✨

He chuckles, "Don't be ridiculous. Besides it was their idea to invite you, think of it as their way to welcome you to the team"

"Well, in that case count me in" she says as she tells him as she pours herself some coffee, "What time?"

"We're heading out around six. Just meet us by the elevator"

She nods, "Alright"

Just then Tony enters the room and he smiles wide at her, "Just the assassin I was looking for"

"Oh? Should I be worried?"

"Nonsene" he says with a chuckle, "I just wanted to give you this"

She looks at the credit card hes offering and her one brow twitches, "Okay now I am worried"

"I figured you'd want some clothes of your own so you don't have to keep borrowing Wandas and Nats. Plus you can get anything else you want. Decor, supplies, food for your own kitchen cupboard stash. Anything really"

She smiles softly at him and takes the card, "Thank you Tony, I really appreciate this"

"Don't mention it, I just want you to be comfortable here" he tells her, "Oh, and don't let Thor have that. Last time he had access the bar was overflowing in booze, the kitchen was full of pop tarts, and we all were gifted things we had no idea what to do with"

Natalia lets out a laugh, "Noted"

A few hours later there's a knock on her door, and she opens it to find Yelena and Kate standing there. The raven haired girl smiles at her a bit awkwardly while Yelena smiles at her easily

"We heard Stark gave you his card" the blonde says

"Yeah, I haven't made it out to the city yet though"

"Wonderful. We would like to join you, show you some places to get the good stuff"

"I would love that"

The three head out and end up going to multiple stores. Natalia ends up getting a full wardrobe, some more tactical type gear, a few decor items, some books, some movies, a few extra bed sets, essential toiletries, standard beauty and hair care products, and some junk food and snacks for herself

"Good thing we took the SUV" Kate says as she looks at the pile of things in the trunk and the other pile of things beside her in the backseat

Natalia looks at Yelena, "Think Tony will regret lending me his card"

"No, this is still better than what Thor did"

She's just started to get mostly everything put away when she remembers the time. She quickly grabs one of her new outfits and goes to get ready. She ends up meeting the three guys at the elevators right on time.

"Hey Talia, glad you could join us" Steve greets

"Thanks for the invite. It'll be nice to mingle"

The four of them head to a nearby bar and start the night off with a beer and some wings. As the night goes on they keep drinking, but of course the only two feeling the buzz are Talia and Clint since the super soldier serum doesn't allow Steve of Bucky to get drunk. But they don't mind too much, at least not tonight. They're just enjoying the beers and company

"Well, I don't know about you boys but I could go for some more wings. OR maybe a burger"

"Hell, both sound good" Bucky agrees

Steve nods, "Lets do it"

"Alright" Clint chuckles, "Another round of wings and some burgers coming up"

After finishing up the meal and beers they all head back to the tower. Bucky and Steve head off to their rooms but Talia lingers with Clint for a moment

"Thanks for tonight, seriously. I needed it"

"Hey, anytime. That's what friends are for"

The next morning Talia finds herself alone in the kitchen with you. She's nervously toying with her fingers when you offer her a cup of coffee. She takes it with a grateful smile

"Thank you"

"You're welcome. Hopefully you like it the same way Tasha does"

She takes a sip and lets out a small appreciative hum, "Thats perfect"

"Great, now I only have to keep one coffee order memorized" you chuckle before noticing her outfit, "Hey, nice new outfit"

"Thanks" she smiles, "Tony gave me his card so I got some stuff of my own now. It feels better, the space feels more my own"

"I'm glad, you deserve to feel at home here"

"I think I'm starting to" she admits with a smile

Natasha watches the exchange from the kitchen doorframe, which she is currently leaning against. A part of her is glad Natalia is traditions easily into this new world. But the other part of her can't help but feel like this is her world, her friends, her family, her Y/n. Not Natalias, she shouldn't even be here. And she knows that's cruel, its not like Natalia asked to be here or for her world to be destroyed. But Natasha can't help but feel like a bear watching another bear encroach on her territory

"Morning" she says, finally making her presence known as she walks further into the kitchen

Natalia immediately cloaks the colder tone and how Natashas jaw is clenched. She takes a step back from you and gives Nat a polite smile, "Good morning"

"Heard you joined Clint, Steve and Bucky for drinks last night"

Natalia nods, "Yeah, it was nice. We all had fun"

Nat simply hums at this, causing you to look at her funny. You didn't understand where this attitude was coming from. You knew she had some fears and anxieties but you thought you had helped her with them enough that she could at least be cordial

"I'm glad you had a good time" you offer

"Thank you. You guys have a good day" she says before promptly leaving the kitchen

But before you can say anything about it to your girlfriend she closes the short distance between you and captures your lips in a kiss, effectively silencing anything you may have said on the matter

3 Months Later

Things have been going well for Natalia. She's settled into her room nicely and has made the space truly her own, she's made connections and friends with her fellow teammates, and has even been cleared to go on missions. So far she's only done small ones, recon missions or intel gathering. But it's enough to make her feel like she's back to business. It makes her feel needed, makes her feel at home.

"Up for some training today, love?" Peggy asks as she and Natalia sip on their morning coffee

Natalia nods, "What time were you thinking?"

"Does after our coffee work for you?"

"Absolutely" the redhead replies

After they finish their coffees they head to the gym and energy the locker room. They change into their workout gear and head back out into the gym. They move over to the sparring mats and both start to do a few stretches. After they warm up they move to spar. With Peggys serum and Natalias training they are a pretty even match. They each parry, block, dodge and strike with incredible speed and accuracy.

"Training with you Widows makes me sweat more than training with Steve or Bucky"

Talia smirks, "The boys can't keep up?"

"Oh they can" Peggy admits as she dodges a kick, "But they don't make me work as hard"

Natalia blocks a punch, "Ah, they hold back."

"Yes, which makes sense considering their pasta with the Winter Soldier program. But I wish they understood that I don't fear them or their strength because I'm just as capable as they are"

"Give them some more time, they'll see it eventually" she tells the brunette, "I know I went painfully careful on Clint during sparing sessions for years before I realized I was fully in control"

Peggy nods, "I suppose that's all I can do is give them the time they need"

"Just keep being their rock, it helps more than you know"

The two women share a soft smile before going back to sparring

Later in the day she heads into the kitchen for some water and finds Wanda prepping ingredients for something. The Sokovian smiles at her, "Hey Talia"

"Hey Wanda, what are you making?"

"I'm putting a soup together, wanna help?" she asks

"Sure, but I don't know much about soups"

Wanda chuckles, "Thats okay, you can cut up ingridents for me while I tend to the broth"

Natalia does as shes asked and cuts up various vegetables for the soup while Wanda seasons the broth. She then helps put everything into the pot of broth

"Good, now we just let that cook for a few hours and I'll add the chicken" Wanda says, "Thanks for the help"

"Anytime, I actually find cooking therapeutic" Natalia admits

"Me too" Wanda agrees, "I feel like that's when my mind is quietest"

"Too much quiet is a bad thing" Pietro suddenly says from the doorway

Wanda smiles and rolls her eyes, "Well, with you around I don't get any"

He dramatically hold his hand to his chest as if he'd been wounded, "You hear how she treats her poor brother?"

Natalia chuckles, "Hey, don't involve me in this sibling drama"

"But its more fun that way" Pietro admits as he slings his arm around the redheads shoulders, "Besides how else am I to torment my sister if I don't involve her friends?"

After dinner Yelena finds Natalia and offers to game with her. The two head to the common space and relax on one of the couches. Yelena hands her a controller and loads up Mortal Kombat, their go to video game

"You better watch it tonight sestra(sister), I am on a winning streak. Just ask Kate Bishop"

"I'm not worried" Talia says with a smirk, "I can take you"

The room is filled with the sounds of violence on the screen and the rapid tapping of buttons. There's an occasional cheer or grunt of displeasure mixed in along with laughter.

"Oh you will regret that" Yelena huffs, "Next round I'll get you"

"In your dreams little sister" Talia teases back with a playful bump of her shoulder to the blondes

In the hallway you and Natasha stop to watch, you with a smile and your face while Natasha remains unreadable

"I'm really glad shes finding her place among us" you whisper

"Yeah" Nat mumbles, though shes not quite sure she means it

Later that night, after she finishes up gaming with Yelena, Natalia heads toward her room. Its been a long day and though she cannot wait to slide into her bed she also can't help but with she had spent some time with you. As if on queue the two of you literally bump into each other as she exits the elevator

"Oh! Im so sorry Natalia!"

She shakes it off, "No worries, I was hoping to bump into you, just not like that"

You chuckle and the sound has Natalias heart aching, "So who won, Yelena or you?"

"It was a tie" she admits, "And if we had kept going we'd probably still be at it by morning"

You chuckle again and Natalia wishes she could bottle the sound and keep it close to her heart, "I believe it, her and Tasha game for hours at a time too"

Natalia smiles and for a brief second there's a traitorous thought in the back of her mind about how easy it would be to just lean in and kiss you. But she quickly dismissed the thought, you weren't hers to have

"Well, goodnight Y/n" she says softly as she moves past you

"Goodnight Talia" you call after her

As she moves down the hall she finds Natasha standing in the doorway to your shared room and she feels a cold chill down her spine. She can't help but think the other version of her knows what she was just thinking. And well, being the same person, maybe she did know. Still, it felt odd to not say anything

"Goodnight Natasha" she offers with a small smile

Natasha crosses her arms and leans back against the doorframe, "Goodnight"

Your legs are pulled up, one of them still upright while the other falls to the side haphazardly. One of your hands rests on something soft but solid at the same time while the other rests on the ankle of your fallen leg.

The weight of the blanket presses down on you just enough to make you feel secure but not trapped. The thick fabric traps your body heat against you, but it's not uncomfortable. Rather, it's just the right temperature. It feels like sitting outside on a warm afternoon, moving as the sun rays move, while a gentle breeze brushes past whenever it gets just a bit too hot.

Your cheek is squished against something solid. The soft scent of jasmine makes you wish you could drift off to sleep all over again, but your brain is already beginning to wake up more with every second that passes. You try to breathe in through your nose, but find it's still mostly blocked, the effort making your congestion worse. You take a heavy breath in through your mouth instead, exhaling slowly in a way that sounds like a long sigh.

It matches how you feel right now, not wanting to move a single muscle. Your shoulders are dropped in the way they only do when you're asleep or when you're completely relaxed. But even then, memories would usually plague your rest, making you jolt awake with your body turning rigid instantly. Relaxed moments were far and few between. The expectations weighing you down always forced your shoulders to hold upright. Because if you ever let them drop, the weight would drag you down, and you weren't sure if you would be able to get back up again.

A light pressure encompasses your hand, making your eyes drift open, albeit begrudgingly. You gaze down lazily, finding Wanda’s hand with its familiar array of rings, resting over yours beneath the thick blanket.

"Are you awake, honey?" Wanda murmurs, her voice low enough that it doesn't startle you.

"Mmm…" you groan tiredly in response, lifting your head off her shoulder and tilting it back and side to side to ease the tension in your neck. You arch your back off the cushion, your vertebrae popping at the motion.

You hear a low, raspy chuckle from your other side. You turn your head toward the sound, your eyelids still drooping slightly as you meet Natasha's amused expression.

"Sounds like you're still half asleep," Natasha teases, her voice tinged with fondness. "You look like it, too."

You huff dramatically, blinking a few times to force yourself to wake up before rolling your eyes lightly. Natasha continues to chuckle, and Wanda’s quiet laughter joins hers a second later.

It's then that you notice that your head didn't hurt when you rolled your eyes. You lift your hand off your ankle, the ache in your muscles from earlier lessened into something that you're aware of, but doesn't hinder your movements. The flashes of sudden heat that had felt like lava boiling under your skin has diminished into a steady warmth that lies right on the cusp of being almost too much. You rub your thumb against your fingertips, finding them alive, your warm blood circulating through them.

It's a weird feeling. Your fingertips are usually cold to the touch, verging on icy. To you, it had always felt fitting. But the heat permeating through your skin right now makes you feel human. Not just a ghost drifting silently through life.

You scan the room, your gaze naturally drifting to the window where sunlight had flooded into the space. Your eyes adjust to the lighting, finding it's much dimmer than when you fell asleep. Vibrant orange and red streaks cross the sky, tinges of pink peaking through. Your eyes widen further and further as the realization slowly sinks in.

"What time is it?" you breathe out, slipping your hand out from the weight of Wanda's and patting around the fuzzy pants and sweatshirt, trying to find your phone. You glance back toward the empty dining room, remembering that you left it sitting face down on the table. You push the blanket off of you, bracing your hands against the cushions to stand up, when Natasha's arm extends across your torso, stopping you in place.

"It's almost six," she says slowly, her eyes scanning your face carefully. "I know you said just for a little, but after everything with Yelena and Kate, along with your fever, we figured you could use the rest."

"Others have been in your position before."

Yelena's words ring in your head over and over again.

You always thought you'd be the one to walk away from them before you could get hurt. Or, they'd grow tired of you, not wiling to waste their energy on someone like you. Your mind had been muddled by the fever and exhaustion, but now the meaning behind what Yelena said pushes itself to the forefront of your brain.

It confirm the thoughts you've always had.

How many people have sat here right between them?

How long did they stay around?

The others must've been brighter than you, so how long will they continue to dote on you before they grow tired?

The warmth seeps out of your fingers. You remember Wanda's words. That you're special because you're you.

But you don't even really know who you are.

Your mother's puppet? Your sister's shield? Your father's disappointment?

Those were all for others, but who are you outside of that? Who are you when you're alone?

"Sweetheart, what are you thinking of?" Wanda asks, craning her head to look at you. "You're face suddenly went blank."

"I…" you start, shame seeping into your bones as the way you acted this morning with the two of them replays in your head. The determination to leave that had been talked out of you by Natasha in the early hours of the morning, returning with force.

"Thank you for letting me stay here last night and for taking care of me but I should go home. I have to study and prepare for work tomorrow." You swallow, the movement of your throat making the muscle there ache from the lingering swelling.

"Work?" Wanda says suddenly. You meet her eyes that are gazing at your worriedly. "Don't you think you should take another day off? You aren't fully recovered, darling."

You shake your head, your body responding quicker than it did before your nap. "I want to work."

I need to work, you correct yourself internally.

You can't allow yourself to get used to this. The moment you leave this house your life will return to the way it was. You won't be having your "job shadow" with them anymore. That ended yesterday. You'll just be a regular intern, like you should've been from the start.

"Why don't you sleep over one more night?" Natasha offers, her voice pitched a bit higher. You turn to her, her expression is bright but her eyes scan you, watching your posture grow more rigid. "It would make us feel better knowing you're resting well and recovering. I'll even make Wanda match fuzzy pants with us," she says with a gentle, raspy laugh.

The proposition make your heart clench, your gaze dropping as your resolve threatens to crack.

But then, the image of Natasha's fist clenched tightly into Yelena's collar flashes vividly in your head. You see Yelena smirking challengingly up at her. You see Kate gripping Natasha's forearm, desperately trying to stop a fight from breaking out. You remember Wanda, forced to choose between intervening or protecting you.

You refuse to be a wedge between Natasha and Yelena, the memory of the text from your sister making the decision easier.

You shake your head again, dragging your eyes back up to meet Natasha's. Her smile slowly fades when she takes in your expression.

"You promised you'd take me back home after my nap," you recount resolutely. You pull your shoulders back, bringing your hand up to smooth the hair that had become disarrayed from leaning against Wanda's shoulder.

Apart from the guilt and shame that still linger deep in your chest—from hurting Yelena and Kate, from causing Natasha and Yelena to argue, and from allowing Wanda and Natasha to take care of everything for you—you suddenly feel oddly calm.

The idea of returning back home, even with Matt being there, is bearable. Going to your shift tomorrow morning at the coffee shop and then to your shift at the restaurant, is commonplace. Dealing with the stress of your finals is expected. It's the exhausting routine you've been working with for a long time.

But it's a routine filled with predictability.

You know how much coffee you'll need to get through your morning shift. You know you'll have to keep a practiced smile plastered on your face for both workplaces. But in that cycle, there wasn't a risk of your heart getting broken.

And in that certainty, there's comfort.

Natasha's lips pull into a thin line, her eyes bore into yours, but your gaze never wavers. After a few moments she releases a heavy sigh and pushes herself off the couch. She looks down at you, a small smile tugging at her lips but her eyes narrowed almost tiredly.

"Okay, let's go."

"What?" Wanda pipes up incredulously.

You see Natasha peer past you to Wanda. She stares at her evenly.

"She said she wants to go home," Natasha says, almost resigned.

Wanda scoffs loudly beside you. "She's not feeling well. She doesn't know what's best—"

Natasha doesn't let her finish. "She's an adult, Wanda. I'm not going to keep her captive here when she clearly wants to go." Natasha's expression hardens suddenly. You can't help but wonder what face Wanda is making back at her right now.

You know Wanda is just trying to look out for you. But you already allowed yourself to get stuck in their cloying sweetness. Now you have the strength to shake it off before you become dependent on it.

You plant your hands against the cushions, pushing yourself up so that you're standing in front of Natasha. Your legs wobble slightly from sitting for so long and from your strength only starting to return to your muscles. Natasha's eyes drift to your face, her expression softening immediately.

"I have to change," you say quietly. You look away from her, glancing toward your phone resting on the dining room table.

"I haven't had a chance to wash your clothes yet," Wanda admits softly from behind you.

"Is it okay if we leave in what you're wearing right now? You're already settled into those clothes anyways," Natasha says, her voice light.

You can tell she's attempting to brighten the mood that's dimmed along with the sky outside.

You let your lips curve into a small, weak smile at the effort. "Okay," you agree, turning your head to direct the smile at her.

Her expression brightens slowly as she looks back at you, though there's something almost unreadable in her eyes. Protectiveness passing through them briefly before she covers it up.

You hear Wanda shuffle on the cushions behind you. "I'll have your clothes washed and resting on your desk by Monday."

Wanda's fingertips tap gently against your cheek without warning, making you jump slightly at the unexpected touch. She softly tucks a few stray strands of hair behind your ear, letting her fingers linger against your skin for a moment before her hand finally falls away.

"Honey, why don't you grab your phone while Natasha and I get ready to go?" Wanda says, her voice matching the light pitch Natasha was using.

You turn around to face Wanda, your lips curving slightly before you nod. She smiles back at you encouragingly, giving you the strength to walk around her.

"Walk slowly, baby," Natasha calls out as you pass by the couch.

