Background Person

So, when the low, mechanical roar of an 850cc inline-twin engine echoed down the quiet suburban street on a sunny Thursday afternoon, it didn't just break the peace it shattered it.

In her glass-fronted living room, Alexia Putellas looked up from her phone. She was lying horizontally across a massive plush sofa, buried beneath a knitted blanket despite the pleasant afternoon warmth, wrapped in an oversized grey hoodie and cotton shorts that made her look deceptively small. She froze, her golden-green eyes widening with immediate, unfiltered annoyance.

No. Not again.

The sound grew louder, a deep, guttural throbbing that rattled the decorative glass vases on her sideboard. The motorbike slowed down, turned smoothly into her paved driveway, and killed its engine with a final, echoing pop.

Alexia threw her blanket aside with a dramatic huff, shoved her feet into a pair of slides, and marched toward the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto her front courtyard. She pulled the heavy door open, stepping out into the fresh air, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her lips already formed into a sharp, childish pout.

You were sitting on a gleaming, midnight-black BMW F850 GS Adventure. The bike was huge, a tall, heavy, rugged touring machine with massive dual-sport tyres, crash bars, and three brushed-aluminium panniers mounted on the back. It looked like something designed to cross the Sahara Desert, completely out of place parked next to Alexia’s pristine, matte-grey Cupra resting in the garage.

You unlatched your full-face helmet, lifting it off to reveal a messy mop of hair flattened by the padding. Grinning, you swung your leg over the high saddle a motion that required a fair bit of flexibility and leaned the heavy machine back onto its kickstand.

"Afternoon, Captain” you said cheerfully, setting your helmet on the handlebars and walking toward her, unzipping your heavy leather jacket. "Did you miss me?"

Alexia didn't move an inch. She remained stood on her porch, glaring down at you with her nose tucked slightly into the high collar of her top, her brow furrowed into a deep, adorable line.

"Get rid of it” she said flatly, pointing a long, manicured finger at the towering motorcycle.

You stopped in front of her, raising an eyebrow. "Good afternoon to you too, Ale. And no, I will not 'get rid of it'. She’s parked perfectly fine."

"It sounds like a monster, Y/N. It smells like gasoline. It is an absolute monster and I hate it” Alexia declared, her voice rising into that petulant, high-pitched register she used whenever things weren't going entirely her way. "You promised me you would take the bus today."

"I said I might consider public transport if it was raining. It is twenty-two degrees and sunny” you pointed out, stepping up onto the porch. You reached out to wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her cold, moody frame against yours. "Come here, you my grumpy baby."

Alexia tried to maintain her stiff, offended posture for about two seconds. She pressed her hands against your chest to push you away, but as soon as she caught the scent of your warm leather jacket mixed with your familiar perfume, her resolve crumbled completely. She let out a small, dramatic sigh, melted forward, and buried her face into the crook of your neck, her arms looping tightly around your waist.

"You smell like exhaust fumes” she muttered into your skin, though she gripped your shirt tightly.

"That's the smell of freedom, my love” you chuckled, kissing the top of her head, burying your nose in her soft, blonde-highlighted hair.

"It's the smell of a machine designed to give me a heart attack” she huffed, pulling back just enough to glare up at you. Her hands stayed resting on your hips, her thumbs lightly stroking the fabric of your shirt. "One day you are going to fall off that ridiculous thing, and then what? A young widow? we´re not even married? Have you thought about that? No. You only think about your big, stupid and fast bike."

"I think about you constantly babe, don’t worry about that" you murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss onto her lips.

Alexia hummed softly into the kiss, her pout instantly dissolving as she leaned into the touch, rising slightly onto her tiptoes. She was remarkably affectionate, a total clingy softie the moment she was behind closed doors with you. Publicly, she was the fierce, stoic leader of FC Barcelona and the Spanish national team, a two-time Ballon d'Or winner who commanded absolute respect. Privately, within the safe boundaries of her home, she was a needy, touch-starved princess who demanded endless cuddles, gentle forehead kisses, and absolute devotion.

When you pulled back, she kept her cheek pressed against your chest, her hand trailing down to slide into yours, intertwined your fingers.

"Did you bring the pastries?" she asked, her tone shifting instantly from furious to hopeful.

You tapped the side of your head with your free hand. "Right here. Well, not in my head, obviously. They’re safe in the left pannier. Fresh butter croissant from that bakery near Diagonal you like it"

Alexia’s eyes lit up. "Okay. I forgive you for bringing the death-machine. But only fifty percent."

"Oh okaaay I'll take it” you smiled, tossing her the keys to the house while you turned back to retrieve the bakery box from the bike.

-

Your relationship was relatively new and it was built on a foundation of chaotic, affectionate contrasts.

Alexia owned a big house, drove a sport SUV and earned a salary that reflected her status as the finest women footballer on the planet. You, on the other hand, lived in a cozy, slightly cluttered apartment in the downtown, worked a nite to five job, and possessed neither a car nor a driver's license for four-wheeled vehicles. What you did have was a Class A motorcycle license and a deep, abiding passion for two-wheeled machines.

This created a somewhat absurd dynamic whenever you spent time together outside of her house. Because you couldn't legally drive her car, Alexia was forced to play driver whenever you went out as a couple in a four-wheeled vehicle. And because Alexia treated your BMW F850 GS as if it were a tactical explosive primed to detonate at any given moment, riding together on the motorcycle was strictly out of the question, at least for now.

Inside the sprawling kitchen, Alexia sat on one of the high bar stools at the marble island, wrapped tightly in an oversized knit cardigan. She had a cup of chamomile tea in one hand and was devouring her croissant with the pure, unadulterated joy of an athlete on a brief rest day.

You leaned against the counter opposite her, watching her eat with a soft smile.

"What?" she asked around a mouthful of pastry, glancing up at you defensively.

"Nothing” you smirked, leaning forward to brush a tiny flake of pastry off the tip of her nose. "You just look very scary right now, babe so scary. Very intimidating actually."

Alexia narrowed her eyes, chewing deliberately before swallowing. "I am very intimidating. Ask the defenders in the league. They are terrified of me and my whole team."

"Oh, I’m sure they are” you said dryly. "Especially when you're wearing pink slides and have butter on your chin."

"Y/N!" Alexia gasped, slapping her hand against the marble counter in mock outrage, though her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. She reached for a napkin, wiping her chin frantically. "You are terrible. Why do I let you come to my house?"

"Because you love me” you said simply, stepping around the island.

You stood between her knees, placing your hands on her thighs. Alexia immediately dropped the napkin, wrapped her arms around your waist, and buried her face against your stomach, letting out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh of contentment.

"Unfortunately, yes” she grumbled into your sweater, her fingers lightly tugging at the hem. "Even if you are sarcastic and drive a loud, dangerous monster."

"It's an adventure touring motorcycle, Ale. It has ABS, traction control, and electronic suspension. It's safer than half the cars on the road."

Alexia pulled her head back, looking up at you with her bottom lip pouting out in that classic, unyielding way. "It has two wheels, Y/N. Two. Cars have four. Four is balanced. Four is safe. Two is... stupid."

"A compelling mathematical argument” you laughed, stooping down to kiss her pout away. She melted instantly, her hands moving up to clasp the back of your neck, holding you close as she deepened the kiss, tasting softly of butter and honey.

When she let you go, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath soft against your skin. "I just don't like the thought of you on it. When it rains, or when the traffic in the center gets crazy... my chest gets tight thinking about it."

The sarcasm evaporated from your posture. You softened, kissing her cheek, then her jawline, feeling the quiet tension in her shoulders. "I know, mi vida. I’m careful. I swear to you. I wear all the protective gear, I don't speed, and if the weather turns bad, I leave the bike and take a taxi or call you"

Alexia hummed, leaning her weight against you. "Good. Because if you die, I will kill you."

"A flawless logical paradox baby. A total nonsense" you murmured, making her laugh, a quiet, musical sound that always made your heart swell.

"Shut up” she murmured affectionally, pulling you closer. "Just hold me for five minutes before I have to go to my physio appointment."

You wrapped your arms around her, rocking her gently side to side in the sunlit kitchen, letting the quiet warmth of the afternoon wash over both of you.

-

The peace lasted until Saturday afternoon, when the inherent absurdity of your transport situation reached its breaking point.

It started with a simple plan: a late lunch at a quiet seaside restaurant in Garraf, about thirty minutes south of Barcelona. The sun was shining, the coastal roads were clear, and Alexia had a rare full day off from training.

However, as you walked out to the driveway, you found Alexia standing beside her car, staring blankly at her phone with an expression of sheer, unadulterated distress. She had her sunglasses pushed up onto her hair, and her keys were clutched loosely in her hand.

"Problems?" you asked, swinging your leather jacket over your shoulder.

Alexia looked up, her lower lip visibly trembling in that dramatic way she saved exclusively for moments of minor inconvenience. "My left calf is completely knotted up. I just messaged the physio, and she told me I cannot drive or do heavy foot movements today if I want to play on Tuesday."

You paused, processing this. "Right. Okay. So... we take the train?"

Alexia looked at you as if you had suggested walking on broken glass to Madrid. "The train? On a Saturday? Y/N, people will recognise me. I cannot sit on a crowded Rodalies train with a cramped calf!"

"Okay, okay” you said soothingly, stepping closer to put a hand on her waist. "We order a taxi."

"A taxi to Sitges and back will cost a fortune, and it takes forever to book a private driver on a weekend” she whined, resting her head against your shoulder, completely collapsing into her needy, spoiled persona. "I wanted us to drive in my car. I wanted to listen to our playlist and sit by the sea."

You let out a small laugh.

"Ale” you said, unable to hide your amusement, "you're rich. Since when do you care how much a taxi costs?"

"That's not the point” she mumbled into your shoulder with another dramatic pout.

You looked at the car. Then you looked at Alexia. Then you looked at the black keys glinting in her hand.

"Well..." you began slowly, carefully weighing your words. "I could drive."

Alexia went entirely still. She lifted her head off your shoulder, looking at you with wide, terrified eyes.

"You?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. "You don't have a car license!"

"I have a motorcycle license! I know the rules of the road, Ale. I've been riding on two wheels in city traffic for years. I know how to use a clutch, I know how to shift gears, and I know how to steer."

"In a car?" Alexia shrieked softly, covering her mouth with her hand. "A motorcycle is tiny! My car is big! It has two hundred and ninety horsepower! It is a sport crossover!"

"It's a compact SUV, Alexia, not a Formula One car” you snorted. "And it's an automatic, isn't it?"

"Yes, but"

"So there isn't even a clutch pedal!" you pointed out triumphantly. "It's literally a giant go-kart. You press the green pedal to go, and the red pedal to stop."

"They are not green and red!" she protested, her hands going to her hips, her brow furrowing. "Y/N, this is illegal! If the Mossos d'Esquadra pull us over, they will arrest you, they will impound my car, and it will be on the front page of Sport tomorrow! 'Alexia Putellas' Girlfriend Arrested in Unlicensed Joyride!'"

"First of all, I wouldn't get pulled over because I am an immaculate, law-abiding driver” you said, stepping up to her with a cocky grin. "Second of all, we aren't going on a 'joyride'. We are going to an empty parking lot near the stadium, and you are going to give me my first official four-wheeled driving lesson. Then, once I'm confident, we see how we feel."

Alexia stared at you, her mouth slightly open. "You want me... to teach you... to drive my car?"

"Why not? You're a professional athlete. You have great spatial awareness” you teased, poking her gently in the ribs. "Unless... you're scared?"

Alexia’s jaw set into that rigid, fiercely competitive line that usually heralded a hat-trick against Real Madrid. "I am not scared of anything. Especially not teaching my stubborn girlfriend how to steer a vehicle that has four proper wheels for once."

"Excellent” you beamed, snatching the keys out of her hand before she could change her mind. "To the passenger seat, bebe. Now you´re my passenger princess."

Alexia stood her ground for a second, looking at the driver's door as if it were a trap, before letting out a loud, dramatic groan and stomping around to the passenger side.

-

A few minutes from the house, they found an abandoned lot that stretched out almost endlessly. Empty on a Saturday afternoon, with nothing but faded parking lines, cracked pavement, and a rusted fence around the perimeter, it was about as safe as they could hope for. If you were going to learn to drive Alexia's high-powered car anywhere, this was the place.

You sat in the driver's seat of the her Cupra, your hands gripping the leather steering wheel at ten and two. The dashboard was a glowing array of digital screens, ambient LED lighting, and sleek touch controls. The engine purred with a subtle, muted rumble,  quieter than your BMW, but undeniably potent.

Beside you, Alexia was sitting so rigidly that she looked like a statue carved out of marble. Her seatbelt was pulled as tight as it could physically go, both of her hands were gripping the door handle, and her feet were pressed flat against the floorboards as if desperately searching for a non-existent brake pedal on her side.

"Ale” you said softly, turning to look at her. "We haven't moved yet."

"I am mentally preparing” she said tightly, her eyes fixed straight ahead on the empty tarmac. "If you scratch the rims, I will not sleep with you for a month."

"Fair motivation” you nodded. "Now, walk me through the start-up sequence, coach."

Alexia swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax her shoulders slightly. She leaned sideways, reaching across the center console to point at the gear selector. The proximity of her body, the soft scent of her perfume, the gentle warmth of her skin was instantly distracting.

"Okay” she said, her tone shifting into a tone of serious instruction. "Foot on the brake pedal. The wide one on the left."

"I know which one the brake is” you murmured, pressing down firmly.

"Press the start button” she commanded.

You pushed the engine start button. The digital cockpit lit up with graphics, and the exhaust let out a quiet, throat-gurgling rasp before settling into a purr.

"Now, shift the toggle down into 'D' for Drive” Alexia continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Do not press the accelerator yet. It has a lot of torque, Y/N. It moves as soon as you release the brake."

"Understood." You clicked the gear selector down. The car subtly engaged gear.

"Okay” Alexia whispered, gripping the door handle so hard her knuckles turned white. "Gently... muy suave, Y/N... release the brake."

You slowly lifted your right foot off the pedal. The car began to creep forward at a grand total of three kilometers per hour across the flat asphalt.

You grinned. "Look at us! We're motoring!"

"Watch where you are going!" Alexia shrieked, even though the nearest obstacle was a painted parking line fifty yards away. "Keep your eyes on the road! Two hands on the wheel!"

"Ale, we are moving slower than a tortoise with arthritis” you chuckled, keeping the wheel straight.

"It doesn't matter! You must build good habits!" she insisted, her head turning frantically between you, the windshield, and the side mirrors. "Okay, now... lightly, lightly, give it some gas. Just a little bit."

You gently tapped the accelerator pedal. The car surged forward with smooth, immediate electric-assisted power, the speedometer jumping from five to twenty-five kilometers per hour in the blink of an eye.

"Aah!" Alexia yelped, slapping her hand onto the dashboard. "Brake! Brake!"

You instantly pressed the brake pedal. Because you were used to the firm, progressive lever feels of a motorcycle brake, your application on the car's power-assisted pedal was a bit... enthusiastic.

The Cupra came to a dead, abrupt stop, the seatbelts locking violently, jerking both of you forward before throwing you back into the leather seats.

Silence descended upon the cabin, broken only by the quiet tick-tick-tick of the air conditioning.

You slowly turned your head to look at Alexia.

Her hair, which she had carefully styled into a sleek ponytail, had a few loose strands hanging across her face. Her sunglasses had slipped down to the bridge of her nose. She was staring at you with an expression of pure, unadulterated, catastrophic betrayal.

"You..." she breathed, her voice dropping an octave into a low, terrifying growl. "You just gave me whiplash."

"I... I was responding to your command like the good girl I am” you offered weakly, holding your hands up in surrender. "You said 'brake' then I brake."

"I said brake, not deploy the emergency parachute!" Alexia cried, throwing her hands in the air. "My neck! My prodigious body! Do you know how much my neck is insured for, Y/N?!"

You bit your lip fiercely, trying with every ounce of your strength not to laugh. "I am deeply sorry, my love. The pedal is very sensitive."

"Sensitive?!" Alexia scoffed, adjusting her sunglasses with a dramatic flick of her wrist. "You treated it like a football! You kicked it!"

"I didn't kick it"

"You kicked it!" she repeated, pout returning in full force. She unbuckled her seatbelt, turned entirely in her seat, and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at you with all the fury of a toddler denied ice cream. "Lesson over. We are going home. I am calling an Uber."

You couldn't hold it in any longer. A snort of laughter escaped you, followed by a warm, rolling chuckle.

Alexia’s eyes widened. "Are you laughing at me?"

"I am laughing with you, my sweet baby” you corrected smoothly, unbuckling your own belt and leaning across the center console to pull her into your arms.

Alexia tried to push you away, her hands pressing against your chest, but you were persistent. You wrapped your arms around her waist and gently pulled her closer until she ended up sitting sideways across your lap, her legs resting over yours in the driver's seat. The steering wheel was slightly in the way, but you shifted just enough to make room for her, holding her securely against you as she tucked her head under your chin.

"Let me go” she grumbled, though her arms slowly slid around your neck. "You are a terrible driver. Impatient. Violent."

"I am learning” you murmured, kissing her cheek, then the corner of her soft lips. "It's my first time behind the wheel of a four-wheeled luxury rocket ship. Cut me some slack, Ale."

Alexia sighed, her small hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair. She leaned her forehead against yours, her anger melting away as quickly as it had arrived.

"You really are hopeless” she whispered, her golden eyes scanning your face. "How can you handle a massive, terrifying motorcycle on the highway, but you can't stop a car smoothly?"

"Because the motorcycle is an extension of my body” you explained softly, placing a gentle kiss on her nose. "A car feels like a small house I'm trying to push around with my feet."

Alexia chuckled, a sweet, breathy sound that vibrated against your chest. "A small house. You are ridiculous."

"Probably” you smiled. "Now... do I get a second chance, or are you going to bench me?"

Alexia pretended to think about it, her thumbs lightly stroking your jawline. "One more chance. But if you jerk the brakes again, I am making you ride your motorcycle home in the rain."

"It's not raining."

"I will order rain” she threatened playfully, nipping your lower lip with her teeth. "Don't test me, Y/N."

-

An hour later, after several more laps around the parking lot and a significantly smoother braking technique, you felt confident enough to tackle the quiet secondary road leading toward the coast. Alexia had remained on high alert the entire time, acting as a human navigation system, warning you about imaginary hazards fifty meters ahead, but gradually, her grip on the door handle relaxed.

By the time you pulled the car into the underground car park of a beachfront restaurant in Sitges, Alexia was actually looking somewhat proud.

"See?" she said as you clicked the engine off, turning to you with a bright, triumphant smile. "Who is the best driving instructor in spain? Me."

"You were incredible” you smirked, leaning over to unbuckle her seatbelt for her. "Your panicked screams really helped me gauge my speed."

"They were not panicked screams” she huffed, slapping your shoulder playfully. "They were tactical vocal instructions."

"Right. Of course."

The restaurant was a quiet, high-end establishment tucked away near the old town's rocky promenade. Because it was the off-season, the outdoor terrace was relatively empty, allowing Alexia to relax without the constant glare of fans or photographers.

You sat at a small wooden table overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the water. Alexia was sitting opposite you, looking gorgeous in a simple cream-coloured silk blouse and jeans, her sunglasses resting on her head.

A waiter brought a spread of fresh seafood, grilled calamari, garlic prawns, and a plate of paella de marisco along with a bottle of sparkling water for Alexia and an alcohol-free beer for you, given your driving duties.

"This is nice” Alexia said softly, leaning her chin on her hand as she watched the waves crash against the stone barrier below. "No meetings, no training, no stress."

"And no motorcycles” you added dryly.

Alexia looked back at you, a soft, mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Yes. The absolute best part."

"You really hate it, don't you?" you asked, leaning forward on your elbows, reaching across the white tablecloth to take her hand. Your thumb traced the back of her palm, feeling the soft skin.

Alexia’s expression softened, her fingers closing around yours. She looked down at your hands, her tone shifting into something far more genuine and vulnerable than her usual dramatic antics.

"I don't hate the bike, Y/N” she said quietly. "I hate the idea of losing you."

You went quiet, listening.

"In my life” Alexia continued, her gaze meeting yours with intense clarity, "everything is controlled. My diet, my sleep, my training, my matches. Everything has a plan. But when I see you speed away on that machine, surrounded by crazy drivers on the highway... I have zero control. And if something happens to you... I don't know what I would do. It terrifies me."

Your heart melted. The playful banter, the silly arguments about noise and monsters—it all stemmed from a place of deep, overwhelming care.

"Ale” you said softly, squeezing her hand. "I promise you, I respect that machine. I don't take stupid risks. I ride because I love the feeling of being outdoors, but I love coming home to you a thousand times more."

Alexia’s lips curved into a tender, brilliant smile. She reached across the table with her other hand, covering yours completely. "Good. You better. Because I spent two hours teaching you how to drive today, and I expect a return on my investment."

"Oh, really?" you laughed. "And what kind of return are we talking about?"

"A full body massage tonight” she demanded smoothly, her tone reverting back to her spoiled, bossy self without missing a beat. "My calf still hurts. And my neck... from your violent braking."

"You are relentless” you chuckled, shaking your head.

"I am the Captain” she replied, raising her glass of water in a toast. "Now feed me a prawn."

-

The drive back to Barcelona was quiet and peaceful. The sun had set, leaving the sky painted in deep shades of violet and orange. Alexia had put on a low-fidelity acoustic playlist, her hand resting comfortably on the center console, her fingers interwoven with yours while you navigated the evening highway traffic with smooth, calm precision.

When you finally navigated the narrow, bustling streets of Gràcia, pulling the car to a stop in front of your apartment building, Alexia looked out the window with a small frown.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, turning to you.

"I need to grab a fresh set of clothes for tomorrow” you explained, shifting the car into Park. "And... I need to check on the bike."

Alexia’s eyes narrowed instantly. "The bike is safe in my driveway in Pedralbes. It has a fence, a camera, and a security system. It is safer than your entire apartment building."

"I know, but I left my lock key on my kitchen counter” you said, unbuckling your belt. "Give me five minutes. I'll run up, grab my bag, and we can head back to your place."

"I'm coming with you” she announced, already opening her door.

"Ale, you don't have to"

"I am not sitting in the car alone in Gràcia” she said, stepping out onto the pavement and wrapping her coat tightly around herself. "Lead the way, driver."

Your apartment was on the third floor of a traditional Catalan building, no lift, just a narrow, winding stone staircase with ornate iron railings. By the time Alexia reached your landing, she was dramatically clutching her chest, leaning against the doorframe as if she had just completed a marathons-worth of cardio.

"Three floors” she gasped, her voice full of theatrical agony. "Y/N, this is inhumane. How do you live like this?"

"It builds leg strength” you smirked, unlocking the wooden door and pushing it open. "You should recommend it to Pere for pre-season training."

"Pere would cry” she muttered, stepping into your flat.

Your apartment was warm, lived-in, and distinctly you. Leather jackets hung from a rack by the door; books on engineering, travel, and football were stacked on the coffee table; and a framed poster of the 1970 Isle of Man TT race hung above the worn leather sofa.

Alexia walked in, her curiosity taking over. She had only been to your flat a couple of times. Usually, you spent your time at her spacious estate and she loved exploring your space. She walked slowly around the living room, running her fingers over the books, looking at the small framed photographs of your family on the bookshelf.

"You really love these two-wheeled monstrosities, don't you?" she murmured, stopping in front of a framed black-and-white photograph of a classic Triumph motorcycle.

"It's about the mechanics, Ale” you said from your bedroom, tossing t-shirts and socks into a duffel bag. "The engine is right there. You can see every gear, every pipe, every moving part. It's honest."

Alexia turned around, looking into your bedroom. You were standing by your wardrobe, wearing a simple t-shirt, your muscles working as you zipped the bag closed.

She walked into the bedroom, her footsteps silent on the rug. She didn't say anything. She just walked straight up to you, wrapped her arms around your waist, and buried her face against your back, resting her cheek against your shoulder blades.

You paused, dropping the bag onto the bed, and covered her hands with yours. "Everything okay?"

"I like your flat” she whispered, her voice muffled by your shirt. "It smells like you. Leather, wood, and sweet coffee."

"It's small” you said softly.

"It's cozy” she corrected, shifting around to stand in front of you. She looked up at you, her golden eyes warm and heavy with affection. "But my bed is bigger."

"Is that an invitation?"

"It's a command” she said, reaching up to take your face in her hands, pulling you down for a deep, slow, lingering kiss.

Her lips were soft, warm, and entirely intoxicating. She pressed herself close against you, her body melting into yours with a familiarity that made your heart hammer against your ribs. When she pulled back, she kept her thumbs tracing your cheekbones, her gaze locked onto yours.

"Come home with me” she whispered.

"I'm right behind you, Captain” you murmured, kissing the tip of her nose.

-

By eleven o'clock that night, you were both lying in Alexia’s massive king-sized bed. The heavy curtains were drawn, shutting out the world, and the room was warmed by the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

True to your promise, you had spent forty minutes giving her a meticulous calf and foot massage, using sweet-scented arnica oil until she was practically purring with satisfaction. Now, she was utterly spent, completely relaxed, lying on her side with her head resting on your chest.

One of her long legs was draped heavily over yours, anchoring you to the mattress. Her hand was resting over your heart, her fingers gently stroking the fabric of your t-shirt in a rhythmic, soothing pattern.

You were softly running your fingers through her long, blonde hair, listening to the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Y/N?" she murmured, her voice thick with impending sleep.

"Yeah, mi vida?"

"You drove well today."

You smiled into the dark room. "High praise coming from a hater."

"I am serious” she grumbled softly, poking your chest with her finger. "You were very calm. Very smooth. Except for the braking incident."

"We don't speak of the braking incident."

Alexia chuckled weakly, her head rising and falling with your chest. "If... if you want... you can practice more in the car next weekend."

You stopped petting her hair for a second, surprised. "Really? You're willing to risk your precious car again?"

"I am willing to risk it” she murmured, her eyelids drooping shut. "Because... if you learn to drive properly... then maybe you don't have to ride the monster when it rains."

You felt a profound, overwhelming wave of tenderness wash over you. You shifted slightly, wrapping your arms tighter around her, pressing a long, warm kiss against the top of her head.

"You really are a sweet baby, aren't you?" you whispered gently.

"I am not a baby” she protested weakly, though she buried her face deeper into your neck, clutching your shirt tightly. "I am a double Ballon d'Or winner. I am a fierce leader. I’m respected"

"You are a clingy, spoiled, adorable baby who hates motorcycles” you corrected softly, smiling as she let out a tiny, contented sigh.

"Shut up” she breathed, her voice trailing off as sleep finally claimed her. "Just stay still. Don't move."

"I'm not going anywhere, Ale” you promised softly, holding her close as the quiet night settled over Pedralbes, leaving the noise of the world—and the roar of engines—far, far behind.

-

The air in Alexia´s house was heavy with the suffocating, humid stillness of a late August afternoon. The sun beat down relentlessly onto the concrete driveway of the Putellas estate, shimmering off the bonnet of the matte-grey Cupra, which sat utterly useless, its engine bay silently cooling.

"I am going to be late. I am going to be late, Y/N, and it is entirely, completely, unequivocally your fault!"

Alexia Putellas stood in the middle of her driveway, practically vibrating with fury. She was wearing a tailored black linen blazer, high-waisted beige trousers, and a pair of immaculate, pristine white designer trainers. In her right hand, she gripped a black leather document folder so tightly her knuckles were translucent. Her hair, which she had spent forty-five minutes carefully blow-drying into soft, voluminous waves for her high-stakes sponsorship meeting with Nike at the W Hotel, was currently being menaced by a bright pink, high-impact matte full-face motorcycle helmet that you were holding out toward her like a peace offering.

"Ale, mi amor, take a breath” you said calmly, standing beside your towering black BMW F850 GS Adventure. "The Car’s battery is dead because you left the interior lights on all night. Unless you want to walk three kilometers to the nearest taxi stand in thirty-degree heat, this is our only option."

"I did not leave the lights on! The car is defective!" Alexia shouted, her voice reaching that impossibly high, indignant register reserved exclusively for referee errors and minor personal inconveniences. She stomped her foot, a literal, honest-to-god foot-stomp on the tarmac and pointed a finger at your face." And do not call me mi amor! I am still furious with you!"

You sighed, a fond, long-suffering smile playing on your lips. "Still furious about the pasta?"

"It was not just the pasta!" Alexia yelled, her cheeks flushing a glorious, deep crimson. "You put crushed chilli flakes into the arrabbiata when I specifically told you my stomach was sensitive from pre-season training! You did it on purpose because you are sadistic! And then… and then when I came to bed, looking very nice, wearing the silk pyjamas you bought me, specifically signaling that I wanted to... to have intimacy..."

"You wanted to smash” you translated dryly.

"I wanted to make love!" Alexia shrieked, slapping her leather folder against her thigh. "And what did you do?! You turned your back, pulled the duvet up to your ears, and said you were too tired because you had been working on your motor oil filters all day! You rejected me! Me! Alexia Putellas!"

"I didn't reject you, baby, I had grease under my fingernails and a blinding migraine” you explained patiently, stepping closer to her. "And if I recall correctly, you spent twenty minutes turning your back on me afterwards, sighing dramatically every thirty seconds so I couldn't sleep."

"I was expressing my emotional dissatisfaction!" Alexia huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, her chin tilting up into the air. "Which was entirely justified! You are a cold, unfeeling mechanic who prefers a machine to your own girlfriend! And now you are offering to transport me to a executive board meeting on a two-wheeled instrument of death!"

"Do you want to miss the meeting, Alexia?"

Alexia closed her eyes, letting out a long, tragic, shuddering breath. She opened them, glaring at the pink helmet in your hand with absolute, unadulterated hatred.

"If this helmet ruins my volume” she warned, her tone dropping into a low, lethal whisper, "I am selling this motorcycle on Wallapop while you are at work. I swear to God, Y/N. I will list it for fifty euros."

"Understood” you chuckled, stepping behind her. "Hair back first. Hold your breath."

What followed was a five-minute physical comedy routine. Alexia refused to help, standing stiff as a board while you carefully gathered her styled locks, trying to tuck them gently into the foam lining of the helmet. She made high-pitched squeaking sounds every time the cheek pads compressed her soft, immaculate cheeks, reducing her regal face to a pouting, compressed fish-mouth.

"Ow! Y/N! My ears! You are tearing my ears off!"

"Your ears are fine, Ale. Stop squirming."

"It's tight! It's suffocating! I look like a pink thumb!" she muffled from behind the clear visor, her dark eyes glaring daggers at you through the plastic.

"You look stunning” you murmured, stepping around to click the double-D ring strap beneath her chin. You tightened it just enough, resting your thumbs against her jaw. Through the visor, her pout was monstrous. You leaned in and pressed a firm kiss right against the clear plastic visor, right over her lips.

"Don't touch me” she grumbled, her voice echoing inside the fiberglass shell. "I hate you."

"Up you go, Princess” you said, hopping onto the tall saddle of the BMW, pulling the bike off its side stand and balancing the heavy frame effortlessly between your legs.

Alexia stared at the rear passenger seat as if it were a catapult designed to launch her into the Mediterranean Sea. The GS 850 was tall; the pillion seat sat significantly higher than the driver's position.

"How am I supposed to get up there?!" she demanded, waving her arms dramatically. "I am wearing linen trousers! If I split my trousers before meeting the Vice President of Nike Europe, I will drown myself in your oil bucket!"

"Left foot on the rear peg, grab my shoulder, swing your right leg over” you instructed, holding the handlebars firm. "Trust me."

With a series of dramatic groans, deeply offended grunts, and an impressive display of athletic flexibility, Alexia managed to scramble onto the back of the bike. She sat rigid, her knees squeezed tight against your outer thighs, holding herself completely upright and refusing to touch you.

"Put your arms around my waist, Ale” you said, looking back over your shoulder.

"No. I am holding the silver grab rails at the back” she said stubbornly, gripping the aluminium luggage racks behind her seat until her knuckles turned blue.

"Ale, when I roll on the throttle, you are going to slide right off the back."

"I have incredible core strength” she declared proudly. "I do three hundred sit-ups a day. I do not need to touch your greasy jacket."

You smirked, shaking your head beneath your own carbon-fibre helmet. "Suit yourself bae"

You thumbed the starter button. The 853cc parallel-twin engine burst to life with a deep, mechanical roar that resonated straight up through the frame.

Alexia let out a muffled, high-pitched yelp as the vibration rattled through her seat. "It is shaking! Why is it shaking so much?! Is it breaking?!"

"That's just the engine, baby! Hold on!"

You clicked the gear lever down into first, squeezed the clutch, and rolled smoothly off the driveway. The moment you turned onto the tarmac street and opened the throttle even fifteen percent, the torque kicked in.

The rear end dipped, the front surged forward, and physics took over.

"AAAHHHHH!"

Alexia’s core strength vanished into thin air. Her hands flew off the rear grab rails, and her entire upper body slammed violently forward into your back. Her arms wrapped around your waist in a vice-like, terrifyingly strong death grip, her pink-helmeted head burying itself directly into the small of your back.

"SLOW DOWN! SLOW DOWN YOU PSYCHOPATH! WE ARE GOING A MILLION KILOMETERS AN HOUR!"

You glanced down at the digital speedometer. You were doing precisely thirty-two kilometers per hour down a quiet residential street.

"You okay back there?" you shouted over the wind noise.

"I AM DYING! MY HAIR IS DESTROYED AND I AM DYING!" she shrieked against your jacket, her fingers digging so hard into your ribs through your leather jacket that you were fairly certain she was trying to extract your kidneys. "IF WE CRASH, I AM CUTTING YOU OUT OF MY WILL!"

You laughed out loud, feeling the absolute warmth of her body pressed flush against yours, her chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked breaths against your spine. Despite her absolute fury, her terror, and her wounded pride, the sheer intimacy of having her locked against you on the open road was addicting.

-          

The ride down from Pedralbes toward the coast took fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes of Alexia squealing at every gentle lean into a corner, groaning loudly through the intercom every time you shifted gears, and constantly demanding to know why the cars were "so close to her legs."

Yet, as you navigated the smooth asphalt of B-10, the ocean opening up to your right, a subtle shift occurred.

Alexia’s grip on your waist didn't loosen, but her head slowly lifted off your back. Through your side mirrors, you saw her pink helmet turning left and right, taking in the panoramic view of the Barcelona coastline, the sea breeze rushing past, the unfiltered sensation of speed that no enclosed automobile could ever replicate.

When you finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the W Hotel, stopping right beside the valet circle where valet boys in crisp suits stood staring in shock, you killed the ignition.

The silence that followed was deafening, save for the ticking of the cooling exhaust pipe and Alexia’s heavy breathing.

"We are alive” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly through the visor.

"We are alive, on time, and right at the front door” you said proudly, unbuckling your helmet and turning in your seat. "See? Ten minutes faster than your car."

Alexia sat still for a moment, her hands slowly unwrapping from your waist. She reached up, struggling frantically with the helmet strap. "Get it off me! Get this box off my head!"

You leaned in, helping her undo the latch, gently pulling the heavy helmet off her head.

A cloud of golden-blonde hair exploded into the air. Due to the heat, the humidity, and fifteen minutes of static friction, Alexia’s meticulous blow-dry had transformed into a glorious, wild, atmospheric halo of static-charged friz. A couple of strands were plastered to her damp forehead, and her cheeks were bright, flushed pink from the pressure pads.

She pulled her compact mirror out of her leather folder, flipped it open, and let out a sound of such profound, tragic horror that a nearby valet actually flinched.

"Look at me!" she gasped, pointing the tiny mirror at you like a weapon. "Look at what you have done to the Captain of FC Barcelona! I look like a blonde lion that has been struck by lightning!"

"You look cute, Ale” you giggled, reaching out to smooth down a particularly wild stray lock behind her ear. "A little wild, very sporty. Very Nike."

"Do not touch me!" she snapped, swinging her leg over the seat and sliding off the bike. Her legs were visibly trembling, a combination of adrenaline and holding onto your waist for dear life and she had to grab your shoulder for a split second to stabilize herself, which only made her angrier.

She stood on the pavement, furiously running her fingers through her messy hair, trying to pat down the static, her designer trousers slightly rumpled from the riding stance. She glared at you with pure, unadulterated venom.

"I am going into this meeting” she declared, pointing a long-manicured finger at your face. "I am going to secure this contract. And then you are going to take me home, you are going to apologize for the arrabbiata, you are going to fix my car, and you are going to buy me sushi from the expensive place near my house."

"And what do I get in return?" you teased, resting your forearms on the handlebars, looking up at her with an easy, cocky smirk.

Alexia paused, her dark eyes narrowing. Despite her fury, a faint, wicked spark flashed in her gaze. She leaned down, bringing her flushed face inches from yours, smelling of sweat, expensive perfume, and warm adrenaline.

"If you behave yourself, and if you fix my hair before we leave..." she whispered, her voice dropping into a sultry, dangerous lower register that made your blood run hot, "...I might let you make up for last night. But only if you ask nicely."

You swallowed hard, your cockiness instantly evaporating under her fierce, bossy glare. "Deal. Go get 'em, ,my love."

She straightened up, gave her blazer a sharp tug, smoothed her hair down one last time with a dramatic huff, and strutted into the glass lobby of the hotel like a queen entering her throne room, leaving you sitting on your motorcycle, utterly captivated and completely under her thumb.

-

Two hours later, after Nike had predictably agreed to every single one of Alexia's terms because nobody says no to Alexia Putellas, you were back in the private, gated courtyard of her house.

The meeting had gone exceptionally well, which meant Alexia’s mood had upgraded from "murderous rage" to "pouty, pampered princess."

She had made you drive her back at a snail's pace, constantly poking your ribs whenever you exceeded forty kilometers per hour. But now that the helmet was off, the leather jacket was unzipped, and a cold glass of fresh peach juice was sitting on the porch table, her eyes kept drifting back to the massive black machine resting on its kickstand in the middle of the paved courtyard.

You were sitting on a wooden bench, wiping down the chrome crash bars with a microfiber cloth, when you felt a pair of arms wrap loosely around your neck from behind.

Alexia pressed her chin onto your shoulder, smelling fresh and clean after a quick shower. She was wearing an oversized soft white t-shirt that hung off one shoulder, cotton shorts, and her trusty fluffy slides.

"Is it difficult?" she murmured quietly into your ear, her mood noticeably softer, though her posture remained characteristically clingy.

"Is what difficult?"

"Riding it. Controlling it." She shifted, coming around to sit beside you on the bench, her leg pressed flush against yours. She looked at the heavy BMW with a mixture of intense lingering suspicion and reluctant fascination. "When we were on the highway... it felt like flying. A little bit."

You smiled, setting the cloth down. "It's not difficult if you respect the machine. It's all about balance, clutch control, and throttle discipline. Why? Are you offering to be my passenger again?"

Alexia scoffed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Never again. My thighs are bruised from squeezing your fat legs. But..." She hesitated, crossing her arms and looking away, her lip pouting out. "...I want to try."

You blinked, genuinely shocked. "Do you want to ride it?"

"I want to drive it” she corrected sharply, turning her head back to glare at you as if challenging you to disagree. "You tried to drive my car. It is only fair that I learn how to handle your loud monster."

"Ale, this bike weighs two hundred and thirty kg. It has eighty-five horsepower. If you drop it, it will crush your foot, and then your club will actually execute me."

"I am an elite athlete!" she insisted loudly, standing up and chest-bumping you softly. "I have world-class coordination! I have won two Ballons d'Or! Do you think I cannot balance a bicycle with an engine?!"

"A bicycle with an engine” you repeated dryly, shaking your head. "Alright. Fine. But we go slow. Very slow. And you wear the helmet."

"Not the pink one! It squishes my face!"

"Yes the pink one, Alexia. Safety first or no lesson."

Ten minutes later, the comedic spectacle resumed.

Alexia was standing beside the BMW, wearing her soft t-shirt, cotton shorts, fluffy slides, and the bright pink full-face motorcycle helmet. She looked completely absurd but she was standing with her hands on her hips, taking it entirely seriously.

"Okay” you said, standing right beside the bike, holding the rear frame to ensure it couldn't tip over. "First lesson: mounting the bike. Swing your leg high over the saddle, keep your left foot firm on the ground, and pull the bike upright off the kickstand."

Alexia swung her leg over. Because of her incredible hip mobility, she managed it smoothly, settling her weight into the high seat. But as she tried to pull the heavy machine upright, her fluffy slide slipped slightly on the polished courtyard tiles.

"Whoa! Whoa! It is falling! Y/N, it is falling!" she shrieked, her legs flailing wildly.

You instantly caught the handlebars, taking the full weight of the bike with your shoulders, pulling it back to vertical. "I've got it! I've got it! Keep your weight centered, Ale! Use your core!"

"This thing weighs more than a car!" she muffled through the visor, her heart visibly beating fast beneath her t-shirt. "Why is it so heavy?!"

"Because it's built to cross continents, baby. Now, put both feet down. You can touch the floor, right?"

Alexia stretched her long legs down. She could just about touch the balls of her feet to the ground. "Barely! My feet are floating!"

"That's fine. Now, hands on the grips. Left hand is the clutch. Right hand is the front brake and throttle." You covered her small hands with yours, guiding her fingers over the metal levers. "Pull the clutch lever all the way in to your palm."

She squeezed the lever. "Like this?"

"Perfect. Now, I'm going to start the engine. Do NOT let go of that left lever, okay? If you let go of the clutch while it's in gear, the bike will jump forward and throw you into my rose bushes."

Through the plastic visor, her dark eyes widened in absolute terror. "Do not start it! Do not start it yet! I am not ready!"

"You're fine, Ale. I'm holding the bike. I won't let you fall."

You thumbed the starter button. The engine roared to life with its deep, rumbling pulse. Alexia stiffened completely, her fingers clutching the left lever with a death grip that could have crushed steel.

"Okay” you leaned close to her ear, your voice calm, steady, and soothing. "Now... very, very slowly... ease the clutch out just a tiny bit until you feel the engine start to bite. You'll feel the bike want to roll forward."

"I don't want it to roll forward!" she squeaked.

"Just a tiny bit, Ale. Trust me. I'm right here walking beside you."

Slowly, agonizingly, Alexia eased her left fingers back a fraction of a millimeter. The bike shuddered slightly, the friction zone engaging, and the heavy machine began to roll forward at a literal walking pace—one kilometer per hour across the paved courtyard.

"It's moving! Y/N, it's moving! Look at me! I am a biker!" she gasped, a massive, brilliant smile spreading across her face behind the visor.

"Keep your feet hovering just above the floor! Keep it straight!" you shouted gently, walking right beside her, your hand resting lightly on the passenger seat frame just in case.

She rolled forward for about five meters, looking like a terrifying pink-headed toddler on a motorized pony, her fluffy slides dangling in the air, her face glowing with pure, unadulterated childish triumph.

