ever good enough for you! Imagine if every time I needed you and you were busy with touring, or interviews, I made you feel like shit for not being here!”

I shoved her backwards a couple times as I ranted.

The expression on her face was unfamiliar, like she was looking at a stranger. She looked shocked, astounded, even. Before she could even react she stumbled back, over the duffel bag. She caught herself, avoiding a bad fall.

“You’re a bad friend! You only care about yourself!” Tears escaped my eyes as she wrapped her hands around both my wrists to stop me from continuing to shove her.

“Remy, quit.” She grasped tightly into my wrists, but the adrenaline kept me from noticing as I continued to walk us across the room. “Stop, I don’t want to hurt you!” She shouted in my face, knowing she could forcefully restrain me, but chose not to.

Her back pressed up against the wall and her hands migrated to my triceps, all in one swift motion. She held me there, looking into my eyes, not exactly scared, but perhaps beside herself.

“You need to go.” She glanced between the door and us, motioning for me to leave.

“I got tossed around at work for months, and I needed you here with me, and you were everywhere else! But did I fucking attack you for it? No! Because your job is sooo important and makes you sooo much money-“

“Yours doesn’t make you happy! You know it’s true! Look at you! Do you enjoy dressing up in short dresses for old men so they let you be part of the conversation?!” She secured me in her firm hold.

“No, dude! What the hell is this? Huh? Why are you so fucking obsessed with what I wear, and what I do at work? Why are you so up my ass about everything-“

“I don’t like what you’ve become! They’re changing you, I’m losing my best friend!” She looked me up and down, keeping a tight grip on me.

My nails dug into her arms, attempting to get them off me. “No, because you do this shit with anyone I’m interested in- Everything has to go through a quality check with you. Why are you so fucking jealous of anything at all I give my attention to!?”

“I don’t care, I was right about Stevie! It took you like five hours to figure out what I knew the second I laid eyes on her!”

“Why are you SO obsessed with Stevie? Do you, like, have some fucking crush on me, or something?!” I tore her hands off me, backing away.

She stared at me, her back still leaned against the wall. There was pain in her eyes. Silence fills the room as I pick up my clutch and step into the shoes that I’d haphazardly thrown to the side, slipping them on as best I could.

When I looked at her again, I saw her quickly glance away and wipe her eyes.

“Okay, Regina George.” She squinted her eyes at me, defensively. “I’m just trying to look out for you because I know how you are!” She shouted.

“You don’t know anything about me! Not anymore. Your world is too far detached from mine. All I do is walk on fucking eggshells around you because lately, I’m so scared to piss you off, or- or disappoint you!” I reached out my arm pointing towards her.

“What? How?!” She winced.

“You’re my best friend! You’re the last person that’s supposed to make me feel like that! I have too many people in my life that make me feel like that!” My voice was scratchy, breaking at the sight of tears coming from Billie’s eyes too. “Why cant you see that I’m trying? Why does no one see that? No one appreciates anything I fucking do!”

Her sad eyes widened, “That’s not true! I love you more than anything! I appreciate-“

I cut her off, “Then why is everything I do with my life such a fucking inconvenience to you!”

“You make me feel like the least important fucking person on the planet. If you think I’m a piece of shit friend, what the fuck does that make you?” She cried, wiping her tears away before they could fall. “You fucking promised!”

“I kept my fucking promise, Billie!” I got closer to her again.

“I was the last fucking stop of your day! I wanted to be the first!”

“What else did you want, princess?”

She screamed in my face, “Nothing! Not anymore!”

She wiped at her eyes again, smudging her eyeliner even more than it already was.

“Fine.” I fidget with the straps on my heels, bending over to see them better through my water eyes.

Finneas opened the door, scaring me a little. “Hey, everyone is waiting for you guys in the bus.” He said, poking his head in. He quickly notices Billie in tears, and the dense energy floating about the room.

“Everything… okay?” He walked in, looking at us both.

“No.” She said. “I want her to leave.”

Finneas looked between her and I, trying to figure out what had just happened. He opened his mouth to say something, but took it back, exchanging a look with Billie.

I began to walk out, but Finneas stopped me, blocking the door. “You both need to just have a talk. I think there’s-“

“No, Finneas, let her leave. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What doesn’t matter anymore?” Finneas asks, urgently. I glance at Billie, seeing her rub her temples to combat a couple tics.

“Any of it! This. Us.” I answer for her.

Finneas grabbed Billie’s duffle bag off the floor, noticing the footprint tracks all over it from being stepped on.

I walked out, not even bothering to limp. I didn’t even notice I had rolled my ankle when she pushed me, but the adrenaline from our explosion flowed through my body. It wasn’t until I sat in the empty lobby, calling an uber to take me to the nearest hotel I could afford, that I noticed how swollen it was.

While I waited, Finneas reappeared, wondering if I was okay. I’m sure billie caught him up because he asked me if I needed help finding a flight back home.

I shook my head, “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” I closed my eyes, putting my face in my hands. “Probably just get a rental and drive home.”