You turn your head back with a small, half-smile to let her know you heard her before continuing on your way toward the dining room. As soon as you turn your back, that smile slowly fades away into nothing. Behind you, you can hear the low murmur of their voices as they continue to talk, but they're keeping their tones too quiet for you to make out a single word.

By the time you finally make it to the dining table, your breathing is already slightly labored, your lungs burning just a bit. The strain makes you wish Wanda or Natasha had just carried you over here instead. But you shake off the thought before it can manifest any further.

You reach down and pick up your phone from the polished wood. Somehow, you just know, even before the screen brightens and illuminates your face, that a text from your older sister is already waiting for you.

How about Saturday? University finals should be done by this coming weekend right?

You breathe in shakily, smiling down at the screen despite yourself. Kate and Yelena were the best friends that you found. But your sister is the best friend you were born with. It almost makes you feel sorry that you had been ignoring her for so long, but you know you wouldn't have been able to speak before this.

Before you were confronted with the pain your decision had caused others. That pain your sister had probably felt too, but you chose to look away from.

Saturday works. It'll have to be late though, after my shift. I'll text you the time when I'm more sure.

Your sister's response comes instantly, as if she was waiting for the moment you responded.

Great! I'll see you then.

You press the side power button. The screen turns black, reflecting your face back at you. Your heart races, your finger tapping on the back of your phone at the thought of Saturday.

"All set?" Natasha's voice comes from behind you suddenly, forcing you to twist your body around to face her in surprise.

Wanda stands behind her, both of them sporting thick coats at the dropping temperatures outside. Wanda walks past Natasha, a padded jacket folded over her forearm. She holds it out in front of her by the shoulders. You reach out to grab it, but she pulls it back, smiling mischievously at you when you furrow your brows in confusion.

"Hold your arms out to the side, darling. I'll help you put it on. It's chilly outside."

You know you can put it on by yourself. You have a feeling Wanda knows too, but it's the hopefulness hiding beneath her gaze that makes you raise your arms.

She slips on each arm carefully. Warmth from the jacket seeps past the comfortable fabric of the sweatshirt Wanda lent you. She pats your shoulders when she's done, holding her hands there as she gazes at you. You peer up at her shyly.

"Thank you, Wanda," you murmur.

She squeezes your shoulders gently, her voice so tender it almost makes your heart ache.

"Of course, sweetheart."

Natasha clears her throat. You tilt your head, looking past Wanda's shoulder. Natasha smirks at you, holding her hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth.

You see her smirk begin to fade, the corners of her lips pulling downward, her shoulders drooping. You place your hand on top of hers before her shoulders fall completely. Wanda releases you, chuckling lightly to herself before sliding her hand into your free one.

They both interlock their fingers with yours, pulling you gently to the door.

The moment you step outside, the freezing air bites at your cheeks. The pale blue in the skyline reminds you that it'll probably snow soon.

Christmas is coming soon, you remind yourself. Maybe it'll be a white Christmas this year.

Blissful warmth blooms from where your hands meet theirs. Wanda swings your interlocked hands back and forth as you walk to the driveway.

You pretend the warmth is coming from the jacket Wanda helped you into.

—

The drive home is mostly quiet aside from the occasional comment made between Natasha and Wanda. You sit in the back, right behind the passenger seat, watching the trees and buildings pass by. For a while, large, luxury homes are the only thing in sight. You'd never been in this part of the city before. You never imagined you'd have the opportunity to.

Wanda twists her body around occasionally, fondness in every corner of her face as she watches you look out the window. You try not to meet her eyes when you peek at her from your peripheral vision.

The closer the car gets to the university, the more the houses begin to shrink. The paint outside the houses chipped in areas. Moss covering the roofs. Wooden planks haphazardly nailed over holes.

There's hardly any daylight outside when you finally arrive at home. The porch lights are off, the hazy glow from the streetlamps being the only thing illuminating the sidewalk. Natasha turns off the engine the moment the car is safely parked in front of the house.

She turns, resting her elbow on the console while her chin is atop her hand. Your eyes meet.

"Ready to go inside?" she asks. Wanda turns to look at you as well, unbuckling her seatbelt in the process.

"Yep," you respond, releasing your seatbelt as well. You watch in confusion as Natasha unbuckles hers.

"W-well," you start shakily, seeing Wanda turn back around, beginning to move as if she's about to exit the car. "Thank you again for everything. Drive home safe."

You reach for the door handle, hearing the click of the door releasing when Natasha speaks up.

"Oh, we're going in with you, though," Natasha says innocently.

Wanda pulls your door open from the outside, leaning down to beam at you. Her face looks so much brighter than the streetlights flickering around her. The corner of Natasha's lip raises in a lazy half-smirk.

"You can at least let us settle you into your room, right? You're not fully stable yet," Natasha coaxes, her voice light.

"I… I'll be alright." The idea of them seeing the environment you live in is mortifying. Spending more time with them makes you feel like you'll crumble.

Natasha pops open the driver-side door, her body turned away. She projects her voice back over her shoulder, her tone morphing into a mixture of effortless teasing and mischief.

"That may be so," she agrees easily. "But I have your key. So."

Your eyes widen. You frantically pat the sides of your pants, your fingers pressing hard into the fuzzy material but finding no pockets. The key for you bedroom had been inside the pocket of the skirt. You look up to protest, but Natasha has already stepped out and closed the driver-side door with a thud.

Wanda offers her hand to you from the sidewalk, smiling down at you almost apologetically. You huff in frustration, your shoulders dropping for a split second before you force them back upright into their rigid line.

You accept Wanda's hand for support, ducking your head to avoid the low roof as you finally exit the backseat. The moment your feet are planted firmly on the sidewalk, Wanda shuts the car door behind you. Before you can even take a single step toward the house, she gently but firmly pulls you inward by your connected hands.

Your front presses right against hers as her other arm wraps securely around your torso, pulling you into a hug.

Your heart begins to race instantly, your entire body heating up against her thick winter coat. The flush spreads rapidly up your neck to your cheeks and ears. You peer up, your eyes wide from the sudden contact.

"I just wanted to make sure your body didn't suddenly get cold," Wanda says softly, looking down at you with a far too satisfied smile playing on her lips. "It could really affect your healing, darling."

"I-I'm not cold," you stutter out, your voice uneven as you instinctively wiggle against her, desperately trying to escape the rising heat in your body.

"Hurry up, girls," Natasha calls out from ahead. She's already standing at the base of the wooden steps leading up to the porch, her dark silhouette crisp against the streetlamps. "It's chilly out here."

Wanda lets out a long sigh, the warm ghost of her breath brushing against your flushed cheeks. She squeezes her arm tightly around your torso one last time, the soft curves of her breasts pressing firmly against yours for a second, sending your thoughts spinning into incomprehensible loops.

She finally releases her hold on your waist, but she keeps her fingers tightly interlocked with yours. She leads you up the cracked walkway toward the porch while your brain reels from the lingering sensation of her touch.

You only come back to yourself after you input the security code, pushing the painfully cold metal handle down and forcing the front door open.

The scent of weed wafts toward you instantly. The strong aroma clears your sinuses along with your head. You bite the inside of your mouth, gnawing lightly before turning around.

"I should be fine from here. If I could just have my key back, please," you say, keeping your voice light. You try to subtly wriggle your hand free from Wanda's grasp, but her fingers remain firmly locked with yours.

Natasha steps past you, her body stiffening immediately the moment she breathes in. You're just glad the lights in the common room are off, only the loud, muffled chatter of your downstairs roommates echoing through the dark hallway.

"No," Natasha states resolutely. "Lead the way." Her lips are pulled downward, her eyes hard as she stares down the length of the hallway.

Looking at her face, you can just tell she won't take no for an answer. You release a heavy breath, the floorboards creaking as you shift your weight. Wanda squeezes your hand gently.

You walk quickly down the dark, narrow hallway, the scent growing stronger as you near the kitchen where the door to the basement is. You make a right turn, your body knowing the route even in the dark. You pause in front of your door, Natasha and Wanda's footsteps stopping right behind you.

"Can I have my key now?" you ask quietly, keeping your head down. Your body trembles slightly from the shame and embarrassment coursing through your body. Wanda holds your hand steady, not allowing your hand to waver.

You hear the quiet rustle of fabric as Natasha pats down the pockets of her jacket, and then you feel the cool shock of metal against your free palm. You reach out, pinching the key between your index finger and thumb while the rest of your fingertips press against the worn wooden door, gliding around the surface until you find the keyhole and the handle.

The lock clicks open.

You push the door forward and reach inside, flipping the switch to turn on the light to your room. The harsh light immediately unveils the space you've been living in for months.

You step inside. The room is almost as cold as it is outside. Your roommates must've forgotten to turn the heat on again. Or, more likely, they were trying to reduce the utility bill.

Barely visible smoke rises through the vent, the scent of weed almost sickening in its concentration. The small metal tab used to close the vent had broken off long before you ever moved in. It was one of the many downsides of living in an old, rundown house. The vents are all connected.

You turn around on your heel, a small, wry smile plastered on your lips."That's far enough, right?"

They both hold similar expressions. Their eyes scan the room. Natasha's lips pull into a thin line the longer she looks around the space. Her eyes dart to the vent, her expression darkening. Wanda stares silently at the bulging white bag of clothes she had given you, which is resting right on top of your worn desk, before her gaze tracks across the rest of the small expanse.

It's the glimpses of pity in their eyes that forces you to look away from them, your chest tightening.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sor—"

"It's fine," you say quickly, cutting Wanda off before she can finish the sentence.

You know what she's trying to apologize for, but right now you don't want to hear it. You had forgiven her anyways. You don't need this.

You ears prick at the sound of footsteps coming up the basement stairs, the weight of them all too familiar. You pull Wanda into your room by your clasped hands and reach out to tug on Natasha's arm, herding her inside before shutting the door quickly and locking it.

"What—" Natasha starts, her voice sharp with confusion, but you instantly put your index finger up to your lips, silencing her.

The sound of the floorboards creaking comes closer and closer down the narrow hallway, until the heavy steps stop right in front of your door.

Three heavy knocks pound violently against the wood, the vibration rattling the frame before finally stopping.

"Hey, you in there?" Matt shouts from behind the door. "We didn't get to finish hanging out last time," he slurs, his vowels dragging together. You can hear the dull thud of him leaning against the door, as if he can't keep himself upright.

Natasha's body tenses. Her eyes flash dangerously, her stance twisting as if she's planning on opening the door and confronting him. You reach forward, your fingers clutching the cuff of her coat. You plead with her with your eyes. Her harsh expression softens slightly when she looks at you, but the murderous glare doesn't disappear from her eyes

"I can see your lights on," he drawls, barely discernible. He pounds on the door again, harder than before. You don't move a muscle. You're grateful when Natasha and Wanda follow suit.

"Fuck… whatever," he mumbles in frustration. You hear him stumble backward, his slow, uncoordinated steps dragging back toward the kitchen and finally fading down the basement stairs again.

"Who was that?" Natasha asks. Her voice drops into a dangerously calm register, the lack of inflection making you swallow nervously. But you force yourself to tilt your chin up, meeting her sharp gaze head-on.

"He's one of my roommates," you respond evenly, barely hiding the tremble in your voice.

"And he's talking to you like that?" Wanda says incredulously from beside you. Her hand begins to squeeze yours so tight that it begins to hurt.

You wriggle your fingers out of hers, your face morphing into a wince. Wanda's eyes widen when she realizes she hurt you. Her mouth opens to apologize but you don't let her speak.

"It's fine. It's my problem."

Natasha scoffs. "It's not just your—"

"It is, though." Your voice begins to rise, the words cracking. They should've just let you come inside by yourself.

Wanda tries to approach you, her arms extending, but you take a step back. Your breaths begin to come out raggedly, the stress, the shame, the embarrassment of the situation making it hard to control your emotions.

"Honey…" Wanda starts cautiously, her tone softening into a plea. "Why don't you just come back with us? It's so cold in here, and I don't see how you're going to rest well with all this smoke hanging in the room."

"And then what?" you breathe out incredulously. "You throw me away when you're done with me?"

The room goes silent.

"What do you mean, baby?" Wanda asks after a moment, her voice filled with confusion.

You can't answer her. All you can hear is the frantic, uneven rushing of your own breath and the loud, violent pounding of blood in your ears.

"What did Yelena say to you?" Natasha asks, her voice turning sharp enough to cut through metal.

"Nothing," you manage to whisper, the word scratching against your raw throat.

Natasha takes a slow step toward you. "It can't just be nothing. Tell me, baby girl," she says, her voice dropping into a desperate, raspy plea.

"Just go," you mumble, refusing to meet her eyes. You stare fixedly down at the wooden floorboards beneath your sneakers.

Your hear her weight shift, her face suddenly beneath yours, looking up at you, desperately trying to search your expression for something. You shift your eyes away, staring at the wall instead.

She sighs heavily before finally stepping back. "Fine," she mutters. "I'll see you at the office on Monday after your final."

"Natasha, what?" Wanda asks in disbelief. "We can't leave her in this environment."

"We're not her moms, Wanda. We can't tell her what do to do."

"But she called you—"

"Stop," Natasha commands resolutely. There's a slight, fragile crack in her voice that sounds a lot like hurt, but you don't let the sound linger.

You hear the door creak open, followed by light footsteps.

"Please try to take care of yourself, my sweet girl," Wanda calls out softly from the doorway, her voice thick.

You only hear one last thing before the bedroom door finally closes. It's Natasha's voice, dropping into a register filled with venom.

"I'm going to kill Yelena."

—

The moment you were left alone in your cold room, it felt like your life had instantly returned to what it was before you ever met them.

Given that you ignored the ache in your chest from your heart tearing at the realization that you had let them go.

You wake up on Sunday at 4 AM, your eyes stinging from the smoke that had lingered in your room as you slept. Your throat still hurt slightly, your muscles holding onto a light ache, your movements a bit more sluggish than usual. But it wasn't much different from the way you'd feel after a sleepless night.

Smiling mechanically and greeting customers. Having conversations with your coworkers that never went past the surface. Drinking a bitter espresso shot whenever you felt your energy levels beginning to wane.

Studying when you come back home, listening intently whenever you hear footsteps. Changing, smoothing down your shirt, fixing your hair over and over again until it's satisfactory to you.

Or rather, to your mother.

Going to the restaurant, talking to Angie, greeting customers that call you over endlessly. The practiced smile never leaving your face until you finally walk out of the restaurant. Feeling relieved when you realize Matt isn't home. Showering then pulling your laptop out to study.

Monday brings your first university final.

It's early in the morning, forcing you to stop by the corner mart to grab a bitter cup of coffee. Thankfully, it's past the graveyard shift. A worker you've only seen a handful of times stands silently at the checkout counter.

Your face remains impassive throughout the exam. Only a faint tremor runs through your hand as you write. You catch the bus to RMG the moment you place your completed exam paper on the professor's desk and walk out of the lecture hall.

Eli's familiar grin greets you the second you reach the floor. A paper bag resting on your desk does as well. In it are the clothes you had worn to the party on Friday night. But what catches your eye is the familiar fruit snack packet tucked right next to the neatly folded fabric.

You spend the next few hours chatting with Eli and completing the tasks Mark gives you. In the middle of the day, you catch Cindy staring at you from across the floor, a small, sad smile resting on her face from the far wall.

You head straight to the restaurant in the evening. You return Nicole's borrowed clothes while she tells you everything you apparently missed at the party. She tries hard to convince you to go to another party next weekend, but you politely decline this time.

The impending meeting with your sister looms heavily over you through every single action you take.

It repeats on Tuesday.

Wednesday is much the same, except for your scheduled meeting with your academic advisor.

"We haven't had a student get accepted into a company of that status before," Mrs. Stewart says with genuine delight. "You're a great student already, but make sure you make our university look good."

You know she doesn't mean to put pressure on you. It's just supposed to be a piece of light encouragement. But it still feels like more weight is being added to your shoulders anyway.

You just smile politely at her, wishing her a happy holidays and a good winter break. It's later that day that you're forced to pay your rent and utilities, watching as the money drains away from your account.

On Thursday, Wanda visits the sixtieth floor.

She walks slowly around the space, chatting with different employees and making them smile from her quiet encouragement. You can feel her eyes lingering on you the entire time. She walks over to the far left corner, stopping right next to your desk. But the exact moment she's about to speak, Mark appears out of his office.

She doesn't get the opportunity to say a word to you. Mark needs to talk to her about a few pressing things, pulling her away.

It's then that you realize that your hand is shaking more against the keyboard. Your pulse thuds painfully against your throat, your breaths coming out shallow and quick. You exhale harshly in frustration and grab your lukewarm coffee off the desk, taking a long sip to force it down.

You stare blankly at the monitor. Your thoughts begin to spiral painfully in your skull. Your leg bounces uncontrollably beneath the desk leg. You bite the inside of your mouth, pressing your molars hard against the sensitive muscle until it hurts.

You continue to force your eyes to focus on the numbers, even when your body begs you to just stop and take a moment to breathe.

It's hard to sleep at night, even when your mind feels like static.

Friday brings your very last final exam of the fall term. It doesn't bring the wave of relief you had expected. Your body can't seem to calm down. It feels like your heart has been racing relentlessly since yesterday, keeping you alert when you finally reach the RMG building. But a heavy blanket of exhaustion rests over your limbs anyway. It's a restriction you're used to functioning with at this point.

Everything is exactly the same when you reach your desk. Except, this time, a small handwritten note sits right on top of your keyboard, along with another fruit snack packet.

Please take breaks when you need them.

Somehow, you just know this is from Natasha.

You curl your fingers into a tight fist, fully prepared to crumple the paper into a ball and throw it away. But you can't seem to get yourself to actually follow through with the motion. Your hand freezes. Only the right corner is slightly bent by the time you slide your desk drawer open, placing the note safely inside the dark space instead.

Saturday. 4 AM. Espresso shots. Polite conversations. Your cheeks beginning to hurt from forcing yourself to smile. Empty laughter. Opening wine bottles. Smoothing your shirt down. Forcing your shoulders back. Your heart racing painfully. Hiding the shake in your hands when you pour water. Telling Angie your shift was good when you're clocking out. Stepping outside the restaurant to glowing streetlights. Freezing air biting at your skin. Hopping on the bus.

But not to home. To the diner nearby that you and your older sister would go to when your parents would begin to fight. One of the few twenty-four hour establishments. Neon lights. Typical old school diner vibes.

You step off the bus into the cold. A thick plume of white smoke comes from your mouth as you breathe out, the condensation cooling immediately in the air. You look through one of the glass window panes of the diner, your eyes immediately darting straight to the very back booth where the two of you would always sit together.