And that was when you pulled your phone out of your pocket.

-

Without Alexia noticing, because she was hyper-focused on keeping the handlebars perfectly straight and not dying you stepped back two paces, raised your phone, and took a crystal-clear, high-definition photograph.

The photo was a masterpiece of unintentional comedic perfection.

It captured Alexia Putellas, two-time Ballon d'Or winner, sitting atop a massive, rugged touring motorcycle in the middle of her pristine Pedralbes courtyard. She was wearing an oversized white t-shirt, pale pink cotton shorts, bright white fluffy slides dangling awkwardly off the pegs, and a ridiculous, glowing pink motorcycle helmet that made her head look three times too big for her body. She was hunched over the handlebars with an expression of intense, desperate concentration visible behind the clear visor.

You opened WhatsApp. You didn't just save it to your gallery. You uploaded it directly to your Status story with the caption:

'The new driver for the 2027 Dakar Rally. Watch out my love 🛵💨🔥'

Within thirty seconds, the notifications began to explode.

"Y/N, I am stopping! How do I stop?!" Alexia called out, her voice breaking the peaceful afternoon air.

"Squeeze the clutch all the way in, and gently pull the right lever!" you instructed, slipping your phone back into your pocket with a guilty grin.

Alexia executed the command perfectly. The bike coasted to a smooth, gentle stop near the garage doors. She killed the engine switch, set her feet flat on the ground, and let out a long, triumphant sigh.

She pulled off the pink helmet, her blonde hair tumbling out in messy, static-charged glory, her face radiant, flushed, and beaming with pure joy.

"Did you see that?!" she squeaked, turning to you with wide, sparkling eyes, completely forgetting that she was supposed to be angry with you. "I drove it! I controlled the monster! I am amazing!"

"You were incredible, Captain” you smiled warmly, stepping forward to take the heavy helmet from her hands. "A natural born rider."

"I felt the power” she declared dramatically, throwing her shoulders back and striking a muscular pose on the seat. "It is very responsive. Very fast. I think I like it."

PING. PING. PING. PING. PING.

Her phone, which was sitting on the wooden porch table five meters away, suddenly began vibrating incessantly, chiming with a relentless barrage of notification tones.

Alexia frowned, swinging her leg back over the bike and strutted over to the table in her fluffy slides. "Why is my phone exploding? Is there a transfer rumor?"

You froze. A cold drop of sweat trickled down the back of your neck. "Uh... Ale, maybe don't look at…"

She picked up the phone. She unlocked the screen.

Silence descended upon the courtyard. A silence so profound, so thick, that you could hear the distant traffic on the Diagonal.

Alexia’s eyes widened. Her jaw slowly unhinged, dropping open in absolute, unadulterated horror.

"Y/N..." she whispered, her voice dangerously quiet.

You took a small step backward toward the garage. "Yes, my love?"

"What... is... THIS?!" she shrieked, turning the screen toward you.

The notification feed was a raging river of chaotic family and team group chats:

FCB Women Group Chat:

Mapi León: JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA TIAAA WHAT IS THIS?! 😭😭😭

Mapi León: THE FLUFFY SLIDES I AM DEAD

Aitana Bonmatí: Is this approved by the medical staff? @Alexia Putellas please do not break an ankle before Tuesday.

Clara Serrajordi: Pink helmet suits you leader 💅✨

Patri Guijarro: Dakar 2027 champion! 🏆😂

Putellas Family Group Chat:

Eli: ¡Alexia dios mío! What are you doing on that machine?! You are going to hurt yourself! Get off immediately!

Alba: JAJAJAJAJA ALE YOU LOOK LIKE A PINK MUSHROOM 🍄😭

Alba: I am saving this picture forever. It is going on my fridge.

Your Family Group Chat:

Your Mom: Oh, look at Alexia! How sweet! Tell her to be careful on the bike, darling! ❤️

Alexia looked up from the screen, her face flushed a deep, volcanic shade of red that outshone her pink helmet. Her nostrils flared. Her hands were shaking with pure, unadulterated embarrassment.

"You... you posted this... on your WhatsApp status?!" she screamed, her voice cracking violently. "Where my mother can see it?! Where my sister can mock me?! Where MAPI LEÓN CAN SEE ME IN MY FLUFFY SLIDES?!"

"Ale, baby, it's cute! Everyone thinks it's cute!" you pleaded, holding your hands up defensively as you backed away slowly.

"Cute?!" she howled, stomping her foot so hard her slide nearly flew off into the swimming pool. "I am the captain of Barcelona! I have an image to maintain! I am supposed to be terrifying and powerful! I look like a pink thumb riding a lawnmower!"

"A very athletic pink thumb!"

"I am going to kill you!" Alexia declared, tossing her phone onto the soft sofa cushions and charging at you full speed across the courtyard. "I am going to destroy you! Delete it! Delete it right now!"

You turned and ran into the house, laughing hysterically, with the double Ballon d'Or winner chasing you through the living room in her soft t-shirt and fluffy slides, screaming bloody murder in Catalan.

-

Ten minutes later, peace had been restored, at the cost of you immediately deleting the status update (though not before Alba had already screenshot it and sent it to every single one of Alexia's cousins), promising to tutor her in bike mechanics, and officially transferring fifty euros to her bank account as "compensation for emotional damages."

Now, the sun had fully set, casting the sprawling master bedroom into a deep, warm ambient twilight. The heavy curtains were drawn, shutting out the world. The only light came from the warm LED strip embedded behind the headboard of Alexia’s massive king-sized bed.

Alexia was lying on her back in the middle of the mattress, completely exhausted from the day's emotional roller coaster. She was wearing nothing but a soft pair of black lace underwear, her golden skin glowing in the dim light. Her long hair was spread out across the white linen pillows like a halo.

You were sitting beside her, straddling her thighs, your hands slowly massaging her bare shoulders, working out the tension built up from holding onto the bike for dear life.

"Still mad?" you murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the base of her throat.

Alexia let out a long, quiet sigh, her head tilting back into the pillow to give you better access. Her fingers came up, lightly tracing the back of your arms, her long nails scratching softly against your skin.

"I am deeply, profoundly traumatized” she murmured, though her tone lacked any real bite. It was soft, heavy, and thick with desire. "My mother called me and lectured me for twenty minutes about helmet safety. Mapi sent me ten memes of a pink mushroom playing football."

"I'm sorry, baby” you whispered, kissing her jawline, moving up to capture her lower lip between yours. "I couldn't help it. You looked adorable."

"I don't want to be adorable” Alexia breathed into the kiss, her arms sliding around your neck, pulling you down until your chest was resting flush against hers. "I want to be respected."

"I respect you” you murmured, shifting your weight, slipping your hand down her flat, toned abdomen, feeling the sharp, athletic contour of her ribs rise and fall against your palm. "I respect my driver. You handled eighty-five horsepower today like a absolute champ."

Alexia’s breath hitched as your hand slid beneath the band of her lace underwear, her fingers tightening in your hair. A small, satisfied smile touched the corners of her lips.

"Did I?" she whispered, her golden eyes fluttering open, looking up at you with a heavy, hooded gaze full of intense heat. "Did I handle it well?"

"You handled it brilliantly” you murmured, kissing her deeply, your tongue sliding smoothly past her lips, tasting the sweet, familiar heat of her. "In fact,... I think the driver deserves a reward."

"A reward?" she gasped softly into your mouth as your fingers found the slick, scorching warmth between her thighs. She arched her back slightly off the mattress, a low, desperate moan escaping her throat. "What... what kind of reward?"

"A complete performance evaluation” you teased, your thumb rubbing deliberate, agonizingly slow circles against her sensitive center. "Though, I must say, Captain... your hand placement on the handlebars could use some work."

Alexia let out a breathy, sharp laugh, her hips rolling up against your touch, seeking more pressure. "My hand placement was perfect!"

"It was a bit tense” you whispered, leaning down so your breath hot against the shell of her ear. You slid two fingers smoothly inside her, eliciting a loud, ragged gasp that echoed off the high ceiling. "You know... if you get tired of using your hands on the handlebars while driving... you can always use them to hold onto me."

Alexia’s eyes snapped open, a dark, wicked smirk breaking through her haze of pleasure. She dragged you down by your collar, bringing your ear close to her lips.

"Or” she whispered, her voice dripping with filthy, bossy confidence, "while I am driving your stupid monster next weekend... I can keep one hand on the throttle, and use the other hand to slide right up your leather trousers... see if I can make you scream loud enough to drown out the engine."

Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. The sheer visual image of Alexia Putellas in her helmet, riding your massive motorcycle, reaching back to touch you on an open road sent a violent jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.

"You're evil” you gasped.

"I am the Captain” she purred, her hips thrusting up eagerly against your hand, her nails digging hard into your shoulders. "Now stop talking about mechanics... and make me forget about that pink helmet."

You didn't need to be told twice.

You brought your lips down on hers with fierce, unbridled passion, setting a relentless, rhythmic pace that drove every thought of lap times, contracts, and motorcycle gear straight out of her head. The room filled with the quiet, breathless sounds of rustling sheets, soft skin against skin, and Alexia’s sweet, desperate moans—moans that grew louder and louder until she was clinging to you for dear life once again, not out of terror, but out of pure, intoxicating ecstasy.

-

The next morning, the sun rose over Pedralbes, flooding the master bedroom in warm, golden light.

You woke up slowly, feeling a heavy, comforting weight resting across your chest. Alexia was fast asleep, her face buried into the crook of your neck, one of her long legs draped over yours, completely anchoring you to the bed. Her blonde hair was a chaotic mess spread across your collarbone, and her breathing was soft, deep, and steady.

You smiled, carefully reaching for your phone on the bedside table to check the time. It was eight in the morning.

As soon as your screen lit up, you noticed a new notification from WhatsApp. It was a message sent at midnight from Alexia's sister, Alba.

Attached was a screenshot of Alexia's private Instagram story, posted just before she had fallen asleep in your arms.

The post was a short, ten-second video recorded from the back seat of your BMW bike during yesterday's ride down the coastal highway. It showed the sun setting over the blue ocean, the wind rushing past, and the back of your leather jacket, with Alexia’s hand resting securely over your hip.

The caption read:

'Hate the monster. Love the driver. 🏍️❤️

(And yes, I am taking driving lessons again next week).'

You turned your head slightly, pressing a soft, tender kiss into the messy golden hair resting against your shoulder.

Alexia stirred softly, letting out a cute, childish grumble, her arms tightening around your waist as she pulled you closer, completely unwilling to let you go.

"Five more minutes, mechanic” she mumbled into your skin, her voice thick with sleep.

"Whatever you say, Captain” you whispered, closing your eyes and settling back into the warmth of her arms, knowing that despite all the drama, the fighting, and the absurd pink helmets, there was nowhere else in the world you'd rather be.

-

The morning air at the training ground were crisp, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass and wet earth. It was a typical Friday session for FC Barcelona Femení, high intensity, sharp tactical drills, and the relentless clatter of boots on grass.

Alexia Putellas was in the middle of a rondo, her body moving fluidly, executing crisp, one-touch passes with the effortless grace that defined her game. She was focused, her eyes darting between her teammates, calling out instructions in her sharp, authoritative voice.

"Mapi, third line! Keep it moving!" Alexia shouted, clapping her hands together.

Suddenly, near the touchline, the team’s press officer, Carlota, jogged awkwardly across the turf toward the manager, holding a smartphone that was flashing incessantly. The head coach blew his whistle, signaling a water break.

Alexia wiped a layer of sweat from her forehead with the collar of her training shirt, jogging toward the bench to grab her water bottle.

"Alexia” Carlota said, her voice laced with an unusual, taut urgency. "Your phone. It’s been ringing non-stop for ten minutes. It’s an unknown number, but they left a voicemail saying it’s regarding a traffic incident on the Avinguda Diagonal."

Alexia froze. The water bottle in her hand suddenly felt like a block of lead.

The bike.

"Give me that” Alexia breathed, her voice dropping instantly. She snatched the phone from Carlota’s hands, her thumbs trembling as she tapped the screen to play the voicemail.

"Good morning, Señorita Putellas. This is Officer Morales from the Guàrdia Urbana de Barcelona. We are currently at the intersection of Avinguda Diagonal and Carrer de Numància. The registered owner of a BMW motorcycle, who has you listed as her primary contact, has been involved in a collision with a delivery van. She is conscious, but emergency medical services are preparing to transport her to Hospital Clínic..."

Alexia didn't hear the rest of the message.

The blood roared in her ears, loud and deafening, drowning out the chatter of her teammates and the distant hum of the facility. Her heart slammed against her ribs with a violent, agonizing thud. The nightmare, the dark, suffocating scenario she had rehearsed in her mind every single time you rode away on that black machine had materialized into cold, sharp reality.

"Ale? What is it?" Mapi asked, stepping closer, catching the sudden, ghost-like pallor of Alexia’s face. "Ale, you look like you’re going to faint."

"Y/N” Alexia gasped, the word tearing out of her throat. She gripped Mapi’s shoulder, her knuckles turning bone-white. "She crashed. She crashed the bike."

"Jesus” Mapi swore, her eyes widening. "Is she…"

"I have to go. I have to go right now” Alexia panicked, dropping her water bottle on the turf. She turned around wildly, practically sprinting toward the dressing rooms. "I need my keys! I need my bag!"

"Alexia, wait!" the head coach called out, stepping into her path. "Where are you going? We have match video analysis in twenty minutes!"

"My girlfriend is in an ambulance!" Alexia screamed back, her authority so absolute, her desperation so raw that the entire coaching staff shrank back. "I am leaving! I don't care about the video!"

She sprinted into the locker room, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her breathing was ragged, shallow, bordering on hyperventilation. She yanked off her football boots, practically ripping the laces, shoved her feet into a pair of trainers, and grabbed her keys.

As she ran toward the car park, her fingers fumbled frantically over her phone screen. She tapped a speed-dial contact.

"Ale?" her younger sister, Alba, answered cheerfully on the second ring. "What's up? I thought you were training"

"Alba, listen to me!" Alexia sobbed, her voice breaking completely as she unlocked her car with a double-beep. She threw herself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door. "Y/N crashed the bike! On Diagonal!"

"What?!" Alba gasped on the other end. "Oh my god, is she okay?!"

"I don't know! They are taking her to hospital!" Alexia wept, her hands trembling violently as she pressed the engine start button. "Alba, please, I need you to do something for me. I can't go to the crash site, I have to go straight to the hospital or I will lose my mind."

"Tell me what to do, Ale. I'm leaving the house now” Alba said, her tone instantly shifting into operational mode.

"Call a tow truck” Alexia instructed, her voice cracking as she reversed out of the parking bay at dangerously high speed. "Go to the corner of Diagonal and Numància. Pay whatever the police or the tow driver want. Just... get that bloody bike off the street and get it taken straight to the BMW mechanics. Do not leave it in a police compound, Alba. Do not let them scrap it. Y/N... Y/N loves that stupid thing."

"I'm on it, Ale. I'll call Eli too, and we'll handle the bike and meet you at the hospital” Alba reassured her. "Drive carefully, please! Don't get into an accident yourself!"

"I am going” Alexia choked out, ending the call, slamming her foot onto the accelerator, and tearing out of the Joan Gamper gates like a woman possessed.

-

The drive through Barcelona traffic was a blur of frantic lane changes, laying on the horn, and steady, silent weeping. By the time Alexia abandoned her car in an emergency bay outside Hospital Clínic, her hands were slick with cold sweat and her eyes were bloodshot.

She burst through the sliding glass doors of the Emergency Department, practically lunging over the reception desk.

"Y/N Y/LN” Alexia demanded, her voice hoarse, her chest heaving under her sweat-damp FC Barcelona tracksuit. "She was brought in by ambulance twenty minutes ago. A motorcycle accident."

The triage nurse looked up, recognizing the global football star immediately, though Alexia looked so utterly distraught that all professional distance dissolved. "Room 314, down the hall to the right. The doctor is currently reviewing her X-rays."

Alexia didn't wait. She sprinted down the linoleum-tiled corridor, her trainers squeaking loudly, until she reached the sign for Room 314.

She pushed the door open.

You were sitting on the edge of an examination bed, wearing a hospital gown that was entirely too big for you. Your face was pale, smudge-marked with grease and street dust, and a small butterfly bandage was plastered over your left cheekbone. Your right arm was suspended in a heavy blue sling, bound tightly against your chest.

Most notably, you were sniffling softly, tears running down your cheeks, looking entirely small, pathetic, and deeply feeling sorry for yourself.

The moment the door swung open and Alexia stood there—wild-eyed, sweating, looking like she had just survived a war—your lower lip began to tremble violently.

"Ale..." you whimpered, your voice small, high-pitched, and childish.

The sheer wave of relief that crashed over Alexia was so violent it nearly brought her to her knees. You were alive. You had all four limbs. You were breathing.

And then, in the span of a single heartbeat, the terrifying relief transmuted into pure, unadulterated, scorching rage.

Alexia marched across the room, her eyebrows pulled down into a terrifying, lethal line, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

"Are you completely out of your mind?!" Alexia roared, her voice echoing off the sterile tiled walls.

You flinched, pulling your head back, your eyes widening in shock. "Ale"

"Do not 'Ale' me!" Alexia shouted, pointing an accusing finger right at your nose. "Do you have any idea what I just went through?! I was in the middle of training! I had to abandon my team, I had to drive like a maniac across the city, thinking you were dead! Thinking I was going to walk into a morgue!"

"It wasn't my fault!" you whimpered, tears pouring down your cheeks freely now. "A delivery van pulled out of a side street without looking! I had to lay the bike down or I would have gone straight through his windshield!"

"I told you!" Alexia screamed, tears finally spilling over her own eyelashes as she paced frantically beside the bed. "I told you six hundred times that machine is a death trap! I told you people in this city do not look for motorcycles! But no, you never listen to me! You think you are invincible! You think you are a hero on your big, stupid monster! Look at you! Look at what you’ve done to yourself!"

You stared at her, your chest heaving with silent, wounded sobs. The pain in your right shoulder was a deep, nauseating throbbing, and having the love of your life stand over you screaming was more than your fragile, shocked state could handle.

"You know what?" you choked out, turning your face away, staring stubbornly at the wall. "If you came here just to yell at me while I'm hurt... then you can go. I don't want you here."

Alexia stopped dead in her tracks. "What did you just say?"

"I said leave!" you sobbed, your voice cracking pathetically. "I am in horrible pain, my shoulder feels like it's been smashed with a hammer, I'm scared, and you are standing there making it all about your anger! If you're just going to lecture me, get out! Call my mom or let me be alone!"

The sharp, defensive words hung heavy in the cold hospital air.

Alexia stared at you. She looked at the small bandage on your cheek, the way your left hand was trembling as you tried to wipe your tears without moving your injured shoulder, and the sheer, raw vulnerability radiating from every line of your posture.

The anger drained out of her all at once, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache of guilt.

Alexia let out a long, shuddering breath. She closed her eyes, pressed her palms over her face, and took a deep, steadying breath. When she opened her eyes again, the fiery, terrifying Captain of Barcelona was gone. In her place was just Alexia—your girlfriend, entirely devoted and desperately in love with you.

She stepped softly to the side of the bed.

"Y/N..." she whispered gently, her voice cracking.

You didn't look at her, keeping your head turned toward the blank wall, sniffling pathetically.

Alexia slowly sank to her knees beside the hospital bed, bringing herself down to your eye level. She reached out with infinite care, her long, warm fingers wrapping gently around your left, uninjured hand, pulling it off your lap.

"I am sorry” Alexia whispered, pressing a long, lingering kiss to the back of your knuckles, her tears wetting your skin. "I am so, so sorry, mi vida. I was just... I was so terrified. I have never been so scared in my whole life. When I got that phone call, my heart stopped."

You slowly turned your head to look down at her. Her golden-brown eyes were shining with tears, filled with pure, unconditional love and remorse.

"It hurt really bad, Ale” you whimpered, your pout returning tenfold now that she was being soft. "My collarbone feels broken."

"I know, baby. I know” Alexia soothed, standing up gently, being careful not to bump the bed. She leaned over, pressing a soft, prolonged kiss to your forehead, then to the bandage on your cheek, then finally to your lips, tasting the salt of your tears. "The doctor is going to fix it. I am right here. I am not going anywhere. I am sorry for yelling."

"My shoulder really hurts” you sniffled, leaning your head against her stomach, letting her wrap her arms securely around your head and back.

"I know, my sweet baby” Alexia murmured, running her hands through your messy, dusty hair. "You are safe now. I’ve got you."

A knock on the door broke the moment. Dr. Morales, an orthopedic specialist, walked in holding a digital tablet.

"Bona tarda” the doctor said, glancing between you two. "Señorita Y/LN, we’ve reviewed your X-rays. You have a displaced fracture of the right clavicle. It’s broken into three distinct pieces."

Alexia gasped softly, her hand tightening over your left shoulder. "Does she need surgery?"

"Yes” the doctor confirmed. "We need to perform an open reduction and internal fixation—essentially, inserting a small titanium plate and six screws to realign the bone. If we don't, it will heal deformed and severely limit her shoulder mobility."

Your face went completely pale. "Surgery? Tomorrow?"

"First thing tomorrow morning” Dr. Morales nodded. "We’ll admit you to the inpatient ward today, get you started on intravenous pain management, and prep you for the operating theatre at eight in the morning."

You looked up at Alexia, your lower lip quivering again. "Ale... they're going to cut me open."

"Hey, hey” Alexia whispered instantly, leaning down to frame your face with her hands. "It's a very standard procedure, my love. Titanium is strong. You'll be like a superhero."

"A broken superhero” you grumbled pathetically.

"A very spoiled, cute superhero” Alexia corrected softly, kissing your nose. "Now, do you need to use the toilet before they move you to the room?"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah... actually, I really do. But I can't stand up without my shoulder hurting."

"I will help you” Alexia said without a second of hesitation.

She helped you slide off the high bed, taking your entire weight on her left side, anchoring you firmly against her powerful, athletic frame. She walked you slowly across the room to the small bathroom, holding the door open, unbuttoning your hospital gown with gentle, deliberate fingers, helping you adjust your clothing with zero hesitation or awkwardness.

She washed your hands for you under the warm tap water, drying them carefully with a paper towel, treating you like a precious glass statue that might shatter at any moment.

"See?" Alexia murmured, guiding you back to the bed as the nurses arrived with a wheelchair to transport you upstairs. "We are a team. I’m taking care of you."

"You're very nice when you aren't screaming at me” you murmured, offering a tiny, exhausted grin.

Alexia rolled her eyes affectionately, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Don't get used to it, monster driver."

The surgery took two hours.

Alexia spent those two hours pacing the surgical waiting lounge like a caged panther, ignoring texts from her agent, her coach, and the media. Alba and Eli sat nearby, bringing her coffee that she left untouched.

By midday, you were wheeled into Room 412 of the surgical recovery ward. The surgery had been a technical success—the titanium plate was securely in place—but as the local nerve block began to wear off late that evening, reality set in.

By ten o'clock at night, the atmosphere in the quiet hospital room turned harrowing.

You lay in the high-tech hospital bed, your right arm bound tightly in a rigid, post-operative sling. The surgical anesthesia was completely out of your system, and in its place was a white-hot, agonizing wave of pain that seemed to radiate from your collarbone straight into your neck and spine.

To make matters worse, your body was reacting violently to the trauma of the surgery. Your skin was flushed, hot to the touch, and drenched in a cold, clammy sweat.

"Ale..." you groaned, your voice raspy, turning your head frantically on the stiff pillow. "Ale, it's burning. It feels like someone is holding a blowtorch to my shoulder."

Alexia was out of her armchair in an instant. She stepped to the side of the bed, pressing a cool, wet washcloth against your burning forehead. Her face was pale with deep worry.

"Shh, mi vida, I know, I know” Alexia murmured, her thumb gently wiping a bead of sweat from your nose. "The doctor said the first twenty-four hours would be the worst. Try to breathe through it."

"I can't” you whimpered, tears pouring out of the corners of your closed eyes. "The pain meds aren't working! Please, Ale, tell them to give me something else! Call the nurse!"

Alexia pressed the call button on the bed remote three times in rapid succession.

A tired night nurse walked into the room a minute later. "Yes, Señorita Putellas?"

"She is in absolute agony” Alexia begged, her voice laced with desperate authority. "Her fever is thirty-eight point eight, she’s dripping with sweat, and she’s crying from the pain. Please, give her another dose of morphine."

The nurse walked over to the IV pole, checking the digital pump and the chart hanging at the foot of the bed. She shook her head sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, Señorita” the nurse said softly. "She received her maximum allowable dose of IV morphine forty minutes ago. If I administer any more, her respiratory system could slow down to dangerous levels. Her body has to process the medication currently in her system."

"You can't just leave her like this!" Alexia demanded, her voice rising in protective fury, her inner Captain taking over. "Look at her! She’s delirious! There must be an alternative analgesic you can use!"

"We have already administered paracetamol intravenously to manage the fever” the nurse explained patiently. "We cannot give her any further narcotics until four in the morning. I am very sorry, but my hands are tied. I can bring more ice packs."

"Ice packs?!" Alexia scoffed, her hands going to her hips. "She has a titanium plate screwed into her bone!"

"Ale... please” you whimpered from the bed, your voice weak, trembling violently as a fresh spasm of pain shot through your collarbone. "Don't fight... just stay here."

Alexia looked at you, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. She dismissed the nurse with a stiff nod, walked back to the bed, and carefully climbed onto the narrow mattress beside you.

She didn't care about hospital rules. She lay on your left side, hovering over you, being immensely careful not to touch your right shoulder. She wrapped her left arm gently around your waist, pulling your shivering, sweating body as close to hers as safely possible.

She took the wet washcloth, gently stroking your face, your neck, your cheeks, humming a soft, rhythmic Catalan lullaby against your temple.

"I'm right here, baby” Alexia whispered, her own tears falling softly onto your shoulder. "Hold onto me. Focus on my voice. Breathe with me. In... and out."

You buried your face into the warm crook of her neck, smelling her familiar, comforting scent beneath the sharp smell of antiseptic. Every time a spike of pain racked your frame, you squeezed her waist with your left hand, letting out ragged, pathetic whimpers.

And Alexia stayed right there, unmoving, keeping watch over you through the long, agonizing hours of the night, calling the nurses four more times just to check your vitals, refusing to sleep a single second until the clock finally struck four in the morning and the next dose of pain relief was administered.

-

By Saturday afternoon, the hospital discharged you into Alexia’s care. Armed with a box of oral painkillers—which were decidedly less potent than the IV narcotics—a heavy shoulder immobilizer, and strict instructions for bed rest, you arrived back at the estate in Pedralbes.

The transition from hospital to home was brutal.

The moment the car ride ended and you walked into the warm, sunlit living room, the sheer physical exhaustion caught up with you. But your body was grimyt, covered in hospital disinfectant, tape residue, and sweat from the feverish night.

"I feel disgusting” you grumbled pathetically, sitting on the edge of the large living room sofa, holding your immobilized right arm tightly against your ribs. "I smell like a pharmacy."

Alexia set your bag of prescriptions on the coffee table, turning to look at you with endless tenderness. She had changed into a comfortable pair of grey sweatpants and a tight black tank top, her hair pulled into a messy bun.

"Come on” Alexia said softly, walking over and reaching out her hand. "Let's get you cleaned up. I'll help you take a shower."

"I can't get the bandage wet, Ale” you whimpered, looking down at the heavy waterproof dressing covering your collarbone.

"I will be very, very careful” she promised, guiding you gently toward the master bathroom.

The master bathroom was large, featuring a spacious walk-in rainfall shower with a built-in marble bench. Alexia turned on the taps, testing the water temperature with her wrist until it was perfectly warm. She pulled a plastic waterproof sleeve over your shoulder dressing, taping the edges down securely.

Then, with infinite patience, she began to undress you.

She gently unbuttoned your shirt, sliding the fabric off your uninjured left arm first, then carefully guiding it off your right side without disturbing the sling. She unzipped your trousers, helping you step out of them, until you were standing naked in the soft light of the bathroom.

You felt deeply self-conscious, pale, bruised, and helpless, but Alexia’s eyes held nothing but pure, unconditional adoration.

She guided you into the shower, sitting you down comfortably on the warm marble bench. She took the detachable showerhead, keeping the water stream low, directing it over your legs, your stomach, and your left arm, completely avoiding your right shoulder.

"Does that feel nice?" Alexia murmured, kneeling on the wet tile outside the shower door, her own sweatpants getting damp.

"Mmm... yeah” you sighed, closing your eyes as the warm water washed away the hospital grime. "Feels amazing."

She took a bottle of your favourite coconut-scented body wash, lathering it up between her palms. She stroked her hands gently over your back, your chest, washing you with deep, reverent care. She washed your hair, massaging your scalp with her long, strong fingers, rinsing the soap out so carefully that not a single drop touched your bandage.

When you were completely clean, she wrapped a massive, fluffy bath towel around your body, helping you stand up, drying you off with gentle, pressing motions.

She brought you into the bedroom, dressing you in an oversized, incredibly soft cotton t-shirt—one of her own—and a pair of loose drawstring shorts.

"Now” Alexia said, turning toward her wardrobe. "I am going to take a five-minute shower myself, because I smell like hospital corridors."

You instantly sat up on the edge of the bed, your left hand gripping the duvet, your face crumbling into an immediate, dramatic pout.

"No!" you whined loudly.

Alexia stopped, turning around with a baffled expression. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Don't leave me!" you demanded, looking at her with wide, pitiful eyes. "I don't want to be in here alone! What if I trip? What if my shoulder explodes?!"

Alexia stared at you, a soft, amused smile breaking through her tired features. "My love, I am going to be five meters away in the bathroom. The door will be wide open."

"I don't care!" you insisted, fully leaning into your needy, pampered state. "I want you right here! You can shower later!"

"Y/N, I haven't washed my skin properly since yesterday morning” she chuckled, shaking her head affectionately. "I need five minutes."

"Then bring a stool into the bathroom so I can sit and watch you!" you demanded stubbornly.

Alexia let out a loud, ringing laugh, the first genuine laugh she had let out in two days. "You are completely unhinged when you are injured. Absolute baby."

"Your baby” you sniffled, sticking your lower lip out.

"Fine, fine” Alexia surrendered smoothly, walking over to the bed, sliding under the duvet beside you, pulling you against her left side. "I will shower later. Lay down, mi vida."

"Kiss me first” you demanded softly.

Alexia leaned down, pressing her lips to yours in a deep, sweet, intoxicating kiss that smelled of coconut and warm skin. She wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you flush against her side, letting your head rest comfortably over her heart.

Within twenty minutes, the combination of warm water, clean clothes, and oral painkillers began to make your eyelids heavy. But every time your breathing slowed down and you began to drift off, a sudden jolt of pain from your shoulder would snap you awake, making you whimper softly against her chest.

"Shh” Alexia whispered into the dark room, her fingers stroking your arm continuously. "I'm right here. Go to sleep."

"It hurts, Ale” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep and medication. "The oral pills aren't as good as the hospital stuff."

"I know, baby. The doctor said you can take another dose at six o'clock. Try to rest."

"Will you stay?" you murmured, clutching her tank top with your left hand. "Promise you won't sneak out to do training drills in the garden?"

Alexia smiled into the quiet room, resting her chin on top of your head. "I promise. No football today. Just you."

You finally drifted off into a deep, heavy sleep, your chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm against her side.

Alexia stayed completely still for two hours, refusing to move an inch despite her left leg going completely numb under your weight. She just lay there in the quiet bedroom, watching you sleep, feeling the incredible, precious warmth of your body.

Carefully, using only her right hand, she reached over to the bedside table and grabbed her iPad.

She opened Safari. She navigated to a very specific, high-end automotive website.

She spent the next forty-five minutes carefully browsing through listings for brand-new, top-of-the-range electric mopeds and compact city scooters—vehicles with a maximum speed of forty-five kilometers per hour, complete with heavy-duty side airbags, roll bars, and state-of-the-art stability control.

She selected a sleek, matte-black electric scooter, added every single optional safety package available, and clicked 'Order'.

She set the iPad back on the table with a soft, satisfied smirk.

If my stubborn girlfriend insists on riding on two wheels in this city, Alexia thought to herself, pressing a soft kiss to your sleeping forehead, she is going to do it at thirty kilometers an hour, wrapped in bubble wrap, on a machine I bought her.

You stirred softly in your sleep, letting out a small, contented sigh, pulling yourself even closer into her warm embrace.

The last strike of the cane landed on your backside and you couldn't help but let out a breath of relief. 

You didn’t move, your breaths coming out in shallow gasps as you tried to regain some sort of a composure. 

“Good?” Asked Wanda as she moved to take the cuffs off of your wrists. They cuffed your arms behind your back at the beginning of the scene but by now you could barely feel anything, your limbs numb from no movement. 

“Yes.” You answered robotically.  

You didn’t enjoy it much, the cane. It left a sting that forced tears that had nothing to do with pleasure, but every ‘Color?’ was answered with ‘Green’.

You were far too afraid that if you told them you didn’t enjoy something they would end the arrangement and you would be left without an income. An income that you desperately needed to get by. Rent, tuition, food, none of that would pay itself. 

“I’m gonna go grab some lotion for her.” Muttered Natasha as she eyed you, unsure if you were just recovering from the intense canning or if something was genuinely wrong. 

Natasha and Wanda were good dominants, asked all the right questions, negotiated everything, though their care was more on the impersonal side. You were not their girlfriend or a wife. You were simply someone they paid for a good time. To be their little toy for the weekend and then go home. 

Every move, every word, every decision told you you were simply a person providing a service and nothing more. You were okay with that, that was what you signed up for after all. And they did pay you well, each sunday ending with a generous transaction. 

You only saw them through the weekend. They were far too busy with their company during the week and liked to keep their weekday evenings free for relaxation while you were left juggling school and your two other jobs throughout the day. 

You felt the mattress dip by your side as Wanda slowly stroked your hair. “I hope these are not sad tears.” She murmured. 

You shook your head immediately. “I liked it.” 

You did not. You wanted to stop before it even started. 

It was them who introduced you to the world of BDSM, though they weren’t really aware of it. You told them you were experienced. 

It wasn't like you hated everything. Being tied up was nice, especially when they edged you or overstimulated you. The paddle was fun too, hurting just enough to make you crave more, while slick covered the inside of your thighs. Being called a ‘good girl’ made you squirm and your hips buck more than anything else. You truly found a lot of it enjoyable, but there were certain aspects of it that made you want to hide away and cry, but you often found yourself saying ‘yes’ and ‘green’ even when your body yelled at you to say ‘stop’. This was a job after all. You were hired to be their submissive. To fulfil their needs as dominants. 

So when Natasha suggested the cane you said yes, just like always. You were here to please them, that’s what they were paying you for. The least you could do was say yes. 

“Got the lotion.” Said Natasha as she approached you and sat down on your other side. You heard her open the cap and squeeze some of it onto her palm, the sound more sharp than normal. “This is going to sting a bit.” She muttered. 

You gave her a small nod, just to show her you heard her, though the second her palm touched your aggravated skin you hissed sharply. Natasha was quick to pull her hand away. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, just stings.” You murmured, your voice strained. 

She only hesitated for a second, before her hand reached out again. “I know, the lotion will help. I promise.” 

The initial contact felt like being burned by fire, but you powered through and soon you were able to settle into the touch. The sting didn't immediately disappear, but it dulled enough to not make you whimper in pain. 

They gave you a few more minutes to rest, Wanda helped you roll onto your back and sit up, while Natasha handed you a bottle of water. They both watched carefully as you drank most of it, your mouth feeling like it was filled with sand. 

“Let’s get you to bed.” Said Wanda moments later as she helped you stand up. They had a special room where they did scenes, where they completely took you apart. Once everything was over they would always lead you to their guest room, while they quietly retreated to their own master bedroom. The simple gesture always left you feeling dirty, almost as if you weren’t worth their bed, but you knew the rules. This was strictly just sex, they were not looking for a companionship. 

Wanda helped you lay down when you reached the bed, while Natasha placed another bottle of water on the nightstand. “We’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything. Sleep well.” Said Wanda, her voice lowering. 

All I need is the money. 

“Good night.” You murmured as they closed the door to the guest room and the darkness engulfed you. You desperately tried to shake off the feeling of abandonment. You couldn't understand why you felt so down and shaken, you’ve done scenes you hadn’t really enjoyed that much before, but you were always fine. Why was this so different? 

Whatever. Nothing a bit of sleep won’t fix.  

You closed your eyes, hoping to will the sting away. The money you would receive tomorrow would make it all worth it. Even if you felt like a disgusting, used piece of toy. 

You hadn’t felt this disgusted with yourself since this arrangement started. That first night with them leaving you to question all your morals but you truly had no choice. 

______________

The end of your junior year was approaching quickly and with that the last tuition payment as well. You had it all under control, until you didn’t. 

The past three years were spent running between school in the morning, waitressing in the evening and bartending during the night. It was a lot and you barely had enough time to breathe, but you managed to pay the bills that needed to be paid, though you were often left with barely enough money to afford food. Sometimes all you had left was 20$, and sometimes you managed to save enough to feel like royalty, though you guessed actual royalty felt much different than you did. 

And then it all came crashing down on you in February. Your landlord unexpectedly raised the rent, which meant you had to pick up even more shifts. That was somehow manageable, but then your laptop broke down. And that was truly your downfall. You were in university, you needed a laptop to survive, but the repair cost so much you didn’t have enough for the upcoming tuition installment. 

You paid what you could, leaving a small amount of money in your bank account to afford some food, and promised yourself you would make up for it next month. The next month was the same, and your balance showed you were still almost one full tuition payment short. 

You worked hard to pay it off, and yet, when May arrived and it was time to pay the rest of the tuition off you were more than 2000$ short. 

Then one monday you received an email. Your hands shook and your heart stopped beating for a second as you saw the title. 

Final Notice: Outstanding Tuition Balance

You hesitated for a second before you opened it, wishing you could just pretend it didn't exist, but you knew that was not how life worked. You simply couldn’t run away from it. 

Tears gathered in your eyes as you opened the email. You couldn’t even read the whole message but the most important information stood out clearly. 

Outstanding balance of 4500$.

Failure to meet the deadline might result in a suspension of enrolment. 

By Monday, 25th of May, 1:00 PM. 

You had less than 7 days to get over 2000$. No amount of extra shifts was ever going to solve this, but you still tried asking. Both of your bosses turned you down, claiming there were no extra shifts to give. 

You tried asking for an extension too, claiming it was an extraordinary issue and that by September everything would be paid off. They turned you down too. 

The emergency loan didn’t work out either. 

You could drop out, that would technically make the problem disappear, but you didn’t want to give up now. You had one more year to get through and then you would finally be out of this mess. 

Just when it seemed like this would be the only way to get out of this situation, you overheard two girls talking in the lecture hall while you waited for your morning lecture to start. 

“Ugh, there’s this cute handbag I want to get, but I can’t fucking afford it.” Whined one of the girls. The sound made you wince, you could already tell what type of person she was and it made you despise her before even talking to her. 

“Show me.” Gasped the other girl, curious to see what it could possibly look like. The first girl swiftly pulled out her phone, the webpage with the handback already loaded as she turned the screen towards her friend. 

“It’s so cute though.” Dreamed the other girl, her eyes shining with adoration. 

“Yeah, look at the price.” Scoffed the first girl, the unhappiness clearly written across her face.  

Her friend gasped as she handed her the phone back. “Oh shit girl, that’s worth at least like one kidney.” 

The first girl whined again, the sound cutting through your head. “I know! Fuck it, I need to get myself a sugar daddy. That would solve everything.” 

They both laughed, obviously understanding it was just a harmless joke, but to you it sounded like salvation. 

The idea disgusted you. You were a lesbian, and having to interact with a man that you were not interested in at all left a bad taste in your mouth but you were desperate. 

Maybe we could just talk. Some of them just want dinner and that’s it, right?

You had less than 5 days left, you had to do something. 

That night you searched through the internet. Most of the websites felt much like a scam or straight up like a prostitution website but then you came across the one that would change everything for you. 

SugarDatingNYC

You clicked on it and you were surprised to see the simple, professional design. It seemed more like a corporate webpage rather than a place where one could pay someone for their time. 

The initial link only showed the basics. How it worked. Verification. Rules.

You didn’t see anyone’s profile. You needed your own profile for that. 

You didn’t immediately clink the ‘Sign Up’ button. You couldn’t believe you let yourself get to this point. There was nothing wrong with sex work, if that was what one wanted to do then good for them. But this was not the future you envisioned for yourself. Having to sell yourself just to afford basic necessities. 

You stared at the screen blankly for a few minutes, but your desperation won in the end. You did not want to be kicked out of the school. 

You signed up, but left your profile blank, your profile picture empty. You did not want anyone to see you on a webpage like this. You told yourself you would just look through to see who was on it, how much money they were offering for what type of stuff. 

Some just wanted to text, some wanted pictures, some wanted actual dinners. The money was nice but nowhere near enough compared to what you really needed. 

Then you looked at the profiles of people who wanted something more, something physical, and that’s when you found prices that would actually solve your issue, but the thought made you nauseous. Most of them were men, the profiles filled with sleazy photos and creepy descriptions, the language making you wince. 

No, you did not want to be a slave that would serve her master or a sex toy that would do anything for her daddy. 

No money was worth this. 

And then you stumbled upon their profile. Natasha and Wanda. A Married couple, both dominant, looking for a submissive, women only. Their profile was clean, professional, and it felt like finding a needle in a haystack. 

They wanted a dinner first, to discuss preferences and boundaries, promising a generous compensation. 1500$. It wasn’t enough but it was better than nothing and their profile was the only one that did not make you want to curl into a corner and cry. 

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard, wondering what you should write. Each message left unfinished before you deleted it. Frustrated, you put the phone away, deciding to let it be for now. 

The next morning you woke up even more drained than usual. School, work, another work, all of it passed with you barely noticing, your brain working on autopilot. Soon you were in the same place as yesterday, laying in bed and staring at that damn webpage. You found their profile again.

You pondered, but then you finally made the decision. You truly needed the money and there really was no time to waste. It didn’t matter to you that you weren’t a submissive. Or at least you weren’t aware of it. You weren’t totally clueless, you knew one side had control and the other didn’t, you knew people liked being tied up, liked being hit, but you’ve never tried it before so you couldn’t really tell if that was something you were into. It didn’t matter though. If they wanted a submissive, they would get one. 

You redid your profile, added a picture, a description, perfectly tailored the profile to what they wanted, adjusting the language over and over again to match their tone. 

And then you messaged them, your hands shaking with nerves. 

Hi, I really like your profile. Would you be up for a meet up? I’m available any time. 