“Well, we’ll be here until late tomorrow. You got a place to stay tonight?”

I nodded. He let me know where they’d be staying for the night and said his goodbyes, as my uber pulled up. He walked me out to it, verifying the driver was legit and I climbed in the back seat.

Finneas leaned into the car, resting his elbows into the door frame, “You know, she’s the one who asked me to come check on you… To make sure you make it out okay. She told me not to let you leave unless I make sure you’re gonna be safe.”

I stared at the seat in front of me, blinking slowly.

“Have a good night.” He tapped the top of the sedan after closing the door for me.

At the hotel, I limped out of my stupid dress, and climbed in bed. With no change of clothes, I knew I had to figure something out tomorrow. I laid there, my eyes open, staring at the ceiling. My brain so unsatisfied, revisiting things I said or did, coming up with anything that would make things different. I knew I would barely get any sleep tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the morning sun came back around, I woke up to the hotel phone ringing. “Hello?”

“Hello, I was just calling from the front desk to let you know someone is here asking for you.”

“Who is it?” I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

“A Maggie Baird?”

I sighed, relieved it wasn’t Billie. “Send her up, please.”

I got up and wrapped a large, white hotel robe around me, waiting for Maggie to knock on my door. Meanwhile, I checked my phone, seeing 4 missed calls from work, already knowing I’d never hear the end of it from Joe.

When she came in, she had a tote bag full of stuff. “Hey sweetheart, I brought you some clothes and shoes. Finneas told me you were limping pretty bad and Billie thinks you flew here with nothing.” She set it on my bed.

“Thanks, Maggie.”

She hugged me, rubbing my back. “Of course, honey. You know, it’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t think so, I can’t keep doing this back and forth with her. We’re just from two different worlds.”

“You two grew up in the same world, you know?” She watched me walk over to the bed, examining the clothes inside the tote.

I wondered if I should even bother explaining anything. I’m sure Billie already told her everything, and painted me out to be the bad guy.

“I know, but I think now we’re too different.”

“You guys are best friends. You don’t know how much she cares about you, Remy.” She sat next to me, pulling me into her shoulder.

“I care about her too, but clearly it’s not enough.”

“Well I want you to know that I love you dearly, and I’m always going to be here for you.” I sighed, wishing I had a mother like Maggie. I thought of all the times I needed a mom, and Maggie stepped up, making me feel like part of the family. “Don’t be a stranger, please.”

I nodded, giving her a hug. “Thank you for bringing this. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else. You have a way to get home?”

“Yeah.” I lied.

“Okay, be safe, hun.” She left.

I could smell that all too familiar scent coming from the clothing in the tote. I pulled out some white sweats and a white matching sweatshirt with Japanese writing on both of them. I saw a pair of Billie’s converse for me to wear and some socks rolled up inside them. A pair of boyshorts, a sports bra, and a hair tie were at the bottom as well, making me smile because she thought of even the smallest detail. I walked over to the shower, turning the knob to its hottest setting, and waiting for it to heat up.

Once clean, I put on the clothes, and checked out of my hotel. I ubered straight to the car rental and began the trip back home.

3 hours into the road trip, I checked my phone as it buzzed constantly, realizing it’d be best to call in sick, instead of ignoring the rest of my problems. I groaned, reaching for it in the passengers seat. Sadly, the Bluetooth on this old rental did not work, and the radio stations kept repeating the same 8 songs over and over again, driving me insane. I lowered the volume to give the office a call, but my phone slipped out of my hands.

“Fuck me, bro!” I stabilized the steering wheel and leaned down into the passenger’s seat floor, trying hard to reach for my phone.

I grabbed onto the floor mat, pulling it towards me in hopes my phone would be within reach. I heard someone on the opposite side of the highway honk their horn at my swerving, causing me to sit back up and look at the road ahead.

“Fuck.” I whispered to myself. I tried one more time, touching it with my fingertips and using my nails to get it closer.

“Ha!” I grabbed it, immediately swerving back into my lane. I began typing, letting Joe know I was sick but would be back in tomorrow.

As I hit send, everything went completely black.

[prettyangellllll]

Friends with benefits

tags: toxic friends with benefits relationship, this took an intense turn for a hot sec

Her body is trembling beneath him, wrecked, spent, and yet—still begging for more. The room is dark, the sheets are damp, and Rafe is lost in the way she clings to him, her hands gripping his back like she needs to hold on or she’ll slip away. But she won’t. Not yet. Not when he has her like this.

His name falls from her lips in a moan, breathless and desperate, and his grip on her hips tightens, fingers pressing deep into the flesh as he drives into her harder. He needs this. Needs her like this—under him, around him, consuming him. It's the only thing that makes sense, the only time he isn't spiraling, drowning in his own darkness.

And then it happens.

Soft, barely audible, but he hears it. A whisper against his skin, lost between gasps and moans, but there’s no mistaking it.

“I love—”

His whole body seizes up.

She doesn't even finish the sentence before he snaps.