Your lips curve into a soft smile. It's hard to tell, even to yourself, if that smile is coming from a place of happiness or sadness. You just instinctively know the person sitting there is your sister, even though you can only see the back of her head from the sidewalk. Your hand reaches for the metal door handle hesitantly, your fingers freezing.

You can see her glancing down at her phone. Probably waiting to hear if you've arrived safely.

Your fingers curl around the freezing metal decisively before you pull the heavy door open and step inside.

—

"Hey," you greet awkwardly, sliding into the booth across from your sister.

Her eyes widen immediately. Her gaze darts all around your frame, taking you in. You brace yourself for the lecture she's probably about to give you. That you're not taking care of yourself well. That you lost weight. That your eyes look tired and hollow.

Instead, the second she opens her mouth, it feels like you've gone back in time to when you were in middle school.

"You look like crap," she says bluntly.

You stare at her in disbelief for a moment before rolling your eyes. "Well, thanks," you respond, your tone completely deadpan.

A familiar smile creeps onto her face, widening by the second, and your lips instinctively follow suit. It reaches its peak before you both burst out laughing. Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back against the booth, and for a beautiful, fleeting moment, it feels exactly like when the two of you were still a team.

Back when you both shouldered the burden of your parents expectations. Her carrying more weight than you because she always told you that since she's the older one, she should be the one to protect you. It feels like you're looking at that version of your sister.

The version before her smile was stripped away and the roles reversed.

"You wanna order something to eat? It's on me," she says, using her finger to wipe the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes.

You shake your head, your gaze dropping to smile down at the table. "No, it's okay. I ate a little bit at the restaurant during my shift."

"Are you still letting what mom told you get to you?" she asks, raising a brow.

Yes. How could you not?

"No," you respond automatically, not letting your expression waver. "I'm really just not hungry."

Liar, your own consciousness screams at you.

"If you say so," she muses softly. She doesn't push the food issue, but her hand slides across the table to find yours, holding your fingers gently. Her eyes soften the longer she looks across the booth at you. It's the same expression she used to give you back in elementary school—right around the time your mother had decided that being average was no longer acceptable. Looking back on it now, maybe your sister was trying to fill that space.

"When was the last time we actually came here?" she ponders, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

You smile wryly to yourself, keeping your eyes locked on your clasped hands. "Probably in my freshman year of high school," you murmur. "So… back when you were a senior."

"I think you're right." She pauses, her gaze dropping to the table as well. "That was an interesting year."

You chuckle quietly, but there's no humor in the sound.

Interesting? That wouldn't be the word you would choose. It's hard to describe that time in a single word.

Alone, your inner voice whispers to you.

That would probably be the closest description. It's the year when your sister let the weight you were both sharing drop from her shoulders and walk away to somewhere you couldn't see her.

It's still so vivid. The day everything changed.

You mother hadn't picked you up from school since you were in fifth grade. Your father had told her that you should take the bus because he didn't have these luxuries when he was growing up.

But your mother texted you that she was picking you up one day in the latter half of your freshman year. You hadn't questioned it. Rather, you were a little excited thinking that maybe your mother was softening a bit. You were unprepared for the cold words that actually came out of her mouth the second you closed the passenger door.

"I picked your sister up from school earlier. She got bullied. Be nice."

And that was it.

You remember taking slow steps up the carpeted stairs back then, desperately trying to think of the correct thing to say to her. I'm sorry? What can I do to fix this? Are you okay?

You remember finally stepping into the frame of her bedroom doorway. Her new desk was still in the middle of being built at the time, so she was sitting flat on the floor, facing away from you. She had her laptop set on top of a low coffee table, watching videos to drown out the silence of the house.

You remember pausing at the threshold. The older sister who had always seemed so much taller than she actually was, suddenly looked incredibly small.

You remember sliding down onto the floor right behind her, your arms tightening around her shoulders.

"I love you," you whispered, pressing your forehead into the back of her hair.

You remember her shoulders beginning to shake violently against your chest, a choked, agonizing sob bursting past her lips. Her head bowed down into her lap as she tried with everything she had to control her ragged gasps, but she just couldn't manage to do it anymore.

And you knew in that moment inside her room, that you would do absolutely anything for her.

Your sister lets out a breathless laugh. You look up, meeting her eyes.

"Anyways…" she says, her voice trailing off. "It's been too long."

"Yeah," you whisper, memories of the past swirling in your mind. "But here we are." You force a smile onto your face.

Because you truly are happy to see her. But seeing her face and hearing her voice brings up so many other emotions than just the one. Emotions that you're ashamed of confronting.

"Why…" she starts hesitantly, before forcing herself to continue. "Why did you suddenly stop talking to me? Why did you just leave without a word?"

She stares at you, searching your eyes. You remember a time when she understood what you were thinking without you having to say a single word. Too much time must've passed.

"I just wanted to learn how to be independent the hard way," you say with a joking tone. "May as well throw myself into the deep end, right?"

She sucks in her bottom lip for a moment, holding it tight before releasing it with a heavy breath. "There's no way that's it," she says definitively.

She leans forward, her voice dropping. "Is it because of me?" she whispers.

Your chest tightens. Her gaze drops to the table for a split second, her eyes blinking quickly as if her mind is racing before she looks back up.

"Is it?" she repeats, her voice coming out louder when you fail to answer.

You eyes drift down to the table.

"It's not…" you start, your voice drifting away as your mind races.

It's not that simple.

Your lower lip finds its way between your teeth. Your canine presses painfully into the sensitive skin but you can barely feel it.

Memories of what followed replay in your head.

Your sister stopped eating at the dinner table with you and your parents. It's not like there was much conversation to begin with, but just her presence made it more bearable. You'd stare at her empty seat, the food sticking to your throat at the suffocating atmosphere.

She started playing video games constantly, especially after her desk was built. You remember helping her set up her computer after your father refused to.

"Everything okay at school?" you had asked between assembling parts.

"Yep," she had responded shortly, her face completely devoid of any emotion.

The two of you didn't really talk much after that day.

Naturally your parents shifted their gaze to you. Your father would force you to study in the dining room so he could watch you. Every time you would even look away for a second, you would hear him sharply click his tongue in reprimand across the room. It was a warning.

Your mother would force you to go to every single church and community event with her. They were functions your sister used to attend as well, but your mom wouldn't ask her anymore. Right before you would walk through the doors of the venue, your mom would grip your bicep with crushing force, her fingernails digging deep into your skin as she whispered the same rule into your ear.

Be proper. Smile.

You remember how she would make her way over to where you were sitting in those crowded rooms. She would put her manicured hands on your shoulders, smiling flawlessly while chatting with the people gathered there. But out of everyone’s sight, she would pull your shoulders back harshly, her thumbs digging deep and painfully into your shoulder blades to force your posture into compliance.

After those events, you would return home in complete, suffocating silence inside the car, only to open the front door and instantly hear the distant sound of your sister happily shouting to her friends online from the safety of her bedroom.

"It's not what?" your sister prods, refusing to let it go.

"It's not that simple," you respond, leveling her with a glare you can't hide anymore.

Stop, you plead with yourself internally. Stop before you say something you don't mean.

"Then make it simple." She glares back at you, her hand tightening around yours. "At least tell me what I did so I can apologize."

The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

"It's not something you can apologize for. We can't go back to the past."

She huffs out a laugh in disbelief. "So it's that then? Because I shut down and needed time to focus on myself?"

You yank your hand out of hers, opening your mouth to speak but she doesn't let you get a word out.

"Because I was depressed? Because I was going through the lowest point of my life?" Her breaths are coming out heavily, the look she's giving you full of lethality.

You shake you head at the table, your lips pulled downward.

This is why you never wanted to speak to her about this.

You remember when she was diagnosed with depression in your sophomore year of high school. It was when your mother became softer on her. Loving. The way a mother is supposed to be. But that softness she showed your sister came back to you with viciousness.

Every time your sister would raise her voice while playing games upstairs when you were sitting at the dinner table with your parents, your father's eyes would instantly flash with anger. He would rise from his chair, muttering under his breath about how useless your sister was. That he was embarrassed of her. Your mother would try to coax him back down, but he would violently twist out of her grip, preparing to march straight up the stairs to slam her bedroom door open and yell at her.

You were always terrified, your heart hammering against your ribs. But you would force your voice to stay perfectly steady and compliant, rising out of your own chair to tell your father that she was just doing her best.

He would turn all that built-up rage on you instead. He would march over, pointing his finger right in front of your face, his skin red as he shouted about all the things you needed to be doing better.

But it always successfully stopped him from going up those stairs.

It was one day in your senior year, just a few months before graduation, when you finally realized you couldn't stay in that house for another second.

You had arrived home after an exhausting day at school, feeling like your social battery was completely depleted. Other students had stopped you constantly in the hallways, asking you about upcoming events. You hadn't wanted to be impolite, so you had just stood there, answering a barrage of questions that never seemed to end. You barely had enough time to set your backpack down on your bedroom floor, fully prepared to start the copious amount of homework you had received, when your mother stomped straight into your room, demanding you get changed as soon as possible.

It was the first time in a very long time that you actually found the courage to ask her to let you skip an event. You just couldn't imagine having to look proper and talk to more people.

The very next thing you registered was the sharp, blindingly hot sting across your cheek.

Your mother had never struck you on the face before that. But it wasn't even the sudden pain that surprised you.

When you slowly straightened your head, your eyes met your sister's across the hallway. Her bedroom door was cracked. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she looked at your face. But instead of stepping out to help you, or even asking if you were okay after your mother walked away, she just reached out and shut her door slowly.

"Answer me," your sister demands.

You suck in a breath, trying to calm your racing heart but the truth comes out anyways.

"Why did you leave me to deal with everything by myself? Why did you have to shut down? Why couldn't you see that I was struggling?" Your chest heaves, staring at her with pleading eyes.

"You think I did that on purpose?" she breathes out incredulously. "Put yourself in my shoes for a second. You got mom and dad bragging about how perfect you are to everyone. You had friends in school. A social life. Why would you be struggling?"

"What—" you pause, your voice full of confusion before it raises. "What are you even talking about? I did that all for you."

"Oh, really?" she laughs. The sound is completely devoid of humor, her voice suddenly turning lethal. "But guess what? I didn’t ask you to do a single thing for me."

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. It feels like she's driven a dagger straight into your sternum, your heart frantically trying to beat around the blade.

"You resent me, don't you?"

You turn your head away at the word, unable to look at her. It's the feeling you've held deep down since your freshman year of high school. That suffocating, shameful feeling.

You know it isn't her fault that she got bullied, but you can't help but resent her for everything that followed.

"But guess what?" she continues, leaning forward across the table and pointing her finger directly in your face. It's the exact same gesture your father used to use at the dining room table. "Your decisions are on you."

She slides quickly out of the booth, stomping away toward the diner exit without looking back at you even once.

You stare blankly at the door, breathing in the scent of stale coffee.

I didn't ask you to do a single thing for me.

Your decisions are on you.

Your decisions are why you're sitting here, alone, in this diner. If you had stayed at that house and endured it for a little longer, would you at least still have your sister right now? The thought tears at you, the possibilities of what could've been different playing in your head as you continue to stare blankly at the door.

—

You don't know how long you sit there. You're still frozen in the same position you've been in since she left.

A sudden burst of loud laughter from a few tables down finally forces you to blink, breaking through the static in your mind. Your eyes focus, registering the heavy white snowflakes now drifting slowly down past the glass pane of the door outside.

You slip out of the booth, not really registering the movement of your own steps. You just know that right now, you can't stand to hear that joyous, easy laughter from the other tables.

Your skin freezes instantly the moment you step outside the glass door, thick plumes of white smoke forming in front of your mouth with every single breath you take. The bus won't be here for a long while. So instead of waiting at the sign, you just stand there, watching the snow slowly accumulate on the sidewalk while a few cars pass by on the street in front of you.

You lean your upper back against the large window pane of the diner, the cold glass seeping straight past the thin fabric of your restaurant work shirt. But you can hardly feel the chill.

Snow drifts softly onto your cheeks. The flakes melt slowly against your skin, the freezing moisture tracking down your face until it hits your jawline. People pass by you quickly, ducking their heads as they try to get to their parked cars. The rubber soles of their shoes crunch rhythmically against the fresh powder on the sidewalk.

You look straight down, blinking at the tips of your own shoes as the white powder begins to form a neat ring around them.

Suddenly, there's another pair of shoes pointing directly toward yours.

"What're you doing out here, baby?"

Somehow, hearing that soft, raspy voice, feels like your walls are tumbling down.

You lean forward, the top of your head tapping against her chest.

"Natty," you whisper brokenly, your honest feelings slipping past your lips. "I'm so alone."

"Why do you think that, darling?"

Wanda's gentle, sweet voice comes from right beside you. You suddenly feel a weight draping over your cold shoulders. The deep warmth slowly spreads all across your back as the scent of mint and jasmine swirl together. It's that comforting aroma that helps you find the strength to continue.

"I lost all my best friends," you breathe out, the words tearing at your throat. "And it's all my fault."

Hearing yourself say it out loud feels like it's final. You reach your hand up, clutching tightly at the fabric of Natasha's jacket. You just need to feel like something is real in this unreal situation.

Natasha's hand encompasses yours gently, uncurling your tight fingers from her jacket and moving your hand down and inside her deep coat pocket. She rubs the back of your knuckles with her thumb while her palm presses firmly against yours. Warmth begins to return to your fingers that were once ice cold.

You feel the low rumble of Natasha's chest as she begins to speak.

"I have a feeling that's not true, baby girl," she murmurs, her raspy voice coming out achingly soft. "And you're not alone."

You feel a warm hand gently rest against the back of your head before long fingers thread smoothly through your hair, which must be damp and messy from the falling snow. It's the soothing, rhythmic touch of their fingertips against your scalp that makes you register that it's Wanda's hand.

"I heard about what Yelena told you," Natasha continues. Her voice tightens for a split second before she releases it. "I won't lie to you and say that Wanda and I haven't seen others before you. But you're different." She says the words simply, like it's an undeniable fact.

Wanda speaks up, keeping her voice low. "I know you don't have any reason to believe us yet, but I promise we'll always be here. Will you let us show you?" she asks, hopefulness underlying her speech.

You exhale shakily, the heavy puff of white smoke dissolving into nothing.

You're so tired of fighting. Tired of handling everything by yourself. Tired of your own decisions.

Tired of being alone.

"Can we at least take you to the car? Your hand is freezing, baby," Natasha says softly when you fail to respond.

You slowly tilt your chin up, Natasha's face coming into view. Thick snowflakes rain down from the sky all around you. Wanda's head is resting lightly against Natasha's shoulder, both of them looking down at you with soft, encouraging smiles—but their eyes are swimming with sadness. Maybe they can see the hurt hiding in yours.

"Natty," you mumble out. The shorthand name comes out almost whiny, thick with childish neediness you've suppressed for years. "Can you carry me there?"

Both of their eyes widen almost comically, but it's Natasha who recovers first.

"Of course, baby girl."

You scooch a step closer to her, raising your arm and wrapping it securely around her neck. She beams down at you, her expression filled with quiet joy. She releases your hand from inside her pocket, and both of her strong arms find their way underneath your thighs, lifting you with ease.

You press your cheek against her shoulder automatically, turning your head so your face is safely tucked right into the crook of her warm neck. Wanda smiles playfully at you from Natasha's other side before taking a step back.

"Let's go," Wanda says softly, her voice filled with relief. She moves her hand from your hair down to your back, rubbing her palm there in soothing, slow circles. "Our pretty girl is cold."

You finally let your heavy eyes close. The quiet sound of crunching footsteps in the fresh powder surrounds you. You feel your entire body completely relax against Natasha's, essentially going limp in her arms, but she doesn't falter or shift her grip in the slightest.

"Our baby," Natasha whispers quietly next to your ear.

You hadn't slept well all week, constantly waking up to your heart racing painfully throughout the night, or finding that tiredness wouldn't come despite your exhaustion. But right now, you can feel your brain beginning to slow down, knowing it's okay to sleep.

Like it always does when you feel Wanda's gentle warmth. Like it always does inside Natasha's safe presence.

Natasha continues to carry you down the sidewalk. Wanda continues to rub your back. And you realize through your groggy mind, that you're not alone. —

A/N: Sorry for the angsty chapters back to back. I was originally going to do a filler chapter about finals week but I just didn't see the point. I figured I may as well bite the bullet and just have the conversation with her sister so that R can actually finally start to work through her problems. It'll be a lighter/fluffier chapter next though! :D

Thank you so much for the comments! I never imagined how much this story would grow and that people would actually resonate with it. So, thank you again!

wanda had you cradled against her. your back against her front as she slipped her ringed fingers in and out of your crying cunt. she spoke the dirtiest words with the sweetest fucking tone as she thrusted her fingers into you, her other hand wiping tears away from your cheek.

"i can't, i can't, please! s' too much!" you cried into her chest, thighs begging to be closed because even you came down from your third orgasm, wanda never stopped the pace.

finally, she pulls her glistening fingers out of your cunt for the first time in… god knows how long, then holds it up to your face, spreading her fingers to show you the string of wetness connecting them.

“if you wanted me to stop you wouldn’t be making such a mess, hm ?” wanda hums, her lips brushing against your ear. she pushes her fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue and making you taste yourself before thrusting the spit-soaked fingers back into your dripping cunt with a low groan. 

“your mouth is telling me to stop…” she sighs, “but your pussy,” she lightly pinches your clit, sending waves of electricity up your spine and a loud moan out of your mouth, “is telling me a different story…” 

“f-fuck !” you cry, tears brimming in your eyes, your thighs are trying their best to clamp shut but wanda keeps them open by hooking her legs around yours. 

your back arches against her front, “mommy please ! i can’t-” 

the title slips out of your mouth before it even registers in your brain. 

then your eyes widen, you realise your slip up. wanda’s fingers stop their relentless thrusting.

“i- i don’t know why i said that…” you push yourself away from wanda and quickly scramble to explain yourself, “i- i didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped out, im sorry wand-”

before you can even complete your sentence, wanda reaches for your waist and flips your body around so you’re now lying on your back, she hovers over you and her fingers enter you again, “no, not wanda,” she shakes her head lightly, her face right above yours as her eyes darken in a way you haven’t seen before, "i'm your mommy, isn’t that right ?” she fucks into you even harder. 

hearing wanda’s words, your pussy clenches around her fingers, a moan slips out of your lips as your hips jerk upwards against her hand, the movement presses your clit against her palm and your thighs immediately attempt to clamp shut despite the intrusion that is wanda’s body between them. 