You didn’t expect a quick response, after all it was middle of the night, and perhaps they didn’t even visit the website that often. You put the phone away as your heart beat dramatically. You couldn’t believe you’ve done this. You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but your current situation left you feeling restless. It wasn’t until your alarm was almost about to go off that your brain finally decided to quiet down. 

You checked the webpage the second you opened your eyes and you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed to find your message unanswered. They hadn’t seen it yet, which was a good sign, it at least meant they hadn't completely dismissed you, but it left you feeling uneasy. 

It was during the second lecture of the day, while the lecturer was setting up his presentation for the class that you decided to check the webpage again. Your eyes widened when you saw you got 2 new messages. 

Tonight, 8PM. Here’s the address. 

The second message was an address of a restaurant, which you immediately looked up. It was luxurious and expensive, located in a part of the city you don’t venture in accidentally. Clearly meant for wealthy people to visit.  

You were a bit startled to see there was no hello or an introduction, just a simple instruction with time and place. What if they’re serial killers? 

You shook the unwanted thoughts away and typed back.

I’ll be there. 

Your shift at the bar was supposed to start at 9 PM, there was no way you would be able to make it. You opened the chat with your boss and messaged him that you wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. 

_____________

“You think we should text her back?” Asked Wanda as she stared at the opened chat in Natasha’s phone. 

Natasha just shrugged her shoulders as she answered indifferently. “We can try. What do we have to lose?” 

“She seems eager.” Murmured Wanda thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, she probably wants the money.” Chuckled Natasha. She knew what the girls on these sorts of apps wanted. Easy money to buy luxurious stuff. It wasn’t like it bothered her, but she did find it humorous at times. 

“Let’s just meet up with her tonight, the worst that can happen is that she won’t show up.” Argued Natasha. 

“Okay.” Sighed Wanda, the excitement missing in her voice. 

They had a happy marriage, some would argue that it was too happy. They loved each other dearly and were more than enough for one another. But over the years their sexual desires grew, what started as a very vanilla sex slowly evolved into more kinkier stuff. However, that’s when they realized one important factor. Neither of them were truly submissive. Both of them could relinquish power every now and then, but the simple truth was that both women simply enjoyed being dominant more. 

It wasn’t a marriage ending type of issue for them, but they both secretly hoped for some sort of a solution. 

Neither of them expected for that solution to arrive so soon. 

They were hanging out with some of their friends, everyone in the circle having known each other for years at this point, which meant that no topic was too sensitive to discuss. 

It started off calmly, everyone simply catching up on what they’ve been up to lately, eating dinner and sharing wine. 

It was later that evening that the conversation turned into a very intense sexual discussion, each friend spilling one confession after another. Wanda and Natasha kept quiet, not revealing much about their own sexual escapades, since they preferred to keep that private. 

That didn’t last long as suddenly one friend turned to the married couple and bluntly asked. “So, who’s the dominant one?”

Both women stared in shock, not really sure what to say. “Uh, I mean, we both are?” Answered Wanda, her voice hesitant. 

“What do you mean?” Asked another friend, placing her elbows on the table as she stared at them intensely, smirk adoring her face. She was always the one that loved winding people up, and she was thoroughly enjoying this moment. 

“Well, we can both sub, but we both prefer being on the dominant side.” Answered Wanda again, a bit more sheepish. 

“So how does that work then?”

“It works just fine, thanks for asking.” Clipped Natasha, clearly getting tired of being interrogated about something so personal. 

“Oh, come on Nat. Don’t be so uptight.” Teased another woman, but Natasha was quick to bite back. “I’m not uptight. This is just none of your business.” 

“It works fine, but if neither of us are up for subbing then we’re just sort of stuck. We still have fun but it just feels unbalanced sometimes. It's becoming a bit more frequent, but it’s okay.” Answered Wanda quickly but honestly, hoping to close the topic. 

“Get a sugar baby then, someone who would sub for you. People will do just about anything, if you offer them enough money.” A different friend answered indifferently, throwing the information at them so casually as if she was discussing the weather. 

“But we don’t want to open our marriage.” Argued Wanda, disgust clearly written across her face. Natasha’s face was no different, clearly not thrilled about the idea. 

“Then don’t. Open your bedroom. Keep it professional, just a simple transaction. They come over, you guys fuck and they leave. No need for any romance.” Shrugged the same friend.

“I don’t know, that doesn’t feel right.” Murmured Wanda as she looked away, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. 

“Give it some thought, hm? There are many websites meant exactly for this. This isn’t an unsolvable issue.” Said the friend as she offered them an honest smile, her look free of judgement. 

Natasha and Wanda didn’t open the topic that night again once they got home, choosing to let it sit for a bit. It was days later that Wanda decided to bring it up again, approaching her wife and confessing she was willing to give it a try if it was strictly a sex only arrangement. Nothing more.  

They had a thorough conversation about it, clearly laying down boundaries and what they both expected from it. And after that, they started doing their research, looking over different websites to use, neither of them were completely comfortable with it, but they figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

They searched through many websites, but none of them felt right enough until they found that specific one. It seemed professional, or at least as professional as it could be and they both quickly agreed to set up their profile there. 

They chose to keep it simple, only sharing what was necessary, there was nothing sexual to it, nothing suggestive, the whole profile looking close to a CV. 

And then…nothing. 

They didn’t reach out to anyone. The idea of reaching out to young girls and offering them money for sexual services felt predatory to them. So they just had their profile there, finding new messages from a few people every now and then, but none of it ever really worked out. 

It wasn’t like either of them was really disappointed, since neither of them truly believed it would work out. So they just left the profile there, deciding to just check if there was anything new every now and then. 

And then they found you, or rather, you found them. 

Were you, perhaps, going to be the solution to their problem? 

_______________

You almost backed out about 10 times before you finally got on a train to go to the restaurant. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. What would your younger self think? 

Your leg bounced uncontrollably the whole way there, and you kept considering just getting out of the train and leaving, but you needed the money. 

It’s fine. It’s just a conversation tonight. I don’t have to do anything with them. 

The walk from the station to the restaurant felt endless and too quick at the same time. You became increasingly more anxious the closer you got, your hands shaking in their pockets and your breathing laboured.

You showed up to the restaurant exactly 10 minutes early, wanting to appear professional, or as professional as you could be in a situation like this. 

You weren’t surprised to already see the married couple sitting by the table, recognizing them from the picture on their profile. They both seemed like the type to arrive at places early. You weren’t sure if you were glad to show up after them or not, approaching them felt weird, but sitting there and having them approach you would feel weird too. 

You walked closer carefully, internally trying to convince yourself to not run away. You kept walking until you stood directly in front of them, their eyes raised as they sensed a new presence and you suddenly felt even more shy at their intense stares. You hid your arms behind your back, not wanting them to see the intense tremor. 

“Hi, I-, I’m the one from the website. It’s nice to meet you.” You said, your voice shaking, as you tried to sound as polite as possible. 

“Hello. I’m Wanda.” Said the first woman and then nodded her head towards the empty chair to your left. “Sit down.” 

Your eyes darted to the other woman who simply offered. “Natasha.” 

You nodded as you pulled the chair back and sat down, it was then that you allowed yourself to look around and admire the restaurant’s interior. It felt and looked expensive, and you could tell the only thing you would be able to afford here would be a cup of water. Maybe not even that. 

“I-, uh, I don’t really know where to start-” You murmured frantically, wanting to fill the silence but Wanda was quick to interrupt you. “That’s okay. Let’s just keep it simple, hm? Choose something to eat, our treat.” 

Her voice was melodic, and so soft you found yourself nodding without even realizing it. You picked up the menu carefully and scanned what was inside. You weren’t surprised to see that you didn’t know the majority of the dishes, everything expensive and way over the top for a regular person. 

“Wine?” Asked Natasha when the waitress brought the bottle to the table.

“Sure.” You nodded absentmindedly. Alcohol was probably what you needed. 

“Did you choose something?” Asked Wanda after a few minutes and you nodded shyly as you showed her what you wanted. She offered you a gentle nod in response as she smiled. 

No one said anything while you waited for the waitress to come get your orders and you were desperate to fill the awkward silence. Though it seemed like you were the only one who felt the awkward atmosphere because the two older women seemed entirely at ease, almost as if this was no different than just a casual dinner with a friend they hadn’t seen in a while. 

Natasha ordered for all of you once the waitress got to your table, Wanda only making an occasional comment with few adjustments, while you sat quietly, playing anxiously with your fingers in your lap. 

Once the waitress left Natasha cleared her throat and spoke, her voice low. “So, what do you want out of this?” 

“I just-, I want money.” You murmured as you winced internally, shame washing over your whole body. 

I sound like a slut. 

“That we can do.” Chuckled Wanda, and her little teasing comment eased something in you.

Maybe you didn’t need to feel so ashamed. They were here for the same thing, they wanted this too. 

“Look, I know this is weird. Believe me, this isn’t what we typically do on a friday evening either, but this is just a conversation, okay? No pressure, we just talk and see where it goes.” Said Wanda, her lips pulled into a tiny but genuine smile. 

“Okay.” You nodded, unable to not return the smile. 

They didn’t ask you much about who you were or why exactly you were doing this, all they wanted to know was that you were all on the same page. They asked you if you had any experiences with BDSM and you nodded immediately, wanting them to believe you were the perfect fit. 

You continued the conversation as you ate, though most of it consisted of them explaining what they wanted from this while you nodded along. They didn’t go into great detail, mostly just clarifying that this was a sex only arrangement to them, it was to remain absolutely discreet, that you were to see no one else during this arrangement for safety purposes and that each night spent together would end with a payment of 3000$. 

Your eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when you heard how much money they would pay you. That would be more than enough to pay off the tuition. 

“Are you still interested?” Asked Natasha as she raised her eyebrows at you, not being able to hide her smirk.  

“Very.” You nodded immediately, earning yourself a chuckle from her. 

Wanda clasped her hands together, closing the conversation. “Well, for now, I think we talked enough. Would you like to come over tomorrow? We can discuss this in more detail, find some common ground and sign a contract.” 

“I-, yeah, sure. That works.” You said as you took a sip of the wine, both surprised and relieved to see this moving along so fast. The sooner this happened, the sooner you would get the money. If they kept their promise you would still get money tonight, but it wouldn’t be enough to pay off everything. 

With that Natasha stood up to go pay, while Wanda led you outside and made sure to exchange your phone numbers, reminding you to send them your bank account number as well. 

Wanda immediately replied to your message with an address. “This is our place. Be there tomorrow at 8 PM, okay?” 

“Of course.” You nodded politely, which made Wanda give you a gentle smile. “Perfect! It was nice meeting you.” 

“See you tomorrow.” Said Natasha as she returned, her hand moving to rest on Wanda’s lower back. They looked good together, almost as if they were from the front page of some expensive magazine. 

“See ya.” You said as you waved your hand awkwardly and quickly turned around in the direction of the train station, desperately needing to escape. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with them, they didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. They were professional but polite. It was the idea of this arrangement that made you feel uneasy. 

You will feel even more uneasy when you get kicked out of the school. 

You watched the people pass you by as you stood at the platform, waiting for your train to arrive. You wondered quietly what they were up to tonight, whether they’ve also done something they never thought they would have to do. 

You felt your anxiety rise any time someone glanced your way, feeling like everyone could see right through you. 

They know what you did. They know your dirty little secret. 

You barely registered the train arriving or getting on it, your body suddenly working on autopilot. It was only half way through the journey that you finally woke up from whatever trance you were in, the sound of a new notification on your phone waking you up. You pulled it out of your pocket, wanting to check what it was. 

The color drained from your face when you saw. Wanda transferred the money. 1500$ just like that. 

You released a shaky breath, finally feeling like that weight was lifting off of your shoulders. And as you left the train station and pressed your card against the gate to pay for your ride you realized that dread didn’t fill you, the sound of the money leaving your bank account not leaving you shaken for once. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

______________

You stared in awe as your uber dropped you off in front of their house. Normally you wouldn't spend your money on an uber, choosing to save that money instead, but when you looked up a way to get there you were horrified to find out you would have to walk for about an hour after getting off of the train, the whole journey taking close to 2 hours, while the uber would only take about 30 minutes. The neighbourhood was apparently so high end that there was no public transport going there, everyone simply drove. 

You thanked the driver and got out, slowly making your way to their front door. You felt smaller and smaller as you approached their house. You briefly wondered if only the two of them lived there. You understood the want for luxurious things and that people liked to treat themselves when they could afford it, but a house of this size was simply ridiculous. It could easily house at least a dozen people, probably even more. 

You stood in front of the door for a few moments, debating if you should text them you were here or ring the bell. You chose the latter, feeling like it was a bit more polite. 

There was no response for a while, and you wondered if you should ring the bell again, but just as you were about to reach out the door opened swiftly, revealing Wanda.

“Well, hello there.” She greeted you with a smile adoring her face.

“Hi.” You replied, feeling shy under her intense gaze. 

“Come on, come inside.” She said as she stepped aside to let you in, revealing the enormous hallway decorated with furniture and numerous paintings.

You couldn’t hide the look of amazement, which Wanda noticed as she gave you an amused smile. “You like it?”

“It’s breathtaking.” You sighed. It felt surreal to stand in a place like this.

“Well, thank you. We are very proud of this place.” Said Wanda as she led you deeper into the house. There was a massive living room to your right and an even bigger kitchen to your left. That was where she led you, while Natasha was already waiting there.

“Hi.” You greeted her quietly, her presence a bit more intimidating than that of her wife. 

“Hello.” She replied promptly as she stood up and went to open one of the cupboards. “How are you?” 

“Good.” You murmured as your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeves. You felt unsure of yourself. You felt like you didn’t belong in this place and you weren’t sure if you should sit down or wait for them to tell you something.

“Nervous?” She asked teasingly as she glanced at you over her shoulder.

You let out a tiny chuckle as you nodded, your hands dropping to your side. “A bit.”

“I would offer you some wine, but I think it’s better if we’re all sober for this conversation. So, how about some water?” She asked as she turned to you completely, holding three glasses in her hands, waiting for your answer.

“Water works.” You murmured as you stood still and watched her place the glasses on the table that separated you. A jug filled with water already placed in the middle. 

She sat down then, staring at you expectantly.

“Sit down.” Said Wanda suddenly as she pulled away one of the chairs from the table before circling it, choosing to sit next to her wife. 

You felt as if you were in the middle of a job interview. When you thought about it that was basically what it was. You were applying for a job, hoping they would choose you.

“So, we discussed the money last night. That still stands if you agree.” Said Wanda as poured some water in a cup, placing it in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah. That's fine.” You nodded immediately. 

“We also discussed how we expected this arrangement to work. That hasn’t changed. But what we would like to go through now is exactly what we want to do within this arrangement.” Continued Natasha, to which you only gave a small nod, showing her you were listening.

“You said you’ve had experiences in BDSM before, right?” She questioned.

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“So, what have you tried so far?” Asked Wanda and you wavered momentarily. You couldn’t back out now, so you scattered your brain for some specific activities you could tell them you engaged in. 

“Uh, well, tying up, spanking…just the usual stuff.” You murmured, hoping to hide your cluelessness behind shyness. 

“It is okay if you haven’t tried something yet. Each scene will be discussed beforehand to ensure we all know what’s going to happen and if we’re all okay with that.” Wanda replied, sensing your uneasiness.

Natasha suddenly pulled out a stack of papers, picking a specific one and handing it to you. 

“This is a list of our preferences, what is okay and what is absolutely off the table. Take a second to look at it and then we can discuss.” Said Natasha, her tone suddenly turning strict.

You nodded as you grabbed the paper and quickly scanned its contents.

Hard limits and Preferences.

You went through the hard limits first. The list wasn’t long but it mostly contained kinks on the more extreme side. 

Age play, anything involving bodily fluids, knife play, breath play, rape play.

You were relieved to see those written in there, knowing that you would have a hard time engaging in these things if that was what they wanted from you.

Then you scanned the preferences. That list was longer. Much, much longer. Some of the things written in there scared you, but you plastered on a polite smile and looked up at them. 

“Seems okay.” You tell them, feigning confidence. 

“How do those hard limits seem to you?” Asked Wanda, her voice taking on a softer tone. 

“I-, uh, it’s okay. I don’t like any of that either.” You answered quickly.

“Anything on the other side that is a hard limit for you?” Natasha asked, her tone stern. 

“No.” You answered immediately. It’s been going well so far, you didn’t want them to throw you out now.

They both raised their eyebrows at that, clearly not convinced that you would be into the exact same things as them.

“I mean, I haven’t done all of it, but I’m willing to try.” You stuttered, feeling shy under their intense stares.

“All of it?” Asked Natasha, obviously trying to catch you out in a lie, but you weren’t going to give up that easily. 

“Yes.” You nodded confidently.

“Well, okay.” She muttered as she picked up another paper, this one carried the same title but the rest remained plain. “Write your hard limits and preferences here for us.” 

Fuck. You did not remember everything they had written in there.

The hard limits one was easy, the list short enough to be memorized in that short amount of time but you wouldn’t be able to write down an exact copy of their preferences.

You wrote as much as you could and handed the paper back to them. They both went through it carefully before placing it next to their own list. 

“Hm, almost an exact match, you only left out a few things.” Murmured Natasha as she raised her eyebrows. She proceeded to read aloud those that you left out but you already prepared an answer. “I haven’t tried those, but I want to.”

Wanda gave you a soft smile as she spoke. “Let’s put those under soft limits, hm? We can start with what you already know and then we can move on to something new if you feel up to it.”

I don’t know any of it.

“Okay.” You murmured.

Natasha cleared her throat as she began speaking again. “Now safe words. We use the traffic lights system. Green for keep going. Yellow for slow down or I need a break. Red for stop. Do you use anything else or would you like to use those?” 

“No, those are fine.” You said immediately. 

“We will have non-verbal safe words in place too. In case you cannot speak. We can do taps or squeezes or you can raise your fingers. One for green, two for yellow and three for red. It’s important that you remember this, but we will make sure to always remind you before any scene starts and there will be regular check-ins during the scenes too.” Wanda added, staring at you intensely.

You gave them a small nod but Natasha’s stern voice quickly interrupted you. “Words.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, slightly taken back. Strangely enough, it made warmth bloom in your stomach, your hips shifting unconsciously. “I-, yes, sure. I understand.”

The talk continued, words like aftercare and subspace thrown around but you didn’t pay that much attention anymore, robotically nodding and agreeing to everything. 

Then they talked about the scheduling. You were to come over every Friday at 8 PM, do a scene and then leave. The same on Saturday, while Sunday and the rest of the weekdays were to remain free for both sides. This meant you would have to cancel your waitressing shifts those days, the times simply not working out but you were okay with that. The amount they would pay you would more than make up for it. 

And then the last step. Signing the contract.

“This is mostly just a technicality. Just something to make sure that all sides are safe and that we all have something to fall on.” Clarified Wanda, but your hand still shook slightly as you held the pen in your fingers. You couldn’t mess up now. 

You read through it swiftly, not really caring what was in it but not wanting to appear careless in front of them. And then you signed it. 

“Well, that’s that.” Said Natasha as she took the paper from you, putting it on top of the other papers. 

“Are you up for a scene tonight?” Wanda asked suddenly, which earned her an immediate nod from you. 

“Are you sure?” She asked, wanting to make sure you weren’t lying, but you weren’t going to butch. You nodded again, trying to appear more sure of yourself. “Absolutely.” 

“Alright then, let’s go upstairs.” Said Natasha as she stood up abruptly, her voice carrying a hint of finality. 

They both walked towards the grand staircase and you immediately followed after them like a lost puppy. You weren’t surprised to see the numerous doors once you reached the upper floor, none of them open, quietly hiding what was behind. You all walked all the way until the end of the hallway and then stopped abruptly as Natasha pulled out a key from her pocket. 

“This is where all our scenes will take place.” Said Natasha as she finally unlocked the door, letting you step in first. You were speechless at the sight. The whole room was red and black, filled with various instruments and furniture, but you could tell each and every one of them served its purpose. Some of them looked like torture devices rather than something that was supposed to bring pleasure. A shiver ran through you at the thought of some of these things being used on you. 

You felt Wanda gently squeeze your shoulder, her voice low, but not judgemental. “Still want to keep going?” 

“Yeah…” You murmured. 

I want to run away.

“Okay. I promise we'll keep it simple tonight.” Replied Wanda as she led you to the middle of the room, stopping right in front of the enormous bed. There was no duvet or blanket on it, only two red satin pillows, the mattress made of leather as well.

She stood directly in front of you, while her fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt, but she made no move to take it off yet. 

You looked up at her expectantly, but she only gave you a small smile. “Can I take it off?” 

Your head moved before you could register it, frantically nodding in agreement, but that wasn’t enough for her. “Use your words.”

“I-, yeah, you can take it off.” You murmured, growing impatient, but that seemed to be enough for her as she began to undress you and soon you stood completely naked in front of her. She stepped slightly to the side, letting Natasha see you properly as well. 

It felt strange to stand naked in front of them, while they both remained completely clothed, the action leaving you to feel weirdly exposed and vulnerable. You had to fight the urge to hide, especially when you saw Natasha sitting down in a chair and looking at you so casually. 

It made you nervous, but more than that, it made you feel humiliated. Humiliated to admit that you liked it, slick slowly but surely covering the insides of your thighs. 

“Color?” Wanda asked carefully, stopping for a second to observe you. You gave her a small smile as you spoke. “Green.” 

She nodded in acknowledgement, but her eyes were already turning darker with mischief. “I’ll start first, just with my fingers and my mouth. Gotta get you ready for Natasha.” 

You nodded wordlessly, the blunt language making you blush. It was unbelievable how they could talk about something so sexual and dirty so casually, almost as if they were discussing what they would have for dinner. 

Wanda inched closer to you, which instinctively made you back up, your knees bending once they hit the bed, making you sit down clumsily. 

“Lay back.” You laid down slowly, looking up at Wanda with nervous eyes.

“Thighs apart.” She ordered again, her tone turning more stern as she continued speaking. Your thighs parted automatically, wanting to please her. 

“Good girl.” Your heart stopped beating for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You liked that more than you thought you would.

“Now make sure they stay there.” She added as she settled between your thighs, her lips beginning to pepper small kisses along the inside of your thighs. You squirmed a bit, finding it a bit ticklish, but your movements were quickly stopped when Wanda decided to bite down on the flesh, wordlessly warning you. It hurt, but it also made your pussy clench around nothing, making a small whine leave your lips. 

Suddenly you felt a single finger drag through your folds, ending at your clit, which made your hips buckle. “Hm, so wet already.” Mused Wanda, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. 

She teasingly pressed her finger against your clit, while she kept kissing and biting your thighs mindlessly. You tried to bite back your moans, feeling embarrassed about being so around when nothing even happened yet. 

“Don’t hold back. I want to hear it.” Said Wanda as she raised her head, beginning to slowly circle your clit, which made a moan come out of your mouth. Wanda smiled triumphantly. “That’s it.”  

Your head began to spin, and thoughts were becoming harder to string together. You’ve never felt anything like this before. 

You felt the bed dip by your side and you turned your head, finding Natasha sitting next to you, her legs crossed and face blank, though you could see a hint of something dangerously devilish in her eyes. 

Wanda stopped stroking your clit after a few moments, instead moving her thumb downwards before suddenly dipping it in your pussy. You yelped in surprise, your walls immediately squeezing around her thumb. 

“God, she’s soaked.” Murmured Wanda in awe as she looked up at Natasha. 

“I can see.” Mused Natasha, her fingers going to your nipples, mindlessly playing with them. 

Apparently Wanda was done playing around, because she pulled out her thumb only to push her index and middle finger in as her mouth latched onto your clit. Your back arched at the unexpected wave of pleasure, while moans spilled from your mouth. 

“That’s it. Good girl.” Murmured Natasha while her fingers kept softly pinching your nipples. 

Wanda kept switching between sucking on your clit and circling it with her tongue, while her fingers kept pressing against your g-spot. You could barely hold yourself together, the pleasure turning your brain into a soup. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed but you felt your pussy clench around Wanda’s fingers more and more as your moans kept getting louder. You knew what it meant. You were close, you were going to cum. 

All of a sudden, Wanda’s fingers stopped, her mouth pulling away from your clit and your eyes snapped open, tears threatening to spill. 

“I-, please, no…” You whined, your hips shifting over and over, despite Wanda trying to hold you still. 

“Are you begging?” Chuckled Natasha as her fingers unexpectedly pinched your nipple much harder than before, making you whine more.

“I-, uh, yeah…” You murmured, blush rising along your cheeks. 

“Well, then you need to do a better job than that, because you’re not convincing so far.” Said Natasha, which made you pout and your brain drift, which Wanda caught immediately. “Hey, color?”

“Green. I’m green. Just wanna cum.” You whined desperately as your hips buckled uncontrollably.  

“Well, you need to wait then. We like to take our time.” Said Wanda as she pulled her whole body away, her fingers slipping from your pussy, leaving you empty and desperate. She settled on your side instead, while Natasha stood up abruptly. 

“You’ve taken a strap before, right?” She asked, waiting for a response.

“Yes.” 

No. You’ve only ever taken fingers. 

Natasha nodded bluntly as she opened one of the draws, pulling out a strap and a harness, the sight making your mouth water and your pussy clench. You wondered if it was going to hurt, anxiety washing over you all of a sudden. You could only hope your face didn’t give it away, as you had absolutely no strength to hide it. 

She pulled the harness up and secured it swiftly, her movements clearly impatient. You looked up at Wanda, who stroked your hair, letting your poor, sensitive nipples rest. 

You felt Natasha kneel between your thighs, and you looked back at her. She held the strap in her palm and slowly but firmly stroked it against your clit, not putting in yet.  

“Color?” She asked and you were quick to answer. “Green.” 

She slowly started to put it in, bit by bit, letting you adjust to the size. You held your breath as you felt the sting of your pussy being stretched uncomfortably, but Natasha suddenly stopped and instead stroked your clit, which made you moan and your hips buck, forcing the strap deeper. 

She kept stroking your clit as she started to push it all the way inside and then stilled once it was all in, letting you adjust. Your legs squirmed as waves of pleasure kept washing over you. 

She started to pull out, but when she was about halfway out she pushed back in, slowly starting to fuck into you, her movements slow but deep. She got rougher as few moments passed, slowly starting to fuck you faster, but it was still relatively slow. Definitely nowhere near enough to make you cum, just enough to be pleasurable and to make your head feel like it was empty. 

But then suddenly her movements got faster, her hips slamming into you at an impossible speed, her thumb harshly stroking your clit. It made your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and you could tell you were close again. 

You let out a small scream mixed with a moan, choking out. “I-, fuck! I’m gonna cum!” 

Natasha’s eyes turned dark as she sternly clipped back. “No.” 

You let out a desperate whimper. “Please…” 

She sped up even more. “Ask me nicely.” 

“Ple-, fuck! Please, please can I cum?” You whined, almost screaming. 

She didn’t grant you an answer immediately, wanting to torture you just for a moment longer, enjoying that look of desperation in your eyes. She sped up her movements instead. And just when one single tear finally fell from your eye she spoke.  

“Cum.” Ordered Natasha, and you could’ve sworn you passed out in that moment. Your pussy kept pulsing for what felt like an eternity and a mix of moans and whimpers kept leaving your mouth. Your hips kept bucking uncontrollably while Natasha kept stroking your clit, her strap buried deep in you, hoping to prolong your orgasm. 

It was only when your whines increased in pitch that she finally stopped moving her finger along your clit, noticing you were becoming overstimulated. She gave you a few moments to calm down before mumbling something about pulling out, but you paid her no mind. 

Moments passed, but your breaths kept coming out laboured, while your mind remained empty. All you felt was someone draping a blanket over you and a hand gently stroking your hair. 

Suddenly Wanda spoke as she helped you raise your head, an object made of plastic pressing against your lips. “Have some water.” You drank eagerly, feeling like you hadn’t had water in ages. You briefly noticed that Natasha wasn’t in the room with you, but your head was too fuzzy to question her whereabouts. 

“That’s enough.” Said Wanda as she pulled the bottle away from your mouth, satisfied to see you drank more than a half and laid your head back on the mattress, her hand resuming its previous movement.

Once you woke up from the haze of the orgasm you remembered. Have sex and leave. 

You looked up at Natasha once she came back into the room, feeling the shyness return. “Could you hand me my phone, please? I need to order myself an uber.” 

She nodded and wordlessly picked up your phone from the chair where Wanda placed it along with your clothes. “Here you go.” 

“Thanks.” You murmured as you opened the app, finding a driver nearby and pressing ‘order’.

“It should be here in about 20 minutes.” You mumbled as you closed your eyes, suddenly feeling exhaustion wash over you. 

“Okay.” Replied Wanda as she mindlessly stroked your hair. You felt Natasha place something into your palm once you put your phone down. You opened your eyes briefly, wondering what it was. 

“Chocolate. It will make you feel better.” She explained as she stood up again, unable to stay still apparently. 

You let yourself rest for a bit, but when the app showed you your driver would arrive in 10 minutes you moved to get ready. Wanda handed you your clothes, and you began to dress yourself, which proved to be more difficult than expected since your limbs felt like jelly. 

They both walked down with you, Natasha joining you from one of the other rooms on the upper floor. Probably a bathroom. 

Natasha held the door open for you, while Wanda handed you your coat. “We’ll see you on Friday." Said Wanda as she watched you step outside, patiently waiting for your exit. 

“See ya.” You said as you turned around, your uber waiting for you at the bottom of the driveway. 

__________

They paid you so much money that you had enough to go get an actual bag of groceries for the first time in the past 3 years, but as you cooked in your very modest kitchen you felt completely numb. 

I had sex for money. 

You couldn’t even finish the food you made for yourself, feeling as if you were about to throw up every time you swallowed. You put the leftovers in the fridge, already knowing it was just a matter of time before it would end up in the trash can. 

As you laid in bed that night you opened the student portal, the unpaid tuition staring back at you brightly, and with a few simple clicks you sent the remaining amount of your tuition that was waiting to be paid.

If only getting the money was that simple. 

You turned off the screen when you received the automated confirmation email and tossed your phone aside. You turned towards the small window in your room and stared at the city, which was somehow still alive. 

You were hoping for the relief to hit you, and it was there, but it was so dull you could barely feel it. What was stronger was the unbearable feeling of disgust. Tears gathered in your eyes as realization of what you had done truly hit you. 

I slept with someone for money.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, and the night after that too, not being able to shake those feelings as you constantly questioned how you could’ve let this happen. 

You felt that same disgust now as you laid in bed in their guest bedroom, while your backside was on fire. Could you really keep this up? Was the money really worth it? 

____________

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"

Kuvira dressed in a simple dark green sleeveless shirt and dark pants; after a short workout in the courtyard while the estate was still quiet, she ate a simple breakfast in silence before beginning whatever work Suyin had assigned her for the day.

Every morning began the same, and routine kept her mind busy, with no room for unnecessary thoughts.

The sentence of house arrest had never meant idleness. If anything, Kuvira had insisted on working. She repaired any mundane piece of metalwork: damaged irrigation systems, dented flowerpots, asymmetrical walkways. She also helped restore neglected gardens, sorted supplies, and organized storage buildings. Whatever Suyin asked of her, she completed without complaint.

Sometimes Kuvira worked until her muscles trembled from exhaustion. She welcomed it; physical fatigue was easier to carry than the weight in her chest.

Most mornings, the workers already tending the estate would acknowledge Suyin with smiles. They greeted one another warmly, shared jokes, talked about their families. Each word carried the ease born within the safe metal walls of Zaofu.

Then Kuvira arrived, and the conversations slowly ended. Someone suddenly remembered another task elsewhere, leaving the current one only half finished just so they could disappear around a corner. Gardeners quietly moved to another flowerbed, gathering their tools clumsily enough that a set of shears clattered to the ground. Young apprentices who had been laughing together lowered their voices until silence settled between them.

The distance always formed naturally, as if carried by instinct. As if the air itself bent around her. Kuvira never commented, made sure never to look offended, or display any feeling at all.

She simply picked up her tools and began working, fingers burying into cold dirt as she tucked a new seedling in its place. If she noticed—and of course she noticed—her expression never betrayed it.

Their fear wasn't irrational. It was earned.

The people of Zaofu had watched her march an army through these very streets. They had watched her imprison dissenters, threaten the city she had once called home, and nearly destroy the family that had raised her.

Sometimes mothers walking through the city with their children would notice her approaching. They would instinctively move to the opposite side of the path. The children always looked confused; sometimes curious, some even waved. The parents gently lowered the tiny hands before hurrying away.

Kuvira never blamed them; she couldn't. Not when she understood, with a clarity that never left her, exactly what she had become in their memories.

She could still recall the sharp finality of orders spoken without hesitation, the way fear had once straightened into obedience in her presence. She had called it order then; purpose, necessity, and had believed in it with every ounce of her being. Now, those same memories returned to her in quieter hours like echoes down an empty corridor, each one carrying a weight she could no longer set down.

Kuvira would pass through Zaofu and feel it in the smallest gestures, in each averted gaze of rejection; it all landed with a familiar, quiet impact—like a stone sinking into still water, spreading ripples she could not stop. She told herself, as she always did, that people had every right to want nothing but distance from her.

But understanding never dulled the ache; it did not make guilt and regret easier to carry.

Something inside her grew quieter each time it happened, not in peace, but in erosion. As if parts of her were slowly being worn down by the very silence she moved through, grain by grain, until even her thoughts began to feel distant from her own voice.

And still, what hurt most was not their fear. It was that she could not expect them to feel any differently.

So she walked through the silence she had helped create, carrying the knowledge that every step forward was also a reminder of what she had left behind.

───୨ৎ───

Late that morning, Suyin asked her to retrieve several maintenance reports from another wing of the Beifong estate.

Kuvira had accepted with a nod. She walked the familiar corridors with measured steps, hands folded neatly behind her back. The estate hadn't changed much. The polished floors still reflected the light from the tall windows; the same quiet hum of activity drifted through the walls, softened by distance and stone.

She remembered running through these hallways as a kid. Remembered arguing with Wing and Wei. Remembered playing hide and seek with Opal on the days they didn't argue over attention or broken toys.

Those memories belonged to someone who almost felt like a stranger now; Kuvira thought back on them with something bittersweet tugging at her heartstrings. A wistfulness for a time long gone.

With half her mind lost in thought, Kuvira rounded a corner. And someone else came rushing around it from the opposite direction at the same time.

The collision happened too quickly for either of them to stop.

A startled gasp escaped your lips as the stack of documents you carried burst into the air, pages scattering in every direction like scared birds taking flight.

You stumbled backward with the impact, your heel catching against the polished floor. Surely you would have fallen, hitting your back against the hard floor in what would've been an embarrassing way to get hurt—but Kuvira reacted on instinct.

One hand shot out to catch your forearm, closing around the fabric of your shirt with a firm grip. The other settled carefully around your waist, steadying you before you could hit the ground.

For a single, suspended heartbeat, everything stood still. The papers drifted lazily around you and her. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching tiny specks of dust floating between you.

And Kuvira found herself looking into unfamiliar eyes; warm, beautiful, and wide with surprise. The hand she had around your waist remained with a tight grip, subconsciously pressing part of your body against hers.

You stared at her with an intensity she wasn't used to, your chest heaving unsteadily with each breath and gaze darting back and forth over Kuvira's features. Dark auburn hair framed your face, still flushed with the shock of nearly falling, a few loose strands slipping free to brush prettily against your cheeks.

And there, resting behind your right ear and slightly tangled between your hair, was a small yellow flower with a slightly orange center. The unexpected sprinkle of color and delicacy stole the words from Kuvira's mouth, along with the timid start of a smile at the corner of your lips, as if ready to thank her for not letting you fall.

But your eyes… Kuvira found herself especially captured by them. Sunlight reflected against dark pupils, and still the warmth in your look rivaled that of the sun. Your lashes caught the corners of your cheeks when your smile almost reached them. And Kuvira couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at her like that.

For just an instant, neither of you spoke.

Until Kuvira became strangely aware that she was still holding you. She cleared her throat, asking quietly; "Are you alright?" Her voice remained calm and measured, though there was a softness beneath it that made the words feel less like a polite question and more like something offered carefully, almost hesitantly. Her posture stayed steady, shoulders squared from years of discipline, but her hands loosened only after she was certain you had found your balance again.

Your eyes suddenly widened further when the sound of her voice shattered the strange spell that had momentarily settled between you; your breath caught so sharply it was almost audible. Recognition flooded your expression in a wave so immediate it seemed to drain the color from your face.

Not recognition of the woman standing before you. Recognition of who she had once been.

You stepped back so abruptly that Kuvira immediately released you, lowering her hands to try and look the least bit threatening she could muster. The familiar cold sting of rejection prickled her heart.

"I- I'm so sorry," You stammered, voice coming out thin and uneven. You immediately crouched to gather the scattered papers, movements quick and clumsy as you strived to keep your lungs working properly. "I wasn't looking where I was going." A lock of hair fell forward over your face as you bent, and you pushed it back with a hand that was still trembling. The movement caused the small yellow flower that had been resting behind your ear to fall, but you hardly seemed to notice it.

Kuvira knelt without thinking, moving to help you gather the papers.

"You don't need to-" You hurried to say, unable to look her in the eyes as your heart beat a mile a minute.

"It's fine." Kuvira reached for the same page you did.

You froze the instant your fingers nearly touched, hand hovering in the air for a beat too long. Then, with visible hesitation, you quietly withdrew it, tucking your arm back against your chest.

Kuvira caught it; she felt how you pulled away from her like a deep chill settling in her bones. Her gaze flicked briefly to your face, watching how you kept your eyes pointedly away from her; then to the paper, and something unreadable passed through her expression before she carefully picked up the document instead and held it toward you.

You accepted it so quickly that the paper nearly slipped from your grasp. "Thank you." And your voice fell as nothing but a breath.

In truth, you couldn't quite pinpoint the feeling twisting inside your stomach right now. When Kuvira was transferred back to Zaofu in her new sentence, Suyin had broken the news to you herself, speaking of how the former Great Uniter was trying to right her wrongs, to fix what she'd broken. And you knew that Su would never lie to you, or put the people of Zaofu in danger. And, if you looked at the woman kneeling before you now—with a dark braid falling over her shoulder and hazy sunlight softening the sharp lines of her features—you'd be lying if you said you didn't catch the restraint in each of her movements; as if she knew people would shrink away from her touch, from her very presence. And, damn your soft heart, part of you felt for her. But you also couldn't seem to forget that hers had been the face that stood before an army, with her chin held high and with sharp orders to conquer the city you called home.

Kuvira gave a small nod, her movements restrained and precise, as though she were trying to take up as little space as possible.

Another awkward pause stretched between you, filled only by the faint rustle of the remaining papers in your hands and the distant sounds of the estate beyond the hallway.

"I should… I should go." You gathered the remaining documents into an uneven stack, barely checking whether they were in order before clutching them tightly against your chest. You stood up in one sharp move, your entire frame tense with the effort of retreating politely without seeming rude. You gave Kuvira a brief glance, mustering a small smile, "Excuse me."

Then you were gone. Almost running down the hallway.

The silence you left behind lingered.

Kuvira remained kneeling for another moment, one hand resting lightly against the floor as she digested the tightness in her chest, before slowly standing. There was a slight pause before she straightened fully, as if the encounter had left her more unsettled than she wanted to admit.

The yellow flower that fell from your hair still lay on the floor, its petals slightly bent and crooked now. Kuvira retrieved it, carefully twirling the stem between her fingers as she looked toward the now-empty hallway to where you had disappeared, then quietly continued on her way.

Her face remained perfectly composed, every line of it carefully arranged into calm neutrality. Only the faint tightening of her jaw betrayed the ever-growing stack of buried feelings, stitched messily together and bound to someday break and bleed.

She carefully tucked the yellow flower into the pocket of her pants.

───୨ৎ───

The afternoon passed much like every other. Kuvira repaired broken stone edging around one of the western ponds. Adjusted the metal work on irrigation valves. Helped two workers lift heavy planting boxes into place, even though neither worker spoke to her beyond what was necessary. When they finished, they thanked each other. Neither thanked her; Kuvira simply inclined her head and continued working.

She told herself it didn't matter. That work wasn't done for recognition; work was simply work, something to keep her mind busy and especially to make herself useful in a city she had nearly destroyed.

Still, by the time evening approached, Kuvira found herself thinking about the frightened look in your eyes when you two bumped into each other. For a single moment, there had been that warmth in your gaze, reflecting sunlight and looking at her as if she were anyone but herself. And then there was the recognition: because she'd been holding you so close, Kuvira had watched, almost as if in slow motion, as your eyes widened with something cold and tense. And while she had been looking down at kind eyes and soft auburn hair, you had been looking into the sharp green eyes of the person that parents warned their children about.

It hurt to watch such a change happen in real time. Kuvira had expected it, but it hurt nonetheless.

And she didn't even know your name, but part of her already missed the brief warmth that you had looked at her with. No one had looked at her like that in a long, long time.

───୨ৎ───

Suyin's office door stood partially open, a thin wedge of warm lamplight spilling into the hallway and catching on the polished brass handle. Outside, night had settled almost completely, and the metal domes were ready to be closed at any moment.

Kuvira knocked lightly before pushing the heavy door open. "Su? I'm done with the-"

She stepped inside, only to halt her steps as she was halfway through the threshold.

You already stood beside Suyin's desk, carefully arranging several folders into neat stacks with quick, practiced hands. You had your head bent slightly as you worked, a loose strand of hair slipping forward over one cheek. You looked focused, entirely absorbed in the task until the sound of Kuvira's voice reached you.

The moment your eyes landed on Kuvira, every line of your body tightened. Your fingers paused over the folder you had been holding, and a faint flush of alarm rose in your face, as though you had been caught somewhere you had no business being.

"Oh." The word came out small and breathless. Your eyes darted briefly toward Suyin, as if silently asking whether you should stay or flee. "I… I'll come back to finish this later."

"Nonsense, you don't have to leave," Suyin began with an easy smile, glancing between you and Kuvira with the sort of patient calm that suggested she had already anticipated this exact reaction. "It's alright."

You offered a polite, hurried smile in turn that never quite reached your eyes. "It's okay, Su." You pushed the folders aside and out of Suyin's way before stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants. "I actually just remembered I still have to deliver the festival schedules."

Before either woman could answer, you slipped past Kuvira with a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgement, and disappeared out into the hallway.

The room became quiet. Not empty—Suyin was still there, the faint scratch of papers against wood still lingering in the air—but quiet in the way a room becomes after something delicate has been broken and everyone is pretending not to notice.

Kuvira watched the open doorway for a second longer; the sound of your footsteps grew ever more distant, swallowed by the night and the golden lights of the hallway. Kuvira's fingers tapped the side of her thigh in a restless rhythm before she turned back toward Suyin. "…Who is she?"

Suyin studied her for a moment before answering, her expression unreadable in the way only someone who knew Kuvira too well could manage. She moved around her desk, one hand resting briefly on the back of her chair. Su finally revealed your name, and then, "She's my new assistant."

