Mary Sandbox

Despite its simplicity and youthful air, Mystic Falls carried a quiet charm.

That was the thought lingering in your mind as you walked slowly toward the lake, where you were meant to meet Katerina.

You had imagined the afternoon differently - private, unbothered, just the two of you. Such moments had grown painfully rare since you both arrived in America. Her schemes, as clever as they were reckless, always seemed to wedge themselves between you. Boredom, you supposed, was the curse of immortality - and Katherine bore it more restlessly than any vampire you had ever met. So you had never scolded her for her frequent excursions or lectured her about getting into trouble. Trouble was written into her very nature, and it was precisely that reckless fire you had fallen for.

What did gnaw at you, however, was the act of sharing her. After three centuries together, you had tried - truly tried - to loosen your grip, to let her wander into her meaningless dalliances without feeling the twist of jealousy in your chest. Vampires grew restless; they sought novelty. And still, a part of you hated the thought that Katherine could grow restless of you. Whenever you voiced it, she would laugh, brushing off your insecurities with the fierce, raw conviction that no one else mattered - that you were the only one who had ever held her heart.

But sometimes, her reassurances were harder to believe. Especially here, in Mystic Falls, with the Salvatore brothers circling her orbit like moths to a flame.

That truth cut sharp when you spotted her by the lake. The smile that bloomed instinctively at the sight of her vanished the moment you realized she wasn’t alone. Damon and Stefan were there too - lingering, hovering, performing. The brothers tossed a ball between them, deliberately loud, each movement a display meant to catch her eye. The spectacle was juvenile, but effective - Katherine sat watching, lips curved, eyes amused, letting them chase her attention as though it were the most coveted prize.

It wasn’t that you despised them. You didn’t. Stefan was still more boy than man, earnest in his innocence. Damon carried charm like armor, sharp but magnetic. Both devastatingly handsome, both smiling far too eagerly as you approached, clearly thrilled to have two women’s attention instead of one.

Your own smile felt like glass - polished but brittle - as you returned their greeting. Polite words, nothing more, before you lowered yourself into the grass beside Katherine. The brothers ran further off, still chasing the ball, leaving you alone with her - or as alone as one could be under their constant shadow.

“You took your time, darlin’.” Katherine removed her wide-brimmed hat, leaning in for a kiss against your cheek. You turned your face away at the last second. The briefest brush of air where her lips should’ve landed drew her brows together in faint surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you meant to gift me with your company this afternoon,” you said, eyes fixed ahead on the lake and the brothers splashing sunlight off the water’s edge. “But it seems I’m condemned to share you with the Salvatores.”

Her laugh was light, lilting, unbothered. You felt her gaze on you, heavy and deliberate, the kind of stare that could strip defenses layer by layer. Katherine had memorized you centuries ago, yet she still looked as though she discovered something new each time.

“I like it when you get possessive,” she murmured, teeth tugging at her lower lip when your jaw tightened in restrained frustration. “You usually hide it so well. It’s… entertaining, seeing you crack when I push too far.”

A bitter chuckle escaped you as you exhaled, finally daring to turn your head toward her. She met your eyes with a flicker of triumph - only to turn away almost instantly, lifting her hand to wave at Stefan, giggling as he outmaneuvered his brother.

The sound of it hit like a spark in dry tinder.

“Is this what we’re doing here, Katerina?” you asked, voice low but edged with heat.

Her flinch was subtle, but unmistakable. Her real name on your tongue always unraveled her - it carried the weight of centuries, of memories too tangled to name. In private, it belonged to passion, whispered between ragged breaths in moments when she allowed herself to be bare, undone. In public, it rang louder, sharper, tugging her back to times she would rather forget.

You let the silence stretch for a heartbeat, watching the way she composed herself, before you pressed on.

“Are you pushing your luck in this town?” Your words were measured, quiet, but each syllable laced with the weight of old battles. “Witches, wolves, the Salvatores - everyone. Are you playing with fire just to see how long it takes me to burn? Expecting me to step in and save you again, like I did in Moscow?”

She sighed deeply, the sound dragging from her chest like the weight of old memories. For a fleeting instant, you could almost see the reflection in her eyes - images of the countless times she had delighted in watching you unleash your power, and the heated nights that followed when you reminded her what consequences came from pushing too far.

“Tempting, really… but no.” Katherine’s lips curved into that bratty smile you knew too well - sharp as a blade but delivered with the ease of someone who never feared cutting herself on it. “What I’m doing here is my business. You have your work secrets; let me keep mine.”

You exhaled through your nose, the urge to call out her lie burning at the back of your throat. But she wasn’t wrong. You had your secrets too - not out of mistrust, never that, but because your clients demanded it. Blood contracts, ironclad confidentiality spells… shackles that kept you silent, even when all you wanted was to spill every sordid detail into her waiting grin, to gossip with her the way mortals did with lovers.

So instead, your bitterness took another shape.

“The Salvatore brothers are ‘business’ now?” Your voice was low, clipped. “Doesn’t look like business to me. Looks like you’re enjoying their company.”

Katherine stretched back onto her elbows, body loose and languid, like a cat basking in the warmth of the sun. The light poured over her exposed throat, glinting against her skin in a way that made your chest tighten. She noticed your stare instantly, of course - she always did - and her lips parted in a slow, deliberate curve.

“They’re… fun.” She let her tongue glide over her lips, savoring your distraction like the sweetest wine. “Go on, admit it. I know you like them too.”

You were too caught in the play of sunlight across her skin, too consumed by the way she baited you, to notice the flickers she tried to hide - how her eyes lingered whenever Damon managed to make you laugh, or how she watched Stefan’s attempts at poetry with thinly veiled interest. You’d been too lost inside your own possessiveness to realize how much it thrilled her to catch you unaware, to see whether you would ever waver.

“They’re sweetly naïve, that’s all,” you answered at last, forcing your gaze away before she could bask in the triumph of catching you look.

Katherine’s narrowed eyes burned into you, her expression so sharp you caught a flash of her other face - red eyes threatening to surface, hunger straining just beneath her practiced mask.