“yeah, that’s it sweetheart,” she mumbles, pressing kisses against your neck, her movements are sloppy and feral, teeth scraping against your skin and her free hand grabbing for whatever part of your body is available to her. she palms your breast before her nails dig into the soft skin, sure to leave red crescent moon shaped marks for the next few days. 

but wanda still needs more, needs more contact, so her legs straddle your thigh as she continues pumping her fingers into you, her hips grind against your thigh and you can feel the wet patch forming on her panties. 

“w-wanda what are y- too much- fuck…” you cry, her fingers pushing in and out of your pussy in a way you’ve never felt, her fingers repeatedly hit that spongey part inside of you making you let out a whorish moan at every thrust. 

then a bite against a particularly sensitive part of your neck, the pain shoots through your body sharply but then melts down into a hot achy feeling between your legs that makes you grind against wanda’s fingers. you gasp and immediately reach for wanda’s head, not exactly pushing her away but your fingers tangle in her red hair, grasping at her scalp. 

“what did i just tell you, huh ?” wanda asks you condescendingly, her lips brushing against your neck as she spoke, “just a dumb little girl…” she murmurs. 

wanda’s lips finally leave your neck so her head can come up to look you in the eye, her pupils are blown in a way you never thought possible and glued to the way your eyes are brimming with fresh tears. her hand cups your cheek and her thumb brushes against your lips with uncharacteristic sweetness, you lean into her touch as you let out unintelligible whines. 

“toomuchtoomuchtoomuch,” you cry, your face almost trying to burrow into wanda’s hand for some form of comfort as you squirm in her grasp, trying to escape the way she's plowing her fingers into your pussy. you were feeling so fucking sensitive after the many orgasms she gave you and she was anything but caring towards the way you were feeling right now. your hands reach between your thighs for wanda’s, grasping at her forearm to try to get her to slow down. 

“uh uh, malysh,” she tuts, removing her hand from your cheek to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, “you wanted me to be your mommy, right ?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head, a small smirk forming on her lips, “i’m just giving you what you want.” 

“maybe my ears are broken but… i don’t hear you saying your safe word, so lie there and take it like a good girl,” wanda’s voice is smooth as honey as she speaks, “you don’t want me to tie you up, do you ?” and it isn't a threat, it isn’t a question either, it’s a promise of what she’ll do to you if you deny her. 

you panickily shake your head, “no- no i dont want that.” you hiccup, already imagining how long you'll be in this position if she ties you up, body vulnerable to everything she wants to do to you and more. 

“that’s what i thought,” she smiles and then leans down to kiss your tear stained cheeks “now be a good girl for mommy, hm ? let mommy use you.”

wanda removes her grasp from your wrists, trusting that you’ll leave your arms up there and you do, hands curling up in an attempt to stop yourself from pushing wanda away from your sensitive cunt. 

“what’s my name ?” she asks, her eyes scanning your face for every tremor of your lips and flutter of your eyelashes, she wants to make sure you give her the right answer, the answer you were giving her just now before getting so embarrassed.

you know what she wants to hear but that embarrassment adorning your cheeks doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t let you say what she wants to hear or what you, deep down, want to say. you open your mouth nervously, lips trembling as you give her your answer.

“wan-” 

wrong answer. 

suddenly there’s a red hot sting between your legs. wanda’s hand comes down on your clit, smacking it with precision, your thighs immediately try to clamp shut but wanda’s knee between your legs pushes outwards and makes sure that you can’t. 

“no mommy, no !” you cry, hands immediately leaving their position above their head to try to push her hand away, “i’m sorry mommy ! please mommy !” you sob, immediately giving in to what she wants to hear, you didn’t need anymore convincing. 

wanda hums, a little sound of satisfaction. 

“hands back up.” wanda gives you a look, a reminder of her previous promise. her hand hovers above your clit as well, prepared to smack you again if you didn’t listen. 

you agonisingly slowly put your hands back up above your head with a whine, a small protest of your own that wanda chooses not to do anything about. your legs are trembling, prepared to clamp shut again if she tries to smack you again.

“good girl.” she praises, her finger delve back into the velvety walls of your pussy with a small smile on her lips.

as wanda settles back into her rhythm, the pace is no longer just frantic, it’s relentless and methodical, every thrust of her fingers aim to draw a noise out of you, a whimper, a moan, a whine, it’s all music to wanda’s ears. her pussy continues grinding against your thigh, her arousal spreading across the expanse of your skin as she angles herself so that her clit hits against you perfectly every time, when she finally finds that spot her eyes roll back and she bites her lip, she lets out shallow breaths and small grunts as her hips grind against your thigh with the same rhythm that her fingers are fucking into you. her fingers hook deep in your cunt finding that sensitive, swollen spot and your hips buck upwards involuntarily. 

“for someone who wanted me to stop, you seem awfully desperate…” wanda mutters, her voice dropping into that register that makes your stomach fill with jittery butterflies. 

your cheeks grow into an even darker shade of red if possible from hearing her words. your hips grind against her hand as she fucks you, everything that happened, the way she smacked your  pussy, her fingers in your cunt, the humiliation from accidentally calling her mommy, her lower register, it all melted together into a hot tingly knot in your lower stomach. 

“fuck…” wanda groans, her hips pushing against your thigh with her head keeled back. she looks down at her fingers disappearing in and out of your pussy and almost has to stop herself from letting out a moan. 

“gonna cum all pretty on mommy’s fingers like a good girl ?” wanda watches you get closer, watches that feeling build up again despite the overstimulation, all while knowing that you know she’s not gonna stop. 

“i can’t, mommy… its too much…” you whine. 

“yes you can, malysh. you’re gonna cum for me one last time, just- fuck- one more and we’re all done,” wanda bites her lip, rubbing your clit even harder, her hips starting to grind against your hips sloppier, her breaths get shallower, clear that she was also close. 

your back arches violently with the way her fingers curl into you and your walls clench around her fingers, practically sucking her in. 

“just one more lyubov, i know my good girl can do it.” her voice feels like a hot chill running down your spine. her voice trembles as she speaks, she’s almost there too. 

every muscle in your body locks tight, your back bowing off the mattress as a loud combination of a moan and whine gets torn out of your lungs. it’s all too much and too everything and all you can do is ride the sensation that wanda is making you endure. 

before you know it, your legs shake and you cover wanda’s hand with your release. wanda’s hips press particularly hard against your thigh and she cums not too long after, her fingers in your cunt stopping their motions as her pussy squirts all over your thigh. 

“good girl- good fucking girl- god- mommy’s dirty little girl” wanda gasps, she leans forward and trails kisses against your neck, moving up until her lips meet yours. 

“mommy don’t stop, mommy please-” you cry against her lips, hips wiggling, clearly wanting her fingers in you again. wanda lets you ride out your orgasm on her fingers, it feels all too much and you were clearly too sensitive down there right now but it just felt so fucking good you couldn’t get enough. 

“thank you mommy- thank you thank you thank you” you mumble as you come down from your orgasm, “thank you mommy.” 

your head gets fuzzy and goes to that floaty headspace wanda loves you in, you feel like you’re floating, held in place and still on earth only by the weight of wanda’s body and the heavy intoxicating pull of her presence. 

when the aftershocks begin to subside, leaving you heavy limbed and too tired to move, you feel wanda’s fingers leave you and you whine, not enjoying the fullness that was taken away from you. then you feel a kiss against your forehead, wanda says a few words that didn’t register in your brain and her presence falls away. 

a few seconds after she leaves is only when you truly realise that she’s left. your eyes blink against the lights that look way harsher than usual and you bite your lip anxiously. 

“mommy ? mommy where are you…” you mumble, curling in on yourself, missing her warmth. 

her voice comes from afar, “i’m coming malysh, mommy’s right here, she just went to grab something to make you feel better, okay baby ?” 

it all went in one ear and out the other for you, just a string of words pieced together that didn’t make any sense. 

just as you were about to call for her again, she appears in front of you, you smile and your arms weakly reach out for her.

“want you.” 

wanda lets out a happy sigh, “we gotta clean you up moya lyubov, afterwards we can cuddle okay ?” 

you nod sleepily, feeling wanda press the warm towel against your skin. you wiggle a little when wanda softly rubs the towel against your sticky inner thighs, they still felt sensitive and the towel felt rough against your skin. 

“shhh it’s okay baby, we’re almost done,” wanda reassures you, making quick work with cleaning your thighs before moving on. it was probably only 5 minutes but it already felt like hours to you. 

when wanda was finally done, she leaves you again for a moment, but this time she gives you a pillow to cuddle while you waited. 

she took her time away to put the towel in the laundry basket and clean herself up but before you knew it, you felt a dip in the bed and slender arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to wanda. 

she pulls you close and guides your head to rest against her chest, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“you did so good for me today malysh, i love you so much,” she mutters praises between kisses against your head. all the while, your eyes slowly flutter shut as you drift away, listening to the sound of wanda’s voic as you fall asleep.

– a/n can u guys tell idk how to write orgasms and aftercare idk. i like lowkey need to start reading more orgasm and (especially) aftercare writing this is embarrassing 💔 like i want everyone to know that this fic was delayed by a day bc i didn’t like how i wrote the aftercare, i still don’t and cringed at it but i gave up 🥲🥲🥲

The memories of the foster care facility had been popping into your mind more often lately. They were usually a mixture of sad or painful events. Prospective parents passing you over for kids who were brighter, more talkative, or openly craving affection. Volunteers assuming you didn't want to be bothered, leaving you to read or draw alone at the table. The facility staff scolding you, frustrated that you didn't try harder to be chosen.

It wasn't that you didn't try on purpose.

You had been there since the day you were born, spending six years inside that building. When you were a newborn, people thought you were too much responsibility. A blank slate where one slip-up could ruin a life. Then you became a toddler, making friends with the other kids. You would play outside, screaming at the top of your lungs and laughing until you couldn't breathe.

But then one day, your best friend left with a foster family. Then another. And another. You were happy for them, but beneath it all, you started to close in on yourself. You grew scared of the pain of opening up to someone who could leave at any moment. So, you started to keep your distance. You talked less, stayed inside, and kept your head down.

But one day, shortly after you turned six, a happy memory formed.

You were drawing at one of the tables by yourself. The sleeves of your oversized t-shirt were folded up, and the hem fell past your shorts. The other kids were talking excitedly with one another, a noise you were used to drowning out.

Suddenly, a hand larger than yours, adorned with rings, appeared next to your crayons.

"Hi," a soft, slightly accented voice said.

You turned your head, meeting wide, green eyes. The corners of them crinkled as she smiled brightly, her face level with yours from where she crouched beside the table. You scanned her face, noticing her dark brown hair before looking down at her name tag. It listed her as a volunteer.

You wish you had committed her name to memory, but assuming she would be like the rest, you hadn't looked closely.

"Hi," you mumbled, wanting to get back to your coloring.

She picked up a blue crayon, twirling it between her fingers. "I'm a new volunteer here. I saw you coloring and wondered if I could join you."

You looked down at your drawing. She would probably get bored and leave to play with the others. The thought made you pout as you stared at the yellow duck you had drawn.

"I guess..." you responded quietly, continuing your coloring to distract yourself.

She giggled softly. Before you could react, she lightly pinched your cheek between her index finger and thumb. You turned to her, her fingers still holding your cheek, and gave her a little glare. She only giggled more.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound apologetic despite her grin. "You just looked too cute."

You looked away, your cheeks heating up. You shook your head, forcing her fingers to fall away. "If you're gonna draw, do it quietly," you said with the biggest sigh your small body could muster.

With one last giggle, she pulled out the small, plastic chair beside you. She settled in, grabbing a sheet of paper from the stack in the center of the table. You could see her glancing at your drawing repeatedly before finally starting her own.

You sat silently, trying to keep your lines smooth even though they always wobbled in the middle. Other kids came up to her, asking her to play and wanting to get to know the new volunteer. Your chest tightened every time, even when you tried not to care.

But she always rejected them kindly, telling them she was in the middle of spending time with you. Your heart warmed just a little, despite your best efforts to act indifferent.

Half an hour into drawing, she started to speak to you. She acted as though you were answering her questions even when you stayed silent, the smile never leaving her voice.

You learned she was a high school senior completing volunteer hours. You found out she had an annoying twin brother who always brought up that he was a few minutes older. She told you about being from Sokovia, how she had only been in the States for a few years, the foods she liked, and the classes that bored her. She talked about her plans for the future, wanting to do something meaningful with her life.

Time passed like that—her talking about herself while you sat there, pretending not to listen but absorbing it all.

When she stopped talking, you peeked up. She was holding her drawing out to you with a shy grin.

It was a drawing of you. More specifically, of you sitting right in front of her, the little splotches of color from your own paper captured in her sketch. Even though there were other kids behind you, you were the only person in the drawing.

Your eyes widened as you looked between her and the paper. She was about to speak when one of the workers called your name, announcing it was bath time. Disappointment washed over you. Surely she would find someone more interesting after this.

You gathered your drawing, but her warm hand enveloped yours completely, stopping you. Your eyes met her green ones.

"Can we trade?" she asked, smiling softly as she looked down at the paper in your hands.

You weren't attached to your drawing. You had messed up the lines far too many times for it to look like anything, and it wasn't anywhere near what she had made. But you found yourself nodding shyly before you could think twice.

She swapped the papers but kept her hand on top of yours, holding it there for a moment. "See you later, alligator," she said gently. Her eyes didn't waver, and somehow, you believed her.

"See you," you whispered.

Her hand finally released yours. You hopped off the plastic chair and walked across the room toward the worker. You looked back, fully prepared to see her talking to another kid. Instead, you found her watching you leave with delicate affection in her eyes.

She started coming every other day. Sometimes she wore her backpack, arriving straight from school. On colder days, she would stop at the coat rack to hang her jacket. But despite those little differences, her searching for you was a constant. She would locate you with a single glance, walking over quickly with a bright smile that lit up the room.

You always ignored her for the first few minutes while she told you about her day. She would join you in whatever you were doing, even if you were just sitting silently outside, staring at the sky. At first, she sat an arm's length away. But as the months went on, the distance closed. And your heart opened.

You remember the first time you sought her out. It was right after a nap with the other kids your age. Bad dreams had plagued you—memories of the friends who had left, telling you that you would never be loved. You had gripped the front of your oversized shirt with small hands, your chest aching because you believed them. Tears streamed down your cheeks, even as you tried to swipe them away with the back of your hand.

It was then that she showed up. The door opened just a crack so the hallway light wouldn't flood the dark room. You could recognize her silhouette easily by that point. Shimmying out of your blankets, you quietly stepped over the other kids, your vision blurred with tears.

You remember her surprised face. Her eyes widened when she saw you standing right in front of her, forcing her to look down. Your fingers curled into the denim of her jeans while you sniffled. She crouched down, her eyebrows furrowed with worry as she brushed the tears off your cheeks with her thumbs.

"What's wrong, baby?" she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't wake anyone.

You shook your head, staring at her with shiny eyes. You let go of her jeans and lifted your arms. She scooped you up immediately, rocking you back and forth. Holding one hand against the back of your head, she pressed your cheek into her shoulder. You breathed in. The comforting scent of sweet flowers, like the ones that grew by the swing set outside, washed over your senses.

More bright memories formed after that, multiplying over the weeks. You started talking a little more, telling her what you planned to draw. You sought her out whenever your shoes were untied. When you watched the sky, you sat in her lap instead of leaving that empty space between you.

In the picture books you read, the mom was always there for her child, whether they were sad or happy. Always wiping away tears after a bad dream. Always listening to them talk, even if it was nonsense about nothing at all.

Just like she did for you.

You remembered when one of the other kids got fostered. Their foster parents had come to pick them up from the facility, and the way the new mother beamed when the child called her "Mommy" always stuck with you.

Wanting to see that same look on her face, you walked up to her the next day just like you had after your nightmare. You tugged on the hem of her shirt to make her look down, tilting your chin to meet her smiling eyes.

"Hi, mommy," you said quietly, your voice shy.

Her eyes widened. Tears immediately began to shine in them before she scooped you up, hugging you tightly. She held you like that for a long time, her breathing shaky against your shoulder. You remember wondering if you had done something wrong. But then she spoke, her voice watery and thick with emotion.

"If only I were older... more stable..." she whispered, her voice shaking. "Then I could take you away from this place."

You hadn't understood why she was crying. She didn't have to take you away from there. You were happy as long as she came to visit. You thought it would last forever.

After that day, you became her precious baby. She would call you that every time she greeted you. She started staying past her volunteer hours, right up until the moment you had to go to sleep. The farewell was always the same.

"See you later, alligator."

"Bye-bye, mommy."

She would smile brightly whenever you called her that, as if you had given her the greatest gift in the world. Holding hands while walking, sitting in her lap while she read to you, her pushing you on the swings. They were pure, happy memories.

But the sunny days ended abruptly.

A couple who had visited you a few weeks prior appeared out of nowhere one afternoon. You had assumed they would choose someone else, since they had stopped talking to you weeks ago. Instead, they walked up to you with small smiles that didn't reach their eyes and told you that you were leaving with them.

She wasn't there that day. You never got to say goodbye. All you had from her was the drawings she'd trade with you that you begged to take with you.

You were in another state by the next day. In a spacious new apartment, a new room, a new school. You tried to be grateful for it all, but your foster parents weren't parents. You would try to get their attention, showing them your grades or asking for help, but their polite, distant smiles made you realize something quickly. The love you had read about in picture books wouldn't be found here.

It was more of an arrangement of convenience. They received money from the state for fostering you, and they got to look like a complete family from the outside. Even after they adopted you once the six month period passed, inside the home, you were just a guest.

That's how you lived for the next twelve years until you became an adult. And for the two years after that, you were on your own, refusing to accept their charity anymore.

Frankly, it wasn't something you chose to reminisce on. The ache in your chest from remembering her, from never being able to see her again, would always feel too painful.

But it's the green eyes in front of you that had been awakening these memories lately.

"Hi, honey, not too busy today?" Wanda asks, pulling an array of fruits and vegetables from her reusable bag and placing them onto the conveyor belt.

You pick up a package of cherry tomatoes, scan it, and set it to the side. "No, not today. It's been pretty quiet," you respond, continuing to scan the rest of the items.

You make a conscious effort to keep your head down, not wanting her to see the excitement on your face from her arrival.

You met Wanda a few weeks ago when you first started this job as a checkout clerk. It fits into your university class schedule well and pays decently because of the nicer neighborhood it's located in.