Oh. Kuvira hesitated, trying to decide how to feel about the fact that she would surely be seeing you around quite a lot. "The one organizing the seasonal events?"

Suyin smiled faintly, the corner of her mouth lifting with a trace of dry amusement along with a quirk of her eyebrow. "And half the estate, if you ask me."

Kuvira nodded once, averting her eyes to somewhere on the portraits and books resting on the shelves of Su's office. "I see." The words were neutral, but her posture had gone subtly rigid. Her hands folded behind her back, fingers interlaced so tightly that the knuckles had gone pale beneath the skin.

Silence settled between them. It stretched. Not uncomfortable exactly, but weighted.

After the long pause, Kuvira spoke again. "We met earlier, briefly." She stalled, mulling over the words and debating whether she actually wanted to say them out loud. A sharp intake of breath and the twitch on Kuvira's brows were the only telling of her inner conflict. "She looked… frightened." Her voice remained even, controlled. The same calm tone she once used to discuss agreement terms with town governors.

Anyone else might have believed the observation carried no emotion at all.

Suyin knew better.

She had watched Kuvira grow up. She knew the difference between composure and concealment. She recognized the subtle rigidity in Kuvira's shoulders, the way her chin had lifted a fraction too high, the almost imperceptible tension in her jaw.

Suyin let out a breath through her nose, almost a sigh. Something like sympathy softened her expression. "She knows who you were. She had already moved to Zaofu when your army arrived."

Kuvira lowered her gaze for only a fraction of a second, long enough for the golden light from the lamps to catch on her lashes. "I figured as much."

Taking the few steps to close the distance between them, Suyin placed a hand on Kuvira's shoulder. The answer came softly, "I imagine she's trying to reconcile that with the person standing here now."

Kuvira gave a curt nod, holding her posture, unwavering. But when she finally spoke, her voice had gone quieter still. "I don't blame her."

"Kuvira-"

"She's being sensible," Kuvira managed the smallest smile, but it carried no warmth, no relief—only the faint, tired shape of acceptance. "Same as everyone else." The words landed heavier than either of them wanted.

Suyin held a pause, looking at the young woman she'd once raised, at the straight spine, the careful restraint, the way Kuvira seemed to hold herself together by force of habit alone.

For all her discipline, for all her composure, Kuvira still expected rejection before kindness. As though disappointment had become the safest expectation.

"With our festival on the way, I imagine you'll be seeing each other more often," Suyin tried, her voice taking on that familiar comforting tone. "She might come around quicker than others." Su ducked her head, trying to catch a glimpse of Kuvira's eyes. "Don't dismiss the possibility of having a friend, Kuvira. Part of making up for your mistakes is trying to build new connections with people you might've hurt in the past."

A flicker of poorly concealed vulnerability glinted in Kuvira's emerald eyes, soft under the dim light of the room. She released the grip on her own hands at last, loosening tense muscles. The prospect of having someone who didn't look at her as if she were a monster to be caged was something that got Kuvira's heart racing despite her efforts of trying to bury the feeling. The issue lay in the fact that she had no idea how to have a friend, or how to be deserving of one.

───୨ৎ───

Two days later, you stood beneath the shade of a flowering tree overlooking one of Zaofu's eastern gardens, reviewing plans for the upcoming Moon Blossom Festival.

The late afternoon light bathed the metal walls of the city in soft pink and warm orange, bouncing off intricate fountains and weaving in between tree leaves slowly dancing with the breeze. There was something undeniably serene about the afternoons in the metal city sometimes.

The paper in your hands was already beginning to soften at the edges from how often you had folded and unfolded it. You kept smoothing your thumb over the same crease near one corner, though you weren't really reading the words anymore.

Your attention kept drifting to the garden below—the careful geometry of the hedges, the bright ribbons of blossoms threaded through the paths, the workers moving with practiced ease between beds of color. Everything looked peaceful from up here, almost effortless. But you knew better than to believe that. Behind every polished railing and every perfectly trimmed branch was a dozen arguments about placement, timing, and whether the lanterns should be hung two inches higher or lower than last year.

You didn't notice Suyin approaching until the older woman stopped right beside you.

You straightened at once, a little too quickly, and tucked the papers closer to your chest before realizing you had done it. You only relaxed your shoulders with an embarrassed sigh once you realized who it was.

Suyin watched you with an amused grin and eyes soft with affection. "Everything coming together?"

"I think so." You smiled, though it came out a little tired around the edges. Past the outline of Suyin's figure beside you, the last rays of sun dipped below the mountains surrounding Zaofu.

"You think so?" She teased, bumping her shoulder against yours before glancing at the gardens below.

You let out a small huff of laughter and glanced back down at the plans, as if the answer might be hiding there if you looked hard enough. "I'll know for sure after the gardeners stop changing their minds every five minutes."

That earned a quiet laugh from Suyin, warm and familiar, the kind that made the tension in your shoulders loosen without you meaning it to.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out; you always do."

You stood together in companionable silence for a while, watching workers trim hedges into graceful spirals. The breeze carried the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers up to where you stood, and you found yourself breathing a little slower. Suyin's presence had that effect on people—steady, grounding, impossible to ignore without feeling the absence of it.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, then back again. You had been meaning to ask something for a couple of days now, and the words had only grown heavier the longer you waited. Your fingers tightened around the papers until the edges bent slightly. Then you spoke, somewhat hesitantly. "…Lady Suyin?"

"Hm?"

You swallowed, looking down at the papers in your hands, suddenly fascinated by a line of handwritten notes you had already memorized. "Can I ask you something?"

A grin sneaked into Suyin's features. "You just did."

It stole a chuckle from you, the sound brief and a little nervous. "It's about… Kuvira."

Suyin held the silence with an attentive ease only she could pull off, and that somehow made you more aware of your own uncertainty. You could feel the question sitting in your chest like a stone. Once spoken, it could not be taken back. You kept your gaze on the garden below, where recently lit golden lanterns reflected off the metal edges of the walkways.

"I remember when her army arrived in Zaofu, when they marched in and took down the domes. I remember being scared." Your voice was quieter now, with a deliberate and careful edge to it; as if caught by a memory. "I know the things she did."

Another pause. The workers below continued trimming and arranging flowers as if nothing in the world had changed, as if the weight of history could be set aside for the sake of a festival. You wished, briefly and irrationally, that you could do the same.

"And I can…" You searched for the words, your brows drawing together as you tried to make sense of the knot in your own thoughts. "I can see how much she is trying to set things right. Redeem herself, I suppose. But… has she really changed?"

The question wasn't accusatory. Only uncertain. It was your way of trying to reconcile your memories with the feeling in your heart and figure out which was correct.

Suyin answered without hesitation. "Yes." The certainty in her voice made you glance up.

"Her actions hurt us all, but the Kuvira I've known since she was a little girl has never been a bad person. Even after I took her under my care, she had trouble finding where she belonged." Suyin continued, a pensive frown settling over her features as she stared down at the gardens. "When the Earth Kingdom was left behind in chaos, I think part of her saw her own past looking back at her. Part of it might have been my fault, too. I should've seen it; maybe I should've stepped up beside her." Suyin held a pause, feeling the weight of your gaze on her as she spoke. "But, what matters now is that in the end, Kuvira realized she had started causing more harm than good, that she'd strayed from her own path. She surrendered to Korra, and she wants to make amends."

"…Do you trust her?" You whispered, hoping for one answer more than the other.

"I do." Suyin finally turned her attention back to you, a soft, understanding smile playing on her lips. "I trust the woman she's choosing to become."

The distinction lingered between you, along with a charged silence for several beats.

You considered it carefully, digesting each and every word from Suyin. Your face shifted into something complicated, and Suyin didn't pressure you, giving time for the truth to settle in.

"I saw her the other day." You eventually found yourself blurting out, voice quiet as the words fell from your mouth of their own volition.

Suyin shifted her body toward you, just enough to show she was listening.

"In the hallway, as I was heading to your office." Your mouth tightened slightly as you remembered it. The sudden collision, the way Kuvira had caught you before you could fall, how completely caught off guard you'd been, unable to think of anything to say beyond a panicked excuse to walk away as soon as possible. "We sort of… bumped into each other," you admitted quietly. "I was startled; I didn't know how to react."

But you also remembered the hesitation in those sharp green eyes of hers, and how Kuvira had pointedly kept herself at a safe distance from you, as if to say you were never in any danger with her. And that sympathy that had bloomed in your heart that day came back all over again.

"That's alright, darling." Suyin's answer was gentle, without judgment. She placed a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezed once. "I'm sure she understands."

You looked down at your own hands, at the way your fingers had gone pale from gripping the papers too tightly. You loosened them with an effort. "But now I can't stop thinking… if maybe I was a little rude to her." You hesitated, then gave a small, self-conscious shrug, as if embarrassed by the honesty of what you were about to say. "She wasn't what I expected."

"No?" Genuine curiosity dripped from Su's voice.

You shook your head, biting at the inside of your cheek. "No." You still remembered how the sunlight looked when it had traced the outlines of Kuvira's features in something soft.

"It confused me." A quiet chuckle escaped you. "I think part of me was expecting someone more…"

"Scary?" Suyin finished for you, raising her brow.

"I guess so." You frowned softly. "But she is just… just a person."

Suddenly, your breath ran shallow. And you realized that the brief memory of Kuvira had already been carved behind your eyelids. "She has a kind voice." Your words came quietly, almost being carried away by the wind as your gaze grew distant and unfocused. "…And sad eyes."

You were too caught up in your own thoughts to realize the way Suyin had been staring at you. There was a gentle kind of surprise etched on the older woman's face, and the softest smile on her lips, painted with newfound hope.

Far across the paths and the gardens below, a lone figure worked quietly among rows of flowering shrubs. Bent over damaged irrigation channels, with her dark braid falling over one shoulder. Alone, as usual.

Even from this distance, there was something unmistakable about the way Kuvira moved; precise, as though every motion had been measured and refined until nothing unnecessary remained. She did not pause to look around, nor did she seem to notice the laughter of the workers nearby or the music drifting faintly from another part of the estate. She was tucked in her own corner of the garden, surrounded by bright red roses, and had found a way to keep herself busy enough that loneliness could not quite catch up.

"Kuvira's been helping maintain the gardens for the festival," Suyin said into the quiet, her eyes fixed on Kuvira far ahead. "She isn't much for conversation…" A faint smile touched her lips, but there was something thoughtful in it too. "…but no one deserves to spend every day completely alone."

Your eyes slowly drifted back toward the solitary figure in the distance. Kuvira hadn't noticed either of you. She simply continued working; trimming withered roses, fixing fallen branches, entirely by herself.

"I know you've been working more than you should because of the festival," Suyin added, glancing at you, her voice caring but also eager. "Maybe you two could help each other. I'm sure she'd be glad to lend you a hand."

You involuntarily took in a sharp breath as soon as Suyin's suggestion hit your ears. A chill found its way to your stomach, raising goosebumps on your skin.

Something stirred inside you. A kind of curiosity that unsettled you more than fear had. Fear was simple; fear told you where to stand, what to avoid, how to keep yourself safe. Curiosity asked questions you didn't know how to answer; it made you look longer than you intended; it made you notice details you might have preferred to ignore.

You remembered the warmth of the hand that had caught you just before you fell; the steady, safe grip. The careful distance Kuvira had put between you the moment she realized you were afraid. The sadness hidden beneath a face trained never to reveal it. You weren't sure what to make of the woman working alone in the garden. You weren't sure whether you were ready to trust her. You weren't even sure whether you should.

But as you watched Kuvira kneel beside a flowerbed—surrounded by countless red roses and vivid pink tulips, completely unaware that anyone was looking—you realized one thing with surprising certainty.

You weren't going to stop wondering.

And somehow, you already knew you were going to walk into those gardens.

୨ৎ

Autumn Crocus: Symbolizes rebirth, unexpected beauty, and transformation. Its leafless autumn blooms represent hope emerging from barren times.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆･

Next chapter will be out soon

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Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

“I said I’m done. No more orders. No more missions.” She said. “We both know what’s going to happen to those girls when the mission is over.” She was trying to keep her voice quiet so as not to wake them. It was a school night after all.

“We know what will happen to all of us if Dreykov finds us. He will kill us.”

“Death is a blessing in going through the Red Room,” Melina said coldly. He could never fully understand, but she was trying to make him. The pain, the torture, the obedient servants-the Red Room flushed out. Two of her girls already had a few years in that place of nightmares; their claws were in their skin. “We can protect them. We’ve done it already.” Alexei sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “This is different. We..”

“Mom, Dad,” Melina turned around to see you, the oldest of Yelena and Natasha. Dreykov and the other Red River instructors saw great potential in you. Melina knew what they saw, but the Black Widow saw how big your heart was. They weren’t going to break that, not on Melina’s watch. “I heard you guys fighting. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Melina smiled, trying to ease your worries. “Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.” But you refused. Instead, you glanced at your sister’s doors and walked over to them, arms crossed, and the image of a perfect soldier.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, slipping into your native accent. “Did you hear from the Red Room? Are we in trouble?” You tried to mask your fear, but Melina heard it, saw it too. She heard your and Natalia’s nightmares. Saw you trace your wrist as if you had the handcuffs on, hiding every weakness.

“We are fine, malen’kaya ptichka (little bird),” Alexei said. “Your mother and I were just talking.” You looked between him and Melina.

“If they are in danger, I want to know.”You held the glare with Alexei. It was more than a mission to you too. From the moment you, Yelena, and Natalia were assigned to the mission, you saw them as sisters. You protected them, looked out for them, and took the blame for some of their actions. Melina wondered how your heart could be so pure, even though you’ve seen how ugly the world can be. It was still good. Melina looked at Alexei.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“I don’t think we should continue the mission.” She ignored him. The super soldier stood up, muttering something in Russian that Melina missed, and paced the dining room. “I think this will be our only chance to walk away, all of us, and be a real family.” You stared at her with an expression that only Melina couldn’t place. It was as if you didn’t believe her or if she spoke a language you didn’t understand.

“They’ll hunt us down and kill us,” you said. Melina shook your head.

“I’ll keep you safe.” She was cycled through the red room three times before her girls were born. She knew how they taught and how they trained their widows. She wasn’t going to force Alexei to join them on this ridiculous, impossible idea. Besides, she didn’t need him. The Red Rooms walls were all she knew. Maybe she could find something different.

“Okay,” you said. “When are we going?”

“Stop,” Alexei said, placing his hands on the counter. “Both of you, stop. Do you even know what you’re saying? You don’t walk away from this. He will throw you in jail or kill you.” You took Alexei’s beer bottle, and Melina thought you were going to drink it. Instead, you swirled the liquid around the bottle.

“Do you know what they make us do in there?” You asked. Melina saw Alexei glance at you, but your eyes stayed trained on the bottle. When he didn’t answer, you continued, “I could kill you five different ways with this bottle. That’s even before I shattered it to use the shards.” You gently set the bottle down and locked eyes with a super-soldier. “The smallest thing in this house I could use, and the craziest part: when they find you dead, they won’t be able to trace it back to me because I’ll plant evidence to frame someone else.” You walked to stand next to him. It was rather a comical sight with how much the Red Guardian towered over you. To anyone else, they would guess Alexei had the power from his size and strength, but it was you. You held his gaze. “Tell me, Dad, is that how your little girl should be raised?” It was a tense standoff, but soon Alexei sighed, gently resting his hand on your shoulder,, then your cheek. Your body went rigid, unfamiliar with his gentle touch.

“We have to be smart about this,” he said, looking at Melina. “One slip up and we’re dead.” The older black widow nodded, offering her husband a smile.

“We will be,” she said. They were going to be free.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Do you know where my blue sweatshirt is?” Yelena came running from inside the house. You and Natalia were oiling the chain on your bikes. Your middle sister laughed.

“Did you leave it at school?” She questioned. “Because if you did, it’s gone.”

“No, I didn’t leave it at school.” Yelena stomped her foot. “I just had it.”

“I’m sure it’ll show up.” You said, ignoring the guilt tugging at your stomach. “For now, go grab one of mine from my closet.” You’re pretty sure the blue sweater she was referring to was yours as well. She thanked you and ran back into the house.

“Come to think of it,” Natalia said, wiping her hands on a towel. “I couldn’t find my black long sleeve.” You rolled your eyes, picking up the oil and towel.

“You guys need to take better care of your stuff.” You jogged into the garage to put everything back. “Come on, we’re meeting Sarah at the park.” You jumped on your bike and began the ride with your sister behind you.

So it was a small lie you told them when they questioned you about their missing clothes. You begged Alexei and Melina for some way to help. Finally, Melina gave you the task of packing a go-back for you, Natalia, and Yelena. Inside was everything the three of you would need to survive: a few different outfits, a first-aid kit with hygiene supplies, some money, and food. You made sure to include a few sentimental objects to remind them of their time in Ohio. Alexei gave you two pistols and ammo to add to your and Natalia’s bag. The three bags were tucked underneath your bed, under a blanket and some boxes. All you were waiting for was the sign, whenever that may be.

It was a Saturday night. Yelena finally fell asleep in your room. She begged and begged for a sleepover, and it was hard for you to say no to her. Once her breathing evened out, you snuck out of your room and ventured into Melina’s study. You knocked before entering, but they were expecting you. The couple was hunched over a table that was covered with papers. They didn’t look up, even when you closed the door and walked to stand next to Melina. “So, where are we?” You asked.

“I created fake identities for you and your sisters, birth certificates, social security numbers, even school records.” Melina gestured to the three Manila folders on her desk. “I need you to place them in the go bags.”

“Understood,” you nodded, crossing your arms. “Where are we going after Ohio?” Alexei placed a hand on his chin.

“We’ll leave the house and go to the plane like the original plan, but we’ll head north instead of Cuba,” he pointed to the locations of the map they laid out. “Your mother has a contact that will let us lay low until we’re safe to move.”

“We need you to look after your sisters during this time,” Melina said to you. “If Alexei or I aren’t around, you’re in charge.” It was going to be tough to explain that one to Natalia, but you nodded.

“Where is home going to be?” You asked. That was the point of all this-this huge risk you were all taking to find a place called home, to be safe, to be your real family. The couple looked at each other.

“That is the part of the plan we’re still working out,” Alexei said. “Russia is out of the question. We can’t come back to Ohio.”

“The states are still our best option. SHIELD can be our ally if we need to be. Alexei scoffed, throwing his hands.

“Those American idiots don’t know their right from their left. They have a Russian spy working in their facilities. They haven’t noticed. He had a point, and the idea involving other people was a huge risk. It made you feel uneasy. Melina glared at the man, and he immediately stopped talking. “Your mother was suggesting Iowa.”

“Iowa?” You questioned, looking at the older Black Widow. “Why Iowa?”

“A lot of open area, middle of nowhere. We could live off the land.” She shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to farm.” You smiled. In the Red Room, there was only one mission: serve those above you. Once you were taken, they erased the person you once were. With that, all your dreams, goals, and hopes you once had were gone. The trainers would mold and shape you as they saw fit.

“When are we leaving?”

“Where are we going?” You spun around to see Yelena. Everyone was so engrossed in the conversation that no one heard the door open. The blonde gave you a heart attack, but you recovered.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” You asked with a smile. She rubbed her eyes and held onto a stuffed bear.

“I woke up, and you weren’t in bed, so I came looking for you. Where are we going?”

“Nowhere,” Alexei said. “Well, not yet. Remember that big adventure we were going to take one day?” The blonde nodded, but your stomach flipped. Every time you spoke about it, he knew he meant returning to the red room. “Your sister is helping us plan it.” Yelena started bouncing on her feet.

“Can I?”

“No,” Melina cut her off. “You should be in bed, little miss.” You chuckled at her pout.

“Come on,” you faked a yawn. “I’m getting tired myself. Night, Mama.” You kissed her cheek. “We’ll touch base again.” You whispered in her ear. Melina gave a slight nod of her head. “Night, Dad.” You walked over to your sister, who held her hands up. You rolled your eyes and picked her up. “You’re getting too big for this.” You groaned. She giggled and wrapped her arms around your neck.

“Is this adventure going to be fun?” She mumbled sleepily against your neck.

“Yeah, malen’koye solntse (little sun), it will be fun.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Iowa, 2005

Something wasn’t right. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. It had been happening a lot more frequently, and although it’s been years since you’ve been in the Red Room, trained to be a spy, those skills didn’t go away overnight, especially since Melina trained you now and again. “Hey, can we get cookies?” Yelena asked. She didn’t wait for your response and slipped the cookies into the cart. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring at the head of lettuce for like 10 minutes. I’m pretty sure Mom wanted spinach, right?” You grabbed the bag of spinach.

“Let’s get out of here.” You walked over to the register.

“But we weren’t done yet.” You rushed to the front and placed the few items onto the cart for the cashier’s conveyor belt. “We still need-”

“Haley,” You said her undercover name. “We need to go home.” She looked at you for a second, saw the concern in your eyes, the underlying meaning behind your urgency.

“Okay, let’s go home.”

You closed the car trunk and felt that feeling again. This time, when you looked behind you, a man was staring at you. He was out of place, wearing an eye patch and a trench coat. You ran to the driver’s side and began the drive home. It was silent. You knew Yelena was itching to ask what was going on. She turned on the radio and flipped through the channels. When she found the one that she liked, she adjusted the volume. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked. You squeezed the steering wheel.

“A man was following us at the store.” You glanced at the mirror and saw no one following you. “It could be nothing.”

“Or it could be something.” Yelena countered, “Mom and Dad always told us to listen to our instinct.” These instincts were hardwired into you since you were a young girl. It took you and Natasha longer to let go of the idea that everyone was a threat. Yelena was easier to adjust to our normal life. You were glad she couldn’t remember Melina getting shot, and you had to help Alexei remove the bullet. Her screams sometimes woke you up. “What do you want to do?”

Alexei was at work. Melina and Natasha were home. You sighed. “Get into the house and find Mom and Natasha.”

“You won’t do anything stupid, right?” Yelena asked hesitantly. He chuckled.

“Of course not.” You were going to do everything to protect your family.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The park job was less than ideal as you pulled into the driveway. Melina’s chickens were startled as they ran to the backyard. “Go,” you ushered Yelena out of the car. A car started following about halfway back to the house. You saw the hesitation in her eyes, but you gave her a stern look.

“Okay,” she ran into the house, not bothering to close the door. Sighing, you watched the black car slow to a stop at the end of the driveway; it was bold or stupid. You weren’t sure what this man was. It was a stalemate to see who would get out first. Slowly, you got out and began to unload the groceries onto the porch. On your second trip, you heard a car door open and close—the same man from town.

“Can I help you, sir?” You asked. The man approached you with his hands at his sides; it was smart to keep them visible.

“Are your parents home?” He asked.

“No,” you lied. “They’re at work. I’m home alone with my sister.” The lie was purposeful. If he truly were following you, he would know the truth. The truth was Alexei worked in construction in the next town over. The commute was an hour and a half one way. It was summer, so Melina was home, not teaching seventh-grade science and part-time at the community college. Yelena was in high school, and you and Natasha were in college. Years free from the Red Room; it was not going to end today. The man glanced at the house behind you. You could hear the pigs and goats in the barn. It took time for this place to feel like home.

“Want to try that again, kid?” You frowned.

“You’re on private property, sir,” you said. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What do you want?” The man dared to smile. Well, the closest thing to a smile, the corner of his lips turned up slightly.

“I like you,” he said. “I guess that’s why he liked you too.” You tried to keep your face neutral. The first rule you’ve learned is to keep your emotions in check. You never wanted the enemy to know they got a reaction out of you.

But at the mention of him, your blood went cold, and your stomach flipped. Your name was called from the house. Melina stood there with Yelena and Natasha behind her. “Nick Fury.” Gone was an American accent. You hadn’t heard her speak with her native accent in a while, unless she was talking to her contact back in Russia. “Why are you on my farm?”

“Melina,” The man said, “It appears to be lunchtime. What’s on the menu?” Your mom looked between you and the man.

“Sandwiches,” she answered. “Come on, girls, let’s get the food inside.”

“Wait,” Natasha said. The man did not wait and walked towards the house. “Who are you?” He stopped in front of your sister, and you subconsciously clenched your hands into fists.

“Nick Fury.” He introduced himself and reached into his pocket. Natasha tensed up. The only person who wasn’t worried was Melina. It wasn’t a weapon, but a badge. “SHIELD agent.”

“SHIELD?” you said. Fury looked back at you with a smile as he won.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m starving.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Did you know?” Natasha asked. She kept her voice low as you put away the little groceries you bought. Melina was sitting with Fury at the dining room table. You shook your head.

“No.” You were in the dark about your parents’ involvement with SHIELD.

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.” You snapped and opened the fridge a little too aggressively to grab the mayo. They kept you in the dark. She grabbed the mayo out of your hand.

“Welcome to the club.” You rolled your eyes. Natasha was still upset about being left in the dark on the first plan. A lot of fights happened between you and her. Now you ignored her when she brought it up. Instead, you stood next to her and made the sandwiches.

“Mom said Dad is on his way home.” Yelena opened the fridge and put the pitcher of lemonade back in.

“What are they doing?” You asked.

“Just staring at each other,” Yelena answered as she leaned against the fridge. “It’s kind of weird.” You chuckled.

“Move,” Natasha said to the blonde. “Now.” Yelena put her hands up and moved out of her way. Natasha put the lunch meat away and carried two plates to the table. The blonde frowned.

“What’s her problem?” You shrugged.

“No idea.” You handed Yelena her sandwich and grabbed the remaining two. “Don’t take it personally, malen’koye solntse (little sun). You walked to the dining room and placed the sandwich in front of Fury.

“Thank you, girls.” Melina forced a smile. “Why don’t you go through and enjoy these out back while Fury and I talk?” It was like she spoke to you in a language you did not understand, which was odd because you spoke 5.

“Excuse me?” Natasha questioned, very much in the same boat you were in.

“And leave you with a government agent,” Yelena added on. “Not happening.” Fury chuckled.

“Come on, Melina. The girls are old enough to join in on the conversation,” he picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “This is good.” Melina’s jaw clenched.

“Go outside.” She said, eyes locked onto yours. She knew that if she could get you to agree, the other two would follow. They listened to you. Your sister’s gaze fell onto you. The silence was tense, and the sound of Fury chewing pissed you off even more. Everything about today was pissing you off.

“No.” You finally spoke. “We aren’t leaving you with him.” You were worried that Melina’s jaw was going to shatter for how hard she was clenching it. That would be hard to explain to Alexei when he got home. Fury was looking between you and Melina at this weird standoff.

Finally, Melina’s jaw relaxed. She sighed. The tension she had been holding since Fury appeared slowly went away. “Please,” she said. “Let me protect you for a little longer.”

That stopped you. All of your anger and resentment that was building faded away. Because that was all Melina ever wanted to do was protect you and your sisters. When she looked at you, she still saw the three little girls that the Red Room targeted. You sighed, then looked at Fury. “You hurt her; I will kill you.” The man smiled, that same awkward movement of his lips.

“Scout’s honor.” He placed three fingers to his temple. Without a word, you picked up your sandwich, and your sisters followed you outside.

You sat down on the steps more aggressively than was needed. The food on your plate didn’t look good. “No matter what happens,” Yelena broke the silence. “We are still going to be sisters, right?” You and Natasha looked up so fast to look at the blonde that you were worried about whiplash. Yelena sat on the hammock, picking at the bread.

When you looked at the blonde, you weren’t seeing the young adult that played soccer and got a full ride to college, who dreamed of becoming a vet. You were staring at the little girl who cried when she scraped her knee and ran to your room when the thunder got too loud. “Nobody is going to separate us,” Natasha said. Yelena wasn’t convinced. She looked at you.

“She’s right. “Usually am.”

You ignored her. “Because sometimes in our lives we all have pain. We all have sorrow,” Natasha rolled her eyes, but a smile began to form. “But if we are wise. We know that there’s always tomorrow.” Yelena jumped out of the hammock and squeezed her away between you and Natasha. The redhead huffed but made room for the girl.

“Lean on me,” Yelena smiled, bumping her shoulder against yours and Natasha’s. “When you’re not strong.”

“And I’ll be your friend,” Natasha joined in. “I’ll help you carry on.” You started to sing the song back in Ohio. It provided you a sense of comfort while you tried to help them. The plates were abandoned on the porch as you hugged - tightly holding onto each other. Together - now and forever.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The plates were clean while you and your sisters waited. Melina removed your access to the security cameras inside the house so you couldn’t listen in. 45 minutes passed since you were banished to the outside, Alexei’s truck pulled into the driveway. He came to check on you three before joining the conversation with Melina and Fury.

15 minutes after Alexei came home, you heard the front door open and close, and a car drive off. It was Melina who came to get you and your sisters. Natasha pushed past her, followed by Yelena. You were slower to stand as you heard Natasha demanding answers from Alexei. “She’s always been fiery,” you said. Melina kept her eyes on your sisters. “Are we in trouble?” You asked. Finally, Melina looked at you. There was a look in her eyes that you had not seen in a long time since you lived in Ohio, like she was afraid you were going to all disappear.

“No,” she said. “Come.” Melina placed a gentle hand on her back. “Your father and I will explain.”

The scene in front of you was comical. Alexei was sitting on the couch, leaning back with his hand over his eyes. Yelena was in the corner of the couch watching it all, and the star of the show was Natasha. “You’re asking me to calm down,” she said. “A man gets invited into our home after following my sisters from the store. Then we get banished outside, and you expect me to calm down?”

“Maybe not calm down,” Alexa said. “But allow your mother and me to explain.” He removed his hands and looked at the redhead. “Please.” Natasha stared at him. You saw the fight in her green eyes. She was itching to take out her anger and frustration for things she could not control. Then it left her. It was still shimmering at the surface, but the fire dimmed. It reminded you of when you stared down the man back in Ohio. You sat next to Yelena, and Natasha sat on the other side of you.

“How long have you been working with SHIELD?” You asked. Melina sat next to Alexei. The man placed his hand on her thigh. Sometimes you forgot they were pawns and all this too. Before the mission in Ohio, they barely knew each other. Alexei was Dreykov’s muscle, and Melina was another widow under his control. Then for three years they faked being in love. You wonder when it became real.

“Since we left Ohio,” your stomach dropped worse than it did outside when Fury barely mentioned Dreykov. Somehow, being lied to by the people you trusted and loved was worse because you brought up talking and working with SHIELD. Especially when Melina was shot, then again when Natasha got sick during a horrible blizzard, and every time Yelena cried for a place to call home.

All you wanted was a place to call home, and if you had to work with SHIELD to give your sisters that you would have. But every time it was ignored and you were told they were people you could not trust.

“In exchange for information,” Alexei continued. “We were allowed to live in the States, without the threat of being sent back to Russia.” They were basically CIs for Shield. You knew their contacts ran deep and far. They had power like Dreykov.

“Why was he here then?” Yelena asked. “What does he want?” Melina leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“Two years ago, I told you girls, I went to a conference in England.” You frowned. You remembered that. It was a weird time for a conference, but you had no reason to question it, especially when she brought back gifts. “I went to Budapest. It was a SHIELD mission designed to eliminate Dreykov.” You frowned.

“Budapest,” Natasha said slowly. She glanced at Melina, then back to you. She hit you gently on the arm. “Don’t you remember the news? She was stuck in the air for two weeks because of a supposed terrorist attack.” You blinked at the redhead. Then it came back to you. Classes were canceled. Teachers huddled around TVs watching the news. People died. Children, parents, brothers, and sisters, and no one knew who was responsible.

“That was you.” Melina couldn’t look you in the eye. Alexis squeezed her leg.

“You blew up a city block to try to kill Dreykov.” You flinched at the way his name rolled off Yelena’s tongue. Her memories of the red room were non-existent. She mostly remembered Ohio, which was good. There was a period of time after you left Ohio. She woke up with nightmares: a fire, men with no faces, and the sound of gunfire. Everyone believed it was the night she was taken from her biological family.

It was important to you to tell her the truth about what the rest of your family went through. She needed to know why her sisters flinched at weird noises, or why her mom went quiet after a night of guilt and nightmares, or why her dad drank until he stopped believing he failed and gave you three back to the Red Room.

“Yes,” Melina said. But if Melina said she killed Dreykov, why would an SHIELD agent then come to her home? Unless she failed. Unless they believed he survived.

“He’s alive,” you said. “The Red Room is alive.” Alexei and Melina kept tabs on the Red Room activity. As the years went by, they truly believed the Red Room dissolved when you failed to return. No widows, no men under his command, not even Dreykov himself tried to bring you back. Natasha tensed up next to you.

“Yes,” Melina repeated. “Or that is what Fury and the others believe.” You tried to swallow, but your throat went dry. Panic seized your lungs and heart. The fear of going back never truly left you. It was always in the back of your mind. But hearing it, and him who could have been behind the attack, paralyzed you with fear.

“Hey,” you heard Alexei’s voice as he knelt in front of you and Natasha. “Breathe, my malen’kaya ptichka (little bird), breathe my malen’kaya roza (little rose.” Natasha grabbed your arm, and her nails pierced your skin. The pain helped. The pain grounded you back. “He’s not taking you back, okay?” He promised. “You’re both safe.” You gasped for breath as your mind returned, then hissed in pain.

“Shit!” Natasha dropped the hold of your arm. You felt blood drip down your skin from the puncture wound. “Fuck! I am so sorry.” Melina was already heading to the kitchen for the nearest first-aid kit. Natasha moved as Melina took her spot. The redhead paced, chewing at the skin around her thumb. It was a nervous habit she never kicked. Yelena’s eyes were wide as she looked between everyone.

“I’m fine,” you smiled and barely reacted when the disinfectant hit your arm. “I’ve had worse.”

It was supposed to be a joke, a way to loosen the tension, but it had the opposite effect. A new tension surrounded your family because you had worse - broken bones, knife wounds, grazed by bullets. You were abused more times by the time you were nine years old. Alexei frowned, his hands hesitant as he placed one on your knee and squeezed it. When you first arrived in Ohio, you flinched any time he moved towards you. Now it felt wrong going a few days without a hug from him. “Right,” you cleared your throat. “Not funny.” You looked at Melina when she placed the bandage on her arm. Her touch was so gentle, so different from the hands in the red room that treated your wounds. If Fury was here to tell you that Draco is alive,” you started. “He must want you to finish the job.” Melina nodded. “When do you leave?’

“Not sure if I’m even leaving.” She pushed some of the hair out of your face and behind your ear. “I have to wait for SHIELD to confirm the theory that he’s back.” So it was a waiting game. Again, your family was pawns in the game of chess you refused to play.

Then Yelena broke the tension, “I say it’s business as usual until we hear back from the pirate.” Melina huffed out a laugh. The simple sound caused you and Alexei to smile. He winked at you. “I think we need to venture into the kitchen,” she said with a groan. “Because this one made a mess of the shopping, Mom.” The blonde gestured to you. You gasped in mock offense.

“Says the one sneaking sweets in the car every chance she got.” Yelena flipped you off as she walked into the kitchen. This time, Natasha finally laughed, and the air felt easier to breathe.

“Girls,” Melina said fondly, but followed the blond into the kitchen while Alexei cleaned up the used medical supplies. Then it was just you and Natasha. The redhead was staring at the commotion in the kitchen that was caused by Yelena trying, and failing, to justify each sweet treat she got. You whistled softly so she could only hear it, and the sound snapped her out of the fog, and she looked at you.

“You okay?” You asked.

“I-” Natasha let out a slow breath, her shoulders sagging at each exhale. “I do not want to go back.” It was rare for her Russian accent to slip. Usually it happened after too many drinks. You stood quickly, taking her face in your hands and forcing her to look at you. Her green eyes were glossy.

“He will not hurt you or Yelena,” you said firmly. “Never again.”

“Promise?” In that moment, you weren’t adults in college in a home you found in Iowa. You were back in Ohio, staring at a fiery blue-haired girl that you desperately wanted to protect.

“Promise.” And you meant it.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sting from the guitar strings felt safe. It was a type of pain that you welcomed each time you played. This pain reminded you that you could create and be free of the man that held claws in you. The one thing you asked for of the house in Iowa. You wanted your bedroom on the first floor, so the first-floor room designed as an office became yours. You were close to the front door, the first line of defense for your family.

You sat on the daybed Alexei built, which let you look out at the farm field across the street. A gentle knock near your open door made you turn to see Melina. “I was wondering when you were coming to find me.” After family dinner and a movie night, everyone dispersed into their own corner of the house. Your sisters were upstairs, and you had a feeling Alexei was in the garage.

“Am I interrupting?” Melina asked. She looked at the guitar.

“No,” you put it down. “Come in.” Melina took a moment to look around your room, filled with memories and knickknacks that you collected to make the space feel like yours. You hated the look on her face. “Stop that!” You said suddenly. Melina raised an eyebrow at you. “You’ve been doing that all night.” You stood up from your spot and lay on your bed, back against the headboard. “You keep looking at me and my sisters like we’re going to disappear. We aren’t.” Melina sighed and sat next to you. It was second nature for your head to drop onto her shoulder, her lips pressed against your temple.

“I am sorry for keeping our involvement with SHIELD from you.” She apologized. “It was a decision your father and I did not take lightly.” After all these years, you never got used to their apologies. You sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked.

“Because it is not your responsibility.”

“I would have helped.”

“I know, and that is why we chose not to tell you.” Again, her lips pressed against your forehead. “You did so much for us. We wanted you to be a kid. That was the biggest reason we ran from them, so you and your sisters could have normal lives.” Nothing was normal the first two years after leaving Ohio. You had to lay low and move around so much. You stepped up more as a parent than a sister to Natasha and Yelena. You reached for Elena’s hand and traced the gem on her wedding ring. Alexei proposed to her once the house in Iowa was officially yours. You had no furniture, only the clothes in your suitcase, but you were safe. He got down on one knee in the living room with takeout boxes from the local Chinese restaurant. It was the first time he saw Melina cry.

She wore another ring on her index finger, identical to the one you and your sisters wore. It was a simple gold band with a picture of the moon. The phase of the moon matched the date of the first night in Ohio. The day the four of you became a family. It was a touch ring. So the others glowed when you touched it for more than 4 seconds. You wore yours on a chain around your neck.

“Budapest,” You started. “That was the first mission you did for SHIELD. Melina hummed.

“We would only give them names, information on past contacts, and sometimes go to headquarters to make identifications.” You pulled away to look at her. You opened your mouth. “No.” You frowned.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say?”

“Yes, I do.” She gave you a pointed look. “I’ve seen that look too many times while you tried to jump in and save your sisters. It is not going to work here.” Melina sighed. “You have to trust me when it comes to this.”

“I do trust you. It’s them I don’t trust.”

“I have been cycled through the Red Room 3 times before you girls were born. I can handle SHIELD.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” you whispered. “Why can’t we just be free?” Melina held out her hand, and you took it. She pulled you back towards her, and you went easily until your head rested on her chest. Her chin on top of your head.

“Freedom is never free,” she said. “SHIELD allows for me and your father to atone for all we have done.” You closed your eyes, listening to the beat of her heart.

They were victims, pawns in a game they were forced to play in. You believed them getting you out was enough atonement. “I want to go with you.”

“I know you do,” Melina whispered. “But your father and I will handle this. We need you and your sisters to be safe.”

Safe. That seemed like a silly term when the Red Room was active, and a SHIELD agent knew where you lived.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It was at 1030 p.m. You realized you left your phone in the car with the groceries and Nick Fury. It was the furthest thing from your mind. Sighing, you walked down the steps, and your bare feet hit the grass. There was a summer breeze that kept the temperature bearable. You were glad for this time off from school, but you were itching to go back.

You opened the door, opened the driver’s side door, and your eyes were drawn to a business card on the seat. You picked it up, and only a number was written on it—a strange feeling formed in your stomach. You looked around. Obviously, there was no one. Melina had security measures all over the property. You would know if someone was there.

Without a thought, you typed the number into your phone and listened to it ring. When the phone connected, there was no voice on the other side. You waited and waited, like before, until you made the first move. “Nick Fury,” the man chuckled, saying her name.

“I’ve been expecting your call.” You closed the door and walked to the back of the car.

“Have you now? And what do you want out of this call? Maybe I just called you to tell you to go fuck yourself and stay away from my family.” To your surprise, he laughed again.

“Probably want to do that too.” You sat down in the gravel driveway. “Not the enemy, kid.” You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Men in power are always the enemy. You hadn’t meant to slip into your native accent, but you did. “My family have always been pawns. I do not want them to be in your game of chess.” Fury was silent as he took in what you said.

“Then what if we help each other out?” Your back straightened.

“What do you mean? You questioned slowly.

“Join SHIELD.” You scoffed, picked up a rock, threw it, and threw it on the road.

“You just want my help to stop Dreykov.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But also protect this planet from more men who have been victimizing people like your family. Do you think Dreykov is the only villain out there?” No, you knew from your criminology classes that villains came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Your family wasn’t the first family hurt by these types of men, and you would not be the last.

Unlike the others, you got away. Fury continued when you stayed quiet, “SHIELD is not the Red Room. You have a choice in all this. You can tell me to go fuck myself and go back to school and become a lawyer or whatever.” You weren’t surprised he knew what you were going to school for. “But I think you and your family could do some good.”

Good? You wanted to laugh. You were not good or a hero. You had blood on your hands by the time you were seven, but maybe if you joined Shield, some of that blood could be removed from your ledger. “I can’t give you an answer right now.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” You smiled. “Get some sleep, kid. We’ll talk soon.” You rolled your eyes.

“Night, Nick.” “Name’s Fury.”

“Whatever.” He hung up. You set your phone down slowly and looked up at the stars. There were moments where you believed you could remember them - your biological parents. You sometimes smelt an intense smoky leather and vanilla. But your choice to stay with them was taken from you. You were forced to be in the Red Room, forced to kill and fight, and be part of the mission in Ohio. Nothing was ever your choice.

But now you had a choice. You chose to go to college and picked a major to help people. Your choice to go to prom with a girl who broke your heart the next day, your choice to play volleyball, and your choice to live free of the Red Room every single day.

Now you were allowed to do good with the awful things you were trained on and hours spent at the ballet bar and perfecting how to reload a pistol. There were hours of blood that covered your hands. Maybe you weren’t the villain they wanted you to be.

‘Send me what you have on Drake off.’ You texted Fury.

‘Already sent you everything.’ His response came right away. Smiling, you got up and walked back to the house. You were surprised to see your sisters in your bed. Unbelievable! You mumbled. Natasha woke up slowly.

“Where were you?” She asked, half asleep.

“Phone was in the car.” You placed it on the nightstand. Thank God you had a big enough bed for sleepovers. You and Natasha were always on the edge with Yelena in the middle. “You guys okay?”

Natasha turns sharply toward the familiar voice, her body reacting before her thoughts can catch up.

