“Happy birthday.” Your co-worker messages you. You reply with a smiling + hugging emoji, before dropping your phone to your side. The first person who wasn’t a family member to message you happy birthday almost 24 hours later.
Usually you didn’t care, you really didn’t. Yet, celebrating everyone’s birthday this year and last, you thought you would get the same energy back.
But no.
Twenty-something now, and you’re spending it alone, sitting on your apartment floor, with a cardigan way too big for you stained with frosting. The same stale frosting that took over the air and mixed with the scent of candle wax.
It’s too quiet in your living that eventually it gets too loud. So, you put on your shoes and walk to the nearest corner shop that’s open this late.
The dull lights buzz the moment you walk in, alongside a small bell. Immediately the cheap alcohol section is calling your name, singing thou happy birthday louder than anyone has all day.
The basket gets heavy as you put in the six-pack, your forearm dropping slightly. You fill the basket: chips, chocolates, more cheap alcohol.
You got birthday money from a family member, “might as well put it to you,” you mumble to anyone who’s around you, but the store’s empty.
You’re grabbing one more bag of chips when you hear:
“…No way. Is that you?”
You furrow your brows, freeze a little. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.
You turn and there she is behind the counter. Your old High School classmate. The girl who wore her lanyard either on the loops of her pants or around her wrist. The chick who wore boots during the rain and snow, whenever she walked all you heard was: ‘squeak squeak.’
Same girl who wasn’t really a close friend. Though, in some blurry memories, once made your stomach flutter-cheeks burn up for reasons you never understood at seventeen.
She leans forward on the counter, smiling like she’s genuinely glad to see you. And you, cursed at yourself for wearing the: ‘no one I know will see me,’ outfit.
“You look like you ransacked the place, and are about to ask me for the money in the safe,” she teases. “Everything okay?”
You shrug and lift the basket slightly. “Birthday.”
Her face changes, not pity, but like she just recognized something. A quiet “oh,” look appears into her expression.
“It’s your birthday? Tonight?”
You nod, and she lets out a little laugh, stepping around the counter so she’s closer. Too close for someone you haven’t seen in years.
“I remember…” she murmurs. “Back during homeroom, you used to bring cupcakes for everyone. Different colored frosting, rainbow sprinkles; like you were a birthday fairy. Cute little crown too.”
You feel your face heat up. “Yea…well that was before everyone ditched me right after graduation. Hard to keep a reputation when no one sticks around.”
The words came out harsher than you meant it. Regretting the whole: “woe is me.” She notices. Her expression softens again, this time in a way that kinda hurts.
“I didn’t ditch you,” she says quietly. Yeah she didn’t, you did though. Her gaze drags over your face like she’s searching for the old you she used to know. “None of that reputation shit ever mattered to me.”
You gulp, the store feeling too warm. Or maybe it’s her.
She plucks a bag of chips with her knuckles out your basket. “Tell you what. You shouldn’t spend your birthday alone…” she looks at the clock behind you, red lights on. “I get off in ten minutes. Stay? Keep me company while I finish my shift?”
It’s the way she looks at you: softly, familiar, almost like she’d been waiting for you to walk back into her life. Shit, now your heart fluttering, it’s like you’re seventeen again.
You nod before your brain even fully understands what she ask. And she grins.
⟡
She clocks out as the neon sign in the window glides: ‘24-Hours Open’ Her position behind the counter, replaced by another employee who barely looks up from their phone. She grabs her jacket, slinging it over her shoulder and nods towards the door.
“Cmon birthday girl.”
The night air hits a bit cooler than before. And the beer you crack open as soon as you step outside sends warmth down your chest. The streets quiet, just the sound of your footsteps and cars passing by occasionally.
She bumps her shoulder gently into yours, “So…big plans for the rest of your b-day?”
You laugh, bittersweet: “This is the most social thing I’ve done all day.”
She gives a look, curious she tilts her head: “Did you at least get birthday calls? Messages? Something?”
You shrugs, “Apart from family…” you shake your head. “No one said anything.”
You pause for a second, “Actually, yeah. My coworker who’s an elderly woman said happy birthday.”
You don’t want pity, and she knows that, cause she doesn’t give you any. She just walks closer, her arm brushing yours.
“You know…” she begins, taking a sip of her beer. “You usually post on your birthday.”
You surprisingly glance at over at her: “Do I?”