“I bet you think they’re handsome too.”

The unexpected edge in her tone made you huff out a surprised laugh. “I mean… I do have eyes. They tend to wander in the presence of good-looking people.” You tried for humor, tried to soften the weight of it, but Katherine shoved your shoulder, harder than playful. It didn’t wound - not with the centuries of strength layered in your bones - but it stung all the same.

Your laugh rose in spite of it, incredulous. “Hey, you’re the one who brought it up.”

She pushed again, sharper this time, until your back pressed into the grass. You were still chuckling, thinking it was one of her usual games, until her face blurred into its vampiric form. The amusement on your lips froze.

“Katerina - ”

“You know I hate it,” she cut in, her voice vibrating with the raw honesty she tried so hard to bury. “I hate when you find other people attractive.”

That confession pulled a laugh from you, bitter and almost cruel. “That’s rich - coming from you.”

But Katherine didn’t smile. Her eyes glowed red, but her touch betrayed her - the soft brush of her fingers against your jawline, the tender contradiction to her fury. “Not fair, baby. You know very well you’re the one with the upper hand in this relationship.”

The weight of her words settled heavy in your chest. She wasn’t wrong. You were older, stronger, infinitely more powerful. You were the shield between her and the Mikaelsons, the one who had dragged her from the jaws of death more times than either of you could count. She could tease you, provoke you, drag you across continents to clean up the wreckage of her chaos… but at the end of the day, you were still the one who held the key to her heart. The only one she had ever let slip past her walls.

“You do this to torture me,” you accused, your tone quieter this time, but heavier, weighted with the truth of it.

Katherine arched a brow, lips twitching with the shadow of a smirk. “Torture you?”

“You like making me feel powerless,” you pressed, eyes holding hers with a gravity you rarely allowed. “Because I can’t force your affection. Not even with all my strength.”

Her smirk softened into something darker, something vulnerable she’d never admit to anyone else. Her hand slid lower, fingertips grazing the open buttons at the collar of your shirt, nails teasing your skin.

“Not true, baby,” she whispered, leaning closer, her lips brushing the edge of your throat. “Nothing with you has ever felt forced for me.”

The confession nearly undid you - until awareness crashed in. The lake. The sunlight. The brothers not far off. Exposure.

You tensed, sitting up abruptly, catching her wrist as you glanced over your shoulder in search of Stefan and Damon. The meadow seemed too open, too fragile a cover for something as dangerous as her lips on your skin.

“They’ll see us,” you hissed, voice low, urgent.

But Katherine only laughed, the sound light and wicked, like she found your desperation amusing. The kind of laugh that made mortals fall in love and made you want to either kiss her senseless or shake her until she took something seriously.

“They’re compelled to look away no matter what they see, sweetheart.” Katherine’s voice dipped into a husky murmur, low enough to crawl beneath your skin. Her eyes darkened as she slid your hands - those stubborn hands trying to hold her off - down to rest on her waist. “You, on the other hand, should be compelled to never take your eyes off me.”

Uncertainty still prickled in your chest, but it unraveled the moment she shifted onto your lap, straddling you with effortless confidence. The tension bracing your shoulders faltered as her mouth found you - scattering kisses across every patch of skin her lips could claim, her hips moving in an unhurried grind that set sparks crackling through your veins.

A groan slipped from you before you could stop it, the sound guttural and raw as her perfume enveloped you, sweet and intoxicating. Yet your instincts tugged elsewhere - your gaze still flicking over her shoulder toward the lake, ears straining for the splash of the Salvatores or the tread of unsuspecting townsfolk wandering too close.

Then her fangs pierced your skin.

Your breath shuddered, a sharp sigh torn from your lungs as your hands clamped down on her hips, pinning her against you. Her feeding was messy, needy, and her hips bucked in a rhythm that had nothing to do with hunger for blood.

“You’ve lost your mind,” you whispered into her hair, voice husky, already fumbling with the buttons of her dress. Her answering moan vibrated against your neck, shameless, as she ground harder, her thighs trembling when she found the pressure she craved against your flexed leg.

“We’re gonna get caught,” you hissed, though your grip only urged her closer.

“I don’t care.” The words were muffled, dragged out on a breathless moan as her tongue licked across the fresh bite. She shivered violently when you tangled your fingers in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to crush your mouths together.

The kiss was ruinous, wild - blood and want mingling, her tongue pushing past every barrier you tried to hold, as though she could devour you whole. It wasn’t the kind of kiss two women could get away with in public, not in this century, but Katherine kissed you as though the world itself had ceased to matter.

Between her desperate licks and the scrape of her teeth, you managed to rasp words into her mouth, half-scolding, half-teasing, your voice shredded by arousal.

“This would be much more comfortable in a bed,” you growled, your thigh jerking upward to meet her grind. Her whimper nearly undid you. “I could take my time with you… kiss every inch of your skin… make you forget your little games for the night.” Your tongue traced behind her ear, and she broke, keening softly, nails digging into your shoulders.

You pressed the advantage, lips grazing the shell of her ear as you murmured darker promises. “I could make you forget even your own name with my tongue buried deep inside you…”

Her hips snapped forward too sharply this time, her entire body seizing with a trembling shudder. Heat bloomed against your thigh, her breath ragged, uneven. For a heartbeat, you just stared - eyes widening as the realization sank in.

“Did you just…?” The incredulous laugh that broke from you was as startled as it was amused.

Katherine turned her face away, but not fast enough to hide the crimson flush blooming across her cheeks. “It was just a small one,” she muttered, the defensive edge of her tone only fueling your amusement. As if calling it “small” could make the sight of Katherine Pierce undone in your lap any less intoxicating.

You caught her chin firmly, forcing her to meet your eyes again. Her pupils were blown wide, lips swollen, every line of her body still shivering with aftershocks.

“Is that so?” Your smirk was dark, slow, deliberate. “Well, then say goodbye to your little boytoys, Katerina, because I’m taking you back to my room. And what I’m going to give you won’t be ‘small’ at all.”

Her breath hitched audibly, arousal flaring in her eyes as her body trembled with anticipation. She exhaled shakily, pushing herself off your lap with legs still weak beneath her.