Clint strides toward her with easy confidence, a wooden skewer balanced between his fingers as he chews casually. In his other hand, he carries a small plastic tray piled with more of the same street food. His hair is shorter, his face smoother, untouched by the grief and exhaustion she remembers from Vormir. He looks lighter. Younger.

Her body moves before her mind can process what this truly is. She collides with him in a fierce hug, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders.

“Oof—hey! Okay!” Clint laughs, staggering a half-step back as the tray tilts dangerously. “I was only gone for a minute!”

Natasha clings to him anyway, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his jacket. She feels the steady rhythm of his breathing, the friendly warmth radiating from him, the familiar solidity she hasn’t felt since…

…since she let go of his hand.

For a brief, fragile moment, she allows herself to exist in the illusion that nothing terrible has happened yet.

“Uh…Romanoff?”

With a deep breath, she forces herself to pull back.

Clint blinks at her, eyebrows raised in amused confusion.

“Damn,” he mutters, glancing down. One of the skewered snacks now lies splattered on the pavement, sauce smeared across the stones. He gestures at it mournfully. “That one was yours. Guess I’m buying another.”

Before she can respond, he’s already turning back toward the vendor. He pauses halfway, throwing her a mildly suspicious squint over his shoulder.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he says jokingly. “I’ll be right back.”

Natasha watches him go, her hands flexing at her sides in realization at the memories coming together again. The younger face. The easy smile. This is the Clint she defected with. Before New York, before Sokovia, before the Snap, before everything became irreversible.

Her throat tightens.

“Is he the one you wanted to see?”

She startles and jumps at your voice behind her, turning to find you perched casually on a metal barrier nearby.

Your hands are clasped loosely in front of you as you watch her with that same unsettling calm that she can’t seem to read.

“Back on earth,” you clarify.

“One of them,” she admits, her voice softer than before. A sad smile flickers across her lips. “He was there when I…”

The words refuse to form. She can’t say when she died. Not while looking at a version of Clint who hasn’t lived through that loss.

You don’t press her to continue. Instead, you simply nod, a quiet understanding settling between you.

Natasha exhales slowly, shaking her head as if to clear the painful memories from that time.

“No, there’s someone else I need to see on earth,” she continues. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity threading through your expression as you take a step closer to her.

“Worrying about others while you’re fighting for your own survival?”

Natasha smirks, slipping instinctively into her easy confidence, an armor she knows well.

“Pretty standard for me.”

A faint smile touches your lips, but it fades quickly as your eyes snap to your left, something catching your attention.

Before Natasha can even turn her head to look, your hand shoots out, fingers closing around her wrist as you yank her toward you. She stumbles forward, catching herself against your body just as a cyclist speeds past, the rush of wind from the spinning wheel brushing her leg.

For a second, everything goes still.

Your head dips beside hers, bringing your voice close enough that only she can hear it.

“Careful, this may be a memory,” you murmur against her ear, “but you can still get hurt in here.”

Natasha freezes, suddenly acutely aware of your arm around her and the heat of your body through the thin fabric of her jacket.

She quickly clears her throat to break the embarrassment that she suddenly feels, placing a hand lightly on your forearm to create space between you. As she steps back, she notices your grip is still holding her wrist protectively.

The matching bracelets from the first trial that you both received clang against each other gently.

You release her at the exact moment she glances at where you two are still joined.

“Sorry,” you mutter, withdrawing your hand back to your side with a hint of awkward stiffness.

Natasha brushes her fingers over the spot where you held her, pretending to readjust the bracelet while also feeling the faint ghost of warmth lingering there. For some reason, she feels slightly disappointed at how quickly the warm feeling disappears.

She pushes the thought away before it can settle too deeply in her chest and returns her focus to the original reason she’s here in the first place.

“So,” she says, squaring her shoulders and forcing her composure back into place, “what’s next?”

You gesture outward at the city with quiet expectation, giving her a raised brow.

“You tell me. This is your memory. What happens now?”

With a sigh, Natasha scans the street, piecing together fragments of her past. The buildings seem familiar now, heavier with meaning.

“This place…this was when Clint and I planted the bombs in the building,” she says slowly. “Before I killed Dreykov…or rather, before I thought I did.”

Bitterness edges into her voice. The truth she carries now of the fact that the Red Room survived, that girls kept suffering, settles like a weight in her stomach. She exhales shakily, pushing the lingering guilt to the back of her mind before turning toward you.

“So if I complete the mission again, I pass?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Just as before,” you confirm. “Same choices. Same actions.”

Natasha folds her arms, giving you a dry, knowing look.

“And I’m guessing, as my guide, you’re not allowed to help?”

A faint smirk curves your lips as you step back toward the metal barrier and settle there again, like a sentinel guarding the edge of her memory.

“I’m here to watch,” you say. Your eyes soften as they meet hers. “To witness the moment that shaped Natasha Romanoff into the hero she is.”

Natasha pauses, blinking in slight surprise. Something about hearing those words from you lands differently, like you believe it in a way she never quite has. For a brief second, she doesn’t know what to do with that.

So she breaks eye contact first, turning toward the direction Clint disappeared and drawing in a steadying breath.

“Alright then,” she mutters, firm resolve settling back into her posture. “Let’s do this again.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You lean against the iron railing of the balcony, the city sprawling below in warm afternoon light. Below, Budapest stretches in hazy afternoon gold. Vendors shout prices in rapid Hungarian, car engines sputter to life, laughter spills from café terraces and rises like music.

It feels alive in a way Vardrheim never does.

Mortal life is loud. Imperfect. Fragile.

And yet it pulses with possibility.

You watch a woman scold her child for running too close to the street. Watch an elderly man kiss his wife’s temple as they wait for the train. Watch two teenagers argue and then dissolve into laughter. None of them know how they will be judged after everything is over.

How many of them will be remembered?

How many will simply live, and love, and grow old?

How many will make mistakes and be allowed to keep going anyway?

And then there are the rare special few who decide their ending before their story has truly begun.

Your gaze drifts to the dusty glass doors behind you. Two silhouettes move inside the dim space, careful and precise as they set explosives along support beams and furniture. 

You shouldn’t stare, but you can’t help when your eyes linger on her silhouette anyway. 

You have witnessed sacrifice more times than you can count. Valkyries are born of it, raised to honor it, to escort souls who offered everything, and to sanctify the end.

But you have never understood that quiet conviction, the one Natasha carries in her bones—that her worth lies only in what she is willing to give up.

Shouldn’t worth come from survival? From enduring the unendurable? From waking up the next day and choosing to be something more than the sum of your worst mistakes?

“That should be it,” Clint’s voice carries faintly through the door. “I’ll meet you outside at the rendezvous.”

Footsteps retreat down the corridor as silence settles. You wait for a moment. Only when the echo of his steps disappears entirely do you push the doors open and step inside.

Afternoon light slices through thin curtains, painting everything in amber.

Natasha stands with her back to you. 

As you step closer, you notice immediately how her shoulders are too rigid. In her hands, she holds the detonator. Open. Its wires exposed. Her fingers hover over the circuitry with a brief hesitation.

“I thought he said you two were finished here,” you say quietly.

Her body stiffens. It is subtle, barely perceptible. A pause in her breathing. A fraction too long before she answers.

“I just need to make some adjustments.”

Suspicion curls tight in your chest. You step closer and gently but firmly catch her wrist before she can reach for the device again, turning her to face you. 

“Is that what you did originally?” you ask.

Her eyes flash with defiance.

“What does it matter?” she snaps, pulling her hand free from your grip. “It’s just a small change.”

“It matters,” you say, voice steady even as something uneasy tightens inside you, “because this is not the present. This is the memory that shaped you. Alter it, and you unravel who you were meant to become.”

Her jaw clenches.

“You mean a murderer?”

Her voice cracks the air, surprising you. She turns toward the balcony, toward the city that continues blissfully unaware. Her hand braces against the desk as if she needs something solid to steady her.

“This mission failed,” Natasha says with a tired sigh. “We didn’t kill Dreykov. We didn’t stop the Red Room.” Her breath falters. “We just hurt innocent people.”

The air shifts, and her voice lowers into a whisper.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there.”

You feel it then, not just the memory, but the tremor of her soul beneath it. Guilt so old it has hardened into identity.

“This isn’t what made me a hero,” she continues, voice breaking. “It’s just another name on my ledger.”

You step closer, close enough to see the way her pupils unfocus slightly. A haze is settling in over her vision. The trial is tightening its grip. The memory bleeding into desire.

Natasha is no longer standing in a building in Budapest. She is standing at a crossroads.

“If I can change it,” Natasha whispers, more to herself than to you, “if I can stop it—”

“You can’t,” you say, sharper now that you realize what’s happening.

She flinches, but her gaze slides past you. Through you.

You step in front of her, forcing her line of sight to meet yours.

“Natasha, you cannot become who you are without surviving who you once were,” you press. “This pain—this guilt, it is a part of you.”

“I don’t want it to be,” she whispers. The admission is so soft that you almost miss it.

For a fleeting, dangerous moment, you understand the temptation. To spare her this. To let her rewrite it. To see what she would look like without that weight behind her eyes.

Would she smile more easily?

Would she laugh without that shadow?

Would she look at herself in the same way that you see her?

You swallow the last thought before you can examine it too closely. Instead, you return your focus to what’s happening with Natasha.

Intervening like this is forbidden. Trials have strict rules and guidelines that one must follow. And there are no exceptions.

But watching Natasha slowly disappear into this illusion feels worse than any punishment the trial could inflict.

Making a decision, you close the remaining distance and cradle her face in your hands.

For a split second, Natasha tenses, her breath hitching at the touch despite the haze clouding her eyes.

Then the contact settles, and you concentrate.

Golden light seeps between your palms, warm and radiant. The same power you use to sustain her soul hums beneath your skin, altered now in intention. Not to bind her to fate.

To tether her back to herself.

You rest your forehead gently against hers, bringing your faces closer.

“Natasha,” you murmur, your voice barely more than breath. “Listen to me.”

Her breathing falters, uneven against your lips. You can feel everything inside her—guilt like barbed wire, anger turned inward, regret that has rooted so deeply it masquerades as identity. The aching, relentless need to undo what cannot be undone.

Your thumbs brush gently along her cheek.

“This did not make you a monster,” you whisper. “It made you choose to be better.”

The golden glow pulses once. Twice. Slow and warm between you.

“You are a hero, Natasha Romanoff.”

The words hang there, fragile. For a moment, nothing changes.

Doubt creeps cold into your chest. You close your eyes, bracing for the weight of another failure, for the possibility that you reached too late, that she has already slipped beyond where you can follow.

Her breath suddenly steadies with a long exhale.

The tight curl of her fists against your arms loosens. The rigid line of her shoulders softens. Instead of pulling away, her forehead presses more firmly against yours, as if she is drawing strength from the contact…as if she needs it to steady herself.

When you open your eyes, green meets yours. Clear and present.

For a heartbeat, you simply breathe the same air.

“Are you back?” you ask softly, careful not to fracture the fragile quiet suspended between you.

A shaky exhale brushes your lips. Then a small nod.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m here.”

Neither of you pulls away.

Your foreheads remain pressed together. Your hands still cradle her face, thumbs resting lightly against her skin. The golden light fades, leaving only a lingering warmth. 

And the brush of her breath against your lips.

Natasha’s gaze drifts down to the sliver of space between your faces. A different kind of daze settles over her features. Not the trial’s illusion. Something else.

Before you can speak her name again, before you can ask if she’s truly alright, she tilts her face and leans in.

Stomping footsteps echo sharply in the corridor, and the spell shatters.

Natasha steps back abruptly as if coming back to herself. 

Your hands fall from her face to your side, the sudden absence of contact feeling colder than it should.

Natasha clears her throat lightly, not looking at you now, her eyes trained toward the door.

“We need to get out before we’re caught.”

There’s a beat where you only stare at her profile, trying to decide whether you imagined it—whether she truly meant to close the distance.

But more dangerously, whether you would have let her.

You swallow and nod.

Still, your gaze drops to the detonator in her hand. 

She follows it immediately, reading the question you don’t voice. With deliberate calm, she secures it and gives a small shake of her head.

“I didn’t change anything.”

You study her carefully. There’s no haze. No fracture in her focus. Only clarity. And that familiar steel threaded through her spine.

Satisfied, you nod your head once in acceptance.

Natasha moves past you toward the balcony.

You turn to follow when a sharp, searing pain spears through your chest. It steals the air from your lungs mid-step. Your vision lurches, knees buckling before you can brace.

You barely register the floor rushing up before strong hands catch you.

Natasha grips your shoulders, steadying you.

“What’s wrong?” she demands, urgency cutting through her voice.

You force your features into composure, though each breath feels dragged through broken glass. Is this the cost of interfering? The trial correcting your defiance?

“Nothing,” you manage tightly. “Just…focus on getting out.”

Her eyes search yours, unconvinced. But the footsteps are closer now. The potential danger of getting caught is closing in.

With a quiet curse under her breath, Natasha slips beneath your arm without hesitation, taking more of your weight than you intend to give her.

“I said I’m fine,” you murmur.

“You don’t look fine.” Her reply is clipped, leaving little room for argument.

Together, the two of you move toward the open balcony doors. Every step sends another sharp ache through your chest. You keep your breathing measured, unwilling to let Natasha see how much it truly hurts.

The city stretches before you once you step outside, Budapest glowing beneath the afternoon sun. You lift your eyes, searching for the quickest escape.

Then you notice Natasha has stopped moving. She stands at the edge of the balcony, one hand still supporting you while the other grips the railing so tightly her knuckles have gone pale.

She isn’t looking across the city. She’s looking down, down at the street far below. Soon after, her breathing grows uneven.

You recognize that look. You’ve seen it on so many others before. A kind of fear that paralyzes even the strongest of warriors. 

Her body has gone rigid beneath your arm. Even the hand gripping the railing begins to tremble.

“Natasha...”

You start to reach for her, but then several footsteps and voices echo from the room inside.

You glance over your shoulder, realizing there’s no time to be comforting or snapping her out of whatever’s keeping her immobilized. Your attention snaps back to Natasha. Her eyes are still frozen on the drop. So you step directly in front of her.

“Natasha.”

She doesn’t react or answer to your call. Without hesitation, you pull her firmly into you. The sudden embrace startles her enough that her eyes finally flick toward yours.

“Close your eyes,” you say quietly.

Something in your voice reaches her before thought does, and her eyes shut. She immediately wraps her arms around you, gripping the back of your tunic tightly.

You tighten your own hold around her waist.

“Trust me.”

Before she can question you, you fall off the balcony, pulling her with you. The world disappears beneath your feet. Wind roars past your ears.

Natasha’s grip becomes almost painfully tight as the two of you plummet. She doesn’t scream. She simply buries her face against your shoulder.

One hand leaves her back just long enough to reach toward her belt.

Your fingers find the unfamiliar device attached there. You squeeze the trigger of the grapple. The cable fires upward with a sharp metallic snap before embedding itself into the building.

A violent jerk pulls against both of you. The fall slows dramatically, though not enough to stop but just enough to survive.

The cable reaches its end, and the two of you swing hard into the side of the adjacent building before dropping the remaining distance.

You hit the alley in an awkward tumble. Stone tears at your shoulder, and your chest erupts in fresh pain as you roll across the ground before finally coming to a stop on your back.

There’s a rare silence among the usual noise of the city. Then both of you exhale sharply at the same time and move.

You force yourself upright, one hand instinctively pressing against your ribs.

Across from you, Natasha remains on her knees, but she’s still staring down at the ground. 

You can hear her breathing from here. It’s coming out too fast, too shallow. You move beside her despite the protest in your chest.

“Natasha.”

She still doesn’t answer. Her hands are shaking now as her fingers dig hard into the dirt, feeling the ground.

You gently cup her cheeks, lifting her head in an attempt to steady herself once more.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flick toward yours, unfocused in the beginning before clarity slowly returns as she searches your face.

“I...”

She swallows.

“I’m fine.”

The words come out barely above a whisper before she removes your hands from her face and pushes herself onto unsteady legs.

“I’m fine,” she insists, firmer this time.

You know she isn’t. But she isn’t ready to admit it. Without another word, she starts walking.

Suppressing a grimace, you stand as well and follow her, subtly pressing a hand against your side as another wave of pain passes through your chest.

At the mouth of the alley, Natasha suddenly stops without warning. 

You pause behind her, your eyes briefly searching her tense posture before lifting over her shoulder. Whatever had stolen her attention had also drained the color from her face.

A sleek black sedan rolls to a halt outside the building. Soon after, a young girl climbs from the back seat. She thanks the driver before disappearing through the front entrance.

Natasha’s breath catches. Her throat works around words that refuse to come.

You watch her shoulders sink ever so slightly.

After a long moment, she whispers, “Can we leave now?”

You look at her instead of answering immediately. The grief in her expression says everything.

Then a deafening explosion tears through the air. Your eyes turn to see the entire building erupting in fire. Glass bursts outward. Flames roar through shattered windows.

The shockwave rushes down the street. People scream. Car alarms begin blaring. Smoke pours into the sky as sirens begin to echo in the distance.

Natasha doesn’t move. She simply stares at the inferno. At the place where the young girl disappeared only moments ago.

You step beside her. Your voice is barely audible beneath the chaos.

“...Yes.”

Brilliant golden light blooms around the two of you. The burning city dissolves. The screams fade. Budapest disappears. And together, you leave the memory behind.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha’s body sways as solid ground settles beneath her feet again. The sharp scent of smoke and scorched stone vanishes, replaced by the familiar warmth of the hearth and the faint trace of herbs lingering in the air. For several long seconds, Natasha remains frozen, her breathing still uneven as her mind struggles to separate the memory from the present.

Then her surroundings slowly come back into focus.

The modest living space of your cottage stretches around her. Morning light still filters through the windows, pale and undisturbed, as though no time has passed at all. The blankets remain draped across the long chair beside the hearth, and the remnants of tea still sit where the two of you left them before beginning the trial.

Everything looks exactly the same.

Yet Natasha feels as though she has returned carrying the weight of an entire lifetime. Her gaze lowers to the small table in front of her.

The cube sits where you placed it.

Only now, the runes carved into its surface have gone dark. There is no golden light pulsing beneath the markings, no quiet vibration of power humming through the room. It appears almost ordinary, nothing more than a dull piece of stone and metal.

As though it had not just torn open one of the most painful memories buried inside her mind. Natasha stares at it for a long moment.

A deep breath leaves her, slow and heavy, but it offers none of the relief she wants from it. She slumps further onto the long chair, her movements uncharacteristically drained, before resting her forearms against her thighs.

Her hands gradually tighten. Fingers curl into the fabric covering her legs until her knuckles pale, the pressure giving her something physical to focus on while images from the memory continue flashing behind her eyes.

Clint’s younger face. The girl stepping out of the car. The building engulfed in flames.

Your voice calling her back when she nearly lost herself inside it.

Natasha swallows against the tightness in her throat.

“There you go,” she mutters.

Her voice is quiet enough that the words nearly disappear into the crackling of the fire.

“You wanted to see the moment that shaped me.”

She glances at the lifeless cube again, bitterness beginning to sharpen the edges of her exhaustion.

“That was it.”

The laugh that escapes her contains no humor. It is little more than a brittle breath as she drops her gaze to her clenched hands.

“A failed mission. An innocent child caught in the explosion. Another mistake I spent years pretending was necessary because it bought me my freedom.”

Her jaw tightens.

“I didn’t become a hero in Budapest.”

The title sounds almost offensive when she says it now. Something belonging to someone cleaner. Someone who had not built their second chance on the bodies of people who never received one.

“I’m no hero,” Natasha says, quieter this time. “I never was.”

For a moment, there is no response.

The silence stretches long enough that Natasha finally notices it.

She had expected you to argue. You always seem ready with some infuriatingly steady answer whenever she dismisses her own worth, as though the evidence she carries against herself has never once been enough to change your mind.

Instead, she hears your voice come faintly from beside her.

“Natasha, you’re—”

Your next word breaks off.

Natasha turns toward you, surprise briefly displacing the grief across her face.

You are still sitting beside her, but something is wrong.

The strength has drained from your expression. Your face has gone unnaturally pale, and your unfocused gaze seems to pass straight through her. One of your hands lifts weakly toward your chest, fingers pressing against the place where the pain first struck you inside the trial.

“Hey,” Natasha says, instantly alert.

Your body falls forward.

Her body reacts before thought can follow. Natasha catches you beneath the arms just before you hit the floor. The force of your weight pushes her back down onto the seat, but she manages to turn you with her, pulling you against her chest so your head does not strike the edge of the table.

“Whoa, easy.”

The words leave her automatically, soft but urgent, as she adjusts her grip around you.

Your body lies frighteningly limp against hers.

One arm curls securely around your waist while her other hand rises to cradle the side of your face. She searches your features for any sign that you can hear her, but your eyes remain closed, and your breathing is shallow enough to make panic tighten sharply around her ribs.

“Hey.”

Natasha pats your cheek gently at first. When you don’t respond, her touch grows firmer.

“Hey, say something.”

Nothing. The unease in her chest hardens into fear. She shifts you closer, allowing your head to rest against her shoulder while she presses two fingers beneath your jaw, searching for a pulse. Relief flickers through her when she finds one, but it is faint and unsteady beneath her touch.

“Come on,” she whispers, her voice losing some of its command. “You don’t get to pass out after telling me I can survive this.”

Still, you do not answer.

Natasha’s hand remains against your cheek, thumb brushing over skin that feels far colder than it should. Her gaze drops toward your chest and then toward the hand that had clutched at it before you collapsed.

The pain in the memory. The golden light you used to pull her back. The way you stumbled afterward and insisted it was nothing.

Understanding begins to settle heavily inside her. This was not nothing. Whatever you had done to save her inside the trial had followed you home.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

a/n: thank you for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

Her hand lifted, resting on your back. “There is nothing to apologise for, little one.”

The clinic was quiet. Too quiet.

You had discovered that medical buildings possessed a very specific kind of silence. Not true silence – there were always distant footsteps, phones ringing somewhere far away, muted conversations behind closed doors – but a silence heavy with waiting.

Waiting for answers, waiting for results, waiting for news that might change everything.

You hated it.

Across from you and Ambessa, Mel was typing away on her phone, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. She’d cancelled that evening’s date with one of her regulars, so was working to keep him sweet by sending him photos of her shoes in-between saucy texts.

Beside you sat Ambessa, looking entirely out of place in the small consultation room. The older woman occupied the space the way a warship occupied a harbour: calmly, confidently, and with the implicit understanding that she belonged wherever she chose to be.

You sat beside your mother-figure, trying very hard not to think.

Unfortunately, thinking was proving difficult to avoid.

The tests themselves hadn’t bothered you – you were, unfortunately, rather accustomed to peeing in cups and having your blood drawn, though you did hate the throat, vaginal, and rectal swabs you’d had to do.

It was the reason for the tests that still tormented you immensely.

Maddie.

Every time you thought back to the conversation in Ambessa’s office, your jaw tightened and your heart pounded.

The confessions, the lies, the sheer selfishness of it all.

Maddie had been sleeping with Cait and Vi whilst dating you.

That alone had been devastating.

Learning she’d also been seeing other clients for the entire duration of your relationship and keeping everything hidden from you elevated the entire situation from heartbreaking to infuriating.

“You look angry.”

You glanced up and across at Mel, whom was still typing away. You sighed. “I was thinking about Maddie again.”

Ambessa continued to read the emails on her tablet. “If it helps, little one: she is a fool who never deserved you.”

You shook your head. “I thought we’d get married, you know? Be together forever. Y/N Nolen, or maybe L/N-Nolen, Nolen-L/N. Before my diagnosis, I genuinely thought I’d found The One. Marriage, a home, kids one day…”

Mel snapped a picture of her foot, then resumed typing. “Well, now you can have that with two rich, gorgeous women who actually know your worth.”

Before you could respond, a knock sounded at the door. The room immediately stilled.

The elderly doctor entered, carrying a folder. “Thank you for waiting, ladies.”

“We appreciate you getting the results so quickly,” Ambessa said smoothly, closing and putting down her tablet.

You clasped your hands together, sitting up in the leather seat. Mel put her phone away and crossed the room to stand by your side, her warm hand resting on your back.

The doctor opened the folder. “I’ve reviewed all of your results – the urine and blood samples, and all the swabs.”

You felt yourself stop breathing.

“Your STI panel is completely clear.”

The tension vanished so abruptly you almost laughed, so you groaned instead. “Ohhh.” Relief flooded through you, slumping back in the chair, your hands over your face.

Beside you, Mel visibly relaxed. “That’s great news, angel,” she smiled, rubbing your shoulder.

Ambessa nodded. “Very good news, indeed.”

The doctor nodded. “Everything came back negative. HIV, chlamydia, syphilis… Everything. You have no sexually transmitted infections whatsoever, and no sign of ever having had one in the past.”

For a few seconds, the room felt lighter. The entire reason you were all sat in that office was suddenly resolved.

You were already imagining leaving, and hopefully never thinking about Maddie again.

Then the doctor hesitated. “There is one thing I need to mention.”

And suddenly the room felt cold again.

Every muscle in your body tightened. Mel and Ambessa straightened.

The doctor glanced down at the paperwork. “One of the markers in your blood work came back elevated.”

You frowned. “What… W-What does that mean?”

The doctor’s expression remained carefully neutral. He was clearly picking his words carefully. “It may mean nothing.”

The statement immediately terrified you… You knew enough about medicine to know that doctors only said it may mean nothing when it might mean something.

Dr Reveck continued. “We occasionally see elevated results for a variety of benign reasons: infection; inflammation; certain medications; even a laboratory variation or human error.”

You nodded, your legs starting to shake.

Then the doctor took a breath. “There is another possibility you should investigate.”

The room seemed to shrink.

You knew what he was about to say. Before the words were spoken, you knew.

The doctor looked directly at you. “Given your medical history, we can’t ignore the possibility that this could indicate recurrence.”

The world stopped.

For a moment, you genuinely heard nothing.

Not the air conditioning in the office, or the traffic outside… Not even your own breathing.

Just a dull ringing somewhere deep inside your skull.

Recurrence.

Cancer.

Cancer again.

No.

No.

No.

You had beaten it. You had done the treatment. You had taken the pills, suffered the chemo, had the surgery.

You had survived. You had fought for every miserable, painful step of recovery.

And you had survived.

The doctor’s voice seemed very far away, as if he were at the bottom of a well. “I’m not saying that’s what this is.”

You stared at him, unable to move, unable to think.

“At this stage, all you have is a single elevated result. You will need to see your regular oncologist for further scans and testing. We can’t conclude anything at this time.”

Your ears started ringing, your vision falling into a tunnel.

A large hand closed around yours.

Ambessa.

Neither woman spoke; they were simply there.

You swallowed, your throat feeling painfully tight. “How likely is it?”

The question barely sounded like your own voice.

The doctor didn’t answer immediately. “I really can’t say; I’m not an oncologist.”

Just a simple, yet brutally honest response.

The room fell silent again.

Beside you, Mel moved her hand from your back to your other hand, squeezing tightly.

Ambessa sprang into action, lifting her head to speak to Dr Reveck. “Who is the best oncologist in the city?”

You spoke softly. “My oncologist was-”

“We can afford better than that now, Y/N,” she said firmly. “Reveck, any recommendations?”

He nodded back at her, handing her a slip of paper with a name on it. “Heimerdinger is the best of the best. He’s very busy, though. So, call sooner rather than later.”

Ambessa was already standing, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Thank you, Dr Reveck.” She touched your upper arm with surprising gentleness. “Come on, little one. It is time to go.”

You stood numbly, following Ambessa and Mel out of the room, only vaguely hearing Ambessa speaking on the phone.

“…For Professor Heimerdinger, yes. … No, it must be today. … I understand the Professor is very busy, but were he to make time in his schedule for my client, I can assure you he will be compensated thoroughly, as well as yourself for assisting in getting this appointment booked – you can charge everything to the Medarda account. … Yes, I said Medarda.”

Despite the fear threatening to overwhelm you, despite the ringing in your ears and the awful knot forming in your stomach, you knew one thing.

Whatever came next – scans, tests, waiting for answers – you would not be facing it alone.

“How much did you offer him?” you asked Ambessa meekly, trying not to wince at your sore throat.

You’d been rushed in to Professor Heimerdinger’s clinic and taken straight back for an upper endoscopy – an exam you were regrettably familiar with. Mel had been allowed to hold your hand as you were given a mild sedative for the tube that was going to go down your throat, whilst Ambessa sorted out the sizeable payment and charitable donation to the Professor’s research project.

Heimerdinger himself did the procedure – a short, bubbly man with white hair and a large moustache – but the medication meant you didn’t remember a single second of it. A small mercy for the day.

It only took 15 minutes, and then you were wheeled out into a recovery room where Mel and Ambessa waited for you. Mel wiped away your drool without complaint when you were too groggy to do so; Ambessa held a small cup of water to your lips when the nurse said you were able to swallow.

Ambessa shrugged off your question. “A seven-figure donation to his research.”

“Seven?” you balked, Mel and the nurse helping you sit up in the bed.

“A drop in the ocean,” she waved her hand.

The nurse eased you back against the fluffed-up pillows. “The doctor is reviewing the camera footage now; he’ll be with you as soon as he’s done.”

“Thaaaank yoooou,” you mumbled, still a little loopy from the sedative.

“Thank you,” Ambessa said firmly, closing the door behind the nurse.

As you sit up in the bed, slowly coming back to your senses, sipping on water, memories you had spent years trying to bury came rushing back with uncomfortable clarity. There had once been a period of your life when hospitals had consumed everything. Your schedule had revolved around appointments. Your future had revolved around test results. Entire weeks had been planned around scans, treatments, and blood work.

You had fought so hard to leave that part of your life behind.

“Hey.”

You didn’t answer, your gaze remained fixed on a spot on the wall across from you.

“Hey. Angel.”

The gentle tone finally broke through.

You swallowed hard. “What?”

The single word sounded fragile.

Mel’s expression softened immediately. The confidence and humour she usually carried had vanished, replaced by genuine concern. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, resting her elbow on the bed next to her, leaning her head on her hand.

You laughed softly, but the sound held no amusement whatsoever. “What am I thinking about?” you repeated. “I’m thinking about the fact that I might have cancer again.”

Eventually Ambessa leaned forward slightly in the chair next to the bed. “You do not know that yet, little one.”

You looked at her sharply. “What if it is back? What if the marker wasn’t a mistake? What if they find something on the scan? What if I have to go through treatment again?”

Your voice grew increasingly strained with each question. The fear you’d been fighting all afternoon was finally beginning to spill out.

“What if it spread somewhere? What if it’s worse this time? I only had a 50-50 chance last time; what will I have now?”

“Angel,” Mel interrupted gently. “We don’t even know the cancer’s back yet,” she attempted to soothe, but you didn’t listen.

“Of course it’s back!” you cried, tears starting to stream down your face. “Because the universe hates me that much! My abusive family come back and harass me; I lose my fucking job; my ex who abandoned me when I had cancer turns up and was actually cheating on me our entire relationship with the two women I now love—Why wouldn’tthe cancer come back? Just to tie everything up in a neat little bow! And then they’ll leave me!”

Ambessa spoke up firmly. "If the cancer has returned – which is not yet confirmed – then we will deal with it. And Caitlyn and Violet will not abandon you as Madeleine did.”

“Of course they will! Why wouldn’t they? They don’t want to deal with what the cancer will bring. The appointments, the medication, the chemo, the fucking round-the-clock vomiting… What if my hair falls out this time? I got lucky last time!”

Mel nodded. “Funky eyelashes and two years of free Brazilians,” she joked.

You frowned at her, your face twisted with fear.

“They can handle whatever comes,” Mel assured more seriously. “And Kiramman money can buy you the best wigs in the world.”

Your eyes slipped out of focus, staring off into space. “There’s bound to be a cancer fetish community out there; I’ll have to make money-”

“Enough!” Ambessa snapped. “Caitlyn and Violet will not abandon you. Do not put them in the same category as that girl.”

Mel nodded. “Mother’s right. You can’t compare two golden apples to a rotten orange. One of those people cheated on you whilst fucking an unknown number of strangers, putting you at an incredible risk for disease; the other two rearrange their entire work schedules if you mention having a headache.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped your throat.

Mel pointed triumphantly. “See?”

Across from you both, Ambessa nodded once. “If the cancer has returned,” she said carefully, “Then Caitlyn and Violet will remain exactly where they are.”

You looked down at your hands, sniffling.

Ambessa continued. “They will attend appointments. They will sit beside you during treatments. They will drive doctors mad by asking countless questions. Violet will almost certainly threaten somebody at least once, ensuring I am kept busy.”

That earned a reluctant smile.

“It wouldn’t be a good threat, either,” Mel added. "Very emotional. Poorly worded.”

“Quite possibly, Mel.” Ambessa’s expression softened slightly. “They love you. Beyond words. They will not leave if you become ill. Not now, not ever.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

You felt tears threatening again, though these ones came from somewhere different: not fear, but the simple certainty that still struggled to believe you deserved that kind of devotion.

Eventually Mel squeezed your hand. “You’ve skipped about twenty steps ahead, like you always do.”

You looked over. “What?”

“You’ve gone from one slightly abnormal blood result to being abandoned and dying.”

The bluntness startled an unwilling laugh out of you.

Mel smiled. “So, chill the fuck out. Okay?”

You giggled nervously, forcing yourself to exhale slowly. “Okay.”

There was finally a knock on the recovery room door.

Ambessa called for whoever it was to come in.

Professor Heimerdinger came in, carrying a file. He was humming a happy, bouncy tune, which actually did nothing to comfort you – he seemed like the kind of doctor that could deliver a terminal diagnosis whilst whistling a jaunty song.

“Good afternoon, ladies. Well, it’s evening by now. I’m sorry I kept you waiting; I was just conferring with a colleague to ensure we had the best understanding of your case.”

You searched his face desperately for clues. A smile – was it concern? Sympathy? Pity?

But Professor was impossible to read. He crossed the room to the computer, lifting himself up into the stool at the standing desk.

He tapped away on the keyboard, clearing his throat. “I have to say, Ms Medarda, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen someone move through the referral system quite so efficiently.”

Ambessa’s expression remained completely neutral. “I can imagine. I only hope my donation will benefit your research.”

The Professor smiled. “It will, thank you. And I have heard impressive things about your own work over the years.”

Ambessa nodded politely.

You stared at both of them in disbelief.

What were they doing?

Your heart felt as though it was attempting to punch its way out of your chest.

The Professor continued. “Your foundation’s continued support of—”

“Professor,” Ambessa’s voice wasn’t rude, nor particularly sharp, but it carried enough authority to halt the conversation instantly. “My compliments can wait.” She nodded her head in your direction. “My client is anxiously awaiting her results.”

You could have kissed her.

The Professor immediately abandoned the small talk. “Of course.” He looked back at the screen, typing away much faster than you had thought possible for his short fingers.

“You’re clear.”

You felt yourself stop breathing.

The Professor looked back at you. And smiled.

A real smile.

Your brain didn’t process it immediately; you were too frightened, too prepared for disaster.

“W… What?”

The Professor looked directly at you. “Your scan is completely clear, my dear.”

For a moment, nobody moved.

The words entered the room, hung there, and simply refused to make sense.

You stared at him, unspeaking.

Obviously used to dealing with stunned patients, he smiled wider and continued. “The endoscopy was clear.”

Still nothing: your mind couldn’t seem to catch up.

The Professor flicked through the images in the computer, shaking his head. “There is no evidence of recurrent disease; no signs of tumours or growths. Your cancer has not returned.”

You continued staring, barely feeling Mel and Ambessa squeeze your hands.

He realised you weren’t processing the information, and his smile softened. “You do not have cancer, Y/N. You are completely healthy. You do not have cancer.”

Something inside you cracked, like a rope pulled too tight finally snapped. A weight suddenly vanished from your very soul.

The first sound that escaped you wasn’t a laugh, or a cheer.

It was a sob. A single broken sound.

Then another.

Your hands flew to your face. “Oh gods.”

The words dissolved into tears.

Beside you, Mel stood up out of her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly, pulling you into a tight hug. “Fucking hell, angel.”

You collapsed against her, sobbing.

The tension you’d been carrying all afternoon – and perhaps even for the past several years – seemed to leave your body all at once.

Next to you, Ambessa’s composure finally cracked. She gripped your thigh, squeezing and rubbing reassuringly. Her shoulders slightly lowered, and she exhaled the smallest breath.

For her, that was practically an emotional outburst.

The Professor waited patiently while you cried into Mel’s shoulder.

After a minute, you managed to look up. “Really? Seriously? I’m… I’m okay?”

The Professor nodded immediately. “Really.” He turned the computer’s monitor around so you could all see, and pointed to the scan images. “There is no sign of recurrence; no suspicious masses; no evidence of metastatic disease. Everything looks excellent.”

You stared at the images, but didn’t understand any of them. But you understood the smile on the Professor’s face, you understood the certainty in his voice.

And suddenly you were crying again.

Mel laughed through tears of her own. “Oh, thank God.”

The relief was simply too enormous for anyone to speak for a minute.

Eventually the Professor closed your file. “You’re welcome to come back for periodic check-ups, but as things stand today, there is no evidence that your cancer has returned.”

The words felt like a beam of sunlight on your very soul.

The Professor left shortly afterwards, wishing you the very best of luck for the future, playfully saying he never wanted to see you again.

The moment the door closed behind him, you buried your face in your hands again.

This time you were half-sobbing, half-laughing. Just completely overwhelmed.

Mel wrapped both arms around you, pulling you against her side as she perched on the bed. “See?”

You laughed wetly. “Shut up.”

“How many times have I told you not to skip to the worst-case scenario every time?”

“Shut up,” you repeated.

Mel grinned. “We were right, though.” She picked up your hand, bringing it to her lips, and kissing the back of it. “So… We’re not dying. What do you want to do now?”

And that sobered you up.

The relief of hearing that you were cancer-free should have felt like a finish line, a positive end to a terrible day.

Instead, it felt more like the moment after a storm had passed: the danger was gone, the fear had subsided, the crisis was over.

But now you were left standing amongst the wreckage of every emotion you’d been too busy to process while you’d been trying to survive the day.

By the time you all left Professor Heimerdinger’s clinic, the adrenaline that had been carrying you for hours began to ebb away, leaving behind a profound exhaustion that seemed to seep into every part of your body. As Ambessa’s driver navigated the evening traffic, you sat quietly in the back seat beside Mel, watching the city lights smear across the rain-streaked windows, your thoughts slowly catching up with everything that had happened.

The Maddie revelation, the cheating, the lies. The humiliating STI tests, the terror of believing your cancer had returned. The crushing fear that you might lose the life you’d been planning to build with Cait and Vi. The overwhelming relief to learn you were healthy.

It had all happened within a single day.

The realisation felt almost absurd.

Nobody could be expected to absorb all of that without consequences.

For several minutes, the car remained quiet. Ambessa was occupied with responding to emails on her phone, occasionally muttering something disapproving about one client or another, while Mel watched you with the sort of subtle concern that suggested she’d been doing so for quite some time.

Eventually, your best friend reached across the seat and nudged you gently with an elbow. “So,” she said softly, “What do you want to do now?”

You blinked and looked at her.

The question seemed surprisingly difficult to answer.

Until that moment, you’d been so focused on surviving the next hour, the next test, the next result, that you hadn’t considered what came afterwards.

What did you want?

The obvious answer should have been to go home.

Cait and Vi would undoubtedly be waiting for you. They would have been worrying all day. They would want to hold you, fuss over you, make you dinner, wrap you in blankets, and generally smother you with affection until they were satisfied you were okay.

The thought should have comforted you.

Instead, it made your chest tighten.

Not because you didn’t want to see them.

Quite the opposite.

You loved them, desperately.

The problem was that you suddenly felt overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of everything.

The penthouse wasn’t just Cait’s and Vi’s home anymore; it was where the three of you were planning to build a life together.

It was where you felt safest, it was where you wanted to be.

And somehow that made the idea of returning there feel impossible.

Because the moment you walked through those doors, everything would become real.

The cheating betrayal, the cancer scare, the fear, the relief…

The possibility of losing all of it.

You didn’t know how to carry all those emotions at once.

You weren’t sure you could try in that moment.

“I don’t want to go home,” you confessed quietly. Almost apologetically.

Mel didn’t look surprised. She simply nodded. “Okay.”

You frowned. “That’s it?”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. A lecture on not running away, like I always do?”

Mel laughed softly. “You’ve had the worst day imaginable, I’ll cut you a little slack.”

You considered that, then shook your head. “Not the worst; the cancer could’ve come back.”

She nodded. “True. Then let’s call it one of the worst days.”

That seemed fair.

You looked back out the window. “I think if I go home right now, I’ll fall apart.”

The admission felt embarrassingly vulnerable.

“They’ll want to talk about everything.” Your voice grew quieter. “And I know they’ll be worried. And I know I’ll end up crying.”

Mel’s expression softened. She reached out and squeezed your hand. “Come home with me.”

You looked back again. “What?”

“You need somewhere quiet, to rest. Vi’s family is still in town, and they’re all staying at the penthouse. They’d definitely offer to leave, to make you feel better. But my guest room is empty.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “You can hide there and recover from your emotional breakdown.”

“I wasn’t having a breakdown.”

“You absolutely were.”

You shook your head. “I was being perfectly reasonable given everything that’s happened today.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You thought your loving girlfriends who are completely obsessed with you were going to abandon you.”

You immediately looked away.

“Exactly,” Mel said.

The teasing wasn’t cruel. If anything, it felt comforting.

For the first time all day, something felt normal.

“What about your work?”

“Angel, I never bring clients to my home. And if I need to film something, I’ll let you know so you can leave for a few hours or put headphones on.”

You laughed softly. “Okay,” you said quietly. “I’d like that.”

Mel’s apartment felt entirely different from the penthouse. The atmosphere was always calmer, almost meditative. You’d always loved that about Mel’s home; it was always a soft place to be.

After showering and changing into a borrowed nightie – none of Mel’s pyjama sets fit you because of your different body types – you found yourself curled beneath the blankets in your friend’s guest bedroom, staring up at the ceiling while your damp hair spread across the pillow.

The room was dark except for the bedside lamp, the soft light spreading through the room. The sounds of the city drifted faintly through the open window, and you simply laid there in the quiet.

You’d kept your phone turned off for most of the day, but you knew what you had to do.

Sitting up in bed, relaxing back against the pillows, you picked up your device and turned it on. You waited anxiously whilst the system booted up, then watched your notifications pour in.

Message after message, missed call after missed call.

By the end, your phone had 30 texts from various people, and nine missed calls from Cait and Vi.

You went into the texts, reading through them slowly. All the ones from Cait and Vi were asking if you were okay, asking where you were, what was going on; they told you they loved you, so many times.