“Yea,” she laughs softly. “You didn’t this year. If you had , I would’ve said happy birthday right away.”
You stop walking for a second. “You…follow me on social media?”
She raises a brow, grinning: “Of course I do. Why? You don’t follow me?”
You open your mouth, then close it. The silence answers for you.
She burst out laughing, the sound: teasing, affectionate, kinda warm all at once. “Oh my goodness. Wow, so you really just never noticed me there?”
You look away all flustered. “I-I…you’re not really someone I expect to keep up with me after school.”
She slows her pace until the two of you fall into sync again, but this time she’s closer. You look over at her before quickly looking down at the black plastic bag filled with what you bought.
Her tone is lower. “Well I did.”
You don’t know what to say to that. You nervously bite your bottom lip. The apartment complex appears around the corner, streetlights making everything gold. You feel her eyes on you.
“Which one?” She asks, nodding towards the buildings.
You point, the motion a little wobbly from the alcohol. She reaches for your elbow lightly, not holding you more like steadying you.
That touch makes you have butterflies.
She smiles, “Alright, Apartment 312.”
⟡
“Do you wanna come in? For one more drink? I still have cake. Might as well pretend is a birthday party.” The words slip out without hesitation. You’re not sure whether it’s the beer, the tingling feeling of her hand still lingering on your elbow, or the way she looked at you under the streetlights…
She looks at you for a second, her expression making you nervous. “Yea, I’d like that.”
Your apartment inside? The right amount of messy that comes from living alone and not expecting people to come over. A blanket on the couch, an empty mug, a candle that burned out days ago. Yet she doesn’t seem to mind. She just takes it all in with curiously, then flops on your couch like she’s been here hella times.
You grab the cake from the fridge, store bought—frosting smushed, and two forks. She whistles dramatically.
“Damn, a private cake tasting. I feel honored.”
You laugh and hand her a fork. The two of you eat straight from the container, washing it down with another round of drinks.
You talk about everything and nothing. How you moved back to this town after swearing you’d never return. How the other city you lived in, drained you out. The way it took you so long to unpack, and how you barely go out, only to work.
She listens, knees angled towards yours on the couch.
“It’s kinda nice you’re back,” she admits quietly. “Everything now feels nostalgic.”
Blaming it on the alcohol, the comments feels deeper than it probably is. You swallow another sip.
From there, the convo switches to high school. Old teachers—stupid rumors—ugly ass yearbook photos. The friendship between you two: never close but shared memories of events during lunch or field trips.
Both of you laughing hard, leaning into each other the more drink you two get.
At one point she groans, dropping her head back dramatically.
“God, your friend group was lowkey lameee.”
You cackled, “I KNOW! They were…ugh I dunno. I mean…” you pondered briefly. “They were cool sometimes. I just don’t know how I survived all the drama.”
She rolls her eyes and snorts. “They thought they were cool.” after a sip, “…them ditching you after graduation?….Never liked them.”
You tilt your head, “I never knew that. You never mentioned it.”
“You never asked…and why would I tell you that?” She teases.
Another drink enters your system quickly. Now your head feels light. The line between rational judgment and drunken honesty blurs, you say it:
“There was this one time…in the girls locker room.”
Her eyes goes to you instantly, amused and curious. And now you wish you didn’t bring it up.
“Go on,” she smirks. “This already sounds interesting.”
“Ahh, no no, never mind.” You drop your face into your hands for a second, but the alcohol pushes you. “Ok ok.” You caved in so quickly.
She taps your knee, “…come onn, say it.”
You exhale. “You remember, sophomore year. We had the same P.E class. It was after class.”
She lowers her chin a bit, “You gotta be more specific. I try very hard to forget that locker room existence.”
“You were always the last one to finish changing,” you mumble. “You’d be at your locker, shirt half on, hair a little messy from whatever we did that day.”
She now looks more curious and amused.
“And?”
“And…” you look all around your living room except her face. “There was this one day. You were laughing at some joke someone made, and you-your shirt was kind of…stuck…?”
You gestured badly, “Like halfway up. And I just…I dunno. That image stuck in my head for a while.”
She blinks slowly. What was even slower was that little wicked smile that forms.
“So, what I’m understanding is…you were checking me out during our time in the locker room?”
You blush: “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she leans closer, voice deepens.
Her knee presses between yours a little. “You fantasized about me in high school?”