Your first day had been horrendous. In the last few minutes of your shift, a customer began complaining about their total, claiming they had a coupon that should reduce the price significantly. You tried scanning the coupon they held out, but it came back invalid every single time. Even when you tried to explain the situation calmly, they began to raise their voice until everyone in the front of the store was looking your way.

Situations like these have never been easy for you. You hated being the center of attention. You hoped they would just get it out of their system, pay, and leave so you could go home, but they wouldn't budge.

It wasn't until a voice came from behind them that the situation resolved itself.

"If you can't afford it, then just say so and move on so the rest of us can have our turn."

You craned your head back, meeting a pair of green eyes that you could swear you've seen before. It reminded you instantly of the volunteer who doted on you when you were still at the facility. But this woman had reddish-orange hair and no accent in her voice.

The customer's face turned beet red. They finally tapped their card against the reader, grabbed their bags, and walked away muttering under their breath.

The woman stared the customer down all the way until they exited the sliding glass doors. The moment she looked back at you, her expression instantly softened into something bright.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with customers like that, sweetheart. I don't think I've seen you here before. I'm Wanda. What's your name?"

There was something about the cadence of her voice that made your heart beat faster. The array of crayons on the small table back at the facility immediately came to mind. You quickly shook the thought off when she gazed at you expectantly.

You introduced yourself shyly, admitting it was your first day.

It took off from there.

Wanda visited a few times a week on random days, except for Fridays, which were a constant. You'd share short conversations with her. She'd stay longer sometimes on days where there was no line, chatting about her own time in university and letting you vent about stuck-up professors

Thankfully, today is Friday.

Unfortunately, you're exhausted from classes and your roommates being loud in the living room. It was taking everything in you to not close your eyes. The sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot were simultaneously blinding you and keeping you awake, but it was getting harder to keep your shoulders upright.

You take a breath, forcing a smile onto your face when you notice Wanda helping pack her groceries. You've reminded her over and over that this is part of what you're paid to do, but she never listens.

"They might replace you with me at this rate," you say jokingly, the tiredness dulling the inflections in your voice.

Wanda looks up from one of the bags, raising a brow. "Then would you be the customer?"

You huff out a little laugh. "This grocery store is a bit out of my price range."

"Then that arrangement won't do," she responds with a small smile, looking back down. "How else would I see you and that shy smile?"

Your gaze drops down to the scanner, heat rising up your neck to your cheeks and ears.

"See?" Wanda points out, laughing brightly.

Suddenly, her voice drops into something quieter. "Are you sleeping enough, darling?" she asks, gathering her bags nonchalantly. You see her peering at you when she thinks you don't notice.

Don't bother her with your problems, the rational part of you reminds you. It was one thing to complain about professors. It was a whole other thing to tell her about your living situation.

"I slept enough," you respond, meeting her gaze with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

She stares at you, scanning your face carefully before giving you a quick smile, like she's thought of something satisfactory.

"Do you get off soon?" she asks, glancing at the watch resting on her left wrist.

You glance at the register screen, finding that you're almost at the finish line.

"I only have around ten more minutes." You breathe out a sigh of relief.

She looks to the side for a moment, nervously biting her lower lip.

You can't help but find her beautiful with the way the sunlight shining in splays perfectly across her face. She's wearing a plain blue blouse and white trousers. No logos. No heavy gold rings or designer bags like the women who usually patronize this neighborhood. Just a silver watch on her left wrist. That modesty was one of the things that had made it easier for you to talk to her.

"I know your parents probably told you not to follow strangers. But hopefully, I'm not a stranger at this point," she starts, speaking quickly. "Would you like to take a walk with me after this at the park across the street? I saw there were a few food trucks, so maybe we could grab an early dinner?"

Frankly, your parents hadn't told you much of anything. You had figured out how to navigate the world on your own. But Wanda isn't a stranger, and the park across the street is always crowded. You wouldn't be in any danger. Perhaps it was naive of you, but with Wanda, you never felt afraid. Just her presence made you feel safe.

The prospect of spending more than a few minutes with her makes something in your chest flutter. It's a feeling you haven't felt since you were six years old.

"O-okay," you stutter, mentally cursing yourself for the slip.

Wanda beams at you, adjusting the bags of groceries hanging on her wrists. "I'll be waiting outside for you, honey. Take your time coming out," she calls out, already turning around and walking out the door.

You watch her walk away before finally turning back to the register. You stare down at the scanner in front of you. Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth, but it doesn't stop the smile forming on your lips.

The sound of footsteps approaching cuts the moment short. You quickly smooth down the front of your apron, erasing the smile from your face before looking up to meet the next customer a few paces away.

"Next," you call out politely.

—

You step out into the parking lot, squinting against the blinding rays. Lifting your arms, you stretch your tight shoulders and release a yawn. Your t-shirt rides up with the motion, the hem resting just above your belly button before you finally let your arms drop.

Looking around, you find Wanda leaning against her car a few paces away. She's already staring in your direction, but her gaze is low. It takes a few steps in her direction before she finally glances up, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly slaps a smile onto her face.

"Ready to go, darling?" she asks, her voice a bit breathless.

You adjust your bag hanging on your shoulder before responding. "All set."

It's a quiet, comfortable walk across the street. You and Wanda stroll between the food trucks, pointing out options before ultimately deciding on sandwiches. Wanda pays for the food before you even have a chance to unzip your wallet.

"I-I could've paid for my own food," you mumble, a stubborn pout forming on your lips.

You both take a seat on an open bench facing the pond. Wanda turns her torso toward you, her expression softening into something you can't quite name. There's a distant sadness in her eyes that doesn't match the small smile on her face.

Before you can think to look away, she reaches out and pinches your cheek gently between her index finger and thumb.

"Let's just say I wanted to treat you. I'm the one who invited you out, after all," she says gently.

Her hand falls away, but her fingers linger close for a moment. Her gaze remains locked on your face, watching you quietly, as if she's studying you.

You stare back at her, your eyes wide. The familiarity of the gesture has your mind racing, your thoughts rushing straight to the one person you could never forget. You never allowed anyone to touch your face like this. Even when friends tried to do it jokingly, you always flinched away. It felt like if you allowed anyone else to repeat the gesture, you would start forgetting her. The memory of the first person who loved you.

Wanda isn't her, you chastise yourself internally.

Your heart twists sharply in your chest. A wave of guilt washes over you, eating away at your stomach just for letting Wanda cross that line without a fight.

But for some reason, it didn't feel uncomfortable. Usually, when others even reached for your face, you felt a wave of unease. If anything, Wanda's touch felt like coming home. The realization makes your heart ache—you don't want the volunteer to fade from your memory.

You look down at the bench, focusing on the arm's length of distance separating you two. The sandwiches she bought sit untouched between you. For a few long moments, the chatter of people walking by the pond fades into background noise as your thoughts consume you.

It isn't until Wanda speaks that you finally snap out of it.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, darling," she starts quietly. Her expression looks distant, as if she's watching old memories float past.

You open your mouth to tell her the truth, that it didn't make you uncomfortable at all, but she continues, forcing your jaw to snap shut so you can hear her clearly.

"There's someone I've been missing for a very long time. Your smile and that cute pout... they remind me of her so much," she whispers, meeting your eyes with a sad smile. "She would be your age by now. Sometimes I wonder what she's doing. If she's eating okay, if she's receiving the love she deserves... if she still remembers me. But I always hope she's happy, even if that happiness didn't come from me."

The ache in Wanda's voice is almost palpable. It makes your chest tighten in the same way it does whenever you let yourself look back at the past.

Wanda's expression suddenly morphs into a grimace. "Maybe this is just me easing my own guilt. I'm sorry if this is bothersome, sweetheart. It must be weird, being compared to someone you've never met. But talking to you recently... it's been making me think of her more."

Her eyes widen suddenly, her posture stiffening as her voice turns frantic.

"That's not why I've been talking to you, though!" she exclaims, her voice rising enough to draw a glance from a passing couple. "I love our conversations. Genuinely. Seeing you so tired today just made me want to do something to help, even if it wasn't much."

You look out at the pond, watching the light breeze track ripples across the surface.

So she's missing someone too, you think.

The realization eases the guilt churning in your stomach. The puzzle pieces fit together now. The comfort and protection you only ever found from one person—the most important person in your life—had suddenly reappeared in a matter of weeks through Wanda. It makes sense now.

Wanda reminds you of her.

Secretly, you've known this all along. Probably from the very moment you locked eyes with her at the register.

You're not replacing her. The thought immediately making your frantic mind rest. She'll always be your mommy.

You and Wanda are just finding comfort in each other.

"Can we keep meeting like this?" you ask shyly, turning your head toward her. You let your eyes drift up to the sky. "There's someone I've been missing too. When I talk to you, I feel like I remember her more clearly."

You let your gaze drop back to Wanda's face. She's staring at you, her green eyes bright, as if she's looking right at a memory.

"Of course," she breathes.

You shift on the bench, scooting a little bit closer to her. It reminds you of when you were younger—the distance closing slowly, piece by piece.

—

You step into your shared apartment, barely sparing a glance at the kitchen counter littered with dirty plates and utensils. You make your way down the hall, feeling the heavy bass of music vibrating from beneath one of your roommates' doors.

Closing your bedroom door, you lean your back against it and finally breathe out. You let your bag drop to the floor, the heavy thud of it barely audible over the noise outside.

Reaching up, you let your fingertips brush slowly across your cheekbone. You can still feel the lingering warmth from where Wanda’s hand had cupped your face before you parted ways. Her eyes had locked onto yours for a long second before she finally turned around.

You can't help but wonder who it is that she's missing so desperately. But you didn't want to ask. You know that if she threw the question back at you, you would have a hard time answering.

How do you explain to a woman you just met recently that you miss a teenage volunteer from fourteen years ago? How do you explain that you still can't forget her? It would be like admitting to Wanda that she reminds you of the only person you ever viewed as a mother.

You walk across the small, cold space of your room and pull open the bottom drawer of your desk. Reaching inside, you run your fingertips across the rough, waxy lines of the papers hidden at the bottom.

All of her drawings are stored here. Some are messy pieces you had colored together. Most are the clean, detailed sketches drawn just by her.

You miss her so much it aches. The parallels between her and Wanda are almost eerie, pulling your heart in entirely different directions.

But it's exactly that conflict that makes you want to see Wanda again. You want to feel that safety you haven't felt since you were six years old.

You pick up the very first drawing she ever gave you. The sketch of you sitting and drawing at the table.

"Is this okay, mommy?" you whisper into the quiet room, the memory of her smiling green eyes flashing behind your eyelids. Wanda's face appears for a split second before fading away.

—

You start meeting with Wanda every Friday after your shift. She's always waiting for you, leaning against her car, her smile dazzling the moment she notices you.

The second time you meet, she takes you to a cute bakery down the street. You've noticed the inviting exterior before, but knowing the area, you knew it would be far out of your budget. Wanda doesn't let you pay, even when you try handing the barista your card. She just glances at you, raising a single brow. Your arm automatically lowers, and Wanda pays anyway.

It reminds you instantly of the look She would give you when you tried to avoid bedtime at the facility, just wanting to spend more time with her. You would automatically listen back then, wanting to be her obedient baby.

With Wanda, you get to experience many of the things you never could in the city. A flaky, buttery croissant at the bakery. A French restaurant you always wanted to try but could never get a reservation for even if you could afford it. Even just sitting peacefully on the park bench. You're always in a rush, jumping from classes to work, then back home to study. This is the first time you've truly gotten to take in the city you've lived in for fourteen years.

You and Wanda always end up at the park, no matter where you go first. You sit on the same bench in front of the pond. It's where you have the deep conversations that aren't just about university or daily life. It's there that you find out Wanda is the chairwoman for a massive charity—one even you've heard of. She tells you it was something she always wanted to do. To do something meaningful with her life.

The phrasing is so familiar. You remember Her saying the exact same thing. It makes you look at Wanda differently. The passing interest you had because of her looks and her similarities to the person you miss, growing into something much greater with every meeting.

It's your third meeting when you learn more about the person she's missing. You make a passing comment without really thinking. It's only then that you realize how much more willing you're to speak lately, usually being so reserved.

"When I was a kid, I used to think all ducks were yellow," you recount, your voice airy from reminiscing. "Then I found out only the ducklings are."

You let out a little giggle. Staring at the ducks slowly crossing the pond with little ducklings following behind, you think of the yellow duck drawing you made the day you first traded drawings. Your feet swing back and forth beneath the bench, your fingers curled tightly over the front edge of the wood.

It's a few moments before the heavy silence really hits you. You turn your head to look at Wanda. She's staring straight ahead at the pond. You track her eyes, finding that she's fixed on the tiny ducklings trailing behind the mother duck.

Her voice is shaky when she finally speaks.

"My precious baby thought the same thing," she says, a watery smile stretching across her face.

Precious baby.

You close your eyes, biting the inside of your mouth to stop the emotions threatening to surface. You haven't heard that phrase in fourteen years. Her smiling face immediately comes to mind—the way she would look down at you, crouching to be at eye level before gently stroking your cheek.

"My precious baby."

You always loved it when she called you that. Your lips would immediately curve into a wide grin before you called her your mommy.

Remembering it makes your heart ache for Wanda. From what she's told you, it seems she had to let go of someone she loved, just like you did.

You scooch a bit closer to Wanda, though a sliver of distance still remains between you. As you move, the scent of sweet flowers suddenly washes over your senses.

The swing set. Your cheek pressed against her shoulder.

Your head snaps up, looking for the source, but the tree branches above you just sway gently. It must be the breeze, you think wryly.

But it's that familiar, comforting scent that gives you the confidence.

You reach out, your fingers gently tugging on the hem of Wanda's blouse.

She turns to you. Her green eyes are wide, glimmering with unshed tears, and her mouth is slightly agape. She looks at you as if she's staring straight at a ghost from her past. You figure she must be reminiscing just like you are.

"I'm sure she's out there thriving," you say, your voice adamant despite the slight tremble of your shyness.

Wanda holds her gaze on you, not saying a word. You peer up at the sky, anxiousness setting in the longer she stays silent. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything.

It's only when you feel Wanda's warm palm settle against your cheek that you meet her eyes again. Her expression is soft, her lips curved into a gentle smile. But it's the delicate affection in her green eyes that makes your heart jump. It's how you know she's only looking at you, completely tuning out the crowds of people sitting on the grass and walking by the pond.

Her thumb brushes your cheekbone before tracing lower, brushing slowly against your bottom lip instead.

You feel her movement freeze suddenly. The affection in her eyes remains, but you can see a layer of guilt churning just beneath the surface. She pulls her thumb away from your lip but keeps her palm resting against your cheek.

"I'm sure she is," Wanda whispers. Her voice sounds hopeful, but it's swirling with an array of heavy emotions you can't decipher.

—

With every meeting, you and Wanda only become closer.

Sometimes you’d catch her staring at you in your peripheral vision whenever you looked up at the sky. Watching the clouds drift by and finding shapes in them had become a habit again, just like when you were younger. On clear days, letting the blue expanse amaze you cleared your mind.

You figure that maybe the person Wanda misses used to do the same. The first time you noticed her doing that, you’d honestly felt a bit uncomfortable, but a mixture of guilt lay within that as well.

Because you weren't the person she was thinking of. Maybe seeing you was hurting her more.

It wasn't like you couldn't relate.

After the day Wanda had brushed your lip with her thumb, her touches became more constant. Sometimes she’d rub away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth after you ate a pastry. Sometimes she’d run her fingers through your hair and carefully move stray strands out of your face. Sometimes, when you were sharing a funny customer interaction, her hand would land on your thigh, squeezing it gently as she laughed.

Shame would creep up your neck when your body reacted. You’d press your thighs together, trying to ignore the ache settling in your lower stomach. Your chest warmed from the familiar, comforting touch that you'd only experienced from Her, but now you were feeling the exact same way from Wanda.

Some days, you felt like you were betraying the person you had been forced to leave behind. Even after you were fostered, you had never found that same love. It was a rare, safe feeling that you had reserved just for Her.

But here you were, opening your heart up in the exact same way to someone else.

It was a constant push and pull. You keep reminding yourself that Wanda is a completely different person. They just happen to be similar. You weren't replacing Her. You refuse to.

And it wasn't like you could just walk away from Wanda now. Even in the short period of time you've known her, you've become deeply attached. You sought Wanda out whenever you needed advice, had questions about your university classes, or really just wanted to talk about anything at all. She listened every single time, even when the things you said didn't make much sense or lead anywhere.

Wanda's touch was always kind, but slowly, it began to cross the blurry boundaries between you two. Her hand began to linger higher up your thigh, holding it there and squeezing occasionally. You remembered the intense heat burning through your skin the first time she did it. But whenever you looked up at her, her green eyes were always full of that same gentle, consuming affection.

Sometimes when she looked into your eyes in these moments, her gaze would immediately avert, her lips curving downward like she was upset with herself. She'd blink a few times, her eyes brightening more with every blink before she'd look at you again and let her fingers curve around your thigh confidently.

You know this desire you feel for Wanda is twisted. Wanda reminded you of the only mother figure you had in your life. But, you like Wanda, and being around her feels like you're creating memories that you should've had with Her.

—

It's a month and a half later when you first slip up and tell Wanda a little bit about Her.

You're sitting on the park bench like usual, your arm pressed against Wanda's. You and Wanda had started a book series together. Wanda had the second volume in her hand, reading aloud to you. Your head slowly drifted to the side until it landed on Wanda's shoulder.

You noticed you'd been doing this more often, subconsciously, finding comfort in Wanda whether it be emotionally or physically.

You could hear the smile in her voice as she continued reading. Birds chirped in the distance. Children giggled behind you. But Wanda's voice drowned them all out. It reminded you of sitting outside with Her in front of the swing sets, sitting in her lap as she read one of your picture books to you while pointing at the pictures she liked. You found yourself speaking before you could even think to stop.

"This reminds me of when I was a kid," you murmur wistfully, closing your eyes.

"Did someone else use to read for you?" Wanda asks, her voice unusually tight.

You nod softly, your cheek swishing against her shoulder. "Mhm," you confirm, your voice relaxed. "My mo—"

Your eyes widen. Your posture straightens out. Gnawing lightly on your bottom lip, you look away. You've never talked about Her with anyone before. It felt sacred, like something that was just for you. Your hand tightens around the front of your shirt.

It's confusing. All these habits you used to have starting to come back since you met Wanda.