His grip turns bruising, his pace turns punishing, and she whimpers beneath him, her hands pushing against his chest for just a second before she gives in and lets him take whatever it is he’s trying to get from her. He fucks her harder, faster, like he can erase the words before they settle, like he can drive them out of his head the same way he drives into her.

No. No. She doesn’t love him. No one loves him. No one can love him.

She’s just caught up in the moment. It’s the way he’s making her feel, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.

But the thought won’t leave his head, won’t stop echoing in his ears, and it makes him reckless, makes him mean. His hand knots in her hair, tugging her head back so she has no choice but to look at him, her lips parted, her eyes glassy, pupils blown wide with pleasure. She looks at him like he’s something more than what he is. Like he’s worth something. Like she means it.

A cruel smirk twists his lips. “What was that, baby?” His voice is low, dark, but he doesn’t let her answer. He swallows whatever she’s about to say with his mouth against hers, biting, devouring, desperate to take back control. To shut her up. To shut himself up.

Because for a second—a single, fleeting second—he let himself believe it. And that scares the shit out of him.

So he fucks her until she’s too wrecked to think, until the words disappear into the night, until all that’s left is the sound of skin against skin and the way she sobs his name when she falls apart beneath him.

And when it’s over, when she’s limp and breathless in his bed, when she reaches for him like she always does—he turns away.

He can’t let her say it again.

[nottsim]

— ᴡʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʙᴀɢ 𝒽𝑜𝑔𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𝒹𝓇 ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ

⊹ ࣪ ˖ my dr consists of a mix of old and new. it’s got parchment for the vibes and a phone for when the vibes are too slow.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

୨୧ bag alert: strictly post class essentials ୨୧

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐞 - 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐠

before we start let’s not forget to give credit where credit is due: to my partner in crime and my lover (don’t tell Theo). my shoulder bag aka..me in bag form — scratched, worn and somehow holding way more than it should. it’s a love child made with leather and chanel and ofc much love from its doting mother.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 - 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝

my sturdy willow wand is the overachieving intern who’s carrying the whole operation..literally. it’s the ultimate multitool. works as a weapon, light source, impromptu back scratcher and occasional toothpick..just kidding kids.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 - 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬

magically enchanted to stay flawless even after inhaling a concerning amount of pumpkin pasties. priorities, right? making out with Theo? never heard of it. anyway...nude is my everyday go to, gucci to line and chanel to make for very expensive kisses.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 - 𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐬 & 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

ciggy wiggies and a lighter — strictly for aesthetic purposes, like dramatically flicking the lighter open while contemplating the meaning of life..aka Theo’s. he stashed them in my bag and i left them there because i value my sanity more than i value lecturing him on lung health. pick your battles ladies. the lighter is engraved with “𝒯.𝒩“ because subtlety is for peasants and gold is prettier. it was a gift for Theo but he insisted on stashing it in my bag, convinced it’d be safer there than in his pocket. too fancy for his usual chaos but somehow its always within his reach. his fingers are always on it, flicking it open and closed. moan.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 - 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

mirror, mirror..expensive? yes. worth it? also yes. tiny but mighty, just like me and makes you feel like you have your life together..sigh #this mirror gets me

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤 - 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐦 + 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝

a polaroid of Theo? essential, because yes i’m that person who stares at it after five minutes apart (guilty). a reminder that i’m dating peak perfection while barely holding it together…just kidding, i’m the hot one in this relationship. my pink digicam? it’s my way of making sure i don’t forget a single second basically. from the snowflakes on my ravenclaw scarf to that one time Pansy accidentally poured her entire drink over Blaise. my digicam’s practically my personal time machine, making sure i never forget how perfect it all is. it’s the sound of footsteps echoing in the corridors, the flicker of candlelight in the common room, the faint scent of parchment and ink…but then, Theo’s laughing with Mattheo and just like that I’m reminded. yeah, this is real :’)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 - 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬

for when i’m trying to focus in the library but instead, quill in hand, i’m scribbling random thoughts on my parchment (definitely not taking notes). the wooden chairs creak in that oddly comforting way and the soft whispers of students pretending to study fill the air. but instead of getting anything done i’m blasting my playlist..productivity? who is she?

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 - 𝐠𝐮𝐦

for when Theo’s around and i need to make sure i don’t smell like a snack before i become one. the fear of bad breath is a lifelong battle that follows me into this reality too like an eternal nemesis. i scripted fresh breath but don’t mind me..chewing on my minty armor like i’m preparing for battle. #toungefight..what?

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐦𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 - “𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞”

the magical artifact of modern sorcery: my phone. it’s the muggle relic of my bag, my emergency lifeline per se. texting? sure. calling? if absolutely necessary. it’s a modern day crystal ball, except it only predicts when i’m about to run out of battery..right. social media? it exists, just somehow tucked away from muggles. don’t ask me how it works, i just curated my instagram.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

that’s it. nothing too wild…unless you count the 20 receipts, a handful of bobby pins and enough hair ties to start a collection. but yk? aesthetic.

from the bottom of my bag, 𝐣𝐚𝐬 “𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐢” ୨୧

[prettygirl-gabi]

Not Ready

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

POV: First-person (Paige)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: Paige always thought love was supposed to be enough.

