Background Person

You tug your dress down your thighs again, stupid thing kept rolling up. A knock on the back door catches your attention. Only certain people knock on the back door — people involved in her dealings. “Hey. What'cha need?”

“I've got a rerouted box of items for...Fanny Longbottom?” the man tells you. Wanda.

“I can take it from here.”

“Yoy sure?” he asks. “Its pretty heavy for a delicate thing like yourself.”

“I'll be fine.” The man simply shrugs, handing you the box. You'll admit, it was a tiny bit on the heavy side, but you weren't about to say that in front of the delivery man. You place the box on the floor in the lift, pressing the button for the top floor.

Your heels click on the sleek wood floor as you and the box leave the lift on the top floor, the noises of the bar far away now. You'd seen other men cower at the mere thought of having to come up here, but not you. Being Wanda's right hand gave you clearance to a lot, including not having to be worried on her floor.

The echoing stops briefly as you pause outside her door, raising an arm to knock.

“Come in.”

You turn the handle, pushing the large mahogany doors open with your hip, letting them close behind you. “I have the rerouted package that was addressed for Crab's, ma'am.”

“Place it on my desk,” she replies. You walk closer as she stands up, smoothing the invisible crease in her tailored pants. You place the box carefully on her dark wood desk, stepping back. “The delivery guy give you any trouble, sweetheart?”

You hated that your stomach flipped a little when she said that word, when it rolled off her tongue so sweetly, smooth as silk like something meant just for you. “No, ma'am.”

“Good. You know what happens if anyone gives my...you trouble, yes?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Open the box, please sweetheart,” she says, sliding a pair of scissors across her desk. You nod, picking them up and slicing them across the tape. “How is the bar?”

“Good.”

“Anyone causing you problems?” She asks.

You shake your head. “Just the usual, ma'am.”

She hums, pressing her tongue into her cheek briefly as you cut the next piece of tape. “And what does that mean, darling?”

Your hands stop in their tracks. That name, the one that made your knees go weak, made your brain focus on her mouth and only her mouth. The one that a woman like her had no business saying to a woman like you. You clear your throat. “Um...just men. The usual.”

Wanda's jaw clenches tight. “And what do they do, hm?”

You shrug. You weren't really expecting her to be this interested in the bar downstairs, which she only had as a distraction for the real ongoings of this building. “Notning. Don't worry about it.”

“Well...I do worry when it's my pretty little right hand. How would I live without you, hm?” She practically coos, hooking a manicured finger under your chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. You'd been avoiding that.

“You'd manage, boss. You're very capable without me,” you reply, biceps tensing as you pull open the box flaps.

“Oh, nonsense, sweetheart. Don't be silly. Who else would've opened that box for me, hm?”

You smile a little awkwardly, hands digging through bubble wrap to bring out whatever was in the box. One layer, two, three. Someone really wanted these items delivered safely. Finally, something glints inn the lights. Metal.

“What's in it?” Wanda asks.

“Metal. Guns.,” you reply, holding up a pistol. “Looks...maybe from Africa? Crabs is probably buying them there for cheap.”

Wanda hums, her fingers grazing yours as she takes the gun from your hand. “Interesting. Good quality. Crabs knew he eas getting a good deal on these.”

“Probably. He's smart enough to know how to lower costs,” you mutter, tugging your dress down again.

Wanda eyes you, her gaze flicking from your face to your dress and back again, jaw clenching. “What was that?”

Your brows furrow slightly, head tilting in confusion. “What was what?”

“With your skirt.”

“What? Nothing. Just keeps rolling up.”

Wanda hums. “You're dismissed. Thank you for your help, sweetheart.”

You nod, walking to the door again. “You're welcome, ma'am.”

Back downstairs, you stand back behind the bar again, preparing to make drinks. A younger woman sits on one of the barstools, smiling.

“Hi, what can I get ya?” you ask, resting your hands on the bar.

“Something strong. Surprise me, sweetheart,” she replies. “Put it on my card.”

You smile back. “As you wish.” Your hands start moving automatically, preparing a cosmopolitan, before tapping her card on the machine. “Here. One cosmopolitan.”

“Mm. And my card, sweetheart?” the woman adds. “If you wanted money to buy nice things, you could've just asked. A pretty woman like you shouldn't spend her own money on things.”

You laugh at that. “Really? And you'd just give me the money?”

She sinks at you. “With a face like that, who wouldn't?”

“Very forward...?”

“Elissa.” she tells you. “And you?”

“Y/N,” you smile.