Wanda’s hand envelops yours, her touch gentle but firm as she coaxes your fingers to release the fabric of your shirt. Sliding her palm against yours, she interlocks your fingers together. She rubs her thumb in slow circles against the back of your hand.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about the person you miss," she starts slowly. "But if you do... I'm always here, darling." You turn your head automatically, wanting to see Wanda's face that always manages to comfort you.

You don't know how she knew who you were talking about. It feels like Wanda is able to read you with a single glance. It makes you a bit anxious if she can see the feelings you have for her that are muddied by your past.

You meet Wanda's eyes. She's looking at you with an aching softness that you can feel in your bones. Your shoulders droop, melting at the comforting warmth coming from her hand.

Tears glisten in your eyes despite yourself.

It's confusing.

The complicated, messy feelings swirling inside you. There's the intense comfort you're receiving from Wanda, slammed right against the terrifying feeling that you're somehow betraying Her.

But you find your fingers tightening, squeezing Wanda's hand anyway. The motion reminds you instantly of when you used to swing Her hand back and forth while walking around the playground. You tilt your chin up, trying to stop the tears threatening to spill over your lashes.

You hear Wanda inhale shakily. Maybe this is too troublesome for her, you think, trying even harder to rein in your rogue emotions.

Suddenly, Wanda pulls you in closer by your interlocked hands. Her free hand rises to rest firmly against your cheek, her fingers spanning your jaw as she tilts your face up to force you to look at her.

"It's okay to cry," she whispers, her tone incredibly low and soothing. "My baby."

Your eyes widen, a wave of panic hitting you. You know Wanda is probably just seeing someone else in you. You know you shouldn't be letting her call you that. Only one person was ever allowed to use that title.

But you don't stop her.

Instead, a consuming warmth blooms from your chest and outwards. You squeeze her hand tighter. Her thumb brushes slowly against your lips as she gazes down at your mouth. You expect her to freeze like she usually does after a few moments. For the guilt to make her pull away.

But this time, she just continues.

—

Every time you come back to your apartment after meeting Wanda, you always go straight to your desk. You pull out the bottom drawer, running your fingers along the rough, waxy lines of the crayon sketches.

The guilt is starting to ease the longer you meet with her.

This isn't you replacing her, you remind yourself, staring down at the stack of drawings. You're finding something else in Wanda.

You try to ignore the nagging question in your head—the one threatening to shatter the fragile resolution you've finally found.

But what is it that you're finding in Wanda, then?

—

You're sitting on the park bench with Wanda. Your legs are stretched across her lap, your hand locked firmly in hers. Her other hand rests on your knee, her fingers pressed against the bare skin of your inner thigh.

She's telling you about her day while you listen silently, absorbing every word. Your gaze tracks the ducklings as they follow the mother duck across the surface of the pond. Something about the scene makes you speak up suddenly, cutting Wanda off right in the middle of her sentence.

"—and then he told the staff that he knew me, and that I would—"

"Wanda," you interject.

Her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly as she turns to look at you. You're normally polite, always staying quiet and listening intently until she finishes her thoughts.

"Yes, baby?" she responds, her voice soft but clearly confused by the interruption.

You turn your head toward her. Your heart hammers against your ribs, the sudden rush of adrenaline making your throat tight as the question finally slips past your lips.

"What are we doing?"

She tilts her head, her expression full of feigned confusion, but her eyes tell you everything. She knows exactly what you're referring to.

"We're spending time together," she says with a light chuckle. She brings your joined hands up to her mouth, pressing a soft kiss against the back of your hand.

"I… I know that," you start, your confidence beginning to wane. "I just mean..."

You trail off. You can't bring yourself to say it out loud. You can't ask if she's projecting, or tell her that she somehow makes you feel the exact same safety your mommy did while you also crave a romantic connection. Instead, you just freeze under her gaze, your lower lip trembling slightly.

Wanda leans in closer to you. Her hand slides higher up your thigh until her index finger rests right in the deep crevice where your leg meets your hip. Your breath hitches when she taps her finger in slow, rhythmic beats against the sensitive skin there.

"I know I shouldn't feel this way," she starts. Her face showing the conflicting, messy emotions that are churning inside you. "Not when you remind me..."

She trails off, refusing to finish the sentence. Her lips curve into a soft, vulnerable smile.

"But being with you brings me so much joy," she whispers, her thumb grazing your hip. "I love when you get crumbs all over your lips and I have to brush them away for you. I love when your feet swing under the bench when you're happy. I love hearing your little ramblings. Can that just be enough for now?"

She looks at you, her green eyes wide, desperate, and hopeful.

"Being with you makes me happy too," you admit in a whisper.

Wanda beams at you, the warmth of her hand making your own lips curve upward as well.

Suddenly, a sharp vibration buzzes against your side. You pull out your phone, finding a new text message from your parents. They've been reaching out more often lately. Something about wanting to make up for the time they should've spent being real parents to you.

Are you okay for rent this month? We can send money if you need. Let's meet sometime to catch up over a meal.

You release a tired sigh as you read the text from your adoptive dad.

"Everything okay?" Wanda asks, her voice tinged with worry.

You lock your phone screen without responding to him, looking up with a small smile that falls flat. "Everything's okay," you respond, trying to keep your tone bright. "It's just my parents."

Wanda's hand tightens around your upper thigh suddenly, making you jolt slightly on the bench.

"Did they need something?" Wanda asks.

Her voice is colder than you've ever heard it. The gentle, soft lines of her face are completely gone, her lips pulled into a rigid line.

"Yeah..." you start slowly, still in shock from the sudden shift. "They were just checking to see if I have enough for rent. And... if I want to meet up for a meal."

Her fingers tighten even more against your skin, making a sudden swarm of butterflies erupt in your lower stomach. You try to look away, but Wanda releases your joined hands, bringing her palm up to scoop your jaw and tilt your chin back up.

Her eyes are incredibly dark as she stares down at you. You know you should probably feel afraid of the intensity radiating off her, but instead, the butterflies morph into a low, throbbing ache that makes you shift slightly.

"If you don't have enough for rent, then I can take care of it," she says. Her gaze never wavers, making you realize she's dead serious.

You release a shaky laugh. "I'm okay for rent, Wanda. I promise."

"Then are you meeting them for a meal?" she asks quickly, her tone demanding as she watches your eyes intently.

You shake your head as much as you can while she holds your face in her palm. "No. There's no need to," you start, a wry smile pulling at your lips before you grin up at her. "I'd rather eat with you."

You wonder if she knows just how true that is.

Her tight grip finally releases on your face and your thigh. She uses her thumb to softly stroke the skin of your chin where she had held a little too hard. Before you can even blink, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss against your chin before pulling back with a thoroughly satisfied smile.

"I'll have to take you somewhere nice then," she says simply, the warmth returning to her voice.

She pinches your cheek lightly between her index finger and thumb. Your eyes close automatically, your head leaning heavily into her hand at the familiar gesture.

You both sit there like that for a long while. Her hand remains resting on your thigh, while her other hand releases the soft skin of your cheek, pressing her warm palm against your face instead. You giggle brightly when the tiny ducklings try to snuggle up against the mother duck's feathers.

Wanda chuckles beside you, her thumb stroking your cheek delicately like you're something precious.

"What's funny, baby?" Wanda's voice raises a pitch, like the way you naturally do when you're speaking to a child. But for some reason, it doesn't bother you. It reminds you of Her and the way her voice would brighten when she'd see you.

You turn your head, giving Wanda a cute, little smile without really thinking about your words.

"They look like us."

Her eyes soften immediately, and she leans forward to press her lips softly against your cheek. "They do," she agrees, pulling back just enough to give you a smile filled with pure affection.

You both stare at the pond for a while, until Wanda glances down at her watch. You hear her take in a sharp breath before she finally releases your face. Her hand slides away from your inner thigh, leaving a sudden, chilling patch of cold skin behind.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I have to go now," she says quickly, though the profound softness remains in her voice.

Your lips instantly jut out in a pout. You move your legs off her lap, shifting on the wooden bench so you're sitting properly again. "Okay," you respond, your voice quiet and tinged with sadness. "I'll see you next time."

You force a wide smile onto your face, desperately reminding your frantic mind that you'll see her again soon.

She stands up, turning around to give you one last bright smile. "See you later, alligator," she says, her voice raised to that higher pitch again.

"Bye-bye, mommy," you respond automatically, waving your hand at her.

It's only when Wanda takes a few slow steps down the gravel path that your blood turns to ice.

Wanda freezes, suddenly coming to a stop. It feels like everything around you has paused, only Wanda's motions continuing. She turns around slowly to face you.

"S-Sorry," you stutter, your pulse hammering in your throat making your mouth turn dry. "I don't know why I said that."

She stares at you. Her green eyes are blown wide, her mouth agape as she looks at you with breathless intensity.

"Are you—"

"Moya lyubov, I'm here to pick you up," a raspy voice sounds from right behind Wanda.

Wanda's mouth freezes, but she doesn't turn around, her eyes staying on you. Your heart is beating erratically, the pounding of it almost making your ribs ache.

"Wanda?" the voice asks, but she still doesn't move, like her gaze can't leave your body.

You lean forward slightly, meeting a pair of green eyes, slightly more vibrant than Wanda's. Her hair color is similar to Wanda's, but this woman wears a power suit, nothing like the comfortable, modest clothing you see Wanda wear.

The woman walks past Wanda to you, shaking Wanda out of her stupor.

"Natash—"

"Hi, you must be the one that Wanda's been talking about," the woman starts. "I'm Natasha. Wanda's wife." Natasha lifts her hand up to you for a handshake.

Your hand lifts automatically, though it feels like your mind has gone completely blank. You shake her hand, her firm grip doing nothing to bring you back to reality.

Wife? you think frantically.

Your gaze darts down to Wanda's left hand, tracking a gold band resting on her ring finger. A ring you're absolutely certain you've never seen on her hand before today.

Then what was all of this? Eating together at restaurants, sitting side by side. Holding hands at farmer's markets because Wanda didn't want you to get lost. All the conversations you've had here a this bench.

Natasha's hand continues to hold yours in a firm grip. She scans your face, observing you closely.

"I can see why Wanda is so taken with you," she says with a small smile, though there's something else brewing behind her eyes.

You look past her to Wanda. Her eyes are wide, her face pale, like she's been caught in a terrible lie.

But Natasha knows about you. Wanda's talked to her about you.

You look back at Natasha. She doesn't look angry. Rather, she looks down at you with pity in her eyes, her lips pulled downward. The betrayal you expect to see on her face, replaced by something else entirely, sends your mind into a blur.

"What…" you start, your voice barely a whisper.

What did you just get yourself into? —

The afternoon light filters weakly through the half-drawn blinds in Natasha’s room, casting long, thin shadows across the cluttered floor. Empty beer cans and discarded clothes are scattered across the floor, and a half-smoked joint lingers in an ashtray. The air smells like her, sharp perfume mixed with cigarette smoke and something deeper, warmer, like skin after a long night out. 

Natasha is your new stepsister, the daughter of the man your mom married six months ago. She’s supposed to be family now, but nothing about Natasha feels very sisterly. 

You’re curled up on the end of her bed with a pillow hugged to your chest, eyes fixed on the TV sitting on the dresser. Your mom and stepdad don’t let you have one in your own room, “too distracting from schoolwork”, but Natasha’s twenty-one, so she does whatever she wants. That includes inviting you in here when she’s bored and hungover, which happens more and more often.

Natasha’s sprawled beside you, one leg dangling off the bed in her tiny sleep shorts. She flips between channels lazily, the remote loose in her hand, like she couldn’t care less. “This movie’s shit,” she mutters. The flickering channels finally lands on a mindless action film. “But better than staring at your phone all day, right?”

You nod, glancing at her shyly. “Thanks for letting me sit in here. It’s nicer than the living room. Mom’s always hovering.” Your voice is quiet, shy, almost.

Natasha has always been the opposite. Her voice is brash, her tongue almost barbed whenever she talks to your parents, her heart full of secrets she keeps from them about where she goes at night and who she sees.

She snorts, tossing the remote aside. “Yeah, well, Dad’s the same with me. ‘Where are you, who are you with?’ Like I’m gonna tell him I’m at Tony’s again.”

She reaches for an already open can of beer on her nightstand. You watch as she takes a casual sip, then tips it towards you, offering. You shake your head quickly, and she rolls her eyes with a knowing smirk. “Good girl. Wouldn’t want to corrupt you.”

The comment hangs in the air, slightly edged. You shift a little closer on the bed, knees drawn to your chest. Natasha’s always oddly attractive in that way, her ability to make anyone at ease unparalleled.

For a while you both watch the screen in comfortable silence, explosions and flipping cars flashing across it. Natasha comments on the bad acting, mocking the dialogue until you laugh.

Eventually the movie drags, and she turns down the volume. Turning to you, she props her head on her hand. Her hair falls messily over her eyes, but her gaze is still intense as she studies you quietly. “You’re quiet today. What’s up with you? School sucks?”

A half-hearted shrug as you pick at a loose thread. “It’s fine. Just…” You glance over at your stepsister, who motions with a nod for you to continue. A lump in your throat emerges, but you press on.

“People are just weird,” you murmur. “Everyone’s talking about parties and dating and stuff. I don’t really fit in.” The admission slips out easier here, in her room with the door closed and the TV humming low.

Natasha’s smirk softens into something more curious, though the glint never fully leaves her eyes. “You got your eye on anyone? Some nerd who pops a boner when you walk by?”

Heat creeps up your neck. “No. Nothing like that. I’ve never even…” You trail off, biting your lip nervously.

“Never even what?” Natasha scoots closer, her bare knee brushing yours. The contact is casual, but her voice drops a notch. She’s interested now. “Come on, spill. We’re basically sisters. You can tell me shit you won’t tell your mom.”

You hesitate, your heart rate picking up. Natasha’s always been this way, abrasive and pushing boundaries. Being around her feels dangerous in a way that excites you. “I’ve never really done anything. With anyone. Kissing, dating…”

“So,” she starts, voice low and rough from last night’s hangover, and the smirk on her lips seems less than sisterly, “you really telling me you’ve never even kissed anyone? Eighteen and still a real virgin?” 

Her green eyes rake over you, predatory in the dim light. There’s a thrill in them, something dark and wrong that makes heat crawl up your neck.

You shrug again, cheeks burning. “I don’t… I mean, it’s not a big deal. I’ve been busy studying. And all the guys at school are stupid.” Your voice comes out small, almost childlike. Timid is what Mom calls it. With Natasha, it feels like hiding from a storm.

Natasha laughs, a short, abrasive bark, and takes another swig from the can before offering it to you. You shake your head again. Shrugging and setting it aside, she scoots closer on the bed until her knee brushes yours.

“Bullshit. Bet you’ve thought about it. Late at night, yeah, under the covers? Someone else’s fingers inside you instead of your own.”

Her words hit like a spark against dry tinder. You squirm, pressing your thighs together without thinking. “Natasha…”

“What? We’re sisters now, right? Stepsisters, whatever. We can talk about this shit.” She leans in, breath warm against your ear, smelling of beer and mint gum. “Tell me the truth, little sis. You ever cum before? Like, really cum?”

Your heart hammers. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. “I… I don’t know. Maybe? It feels good sometimes, but I can’t keep going…” 

You can’t even look at her. Your fingers twist the hem of your shirt, exposed under her gaze.

Natasha’s hand lands on your knee, heavy and warm, perhaps possessive. “That’s so fucking cute. A real virgin, not like those girls who take it up the ass and say they're still waiting for the right guy.” Her thumb strokes slow circles on your skin, inching higher under the edge of your skirt. Your heart thunders. “Bet you’d look so pretty cumming.”

Your cunt clenches wetly around nothing. You inhale sharply but you don’t pull away. 

She’s wrong. This is wrong. She’s your stepfather’s daughter. Your sister.

“Natasha, we shouldn’t–” you start, voice barely a whisper.

“Shouldn’t what?” she cuts you off, shifting so she’s behind you now, her chest pressed to your back. Her arms wrap around your waist, her lips brush your neck. “Admit it. You’re wet right now, aren’t you? Just from me asking.”

You nod before you can stop yourself, a tiny, humiliated whimper escaping your throat. “A little.”

“Good girl.” The praise is rough, laced with something hungry. Her hand slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher. “Spread your legs for me. Just a bit. Let big sis feel.”

The word sends a guilty jolt through your stomach. You hesitate, then slowly obey, knees parting on the bed.

Her fingers trace the edge of your simple cotton panties, already lightly damp. She hums approval against your shoulder, nipping lightly, making you shiver. “Fuck, you’re almost dripping. Does your pussy know you’re supposed to be a virgin?”

“Natasha…” Your voice trembles, but you can’t help the way your hips twitch toward her hand. As shy as you are, the ache between your legs wins.

“Shh. Just feel it.” Natasha hooks a finger into your panties and tugs them aside. The warm bedroom air against your cunt makes you blush. 

Her index and middle finger glide through your folds, slick and confident, finding your clit with ease and circling with lazy pressure. You gasp, back arching against her. It’s electric, better than your own novice touches in the dark. Her skin is warm, calloused slightly from whatever rough nights she spends out partying, and the contrast makes you shiver.

“See? Nice and easy,” she murmurs, voice dropping a note, more commanding. “Bet you’d squeeze my fingers so good.” You mewl gently as she circles, and then she presses one finger inside you slowly, knuckle-deep, and the mewl turns into a moan. Your cunt clenches around the intrusion, a stretch that borders on too much.

“Oh god,” you breathe, head falling back against her shoulder. All of your senses feel overloaded. The wet sound of her finger moving, the warmth of her body behind you, the faint scent of her sweat mixing with your arousal, all of it mixes into something dizzying.

“Another one,” she decides, and before you can tell her to stop, to slow down, she’s pushing in a second finger. Both curl inside you, stroking a spot that makes heat flicker in your belly. You squirm, legs shaking, moans spilling from your lips. “There we go. Feel that? That’s your sweet spot, baby. No boy’s ever gonna find it like I can.”

You bite your lip desperately, trying to stay quiet. Your mother and stepfather are both downstairs. “Natasha, what if someone hears? This is… we’re sisters–”

“Stepsisters,” she corrects, and her fingers thrust deeper, faster, like she’s proud to say it. Her thumb finds your clit, and she begins to rub firm circles that make your hips buck wildly. “And you’ll keep this secret, won’t you? Just like I keep all my shit from Dad and your mom. Our little secret. Say it.”

“I-I’ll keep it secret,” you gasp, voice breaking. Pleasure builds fast, a coiling snake low in your belly. It’s too intense. Your hips rock involuntarily, chasing her hand. “Natasha, it feels… weird. Like I have to pee. I can’t–”

She only laughs. Her hand doesn’t slow. In fact, she almost speeds up, flicking your clit with her thumb like she’s had years of experience.