When she turned toward the Salvatores, smoothing her dress and summoning that easy smile again, you leaned back into the grass for a moment, chest still heaving. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself as you watched her saunter toward them with calculated grace.

Lois needed a bath.

A bath, a soft bed, and dreams that didn’t include deadlines or front-page disasters.

After a long, soul-draining day at the Daily Planet, all she wanted was to peel off her clothes, sink into warm water, and forget the world existed. But just as her hand turned the doorknob, the low murmur of a television echoed faintly from inside her apartment.

She paused.

That wasn’t right.

She hadn’t even touched the remote that morning, and barely managed to grab her coat on the way out. Her brow furrowed. Slowly, cautiously, she pushed the door open.

The familiar scent of home greeted her, but it did little to soothe her nerves. She moved in silence, her heels muffled against the wooden floor. In the corner, she reached instinctively for the baseball bat - her emergency companion - and raised it with practiced form.

But then came the laugh.

The most unmistakable, heartwarming of laughter.

Her muscles lost all tension in an instant. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, returned the bat to its resting spot, and tossed her keys into the ceramic jar by the door with a muted clink. Kicking the door shut with her foot, she marched into the living room, frustration already mounting.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

You were lounging comfortably on her sofa, still chuckling at the black-and-white chaos of The Addams Family playing on the screen. That stupid, charming smile was plastered across your face when you turned to face her, and Lois’s heart had the nerve to skip.

“You still leave the spare key in the same place,” you said casually, one arm draped along the back of the couch as you shifted to face her.

She crossed her arms, willing her heart to behave. “That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment.”

“Break in? I used the door,” you replied with a grin, as if that made it any better.

She didn’t bother answering that. Her gaze had already drifted past you, narrowing at the chaotic sea of boxes strewn around the living room. Some were sealed, others open, spilling out belongings - too familiar for her comfort.

“What is all this junk? Is that why you’re here?” she asked, already stepping closer. Her eyes scanned over trinkets, clothes, photos, each one tethered to a memory she hadn't been ready to revisit.

And then she saw it.

The teddy bear. The one she'd impulsively bought you on your first date, after you'd offhandedly mentioned never getting one as a kid. Her steps faltered.

You noticed. Of course you did.

You always noticed when it came to her.

Clearing your throat, you shifted on the couch, suddenly unsure of yourself.

“I’m not... returning your gifts,” you said awkwardly, scratching behind your ear. “Well - I mean. Kinda. The internet said that’s what I should do.”

She turned sharply, her expression unreadable.

“You’re what?”

“I did some research,” you explained, with a helpless little gesture. “You know. ‘What to do after a four-year breakup with someone.’ Step three: return sentimental items to gain closure.”

Lois blinked at you. “You’re kidding.”

It took less than a second before your composure cracked. Laughter burst from you like a wave, unfiltered and genuine. She couldn’t help the faint smile that pulled at her lips, even as she rolled her eyes and grabbed a throw pillow to hurl in your direction.

“Asshole,” she muttered, her aim decent, but your reflexes better.

You batted it away, still laughing, and she crossed the room with a grudging exhale. “Seriously. What really happened?”

“Flood,” you said simply, still catching your breath.

Her expression shifted instantly - brows furrowed, concern replacing irritation.

“Everything in storage got hit,” you added with a shrug. “I just... grabbed what I didn’t want to lose.”

She glanced again at the boxes. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Most people would save appliances.”

You didn’t look away. “I was more concerned with what was irreplaceable.”

Her gaze flicked back to you. And stayed.

For a long second, neither of you said anything. The television continued playing behind you - Morticia and Gomez dancing across the screen, black and white shadows flickering over the furniture.

Lois felt her throat tighten.

She hated how easy it was to get lost in your eyes.

How natural it felt to have you here.

She forced a laugh, light and brief, as if that might dispel the weight in the air.

Instead, it only made it settle deeper.

“Don’t even start,” Lois warns, her tone sharp enough to draw a line.

You raise both hands in surrender, staying silent, letting her focus drift back to the contents of the boxes. A pause stretches between you as she kneels beside one, brushing her fingers over old photographs like they’re artifacts from a life she’s still trying to make sense of. She opens jewelry boxes with hesitant curiosity, chuckles at notes you'd once tucked into books and cabinet drawers, each one a tiny time capsule. There’s nostalgia in her movements, but also caution.

You finally stand, your body unfolding with a soft exhale. “I saved some of the food too,” you murmur, voice casual as you step past her, but closer than you need to. The couch offers plenty of room, but you take the narrow path, close enough to catch the sudden hitch in her breath.

“My aunt left a bunch of homemade stuff,” you add, heading toward the kitchen like you’ve done a hundred times. “And I thought, since it’s Wednesday and Lois Lane definitely hasn’t eaten a proper meal, I’d better bring something for my girl.”

You’re already rummaging through the fridge when the words hit her like a thrown stone. Lois crosses her arms tightly over her chest, trying to fold herself against the quiet thrum in her ribs.

“We’ve talked about this,” she says, stepping into the kitchen behind you. The room feels smaller now, too full of memory. “I’m not your girl anymore.”

You glance over your shoulder, feigning a wounded expression as you unpack a container with practiced ease. “Don’t be silly, Lois,” you reply, flipping open the lid. “Dating or not, you’ll always be my girl.”

You wink.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She nearly chokes on the heat climbing her neck and face. She hopes - prays - you don’t hear the slight shake in her voice when she answers. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. We’re broken up. We need... boundaries.”

You stop what you’re doing. Close the microwave door, press a button. Turn to her slowly, leaning back against the counter with both palms braced behind you. The casual stance doesn’t hide the way your brow creases.

“We have boundaries,” you say, genuinely puzzled. “You told me not to call anymore. I haven’t. I don’t show up at the Planet. We don’t have date nights. We don’t even sleep together.”

Lois presses her fingertips to her forehead and groans softly. “Yes. Because we’re broken up!” Her voice echoes slightly in the tiled kitchen, her frustration rising.