She’s making the room spin more than the alcohol. You gulp hard, “it was just one time.”
“That you’re admitting…”
You wanna deny it, but her stare is steady, flirty, soemthing you can’t really give a name to. Just feel down to your core.
The air between becomes heavy with alcohol, nostalgia, dare even say….lustful?
She leans back a bit. Answering the last thought, when she licks the frosting off her fork and watches you like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Should’ve said somethin’ back then,” she says playfully.
You met her gaze.
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
And for the first time all night, she doesn’t laugh. She just looks at you. The way she wouldn’t dare to do in high school.
You feel her shift closer on the couch. Her knee brushing yours again. Her hand slides along the back of the couch until her fingers hover near your shoulder, like she’s testing the waters.
“What?” You sniff nervously.
“What?”
“You’re staring,” your whisper.
She slowly smiles, “I know.”
Her breath mixes with yours, a touch so gentle when you feel her thumb on your jaw. Makes you breathless
“Can I…” she starts, her voice barely audible.
You don’t let her finish. You close the space and press your lips to hers. A fluffy kiss at first: careful like if you’re painting with a small thin brush. The she makes that damn sound. Just one sound that’s needy and desperate. That small sound is all it takes to unravel everything.
She grabs your waist to pull you fully onto her lap; your knees on either side of her thighs. The couch creaks from the sudden shift. Her firm hands sliding up your back. Under your shirt, her touch is hungry and your thighs tighten around her.
You can tell something inside her awoken by the way she moves her mouth against yours. As if she’s been waiting years for this. You as well…
You pull back enough to catch your breath, but she chases you. Lips brushing against yours. Gosh she can’t stop.
“Mmphhh,” she humms against your lips, “you have no ideas how long I wanted that.”
Your heart flips, “High school?” You ask, out of breath.
She laughs, air hot on your neck as she kisses down to your throat. “Maybe.”
Her hand slips lower, gripping your hips, guiding you against her. Your body reacts: ASAP. You’re already wet. You grind down without thinking, and she lets out a hushed, strained groan that sends shivers down your spine.
The apartment becomes irrelevant: the cake, the cabs, the mug, the frosting stain on your cardigan. All of it doesn’t matter as she’s kissing you again, thus time deeper.
“Bedroom?” she whispers on your lips.
So dizzy~
You nod.
She stands, hands on your waist. You wrap your arms around her neck as she walks backwards, unknowingly, til you point at the right room and you back hits the wall. You kiss her like you need her, like you’ve imagined for all these years without even knowing.
⟡
Clothes hit the floor: her jacket first, then your pants, then her tank top. You barely make it to the bed before she pushes you gently on your back, climbing on you with a look that you only read in books.
Her fingers trace your waist, tickling your ribs, mesmerizing your chest. “You’re so beautiful,” she says, in a tone of almost frustration at how true it is.
You pull her down and kiss her again: deeper, messier. Hair tangles between your fingers as she shifts between your legs. Her thighs slide against you and you gasp, hips lifting towards her instinctively.
She notices. She smirks. She does it again.
You playfully bite her shoulder and like she’s done all night: laughs…except this time it’s breathlessly and followed by a rolling of her hips against you. Yummy, slow, calculated.
Your mind goes fuzzy. Soft moans fill up the room. Yours plus hers, overlapping. Her hands explore every inch, guiding you.
You feel her everywhere: mouth on your neck—fingers tracing between your thighs, coated with slick—breathe trembling when you tug her closer.
God, she wants to ruin you. You want her to.
You lightly gasp an exhale. You felt pressure against your clit as she keeps the heel of her palm on your bud and slips inside her index and middle finger.
⊹
Your lips journeyed back down her neck, her chest as you slowly grind on her hand.
You cum with your mouth on her collarbone and riding on her fingers. She’s whispering your name through it, in way that she can’t even believe she’s actually doing this with you, needy and desperate.
She kisses you tenderly through the aftershock, holding your jaw steady. Then take your hands to her body, and you take your time exploring.
“Your turn,” you whisper.
Her lashes flutter. “Mm yea…” she breathes, “please.”
You’re a bit more feral, palms grazing her nipples then filling your hands with her breast. Leaving wet spots on the valley of her breast with open kisses.
‘It’s MY birthday, and she’s like my gift. I’m going to enjoy her, like I deserve.’ you thought to yourself, selfish thoughts.