Word Count: 1.3k+

I never thought goodbye could taste so bitter, like the remnants of a goodbye kiss that never landed, hanging in the air between us. The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of the bedside lamp, casting long, aching shadows across the walls. I stand by the door, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, my fingers gripping the strap like it’s the only thing keeping me steady.

I’m leaving.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched into fists on her lap, nails digging into her skin like she’s trying to keep herself from breaking. I know she’s trying not to cry. And I hate that I’m the reason she has to.

I exhale sharply, bracing myself for the final blow. “We both don’t want to do this, I know. But you have to understand that we need this.”

She shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek so hard I worry she might draw blood. “That’s not true,” she whispers, voice raw, fragile. “We don’t need this. You think we do, but—” She stops herself, swallows back a sob, and shakes her head again. “I don’t.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a second, I almost falter. Almost let the weight of them knock me off my feet. But I can’t. I have to stand my ground, even if it hurts.

“You think I want this?” My voice is thick with emotion, barely holding steady. “That this isn’t killing me, too?”

“Then don’t go.” Her voice cracks, splintering between us like the fracture in my chest. “Stay.”

My breath stutters, but only for a second. Then I shake my head. “You know I can’t.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over her face. “Why? Because we fight? Because we don’t always get it right? That’s what love is, Paige! It’s messy and it’s complicated, but you don’t just walk away from it because it gets hard.”

I close my eyes, my jaw tightening. “It’s not just about the fighting,” I murmur. “It’s about us losing ourselves in it. We’ve stopped being good for each other, and I love you too much to let us destroy what we have left.”

She shakes her head and stands up abruptly, stepping closer, desperate to close the gap I keep forcing between us. “That’s not fair,” she says, voice trembling. “You don’t get to decide for both of us that we’re done.”

I open my eyes, finally meeting hers—really meeting them. And it wrecks me. Because I see the hope still lingering there, the hope that I’ll take it all back, that I’ll tell her I’m wrong and that we can fix this.

But I can’t.

“I’m doing this for us,” I say, and I hate the way it sounds like a lie, even though it isn’t.

“For us?” Her voice rises, and I can see her chest rising and falling faster, her heart slamming against her ribs. “How is breaking both our hearts for us?”

I look away, gripping the strap of my bag even tighter. “Because if we don’t do this now, we’ll only end up resenting each other.”

She shakes her head violently, stepping forward until she’s close enough to touch me—but she doesn’t. Her hands tremble at her sides. “Paige,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’m not ready to lose both a lover and a friend in one night.”

My breath catches, and for a second, I feel everything—every crack in my resolve, every unspoken word sitting heavy in my chest. But I can’t give in to it. I have to walk away before we ruin this even more.

So I lift a hand, letting my fingers barely brush her cheek before I pull away, afraid that if I linger, I won’t be able to go through with it. “You will be,” I whisper, my voice shattering against the silence. “You just don’t know it yet.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes searching mine like she’s looking for something to hold onto. But I have nothing left to give.

I turn toward the door, reaching for the handle.

And then, just like that, I’m gone.

The silence that follows is unbearable. I know she’s still standing there, probably staring at the door like she’s waiting for me to come back. But I don’t. I can’t.

I tell myself this is the right thing, that one day she’ll understand.

But as I step into the night, the cold air biting at my skin, I know I’m wrong.

Because how do you ever prepare for losing the person you love most?

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[wlwsoccerfics]

Little Tillie(KatieMcCabeXCaitlinFoordXBabyReader)

Summary: your Mommy has a hard time letting you leave with your momma for national camp.

Your Mommy was laying on the floor with you. She had to put you down because you were supposed to do some tummy time. Something you hated with passion. Which you let her know by crying. Trying to look at her but your head felt extra heavy today. You mastered the task of rolling over on your own though. So that was something.

"i hate to see her upset! That's my little Angel right there! I won't see her for like two weeks and the last hours i have with her is her crying over tummy time? No not today!" Katie stated and looked at Caitlin.

"you are such a Softie!" You hear your momma say to your Mommy. Which was true.

"i don't care! How can i say no to this perfect little Girl?" Your mommy asked and picked you up. You stopped crying right away and cuddled up to her. Glancing over at your momma like she had just offended you with that stupid tummy time and your Mommy came to safe the day.

"she got you wrapped around her little Fingers!" Your momma said. "But i understand that you are going to miss her. I promise that we gonna Facetime you every day and i will sent you lots of Pictures and Videos!" Your momma told your Mommy.

"i never was apart from her for that long, so i am not looking forward to that! And i am gonna miss you as well." She let your momma know. Your Mommy kissed your momma.

"next time you can take her, my Love! Right now with me nursing her it's just easier!" You hear your momma say. Your eyes starting to feel heavy and you couldn't stay awake for much longer, so you cuddled up more to your Mommy. She kissed your head gently and held you close. Caitlin taking a picture of the two of you.

"that will be my new Lockscreen!" Your momma said.