You tilt your head at her, not quite getting it.

“That means,” she says firmly, pointing between the two of you, “you can’t just barge into my life whenever you feel like it. Not anymore. Tonight is an exception - because of the flood. That’s it.”

She gestures toward the boxes now, to the steaming container in your hand, to the unspoken rhythm you always fall back into so easily.

“We - as in the couple, the thing that was - don’t exist anymore. You don’t bring me your aunt’s home-cooked meals. That’s what you do for a partner, Y/N. And I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

You sigh, arms folding across your chest now, your expression dimming with quiet defiance.

“That’s absurd, Lois,” you mutter. “Humans have the most ridiculous customs about ending relationships, I hope you know that.”

She scoffs despite herself, a bitter little sound as she shakes her head.

You hesitate, then add, more softly, “Besides... we only broke up out of convenience.”

Her head snaps up. "Oh, we did what now?”

You shrug, like you didn’t just drop a grenade in the middle of her kitchen. “I moved. We had zero time. Your job keeps you tethered to Metropolis. Mine doesn’t. Plus…” You raise an eyebrow. “You’ve got commitment issues.”

Lois lets out an incredulous laugh, her eyes wide. “Me? I have commitment issues?”

You nod solemnly. “Absolutely.”

“Wow. Just - wow.” Her arms fall to her sides, and she stares at you like she’s reevaluating her entire life.

You grin, playful now. “It’s okay. This is a safe space.”

She takes a threatening step forward. “I’m going to kick you out of my apartment.”

You burst into laughter, unbothered. She lunges to grab your shoulders, half-exasperated, half-laughing herself - but you're ready. You dig your heels in, refusing to budge. Lois underestimates the resistance and stumbles forward, catching herself only by grabbing the counter beside you.

Too close now.

Your hands are at her waist before either of you can pretend otherwise. It’s muscle memory. Dangerous and familiar.

“What happened to boundaries, Miss Lane?” you ask, your voice dropping, amused and almost tender.

Your eyes drop to her lips, slowly and deliberately. Lois exhales shakily, her hand still on the edge of the counter like she needs grounding. 

“I told you last time was the last time,” she says.

Your mouth is so close now that she can taste the breath between you.

“We’re not going to relapse,” she promises, though her gaze has already fallen to your lips, too. “Again,” she finishes, the word barely a whisper.

But neither of you moves away.

And when your lips brush hers, soft and fleeting, Lois summons every shred of mental discipline she has left.

She pulls away.

Firm and breathless, her body protests in silence - heat pulsing beneath her skin, heart pounding in her throat - but she doesn’t let it show. Not entirely.

You let out a quiet giggle, not teasing, just... disarming. You don’t press the moment further. Instead, you pivot effortlessly, moving to retrieve the food just as the microwave lets out its soft beep.

Lois leans against the doorway for balance, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could will her heart to slow down.

“Stop beating yourself up, Miss Lane,” you call over your shoulder, casual and light as you begin plating the food. “This is just dinner. Friends have dinner together.”

Lois laughs dryly and humorlessly, a breath caught between amusement and disbelief. “Friends usually don’t date for years. Or sleep together. Or break up. Not in that order, anyway.”

You shake your head, grinning to yourself as if her logic is merely technicalities. “Can you clear the table?”

She exhales in resignation at the subject shift, but she doesn’t argue. As you finish plating, she returns to the dining table in the living room, sweeping aside notebooks, a tablet, and some pens. The space between the two plates looks neat. Too neat. Like she’s preparing for something she doesn’t want to name.

You join her with the food, placing each dish down. Neither of you speaks right away.

It’s not uncomfortable.

Not at all.

You’ve had dozens of dinners like this before - quiet, cozy, sometimes exhausted, sometimes flirty. Lois eats like she’s starving, and in truth, she is. Her body finally relaxed enough to demand what it’s been denied all day.

Your aunt’s cooking tastes like memory. It fills the silence. There are a few mumbled complaints about work - Lois vents about her editor’s last-minute chaos, and you grumble about scheduling disasters - but eventually the rhythm slows again. The silence stretches, not quite as easy this time.

It lingers. 

You catch her stealing a glance at the boxes still cluttering the living room, then another glance at you.

She clears her throat.

“Do you plan on staying here?” she asks. Her voice is measured, casual on the surface, but too careful. “Because of the flood, I mean.”

You dab at your mouth with a napkin. “I was going to. But that was before you freaked out about my visit. Now I’m thinking I should find a hotel.”

Lois groans softly, rubbing her hand through her hair. “I didn’t freak out,” she argues, shooting you a look you know too well.

You smirk knowingly. She ignores it.

“I was just... serious,” she says, quieter now. Her voice carries the exhaustion she’s been holding back since the moment she walked through the door. “We need boundaries, Y/N. So we don’t keep hurting each other.”

You nod once, expression softening, eyes searching hers.

“It’s not healthy to pretend nothing’s changed,” she continues. “We ended things. Even if we’re... still us, in some weird way, we can’t just slip back into habits and ignore the fallout.”

You sit with that for a moment. Let the silence speak first. Then, gently:

“I feel, Lois,” you say quietly. “I know it might not seem like it. Like I’m just coasting through this, pretending we didn’t break up. But I feel it.”

Her eyes flick to yours. Vulnerable and guarded.

You offer a small, sad smile. “I guess I haven’t been showing that, huh?”

She doesn’t answer,  just swallows hard. You glance down, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the table.

“I know there are some things, some customs, that you have a hard time guessing or following right away, but I'd rather you ask. Instead of assuming everything's okay when it's not.”

A beat. You raise your eyes again.

“Okay. Then let me ask.”

Her posture shifts. She leans slightly forward, curious despite herself.

“Do you want me out of your life?”

Her face changes. Quickly. Like she didn’t expect the question to land so heavy. Lois looks away, heat rising beneath her skin. 

She crosses her arms and mutters, “Straight to the point. That’s great.”

“You told me to ask!”

“Okay, okay,” she says, waving a hand as she stands, like she needs physical space to respond. You watch her, but you don’t push. You wait. 