“That’s not pee, dummy. That’s you about to cum. Let it happen. Don’t fight it. I want to feel you soak my fingers for your first time.” Her free arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place as you squirm harder.

The words are filthy, wrong, but they push you closer to the edge. Tears prick your eyes from the new, overwhelming sensation. “Come on, let go. Cum for me.”

Your thighs tremble violently. The pressure crests, that urgent, full feeling making you whimper and twist in her grip. “Natasha– please– it’s too much, I think I’m gonna–”

“Do it,” she groans, teeth finding your earlobe. “Cum. Now.”

Your first ever orgasm crashes over you like a wave, hard and shattering. Your whole body seizes, walls pulsing around her fingers as pleasure rips through you in waves. You cry out, muffled against her shoulder, squirming in her grasp, gasping your sister’s name.

Natasha keeps her fingers buried deep, stroking lazily through the aftershocks, milking every last twitch from you.

There’s a lazy grin on her lips that makes your stomach spin. “Remember, you can’t tell Mom or Dad. This stays between us.”

You nod weakly, still floating, cheeks flushed and heart racing.

The aftershocks are still rippling through you when Natasha slowly, finally, withdraws her fingers. You slump against her, breathing hard, thighs trembling and slick. Your mind spins. Guilt, pleasure, disbelief all tangle together.

Natasha lifts her hand between you, her fingers glistening with your release. She lets out a low, amused whistle. “Holy shit, look at the mess you made.” Her voice is teasing as she watches your flushed face. “Bet you didn’t know your body could do that, huh?”

You can’t speak. You just stare, heart pounding, as she brings her fingers to her mouth and licks them clean, one slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue after another. The sight makes your stomach flip. 

This isn’t normal. This isn’t what sisters do, step or otherwise. The wrongness of it sits heavy in your chest, but the words to protest stay trapped in your throat. You only watch, both mesmerized and ashamed as she savors the taste of you.

“Mmm. Sweeter than I expected,” she murmurs. “It’s like a cheap porno. ‘Innocent stepsister gets corrupted.’”

A nervous, embarrassed laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. Your cheeks burn hotter.

Natasha’s grin widens. “Lay back on the bed, baby sis. I want you spread out for me.”

You hesitate, shy and squirmy, but her tone leaves little room for argument. Hesitantly, you shift backwards to lay down on her messy bed. Her quilt feels worn and slightly rough under your back. Your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties still pushed aside, and you instinctively try to close your legs.

“Uh-uh. Keep them open,” Natasha reprimands, and then she reaches into her bedside drawer. You try not to look too curious, but then she pulls out something small and sleek, and your eyes widen. It’s smooth, with a tapered tip, but before you can ask what it is, she clicks it on, and a low buzz fills the room.

“Natasha… I’ve never–”

“I know,” she cuts you off with a shit-eating grin, moving to crawl between your legs. Her free hand pushes your thighs wider, exposing you completely. “That’s what makes this fun. Relax. Our secret, remember?”

Her nails rake across your skin. The vibrator touches your inner thigh first, the buzzing sensation making you jolt.

Natasha’s grin turns into something almost studious. She slowly drags it upward, circling your oversensitive clit without pressing directly on it. You whimper, hips twitching away and then back again, torn between too much and not enough.

“Easy,” she soothes, but there’s laughter in her voice. “It’s just a toy. Breathe.”

She presses the tip against your entrance, and you try not to squirm at the brand new sensation, biting your lower lip hard. She's surprisingly patient, letting the vibration tease you open, and when your hips lift, only then does she slide it in, inch by inch. 

The stretch is completely different from her fingers. It’s relentless, buzzing deep inside you. Your back arches sharply off the quilt.

“Oh–oh god,” you babble, hands fisting the sheets. “It’s– Natasha– fuck, I can feel it–”

Natasha laughs, loud and unrestrained, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Look at you. Already losing your mind and I’ve barely started. So fucking cute.” She twists the toy slowly, angling her wrist so the buzzing presses right against that sensitive spot you didn’t even know existed until today.

Your thighs shake uncontrollably. Whimpers and gasps spill from your lips, needy, foreign to your own ears. “It’s too much– Natasha, please, I can’t–”

“Yeah you can’t,” she grins, pressing the heel of her hand down on your lower belly to hold you in place while she fucks you with the vibrator. “Say it again. Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good,” you gasp, “oh, I’m– I feel like I’m gonna explode–” Your voice cracks on the last word, hips jerking wildly. Your cunt clenches around the toy, arousal practically dripping down your thighs.

The steady, intense buzz deep inside you, the slick-slick sound every time she fucks it in and out of your cunt, Natasha’s warm hand pinning you down, her laughter washing over you like she’s enjoying your reactions more than anything. It's all too much.

She clicks the vibrator higher.

You cry out, back bowing sharply. “Natasha–!”

“That’s it. Cum for me. Really fucking hard this time.”

The orgasm slams into you like a freight train, much harder than the first. Your entire body tenses like a tightly wound coil, and you sob with pleasure, thighs clamping around her hand while your walls thrum violently around the intrusion. Something gushes out of you, soaking the patchwork quilt beneath your hips. You babble incoherently, Natasha, please, too much, completely lost in the haze of your own pleasure.

Natasha keeps the vibrator buried deep through every brutal contraction, laughing the whole time. “Holy shit, listen to you. Making such a mess. My little sister.”

You ride the peak for what feels like forever, thighs twitching until the pleasure borders on painful. Only then does Natasha finally ease the toy out, clicking it off, and you flush at the sight of it glistening in the light. 

She tosses it aside, and it bounces off the mattress and lands somewhere you can’t spot it. Slowly, a grin on her face, Natasha crawls up your body, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead while you struggle to catch your breath beneath her.

“See?” she whispers, some sick sort of satisfaction in her voice. “Way better than doing it alone. And no one else ever has to know.”

Natasha's hand finds yours under the table, squeezing your fingers briefly before holding them there. It feels like the whole atmosphere in the room suddenly shifts—all that warm, happy air slowly draining away until everything just feels lukewarm. You meet Natasha's eyes. She's giving you a small smile, but her eyes are swimming with too many thoughts for you to pick out.

"I'll get the door."

Natasha's hand slips out of yours. Your fingers instinctively chase hers. Maybe subconsciously, you know who's at the door too. And maybe, more than anything, you wish Natasha would just stay and protect you from it. But she's already sitting up and walking away.

Wanda's hand cups your cheek, gently turning your focus back toward her. Her eyes are full of a deep understanding.

Understanding of what? you can't help but wonder. Your thoughts are finally beginning to shake off the thick syrup that was keeping them down. It's usually frustrating not being able to think clearly, but today, with Wanda and Natasha taking care of things for you, thinking for you, it finally felt like you could breathe calmly instead of gasping for air.

"I can turn them away," Wanda offers, her voice holding a gentle tone that eases the panic in your chest for a second. "It's Kate and Yelena."

Your hands find their way to the tops of your thighs, rubbing them against the fuzzy fabric incessantly. What do I do? The thoughts consume you, your gaze drifting down to the container in front of Wanda. Clearly Wanda and Natasha know them. What if this situation is making things difficult for everyone?

"I—" you start, but the sharp sound of the front door swinging open makes your mouth snap shut.

Wanda's hand slides smoothly off your cheek. Steps sound heavily in the foyer behind you. The sudden scrape of Wanda's chair as she stands up makes you jolt, your shoulders going tight. She steps around the table, positioning her body right behind your chair like a shield. Her fingertips press firmly against your back—the same way she did in the office when you were struggling to stay afloat.

It's Natasha who speaks up first, her voice cutting through the space from the doorway. "Do this another time. She isn't feeling well."

Her tone is firm. You can hear the underlying annoyance vibrating in her voice, but with your head spinning, it's hard to tell if that annoyance is directed at you or at them. You keep your gaze locked hard on Wanda's takeout container, your fingers tightening into the fuzzy pants until your knuckles ache.

"She can speak for herself, Natasha. Unless she wants to act like we do not exist, the same way she has for the past few years," Yelena snaps back. The Russian accent in her voice is heavier now, bleeding through her words the way it would grow back in high school whenever she would complain about her grades.

"Lena, stop. You said we wouldn't handle it like this," Kate murmurs from somewhere beside her. It was always like her to be the pragmatic one, trying to hold the line.

Wanda's fingertips gently stroke your back the second she feels your muscles tense up.

Natasha's voice raises, her tone becoming noticeably harsher. "I don't know if you realize where you are, but this is my house. I'm not asking you to do this another time. I'm telling you."

You hear Natasha shift her weight, like she's about to turn around, but she stops short when Yelena speaks up again.

"Yeah?" Yelena scoffs out in disbelief. "And when were you going to mention that you knew her?"

You slowly turn your head, Wanda's fingers moving subtly against your back as you peek past her torso. You meet Kate's wide, blue eyes immediately. Her gaze darts back and forth between you and Natasha, like she's desperately debating whether she should just let this go or push through. The resolve in Kate's expression grows when she looks at your face, but it fades the second she glances back at Natasha.

"I talked about her all the time when you and I reunited," Yelena continues, taking a step forward. "I described her, told you so many stories about her, I even told you what her favorite food was. You are going to stand there and act like you did not have any clue? Bullshit, Natasha. You notice when the picture frame on your desk is moved by a millimeter."

"I haven't known her for that long. I'm sorry your long-lost friend wasn't the first thing to come to mind," Natasha bites back, her voice lethal.

"Oh, sure," Yelena huffs, her chest rising with anger. "You have not known her that long? Then why is she in your house? And wearing your pants? Why did you call her detka last night? The only person I have ever heard you call that is Wanda."

Yelena's voice rises with every single question, the hurt breaking through the anger. You quickly turn your head away when Yelena's cold stare finally snaps down to you.

"Or do you want to answer that?" she calls out to you.

"Yelena," Wanda warns, her hand pressing a little harder against your back.

"Stay out of it," Yelena warns back, her voice dropping coldly.

Natasha's tone is dangerously calm, but it's that calmness that makes shivers run up your arm.

"I've been letting you get away with a lot, but talk to Wanda like that again and see what happens."

Yelena scoffs, her voice instantly turning condescending. "Wanda, stay out—"

"Nat—" Kate gasps out.

A sudden flurry of movement sounds behind you, the friction of fabric and heavy steps forcing you to twist around in your chair. The collar of Yelena's shirt is curled tightly inside Natasha's fist. They're standing nose-to-nose, their faces so close together that you can see Natasha's breath moving the stray strands of hair across Yelena's forehead.

Kate already has her hand wrapped around Natasha's forearm, her fingers straining as she tries to get Natasha to let go. Neither of them is blinking. Both of them staring daggers at each other, and looking at the tight line of Natasha's jaw, it feels like it's only a matter of seconds before things truly get physical.

Wanda steps forward and then hesitates, her fingertips releasing your back for a moment before returning to press against your spine.

You're the one stopping her from helping. This situation is all your fault.

Natasha grips Yelena’s collar even tighter, her knuckles turning white as she pulls Yelena slightly off the floor.

"I warned you," Natasha says, her voice dangerously quiet.

Yelena's hand whips around in a blur, grabbing the lapel of Natasha’s blazer and yanking downward, forcing Natasha to lean even closer into her space. "Do something about it then."

The sharp, defiant smirk on Yelena's face is painfully familiar. It's the same look she used to give you during all your petty high school arguments. The expression she'd reserve for the moment she said something she knew would wind you up.

Natasha's free hand raises. Kate’s eyes widen in panic. Yelena just continues to stare up at Natasha with that goading smirk, treating her threat like a joke.

Wanda takes a decisive step forward, her hand finally falling away from your back.

You wrench your head away, turning back toward the table. Everything feels like too much. The appearance of Kate and Yelena. Being in Wanda and Natasha's home. The immediate shift in the air when the doorbell rang. Your fingernails dig deep into the sensitive, newly healed skin of your palm, your heart beating painfully fast.

"Natasha, don't—" Wanda says suddenly.

Wanda’s voice is the final crack that forces you to break your own silence.

"Stop!" you shout desperately.

The sound breaks raw from your chest, echoing loudly through the luxurious space. Your hand instantly flies to your throat, your fingernails clawing at the skin of your neck from the burning pain radiating through it. You hadn't raised your voice like this since you were a little kid on the playground, screaming and running around with your friends.

It wasn't painful like this back then. Your shoulders droop.

"Can I talk to Kate and Yelena alone?" you whisper, the warm breath passing through your throat sending sharp stings that linger.

You hear Wanda step back, her hand suddenly squeezing your shoulder. "Darling, you're not feeling well. Maybe you can talk to them another time?" She's using the sweet, sugary tone that normally would make you want to concede. To listen to her so that she'll praise you.

But you know this conversation will just continue to get pushed forward. Chasing you until you can't run anymore.

Well, now you can't run. Not with the exhaustion in your limbs holding you to this chair. Not with the two people you hoped you wouldn't have to see again so you wouldn't have to explain anything. You'd already hit a dead end without realizing it.

Shuffling sounds behind you, followed by a pair of quiet steps. A second hand drops onto your other shoulder.

"Wanda's right. I can send them out," Natasha's raspy voice sounds from right beside your ear.

You let out a long sigh. Whether it's from relief that Natasha and Yelena aren't at each other's throats anymore, or from the suffocating fact that you know this conversation is about to happen, it's difficult to say. You shake your head slowly.

"No. I want to talk to them," you say resolutely.

You don't. It feels more like you're trying to convince yourself rather than anyone else in the room, but you don't let your voice waver.

Natasha squeezes your shoulder tightly, holding it there for a long moment before she finally releases her grip. Her fingers slide reluctantly over the fabric of your sweatshirt. You hear her shift to face Wanda.

"Let's go upstairs so they can talk."

"Natasha, you really think this is—"

Natasha cuts her off before she can finish the thought. "It's her life, Wanda. Her decisions."

Wanda lets out a defeated sigh. Her hand falls away from your shoulder, too, leaving you feeling alone even with the two of them still standing right beside you.

"We'll be upstairs," Natasha directs toward Yelena and Kate. She turns back to you, her voice softening noticeably. "Call us if you need anything."

Wanda's fingertips brush gently over your cheek one last time before you hear them finally walk away, their quiet steps fading as they head up the stairs.

Movement sounds behind you. Kate and Yelena appear in your vision as Yelena pulls Wanda’s empty chair around, dragging it across the floor to set it down directly across from you. They both sit down. You drag your eyes up, glancing between them. Your heart aches at the sight of them.

Kate’s hair is pulled back into her signature ponytail, the shorter front strands framing the sides of her face. Her eyes are rimmed red. You know it’s your fault. Guilt churns in your stomach, but then you notice the small white bandage stuck to the right side of her chin. It almost makes you want to smile. Kate's still the same clumsy girl you knew in high school.

You shift your gaze over to Yelena. Her blonde hair is shorter than it was when you last saw her, the longest strands ending at her chin. Delicate, purple bags color the skin just below her eyes—she must not have slept well because of your ordeal. You close your eyes briefly, then force them open, biting the inside of your cheek. She's wearing the same vest she used to brag about constantly, the one she saved up for and modified just to her liking.

Beneath the crushing guilt, you realize the ache in your chest isn't just about how sorry you feel.

You missed them.

You missed their chaotic energy, and laughing with them over absolutely nothing until you couldn't breathe. You missed meeting their eyes across the crowded gym floor, through hundreds of other students, and instantly feeling relief wash over you. Your best friends.

The only two people who made your life at home bearable. The ones you looked forward to seeing at the crack of dawn, the three of you dragging yourselves to first period with your eyes barely open. The two who would confide in you about anything and everything, knowing their secrets were always safe with you.

And you had told them everything, too. Except for the one thing that was actively tearing you apart.

"Are you feeling better?" Kate asks softly.

It's such a simple question. But her voice makes your heart clench from how it mirrors the times she would baby you back in school whenever you were sick, your parents unwilling to come pick you up.

"I'm feeling a little better," you murmur, meeting her gaze as she scans your face with nothing but gentleness.

"That's good," Kate responds, letting out a soft breath of relief. Her gaze drops to her lap for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing in contemplation before she looks back up to meet your eyes. "Can I ask where you've been all this time?"

You take a quick glance at Yelena. Her jaw is clenched tightly, her lips pursed into a hard line as she stares at you. You can tell she's fighting the urge to speak—her mouth opens slightly, then closes, before she lets out a heavy, frustrated breath through her nose. You're grateful it’s Kate asking the questions right now. Yelena was always too direct, always targeting the root of an issue instead of trimming the branches.

"I…" you start, desperately calculating what's safe to say. "I attended community college after we graduated. I got my associate's there, and now I'm in my first term at university."

Kate nods slowly, her eyes flitting around in thought before she continues. "How come you didn't tell us you weren't coming with us after graduation?" Even with her trying to keep her tone light, you can hear the betrayal lingering beneath the words.

"Things happened too quickly to tell you guys," you respond automatically. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"Bullshit," Yelena speaks up. The daggers she's sending your way force you to slowly turn your focus to her. "Too quickly to even send us a text? You even changed your phone number," she scoffs, shaking her head.

"Lena, she's not going to want to talk if you keep acting like this," Kate murmurs quietly, but the words still carry across the small distance between the chairs.

"And you think we are going to get any real answers with the questions you are asking?" Yelena raises a sharp brow at her. Kate looks away, her lips pulling into a thin line. Yelena was always alarmingly fast at reading a room.

She levels her cold gaze right back to you. "Tell us why you suddenly threw us out of your life," Yelena demands, her voice flat and level.

"I… I didn't throw you guys out of my life."

"Wrong," Yelena says with a heavy sigh, as if she had expected that answer. "Then tell us why you suddenly changed your plans. We always said we would go to the same university together."

"I already said things happened too quickly to tell you guys," you respond, your voice beginning to waver.

"You did. But that does not explain anything. What exactly happened too quickly?"

"My… my decision was quick. Too quick to tell you."

"You realize how weak that sounds? You still could have informed us after the fact," Yelena says, her voice beginning to raise again. "Then tell us why your eyes were so red on graduation day. I saw the cuts on your hands."

The sudden shift in her questioning makes your head spin. Your hands shake violently beneath the table, your pulse thrumming painfully against your skin. What else did she notice back then?

You look over at Kate. She's staring at Yelena, her bottom lip sucked in, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Back then, Kate would always instinctively side with you whenever you were arguing with Yelena. She knew your habit of passing things off with a bright smile or a fake laugh, even when your expression never truly matched how you felt. Right now, her eyes are squinted the exact way they did when she was about to jump in and defend you from a fight—but she breathes out slowly instead, keeping her mouth shut.