"i need one of you and her as well so i can have a new Lockscreen!" Your mommy stated.

It was time to say goodbye to your mommy and you didn't like that at all.

"See you in two weeks, Baby Girl!" Katie stated and kissed your forehead. You still had the Baby death grip ,so you were holding onto her shirt quite tightly.

"that's gonna be fun!" Caitlin answered and tried to take you into her arms. You started crying softly. Katie gave you a kiss on the cheek.

"it's okay sweet Angel! You gonna have so much fun with Momma!" She told you but you didn't want to let go of your Mommy just yet. Only when your momma started singing your favorite song you stopped holding onto Katie so tightly and let your Momma take you into her arms. You then cuddled up to her.

"you cracked the code, Babe!" Your Mommy told your momma. She nodded her head softly.

"yes looks like it!" Your momma said with a soft smile.

Your auntie Steph and your auntie Kyra picked you and your momma up and you drove to the Airport together. You ended up falling asleep in the Car. Your momma wasn't sure If this was a good thing or not cause she for sure wanted you to sleep on the plane. Good thing you liked to sleep alot.

"how did the goodbye with Katie Go?" Steph asked.

"Little one hated it! She isn't used to being apart from either of us really." Your momma answered.

"she is gonna be fine. So is Katie." Kyra said softly.

"i know, it still sucked!" Your momma admitted.

You slept the entire drive and part of the flight before waking up and your momma having to nurse you. You were quite hungry. Only stopping when you were really full.

"well someone was really hungry!" She stated. You smiled at her, totally Milk drunk.

When you reached your Destination and your Hotel your momma didn't even have a Chance to fully make it out of the Van before your auntie Macca scooped you up.

"there is my perfect little niece!" She happily said. You smile at her.

"hello to you too, Macca!" Your momma said with a soft laugh.

"hello Caitlin! Sorry! I just got really excited!" She admitted.

"i can tell!" Your momma answered. You happily sucked on your little Fingers. Letting everyone that wanted to hold you taking turns. The next two weeks were filled with hugs and cuddles for you. So it wasn't too bad.

[keouil]

if our demons cannot dance neither can we

when it's time, it's zayne who picks her up. 2k. zayne/mc/caleb. angst. also on ao3.

And dearest, can you tell, I am trying To love you less.

ADA LIMÓN

氷

She stumbles on the first step. 

Zayne acts on instinct, borrowed from a braver version of himself a decade ago, at least he’d like to think: the intuitive way his hand reached out to grasp her elbow—not harsh, just guiding—to help right her back upward. She sputters a little. She blinks. She comes back to herself. She barely registers the touch, he notes; the way her eyes glaze over the autumn leaves peppering the rest of the sidewalk as she stared idly down at her snagged heel she didn't notice walking right into.

They parked his car a few streets away born from her suggestion of walking the rest of the way over and he wonders if she regrets it now. Notes of accusing make it’s way into her voice when she lets out a small noise of indignation, and his heart unsprings a little of the tension inside of it, because if she still had the capacity to be mad: then maybe it can’t be all that bad. She curses down at her heels softly, before seeming to remember her corporeality, before trusting in his hold as she shifts on her feet to try and spring it free. All the while his presence is pliant, stable, and supportive.

Zayne waits.

When she finally manages to unbound herself she coughs once, twice. “Sorry,” she says, a little sheepish, still not looking at him. “I — I guess I’m just not very used to these heels.”

Zayne nods and waits a beat before letting go. “No problem.”

They continue walking in silence the rest of the way. The smell of mildew has unfurled from the earth this late in the afternoon, dousing everything just a touch misty and a little softer than their already quiet footsteps filtering in through the cobblestones. Auburn leaves petal down in their wake, with pale hues of sunlight mellowed out just enough everything is a little more golden than it probably should be. Zayne keeps some distance away, just enough to be able to still grab onto her elbow in case she misstepped again: otherwise just enough of a breath away, just enough not to overstep himself.

It’s only been a month after all.

⊹

Hysteria is something Zayne has been too privy to given his line of work: patients on their death bed screaming bloody murder at his staff in an effort to stave off the immoving crush of the end, soldiers on near-death psychosis bleeding and rambling their throats off at their makeshift medtent at Mt. Eternal; the ravaging cries of the humans turned wanderers he makes nightly visits to in his dreams. 

Zayne is used to—and even expects—the savagery. 

⊹

The day she got the call, however.

That wasn’t hysteria. 

⊹

There are cries that start slow at the eyes, just a pool of never-ending streams quickly trickling it’s way down your face. But it’s not assaulting. It’s not uncomfortable just yet, quiet and somber and non-invasive as it was. There are cries that then grow in crescendo, that marry hiccups and wheezes and the occasional whimper with it. It’s not accosting, too, not just yet: just a very real display of human vulnerability that comes with being confronted of your mortality.

But then—

Then there is a cry so bad that it spikes up the protocore levels in your heart, that it takes a seasoned cardiac surgeon and researcher who has dedicated his entire life’s work to cataloging every minute shift of spike in your energy levels, to throw all of those warning signs away and just hold you: despite and in spite and because of all you are. He lets go of science. He lets go of everything. He had to.