She paces slightly, only a step or two, then stops. Her shoulders drop. She sighs loudly and turns to face you again.

“I obviously don’t want you out of my life,” she begins, voice firm but raw. She lifts a hand preemptively when you open your mouth to respond. “But I don’t want to pretend I’m not hurt, either.”

You blink, gently stilling again.

“We were together for a long time, Y/N. And then suddenly... we weren’t. You were gone. You are gone, and I know you have to be, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped feeling your absence.”

She swallows. The words are thick. 

“I don’t want to pretend that it doesn’t upset me. That it didn’t break something. That there isn’t this distance now, and that it doesn’t matter.”

You stare at her like she’s the only thing in the room. You don’t move. You don’t interrupt.

“I want space to heal,” she says. “We decided to break up. We did it kindly. But if we want to stay kind - if we want to preserve anything real between us - we have to honor that decision. That means space.”

You lick your lips before you dare to speak.

“So… you want me to leave?”

Lois exhales. Slow, sad, and heavy.

“The thing is…” Her voice falters just enough to hurt. “I never wanted you to leave in the first place.”

Your breath catches.

“That’s the problem,” she adds, her tone gaining a bitter edge. “You left.”

“Lois-”

“No, come on,” she cuts in, shaking her head with a dry, humorless laugh. Her arms cross, a reflex to brace herself, like she’s afraid of what she might say next, or what you might say back. “Let’s be honest, yeah? I suck at relationships. I know that. I don’t date. I pull away. I shut down. I isolate myself when I should reach out. I’ve got baggage and walls and a thousand excuses.”

You open your mouth, but she doesn't let you interrupt.

“Well, Y/N, you leave.” Her eyes lock onto yours, unblinking. “That’s your thing. When things get hard, when they start to get real, you just… disappear. You step back. You leave.”

You’re quiet. The room seems smaller. Tighter. Like there isn’t enough air between the two of you, yet somehow, the silence feels vast.

“I...” Your voice barely escapes your throat. The protest dies on your tongue, unspoken. Because the truth is - she’s not wrong. You can’t look her in the eyes. You sigh instead, gaze falling. “I’m sorry.”

Lois huffs, no satisfaction in her expression. “Apologies don’t fix anything.”

“No,” you agree quietly, lifting your gaze back to hers. “But they’re what I can offer. Right now, at least.”

You straighten, standing slowly, and the distance between you shrinks. Neither of you moves, but the space feels charged now.

“I can’t undo what I did, Lois. I can’t rewrite the last few months, or pretend I was the girlfriend you deserved. I let my work come first. I let everything come first. But you- ” your voice breaks for a moment, your jaw tightening to stay steady, “you were always my person. Always.”

Lois’s throat bobs as she swallows hard. You can see the shine in her eyes before she speaks.

“I fucked up,” you continue, more quietly now. “I know I did. But I won’t lie and pretend my feelings disappeared. Because if we’re being honest? They haven’t. They won’t.”

She blinks slowly, and when her gaze meets yours again, it’s full of something heavy. Something raw.

“You can’t do this,” Lois whispers hoarsely, stepping toward you like her body has made the decision for her. “You don’t get to vanish for weeks and then show up with food and a kiss and tell me you still love me.”

“I haven’t said that yet,” you murmur, smiling softly.

She rolls her eyes, but it’s mostly to cover the way her hands reach out, finding your shoulders like they belong there.

“Yet.” Her voice is scolding, but she’s already too close for it to stick.

Then she kisses you.

And you melt.

It’s not rushed, at least not at first. Your mouths meet like a slow, aching memory, like you’re trying to relearn the shape of each other all over again. It’s deep and drawn-out, breathy and broken in places, full of unsaid things that bleed through parted lips and shallow exhales.

Lois’s hands are in your hair before you know it, nails grazing your scalp just enough to make you groan softly against her mouth. Your fingers tighten on her waist, tugging her closer until your bodies press together, heat chasing the space that had separated you for weeks.

For a moment, the world vanishes. The mess, the flood, the heartbreak - none of it exists. Only her.

Then she breaks for air, just barely, and your lips chase hers instinctively. Her breath catches - soft and sharp - and when she kisses you again, it’s hungrier and hotter.

Lois licks into your mouth with slow precision, and when your tongues meet, the sound she makes - a desperate, breathy whimper - is shamefully real. You swallow it.

The kiss deepens. Turns urgent. Her fingers tangle and tug in your hair with little grace, and your hands clutch her waist tightly, possessively. Needy. She presses into you, and your knees nearly give when her body meets yours that firmly.

You’re not sure when she started backing you up. You don’t even notice the couch behind you until the backs of your legs hit it and you fall back with a soft oof. The kiss breaks just long enough for you to look up and she’s already climbing into your lap.

Her mouth finds yours again, this time fiercer. Everything is spiraling faster now. Her breath ghosts against your cheek between kisses, her hands all over, gripping your shoulders, raking down your back, anchoring herself to you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

You hold her like you never meant to let go.

Because maybe you didn’t.

Lois kisses you like she’s been holding her breath for weeks - and maybe she has.

In your lap, her thighs bracket your hips, her hands still threaded in your hair as her mouth moves against yours with growing desperation. There’s no rush in her rhythm, but there’s hunger in it; slow and certain, like she’s remembering what she already knows too well.

You don’t speak. Not yet. You just follow her lead.

Your hands slide over the curve of her waist, over fabric and memory, holding her like she might vanish again if you let go. Her hips shift subtly against yours, and your breath catches in your throat. She notices. She always notices.

When her lips break away from yours to trail along your jaw, you tilt your head instinctively, giving her more room, your pulse fluttering beneath her mouth. You can feel her sigh against your skin, warm and familiar, and it draws a shiver up your spine.

“Lois…” you whisper, but it’s half breath, half prayer.

“Shut up,” she murmurs against your neck, but there’s no heat in it. Just need. Just ache.

Your hands roam slowly now, reverently. Up the curve of her back, down her sides, memorizing her all over again. When your palms settle under her shirt and touch bare skin, Lois lets out a soft gasp that sinks straight into your chest.