You trailed your gaze down to her bare bottom, and trailed your mouth over it. Her fingers slid into your hair, and you just lost it.
You tasted her slowly. Lingering, your hands sliding up her stomach feeling her muscles quiver in pattern. Toying and teasing her breast. She tugs your hair, and rolls her hips against your mouth.
She got on her elbows as she shook, knowing she was close. You lightly stroked a fingertip over her slit, teasing the opening as your mouth traced lazy circles around her clit. Your eyes watching hers, looking for her reaction.
She let out a throaty low groan and you loved it. You were no longer thinking: ‘My birthday, my gift….’ it’s now a ‘Thank you. Thank you for spending time with me on my birthday.’
You learn what makes her gasp, arch her back, grab the sheets. Seeing her come undone under you ignited something…that you didn’t want to think about right this moment.
“Oh god,” she gasps. Her hips twisted subtly, and you slid your finger out, letting her watch as you slowly sucked it into your mouth, tasting her.
She basically rolled her eyes back, letting out a chuckle, she didn’t think that you even had this side. “If I knew you were going to be like this, I would’ve given you more.” She managed to say audibly.
“Don’t worry about it.” You kissed between her thighs. Tasting her one last time.
“You’re…” she swallows. “You’re unbelievable.”
You crawl up to her. Clinging onto her close, you don’t really mean to. She doesn’t pull away. She kisses the corner of your mouth then your lips.
Eventually, later on you’re both exhausted, drunk, tangled together asleep. One arm over your waist, the other drape over her eyes, your face against her collarbone.
⟡
2:43 a.m
You wake up to the soft rustling of sheets and the fabric being pulled away gently.
For a moment you think it’s morning, until you glance over at the dim lights glowing in your nightstand.
She’s sitting at the edge of your bed, fully dressed, slipping on her shoes. The room is dark except for the light you left on the hallway, drawing over her shoulders—curve of her neck—and the messy flyaways of her hair.
She glances over at you as you move.
“Hey,” she whispers, voice groggy from sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
You slowly sit up, the sheets slipping down your chest. “You’re good. You heading out?”
She nodded, tying her shoe. “Unfortunately—yea. I have to…”open,” the store tomorrow. Well…today.” Her tired laugh is soft and real and makes you grin foolishly.
There’s no awkwardness, no panic, or regret in her gaze. Just pure exhaustion, and a tiny bit of hesitation if she should leave or not.
You shake your head, “I get it.”
She stands, smoothing her top sliding into her jacket. Then looks at you with something gentle and tender.
“I had a really good time,” she quietly says. “Like…honestly the best night I’ve had in a while.”
Your chest is warm: “…me too.”
She steps closer, stopping in front of you. Her hand lifts, fingertips brushing your cheek, jaw, slow and respectfully. Memorizing you again before she closes the door behind her.
Then she leans in and kisses you. Not hungry like earlier. Not rushed like she wants to leave.
Just a soft kiss, sweet and honest.
When she pulls back, her forehead rest against yours for a moment:
“Happy birthday,” she murmurs.
You blush and hold your breath.
“And…I hope I see you again.”
You open your eyes. “You will.”
She smiles, before stepping toward the door. You watch her walk out through the hall, listen to the soft click of your apartment door closing behind her.
You bite your bottom lip with a smile.
The room feels different now: still quiet, but not lonely.
You roll over, grab your phone from the nightstand, and open social media: search her name….There she is.
Profile photo you somehow never noticed. Thinking how you missed her entire online existence.
That follow button you should’ve pressed years ago: You tap it.
Then you go on every other media: follow, follow, follow…
It’s stupid, you feel silly. Also feels huge. It feels like the best birthday gift you could’ve given yourself.
You set your phone down, sink back into the warm spot she left behind, and close your eyes.
$ log - you've read steve's sixty-page manual cover to cover. you've highlighted the relevant sections, so you're completely fine. natasha romanov is just your very good friend and you don't know what he thinks he saw in that corridor in rome but it wasn't that!
$ warn --sfw --suggestive --fem!reader --established-relationship --fluff --gaslighting-steve-esque --hes-a-very-stressed-captain
$ wc -w 1.3k
$ cd masterlist
Steve asked to speak with you on a Tuesday. Serious business.