Because her cry then, thought Zayne, was a war cry.

⊹

“...Do you need someone to go with you?” 

A pause. A sniffle. An unanchoring. An orphan only child having to violently confirm her worst nightmare. 

And then: 

“Would you please?” 

⊹

Zayne spots a small line for a flower stall and asks if she’d like to pick some up. Her eyes clear their way through enough haze to get a confirmation out, and when he tries parking her on a bench to wait, she just shrugs him off and insists on coming with to pick out the arrangement herself. He’s never had much practice in telling her no, not a decade or six months or a week or a second ago. 

He wouldn’t start now.

The florist—Jeremiah, the name tag reads—eyes her in a way that had him eye him himself. He looked fresh out of college, painfully young and naive looking, but the familiarity in which he was assessing the way her eyes roamed over the day’s selection spoke of genuine curiosity.

Zayne gets in his line of vision before any of it morphs into interest. “How much for 2 wreaths?”

Jeremiah stares up at him, and he can see the mental gears shifting on his head, noting the fine line of his shoulders that imposed unmoving stability and no room for coercion. The knife-level precision of a surgeon that sharpened when needed.

“If it’s for the miss,” he says instead, surprising Zayne. “It’s on the house.”

⊹

The painter gave her an oil portrait of their last family picture that would never wither, not even if it sunk to the bottom of the ocean. The hunter traveled to another planet to procure especially rare star fragments of their birthdays, it’s luminescence always shining no matter if they were in Linkon or sitting on another fabric of time altogether.

Zayne, though: he could be here. He could happen here. With her, for her, by her. 

⊹

They get to the graveyard to no fanfare. There had been an earlier funeral that day it seemed, the smell of ash in the air and barren soil marrying with the rose beds lining up the path of the entrance. She is quiet. Zayne is, too, but: he’s never known her to be quiet. Her black slip dress wove it’s way with the wind with each step, but it felt papery and wispy, like the rest of her dull eyes going over some of the gravestones they passed by on the way.

He feels—more than sees—each step growing heavier for her. She won’t reach for him, not of her own accord, he’s always known this; and so he has to meet her where she was at. And where she was at right now was someone not in a position to do any of that if it meant complicating things.

The click of her heels and the patter of his shoes stop under the shade of a willow tree. Under it lay two silver-grey tombstones, freshly cleaned and laid out.

Zayne holds his breath. His hold on the wreaths, even tighter. Little autumn leaves drop feather-light kisses on their bodies, and the sun is starting to hide beyond the horizon, but through it all they paid no mind.

She inches a step closer. Then another. Then another. 

Zayne thinks she starts saying something as she carefully kneels over the first grave, but he doesn’t move closer to confirm. Instead he plucks a single rose out of their bouquet and perches it on her tombstone just delicately so. As he does, he feels her eyes on him. The first probably since. He feels her remembering, probably, the mint candy he gave both of them at every check-up and how accustomed—maybe even expectant—they’d both grown to it. 

He remembers more than that though.

A warm meal on sudden nights his parents were called in for emergency surgeries. A warm bed when she refused to make him leave and sleep on the chill of an empty home. Another emergency contact on his file, too, on the off chance neither of his parents could make it to his earlier flare-up episodes at school. A kind compliment thrown his way when he graduated highschool at the top of his class, Caleb grinning ear-to-ear next to her with a camera ready. A stern but firm reminder to not skip his meals when he should be the one doling those out being on the physician's end. A plea this time—real and raw and urgent—to take care of her, once she’s long passed, once she felt her days start getting even more numbered and how she’d trust her life with his and Caleb’s and no one else.

Zayne remembers all that as he deposits the single red rose.

After, he backs away and leans over just enough to ghost a kiss on the top of her head as he says gently, “I’ll just be here,” before giving her all the time in the world.

⊹

Caleb got a hero’s funeral just two days after they confirmed the bodies. 

Zayne was there with her, too, in big and bright and sunlit Skyhaven: he saw the way her eyes walked themselves farther and farther away from her soul as they lit up the jets and blew smoke on his coffin. It was grand and she just needed to be small. Zayne supposes it was hard for her to feel like Caleb was hers when she had to share his last moments with the Fleet, and harder, thinks Zayne: to remember who he was when they insisted on decorating him like a war hero when she just needed her best friend.

During the procession, as his commander doled on and on about his achievements and they had someone named Gideon recount some of his academy days and she wasn’t even processing much of anything, Zayne put a hand to her knee. It never left the entire ceremony, not even when they were flown back into Linkon that same night and he made her warm tea and she asked if he could stay the night and he couldn’t find enough compartmentalization in his heart to say no.

“I do not know,” sighs Zayne, eyes roaming over the next tombstone over, “exactly what to feel now that you have driven her to tears again for probably the last time, Caleb.”

⊹

“I’m sorry.”