“You okay?” you murmur, finally daring to speak.

She just nods, barely.

You lift her shirt only as far as she’ll allow, revealing smooth skin. Your mouth follows, pressing soft, open kisses along her ribs, her stomach, the edge of her bra. You worship with silence and lips, and she melts under the weight of it.

Lois’s fingers curl into your shoulders, grounding herself.

“This okay?” you ask again.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You shift just enough to let her straddle one of your thighs, guiding her gently with your hands on her hips. She groans softly at the contact, burying her face into your neck as she starts to move - slowly, hesitantly, testing herself against you.

You offer her only comfort. Still beneath her, letting her choose the pace. Letting her feel.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ve missed you.”

Her movements stutter. Her arms tighten around you.

“I’ve got you,” you promise. Your hands slip beneath her waistband with practiced gentleness, and she doesn’t stop you. She just kisses you again - deep and aching, like she’s pouring every fractured piece of herself into the taste of your mouth.

You explore her with careful fingers, unhurried and soft, touching her like she’s precious. Like she’s not yours anymore, but you remember how to love her anyway.

Lois clutches at your shirt, breathing harder now, mouth trailing over your cheek, your throat, anywhere she can reach. When your fingers dip between her legs, finding her aching heat, she gasps and tilts her head back - her body trusting yours again despite every part of her trying not to.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, kissing her collarbone. “Just let go. I’m right here.”

Her breath comes faster. Her hips grind down, chasing rhythm, chasing release. You keep whispering soft encouragements, each word meant to soothe, to hold her steady, to remind her she’s safe with you.

“Don’t think,” you tell her gently. “Just feel. You deserve this. Let me take care of you.”

Lois comes with a strangled breath, clinging to you as she shudders apart. Her head falls against your shoulder, lips brushing your skin as a long sigh escapes her chest, relieved, spent, and vulnerable.

You wrap your arms around her tightly, pressing kisses to the crown of her head while she tries to catch her breath.

Neither of you says anything for a while. The only sound is the quiet hum of the television still playing in the background, forgotten.

Eventually, Lois shifts just enough to tuck her head beneath your chin, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her breathing slows, settling into something steady. You think she’s going to pull away. But instead, she lets herself rest against you, her limbs warm and limp, her cheek against your shoulder.

“I should… go to bed,” she murmurs, barely audible.

“You should,” you agree softly, but you don’t move. Neither does she.

A long beat passes. Her grip on you loosens, just slightly.

“You’re warm,” she mumbles, almost asleep now.

You smile.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. And this time, you mean it.

You don’t say much after that.

Just the gentle shift of your arms around her, the way your hands cup the backs of her thighs to lift her without asking. Lois hums softly, too tired to argue, too raw to pretend she doesn’t melt into your hold like she’s always belonged there.

Her bed is still a mess of half-folded laundry and scattered notebooks. You clear just enough space with a quiet laugh, settling her down and tugging the blanket over her body like you never forgot how.

She reaches for your wrist before you can pull away.

“You staying?”

Your breath catches. You don’t answer right away, just brush a thumb over her knuckles and press a kiss to the back of her hand.

“I’ll stay,” you whisper. “Go to sleep, Lois.”

She doesn’t let go until she does.

-

The smell of coffee comes first.

Then, toasted bread. Then fruit - her favorite, chopped just the way she likes, not that you’d ever say it out loud.

Lois pads barefoot into the kitchen with sleep-mussed hair and warm skin, her nightshirt twisted around one hip and eyes still puffy from a dreamless sleep. The apartment is quiet, too quiet - and you’re not there.

Just a plate on the table. A steaming mug. A folded napkin with your terrible handwriting scribbled in blue pen.

“Got called in. Supervillain throwing tanks off the Starbridge, you know how it goes. Didn’t want to wake you - you looked too peaceful, and I’m not a monster.

Eat everything.

 - Your favorite alien.”

She stares at the note for a long time, expression unreadable. Then she sits and eats slowly.

She doesn’t cry.

Lois is used to people leaving.

She showers. Dresses. Applies her lipstick like armor and pulls on her boots with practiced ease, telling herself it was always going to be like this - that last night didn’t change anything, not really.

And then - 

The bedroom window creaks open.

And you crawl through it, covered in ash and soot and some sort of cosmic glitter that probably isn’t FDA-approved. Your suit is ripped at the shoulder, one of your gloves is missing, and there’s a faint trail of smoke rising from your hair. You’re breathless, and you look like you’ve just fought the universe with your bare hands and still came back for breakfast.

Lois freezes halfway to the door, her purse in one hand, keys in the other.

“You’re tracking dirt all over my floor,” she says dryly, but her voice is softer than it should be.

You grin, one eye squinting as you wipe at a smear of blood near your brow.

“Could’ve used the door,” you offer. “But I remembered something about boundaries?”

She crosses her arms, ignoring the way her heartbeat triples at the sight of you. “You did promise not to break into my apartment again.”

You glance back at the open window and shrug with faux innocence. “Technically, I climbed. No glass was harmed. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“I’ve got the trauma to prove it,” you deadpan, limping slightly as you step into the apartment, your suit groaning with each movement.

Lois watches you for a moment too long. Watches the way you wince when you lower yourself to sit on the arm of the couch. Watches the way you’re trying to play it cool, despite the exhaustion in your eyes.

She clears her throat. “Don’t think I’m answering that boundary question.”

“Thought so,” you say, almost smug, like her silence is its own kind of intimacy. “You heading to work?”

“Was,” she mutters, grabbing her coat. “Then a superhero broke into my apartment and slowed me down.”

“Lunch later?” you ask, already halfway out the window again, balance impeccable despite the limp. “If I’m not buried under rubble again by noon?”

Lois hesitates, fingers tightening around the doorknob. You can see the moment she softens. It’s small - a twitch at the corner of her mouth. But it’s there.

“Just don’t bring another supervillain with you,” she says, not quite looking at you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you promise, then blow her a kiss as a new explosion echoes faintly from somewhere across the skyline.

And just like that, you're gone again - flying into the chaos, smoke trailing behind you, but Lois’s apartment still smells like toast and fruit and quiet hope.