His serious conversations happen in his office, always. You sat across the desk, ready for a demerit, twiddling your thumbs for forty-five seconds before he said, perfectly calm:
"So, you and Natas—"
"We aren't together."
He blinked. You hadn't let him finish the sentence at all.
Steve folded his hands on the desk with the patience of a man committed to the bit. He reached into his drawer and produced a list. You stared, disturbed, to discover it was laminated.
"The Budapest safehouse," he said, "the showers."
The showerhead had run hot for exactly four minutes before going arctic. Natasha had clocked it immediately.
"Back to back," she’d said. "Four minutes. Don't use all the hot water."
So you had stood back to back in four inches of tiled space, staring at the grout, thinking about absolutely nothing. The mission, the contact, maybe some of the supply routes.
"You're tense," she’d said, from six inches behind your left ear.
"I'm fine."
"Your shoulders are basically earrings right now."
"That's just how my —"
Her hand moved between your shoulder blades. Flat-palmed, warm, resting there. Your shoulders dropped two inches without permission.
"There," she’d said, like it was simple. Like she hadn't made your brain go blank.
The hot water cut out, but neither of you moved for thirty seconds.
You emerged to find her at the debrief table, hair damp, reading like none of it had happened. She held out a towel without looking up.
"You're catastrophic," she said pleasantly.
"You started it."
"I handed you a towel."
"Before that."
She looked up. Her mouth wore a rationed almost-smile and she held your gaze a beat too long. "Go to sleep," she said. "You're on first watch."
You lay on your side of the room and stared at the ceiling for a very long time.
"All girls do that," you told Steve.
He opened his mouth, and closed it. Then, he opened it again. "Back to back. In a shower."
"It's efficient."
"In a —" He stopped, and visibly recalibrated. "I grew up in Brooklyn. I know how girls are with each other —"
"Then you get it."
"I don't think I —" He looked at the list, then at you. "I lived in a barracks for years. Men don't do that."
"We're not men."
"I'm aware —"
"Different social norms. Women are tactile. It's completely normal."
Steve stared at you with the expression of a man losing a fight he’d already spent hours preparing for. He wrote something on the list. "Prague," he said. "Sleeping arrangements."
Natasha had claimed the centre of the mattress immediately upon arrival. You’d stood in the doorway with your go-bag, looking at the sliver of space remaining.
"You did that on purpose."
"The room has one bed."
"You're in the middle of it."
"I'm a restless sleeper." She pulled the blanket up, serene. "Floor looks fine."
You took the sliver. Then you woke up past 3am facing the ceiling — which wasn't how you’d fallen asleep. Nat's head was on your shoulder, with her arm sling across your ribs. She weighed nothing. You lay in the dark, running a thorough diagnostic of your entire life.
You didn't move — a proper tactical decision. Natasha coming awake suddenly in an unfamiliar room was dangerous. That was the only reason.
You fell back asleep with your nose in her hair. She smelled like soap — clean, sharp. You had the thought, soft-edged with sleep, that you'd know it in any room. Any dark.
She told you three months later she’d been awake the whole time. On the common room couch, her feet in your lap, not looking up from her book. Casual. I didn't want to move. You were warm.
Like that explained everything.
"It's a friendship thing," you told Steve. "Girls sleep close. It's comforting."
"You were—" He paused, mouth fumbling to choose his words correctly. "Intertwined is the word I'd use."
"We were cold."
"It was July."
"Prague is cold in July."
"It really isn't —" He stopped himself, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I shared bunks with men for four years. We did not —"
"Again, not men."
"I know you're not —" He breathed. "I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm saying it seemed like —" he gestured vaguely — "more than friendly."
"We're very good friends."
He looked at you, and you just stared back, completely calm. He glanced at the list, then back up. "The Rome corridor. After the debrief. I saw you —"
"I was patting down my lipstick."
"— I saw you ki —" He stopped, trying to replay it. "Patting down your lipstick."
"Mouths near. Close proximity. You caught an angle."
The debrief had run three hours. Nat had walked out looking the way she looked when things went exactly to plan — settled, luminous, that satisfaction she kept close to the chest. She’d glanced at you in the corridor.
You’d had four seconds of good judgment. Then it ran out completely.
You’d kissed her. Stepped into her space and did it, hand to her jaw, heart doing something humiliating the whole time.
She kissed back. Both hands came up to frame your face — deliberate, unhurried. When she pulled back, she looked at you like you were something she’d made her mind up about.