When the words tumble themselves out of his mouth, Zayne is surprised to find the tang of it unfamiliar. They’re back in his apartment and he’s fixing her a meal and he wishes they were doing this under different circumstances, and wishes he had her without the doubt of whether her pain was the only thing binding her to him. Belatedly, he realizes he’s never said those words to her. Not when it happened and not during. There’s a bit of bile pooling around the bottom of his stomach, an internal alarm system warning him he was crossing over dangerous and uncharted territory. His relationship with her was a study in boundaries, he the enforcerer even with all her efforts to gun him down. 

She looks at him though, and for a beat, his world just stops. “For what?”

“For losing both of them,” Zayne says. “There is no greater pain.”

The corners of her eyes are an ocean with piranhas. It’s drowning in itself. Only Zayne, Zayne: he thinks he can’t do the saving for her. Not for this. There’s a clear demarcation line between loss and love and he wasn’t sure he was necessarily in a position he wouldn’t be tempted to cross over some of those himself if only to get her to stop crying. She just lost her grandmother and bestfriend and if what she needed of him was to mold himself into insurance, he’d be the best goddamn security blanket there was.

But then—

“Thank you,” she says, and then: “And I’m sorry too.”

Now it was Zayne’s time to look puzzled. “For what?”

She looks at him—properly looks at him—with the predators in her eyes and the toxic waste in his stomach that had him realize maybe she wanted some lines crossed herself. “I’m sorry because you lost them, too.”

[danisbrainrot]

shauna shipman x reader a/n: minor season three spoilers, angst and unhinged shauna ahead. NSFW (it's smut because shauna this season is making me feel things). afab reader.

you watched shauna storm off, refusing to participate in whatever crazy shit the group was making you do now. you felt bad because nat had been trying to boost morale, and van had worked hard on coming up with unique to entertain the group, but you understood why she wouldn't stay around. ever since losing the baby, everyone treated her differently—like she was a tightly wound coil about to snap.

they weren't wrong; you had seen her in a rage scribbling so fast in her diary, almost setting it fire. you often watched the way she tormented mari, and shauna could be cruel. however, there was something so tragic about her that called out to you.

losing her best friend, her baby, and then javi in quick succession would cause even the sanest of people to snap, but shauna's rage simmered quietly until she unleashed it on others. everyone feared her, but you. . . you were drawn to her.

excusing yourself, you left the circle and followed shauna. everyone else, too distracted to notice, didn't see you leave.

you found shauna kneeling at her baby's grave, whispering something unintelligible. you crept closer to eavesdrop, only to snap on a branch. her head snaps up, and she locks eyes with you. it's quiet for a moment as she eyes you up and down—a shiver ran up your spine. out of delight or fear, you didn't know. perhaps both.

quicker than the blink of an eye, shauna pressed a knife to your neck. "what are you doing here?" she hissed, holding you against a tree.

you struggled to form a response, shamelessly excited by the sharp blade digging into your neck. "i was just checking up on you, shauna," you promise.

"are you here for my baby? i won't let you anywhere near him," she snapped, her face inches from yours—you could feel her hot breath on your face.

"no, i'm not here for him. i'm here for you, shauna. i noticed you left the circle—"

"i don't want to listen to a bunch of dumbasses talk about how my best friend and baby needed to die," she spat, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. if this was anyone else, they'd be terrified—but you felt something different. pity. shauna resembled a scared animal backed into a corner.

so, going against your common sense, you leant forward—showing you weren't scared of her—and smashed your lips against hers. you pull back instantly, trying to gauge her reaction.

she was frozen in place, staring at you with wide eyes—gorgeous brown eyes that had hardened after the crash. the same eyes that you'd become smitten with ever since you tried out for the soccer squad.

a panic shot through you as you realised how dumb your mistake was. she just stared at you, her anger-filled eyes fading and revealing the truth—vulnerability.

shauna's lips were on yours again. they were hungry and demanding. her hands gripped your cheeks tightly as she devoured your mouth, pressing her body up against yours to keep you in place. you rest your hands on her waist, trying to ground her.

the bark was rough against your back, the thin material of your shirt doing nothing to stop it from scratching you. you tried to readjust into a more comfortable position, but shauna wasn't letting you move. instead, she pulled away and almost ripped your shirt off. you gasped softly, receiving an eyebrow raise from shauna—almost like she was asking you if you had a problem with how rough she was.

"strip," she barked. you immediately followed her commands, pulling your shorts to your ankles and stepping out of them, placing them next to your discarded shirt. shauna pulled her butterfly shirt over her head, tossing it somewhere on the floor and unbuckled her belt. "naked."

hesitantly, you reached behind and unhooked your bra. "have you done this before?" you question, pulling the straps down and finally exposing your boobs.

shauna stared hungrily at your chest, her eyes unmoving as she shook her head. "i've had sex, just not with a woman," she replied. her eyes finally met yours, "shouldn't be that hard to learn."

you were about to scoff when she recaptured your lips. it was a messy kiss, full of teeth and tongue as shauna unleashed her pent up anger on you. she squeezed your boobs, groping them like a horny teenage boy.

her knee pressed against your heat, revealing your dripping heat. she pulled away, yanking your panties down to your ankles before running a single finger through your slick. holding her finger to your face, she smirked at you, "i held a knife to your throat."