You even had texts from unknown numbers that turned out to be Powder and Vander, both asking if you were alright, and offering to talk if you wanted to.

Just after ten, you pressed a button on your phone, starting a video call.

The call was answered almost immediately.

“Y/N!” Cait cried, her beautiful but panicked face filling the screen.

“Hi, Cait,” you said softly, already having to force tears down.

Vi’s face pushed into frame. “Sweetheart, are you alright? Where are you?”

“I’m at Mel’s. I’m okay,” you assured.

Cait put the phone down, struggling for a few seconds to prop it up. You could see her hands shaking, her jaw trembling with frustration as she tried to stabilise her phone. Vi had to help in the end, taking over and propping the phone up.

They were both sat on the bed in their pyjamas – even though Vi was initially topless and quickly pulled on a vest.

“Are you alright, darling?” Cait asked gently. “Really?”

You gave a little nod.

The relief that washed across their faces was so immediate and so profound that it you’re your chest ache.

Neither woman even attempted to hide it. Vi looked as though she’d been pacing for hours; Cait looked marginally more composed, but only slightly.

Vi’s voice was warm with relief. “We’ve been so worried, baby.”

You smiled faintly. “I’m okay.”

“We didn’t know, Y/N,” Cait said firmly, shaking her head. “About you and Maddie. We didn’t know she had a partner.”

Vi nodded. “If we had, we would never have started seeing her.”

“I know,” you replied quietly. “I believe that.”

“Ambessa told us you were getting tested…” Cait started cautiously.

You bobbed your head. “I’m all clear.”

They were visibly relieved.

“You should be good too, but you should still get tested. Just to be safe.”

They both agreed quietly, their hands gripping each other’s tightly.

Vi leaned in. “Baby, your voice sounds rough.”

You cleared your throat gently. “The, um… The test did come back with an elevated result. The doctor was worried it could be…” You had to shake your head. “He was worried the cancer could have come back.”

They both looked terrified.

Cait’s hand shot up to her mouth. “Darling… Y/N, whatever it is-”

“I’m all clear.”

They paused.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Sorry! I… I should have said that better,” you chastised yourself.

Vi shifted. “Y/N, just tell us everything.”

You recounted the whole afternoon to them. The STI tests, the unclear elevated test, the endoscopy exam… And the clear results.

They listened attentively the whole time, their attention never wavering from you. You explained everything dutifully while trying not to focus on the guilt beginning to gather in your stomach.

Because you knew what you needed to say.

And you knew it was going to hurt them.

Eventually, you took a breath. “I need to tell you something.”

Concern flashed across both their faces.

You looked down at the sheets over your lap. For several moments you struggled to find the words. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet. “I think we need a little time apart.”

The silence that followed wasn’t angry.

It wasn’t offended, or even surprised.

It was simply sad.

You could see the disappointment immediately.

Not disappointment in you, but in the whole situation.

The fact that you felt you needed to leave at all.

“Baby…” Vi’s voice was incredibly gentle.

You forced yourself to continue. “Everything just happened all at once.” Your throat tightened. “Maddie. The STI testing. The cancer scare.” Your eyes stung unexpectedly. “I feel like my brain hasn’t even caught up yet.”

Neither woman interrupted or argued. They just listened.

“I love you both, so fucking much,” you promised. “But every time I think about coming home right now, I feel overwhelmed.”

Cait’s expression softened, but she hesitated to speak. “That’s understandable. You’ve spent the entire day moving from one emotional crisis to another; most people would struggle to process even one of those things.”

You swallowed hard.

Next to Cait, Vi rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t think hiding forever is a good plan.”

“Violet,” Cait whispered softly.

But her Wife shook her head. “I don’t. I don’t.”

“It won’t be forever,” you assured. “I don’t want it to be forever.”

Vi audibly cracked her knuckles as she squeezed her hands together. “How long?” she asked, her tone a little terse.

Cait sighed softly. “I also don’t think isolating yourself is necessarily the healthiest thing you could do right now, darling.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly. “I know…”

“But…” Cait forced a weak smile. “You are a grown woman. And you know yourself better than we do.”

Vi nodded. “We don’t have to like it.”

“No…”

“But we’ll respect it.”

The simple acceptance nearly made you cry. Because you knew they didn’t want this. You knew they wanted you home. You knew they wanted to wrap you in blankets and keep you between them for the next week.

Yet neither of them was trying to guilt you into returning. Neither of them was making you choose between their comfort and your own needs.

They were simply trusting you. Even when they disagreed. Even when it hurt.

“We’ll really miss you, baby.”

The quiet confession came from Vi.

Cait nodded, rubbing her Wife’s back. “Shall we discuss the details of this period?”

That made you give a small smile. “Yeah. Yeah, we should discuss that.”

Cait and Vi would stop sending your weekly allowance – only after you assured them that you had more than enough currently in your account, and also promised to tell them if you needed anything. You could have a video call once a week that could be as long or short as you all wanted it to be, but you wouldn’t have any other communication. You’d told them you were planning on starting therapy, which they both fully supported.

You all agreed and were very clear that this was not a break-up, it was simply a pause in your relationship so you could all have a break and assess. You might have been the one initiating the pause, but you all agreed that if Cait and/or Vi decided that they didn’t want to get back together with you, then they could make that decision.

By the time you all finally said goodnight, nobody was entirely happy about the arrangement, but everyone understood it and agreed to the rules. After the call ended, you set your phone aside and settled deeper beneath the blankets. For a long time, you laid awake staring into the darkness.

And although you still felt overwhelmed, exhausted, and emotionally wrung out, you also felt something else.

Safe.

Not because everything was fixed.

But because even after asking for space, the women who loved you had stayed exactly where they were.

Waiting patiently…

Trusting you to find your way back when you were ready.

Buy me a coffee! 💜

And then there was you. You wore an elegant Water Tribe dress that hugged your body like moonlit water; layers of pale blue and white fabric embroidered with delicate silver patterns shimmered whenever you moved. Your dark hair had been pinned back with carved ornaments, leaving a few soft strands framing your face.

Toph didn't need her sight to know every person in the room had noticed you.

She could feel it. Tiny shifts in weight, hesitations in footsteps, conversations faltering for half a heartbeat whenever you passed nearby.

This much attention directed at you irritated her far more than she wanted to admit.

The evening itself was pleasant. You shared gossip with Katara while admiring the palace gardens visible through the enormous windows. You listened patiently as Aang excitedly explained a restoration project he wanted to begin near one of the old Air Temples. You even sparred verbally with Mai for several minutes before somehow earning the older girl's faintest hint of a smile.

Toph hovered nearby through most of it. Not too close to become obvious; she'd never admit she was following you around the reception hall. Yet keeping close to you had become something of a habit over the past several months. A dangerous one.

Because somewhere between quiet conversations during travels, shared campfires beneath unfamiliar stars, and lingering touches that lasted a second too long, the lines between you and her had started to blur together in something so messy neither of you knew what it was anymore.

It had always happened in secret. Always somewhere no one could catch or interrupt; hidden balconies, empty hallways, quiet corners after everyone else had fallen asleep.

The first kiss had been impulsive. It had happened because of an argument, something about Toph throwing herself face-first into danger with no regard for consequences. She had teased you then, asking with a smirk on her lips if you'd cry if she were to die a glorious death in battle. But there had been no hint of joy in your words when you'd all but whimpered that yes, you very much would. To this day, you didn't know if it was the raw emotion of your words, or if maybe Toph sensed something in your body that even you hadn't known was there. But on that same heartbeat, you'd felt both of Toph's steady hands press against your jaw and pull you into her. The kiss was a little messy and a little too rushed, but it had successfully shut both of you up.

The second had been confusing. You had just saved a small village from local bandits, light work, and yet the residents felt the need to show their gratitude in numbers. A banquet had been organized, with enough wine to quench a small town. The night had stretched into hours deep enough that neither of you could know if you were closer to morning or midnight. And you and Toph had been the only ones remaining under the stars, sitting close together beside a small dying fire. Toph had a bottle in her hand, even if her words were already slurred enough, and your laughter followed hers with the same kind of ease. And it had happened without either of you quite allowing it to. Toph had leaned over you, her body pressing firmly into yours until your back was flush with the cold dirt of the ground. Her strong arms had settled around your head, and her mouth found yours under the haze of wine and the smell of fire smoke. But she had tasted sweet and addictive, enough for your hands to find her waist and bury under her shirt and keep her there with you for another hour or two.

Everything after that had simply become impossible to stop.

And on many occasions, you had tried to bring it up, to talk with her about what exactly the two of you had become. You had tried to understand what all those shared moments behind closed doors meant for you both now. And each time, Toph would dodge the conversation. She'd joke, or she'd change the subject.

Or she'd just lean in and steal another kiss until neither of you remembered what you had been discussing in the first place.

The truth of it, however, ran deeper. You beautifully scared Toph. Each time she walked into rooms hoping to find you, each time she pressed her feet more firmly against the ground only to find the steady pulse of your heartbeat, she was faced with the fact that her own heart had begun beating to the rhythm of your name.

And if she ever allowed you to become truly hers, she would be allowing herself to love you, to admit that she wanted to.

Because by loving her, you held a dagger to her heart. And in loving you back, she would be telling you exactly where to cut.

And that felt much more frightening than pretending nothing had changed.

──∘◎∘──

The feeling started as a vibration. Not on the floor, but in her chest.

Toph tilted her head, hair falling over her pale eyes as she focused her senses. There was something out of place, something that didn't belong next to you.

Across the ballroom, you were speaking with Zuko. Nothing unusual, you had become good friends over the years. But then you laughed, and Zuko laughed too. He leaned closer to hear you over the music, and you lightly touched his arm while making another joke.

To everyone else, it looked perfectly innocent.

To Toph, every tiny movement echoed through the polished stone beneath her feet. She sensed exactly how you gripped Zuko's arm, leaning closer to him until your forehead nearly touched his shoulder. Toph felt your footsteps angle toward him. Felt Zuko mirror your stance and step a little closer. Felt you standing close enough to him that your heartbeats nearly aligned in Toph's perception.

Her own heart twisted painfully. Something hot and ugly settled heavily in her stomach, and she nearly shattered the wine glass she held between her fingers.

Toph didn't like this. Not one bit.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was already walking. Her footsteps quick and purposeful, pushing her way past the crowd without a care when people grumbled about her lack of politeness.

She reached your side, caught you gently but firmly by the wrist, and without a word, pulled you away.

A small gasp of surprise escaped you when you were suddenly snatched away from the conversation. Nearly tripping over your own feet, you struggled to keep up with Toph's fast pace. "Toph?" You called as she guided you between guests. "What happened? Is something wrong?"

There was no answer. All you could do was watch Toph's raven-dark hair bounce over her shoulders as she walked; loose for once, maybe because you had once told her how much you loved it when she allowed those long dark strands to frame her face.

Toph guided you through one of the quieter corridors, branching away from the party. She tucked you both away in a shadowed corner, just shy of the prying eyes of the other guests.

Toph pushed against your chest with a calculated shove. You stumbled backwards and had to suppress what would have been an embarrassing yelp when your back suddenly hit the wall with a muffled thud, instead settling for grasping onto Toph's waist tightly, the fabric of her suit jacket twisting in your hands. Her muscular arms caged you there in an instant, her hands settled against the wall on either side of you, instinctively creating a small world that belonged only to the two of you.

"Toph?" You asked in a breathless hush, watching the outline of her features under the dim light spilling from the party just a few steps around the corner.

The hallway was empty. The music became distant. The moment you were alone, Toph pressed her whole body against yours, solid and warm, one leg between both of yours as her arms kept your face in place.

Your lips met in a kiss that carried every ounce of emotion she'd been trying to bury for months. It wasn't careful. It wasn't hesitant. It was the kiss of someone desperate to reassure herself that the person in front of her was still there.

Toph's hands moved to settle against your jaw, her thumbs pressing into your cheeks and pulling you painfully close. She caught your lower lip between both of hers, lightly tugging on it with her teeth before she slowly soothed it with her tongue.

And your head was spinning as breathing wasn't your brain's priority. Your fingers sneaked under the hem of Toph's shirt, finding the defined curve of her waist and running your nails over the skin there; it gave beneath your touch, pliant under your hands as if she'd been made for your touch alone.

The feeling of Toph pressed so closely against you was near dizzying. Her presence was all-consuming; it felt like white noise and being submerged underwater all the same time—it was the feeling of her soft, insistent lips on yours, and the way you could feel her pulling in a deep breath before a raspy groan came from the back of her throat and she was leaning forward again. Whatever it was that kept you tied to her, you embraced it.

Toph kissed you sweet, warm and tasting like expensive wine; inebriating in the way she pulled you impossibly close to her as if feeling the beat of your heart flush against her own was the only thing keeping her afloat.

When she finally pulled back for a moment, as her lungs ached for air, a fresh wave of heat rushed through you at the sight of Toph; the woman's cheeks unmistakably flushed, her lips swollen with a faint smear of your dark lipstick decorating them prettily. Small cracks in the usually so confident and unbreakable earthbending master.

Your chest heaved as it caught up with the lack of air, and you blinked several times to focus back on reality. "W-What…" Your voice stumbled, hands still buried deep under Toph's shirt. "Toph, what the hell was that about?"

She hesitated, gasping for air just as much as you. She angled her head away from you, running her tongue over her bottom lip and still tasting you there. "You and Sparky." Was all she grumbled.

A scoff escaped you before you could bite it back. "Zuko?!"

"You were all…" Toph gestured vaguely before settling her hands against the wall again, as if she wasn't willing to let you go just yet. "…cozy together."

Your mouth fell agape as confusion slowly painted your features. You removed one hand from under Toph's shirt in order to push strands of hair away from her pale eyes. Your fingers traced the edge of her eyebrow as you did so, until you reached behind her ear and softly tangled your touch between the silky strands of her dark hair. Toph timidly leaned into your hand.

"I was just talking with him," you reasoned eventually.

There was a huff, and suddenly she was pulling away as if your hand had burned her. "You touched him." Toph spat the words, "More than once."

You stared at her for long seconds before understanding finally settled across your features. "Toph…"

"I didn't like it." She snapped, sharper than she'd meant it to be.

Silence stretched between you. Your brows scrunched with indignation, and you took hold of both her wrists, decidedly pushing her arms down and holding her there.

And Toph let you, partly frustrated with how easily you disarmed her.

"You don't get to be jealous." Your voice was even; a quiet, bittersweet finality wrapped around it sent a rush of cold dread to Toph's stomach.

A humorless chuckle fell past Toph's lips. "What?"

"You heard me." Though your voice didn't hold half the conviction it needed for what you were trying to establish, you still pressed on. "You… don't get to act like I'm yours whenever someone else gets close." The words hurt you as much as they did her; they rolled off your tongue like sharp razors because you wished you didn't have to say them at all.

Toph opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She shook one hand free of your grasp, trying to reach for your cheek. Unable to find the right words, she leaned forward, hoping another kiss might somehow communicate everything she couldn't say aloud.

You pushed her hand away.

"I've wanted us to be together for months," you continued quietly, shaking your head and looking away from her lest your words tangle in themselves. "I've waited because I know this vulnerability scares you."

Toph's shoulders stiffened, and she took a step back as if to brace herself for a blow. "Stop it." Her heart was too loud in her ears, and her hands grew clammy; it felt as if sand had swallowed her feet because Toph's senses were all jumbled up.

"But every time I try to talk about us…" You whispered, and then paused as your thumb, which was still pressed against Toph's wrist, caught on the rapid beating of her pulse. You inhaled sharply, trying to push away the what-ifs. "…you avoid it."

Another silence stretched, hovering like a dark cloud.

"You only kiss me when nobody can see." Despite your voice almost being carried away by the distant music coming from the party, each quiet word landed heavier than the last. "It started making me wonder if you were embarrassed or… or ashamed of me."

Toph's face did something complicated, and she slipped back behind her defenses, crossing her arms over her chest like a barrier between you. "That's nonsense." She shrugged halfheartedly, blowing away a long strand of her hair that had fallen over her nose. It didn't go very far, the end of it catching on the corner of her mouth. "It couldn't be further from the truth."

You pursed your lips, still sensitive from the kiss of mere minutes ago. She was stubborn like that, you knew well, even when you could see her fingers tapping her arm rhythmically, as if she needed the motion to keep her busy and from doing something a little reckless.

"Then prove it." You tugged your messy hair free from its updo, allowing it to fall over your bare shoulders and hopefully hide the pink flush of your cheeks. "Just… tell me this means something for you, at least."

Toph seemed to sense the motion, her head angled back toward you. And her lips parted momentarily, as if she were ready to curse her lack of sight for keeping her from seeing you properly. Her fingers tightened their grip on her own arm, breath running shallow.

She said nothing.

A beat passed, then two. You closed your eyes, feeling something cold settle on your chest.

You nodded slowly, "I'm going back to the party."

And then you were gone. And Toph felt the absence like her heart had just been carved out of her chest.

──∘◎∘──

The palace gardens were quiet; moonlight spilled across smooth stone paths and sleeping flowers.

Toph sat alone on the edge of a fountain, her bare feet dipping into the water and causing ripples that reflected the moon's hazy glow. She gripped the stone of the border; it crackled under her frustration.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was too quiet. She remembered your lips, the warmth she'd always leaned toward without thinking. The softness of your laugh. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat whenever you stood close together—a rhythm Toph knew better than anyone else.

She had memorized it without realizing. She could probably pick out your heartbeat from hundreds of people. And she did. Each time you fought side by side, half of her senses were tuned to your pulse all the time. When you lie down to sleep under the stars, Toph counted your heartbeats until sleep took her over. Even when she had her mouth on yours, leaving you breathless and causing that same beat to quicken under her hands, she followed it; she let it guide her, she allowed your heart to tell her where to touch, where to press her mouth a little firmer to get the reaction she wanted.

The realization struck Toph all at once and almost had her slipping deeper into the fountain. She didn't simply enjoy being around you. She had built pieces of herself around you.

Around your voice, your kindness, your terrible jokes, your stubborn optimism, your heartbeat that guided her own.

And the thought of losing that… it hollowed something inside her so completely that she nearly felt nauseous.

No, she wasn't afraid of loving you. She was afraid of admitting just how completely she already did. And that fear had nearly cost her everything.

Toph stood, leaving damp footprints behind her as she rushed back inside the palace.

For once in her life, she knew exactly what she wanted.

──∘◎∘──

Conversation filled the ballroom once more as Toph returned. Picking up a thousand different shapes and voices and vibrations with her senses so suddenly almost made her dizzy.

With a quiet groan past her lips, Toph forced herself to focus. She eased her breathing, frowning slightly as she travelled the entire room in a single moment. And she immediately sensed that her friends all stood together near the center of the hall.

You were there, too, laughing at something Sokka had said while Katara halfheartedly pushed at her brother's shoulder, balancing a drink in her other hand.

Without hesitation, Toph walked straight toward them with newfound confidence, once again pushing her way through the crowd. She didn't bother with words; they were never her strong suit anyway. Toph simply found your hand, interlacing your fingers together, and gently pulled you closer to her.

The room seemed to hold its breath alongside you. Aang stopped mid-sentence, Sokka's eyebrows shot upward, Katara nearly dropped her drink, and even Zuko seemed pleasantly surprised.

Your breath hitched with a poorly hidden gasp when Toph's free hand settled decidedly on your waist, pulling your body more completely against hers. "T-Toph," her name stumbled past your lips as you felt heat creeping up your neck when the stares of everyone around you turned in your direction, "I just said-"

Toph didn't care; she shut you up the moment her mouth collided with yours. The hand resting on your waist shifted up, tracing a path over the fabric of your dress and holding you more firmly against her. The kiss was not hidden behind closed doors. Not stolen in secret. Not something to be denied tomorrow morning. It was a real thing, out in the open and under the eyes of hundreds of people. One that said everything she'd been too frightened to speak, now displayed louder than a scream.

Toph's hair tickled your cheek when she leaned into you, letting go of your hand so she could bring her palm to your jaw as if she were trying to see the shape of you in every conceivable way.

When you finally parted, Toph remained close enough that her nose still brushed yours. And her thumb reached to trace the outline of your lower lip, as if to make sure you weren't just a daydream. When Toph spoke, you felt the shape of her words against your lips; "You're mine," she whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "And I want everyone to know that."

Air left your lungs all over again. Your hands clutched at the lapel of Toph's suit jacket, holding onto her because you weren't sure your knees could keep you standing right now. "I… I think you made it pretty clear to everyone here." A chuckle escaped you, feeling faint with the way she loved on you.

Toph bit at the edge of her lips as if it took every ounce of her strength to hold herself back from claiming your mouth with hers again and again. Instead, she settled for leaning in and giving a peck to the corner of your lips, before pushing further until her voice was close to your ear, "Good."

A few steps beside you, Sokka had a large grin on his face as he elbowed Zuko and extended his palm, wiggling his fingers. "I told you it would work. Hand it over."

With a huff, Zuko dropped a few gold pieces into Sokka's hand and gave his friend an unamused side-eye. "You'll be the one emptying your pockets when I get the day of their wedding right."

Toph ignored every reaction in the room. The only heartbeat she cared about was the one standing right in front of her.

And now, she had no intention of ever pretending otherwise.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆･

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Thank you for reading this story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You sleepily hummed at Vi, not wanting to move your head as it was tucked under Cait’s chin.

“When you were on the phone with your mom that time…” she started, a little hesitantly, “You said she broke your knuckle…?”

You hummed again.

“Which one, baby?”

You moved your left hand from under your head, moving it up from between yours and Cait’s bodies, and back towards Vi. “Middle finger knuckle.”

Vi gently touched your hand, stroking her thumb over the soft skin where your middle finger met your hand. “Here?”

You hummed again, twitching when Vi stroked again.

“I’m sorry, baby, did it hurt?” she asked, her voice etched with concern.

You hummed a ‘no’. “Little ticklish.”

She gently placed a kiss to the skin before taking hold of your hand, resting her arm over you. “Did you like breakfast today?” she enquired quietly.

You gave a gentle bob of your head. “It was really nice. Vander’s nice.”

“I’m glad you like him.”

“He said something this morning.”

“Yeah?”

You hummed.

Vi chuckled softly. “What was it, baby?”

Cait stirred. “Please, both of you…” she grumbled. “It’s late. We’ve had a busy day. And we’ll have another one tomorrow. I love you both, but please, go to sleep.”

You opened your eyes for the first time, looking directly into her frowning face, her eyes still closed. “So, you don’t want to hear about Vander offering to walk me down the aisle?”

“What!” they both cried, instantly awake.

You giggled sleepily. “Yeah. He said if I ever join your marriage, he’d be honoured to walk with me.”

“Is that…” Vi hesitated. “Is that something you’d like?”

“I mean, he’ll have to fight Ambessa over it-”

Cait squeezed you, looking deep into your eyes. “Not the walking, darling.”

You smiled teasingly. “I know.”

A moment passed.

“Well?” Vi asked, a little louder.

You hummed. “That’s not much of a proposal, Vi.”

“Ohhh…” she groaned playfully. “Oh, just you wait, Y/N.”

“We’ll give you the best proposal ever to be made, darling,” Cait vowed.

Vi asked you, “Do you know your ring size?”

Cait put in, “I already have it, Vi.”

“What? How?” you giggled.

“I have my ways, my love.”

Vi nodded behind you. “Good, good. Now, baby – traditional yellow gold? White gold? Silver-?”

“I’m allergic to silver.”

They both nodded.

“Noted,” Cait said quickly. “Platinum? Rose gold?”

“Rose gold? Ew. No – traditional yellow gold, please. And nothing too big! I hate big rings.”

Cait nodded. “The stone?”

“Diamond, obviously. But can you get it ethically sourced? Or even lab grown?”

Vi kissed the back of your head. “Of course we will, baby. Now – the proposal.”

“Nothing in public. Just us. Something small.”

Cait agreed quietly. “Absolutely. What about a wedding?”

“No, no, no,” you tutted playfully. “We’re not engaged yet. No wedding talk until I get that ring.”

Vi chuckled, her bare chest vibrating against your back. “That’s fair.”

“Oh, can I ask something serious?”

“Of course, darling. Shall I turn a lamp on?”

You shook your head. “No, the dark’s nice. And the light will wake us up too much.”

She kissed your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. What’s your question?”

“Babies.”

You paused, letting the word settle. Neither woman jumped out of bed, pulled away from you, or made a horrified noise, which you took to mean permission to continue.

“How would you both feel about having children? Because I really want to be a mother one day – it doesn’t have to be now! – but we really should discuss this before getting engaged.”

Vi took a deep breath, that sounded pained.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

She tightened her arm around you. “I love you, Y/N.”

Oh..?

Cait scooted somehow even closer to you. “I love you too, Y/N.” She sounded tearful. “So, so much, darling.”

“Should I not have asked? I’m sorry!” you started crying.

But they both shushed you.

“No, no, sweetheart,” Cait cooed, kissing your soft lips. “It’s alright, it’s okay.”

“We do want kids,” Vi nodded against you.

Cait chuckled softly. “We could just never agree on who would carry. And neither of us are comfortable with commercial surrogacy.”

“Plus, the only person we know who we could really ask to carry for us would be Powder-”

“Which, at her age, is a firm ‘no’ for both of us,” Cait added. “She’s far too young. It wouldn’t be fair of us to ask her to do that for some time, if we ever did.”

You nodded slowly, taking everything in. It was hard to believe you were all asleep only ten minutes ago. “So, if I carried…?”

“Would you want to, darling?” Cait asked seriously. “Or do you feel you’d have to?”

You shook your head. “I want to. I want to be pregnant, I want to carry a baby. If I can, obviously.”

Vi held your hand tighter. “Did your oncologist say you wouldn’t be able to?”

You shook your head. “No. The type of treatments I did shouldn’t have affected my fertility.”

Cait bobbed her head. “Good. Good. We can still get everything checked, though, just to be safe.”

Vi squeezed you. “Definitely. We need to know you’ll be okay. We’re not putting your health at risk. One of us will have to just suck it up and pop out a baby for us all!”

“Thank you for volunteering, Violet.”

“Hey!”

You all chuckled together, before settling down.

“So…” you said softly. “Are we…?”

Cait kissed your lips tenderly. “Planning a future together? Yes. We are.”

Vi nuzzled into the back of your head, burying her face in your hair. “You’re not getting rid of us now, Y/N.”

Vi helped you put your coat on as you all started preparing to leave the restaurant after a lunch with your now-extended family. Cait, Ambessa, and Vander were all busy arguing about who would pay the bill – they were all fighting to pay it, and they had all shot down Powder’s suggestion that they just split the bill either equally or into their respective families’ orders.

Vi rolled her eyes and went over to the squabbling trio in an attempt to ease the argument so you could all leave; Ekko and Powder slipped off to the side to take some photos in front of the elegant living wall at the side of the restaurant; leaving you and Mel to head outside.

“Our families are crazy, aren’t they?” you giggled to Mel, as you headed out the front door of one of the fanciest restaurants in the city.

“Well, obviously,” Mel chuckled back, “But…”

She trailed off and stopped dead, her hand almost stuck to the heavy door.

You paused as you looked back at her. “Mel? You okay?”

“Y/N?”

Your heart froze.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising swiftly within you.

Your eyes started flickering as you looked at Mel, who was looking over your head, her beautiful face torn apart by a vicious glare, true hatred burning in her eyes.

“Y/N, is that you?”

Your body turned without you wanting to, sending you face-to-face with the redhead you’d never thought you’d see again.

“Maddie.”

Your voice sounded dead, numb.

Your ex-girlfriend smiled at you nervously. Her short ginger bob framed her sweet-looking, freckled face; her body in a figure-hugging wrap-dress. Her shoes and shoulder bag more expensive than anything you’d ever seen her with, but distinctly not her preferred style.

“You look nice,” Maddie complimented, sounding hesitant.

You couldn’t control the words that followed. “I’m not dying of cancer, you mean?”

She flinched. “Y-Yes. I take it you’re well again?”

Your head jerked in a nod. “Remission. Almost two years ago. Not that you’d know that.”

Another flinch. “Yes… Um…” Mel stepping forward to stand protectively at your shoulder drew her attention. “Mel. How… How are you?”

“You don’t get to speak to me after what you did,” she snapped coldly.

Maddie swallowed. “Look, I… Y/N, I know we didn’t end well-”

“End well?” you barked. “You abandoned me when I had cancer!”

The restaurant door opened behind you.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Cait and Vi approached you, standing on your other side to Mel, both their hands touching your arm gently.

Then they froze.

“Cait?” your ex asked. “Vi?”

“Maddie?” they both said in complete surprise.

Your head spun between the three of them. “What? Wait… You all know each other?”

Cait opened her mouth a few times. Vi shifted awkwardly. Maddie wouldn’t look at anyone.

Your stomach twisted again. A pitiful whimper escaped your throat. “No…”

Cait tried to soothe you. “Y/N-”

“When?” you demanded.

None of them answered you.

“When?!” you shouted, uncaring of the attention you were bringing.

They all did a double-take at you; none of them had ever heard you raise your voice like that, except the phone call with your mother weeks ago.

“It ended well-over a year ago,” Vi explained. “Long before we met you.”

“And how long were you… How long, when did it start?”

Cait’s eyes widened; the penny dropped behind her eyes. “Maddie’s your ex, the one who left you.”

You swallowed thickly, forcing down tears. “And she was your last Baby… Wasn’t she?”

Maddie gasped. “Wait, Y/N, are you-?”

“Not anymore,” Vi snapped defensively.

She took a step closer to you…

And you took a step away from everyone.

This couldn’t be happening… This couldn’t be real… The women you loved – the one you were going to marry, and have babies with, and be together forever with – had been with your ex… Probably at the same time as you were with Maddie.

You were trying to breathe, but your lips trembled. You were trying to blink away tears. Your hands shook in front of you, raised in an almost defensive position. “This… This isn’t happening. This isn’t real…” you whimpered.

The restaurant door opened again.

Because of course it would.

Ambessa, Vander, Powder, and Ekko emerged from within, having to step around the scene happening only a few feet in front of the door.

“What has happened?” Ambessa asked, moving around the stand beside Mel. She saw the short redhead. “Oh. I see.”

Maddie visibly curled in on herself.

“Vi?” Vander asked softly, resting his huge hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Maddie just cleared her throat delicately, speaking softly, “Y/N, can we talk? I-In private?”

A pained, hysterical laugh burst from your throat, shocking everyone. Your hands trembled in front of your mouth, your eyes leaking tears.

“T-Talk? Talk? You want t-to talk? After what you d-did?! Oh, fuuuck…” you shook.

“Darling-” Cait tried to calm you, but you erupted.

“No! No, no, no!”

Ambessa’s car suddenly pulled up at the kerb, the driver hopping out, ready to open the door.

The lawyer glanced at the car, then took action. She put her warm hand on your back, nudging you towards the car. “Go with Mel.” She waved at Maddie. “You too, girl. Back seat, do not say a word.” When the redhead obediently hurried towards the black SUV after you and Mel, Ambessa looked at Cait and Vi. “I will handle this. She will be safe with me.”

Before they could try to argue or interject, Ambessa turned and strode towards her car, climbing into the front passenger seat.

The car pulled away, and all the Kiramman-Lanes family could do was watch you drive away.

Cait’s and Vi’s stomach twisted.

Hopefully they would see you soon, so they could explain everything. And everything would be okay…

The car drive was agonisingly awkward and silent. Mel helped you calm your breaths until you eased away from the panic attack you’d been bordering on, letting you squeeze her hand as tightly as you could, instead.

The car slowed to a stop.

“We have arrived,” Ambessa announced, reaching for the handle. Her voice was calm, almost eerily so.

The four of you climbed out of the vehicle, Mel keeping her arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as she led you forward.

A frown creased Maddie’s brow as she looked up at the skyscraper in front of you all. “Where are we?” she asked timidly, uncertainty creeping in.

“Neutral ground,” was all Ambessa replied.

Maddie hesitated. “It doesn’t look very neutral,” she muttered.

Ambessa’s lips curved faintly. “No,” she said. “It does not. Now, walk.”

The elevator ride up was even more painful than the car ride. The space too small, too quiet; the music playing inside, excessively aggravating.

The numbers ticked up one by one, each number making your pulse jump a little higher.

Maddie shifted in her spot in the corner. “I feel like I’m being kidnapped…”

Ambessa scoffed as she tapped away on her phone with one hand, the other casually tucked into her pocket. “Have any of us unlawfully taken, held, or carried you away, against your will, by force, fraud, or coercion?”

She blinked. “Um… No?”

“Then be quiet.”

“I-I just wanted to talk to Y/N-”

“You will have the opportunity to speak. It seems you have rather a lot of explaining to do, Madeleine.”

“I-It’s just Maddie-”

“Your birth certificate is listed as Madeleine.”

The redhead recoiled. “How… How have you seen my birth certificate?”

But an amused Ambessa just shook her head, a small smirk on her painted lips. 

Maddie went quiet, ducking her head.

The lift doors opened.

The reception desk sat in front of the Medarda golden logo for the company; a woman behind the expensive wood already looking up as you all approached.

“Welcome back, Ms Medarda—” she greeted, standing.

“Clear my afternoon,” was the only thing the tall woman said, leading the three of you around a corner and down the corridor towards her office.

“Yes, ma’am!” She immediately set to work, tapping away on her keyboard, lifting her phone’s handset to her ear.

When you were all in Ambessa’s office, the lawyer closed the heavy wooden door behind her. Your heart was pounding in your chest; Mel still had her arm tightly around your shoulders; and Maddie looked almost nauseated.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly. “I-I was meeting someone for lunch.”

“One of your clients, I imagine.” Ambessa nodded, slipping off her tailored jacket, and hanging it across the back of her leather office chair. “I am sure you can make your excuses.”

Maddie blushed.

You looked back at her. “You’re a Sugar Baby?” There was no judgement in your voice; you only wanted answers.

Suddenly her out-of-character outfit made more sense – she was dressed for her client’s preferences, not her own style.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“How long have you done this?” you asked, crossing your arms protectively around yourself, but stepping out from under Mel’s arm.

You needed to do this yourself.

Maddie hesitated. “A-A few years.”

Your brow twitched into a frown. “You hesitated.”

“No, I-”

“Yes, you did. How long have you been a Baby?”

She paused for a breath, obviously trying to come up with an answer.

You snapped at her, “You said you wanted to talk, Maddie. So, talk. Were you a Baby when we were dating?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, ducking her head. “Yes, I was.”

You’d already suspected such a thing since the restaurant. It still hurt, though. You let out a breath. “When did it start? When we were dating; before we were dating…?”

“Before,” Maddie replied.

You nodded through the pain. “Was it… Was it full service? Just online? Just dates?”

She swallowed. “Full service.”

You swallowed the stone in your throat. “When we were together?”

“Yes.”

You bobbed anxiously, pointing a finger at her accusingly. “You never told me that. You never told me you were sleeping with other people whilst we were together. I thought we were monogamous! And you were out there having sex with random people?! How many?!”

Ambessa not-so-discreetly picked up her desk phone’s handset, tapping a few numbers as she held it to her ear. “Ambessa Medarda here. I need an urgent appointment with Doctor Reveck, for today; it is not optional.”

You shuddered uncontrollably, groaning in disgust.

“I’m clean!” Maddie cried defensively. “I’ve never had anything!”

Ambessa tilted the received away from her mouth, cutting across sharply, “You have proven yourself untrustworthy, Madeleine. Y/N will be receiving every test available, and if a single result comes back positive, you will need to seek out legal representation.”

“Cait and Vi…” you said softly.

“I will advise them to get tested too,” Ambessa nodded. She returned to her call. “Yes. … Yes, we will be there in an hour.” She put the phone down.

You groaned. “Fuck!”

Mel blinked. “Wait, angel… You didn’t get tested before your first time with them?”

You scrubbed your eyes. “I didn’t think I had to; she was the last person I was with!” you gestured accusatorily at Maddie.

Your friend gawked. “Y/N! You always need to get tested!”

“Well, it’s not relevant now, is it?!”

“Girls,” Ambessa said firmly. “Calm yourselves down. Agitation will not help the situation.”

You looked back at Maddie. “So, full service. Just women?”

She winced. “Men too.”

That honestly surprised you, knowing her sexuality. But a thought pushed aside your sympathy. “What if you’d gotten pregnant?”

Maddie shifted. “I would have taken care of it.”

You were briefly flummoxed. “How would you have explained that to me, though? You would’ve been bleeding and in pain for weeks – how would you have explained that?”

Ambessa spoke up from her spot of leaning against her desk. “I think we are focusing on the wrong subject, Y/N. If you would like, I can-”

You burst out, “Mom, this isn’t a courtroom; she’s not your witness to cross-examine!”

“I do feel like I’m being interrogated,” Maddie mumbled.

Your head snapped back to her. “So, you were fucking men and women whilst we were together – what were you doing with the money? Because you made out like you were a struggling college student, just like me. We budgeted together; we ate buttered noodles together; neither of us had treats or luxuries.”

Maddie’s fingers started wringing together. “Well, I paid my half of everything, but I put the rest in savings.”

Mel asked, “What about gifts from your clients? Clothes you would need for dates? Not many Sugars would tolerate $20 dresses and cheap shoes if they’re paying hundreds or thousands of dollars for your company.”

“I had a storage locker. I’d keep everything that I wouldn’t be able to explain, in there.”

“Were you even at school?” you asked, struggling to make sense of things. “How did you have the time to go to classes, study and do homework, be with me, and also go on dates? I never noticed anything off with you.”

“No, no, I was doing classes,” she clarified. “I graduated this summer, too.”

“Bully for you,” Mel snarked sarcastically.

“I just wasn’t doing any of the extracurricular things I said I was,” she admitted. “I-I wasn’t in art class, or archery, or study club. Those were the times I was on dates or doing photoshoots in the locker.”

“Shoots in your storage locker?” Mel asked incredulously. Her professional side was offended on the girl’s clients’ behalf, imagining the shoddy photos and crappy videos they must have paid for.

Maddie explained defensively, “I got a big one! And I made one end of it look like a bedroom! I had ring lights and everything!”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow, a true professional,” she snarked.

“Girls, once again, we are straying off topic,” Ambessa guided.

You nodded, bracing yourself to ask the question you weren’t sure you wanted an answer to. “What about Cait and Vi? How did it start with them?”

Maddie nodded back at you, equally preparing herself. “We met on an app. They messaged me, looking for a Baby to share.”

“When?”

“A few months after your diagnosis. They were just regular clients, to begin with. But they asked for exclusivity a couple of months after we met.”

Mel held in a comment. 

You scoffed a little, your eyes starting to tear up. “So, whilst I was literally fighting for my life, you were just swanning off on dates with Cait and Vi? Getting pampered and spoiled, whilst I was curled up on the bathroom floor, puking my guts up all day from treatment, shivering from pain, my veins burning from chemo? I thought you were going to classes, to get your degree so we could have a life together!”

“I was still going to classes! I just… I was also going on dates.”

You dabbed away your tears, desperately not wanting her to see you cry.

“It wasn’t emotional, Y/N; it was a job. It wasn’t like I was in love with them.”

You snapped, “No, you just liked Cait more and tried to drive a wedge between her and Vi.”

All three of them looked at you with wide eyes, shocked by your accusation.

Maddie flinched back from you. “What? How-?”

“They told me, Maddie. Their last Baby – you – started to like Cait more, and stopped wanting to spend time with Vi. Is that why it ended?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Um, yeah,” she relented. “Yes, that was how it ended. They said I wasn’t the right fit for them.”

“Well, you’re a Top too, so…”

You trailed off, then gasped.

“Oh, gods, what now?” Mel asked rhetorically.

“You’re the reason Cait doesn’t like to be strapped!”

Mel groaned aloud; even Ambessa shifted minutely.

Maddie blinked. “You’ve tried strapping? I thought you were a bottom?”

“I am! But I was drunk once and asked if I could try, and Cait was really cagey about it. It’s because of you, isn’t it?”

She shrugged awkwardly. “I wanted to Top from time to time.”

Ambessa called, “Ladies, once again, off topic.”

You shook your head. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt them both? Especially Vi. The first time I asked her on a solo date, it was like she couldn’t believe I would want to spend one-on-one time with her!”

The redhead didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She blinked at you, her brow furrowing. “You’re in love with them,” she accused.

“We’re together,” you snapped back defensively.

“They’re probably planning a wedding and babies by now,” Mel joked humourlessly. Then she saw your face “Fuck. You are, aren’t you?”

“So what if we are?” you barked.

Mel raised her brows at your tone. “Calm down, Y/N. Just let me know the theme and colours – I’m still going to be your Maid of Honour. But wait a bit before getting pregnant; I’m not ready for Auntie duties yet.”

Ambessa rolled her eyes. “Girls…”

You turned back to Maddie. “Did you break up with me for them? Or was it just the fact that I was dying of cancer?”

She flinched, shifting between her feet. “They were easy.”

You blinked. “Easy?”

She nodded. “It was simple with them. There were no… Complications.”

There was a tense moment. The air hung heavy between you all.

You winced. “And there were complications with me. I was complicated.”

“I didn’t want to look after you anymore!” Maddie admitted in a cry.

The whole room turned cold and angry; even Ambessa had to grip the edge of her desk harder.

“I was 21, Y/N! I wanted to live my life! I had parties to go to, and dates to be on, fun to have! And you were so sick, all the time.”

“I was dying!” you screamed. “I had a 50-50 chance, the whole time! For two years – two fucking years, I fought for my life! And it could come back any moment! For the rest of my life, I will forever have this hanging over me, like-like a Sword of Damocles! I’ll spend the rest of my life knowing it could come back and kill me, but sure, please go on about how my cancer was hard for you!”

“You were constantly throwing up,” she cringed. “And you had that… That thing in your chest-”

You balked. “My chemo port?”

“It was sticking out of you the whole time! It was gross, and weird, and I hated looking at it. You were constantly going to appointments, and needing help with stuff!”

You glared at her. “What, when I asked you to help me shower a handful of times, because I was too weak to stand from the fucking chemo I was on?”

“I-I couldn’t take it, Y/N! I couldn’t take it anymore!”

“So why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t you at least warn me you wanted to break up? You abandoned me the day I got home from major surgery! You acted like nothing was wrong, the whole time; then you packed your bags whilst I was in the hospital. You let me believe I was coming home to you, and you were going to look after me and help me get better! I had to move in with Mel for months afterwards because I was too weak to be on my own! And I had to move out of that apartment, too. You know the one: the one you illegally took your name off and left me shafted with, knowing I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent because I couldn’t fucking work and my disability allowance was absolutely dog-shit?”

You pointed to Ambessa. “She wanted to take you to court, you know?”

Maddie paled.

“The only reason you did not get sued into oblivion-”

“Or face up to six months in prison,” Ambessa added.

“-Was because I told her not to. Was because I couldn’t face a legal battle on top of everything else I was already fucking going through.”