"Took you long enough," she said.
"I was strategising."
"For a whole month."
"It's a nuanced situation."
She laughed. The real one — the one she didn't usually let people near. It did something catastrophic to your chest. You stood in a corridor in Rome watching it happen and thought, with total clarity: I am in so much trouble.
You genuinely hadn't seen Steve at the end of the hallway. This was mortifying. You had a commendation for surveillance — framed.
"Patting down your lipstick," Steve repeated.
"Mm."
"Both of you."
"She was helping."
"She was —" He stopped, sighing as he stared at the desk. "I don't —" He looked like a man trying to stand on a moving floor. "I know what I saw."
"You saw us close together."
"Very close."
"We're close friends."
"In a way that —" He exhaled, long and slow. "Women are — you're saying this is normal."
"Completely normal."
He looked at the list, then the ceiling — he was hoping the Heavens above had more useful answers than you. He put the list down.
"I want you to know," he said, in a different voice, quieter, "I'm fine with it. I've watched you two for eight months. You're better together on ops, not worse. She's different with you. I don't know if she knows how much, but she is. I'm glad she has that."
The office was quiet. You’d read the manual. Section 14, highlighted in yellow. Intra-team romantic relationships are not recommended and must be disclosed to team leadership. You’d been so careful.
"We've been together a while," you said. "We're moving in. We were going to tell everyone at the housewarming party."
Steve rubbed his forehead. "Everyone already knows. Tony's had a group chat since February. Clint had a date in the pool, and then Sam won thirty dollars."
You sat with that.
"The bite mark," he added, very carefully, "at the Lisbon debrief. Nat's collarbone." A pause. "That was the one that really settled it for the group chat."
You’d felt very bitey that night. That was between you, God, and apparently the full Avengers roster plus support staff.
"The shower thing was genuinely nothing," you said. "On the record."
"I believe you," he said, in a tone that meant he did not believe you at all.
"Steve."
"It's noted."
"She's going to find this so funny."
"She already does." He nodded toward the frosted glass panel behind you.
You turned. The unmistakable silhouette of Natasha, leaning against the wall, shoulders shaking. You faced forward.
"We're very happy together," you said, with what remained of your dignity.
"I could tell," said Steve. "From the corridor. In Rome." He paused. "You had a commendation for surveillance."
"I'm aware."
"Framed, I think."
"Steve."
"Just noting it," he said, and looked at the ceiling again.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus
Hi, I saw your requests are open and I was wondering if you could do aftercare with ambessa maybe after a particularly hard scene I love your writing so I know you’ll ace it. Tske your time aswell since I know you’re also doing kinktober thank you!
a/n: Hiii, I'm so sorry this took so long! But I hope this fits what you were looking for 😣🥰
⋆୨୧˚ Aftercare with Ambessa˚‧ ɞ
The first thing you notice as you come into consciousness is the decadent, expensive scent of her perfume.
Then, the rich incense of the room—the ones she only lights after she’s had you in her bed — and the warm light of the lamps as you blink slowly into full awareness.
The last thing you remember is the breathtaking orgasm that followed several hours of edging, a brutal impact play session whose memory you could get lost in forever. Ambessa is a skilled dom, soft at the right times, stern when you need it most.
She's been away on a campaign for the past few weeks, and as a result, the pent-up energy between the two of you led to quite the…event.
The memories get hazy after that third consecutive orgasm. But as your body awakens, so do the reminders. The delicious soreness between your legs, the stinging shape of her handprints on your ass. The memories of your squirming and her firm voice send shivers down your spine.
You lay on Ambessa’s chest, nose tucked into the crook of her neck—wrapped in the embrace of a war lord whose name brought about fear in the hearts of the most fearsome warriors. But tonight, she is simply your lover.
A scarred hand runs over your back as she notices the change in your breathing.
“Hi there.” She softly greets, her voice bringing a bout of butterflies. You sit up slowly, careful of the soreness, and a pleasant reminder of her hard work earlier in the evening.
“Hi.” You manage quietly, for the first time taking in the scratchiness of your own voice. You were screaming her name for so long, you bordered on losing it. Immediately, she sits up with you still attached and reaches for an ice-cold glass of water conveniently sitting on her bedside table. You take it with a grateful smile and chug it down. With a gentle movement, you sit up fully and make your way off of her reluctantly.