"it was hot," you shrugged. shauna growled, taking your lips into hers again. this kiss wasn't any nicer—but you wouldn't have it any other way. you wanted her passion. her anger. her hunger. shauna bit down on your bottom lip, causing you to moan and allowing her to shove her tongue down your throat.

her knee was pressed against your core but didn't move, while her hands rested on your boobs. you were seconds away from whining and begging her to do something when she pinched your left nipple. you gasp violently, and something dark stirs in her eyes. shauna's lips move to your throat, biting down on the pulse points before licking them better. all the while, her hands twisted and pinched your nipples deliciously.

"this is how i've always liked it," she mumbled against your neck, "rough," she made her way to your clavicle, shoving you higher up the tree with her knee and leaving marks on your collarbone. "jeff never wanted to hurt me. never wanted to leave evidence for jackie to find," she sneered. "but when i'm done with you, everyone will know what happened."

one hand remains, rough handling one of your nipples, while the other trails down your sternum. the lower her finger went, the more chills rushed up your spine. shauna placed a few more marks on your clavicle, then your chest before she pulled away to watch her finger tease you. she went agonisingly slow; her finger circled your belly button before it followed your snail trail down to your bush.

you gripped onto her shoulders to ground you. she made eye contact with you, delighting in how much pleasure you were getting from this, and she hadn't even touched your most sensitive area yet.

when she finally touched your clit, she remembered how she touched her own and swirled it delicately to begin with. you were incredibly wet, so she felt comfortable picking up her pace. your breathing quickened, a soft moan slipped from your lips, but that wasn't enough for her. she wanted to see you squirm. she wanted to hear you scream for her.

she traced your slit with her finger, as you mourned the loss of contact with your clit. without warning, she slipped her middle finger into your pussy—eliciting a gasp from you. "shauna," you whispered, feeling her pump it deliciously. your wetness made it to easy, so she added another one almost immediately. "curl them," you begged, she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, pausing her ministrations as she worked out how to curl them. "you. . . you still move," you bit your lip, watching her glare at you.

"i know. i'm working it out, shut up," she hissed. her pace quickened, as she took your advice. you moans were no longer soft, gaining volume the faster she went. shauna picked up a rhythm, rocking you against the tree—but you were too blissed out to feel the pain of the bark scratching your back.

her thumb circled your clit, while she continued to pump two fingers in your pussy. she struggled at first, trying to grope your boob, finger your and play with your clit—it appeared to be too much for her inexperienced self—but eventually got the hang of it. you were in bliss, getting perfectly fucked by shauna, you felt bad for not returning the favour.

a burning sensation in your stomach began to soar, as shauna brought you closer to the edge. you could feel your orgasm was swiftly approaching. "shauna, holy shit. i'm so close, i'm almost there," you moaned. her pace quickened again, as shauna began violently fingering you. any pain was replaced by pleasure as you screamed her name. shauna suddenly realised how close everyone else was and didn't want this to end, and pressed her lips against yours to shut you up.

it wasn't until shauna put her mouth back on yours that you felt your orgasm come over you in waves. you moaned in to her mouth, as she fingered you through your orgasm. you panted as she finally pulled away, pressing her forehead against yours. "my turn," she growled.

you dropped to your knees, hooking your finger around her panties and ensuring you maintained eye contact with shauna as you pulled them down.

unable to wait any longer, eager to please her, you pressed your nose against her bush and inhaled her sex. tentatively, you kitten licked her clit—her hand roughly grabbed the back of your head and shoved your face into her pussy. needing no more instruction, you laved at her clit. she grunted softly, as your licks treasured her sensitive nub. you weren't satisfied with the noise she was making, however, and decided to draw moans out of her another way.

clutching her love handles, your nose nudged at her clit as you licked strips of her slit. your tongue dipped, causing a loud moan to erupt from her. shauna covered her mouth with her elbow, looking down at you fiercely. the grip on the back of your head tightened as she rocked her hips against you.

you ate her out like a starving woman, and she was your last meal. if this was winter, she might have been. but thankfully it was springtime.

shauna was close, you could tell. her hips rocked erratically as you began frantically eating her out. your nose rubbing against her clit was the final straw. shauna let out the loudest moan you'd heard as she came.

you lapped up her juices, eating her out through her orgasm before cleaning her up. when you finally pulled away, you looked up at her through your eyelashes and smirked at her face. shauna stared down at you and smiled—the first genuine smile you'd seen from her in a long time. it was a ghost of a smile, but it was still there.

"i think you should hold a knife to my throat more often," you joked.

"you should move in to my tent. . . in case i ever need to blow off some steam," she mumbled.

"okay, but i'm a big spoon—"

"i'm not spooning you," she snapped.

you raised your hand in surrender, "whatever you say, shauna." you smirked, knowing she'd crack, eventually.