Your eyes started to leak tears; you didn’t bother wiping them away this time.

“You…” You had to inhale slowly as your heart started to pound. “Do you have any idea how badly I struggled after you left? Do you care?”

“I-I always cared about you, Y/N-”

“Just not enough to not abandon me whilst I was dying,” you snapped.

In the end, you shook your head. “Is there anything else you want to say?”

Maddie floundered for a moment. “I…” She swallowed thickly. “I really am sorry, Y/N.”

Ambessa straightened up. “Then you can leave. The three of us have an appointment to get to.”

Buy me a coffee! 💜

Before you, Natasha Romanoff’s mornings were usually going on by routine. The Russian was already up before dawn, swallowing down a glass of water then going for a ten miles run. At her return, she'd shred a heavy bag in the compound gym, shower, and drink her black coffee in silence. She was a creature of early dawn and quiet efficiency.

Then, she fell in love with you.

And suddenly, the fearsome Black Widow discovered a brand-new, highly formidable weakness: the warmth of your arms.

. . . . . .

The digital clock on the nightstand glowed a soft seven forty-two am. The sun was already filtering through the gaps in the blinds — casting lazy, golden stripes across the duvet.

You shifted, gently trying to untangle your legs from the heavy warmth of the sheets, intending to slip out of bed and put the kettle on. But the moment your hips moved more than two inches away, the iron-clad grip around your waist tightened.

A protesting, sleep-heavy groan rumbled against the bare skin of your shoulder blade.

“Where are you going?” Natasha’s voice was a low, raspy purr thick with sleep and heavily laced with her slight Russian accent that only came out in moments like these—a side of her she only let guard down for you.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you whispered, turning your head to smile at her. “I was going to make coffee. And maybe get a head start on the day.”

Instead of letting you go, she buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. The redhead's nose was cold against your skin, making you shiver, but her body was like a furnace pressed against your back. She threw a shapely leg over yours, completely pinning you to the mattress.

“No,” she mumbled, her lips brushing your collarbone as she spoke. “Five more minutes.”

You let out a soft laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through her tangled red hair. “Nat, It’s almost eight.”

“Then I need ten more minutes.”

“That's not how bargaining works, Romanoff.”

“I am a master negotiator, I dictate the terms,” she murmured, tightening her arms around you until there was absolutely no space left between you. She was incredibly clingy in the mornings, a sweet, needy contrast to her sharp daytime persona.

She liked to be wrapped around you like ivy, anchoring herself to your warmth.

“What happened to the woman who used to be up and about by dawn?” you teased gently, tracing the line of her jaw. “The one who told me sleeping past six was a waste of valuable training hours?”

Natasha opened one eye, looking up at you through a fan of thick eyelashes. A lazy, incredibly fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“She realized that training doesn't hug back,” she replied softly.

“And your morning run?”

“I rescheduled,” she shrugged, kissing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, making you gasp softly. “I do night runs now. The pavement is cooler, the compound is empty, and...” She paused, trailing her fingers lightly down your arm, interlocking her fingers with yours. “..it means I don't have to miss a single second of this.”

Your heart melted a little.

It was still hard to grasp sometimes—how a woman who had spent her entire life running, fighting, and surviving now fought so hard just to stay still with you. The fact that she had completely restructured her rigid, lifelong routine just to hold you in the quiet hours of the morning was a testament to how deeply she loved you.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft, slow, lingering kiss to your lips. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath warm on your skin. “I am a hostage to this bed. You'll have to stay and keep me company.”

“Well, if it's a hostage situation, I suppose I have no choice,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her close.

The Russian let out a contented sigh, burying her face back into your chest, her hand gently tracing soothing circles on your lower back. Within seconds, her breathing evened out into a calm, steady rhythm.

The coffee could wait. The world could wait.

Your phone buzzes again with an incoming call and you glance at the screen, quickly returning your gaze to your laptop when you see the name ‘Brandon’ flash up on your screen. Like every time he’s called over the past few months you begin to worry that he’s trying to call to give you bad news – something happened to one of your Moms’, a mission gone wrong, one of them has gone missing, one is in the hospital… You figure though that if it’s important enough he’ll leave a message or at the very least, you’ll hear something on the news. Maybe Tony would get in touch with you, something he’d gotten into the habit of ever since you’d left for college.

After a couple of minutes your phone stops buzzing. Like every other time he’d attempted to contact you, Brandon hadn’t left a voicemail. At Thanksgiving your Moms’ had called a couple of times but hadn’t pressed the matter when you didn’t pick up the phone. Only at Christmas did Wanda send you a message. ‘Hey Honey, assume you couldn’t make the airfare home. Hope you have someone to spend the holidays with. Love you.’

You could’ve flown home if you’d truly wanted to. Tony had offered you the money for the plane ticket. “Actually kid,” He’d said to you over the phone. “I’ll do you one better. Get Happy to fly over with the private jet. You can ride home in style.”

“That’s kind Tony and I appreciate it,” You’d said. “But I have plans for the holidays already. I’m going to stay in California.”

Kate had read the message from Wanda over your shoulder, her nose wrinkling, “She really waited until Christmas Eve to check if you weren’t coming home? She could’ve at least tried to care.”

Kate Bishop, the only girl in your college that you’d confided in about your shit parents. Kate hadn’t wanted to go home for Christmas either so the two of you spent a couple of nights in a fancy hotel, with plans to spend the day after Christmas at Universal Studios, somewhere you hadn’t been yet, before heading back to your respective dorms to catch up on studying.

You’d shrugged your shoulders, “It’s not like it matters.”

“Of course it matters,” Kate had snapped. “That’s your Mom! And that’s the only message she sent you for Christmas? No promise to call, no asking if you’re okay, no actually checking if you have plans, just assuming that you do. In fact she probably assumes you don’t have plans, she just doesn’t want to know. The less she knows the less guilty she has to feel.”

You’d heard all this before but there was something different about Kate getting angry on your behalf. Your best friend from home, Cassie, had ranted and raved about your Moms’ and your twin multiple times but you were used to her ranting and raving about anything. Cassie was lovely but also righteous, always angry about something, always worrying about someone suffering in some far corner of the earth, and when she ranted about your parents it felt as far removed as her other indignations. Kate though – good, funny, kind Kate who never had a bad word to say about anyone? It felt personal. It felt real.

You’d realised why Kate got so upset on your behalf the day after Christmas when she’d kissed you on the Secret Life of Pets ride, something you’d both ridden because it had a short queue. You’d both been laughing and then suddenly her mouth was on yours and it had taken the ride operator three times to ask you to get off because the ride was over. When you went back to the dorm Kate had moved in with you for the remainder of Christmas break, the two of you scrunching up onto your single bed, her arm around your waist, your head tucked beneath her chin. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but it was comforting.

On New Year’s Eve the first call from your brother had come through. You’d been getting ready to go out – parties had never really been your thing but Kate had told you it would be casual, and that besides, she wanted to kiss you when it was midnight, and she wanted everyone to see. So you’d agreed to go, aiming for a look that wasn’t too casual but also wasn’t too dressed up. You’d been debating what to do with your hair when your phone screen had lit up and you’d blinked at it in surprise when you saw Brandon’s name.

You hadn’t answered. He hadn’t left a message or tried to call again. Maybe he’d hit the wrong number, you figured. New York were three hours ahead of California, maybe he’d already had a few drinks and maybe tomorrow he’d be embarrassed when he realised he’d tried to call you. You’d assumed that was the case until a week later he tried to call you again.

It’s now May and you’re close to finishing your first year – he’s tried to call at least once every two weeks since then, along with sporadic phone calls from your Mother’s which you also ignore. Tony doesn’t give anything away when he calls, usually about once every three weeks – to check in, to see how your studies are going, whether you need any more money. He keeps the conversation on you, wanting to know about you and your creative writing class and whether you’ve made any friends and he’d certainly wanted to hear all about Kate. You’d found that you rather liked having someone ask after you, having an opportunity to talk about yourself uninterrupted, so you’d stopped asking him questions about the Avengers and let yourself tell him all the details of your college life.

As soon as your phone stops ringing you turn your attention back to the story you’d been working on. You need to submit a 10,000 word short story, and you’re struggling to know what to write about. You stare at the blank document in front of you when suddenly your phone buzzes again and you look down to see Brandon trying to call a second time. Your stomach twists with worry – maybe something really has happened to one of your Moms’. No matter how they treated you as you were growing up, they’re still your Moms’. You don’t wish them ill.

Whilst you’re still wondering whether to answer the phone it stops ringing and you let yourself breath. A moment later the symbol appears in the corner of the screen to show that you have a voicemail. Your eye-brows furrow before you flex your fingers over the keyboard, determined to ignore it, not interested in what your brother had to say.

After Christmas Kate had told you she thought you should go to therapy. If anyone else had said that to you you’d have been embarrassed, angry even, but there was something about the caring, gentle way that Kate said it that made you think maybe she was on to something. Tony was giving you a generous allowance each month so you didn’t have to go through the college’s free counsellor, you could choose whoever you wanted. You found someone’s profile online that you liked and they had immediate availability.

It had been awkward at first. Walking into a room and introducing yourself to a total stranger then being expected to immediately jump into the reason why you’re there, the thoughts, fears and worries you’ve been holding onto your entire life. Your therapist, Emma, had given you a kind smile and had asked why you’d decided to start therapy. You’d just about managed to say, “Well… I’ve always felt like my parents don’t love me as much as-” before you’d burst into tears.

Strange really. You’d had no problem saying those words to Kate, to Cassie. Hadn’t had any problem telling your new college friends that you weren’t going home for the holidays, that you weren’t that close to your family without elaborating further. But something about opening up to this woman sitting across from you, a pen and notebook in her lap, made you burst into tears. To her credit, she’d been very kind – letting you take a moment to pull yourself together, reassuring you it wasn’t unusual to cry in these sessions, that was why she kept a stock of tissues.

As months had gone by you hadn’t cried again but every time you left you would feel a heavy weight on your chest as memories of your childhood had flooded out of you, things you hadn’t thought about for years.

When you were ten years old you were desperate to see if you had powers like Wanda – she’d carried you; it made sense that you might also be enhanced. You’d been in your room, trying to concentrate, to produce the red, glowing magic that your Mom could conjure without thinking. You’d thrown your arms out, trying to move gracefully the way that your Mom did in the battlefield when you’d suddenly heard laughter. Brandon. Who’d filmed you on his phone and then showed your Moms’ who also laughed at you. Wanda had ruffled your hair but neither of them comforted you when your cheeks burned, your palms had gone sweaty and you hadn’t been able to look any of them in the eye for the rest of the night. Brandon had mocked your movements for weeks, snickering whenever it managed to successfully wind you up.

When you were sixteen Brandon had introduced his girlfriend to your Moms’ for the first time. They’d fallen in love with her instantly and you’d overheard Natasha describe her as “the daughter they never had.” When she’d met your eye she’d quickly told you she didn’t mean it like that – you’re still not sure how else she could’ve possibly meant it.

You’d told your therapist about the disastrous eighth birthday that had kick-started your realisation of how Brandon was treated compared to you. “I don’t want you to think it was about the gifts,” You’d said, shifting awkwardly on the suede couch in your therapist’s office. “I didn’t need a PlayStation or an XBOX or… Any of that. It’s just…”

When you leave the silence hanging between you for too long Emma prompts, “You needed your Moms’. Needed them to notice you and love you as much as they loved Brandon. There were two of them. One of them could’ve gone into your room, even if you’d all eventually made your way into Brandon’s room. One of them could’ve sat with you. They could’ve let you take turns opening the gifts rather than making you wait until Brandon was done. It was your birthday too and yet you were made to feel like an afterthought.”

You’d fiddled with your hands in front of you, “Sometimes I feel like I’m being overdramatic. I mean… It’s not like they abused me. They never laid a hand on me, never even really raised their voice to me, they were always calm. I felt safe with them.”

Emma had nodded before asking in her calm voice, “But did you feel wanted?”

You’d kept your tears in until you’d got back to your dorm. Because no – you’d never felt wanted. Not by your Moms’, your brother, any of the Avengers, not even by Cassie though it wasn’t her fault. There was only one person who had ever made you truly feel wanted.

Kate looks up from where she’s lounging on your bed as she sees the expression on your face. She’d gotten into the habit of hanging out in your room whilst you attempted to write, always bringing snacks and words of encouragement. Instead of saying anything she just holds out her arms and you abandon your laptop, picking up your phone and climb onto your single bed, letting her pull you into her warm embrace.

“Look,” You say, showing her the voicemail from your brother.

Kate kisses your forehead before leaning her head on your shoulder, “What do you think he wants?”

“I don’t know. He’s been trying to get in touch since New Years and I’ve always ignored his calls. It’s the first time he’s left a voicemail.”

“You don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want to. You don’t owe him anything.”

“He’s still my brother-”

“And where was that energy from him when-” Kate forces herself to take a deep breath, pressing a kiss to your cheek this time. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“It’s sitting there, taunting me. I don’t want to look at that notification every day whilst I decide.” You sigh, “I’m going to play it.”

Kate doesn’t argue with you, secretly intrigued to hear what your brother could possibly want to finally leave a voicemail. You hit play, turning your phone on speaker so Kate can hear as well.

“Hey Y/N…” It almost feels a physical blow to hear your twin brother’s voice for the first time in months. It knocks the wind completely out of your sails so it takes you a minute to realise he’s slurring his words. “Do you remember when we were really little and we made that den in the- It was- You were so funny, always wanting to be the princess. It was kind of… Anyway, I just… You haven’t been home in forever. I thought maybe you knew, through the twin connection, we- Remember we used to pretend we could read each other’s minds? Anyway, things got kinda fucked around here but it’s not- I’ll be okay, I always am. It’d be good to see you, hear how college is treating you. Yeah… Call me back. If you want, I’m not that fussed. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

Kate rolls her eyes, her arm tightening around your waist the moment your phone goes silent, “Why’d he have to laugh like that when he asked how college was going?”

You’d noticed that too, as if you’d already crashed and burned and he was just waiting for you to tell them. Although you were struggling with your final assignment you’d been surprised at how easily college came to you – how quickly you’d managed to make friends, how you breezed through your assignments. Tony’s allowance meant you didn’t need to get a part-time job but you volunteered a couple of mornings a week at the on-campus library. College was easy – it was like you’d been waiting to get here. Now your life had officially begun and it was better than anything you could’ve imagined.

You didn’t have time to dwell on your brother’s voicemail. Not when Kate began kissing your neck, her hand wandering up and down your body. There were far more important things to focus on than Brandon right now.

You finish your 10,000 word short story, submitting it with the rest of your final assignments. It had taken a lot of late nights, and a lot of resistance from you to stop Kate from inadvertently distracting you but you’d managed it. Now you’ve packed up everything from your dorm room ready to go back to New York. You’d hoped you and Kate could wait out summer break in California but it turned out that Kate was going back to New York too; to spend the summer with her Mother who was apparently worried that Kate had gotten into all sorts of stupid shenanigans whilst she was at college.

Happy picks you up again, starting the long journey home whilst Kate returns with her Mom, the two of them apparently planning a road trip so they can catch up on everything. Kate had asked her if you could join them but apparently her Mom had been a bit weird about it, something which didn’t fill you with joy to meet her one day.

Once you’re home you’re surprised at the warm reception your Moms’ give you. You’ve just stepped through the door with one of your boxes when Natasha quickly pulls it out of your arms, before gathering you in her own, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “There’s our sweet girl,” Natasha says, hugging you tighter. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Wanda is waiting eagerly behind her, and gives you a big hug the second Natasha lets go, “We wanted to come pick you up but… Well, we’re glad you’re home. We should’ve sent you the money to come home for Christmas; it wasn’t the same without you.”

“We want to hear everything,” Natasha says, running a hand over your head as Wanda continues to hug you tight.

They both help you bring all your boxes inside then before you know what’s happened; you’re sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of you as your Moms’ look at you expectantly, wanting to hear ‘everything’. It’s been nearly a year since they saw you or even spoke to you and there’s a lot to tell them but you find that you don’t even know where to begin. You don’t think you’ve ever had their attention solely on you, and you find it a little awkward.

“Tony says that you met someone,” Natasha prompts.

So Tony had been talking to them about you. Neither of them had asked or tried other than the occasional sporadic phone call. No one had left you a message, not even Brandon after the one you’d ignored those few weeks ago. Eventually you nod and say quietly, “Yeah… Yeah, her name’s Kate.”

Your Moms’ look at you, clearly wanting more information, but your throat closes up as you realise you don’t want to tell them about Kate. Not because you’re embarrassed but because Kate… Kate is yours. The thought of you telling your Moms’ everything you love about Kate, and them telling Brandon, only for him to twist it around, to mock you, to mock her… Eventually you land on, “Yeah, I really like her.”

“You said she lives in New York?” Wanda asks. “Maybe we’ll all have to meet up for dinner.”

You nod, having absolutely no intention of introducing your parents’ to Kate. “Tell us about your course,” Natasha prompts. “Did you-”

“Hey.”

Your brother’s voice interrupts from the doorway, and you’re surprised at the instant reaction from your Moms’. Or the lack of. Rather than jumping up to fuss over him, to check if he needs anything, they both remain where they are. In fact, they both seem to visibly tense at the sound of his voice. Neither of them even turns to look at him.

Brandon looks like shit, you realise. Granted it’s been a long time since you’ve seen him but he looks nothing like the boy you’d said goodbye to nearly a year ago when you and your Moms’ had dropped him off at NYU. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, his face looks hollow and there’s just… A darkness to him that you hadn’t noticed before. He’d always been the golden boy, basking in the light and love of your Moms’, but now he seems like a shadow. “Hey,” You reply quietly. “You’re home too?”

Brandon lets out a snort that’s half a laugh, half exasperation, “I guess you didn’t tell her yet.” Your gaze swivels to your Moms’, neither of whom says anything. Brandon rolls his eyes, “College didn’t work out. I’ve been living at home since Christmas.”

Was that why he’d tried to call you on New Year’s Eve? To lament the fact that college ‘hadn’t worked out’ for him. Maybe that was why he’d laughed when he asked about college, assuming you were struggling with it – if Brandon hadn’t managed it, how could you be doing okay? You glance at your Moms’, but neither of them gives anything away. You rack your brains to remember what Brandon was even studying, feeling a little guilty when you realise you have no idea.

“It’s a good opportunity anyway,” Brandon says. “I’m going to start my own business.”

You wait for your Moms’ to back him up, to confirm it’s a good idea even if you think it’s an awful one, but they both remain silent, both of them staring awkwardly at the table. You take another sip of your tea before standing up, “Sounds… Great. I should probably freshen up.”

“We thought we’d go out for dinner,” Wanda says quickly. “Anywhere that you want.”

You raise your eye-brows in surprise, your gaze immediately darting to Brandon, taking in the way his jaw tightens and his mouth sets in a thin line. It only took over eighteen years but it’s finally your turn to pick where you all go for dinner. “I’ll have a think about it,” You eventually manage to say before slipping past your brother to head upstairs.

As you walk through the house you begin to notice things you hadn’t before. Glass missing from the frame of the family photo at the bottom of the stairs. A patched up hole in the wall just outside of Brandon’s room. When you peak into Brandon’s room you’re surprised to find it’s a complete mess, with empty plates and glasses on every surface, trash littering the floor… You can smell the stale air from the hallway and you wince, heading into your own room across the hall.

You take a seat on the edge of your childhood bed, remembering the countless nights you’d spent in here wishing they would just treat you like part of the family. Now you’d had your Moms’ full attention, they’d been so happy to see you, they’d even said you could pick where you all went out for dinner… But it still felt like too little, too late.

As for Brandon... You had no idea why he was acting so strange. What had actually happened for him to leave college? You pull out your phone, instantly relaxing when you find a message from Kate. Your calm in the storm.

Summer break begins to go by at snail’s pace. One month passes and you learn that Brandon was kicked out of college rather than leaving of his own freewill. His girlfriend had broken up with him and he’d spiralled, turning to alcohol, neglecting his studies, picking fights with anyone he deemed had ‘looked at him wrong’. Your Moms’ had tried to appeal on Brandon’s behalf but the college had kicked him out anyway, not wanting the hassle of him. Brandon had come home, cursing the dean, cursing everything, insisting he was going to start his own business, that he didn’t need a degree to be a success. When it turned out to be harder than he’d anticipated, he’d fallen into a routine of skulking around the house, grunting or sneering at anyone who tried to talk to him, then spending every evening drinking alone in his room. If your Moms’ tentatively suggested he should meet up with his friends he rolled his eyes and mumbled something about not wanting to see those losers.

You’d realised quickly Brandon had a temper that he’d never really shown before, only made worse when he was drinking. Your Moms’ didn’t look at him like their golden boy anymore but they still didn’t stand up to him, not even when he got right in Wanda’s face, screaming abuse at her before grabbing the nearest thing to him and slamming it against the floor. That turned out to be Natasha’s favourite mug which had smashed into a million pieces. You’d simply watched, horrified. Brandon had tried to talk to you a couple of times, tried to get back to your usual rapport, trying to undermine your college, your course, the few friends that you’d told them about. It didn’t work this time though. Rather than humiliation and anger, you simply felt sad for him. He’d spent his whole life being told he was God’s gift to humanity and he was now discovering he wasn’t. That if he wanted to make something of his life, he’d have to work for it. And it didn’t look like he was willing to put in the effort.

You meet up with Kate at least once a week and she delights in your brother’s downfall. “What?” Kate asks when you give her a look. “It’s a little bit funny.”

“I’m worried for my Moms’. He’s… He’s so wound up Kate, I really thought he was gonna hit Mom the other day-”

“They’re Avengers; they could kick his ass if they wanted to. And they probably should, it would teach him a valuable lesson. But they don’t. And until someone does something, this is all he’s ever gonna be. A loser, stuck at home with his Mommy’s. Even his girlfriend sniffed out his shit and good for her honestly.” Kate grins at you, kissing your cheek, “Sorry, sorry, I know he’s your brother. But come on, it's not like he ever cared about you.”

“I know,” You reply quietly, remembering the many conversations you’d had with Emma. Now you were home you were still talking to her weekly, just virtually. “It’s just… Hard to blame him entirely. If I was the one my Moms’ chose to shower with their love and light like that, would I have spared a thought for him?”

“Yes,” Kate replies without hesitation. “Yes, you would have. I’ve heard you talk about him Y/N, and I know that all you ever wanted was a brother, not a rival. You would’ve insisted on things being fair.”

You glance at her, “Is this because of when I argued about the rules of UNO? Because-”

“UNO, Monopoly, pretty much any board game we play and you insist on looking up the rules,” Kate teases, kissing your cheek again. “Because you like things to be fair. Brandon didn’t care about whether things were fair, he only cared about himself. And now the dynamic is shifting and he hates that.”

You lean your head on her shoulder, “It must be embarrassing for him though. No matter what went down when we were kids, he’s still my brother. I didn’t want him to crash and burn.”

“You’re a better person than me because I would be gloating about this every chance I got.”

You grin, nudging her chin with your head, “Yeah, we all know.”

“Seriously though, it’s not your job to manage your brother’s failure. He could apply to go to college next year or get an internship or something. His life isn’t over, I’m sure your Moms’ have strings to pull if he would just get off his ass and ask.” Kate leans her head against yours, “I was thinking we could go away for a bit.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“My family has a vacation home in Vermont. We normally go in December so it’ll be empty right now. Just for a couple of weeks, we could go on walks and you… You could have a break. Every time I see you, you look more and more stressed out. You deserve a rest from all of this.”

The atmosphere in your house had been so weird and Kate had noticed it was taking a toll on you. You and your Moms’ had been tiptoeing around your brother because the slightest thing could set him off into a fit of anger. Natasha had patched up a couple more holes in the house, and Wanda was spending more time staring into space, simply responding “I’m fine darling” whenever you asked if she was okay. The thought of escaping that oppressive house for two weeks was a relief, and you immediately felt like you could breathe again.

That feeling of relief is short-lived and by the time you get home your chest is tight with anxiety again. Brandon is upstairs in his room, screaming and shouting about something, his ravings punctuated by the sounds of loud bangs, and your Moms’ are in the kitchen, Natasha’s arms around Wanda whilst she sobs into her chest. You hesitate in the doorway, before grabbing a dustpan and brush to sweep up the broken debris on the floor. It looks like a plate – or what used to be a plate anyway.

“Thanks Sweetheart,” Natasha says quietly. One of her hands runs up and down Wanda’s back. “I’m sorry about all of this, it’s just… He’s going through a rough patch. He needs time-”

“It’s August. He got kicked out of college eight months ago.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, hard and bitter as you scrape the broken plate into the bin. “You’ve all been living like this for eight months?”

“He- He’s our son; he needs our support right now-”

“How are you supporting him?” You ask, turning to face them both, feeling momentarily guilty when you catch sight of Wanda’s tear streaked face. But you know you’re right and now that you’ve started you find that you can’t stop, “You’re not supporting him, you’re enabling him. What has he actually done since being kicked out? He doesn’t even have a job.”

“He’s been looking-”

“Bullshit he’s been looking! He sits in his room wallowing in self-pity and you both just let him. Why bother actually looking for a job when you two will be there to catch him when he falls? I know you’ve been giving him money and it’s being wasted on enabling his drinking habits-”

“He’s not like you,” Wanda says defensively. “His whole world fell apart when Vanessa broke up with him and now he’s struggling. You’ve always been so independent-”

“I didn’t have a choice!” You snap, the words that you’d wanted to say the day you told them you were moving to California tumbling out of your mouth. “If I were the one who’d flunked out of college there’s no way you would’ve let me behave like this! You think my first year was easy? Sometimes it was really fucking difficult but I didn’t have the security of a safety net, of anyone to catch me when I fall. I don’t have the luxury of being able to fall apart, I never have.”

“Y/N-”

“He needs an intervention. He needs you both to stop tiptoeing around him. He needs a fucking reality check. He needs-”

“What else do I need, Y/N?”

Your blood runs cold as you hear your brother’s icy voice from behind you, and you slowly turn to face him. It still hits you even now just unrecognisable Brandon has become. You’ve always been jealous of how bright he is, how other people are always drawn to him. The difference between you now is stark, as if you’d stolen the light from him. As you glance at your Moms’, you realise that neither of them is going to say anything to Brandon. Kate had been right, if he did try to physically hurt them, they could easily stop him. That wasn’t what they were afraid of though. They were afraid of him turning his back on them. Even now, even when he was making their lives so difficult and stressing them out to the point where Wanda had been crying when you got home, they still wouldn’t dare stand up to their precious boy.

Nothing was ever going to change.

“You need,” You say in the calmest voice you can manage, “To get a fucking grip Brandon. Vanessa broke up with you. Big fucking deal. People break up all the time. You should’ve gone out for a couple of drinks with your friends and then gotten a grip.”

“You have no idea how hard it was for me-”

“It wasn’t hard for you! It was never hard for you. You’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking spoon your entire life and the moment you were faced with a real problem you made it everyone else’s problem.” Your voice is still quiet but cold and firm. “Our Moms’ would do anything for you, anything at all. And this is how you repay them? Smashing up their house, making them miserable in their own home-”

“What the fuck would you know about it, Y/N? You think you’re so much better than me for sticking it out at college but you’re doing creative writing. You’re never going to do anything with that-”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t, but at least I’m doing something Brandon. You’re a loser bumming off the Moms’ and what have you got to show for it? No girlfriend, no friends, no job, nothing.”

“I’m a loser? I’m a loser? I had way more friends than you in school, you were the one that the other kids made fun of, that-”

“We’re not kids anymore, you fucking baby!” You snap. “You need to grow the fuck up and-”

What happens next happens so quickly that you barely have time to register it. Brandon, holding his fist up, moving towards you, and you flinching away. A flash of bright red light, a scream and when you open your eyes again, Brandon is crumpled on the floor, both of your Moms’ staring at him, Natasha shocked but Wanda’s face set in cold, hard anger.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on your sister,” Wanda practically hisses. “She’s right. We’ve tiptoed around you for too long and it’s not doing you any favours. Me and your Mama have been waiting patiently for your anger to subside, but you’ve gone too far now. We don’t hurt each other in this house. Me and your Mom have been letting you hurt us for too long but I won't let you hurt your sister.”

Brandon glares at her, “Mom-”

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Wanda says. “I won’t have the worry of you potentially hurting your sister hanging over my head while she’s here.”

“Are you- You’re really going to pick her over me?” Neither of your Moms’ says anything and Brandon’s nostrils flare with irritation, “Where the Hell am I supposed to go?”

“We’ve been giving you money for months,” Natasha says, her own voice cold and hard. “If you’ve wasted it, that sounds like your problem.”

“You’re a smart boy, Brandon,” Wanda says. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

There’s a long, tense moment of silence before Brandon climbs to his feet, his eyes blazing as he storms out, slamming the door so loudly behind him that the entire house shakes. Wanda turns to you, reaching out to place a hand on your arm, “Baby… Are you okay?”

You nod, dumbfounded, “You… You didn’t have to do that. I’m going away with Kate tomorrow. She has a holiday home, I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks-”

“We did have to do that,” Natasha says quietly. She looks at Wanda then runs a hand through her red hair, “We did. Fuck.”

“I didn’t realise that you thought…” Wanda lets her voice trail off, her hand moving to your face to cup your cheek. “Y/N, I didn’t… We never meant to…”

“Have you been okay?” Natasha asks, moving to stand on your other side. “At college? How have you been paying for everything?”

You swallow hard and then mumble, “Tony sends me an allowance every month.”

Wanda’s eyes water, “Tony. Of course.”

“And you’ve been alright?” Natasha persists. “You haven’t… Have you struggled with anything? Assignments or boy problems or friends-”

“You both know I have a girlfriend so no, no boy problems…”

“I didn’t even know that you liked-” Wanda has to look away.

Natasha just nods, “You said you’re going away for a couple of weeks? Do you want me to help you pack?”

You hesitate but figure that the distraction of packing your suitcase will be better for all of you than sitting there brooding on Brandon, everything he’s done and where he might be right now. So you nod, leading your Moms’ upstairs, Natasha walking stiffly with her fists clenched, Wanda with tears starting to silently trickle down her cheeks again.

Wanda sits down on your bed whilst Natasha pulls out your suitcase, opening it on the bed and then looking around, “Where’s she taking you?”

“Vermont,” You answer.

Wanda looks at you, “Kate… She… You like her? She treats you well?”

You nod, giving her a small, sad smile, “Yeah. She’s… I really like her.”

“Do you have a picture of her?” Natasha asks.

You hesitate. You hadn’t shown them a picture of Kate or gone into any details about her but you feel like you can’t deny them this after everything that happens, especially since you’re going away with her for two weeks. So you take out your phone and show your Moms’ your lock screen, a selfie of you and Kate where Kate’s sticking her tongue out and squishing your cheeks between her fingers. Wanda smiles, “She’s pretty. What is she studying?”

“Business Studies, her Mom wants her to take over her business someday.”

Both of them continue asking questions about her and you answer easily as you and Natasha work on packing your suitcase. Wanda eventually smiles through her tears when you recount another story of Kate doing something ridiculous just because she’d been dared to, and Natasha actually laughs. Eventually you stand back, looking at your fully packed suitcase and say quietly, “I do think he needs help.”

Natasha and Wanda glance at each other before Natasha nods, “I know. I know he does.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay tonight?”

“He’ll manage one night. No doubt he’ll be back here tomorrow and then…” Natasha hesitates. “We’ll look up AA meetings. Or get counselling or… Something. He’s underage so I know he shouldn’t be but…”

“It’s time he got a job,” Wanda says. “You’re right; we let him wallow around in self-pity for eight months. Enough’s enough.”

You purse your lips together, looking between them both, “I love you both but…”

“I know,” Natasha says quietly. “We know.”

“Can we call while you’re away?” Wanda asks. “We tried while you were at college but you never answered and you never called back. We thought… We thought maybe you didn’t want to talk to us.”

“I did want to talk to you,” You admit. “I just… I wanted you to try. To try harder. To prove that you loved me.”

Natasha’s face falls and she pulls you into her arms, “Oh Y/N… Of course we love you.”

“Not as much as Brandon though,” You mumble into her shoulder.

Natasha shakes her head and closes her eyes, “No. That’s not true. We’ve always loved you the same. I know it didn’t always feel like that. We messed up so many things Y/N but please don’t ever think we loved you less. I swear we didn’t. You’re our special girl.”

You don’t say anything and Wanda stands up to join in the hug too. Both your Moms’ tuck you between them, both holding you tightly. You can’t remember them ever doing this for you when you were a kid. Natasha presses a kiss to the top of your head and you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to finally accept comfort from both of your Moms’.

You don’t forgive them for everything that happened when you were little. When you go back to college, you’re not sure if you will answer their calls. You’ll probably answer while you’re in Vermont, just to make sure Brandon hasn’t done anything too crazy while you’ve been away. But what matters the most is that you’re not that upset little girl anymore.

You linger awkwardly in the doorway to the medbay as the medics work hard at patching up Kate. She looks rough – Clint had found her just in time after Kate had been missing for eight weeks. Any length of time missing in action is bad, but this was the longest that any Avenger had been untraceable for. Now she was malnourished, badly dehydrated and littered in cuts and bruises. When Clint had lifted her up into his arms, she’d barely registered him or that she was being moved.

Tony puts a hand on your shoulder, “I know you feel uncomfortable about this. But it’s the easiest way.”

You nudge him off your shoulder, the guilt rising in your stomach as you remember why you’re here. Not to support Kate, not to be her friend, but to use your power to shift through her memories, to see what happened to her while she was away. Tony might say it was the easiest way but for who exactly? Kate? You doubted it – this was her trauma and you were going to delve into it without her permission or knowledge. Easier for Tony no doubt to hear the information second-hand from you. There was a reason he hadn’t told Steve about this, knowing the Captain would chew him out if he knew.

You’d protested when Tony had asked but had agreed, probably far quicker than you ought to have. Because a dark, twisted part of you needed to know what happened while Kate was away. You wanted to memorise the faces of the people that had done this to her and hunt them down one by one. If anyone was going to find out what happened, you wanted it to be you. You wanted to be the first, the one who knew every gruesome detail. You wanted to take on the burden of Kate’s pain. Tony might be in this for himself but it would be easier for Kate not to have to relive the traumatic events that had occurred. That was what you’d told yourself anyway.

By the time you’re allowed inside Kate is asleep, hooked up to machines and looking peaceful despite the dark bruises on her face. Tony takes a step into the room but one hard glare from you has him holding his hands up and backing out quickly, leaving you to your work. You turn your attention back down to Kate, running your fingers gently over her forehead to brush a strand of dark hair out of her face. Your gaze turns to her lips, remembering the fairytales you’d read as a child. Maybe one kiss would be enough to fix all of this mess-

You quickly look away, your cheeks burning. Kate wasn’t your girlfriend. Not that it stopped you from thinking about her every hour of the day, glancing at her constantly during training, volunteering first whenever she was looking for a sparring buddy, making sure you sat next to her at the dinner table, or laughing the loudest at all of her jokes, including the particularly cheesy ones. Your infatuation for Kate hadn’t gone unnoticed by anyone except for Kate herself apparently. Unless she just didn’t like you like that but hadn’t wanted to hurt your feelings.

Sometimes though, you’d catch her looking at you, see the way her eyes would quickly swivel away when you caught her gaze, and how she’d wipe her hands on her pants, and you’d wonder if maybe… There was something there after all. Not that it mattered, neither of you was brave enough to make the first move.

Kate was always getting herself into trouble and this wasn’t any exception. As you press your fingers to the side of her head, you’re instantly flooded with her memories – how she’d approached a gang of criminals without any back-up, nobody any the wiser that Kate had intended to do that, how they’d outnumbered her easily, carried her back to their lair. Then the torture began.

It was difficult, but you forced yourself to watch as Kate valiantly refused to give away any information despite what they did to her. It had been horrendous and Kate had screamed and cried, but whenever they began to question her again she’d just purse her lips together and breathe through her nose, fighting the pain, refusing to give anything away. For four weeks she hadn’t cracked until one day, they’d tried a different tactic. One of the men walked into the room and Kate braced herself for the usual blows, for the pain to begin, but they merely held something up for her to see. Kate’s eyes had blinked, slowly coming into focus until they’d landed on a necklace in his hand. Your necklace.

You’d had to come out of her memory for a moment, gently touching the necklace around your neck, the one that you wore every single day without fail, even on the battlefield. It hadn’t been yours – the one the man had been holding. You’d have known if it had gone missing. A good replica maybe, but it definitely hadn’t been your necklace. You look down at Kate’s sleeping face, watching the way her chest slowly rises and falls, before slowly placing your fingers on the side of her head again, letting the memories filter into your own brain.

You’d been young when you’d realised you’d possessed this ability. Your fingers had touched your younger brother’s head while he slept, and your own head had been invaded by his memories, seeing the world through his eyes. It had been difficult to sift through them at first, but you’d taught yourself, secretly practicing on your family every night. One day you’d tried when your Mom was awake, just to see if you could, and she’d pushed you off her, clutching her head in her hands. The look on her face when she realised what you could do would be burned into your brain forever. They didn’t trust you after that. You were locked in your room each night, your power a dirty secret. It had taken you years to admit your abilities to the Avengers.

Your mind focuses on the necklace in the masked assailants’ hand, his voice coming through clearly into your own head, “We have Y/N. If you do not answer our questions… Let’s just say it will end badly for her.”

Kate had taken a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly before rasping out, “I don’t believe you.”

“That is up to you. It’s your choice to make.”

Kate had folded, almost instantly. All their questions had been answered but they still hadn’t set her free. It seemed they almost delighted in tormenting her. Maybe they had a personal vendetta against her, maybe against the Avengers, or maybe they were just evil. One afternoon her captors had taunted her, “It’s your choice Kate Bishop. We can either hurt you, or we can hurt Y/N. What do you want to-”

“Me,” Kate had hissed through her teeth without hesitation. “Hurt me. Just… Leave her alone. Let her go, I told you everything you wanted to know. Please leave her alone. Please.”

Kate had endured torture for weeks, believing she’d been protecting you, unaware that you’d been safe and sound at the Avengers compound the entire time.

When they discovered Kate had managed to cut through one of her bonds, they’d threatened to go to ‘your cell’, to terminate you for her insolence. Kate had cried and begged for your life, so hard that she’d nearly vomited up the little food she had in her system. They’d retightened her restraints and had warned her not to try again or you would suffer. Kate didn’t make any more attempts to escape.

Eventually Kate’s captors had grown tired of their torment and had disappeared, leaving her alone with no food or water for two full days. Kate had been strapped down, unable to move, too weak to even call out for help. If Clint hadn’t found her when he had, she would surely be dead.

Your eyes burn as you remove your hand from her head, your vision returning to the present, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Kate’s chest. Part of you knows deep-down that Kate would’ve been hurt regardless but to know that she bore the pain in an attempt to protect you makes your heart twist painfully. Your hand drops down to her arm, running your fingers down it as softly as possible before taking her hand in yours.

Why had they used you? The obvious choice for blackmailing Kate would’ve been to pretend they had Clint. Maybe they didn’t have anything easily identifiable as his, but Yelena would’ve been an easy choice too - everyone knows how close Kate is to Natasha’s sister. Or even her beloved dog, Lucky. They could’ve picked any of the Avengers, but they’d chosen you. And Kate had crumbled instantly.

“Thank you,” You whisper, knowing that Kate can’t hear you but wanting to tell her anyway. “You shouldn’t have done that but… I would’ve done the same for you. In a heartbeat.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Tony says, running a hand through his hair. “One less thing to worry about. We’re obviously still in the process of trying to find them, but at least we know Kate didn’t give anything away.”

You’re sat opposite Tony in his office, having just given him an edited account of what happened to Kate during her captivity. Although you hadn’t downplayed any of the suffering that Kate went through, you’d omitted the parts where they’d lied to her, had convinced her you were being held captive too. Hadn’t told him that Kate had answered all of their questions, and they’d continued to torment her anyway. In your version, Kate refused until eventually the gang gave up and left her for dead.

You’d find them long before the Avengers did. Although they were masked in Kate’s memories, you’d managed to sift through and find enough identifiable details to track most of them down, which would surely lead you to the rest. And when you found them, their deaths would be slow and painful. Kate’s torture would be a drop in the ocean compared to what you had planned for them.

“I’m not doing that again,” You tell Tony. “If this happens to anyone else, you ask them what happened, or we ask for their permission if it’s too painful for them to discuss. It was a violation and you’re never to ask Kate about it.”

Tony simply nods, watching thoughtfully as you stand and leave his office.

Nobody asks Kate about what happened, and she doesn’t offer any information. At first, you’d worried that Kate would panic, would insist on telling everyone the secrets that she’d told the masked assailants, to let them know finding them should be a priority. But she hadn’t. You’d kept an eye on all internet forums, particularly on the dark web, but everything remained quiet. Whatever they planned to do with the information they’d obtained from Kate, they hadn’t leaked it yet. Not that it mattered – they’d soon be dead anyway, the secrets dying with them.

One evening you keep Kate company while the others are busy, playing a board game with her. Your counter is only a few places away from the end when Kate says quietly, “I know you know.”

You avoid her gaze, slowly picking up the dice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I thought you were- But- You were here the whole time, weren’t you?” You hesitate, keeping your gaze on the board game in front of you before you nod, just once. Kate’s own gaze drops to the blanket covering her legs as she fidgets, “I… I hoped that was the case.”

You swallow hard, “But you still didn’t risk it.”

Kate shakes her head and replies in a soft voice, “No.”

You both sit there in silence for a long moment, neither of you making a move to continue your game before you eventually ask, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you ask them for more proof?”

“I’d already lost track of how long I was there and… I was pretty out of it, I was so hungry and tired, and my throat was aching with thirst, everything hurt and… Because it didn’t matter. If there was even a chance that you could’ve gotten hurt, I wasn’t going to risk it.”

“Kate-”

“You would’ve done the same and you know it.”

“I don’t-”

“How long are we going to skirt around this, Y/N?”

Your gaze flicks up to meet hers and there it is – the looks you’ve been giving her reflected in Kate’s own eyes. The longing, the yearning. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry, “I don’t know if now is the right time-”

“I nearly died Y/N. If this isn’t the right time then I don’t know when is.” Kate reaches out and takes your hand in hers, “Please. You know how I feel about you. You saw it.”

“You- You would’ve done that for anyone.”

“Offered to be hurt to spare someone else? Probably, yeah. But I wouldn’t have sold our secrets out like that. Yelena would kick my ass if she knew how quickly I caved.”

“You didn’t cave quickly though. That’s why they knew they needed to change their tactic.” You squeeze her hand, careful not to apply too much pressure in case you accidentally hurt her. “I just don’t understand why they picked me.”