“You passed out, dove. I pushed you right to the brink, and you fell over it so beautifully. I put some ointment on, to help with the pain. But I didn’t want to disturb your sleep too much. Therefore there’s still work to do. Sit tight.” She proclaims, taking your face sweetly into her hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead.
She gets up and disappears into the large bathroom to draw you a bath herself. A privilege not many have received. She refuses to draw her own baths –– preferring to call her servants to take on the chore for her. A lifelong habit.
And yet, she does this for you. And by the wafting perfume moving into her bedroom, she’s dressing it up the way she likes, with the rich honey, roses and bathing milk that leaves her feeling so soft yet so strong
A knock on the door startles you, and you scramble to cover up with the rich red sheets you undoubtedly stained with your pleasure. But Ambessa is quick to return, tossing you a reassuring look before opening the door to an empty hallway. A pitcher of more water, and a board of cheeses, fruits and various cured meats sit—awaiting your perusal.
“Right on time I see. Can you walk, little one?”
You nod eagerly, although you doubt yourself for a moment. As you slide out of the bed and let your bare feet hit the cold marble floor, your legs tremble.
She’s driven you to weakness, nothing more than a newborn fawn—and by the satisfied look on her face, she's loving every second.
“That’s a No.” She answers for you, before effortlessly reaching over to maneuver you over her shoulder with one strong arm.
The show of her strength causes a squeal to fall from your lips.
“Ambessa, you’re being ridiculous. I can walk on my own.” You giggle, clinging to her sculpted shoulder and fighting the embarrassment as your bare behind greets the room.
“You certainly cannot. Stop wriggling before I drop your food, you need sustenance.” She argues with a laugh, walking into the steaming bathroom eventually depositing you gently onto the counter top.
The cold press against your bruised ass makes you hiss, and instantly lifts you again with a guilty expression.
“Sorry love, the ointment still needs some time to work. My poor baby, here let’s get you relaxed. I’ve made a mess of you.” She says with a playful pout you roll your eyes at.
Within minutes though, all indignation falls away.
When you’re wrapped in her strong arms again, surrounded by milk and honey, being fed grapes and tasty cheeses from the hand of Noxus’ Matriarch of War, you are nothing but pleased.
Fluff, teeny tiny sprinkle of angst (physical pain)
A soft, relaxing pool day with Angela and the aftermath, where she takes care of you after you get sunburned.
TW: Suggestive talk, reader has easily burnt skin, wear your sunscreen people!, Angela’s nickname for reader is ‘sunshine’ and reader's for Angela is 'sweetheart' just cuz, description of really bad sunburn
After what felt like forever, you finally had a day off. It was an absolutely beautiful, sweltering day in LA, and despite the fact that it was incredibly crowded, you absolutely had to make use of the pool at your apartment complex. You had books to read, music to listen to, and sun to enjoy, and a beautiful girlfriend to sneak glances at while she floated around in a flamingo floatie, trying to avoid splashes from kids. What could be better?
You were sprawled out face down in a lounge chair with your airpods in, listening to the audiobook of Little Women for the millionth time that month, when you felt dripping on your back. You welcomed the cool drops on your sun-warmed skin.
“Sunshine, you’ve gotta put more sunscreen on, you’re turning into a lobster by the second.”
“‘M comfy.” Your voice came out muffled by the towel. “Don’t wanna get up.”
You heard the click of the sunscreen as she opened the bottle, pouring some on your shoulders and gently massaging it in. “You don’t have to get up, just let me do it.” Her cool hands rubbed every inch she could reach, from the back of your neck to the soles of your feet. “Now you have to flip over.”Reluctantly, you rolled onto your back. Angela giggled at the imprint of the towel on your stomach, before turning into cackling as she realized it also covered your legs and shoulders. “How long have you been laying like that?!”
“Long enough to know that you’re being mean to your beautiful girlfriend.” You humphed, crossing your arms and turning away from her.
“She is very beautiful today, have you seen her around anywhere?”
Your jaw dropped open. “Oh my god, you are so making dinner tonight, just for that comment.”
“Wasn’t I already?” You turned back to face her and watched her eyes sparkle with mirth.
“You hate me and want me to die.”
“Nooooo, I could never. Why else would I be sunscreening you?”
“Maybe you’re seasoning me to cook and eat me for dinner.”