Sighing softly, you let go of her hand.

Taylor remained close to you, however.

"It'll be quick." She assured, forcing a smile. "A few hours, we'll go home, okay?"

It was your turn to smile, your gaze roaming the entire figure in front of you, watching the new dress hug all the right places.

"You look beautiful, dear. Did I mention?" You deflect from her previous sentence, and despite the soft redness in her cheeks, her stare is amused.

"Once or twice."

"Then I need to improve on that number." You spoke, bringing your face closer to her ear. "You're breathtaking, Tay." You whispered, enjoying the way her skin shivered.

But the place was beginning to fill up. The other contestants and performers were arriving incrementally, and even though you were hidden from view by the cameras now, it was still too risky to be so close and so non-platonically in public.

Resisting the urge to kiss her cheek, you pulled away and cleared your throat softly. "After you, Miss Swift."

She rolled her eyes at the formality, a smile playing on her lips.

Taylor left first, or rather, entered, the great hall where the awards ceremony would be taking place this year.

You as an independent artist were going to sit a few tables away from her.

The challenge was to keep your eyes off your girlfriend when she looked so stunning.

The evening passed slowly, most probably because all you could do was watch the concerts and speeches and try to cheer yourself up a bit with the expensive food and bad drink.

Your only wish was to be able to keep your hand intertwined with hers and kiss her, even if only on the cheek, as married men could do around the room.

For your happiness, at least you can look at her. Her album won one of the awards that night.

She came on stage, to wave and to express her thanks, and you can't even control your own expression.

Would the photographers in the room be able to tell that your eyes shine brighter than the lights when you look at her?

Would Taylor be able to see you from that distance?

You know she can. Because she meets your gaze from the stage and smiles in a way that you know is just for you.

And when the night is over, she has autographs to sign, and hands to shake, and you are beginning to regret not drinking when one of the boys in a band tries to get her number from her managers.

–//–

It has been like this for some time.

Maybe days, or months? Sometimes you feel that it has been going on for years. Maybe all your life.

When you didn't know her, what was it like to go to LA?

Not to be around her, visiting galleries and parks in a poor disguise, or rushing out of rehearsals to spend time in her apartment under the sheets.

Soon spring is coming, and you need to get back to England for the awards.

Taylor invites you to accompany her to the Grammys when you're back.

At this point, even with all the precautions, the media recognizes that you two are close.

“Best friends” is written on the cover of gossip magazines. Her marketing team won't let her comment.

You are at her house again, before you travel, and she is wearing a sweatshirt that is yours, that she took from the bags you are not done with.

"I'm going to need that in the London cold, Tay." You mutter as you approach to hand her the drink you said you were going to prepare for you two.

She lifts her gaze from the little notebook, confused for a moment until she recognizes that you were talking about the clothes. Then she just smiles "Buy another, this one is mine until you get back."

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you sit down in the armchair across from her.

There is a forgotten movie on the television, and your cell phone is vibrating with the new appointments on your calendar, but you are looking at the woman in front of you. The blonde strands fall down at the sides of her face, her legs crossed on the bed as she scribbles some things down.

"Is it for Reputation?" You ask about the verses she suddenly, in the middle of the movie session, got the idea to write. She covers the paper immediately with her hand.

"Don't peek!" She warns with an expression of false seriousness, pushing the closed notebook further into her lap, her other hand holding her mug of chocolate.

"Never." You assure. "I can't wait to hear, though."

Her cheeks flush, and she smiles. You won't disturb her in her writing, and you think you can just watch her work and you'll be happy.

–//–

Most of the time, you hate journalists.

That's one of the times.

"We heard that you and Taylor Swift have become very close since the 2014 Grammy party." The man with the mustaches began, and from the tone, you knew it couldn't be a good thing. The dozens of cameras and microphones beside him in the stands kept you from turning your back. "We wanted an opinion, don't you think it's funny that Swift always writes of her relationships and people keep dating her?"

That was so mean. Unnecessarily mean.

You licked your lips, frowning, trying to remain calm.

Even the artist answering questions next to you grimaced, although she didn't stop her own interview to comment.

Your manager always said, "Take a deep breath, don't let it get to you. Everything can get around in a joking tone, so if you want to punch someone, the best alternative is to ironize what was said to you."

"Look buddy, have you met her?" you started in the least angry way you could manage. " Tay is by far, the most incredible, inspiring, hard-working, and intense woman I have ever met. I think everyone who meets her has the same impression, and when you have a chance to be, whether it's a footnote or a song, you take a chance. Because anything is worth it to have a little piece of paradise that is being loved by a woman like her."

The man was embarrassed by his question, and unresponsive. His best was to smile. Some of the others began to comment on the sweetness of your answer, but you were dismissing further questions to get into the event.

Before the party was even over, all the way to another continent, Taylor would be teary-eyed with the cut of this little interview circulating on the internet and on her cell phone screen.

You came back to the United States two weeks after you left.

It was like longing torture, to be honest.

Your cell phone had unread notifications because you were in airplane mode the whole trip.

You called Taylor as soon as you picked up your bags.

"Hey, baby sorry for the delay, I forgot my cell phone was off "You spoke as soon as she answered.

"No worries." She said. "Where are you? The car will be right out."

The Grammys were tonight, but you hadn't even taken off your travel clothes.

"Yeah, I think I'll miss my ride." You say checking your watch. "Can I meet you at the party?"

"Of course, darling." She spoke a moment later, almost hesitantly. You didn't catch why. "I love you, see you later."

"I love you too."

You were late. Very late.

Not only did it take forever to get a cab, but you lost your keys somewhere in your suitcase and it took an hour and a half for a locksmith to service you at that time.

When you finally arrived, through the back because the red carpet was closed, the awards ceremony had already begun.

Your gaze searched among the people immediately, and Taylor was in one of the front seats.

Yours was between the ninth and tenth row. You could barely make out her figure from that distance.

The way you missed her was almost painful.

And the speeches and applause continued, and you were exchanging sweet messages with her across the room.