She wants to know the truth, too.

"I was emotional because we were graduating. The cuts…" you trail off, your tired brain failing to invent a passable excuse.

"I have never seen you shed a single tear in the entire time I have known you. Have you?" Yelena asks Kate, her voice laced with cutting curiosity.

Kate shakes her head slowly, her eyes drifting down to her lap.

"Okay, fine," Yelena huffs, leaning forward. "I will make it easier for you. Does it have anything to do with the fact that you suddenly ran for student government in our junior year, even though you absolutely hate public speaking?"

Your gaze drops instantly, the memories swirling viscously in your head. Your parents had demanded you run for student body president because it would look good on your university applications. They had barely conceded when you begged to run for a smaller position, but you had ended up winning vice president anyway. Other students would stop you in the hallway to ask you questions. You would stay after school to handle council work, then sprint to track practice right after. It wouldn't be until you finally unlocked your front door near sunset that you would get to drop that exhausting, mechanical smile from your face.

"Or does it have anything to do with the fact that you started falling asleep during first period, even though you were always a good student?"

After getting home back then, you would always eat the quick dinner your mother curated for you, shower, and then study. It was a continuous, brutal cycle. You would study until just before midnight, but even when you turned off the lamp, your mind wouldn't shut down. All the things you needed to complete the next day would race through your head. The suffocating weight of everyone's expectations made you feel like you should get out of bed and do even more.

"What about your leg constantly bouncing?" Yelena pushes, her voice level but relentless. "Kate would remind you to stop, but you would start right back up again a minute later."

Junior year was when the sudden jumps in your heart rate had started. They would come out of nowhere, usually in the middle of class when the room was at its quietest and the teacher was droning on about something in the textbook. It was that suffocating feeling where your lungs couldn't seem to expand fully, your breaths coming out quicker and quicker. Dread would blanket heavily over you, your teeth digging deep into your inner cheek until it bled, though you could barely feel the pain.

But you were in class. You needed to pay attention. You had to be a model student. To be perfectly put together. To be anything but the complete mess you felt like inside. So, you would force your expression to stay neutral. You stared at the teacher even when your focus wavered, forcing your brain to zone back in even when it completely exhausted you later.

"How about when you started to lose weight rapidly?" Yelena asks, her voice becoming thick with emotion. "Or when you stopped being able to hang out with Kate and I after school? Or maybe... why every single time we asked you about your family, you would immediately change the subject?"

Yelena lets out a heavy, ragged breath, finally falling silent.

Under the table, your hands are completely still now. Your skin feels ice-cold, the blood coursing beneath moving quickly. You stare blankly at the empty space on the table right in front of them, your thoughts racing a million miles a second.

They knew. They've known this entire time.

The dining room is dead silent. It feels like you've stopped breathing. Every single inhale you take feels stuck, held tight inside your lungs until it burns and you're forced to shudder out an exhale.

Nobody moves for a long time. It's like time itself is standing still, except you can't predict when it'll start moving again. You don't even know which choice is safer anymore—to stay like this, frozen in terror, or to find out what happens next.

"We're not interrogating you," Kate murmurs, her voice watery and thick.

A couple of tears drip onto the table right in front of her. Staring at them steadily fall makes your own vision begin to blur, the edges of the room turning soft and pixelated. It isn't until you finally blink, and a hot tear trails down your cheek, that you realize the blurry sight is coming from your own eyes.

"I missed you… I missed you so much." Kate's voice breaks. The quick, shallow breaths she takes between her sobs make it hard for her to even get the words out. You hear her exhale harshly in frustration, trying to drag her own breathing back under control, but her chest still shudders heavily as she forces herself to continue.

"Even if you weren't right next to me," she cries, her teary gaze locked onto yours. "Even if you became friends with someone else, somewhere where I couldn't see you… the idea that you were happy somewhere was enough for me."

She brushes the tears about to drip down her jaw shakily, but fresh tears replace them instantly.

"But then you appeared in front of us again like a dream," she breathes out shakily. "Thinner than when I last saw you, so tired looking, about to collapse on the sidewalk… how am I supposed to let you go now? How am I supposed to just not talk to you when I know you're here?"

Her voice begins to rise, cracking on the syllables. "What should I have done for you to stay in my life?"

You hear Yelena take in a sharp, shaky breath. The sudden moisture in her eyes finally becomes apparent to you, the tears glimmering under the bright daylight coming through the dining room windows. She tries to blink them away quickly, her face morphing into a grimace when a single tear slips free anyway.

But it’s the way their shoulders are hunched inward, like they're both trying to protect themselves, that finally makes something inside you break. It's the hurt in their eyes that makes you release a heavy, trembling breath that shatters your composure. And it's Kate, unable to hold back the heavy sobs clawing their way out of her chest, and Yelena trying to quickly wipe away her tear before either of you can notice, that finally rips your heart wide open.

Because it's on you.

It's on you that they're hurting. You thought that after you walked out of their lives that they'd move on easily. You'd be a passing memory of that girl they were once friends with in high school. It'd be like all the other stories.

You remember her? Yeah, I wonder what happened to her. Guess we'll never know.

It was supposed to be that simple. But it's that flawed thinking that lead you here. Because you remembered them all this time. You missed them all this time. You loved them all this time. So, why did you think they wouldn't feel the same?

It's hard to see anything in front of you anymore. The room is just shifting blobs of color that clear for a moment when you blink, only to turn blurry again a millisecond later.

You're a wreck. You're sitting inside your bosses' home, swaddled in their clothes, your throat burning, your body aching with exhaustion. Tears stream relentlessly down your cheeks, sliding down your jawline to your neck, wetting the collar of the sweatshirt Wanda lent to you. It's the kind of appearance you would usually hide away immediately, frantically swiping the moisture off your face before your parents could see that their words had actually left a mark.

But right now, you just cry.

Because you've felt so alone for the past two years, wishing you could turn to them to talk about how hard work is, but when you'd turn your head, there'd be no one there. You chose that.

And when you realized the feelings beginning to bloom inside you in Natasha's office, the look Natasha and Wanda shared, you just wished you had your best friends there to confide in. To tell them how confused you felt. That you felt lost because this never felt like an option. But instead you cried under Wanda's jacket.

"It's not your guys' fault," you start shakily, your voice cracking. "I… I didn't want to part ways with you guys either. But at the time… I needed to leave."

"But why?" Yelena whispers, her voice quieter than you've ever heard it.

Why?

Where do you even start? The answer isn't something you can just pass off with a quick yes or no.

Most of all, it’s something you haven't even fully confronted yourself yet. You haven't spoken to the person who started this in a long time, even if she didn't intend for the aftermath. And it's the reason why, when Wanda asked you why you smelled like smoke, you couldn't tell her a single thing.

Because you don't even have all the answers yourself.

"I can't tell you why. Not right now," you whisper back tiredly.

The heavy, sudden thud of Yelena slamming her fist onto the table makes you jolt in your chair, the plastic takeout containers between you shifting slightly from the force.

"Do you understand how bullshit that sounds?" Yelena yells angrily. "Not right now? I have been waiting since we saw you collapse last night for real answers, and this is it?"

She scoffs, leveling you with a freezing glare. "Natasha told me you are just an intern at her company, but that is not how she is treating you," Yelena pushes, her voice dropping. "Do not be fooled. Others have been in your position before, and now they are nowhere to be seen."

She grabs Kate's wrist, pulling her up and dragging her around the table past you.

"Lena, hold on," Kate says frantically, trying to find her footing.

The sound of their footsteps stop right at the front door, but Yelena doesn't open it. Instead, you hear her shout in the direction of the stairs.

"Natasha, I know you were listening," Yelena yells, but her tone is dangerously calm now. "You may be my sister but, ona tebe ne prinadlezhit."

You try to follow along with what she says but the last phrase is completely foreign to you. It's what she says in the middle that sticks with you.

Sister.

The same sister from Natasha's story? You try to replay what she told you last night, trying to find the details but a thick fog hovers over your thoughts, making them too difficult to find.

The front door swings open, but before it slams shut, you hear Kate's rushed, breathless voice.

"We'll talk soon."

And then it's quiet.

You expect dread to creep up on you at her words, but instead you feel painfully relieved. You'll get to see them again. It's such a selfish thought, but the shame of that realization never comes.

You look down at the surface of the table where your phone rests. You'd never talked about your situation regarding your parents, your sister, and how it all culminated into where you are now. Frankly, you never wanted to. It would be like touching a hot stove.

But seeing Kate and Yelena hurt over your decisions, thinking they didn't do enough, makes you wish you could just tell them everything.

There was one person you needed to talk to first before that.

You grab your phone off the table. It feels noticeably heavier in your hand than usual. Perhaps it’s just the fading adrenaline from the conversation, or your sickness finally making itself known again as the fever crawls back up your neck. Or maybe it’s the weight of what you're about to do.

You unlock the screen and open your text history with your older sister, finding an unread message sitting at the bottom.

I know you aren't coming home again for Christmas, but can we at least meet for dinner before then to catch up? I miss my little sister. Please let me know soon.

You blink down at the glowing screen, the tears that had clouded your vision finally having dried up, leaving your skin feeling tight and exhausted. You know you need to do this right now. Before your resolve breaks and you're too tired to think anymore.

Okay, let's meet. Maybe at that diner we would always go to? Let me know what day works best for you.

You hit send before you can think twice. You shut off your phone immediately, placing it back down. Your eyelids droop heavily, your body slumping as a tidal wave of fatigue washes over you. Static plays on repeat in your head, your mind completely spent. Your body reaching its limit.

You don't know how long you sit there, trying to force yourself to stay awake. This isn't your house.

"Darling." Wanda's quiet, soothing voice sounds from beside you. You don't even have the energy to be surprised or maybe it's the gentleness in her tone that keeps your heart rate steady.

You hear her take steps until she's right next to you. Her hand finds your cheek, cupping it before turning it toward her. Her eyebrows furrow immediately, concern washing over her features. Her thumb rubs over your cheekbone, smoothing the skin as if she can magically remove the dried tearstains herself.

"One moment," she says, her hand dropping from your face and walking toward the kitchen. You stare down at your lap blankly, finding your hands rubbed raw and indents from your fingernails in your palms.

Wanda clatters about in the kitchen for a few moments, the sound muted and distant, before she finally returns to your side.

"Close your eyes sweetheart," she instructs quietly. You let your eyelids flutter shut at the instruction. Warm, soft fabric touches your eyelids, Wanda rubbing away the evidence of you crying. You sit quietly, basking in her touch while your mind breaks through the static, trying to fight with you.

The fabric is finally removed and you open your eyes slowly. Wanda's standing there, smiling softly down at you while holding a towel.

You let out a shaky breath. "I…I should go home. I've taken up too much of your time and my study material are in my room."

You look away from her, letting your gaze drop back down to your hands to hide your expression. Wanda crouches down next to your chair, tilting her head up to try to catch your eye. Her hand finds yours, her thumb rubbing over the indents that are already becoming dark and angry against your skin. You hear her suck in a breath like she’s about to speak, but it's Natasha's voice you hear behind you instead.

"Baby girl, you're not feeling well. Can't you stay here until you feel better? I promise it's not a bother in the slightest."

You hear her take the last few steps down the stairs and then it becomes silent again. Suddenly she's standing at your other side. Yelena's voice echoes in your head.

Sister.

"I—I'm sorry for making things difficult between you and Yelena," you apologize shakily, the guilt eating at your chest until it hurts.

Natasha cranes her head, forcing herself right into your line of sight while Wanda continues to rub your palm, her steady breathing keeping your thoughts from spiraling further. Natasha shakes her head.

"Nothing is your fault, detka," she says resolutely. "Even if I knew you were Yelena's friend, I would have acted the exact same way."

"That's not—" you start, but you breathe out a harsh sigh instead. It's not true. You aren't faultless.

You sniffle lightly, the heat in your face starting to build again along with the rest of your aching body. You need to go home. You've only created messy situations for them to clean up since the moment you met them.

You lift your hand up shakily, pressing your palm into the surface of the table to force yourself upright. But your arm feels like it's made of jelly, folding beneath your weight immediately.

Natasha's hand finds its way atop yours, holding it there steadily. "Pretty baby, Wanda and I were feeling a bit lonely. Will you do us a favor and keep us company?" she asks, her bright, green eyes searching yours.

You're not stupid. You know what she's trying to do, but then you see the metal spoon on the table. That warm, comfortable bubble. Wanda feeding you spoonfuls of soup, Natasha's eyes brightening when you called her Natty.

You want that again. But your brain fights with you even in it's weakened state.

"Please, sweetheart?" Wanda asks, looking up at you from the floor with wide, pleading eyes.

You look down at where Wanda is gently rubbing your palm with her thumb, then look back up into her eyes. "Just… just for a little," you concede quietly.

Wanda's eyes brighten immediately, a wide smile taking over her entire face. "Perfect!" she exclaims, before quickly reigning in the volume of her voice. "Thank you, honey."

You nod at her with a completely serious expression, trying to maintain your dignity. Wanda lets out a light chuckle, the sound filling the small space between you, and you instinctively send a tiny pout her way.

"I'm just laughing because I'm thankful, sweet girl," Wanda says innocently.

Natasha's hand squeezes yours, turning your focus back to her side of the table. "Baby, how about we watch something on the couch? You can take a nap if you're tired."

She's using that bright, slightly higher-pitched tone. The one she used on you before you went to sleep earlier. You know you should probably feel insulted by how much she's babying you, but right now, that gentleness is the only thing keeping you upright. You nod at her, accepting her hand as she helps you up out of the chair. She walks you across the floor until you reach the large, plush couch you had seen when Wanda carried you downstairs.

Natasha helps you sit down right in the middle of it. The soft material gives way slowly as your weight sinks in. It envelopes you the moment you lean back. The cushions give just the right amount of support against your aching spine. Natasha looks down at you, her eyes observant, but there's an aching softness in them that makes you look away shyly.

When the silence stretches and she doesn't say anything, you speak up. "What?" you ask defensively.

Natasha chuckles brightly. "Nothing," she says, holding her hands up in surrender. "I just thought you looked cute all snuggled up."

You look back at her, trying to read her face to see if she's telling the truth, but it’s her change in outfit that catches your attention instead. She's changed into a red sweatshirt and fuzzy pants that are the inverse of yours. Red with white hearts. You peek up, meeting her eyes.

"We match," she whispers, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your cheeks instantly heat up, your heart warming through the fever. You look down at your lap to hide the small smile that forms involuntarily on your lips.

Wanda takes a seat to your right, her thigh pressed firmly against yours. She leans forward, grabbing the remote control from the coffee table before turning on the large television screen in front of you. She navigates to a familiar show, one you've watched hundreds of times before.

"We were on a break!"

Wanda lowers the volume slightly. You hear Natasha moving behind you, over in the kitchen. With Wanda pressed beside you, the thought of Natasha matching with you, warmth envelopes you.

But one thing stops it from comforting you completely.

Others have been in your position before, and now they are nowhere to be seen.

"Am I…" you start, your usual filter broken from the tiredness threatening to drag you down. "Am I going to be gone soon?"

It's a terrible, clumsy way to word the question, but right now, through the thick fog in your head, this is the best you can do.

Wanda shifts instantly, turning her whole body to look at you. You force your head to turn slowly, even though you're terrified to hear the answer. You need to know.

Her eyebrows furrow deeply. "I hope not," Wanda says slowly, the confusion evident in her voice. "What do you mean, darling?"

You blink slowly before shaking your head, turning back to face the glowing screen as your eyelids begin to droop. "It's nothing," you whisper, your throat—which had briefly been mended by the hot soup—beginning to radiate that sharp pain all over again.

"I hope you'll always be here," Wanda murmurs. She slips her hand into yours, squeezing gently.

You close your eyes, listening to the familiar dialogue of the show playing in the background. Something about the way she said it makes the tiny, hopeful part of you actually believe her.

You feel your consciousness beginning to slip away, but something inside you won't allow you to fully fall. You force your eyes open, squinting to your left.

"Natty?" you call out quietly, trying to locate her.

She appears at your side a second later, a steaming mug in her hand and a heavy blanket tucked under her arm. "I was just grabbing you some warm water and a blanket, princess. I'm right here," she says softly. She sets the mug on the coffee table before sitting down beside you.

She drapes the blanket over you, the warmth seeping past the fabric of your clothes.

It's like your body knows it's okay now, your eyes shutting immediately. Your head droops, falling gently against Wanda's shoulder on your right. You try to lift it back up, not wanting to be a bother to her, but her hand releases yours, reaching up to softly guide your head back down against her shoulder. Her fingertips begin to comb through your hair like you're something incredibly precious. Her fingernails drag soothingly against your scalp, applying just enough pressure not to be ticklish.

"Remember," you mumble out, the words barely coherent. "Just for a little."

Natasha chuckles softly beside you, keeping her tone low. "I promise I'll take you home after your nap."

"Mmm…" It's all you can manage in agreement. Wanda begins to hum that same tune she did in the bathroom when she was setting up your bath.

With her fingernails dragging pleasantly against your scalp and her soothing hum, you can't help but remember you mother.

Back when you were much younger, laying in bed right at your bed time. Her kneeling next to you, combing through your hair with her fingers and humming you a lullaby to help you sleep.

The memory makes you smile. It was a time before she began forcing you to call her "mother" instead of the childish shorthand. Before she began ripping her fingers through your hair instead. But right now, all you can think about is before then.

"Ma…" you start, but your brain is shutting down too quickly for your lips to finish the word.

The last thing you hear is Wanda inhaling sharply, and the last thing you feel is Natasha stiffening completely beside you as you lose consciousness. — A/N: Oof tough conversation. Now I just have to figure out what Natasha's going to be called. I don't speak Russian, just English and Korean so please don't come for me if the Russian is incorrect! (I did my due diligence but I could still be wrong)

if you're a bit impatient about the smut like I was and others, I wrote a one-shot that takes place in the Choosing You universe called "Sweet Girl". Thank you guys for being patient, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I always appreciate the comments and likes, especially at times when I'm unsure about my writing, so thank you so much! — Taglist♡: @kawaiipeacemusic @toe19 @tomy5girls @nrlvr @imaginemeandwho @sweetmissnothing @scarlettbitchx @three3ofswords @truthindreams @beggingonmykneesforher @justheretoreadgl @digitalsnoww @silverstarr13 @ira-16 @czechsooth @aspenlovescinema