She started rubbing more sunscreen on you, propping one of your feet up on her thigh where she was crouched on the ground. “You know me so well. Seasoning you is exactly what I’m doing.” She smirked menacingly, “Now are you gonna do the rest or am I gonna have to tickle you until you do it?”
“Keep those grubby hands away from me, I’ll do it myself.” You stuck your tongue out at her.
“I know you secretly love it when these ‘grubby hands’ are allll over you!” She half-sang, sinking down into the chair next to you and wiggling her fingers towards you. “Remember this morning?”
Your sunburn hid the bright red of your blush. “Ange! Not in front of the kids!” You hissed, even though the kids were on the other side of the pool, clearly enraptured by bright red popsicles.
“They have no clue what I’m talking about sunshine, you however, clearly do.”
“I’m- ugh, you- ergh,” You watched her grin grow wider as you fumbled with your words. Standing up, you finished rubbing the sunscreen into your neck. “I’m getting into the damn pool.” You grumbled, hoping to escape the teasing.
“Enjoy yourself sunshine,” She winked, popping the top on a drink. “I’ll be here, enjoying the view.”
You placed your phone and airpods until your towel, then hopped into the pool, opting to float lazily on your back. You closed your eyes, feeling the water ripple around your fingertips. All of a sudden, you felt your head bump into something. Opening your eyes, you found yourself looking up at your girlfriend, who started to gently support you with a hand between your shoulderblades.
“Hi there sweetheart.”
“Hi sunshine, I missed you.” She smiled softly down at you. “Feeling good?”
“Very relaxed, just what I needed.”
“Good. You deserve it.”
You reached a hand toward her, clinging onto her elbow. “I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Soft, not stressed, all for me.”
“I like seeing you like that too.”
You stared at each other for a while, enjoying the moment, when you heard a kid yell “Cannonball!!!!” causing the water to violently erupt into waves. Angela helped you stand up before you got water up your nose.
“I think that means it’s time to go home.”
“Agreed.”
The two of you got out of the pool, wrapped towels around yourselves, and leisurely walked back to your apartment, enjoying the fading sunlight.
—---------
You hated when Angela was right. Well, you hated when she was right to the detriment of your ego. You were indeed, as red as a lobster. In fact, it was so bad that the skin on your shoulders had started to peel and blister a bit after one day, and it felt like you were being burned alive. You had even spent the past few nights sleeping on the couch with a fan pointed directly at you to be as cool as physically possible, which Angela hated with a passion.
“Come to bed with meeeeee.” She flopped over the arm of the couch and onto your shoulder.
You sleepily pushed her away. “Too warm. Also ow.”
“Sorry sunshine. It’s kinda hard to believe that you got burned with SPF 50 applied to you twice, we were only out there for a few hours.”
“Mmph.”
“You want aloe?”
“Please.” She went to fetch it from the fridge and you pulled your hair up off of your back, wincing as it caught on some of the sensitive skin. She tried to hand it to you, but you gently pushed it back at her. “Will you get my back please? It's hard for me to reach.”
“Of course.” You tensed, bracing yourself for the impact of something touching your sensitive skin, but instead, all you felt was the relief of the cool aloe and the soft touch of your partner. She was thorough, swiping the green gel over every bit of inflamed area. Once she finished, she kissed the back of your neck softly. “Will you come to bed now please?” She gave you her best puppy eyes, and you melted.
“As long as you don’t mind me getting aloe on our sheets, I will.”
“All I care about is that you’re comfortable sunshine.”
"Then take me to bed sweetheart. But the fan is coming with too."
A/N: Bitches be sunburnt. It's me, I'm bitches. I'm so mad because I legit wore lots of sunscreen and it happened anyway! And the weather has been amazing this week and I've just been like, inside and suffering instead of enjoying it. I have like three Angela WIPs that I haven't finished so obviously I had to write an entirely new oneshot from scratch, because duh.
Painting your femme vampire gf’s nails the prettiest shade of blood red. Letting her dress you up in all the beautiful clothes she’s collected over the centuries, and doing a little spin for her so the skirt of the dress flares out just so. Giggling between kisses with her dark lipstick staining your lips (wasn’t that lip color discontinued decades ago?). Her long nails gently carding through your hair as you curl up in her coffin with her, warm and happy. Letting her teach you to dance in her garden under the light of the moon, surrounded by red spider lilies and white lilies. Life and death, forever intertwined in a loving embrace ♡