“Because you’re my biggest weakness Y/N, and they knew it. Knew it even before I did. If it had been Clint or Yelena or any other Avenger in that room, I would’ve held onto those secrets, and not because I think you can’t handle your own, but because I just couldn’t risk it. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve called their bluff but you… God, you…”

Before you even realise what you’re doing, you lean forward and kiss her, relief flooding through your veins when she immediately kisses you back. One of your hands cups her cheek, your other arm moving around her waist, making sure to be careful, so careful because Kate’s still hurt and because you’ve waited so long for this, you want it to be gentle, to be loving. It’s everything you could’ve hoped for, and although it’s slow and soft, it’s also full of longing. The longing you’ve both been feeling for so long, finally coming to the surface.

When you pull away, you lean your forehead against hers, “You still shouldn’t have done that.”

“You can tell me off when I’m feeling better.”

“I wish I had healing powers instead of these stupid ones. Seeing you hurt fucking kills me.” You press a kiss to the back of her hand. “I wish I’d been the one to find you.”

“You’re here now. And you know everything and… You didn’t rat me out.” Kate’s eyes are teary and she blinks quickly. “Everyone’s going to be so mad when they find out. I told them so much-”

“It’s fine,” You tell her quietly. “I already told Tony. He said to keep it between us for now, that he’ll figure it out with Fury, but… You were under a lot of pressure Kate. Please don’t feel bad. He’s not mad at you and nobody else needs to know except for us, okay?”

The lie was worth it just to see the relieved expression on Kate’s face.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Kate asks.

You hesitate, “I uh… I’ve actually been assigned a mission that begins tomorrow.”

Another lie. You’d requested a week of last minute personal leave which Tony had granted without question; probably still feeling bad for making you sift through Kate’s memories. You were going to begin your hunt, find those motherfuckers one by one until they were all dead. They’d chosen to use you to get to Kate – you weren’t about to let them get away with that.

Kate looks disappointed and you lean over to press another kiss to her lips, “I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll pick us up some ‘Bad Pizza’ and then we can watch a movie together. Maybe you’ll feel well enough by then to leave the medbay and we could… Maybe we could spend the night in my room.”

Kate feels her cheeks heat up at the thought and she can only nod mutely. It makes you smile and you can’t resist kissing her again.  “Are you mad?”

“About what?” Kate asks breathlessly against your lips.

“That I looked through your memories.”

“I can’t say I’m thrilled,” Kate admits. “But I’m glad it was you.”

“I only looked at the last few weeks,” You mumble in between giving her more quick kisses. “I promise.”

Exhaustion catches up with Kate and you help her lie down, fussing over her pillow, the blanket, making sure she’s as comfortable as possible before kissing her again. Kate gives you a small, drowsy smile as she allows her eyes to close. You sit by her bed, stroking her hair to help her drift off to sleep, your eyes burning as you remember your plan for tomorrow and the next few days.

Krypto certainly didn't behave like this. For a moment, she even wondered if this was the same Krypto who would chew a pillow at all hours of the day and shake it constantly so that the feathers inside would fly everywhere in the apartment or on her ship.

But regardless of how strange it was, she was happy. After all, it just meant that Krypto loved her girlfriend as much as she did. And that shouldn't be a problem. At least, she thought so.

¯¯¯¯¯¯*¯¯¯¯¯¯

The evening lights of Metropolis, although dim, filled your apartment with enough light.

You loved evenings like this. It was one of those times when no evil threatened the peace of the city that would require the intervention of heroes. Furthermore, it was peaceful, so you could quietly enjoy every moment of the pleasant evening.

Especially now that Kara was there.

The smell of dinner was in the air, even though you had both finished eating half an hour ago.

You were just wiping the last plate over the sink, which was just waiting to be put in the dishwasher with the other already cleaned plates after a thorough wiping.

Kara was sitting not far from you, more precisely at the table. Her eyes followed your figure, watching every small movement of your hands.

A strange feeling always filled her at such moments.

The whole atmosphere was so intimate, almost domestic. It was almost funny to think that a few years ago she would never have imagined herself in such a moment, but now she was the one sitting there, watching your every move with an almost adoring gaze.

A smile tugged at her lips at the thought. It wasn’t too big, maybe not even noticeable if you didn’t lean closer, but it didn’t matter. Because it was exactly the kind of smile that comes to your lips in the midst of the most tender and loving thoughts.

Although she loved looking at you, her thoughts still wandered for a moment.

She stood up from her seat, then in an instant she was behind you, her arms tightly but still gently wrapped around your waist.

You were surprised for a moment, then a smile appeared on your lips, and you turned your head a little to the side so you could see her face better.

“You’re done, right?” Kara's voice came out, sounding really soft after the few moments of silence. The grip of her arms tightened a little as she tried to pull you closer to her.

You could hear the need in her voice. She hid it well, but it was clear to you now. It was a solid, small way of letting you know she wanted your attention. Although Kara wasn't the kind of person who didn't say what she thought, in such intimate moments she sometimes tended to show a much softer side of herself, hiding her feelings or thoughts behind much gentler words and requests. And you loved that you could see this side of her too.

"This was the last plate. I'll run the sink and I'm yours." you finally answered and your gaze turned back to the plate from which you had wiped the last food stain.

Kara just hummed in response, but she didn't let go of your grip.

Her hair, which was still slightly uncombed, fell lightly over your shoulders, which gave off a slight ticklish feeling.

Her eyes watched your hands for a moment, then she pressed a small kiss to your neck. It was softer than her usual kisses on your neck, but there was still that kind of desire in them that just wanted you to be as close as possible to each other.

"I was thinking we could watch a movie before we go to bed." You said, placing the last plate next to the ones you had cleaned earlier.

"Mhm." Kara hummed, and you couldn't tell if she heard what you said at all, which wasn't likely, after all, she had super hearing, or if she just didn't care too much because she seemed more interested in hugging you and pressing small kisses here and there on your neck.

"Kara..." you breathed out softly, and she just hummed again. "Did you listen to what I said?"

"Something about movies." she said lightly, as if it was the most obvious thing to say, but she seemed more interested in showering more kisses on your neck.

You sighed softly, though it was more of a loving sigh.

You turned in her embrace, wrapping your arms around her neck. You felt her hands tighten slightly around your waist in response.

You saw that slightly smug grin that you knew so well begin to appear on her face. It was the kind of grin that said you were where she wanted you to be and had achieved what she wanted.

"Stop being so smug about yourself." you said playfully, and the grin on her face only grew bigger.

"I don't know what you're talking about." she teased as her hands slid under your clothes and lightly stroked the smooth surface of your skin.

You were about to speak again when you heard a really loud and determined bark.

You both looked to where the bark was coming from, only to see Krypto wagging his tail really enthusiastically and his gaze following your form.

"Come on, buddy." Kara growled softly at the for dog interrupting the moment.

Unlike her, you didn't seem that annoyed as you removed your arms from around her neck, much to Kara's chagrin, and moved closer to Krypto, who seemed even more excited.

"What is it, Krypto?" you asked the dog, who just barked again, seemingly unable to decide whether to start running around the house again or simply fly away.

For a moment, you saw his gaze fall to the leftover dinner on the counter.

Now you understood.

Kara sighed. "No, Krypto. You can't eat it. I already told you."

Krypto just barked in displeasure in response, but he didn't look like he really cared. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, looking at you almost questioningly.

"Let him eat it, Kara. It really isn't much." you said, then you took the plate from the counter and placed it on the floor for the dog, who immediately started eating.

Kara just looked at the dog boredly, then grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom.

Well, at least while Krypto ate, you could be alone.

A sigh left your mouth, and after a moment, you lay down on the bed. Your thoughts wandered over various movie ideas, but it was interrupted when you felt a weight weigh on you and a pair of beautiful blue eyes look into yours.

That smug smile appeared on Kara’s face again as she scanned every inch of your face. It seemed her thoughts weren’t filled with the flood of movie choices.

“I guess you’re not thinking about movies.” you noted with a small grin, and Kara chuckled, then leaned closer.

“I thought of something much better than a movie.” she said, almost whispering in your ear, then leaning back against your neck.

Your breath hitched again when you felt her lips begin to press kisses to your neck again. These, however, were much firmer and less soft than the previous ones, but still just enough sensuality to emphasize the not-so-hidden meaning behind her words.

Kara's lips began to search for the more sensitive spots on your neck and when she successfully found them, she pressed a firmer kiss that took your breath away again.

"Kara..." you breathed out and you felt that smug grin on your neck.

She loved it when you made sounds like that. She knew you enjoyed it and it made her want to continue.

Her lips moved slightly up and aimed for the area under your chin. At first they were just soft kisses, but as she moved further, they became firmer.

Your hands rose to her face and you pulled her up a little and kissed her. Kara's grin was still palpable, but as the kiss continued, she tried to get even closer.

Just as you pulled away and Kara was about to lean in for another kiss, the mattress next to you sank and a loud bark filled the space.

Krypto moved excitedly on the bed, and in a moment he was near your face, licking it happily.

The transition was quick, but laughter left your lips as Krypto’s fur lightly tickled your cheek and his tongue licked the side of your face.

“Krypto, stop!” you half-shouted, but the laughter interrupted your voice, only encouraging the dog to continue to pile you in his love.

Kara groaned in frustration.

Krypto managed to interrupt you a second time. At this point, she seriously wondered if it was intentional or just great timing.

“Come on, buddy, not again.” she growled and tried to push him off of you, but it was clearly proving harder than it looked.

Hearing the frustration in Kara’s voice, you tried to pull yourself together and tried to push the affectionate dog away, which ultimately proved successful, as Krypto backed away, though only enough for you to sit up normally, and his tail was still wagging, indicating that he still had plenty of energy left.

“Krypto, get off the bed.” Kara spoke again, which she intended as a command, although it came across more as a whine and a plea.

Krypto looked at her for a moment, his tail stopping wagging, but continuing almost immediately, then a whimper left his throat and he lowered his head into your lap.

Your hand automatically went to his head and you slowly stroked it, which only made him lean more towards you.

Kara’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Rude, she thought to herself as she watched you so effortlessly shower him with love.

"He can stay for a while." you suggested, though it sounded more like a question, and your gaze met Kara's.

Kara knew you wouldn’t send Krypto away now, and she knew she wouldn’t say no to you, no matter how much she wanted to continue what you both were doing before being so rudely interrupted.

She let out a resigned sigh and lay down on the other side of the bed, trying to get as close to you as possible, which was difficult, after all, Krypto’s body formed a slight barrier between the two of you.

Kara’s eyes glanced at the dog again, as if telling him to move away, but he was adamant. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much in your lap and had no intention of moving.

Kara let out another sigh, then grabbed the remote control that was on the bedside table.

"Okay, let's watch a movie then." she said a little frustrated, but she couldn't really get too angry when it looked so beautiful, the way Krypto was almost in your lap and basking in your love.

By the time the movie was over, you and Krypto were both asleep. The only thing that had changed was that you were lying on your side and Krypto was snuggling up to your chest, breathing softly.

Kara could only watch the situation idly. Normally, you should be snuggling up to her side or chest right now.

She sighed many times by then, but finally she settled herself on the bed too. Her gaze scanned your sleeping face, which seemed so peaceful. She glanced at Krypto for a moment, who was so strange to see so calm. As if he was a completely different dog.

Despite this, she still closed her eyes and finally fell asleep.

¯¯¯¯¯¯*¯¯¯¯¯¯

The next morning, when Kara woke up, she was a little surprised to see that Krypto was still snuggled up to you, but he was already awake. Despite that, it didn’t look like he was going to pull away from you anytime soon.

Kara narrowed her eyes.

“Krypto, let me there finally.” she whispered to him, and the dog only moved, but made no attempt to pull away.

Kara was competitive, and so was Krypto.

Although Kara really wanted to pull Krypto away now, she didn’t want to wake you up, and she suspected the dog didn’t want to either.

“Come on, buddy, please.” she begged him this time, which seemed slightly more effective than her earlier attempt to appear firm.

Krypto whined in response, but not loud enough to wake you up.

Kara thought. Krypto didn’t want to pull away, but she wanted to cuddle with you. If she wanted to make any progress, she had to compromise with the dog.

"Okay, if you let me there, you can have the leftover from the dinner for a week. Sound good?"

Krypto's ears pricked up, and Kara knew she had finally won. And although it took a few moments for him to actually pull away, he finally did.

Krypto didn't get off the bed, only moved to the end of the bed and instead curled up at your feet. His gaze fell on Kara this time, waiting for her to move closer to you.

Kara didn't hesitate.

In an instant, she was next to you, her arms wrapped around your waist and holding you tightly. The movement didn't wake you up, but you snuggled closer and pressed your face into the crook of her neck.

A smile appeared on Kara's face, then she pressed a small kiss to the top of your head.

Her gaze fell back to Krypto for a moment, who was still looking at the two of you from your feet.

Spent nights at one another’s houses whispering embarrassing stories into the dark until tears gathered in your eyes from laughing too hard. And sometimes those nights turned softer, quieter. Comforting hands resting on knees when secrets slipped out, insecurities revealed only in the safety of each other.

You grew up with one another. Blew out birthday candles side by side, exchanged stupid Christmas presents every year, learned to drive in the same rusted trucks, and crammed yourselves into diner booths after reckless late-night drives through mountain roads. The whole town knew the three of you together, like your names belonged side by side as naturally as the mountains belonged to the horizon.

Inseparable, never meant to part from one another. Photos of the three of you hung around each other’s rooms, tucked into mirrors and pinned to walls, always leaving space for another year, another memory. Until one evening.

It was supposed to be another sleepover, only older now. The three of you somewhere between eighteen and nineteen, curled up in familiar places with the television humming quietly in the background and empty soda cans cluttering the table. Comfortable in the way only years together could make people.

Then your mother stepped into the kitchen and asked softly if you had told them yet. Their eyes flickered toward you immediately, and your body ran cold.

You couldn’t say it. Could barely even look at them. So your mother did it for you. She told them you were moving away to the city.

And the room lost its warmth.

You had been in New York for almost five years now. You’d finished college, settled into your first full-time job, and quietly reached the point where your life stopped feeling like something temporary and started feeling like something built.

Somewhere along the way, you’d grown into a woman almost unrecognizable from the girl who once ran barefoot through riverbanks and mountain trails. Back home, you grew up in a place where cell service barely existed, where fashion meant whatever clothes survived the week and your father’s boots were just part of the outfit you threw on over pajamas.

Your friends in the city found your childhood charming in that distant, curious way people do when they’ve never lived it. Wine glasses balanced between their fingers as they asked you questions about horses and wide open land and how you could stand living somewhere so small everyone knew everyone. What it was like. Why you left. If you missed it. If you could ever go back.

You always answered lightly, laughing it off, turning your past into something almost like a story instead of something you had lived. But the questions stayed with you longer than they should have, especially the ones about why you left, because you never really had a clean answer for that anymore.

Your parents had long since stopped arguing with you about New York. Now your calls home were softer, stretched out with pauses, your mother asking when you were visiting again and your father pretending not to notice how often you said you were busy. It hadn’t felt urgent before, life always pulling you forward too fast to look back.

But now, for the first time in years, the thought landed differently.

You could go home. There was nothing stopping you anymore.

You had PTO sitting unused, no deadlines pressing against you, no real reason not to leave the city for a while. You could just… go.

The realization settled in your chest in a way that made everything feel suddenly too quiet. That night you called your parents while sitting cross-legged on your couch, laptop open on your knees as flight searches loaded in the background, your finger hovering between dates as your mother’s voice filled your apartment from the speaker.

Your dad picked you up at the airport, giving you a hug so tight your lungs burned. You didn’t mind it. You just shoved your face into his shoulder and held on a second longer than you meant to, breathing in the familiar rough cigarette scent and something older underneath it was motor oil.

It hit you all at once how much you’d been holding back, how much you’d been pretending wasn’t there. How much you’d missed him. How much you still loved him in that deep, uncomplicated way that never really changes no matter how far you go.

When he finally pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders like he needed to make sure you were real. “God, look at you,” he said, voice thick in a way he tried to hide by laughing. “Look at my girl… you’re so grown up.”

You smiled at him, soft and a little watery around the edges, eyes matching his in that too-emotional way neither of you commented on. You squeezed his hands like you were grounding yourself through him instead of the other way around. “I miss you…”

“Me too, and so does your mother,” he said, giving your hands a gentle squeeze back as he nodded toward the exit. “Let’s go home… she’s waiting for you there.”

She gave you a just as tight hug, one you fully just broke into, tears slipping before you could even think to stop them. You held onto her like your hands had been waiting years to do that again, arms wrapped around her so tightly it almost felt like you were afraid she might disappear if you let go.

She didn’t rush you. Just held you back just as firmly, one hand steady between your shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head like you hadn’t outgrown needing it.

You buried your face into her shoulder, breathing in her shampoo and lotion, the familiar softness of her sweater, the quiet warmth of her that somehow still felt like home even after everything. The air in the house felt different in a way you couldn’t quite place at first.

Cleaner, lighter, like it had been waiting for you to notice it again. And suddenly it hit you how long it had been since you’d taken a full breath without something sitting heavy in your chest.

You exhaled shakily, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes still glassy. “I’m home…”

“That you are,” she said softly, brushing a thumb beneath your eye like she was still allowed to do that without asking. “We’ve been counting down the minutes.”

Her smile was small, careful, like she was afraid too much emotion might break something.

“We’ve got dinner… please come in.” Then, after a beat, her gaze flicked over your shoulder toward the rest of the house, softer still.

“The house has changed a bit… as you might assume you notice.”

After dinner, when you finally parted for the night, you climbed the creaky stairs slowly, each step familiar in a way your body remembered before your mind fully caught up. They had said the house had changed, and you believed them, until you reached your bedroom door.

The moment you opened it, everything stopped. Your suitcase rolled softly behind you and came to rest in the corner, but you barely noticed. Your feet moved on their own, slow and careful, like you were walking through a memory instead of a room.

Nothing had been moved. Nothing had been replaced. It was all still there, held in time like someone had refused to let it become anything else.

The old quilt on your bed. The faint marks on the wall where posters used to hang. The dresser you’d carved into when you were younger and thought it was funny. The bookshelf still slightly crooked no matter how many times your father tried to fix it. Even the soft smell of dust and old wood and something unmistakably you.

You walked like you were in a movie you weren’t sure you belonged in anymore, fingers brushing over surfaces as things you had forgotten suddenly returned in fragments. Late-night conversations, getting ready for school, lying on your back staring at the ceiling thinking the world would never change.

And yet it had. Just not this room.

You flop onto the bed afe hearing the springs bounce under you. The ceiling stares back at you the same way it always did, familiar in a way that almost feels unreal after so long away. Your eyes drift to your vanity, spotting the photos there, and something in your chest tightens.

You sit up slowly, gaze lingering on them. Smiling faces caught in time. Too many memories packed into small frames, edges slightly worn from years of being looked at and never really put away. You, Wanda, Natasha. Always the three of you.

You wonder what they’re up to, where they are right now. If they’re together. If they’re laughing. If anything about them feels different, or if it’s just you who changed. If they moved on after you left.

Your throat tightens before you can stop it.

You reach over and turn your lamp off for the night before you can let yourself wonder about anything further.

You had some time to warm up to everything again before your parents mentioned that you should attend the city’s small gathering once more, just to greet everyone again, catch up, be seen. It had sounded like a good idea at the time. You missed people from the town you grew up in, missed the familiarity of faces that didn’t feel like strangers even after years apart.

Your parents were going too, a kind of quiet reassurance at your side in case you felt awkward or in case the town had decided you’d become the “city girl” who left and never quite belonged again.

A few hours later, and it had been a fine gathering for the most part. Shaking hands yet again, hugging occasionally, repeating the same softened version of your life until your smile started to feel practiced instead of real. The fire burned bright in the center of everything, casting warm light over familiar faces as the sun fully disappeared and the night settled in.

You excused yourself quietly, slipping away toward the bathrooms just to breathe for a moment, let your shoulders drop where no one could see.

That’s when a truck pulled up. Headlights cut through the dark for a second before shutting off, leaving the engine to tick in the silence. It caught your eye without meaning to.

The door swung open, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

The one with the short, messy hair stepped out first. Except it wasn’t short anymore. Long auburn strands spilled over her shoulders, catching the firelight every time she moved. A cigarette rested between her lips, smoke curling into the night air.

The habit struck you immediately. Unfamiliar against the version of her you’d carried in your head for years.

The second door swung open a beat later. You shouldn’t have been surprised to see her, not really, but the sight of her still knocked the breath from your lungs. She looked older now.

Taller somehow, steadier. Softer in a way that only time could carve into someone. Even her voice, faint beneath the noise of the party, had deepened into something calmer, more mature.

You could hear the two of them talking quietly amongst themselves.

Their names stirred in the back of your mind, dangerously familiar. You shoved the thought down before it could settle, forcing your steps to remain even as you continued toward the bathrooms, pretending your pulse hadn’t suddenly fallen out of rhythm.

Part of you hoped you’d imagined it. That maybe you’d looked too fast, caught the wrong angle in the flicker of firelight and smoke and familiar noise. Maybe she hadn’t seen you at all.

But fate had other plans.

For one fleeting moment, her gaze drifted lazily across the crowd. Casual, distracted. Then it found you right as you reached the edge of the building and stepped inside.

You pushed through the bathroom door quickly, the cold fluorescent light washing over you as you gripped the edge of the sink for a second longer than necessary. Your pulse still hadn’t settled. You turned on the faucet anyway, letting the icy water run over your hands just to give yourself something else to focus on, but you can't.

Five fucking years. You dried your hands slowly against your jeans as you stepped back into the mosquito-filled air, already planning to keep your head down and walk straight past them.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Guilt and awkwardness climbed up your throat so fast it almost made it hard to answer.

“Hi.”

The word came out quieter than you intended.

Silence settled between you almost immediately, thick and uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to her anymore—or if you were supposed to say anything at all. The two of you hadn’t spoken since the day you left for the city. No calls. No texts. Nothing except years of distance stretching wider and wider until it became easier to pretend it didn’t matter.

Maybe this was how things were supposed to go.

People faded. Friendships lost their grip. Not everyone you met was meant to become part of your foundation. Some people were only passing branches, temporary things meant to break away eventually.

You told yourself that was all this was. Five years was a long time to hold onto someone. You shifted slightly, already preparing to step around her and leave the conversation exactly where it stood. Brief, polite before Wanda spoke again.

"You changed your hair,” she commented, her eyes drawing carefully over you.

“Yeah, I did…” you breathed out, wiping at your bicep when you felt what was probably a mosquito land there.

“It looks nice. Seems like you’ve really been taking care of yourself.”

The compliment sat awkwardly between you. You shifted your weight, one foot already turning away like you were preparing to leave the conversation before it had the chance to become anything more. Still, you could feel Wanda’s gaze lingering on you. And another from farther away, heavier somehow, burning into your skin.

Curiosity got the better of you. You glanced toward the truck near the fire and found Natasha already watching you. The flame from her lighter illuminated her face for a brief second as she lit another cigarette, smoke curling past her lips as she leaned back against the truck.

“Not too sure,” you admitted. “However long I can stretch my PTO. I’m getting time with my parents.”

Something flickered across Wanda’s face at that. Small enough that you almost missed it. The mention of family. The quiet implication beneath your words. That you came back for them, not for this, not for her.

No mention of catching up. No offer to see each other again. Still, she smiled softly, the kind that felt more polite than personal now. “Well… it was nice seeing you.”

“You too.”

The words felt strange leaving your mouth.

Wanda gave a small wave before turning and heading back toward the fire, her figure slowly blending into the warm glow and drifting smoke. You started in the opposite direction, hands shoved into your pockets, but after a few steps you glanced back over your shoulder anyway.

It wouldn’t be a small town without its monthly farmer’s market.

Your parents had driven the three of you into town early that morning, and for once, you didn’t mind staying close to them. It gave you something familiar to hold onto. The market buzzed around you with soft music, overlapping conversations, and the scent of kettle corn drifting through the warm air. You pointed out different stands to your mom, teased your dad over overpriced honey, and exchanged polite smiles with a few familiar faces from years ago.

It almost felt normal.

By the time you stopped at the smoothie stand near the edge of the market, the heat had already settled into your skin. You held your mango smoothie in one hand while waiting for the larger one your parents planned to split, half-listening to the blender roaring behind the counter.

Then a voice slipped into the space beside you.

“Mango? Always been your favorite.”

Your stomach tightened before you even looked up.

Wanda stepped beside you casually, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket despite the warmth outside. Her hair was pulled back loosely today, auburn strands catching in the breeze.

“You ordering one?” you asked, trying to sound more relaxed than you felt. Almost pushing her away again.

She hummed softly, glancing up at the menu board. “Maybe. I’m deciding.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “This stand’s new. Only been here about two years.”

She glanced away from the menu for a moment, eyes settling on you. “How’s the city been?”

The question made your stomach sink unexpectedly, like there was too much wrapped inside those four words. Your fingers tightened slightly around the smoothie cup as you silently wished your parents’ order would be ready already.

“Uh, yeah…” you muttered, shifting your weight. “It’s good. A lot.”

Wanda smiled anyway, like she understood the awkwardness behind it. “Still overwhelming?”

“Pretty much all the time.”

“I can imagine,” she said softly. “Forty people in one gathering is about enough for me. I can’t imagine being surrounded by that many people all the time. Always somewhere to go.”

You hummed, feeling yourself loosen slightly at the subject. Talking about the city was easier than talking about yourself. Easier than talking about the five years sitting between the two of you.

“It’s not as bad as people think,” you admitted, glancing down at your drink. “Everyone kind of stays in their own lane. It feels like you actually get your own space there.”

You paused briefly before adding quieter, “Doesn’t feel as suffocating. Or like everyone’s watching you all the time.”

Your name was called from the stand. Relief flickered through you immediately. “That’s mine,” you said, half a step backward as you pointed toward the counter. You grabbed your parents’ smoothie when it was handed over, the cold cup grounding you in something simple again.

Wanda was still there. Feeling awkard to say goodbye, but even more not to say anything at all. You turned back to her, something small and almost unintentional softening your expression. Not quite a smile, not quite nothing either.

“Uh… it was good seeing you,” you said quietly.

Wanda nodded once, gentle. “Yeah. You too.”

You held her gaze for a second longer than you meant to, then shifted your weight away, your parents already drifting toward the next stall.

“Take care,” you added, voice lighter now.

"You too."

You lay in bed, covers pulled up to your chest, staring at the ceiling while the quiet of your room presses in around you. Your eyes drift again and again to the photos still pinned along your vanity mirror. Snapshots of a life that feels both distant and uncomfortably close.

You shift restlessly beneath the blankets, your thoughts swinging between extremes, almost hot and cold the way Wanda and Natasha feel in your chest.

Part of you circles the idea of mending it.

Of letting the distance soften, of allowing something polite and careful to form again. Something that doesn’t demand too much, just enough to acknowledge what you once were without pretending it never existed.

It's similar to Wanda, who's already reaching, in her way. Small steps. Easy conversations. A version of reconnection that doesn’t feel like it would swallow you whole if you tried.

The second part, one that looks at Natasha and feels that familiar finality settle in your bones. The part that questions why you would even try to rebuild something that already burned itself down so completely.

What would it even mean to go back there? What would you be rebuilding, exactly. Friendship, history, or just the echo of something you’ve already outgrown?

It pulls you in two directions at once, neither one fully letting go.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize it isn’t really about choosing between them. It’s about choosing which version of the past you’re willing to carry forward with you.

You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, watching the clouds shift into something ugly overhead. Thick, swollen, and dark enough to swallow the horizon. They rolled together into one continuous mass as far as you could see, the air turning heavy with the metallic scent of rain before it even started falling.

You tapped your foot against the floor near the counter, impatience building as you waited for the last of the payment to go through for your parents’ horse feed. One more errand. One less thing for them to worry about. That was the idea, anyway.

The cashier finally nodded toward the card reader. “You’re good to swipe or tap.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, relief already loosening your shoulders.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped outside.

You had wished for no rain. And the sky answered anyway.

It hit fast. Cold wind first, then the first scattered drops, and then all at once the world opening up above you. You hurried toward the car, already regretting the jacket you chose, the timing, the entire day.

You had wished to get home safe. And the car responded by slowing like it was thinking about giving up entirely.

A sputter. A shake. Then silence.

“No. No, no, no—come on,” you groaned, gripping the wheel as if that alone could convince it otherwise. You slumped forward, pressing your forehead against it for a second before letting out a long, defeated breath. “Damn it… of course. God fucking damn it.”

Of course it was the old car. Of course it was your parents’ old everything. Old house, old roads, old feed store that took forever to get anything done.

You shoved the door open and stepped out into the rain immediately soaking through your jacket. Cold water ran down your arms as you moved behind the car, placing your hands against the trunk.

“Please,” you muttered under your breath, as if the car might suddenly develop empathy.You pushed.

At first it barely moved, tires digging into wet ground that was already turning fast into mud. You leaned harder into it, boots slipping slightly with each effort. Rain blurred your vision, plastering your hair to your face, soaking through everything faster than you could adjust.

More time passed. And your arms started to burn. Your breath came sharper. The car barely shifted an inch.

“Come on,” you hissed through clenched teeth, pushing again, harder this time.

The ground gave out beneath one step, your foot slid out from under you instantly. You hit the mud first—hard—then felt the sharp sting as your face followed, your lip splitting on impact. A copper taste filled your mouth almost immediately, mixing with rainwater as it ran down your chin.

You froze for a second, breath shaking, rain hammering down around you like it was trying to erase you entirely. Your fingers lifted instinctively, brushing over your lip. No, your nose. Or wherever it is the blood had started to show after slamming into the back of the car.

“God,” you muttered again, voice rough as you pushed yourself upright, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. It didn’t help much. Everything was already soaked anyway. Rain, mud, and now a thin streak of blood that refused to blend in.

You turned back toward the car, still half-focused on trying to salvage the situation, when headlights cut through the storm in the distance.

At first, it was just relief. Sharp and immediate. Someone. Anyone.

You held a hand over your eyes, squinting through the rain as she stepped out of the truck. Her boot sank slightly into the mud, dark water splashing around it, but she didn’t seem to care.

You opened your mouth to explain. Something halfway between it just died and I’ve got it handled... but she cut you off before you could get a word out.

“The hell are you doing?” Natasha’s voice cut through the storm, sharp enough to feel like it landed harder than the rain.

Something in your chest snapped hot immediately.

Not fear. Not embarrassment.

Frustration. Honestly, it might’ve even started the second you saw her truck.

“What does it look like I’m doing, you ass?” you shot back, wiping rain from your face again only for it to be replaced instantly. “The car stopped. It’s not starting again and I’m just trying to go home!”

She made it across the road, crouching slightly to peer into your stalled car as rain battered both of you. You stood there beside it, completely soaked now.

Tears dripping into your eyes, clothes heavy and clinging to your skin, mud tracking up your legs. Everything felt cold, uncomfortable, wrong. The only thing you could think about was a hot shower waiting somewhere on the other side of this mess.

Natasha straightened again, voice carrying over the storm.

“I can’t help you out here,” she called. “I’ll drive you back and tow your parents’ car.”

There wasn’t much room for argument in the way she said it.

The passenger seat of her truck felt like another world entirely. Your soaked clothes squeaked faintly as you sat down. You stared straight ahead for a moment, hands awkward in your lap, trying to settle your breathing. Time only moved forward, you reminded yourself. Second by second, and you're moving forward to this moment ending.

Natasha was already outside again, hooking your car up, rain running off her shoulders as she worked. Then she climbed back into the driver’s seat like the storm didn’t touch her the same way it touched everyone else.

The truck rumbled slightly as she started it. Silence settled in immediately after, just the low hum of the AC. The steady drum of rain against the windshield. The faint creak of metal as the tow line tightened behind you.

You stared out at the blurred world beyond the glass, rain streaking sideways in the headlights as the truck rolled steadily forward.

“Thank yo—” you started, the words catching in your throat before they could fully form.

Natasha hit the brakes. Hard.

The sudden stop snapped you forward against the seatbelt, breath punching out of your lungs as the world jerked into stillness. The tow line behind you creaked under tension. Rain hammered the windshield like it was trying to break through.

“I just can’t fucking believe that you’re back. Why in the world did you come back? You’re so incredibly selfish, you understand this?”

For a second, you just stared at her, rain and adrenaline still ringing in your ears.

“Excuse me?” you say, sharper now.

Natasha lets out a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it. She looks back out at the road like she already regrets turning toward you in the first place.

“Yeah,” she mutters, “excuse you.”

The wipers drag back and forth, useless against how hard it’s coming down.

You open your mouth again, but she cuts in before you get anything out.

“No, don’t… don’t even start explaining like there’s a good version to any of this,” she says, voice tighter now. “Not ‘I wanted to chase my dreams.’ You only told the two of us when your mom brought it up. Like something you were never even going to tell us until you just left. And I don't even want to know how you told your sweet parents."

“Natasha—!”

“Two friends, people who’ve known you since birth,” she continues, faster. “You don’t think we deserve an official goodbye? Any explanation? Before you get up and leave for five years? And oh yeah, 'I got your little things done, so let me just come back because I missed it?' You expect everything to just be fucking peachy dandy? Two people you’ve known for your whole life, who’ve been nothing but everything to you. You can’t even afford the decency to say goodbye? What a fucking joke you are.”

You throw your hands up, opening the car door. “I can’t do this.”

She’s out almost immediately, slamming her door behind her.

“Run away,” Natasha snaps after you, voice cutting through the storm. “Very you. Don’t confront anything head-on."

You whip around to face her.

“So what is it with you? Do you want to drive me home, or should I drive? Because this is—”

“This is what?” she interrupts, stepping closer. “You tell me. What is it with you? Why did you want to leave everyone here who’s cared about you? Truly?”

Her voice rises slightly now, not quite yelling, but close.

“How’re the fake friends in New York?” she throws in, sharp and quick. “You like the money? The title of being in New York instead of this nothing town?”

A beat.

“It’s all wonderful, right? Until you need to think about something that actually means something to you. That’s why you came back. You’re not truly satisfied there and you know it. Why the hell did you even lea—”

“Because Natasha, I’ve had nothing done nothing! My siblings have done outstanding things, and all I have ever done is mess around. I tossed pencils into a cup with you and Wanda instead of studying. My sister was in honors at my age, while I was covered in mud. My parents expect more. I can’t be the loose end in my family.... I.."

She huffs. “You know how much your parents missed you when you were gone? I made up excuses to come by just to try and cheer them up. They worried they messed up with you. Wondered why you left so far away when you seemed so happy here.”

You wave your hands. “Can we just… don’t…”

“Sure,” she says, tone flat, unimpressed, already done. Climbing back into her car.

The drive is even more silent than before, Natasha reaching to try to light a cigarette on the rest of the drive.

You glance at her. “Terrible habit, but I’m not surprised.”

She huffs, setting the pack back in the cup holder. “Wanda’s been entirely too sweet to you. I’ve been telling her."

She pulls up at your parents’ house, unattaching the car. She waves to your parents, who look worried on the front porch, before her car hums off into the distance, not a wave your way. But your heart feels warmer, soften even... despite the harsh words thrown at each other. You slept that night, feeling a little less like bricks were laying on you.

The argument in the storm had been the dam that broke everything. After that, something in the air between you all shifted. Not healed, but loosened just enough to breathe through. The past hurt feeling like a river cried, and the bridge beginning to form again.

Despite it all, you started smiling a little when you ran into them. In a small town, it was impossible not to. There were only so many places to go, only so many corners of town you could avoid before they stopped feeling avoidable at all.

At the diner, it was a brief wave.

At the little store downtown, it was Wanda holding the door open while Natasha lingered near the counter, pretending not to notice you.

At the gas station, it was a quiet exchange of “hey” that lasted a few seconds longer than it used to.

It wasn’t smooth. But it wasn’t as sharp anymore either.

Each time, you found yourself staying a little longer. Saying a little more. Laughing, sometimes, before you had time to stop yourself. The awkward edges didn’t disappear, but they softened enough that you stopped bracing for impact every time you saw them.

And slowly, without any real announcement, things started to settle into something that resembled a pattern.

Wanda always spoke first. Careful, warm, like she was still trying to build a bridge between where you were and where you used to be.

Natasha stayed quieter, but she didn’t leave. She lingered in the background of conversations more often than not, watching, listening, occasionally throwing in something blunt that cut through the softness without fully breaking it.

It confused you, how something so fractured could still hold together in motion. And eventually, even your parents noticed.

“You’ve been running into them a lot lately again,” your mom said one evening over dinner, her tone light, but threaded with something warmer. “It makes me really happy… I was happy your friendship could rekindle. I had hope.”

“It’s trying…” you said, a little uncertain.

Your mom hummed softly, poking at her food. “It was a hard time when you left. Hit them hard, as it did us. Sweet women, they are. They’d come and help us with some chores. The ones you used to cover. They’d ask how you were doing…”

She glanced up at you then, softer now.

“Well... anyways, I’m just happy you’re all talking again. They’re gold. Don’t let go of them, alright darling? True gold, not false. Rare."

It had begun to bloom.

Not in any sudden, obvious way. Nothing you could point to and name, but in the slow return of ease. In the way your shoulders stopped tensing when you saw them. In the way conversations started lasting longer without feeling like you were walking on glass.

You found yourself revisiting places you hadn’t thought about in years.

The riverbank you used to sit at as a kid looked smaller now, quieter in a different way. The water still moved the same, but everything around it had changed just enough to remind you how much time had passed. You pointed things out absently when they were with you, half-laughing at old memories you weren’t sure you should still remember so clearly.

Your bed felt warm, like home each time you laid your head.

While you felt free, the two women felt caged still.

A weight still sat on their shoulders. Something unspoken, something that hadn’t dissolved just because time had passed and you were back in the same rooms again.

It lingered in the things they didn’t say.

In the way Natasha’s gaze flicked to you when she thought you wouldn’t notice.

In the way Wanda’s anger never quite found a place to land. It rose, once, briefly. Then dissolved the moment she saw you again, as if relief outweighed everything else. As if having you in front of her made it impossible to hold onto anything sharp for long.

It lived in hesitation, too. In the smallest pauses before speaking your name. In fingers that twitched, almost reaching, then curling back into themselves like restraint was a habit they couldn’t break.

In how their hearts betrayed them in quiet ways. Faster when you laughed, heavier when you looked away, uneven in your presence as if something inside them had never learned how to settle properly without you.

It lived in the nasty habit Natasha took upon herself. Smoke easing into her lungs instead of you. Into the nights the two of them spent together, the silence after as they occasionally grieved your presence.

Living to see a photo of you on social media, but too scared to follow.

It felt finate, your friendship. But the love that resonates in their hearts is infinite. And your distance, only strengthened it.

Your PTO is to come to an end. And this time, you inform others of your possible upcoming departure. It was brought up when they asked, settled into your bedroom. With a sunken heart, you come to realize the impending return date. Less than a week away. It felt as if a timer had offcially started. A stop watch starting, cointing down the seconds. Raising a feeling underneath everything. A question, a conflict to be resolved… hoping to be.

A sunken feeling settled in your chest as the return date became real in a way it hadn’t been before. Less than a week. A line drawn too clearly now to ignore.

It felt like something had started counting down. Haunting.

Tomorrow is your flight.

You sit with the two of them, checking into your flight. The room had been lively, until now. The clock louder than ever before.

"Sad I have only a couple hours really left... But we have each other's numbers... We can always text, or call..?"

"Right, yeah..." they had responded, dejected.

You hugged them, smiling—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes—before you got into the Uber. You waved goodbye to everyone: your parents, Wanda, Natasha. The dust kicked up behind the car as it pulled away, carrying you toward the airport, toward the flight.

You bit your nail, watching the world blur past the window, something tight settling into your chest. Your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears, uneven in a way you couldn’t quite settle. You kept swallowing it down, shifting your focus, pinching at your skin just to stay grounded in something physical.

It felt off. Wrong, even.

You walk toward security, lugging your suitcase behind you. Each step feels heavier than the last, like the airport itself is pulling you forward whether you want it to or not. The noise around you fades in and out. Announcements, rolling bags, footsteps, until it all starts to feel distant, muffled, like you’re already halfway gone.

Your mind keeps catching on moments you didn’t realize you were holding onto. Wanda’s laugh in your room. Natasha’s voice cutting through rain. The way silence between you all had started to feel less like absence and more like something full. Something you hadn’t known how to name until it was already slipping out of reach again. Like you don't what you have, how you feel until it's gone.

You swallow hard, forcing your grip tighter on your suitcase handle, like that could keep you steady. Like that could keep anything steady. Each step feels slower. The clock in your head ticking down the last few seconds you didn’t want to hear.

Your body is tense, too aware. Too tightly held.... until your name is shouted behind you.

For a second, you almost don’t believe it.

Then again.

Louder.

You turn, as something in your chest breaks loose before you can think about it. You drop your suitcase immediately and start moving before you even realize you’ve started running.

The space between you disappears too fast. And then you’re there, hugging the two women.

Hugging them tight, like if you let go too soon it would confirm every fear you’ve been trying not to name. They pull you in just as close, like neither of them had any intention of letting you be the one to hold on alone.

The pressure builds in your chest all at once. Too much feeling, too much time compressed into a single moment, and it spills over before you can stop it. Tears blur your vision, warm and sudden, and you don’t bother hiding them.

You don’t want to go home.

Because home isn’t the airport, or the city, or the life waiting for you past security.

Home is right here in your arms.

Wanda's or Natasha's home. You’re unaware and uncaring of whose it is as you're shoved inside with passion.

Your arms are wrapped around Natasha's neck, lips pressed to one another. The kiss is deep and unmoving. Her body pins you to the wall, and she grabs your thigh to wrap it around her waist. She holds you close, tightening her grip as she pulls you in. She tastes like the smoke she’s always inhaling and some unnamed, basic brand of chapstick.

You gasp, tugging at her hair as you melt into the kiss. Your body feels so warm and tingly that you believe you're floating. Wanda shuts and locks the door, coming up behind you to slide her hands down your chest while her lips lock onto your neck, listening to the little sounds you make.

Your shirt is tossed aside by Wanda, bra is shoved down so she can feel along your chest. To feel your nipples harden from her fingers tracing them. Your legs buckle under their touch, and they catch you to lead you toward the bed.

You fall back onto the bed, looking up at the two of them with lidded eyes, dressed only in your bra and bottoms. Wanda removes her shirt and lays over you, mumbling quiet comments about your body.

She whispers how gorgeous you are and how you’re stunning, "like a dream."

She tells you how good you look under her as she climbs on top, slotting her lips against yours. You reach a hand up to tug at her hair, squirming under the weight of her body. Pushed into the mattress by her hips slotting between yours. Hips grinding against one another.

Wanda kisses down your body, her lips latching onto your nipple for a moment.

"Mm—!"

You jolt, a whine escaping you at the contact as your thighs rub together. You're seeking more already, which brings a cocky, knowing look to her expression.