She didn't win anything that night, a younger girl took many victories.

Everything seemed to happen automatically, until the party and she was close enough for you to hold.

You hugged her tight, fuck the photographers and the rest of the world for a few seconds. She hugged you back just as hard, her hands wrapped around your neck.

One or two people noticed the excitement and one of the managers clarified something about you being traveling, a long time apart.

But you didn't follow this.

You just focused on the bright blue eyes in front of you, without saying anything, and you already knew.

You were talking about going out and missing each other, and it was hard to hear each other in that crowded room, with the music so loud.

So Taylor was leaning into your ear, and it just seemed like friends trying to hear each other better.

"Can we go to my apartment after here, please?" She almost begged, her fingers haunting your wrist a moment before she pulled away, with the most innocent expression in the world.

And you were swallowing dryly, shifting your gaze from her lips to her eyes and forcing a not the least bit affected smile, as if she had just made a comment about the food. 

It was your turn to lean in so, seeming to continue the conversation. "I can't wait to get that dress off you, baby."

She sighed, almost inaudible. But you felt it against your neck, her breath uncompensated.

Then you both were pulling away, and smiling gently, keeping up appearances.

–//– ~smut scene~ –//– 

You let your hands wander down, tongues together sliding against each other, the soft moans being the only sound in the room.

Taylor was pulling you by the tie, stumbling around the apartment to the bedroom, but you two kept stopping all the way. Pressed against each other, breathing together.

"I need this off." You warned breathlessly about her tight clothes, the kisses running down her collarbone as she melted against you.

It seemed to become the most complicated thing to remove when you had her throwing her hips towards you, her body so warm.

So with a frustrated grunt, you grabbed the fabric and ripped it off. She let out a low moan, the cold air against her skin being quickly replaced by the sensation of your hands running over her entire body.

"God, Tay, I missed you so much, baby." You declared kissing your way to her breasts. 

"I missed you too." She returns equally breathless, her eyes closing tightly as she feels your lips around her nipples, stimulating her eagerly.

Her legs are giving out. You can tell, and waste no time in grabbing her by the waist, looking for the first surface you can find.

Your hand pushes some objects out of the way, books, and picture frames. You place her on the top of a cabinet, seated, and her legs encircle your waist as your mouth returns to hers.

Taylor gasps against your lips, kissing you in the same overwhelming intensity, her hips splaying forward, trying to ease the sensation between her legs.

You smile at this, slowing the kiss as you slide your hands down her thighs.

Her panties are ruined. She is dripping, you can feel it through the fabric.

Taylor chokes as she feels your thumb against her clit, and moans hoarsely when you begin to press.

"Is that good, baby?" you tease when she can no longer kiss you back, her hands on your shoulders and her eyes ajar staring at you.

She looks so beautiful. Her darkened eyes, her flushed cheeks, and her lips were puffy from kissing hard.

You smile at her, as your fingers push the fabric of her panties aside and you slip into her without warning, which elicits a moan from both of you.

It is always as amazing as the first time. She is hot and slippery, and you sigh. "Fuck, I need to taste you."

She whimpers and barely has time to complain about the lack of contact when you remove your fingers, because her complaint dies in her throat and turns into a suffering moan when you get on your knees in front of her, and sink your face against her nub without warning.

"Jesus!" She exclaims affected as she feels your tongue, eating her with desire, and all she can do is close her eyes tightly, trying not to cum immediately.

You moan against her pussy, her taste is intoxicating. Your own panties stick to the wave of arousal you feel as you eat her out.

You move your tongue with precision and speed, sinking between her folds, stimulating her as deliciously as possible.

She becomes a mess of whimpers and loud moans, and digs her nails into your scalp hair, forcing your face against her before spilling onto your tongue.

"Fuck." She whimpers excitedly, trying to recover from her orgasm as you drink all her liquids and continue to overstimulate her. "Babe, please."

"Give me one more sweetheart." You ask as you pull away for a moment, moving your fingers to open her more. "I know you can."

She nodded breathlessly, already ready for another one anyway. And you weren't going to stop anytime soon.

– ~end of smut~ –

You sleep until late.

When you awaken, there is a small breakfast tray in the corner of the bed, and a blonde woman in the armchair, a notebook in her hands.

"Are you watching me sleep?" You ask in a husky voice, as you open your eyes. She blushes, shifting her gaze back to the pages, making you smile. "Creepy."

She laughs softly, and one of the sheets she has crumpled into a little ball, she throws at you.

You stretch, sitting up properly. 

"I wrote a song about you." She declares in silence many moments later, when you are already passing jam on your toast.

You raise a brow, a playful smile, "Yeah? Are you going to tell me what it is called?"

She bites back a smile, denying with her head. You give a chuckle. "Not even the album?"

Taylor leaves the notebook on the armchair, and crawls back to the bed, keeping her gaze on you until you are close enough.

"What's the fun in saying, if you can guess?" She whispers against your lips, and you feel the jam drip against your fingers, but you don't even mind, moving forward to capture her lips.

She smiles against your mouth, and you forget about the food, wrap your hands around her face, and kiss her until she is flushed and breathless beneath you.

"Not even a hint?" You try later in a brisk tone. She laughs, shaking her head. "You know what, Tay? It doesn't really matter." You murmur as you lie down next to her, tracing her features with your fingers. She raises her eyebrow in curiosity.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm staying long enough." You reply. "I will stay until all the love songs make you think of me."

She blushes, but has a challenging smile, "You are so cocky."

You laugh, nodding. "All of them. From Taylor Swift 2006 to 1989."

She laughs softly. "You want me to think about you with all of my ex-boyfriend' songs?"

You nod trying not to laugh too. "You'll think about how none of them compared to me."

She giggles, moving closer to kiss you several times on the cheek, over and over again, until you are laughing too.

A long moment after, you calm down, and she has her face resting on your chest, your hands on her waist and hair, and you notice the mood has changed.

You don't push, Tay talks when she wants to. And it doesn't take long for her to kiss your skin and then whisper, "You're going to be my best song."

Smiling weakly, you kissed her forehead. "I just hope to be the happy ones."