Elissa nods. “You take tips?” You nod. She reaches into her wallet and takes out a crisp hundred. “Here. Buy yourself something nice. On me, pretty.”

“Oh, I couldn't take that.”

“I wasn't asking you to.” The woman replies. “I was telling you to.”

“Please—” you begin, holding the bill out to her. Thankfully she takes it back.

Then the woman reaches out over the bar, sliding the bill into your bra without much effort.You smile. Respectful...ish. Always nice. “You gonna take that bill, and get yourself something nice, sweetheart. And take my number too.”

She slides you a piece of paper, he number already written down on it. Like she'd had this planned in advance. You hum, looking down at it, more than a little enamoured by the woman's confidence. You lean across the bar, pressing a little kiss to her cheeks, leaving a pink mark on her cheek. “Thank you. I will.”

You hear the click of heels then, walking across the bar. Clear, recognisable. Like air itself moves apart when it hears her coming. Wanda. You frown, clearing your thraot. Wanda never came down to the bar. You shove the paper down your bra too. “Boss?”

“With me. Now. It's urgent,” she tells you shortly.

You glance between Elissa and Wanda. “Right. Sorry, Elissa. Bye.”

“Text me,” the woman calls after you. You don't dare respond. Not with the carefully calm face Wanda had on.

The ride up the lift is silent, the only sound being the whirring of the gears and the soft ding each time you passed a new floor. The silence was tense, dragging, until the doors slid open at the top floor. Thank God. Wanda steps out first, her heels clicking firmly along the corridor, while yours follow behind.

Her office door shuts behind you. She returns calmly to her seat, like nothing had happened, you follow her up to her desk. "What did she say to you?"

You blink. "What?"

"The woman downstairs."

"Oh." You shrug. "Nothing important."

Wanda raises an eyebrow. You immediately regret your answer. "Nothing important," she repeats.

"Just normal customer stuff."

"Mm." The sound is unconvinced. "What customer stuff?"

You shift awkwardly. "She complimented me."

Wanda's jaw tightens. "And?"

"She bought a drink."

"And?"

You clear your throat. "She left a tip."

"How much?"

"...A hundred."

Silence. Dangerous silence. Wanda leans back in her chair. "A hundred dollars." You nod. "To a bartender." You nod again. Wanda taps her fingers once against the desk. "Interesting."

You know that tone. Nothing good ever follows that tone. "It wasn't a big deal," you say carefully.

"No?"

"No."

Wanda's eyes drift downward. Straight to where you'd hidden the folded paper. Your stomach drops. "Then why," she asks softly, "did you put her phone number in your dress?"

You freeze. Wanda smiles. The smile somehow makes it worse. "Sweetheart."

Your face burns. "She just gave it to me."

"And you kept it."

"I didn't want to be rude."

Wanda laughs. Actually laughs. A short, disbelieving sound. "You didn't want to be rude."

"No, ma'am."

Wanda gestures you closer. Slowly. Every instinct tells you to take a step back. You don't, you move forwards.. Mostly because you know she'd notice. You stop directly in front of you. She reaches her hands up. "So let me understand this correctly." Her fingers straighten the collar of your dress. "A stranger walks into my restaurant."

You swallow. "Flirts with my assistant." A pause. "Calls her pretty." Another pause. "Touches her." Your heart pounds. "And then gives her a phone number."Wanda's gaze lifts to yours. "And my assistant keeps it."

You suddenly feel very, very warm."It wasn't like that."

"No?"

"No."

Wanda studies your face for several long seconds.Then she sighs. A disappointed sigh. The worst kind. She reaches forward. Two fingers slip into the neckline of your dress. You nearly stop breathing. A second later she pulls out the folded piece of paper. The phone number. Wanda looks at it. Then at you. Then back at it. And tears it neatly in half.Then again. And again. Tiny pieces drift into her office bin. "There." She smiles pleasantly. "Problem solved."

Your mouth falls open. "Boss—"

"Mm?"

"You can't just do that."

"I just did."

"That was rude."

Wanda laughs again. The sound is warmer this time. "Sweetheart." She cups your cheek briefly. "Being rude is one of the perks of being the boss."

You stare at her. She stares right back. Completely unapologetic. Then her expression softens. Just slightly.

You roll your eyes, brushing her hand away. Who did she think she was, cockblocking you and then acting all sweet? You take a step away. An arm reaches forward and wraps around your waist, pulling you back towards her. She traps your feet between hers, both arms wrapping tight around your waist, her arms tugging until you're forced down.

She smiles as your weight settles on her, pressing her face against your neck, her warm breath fanning your neck and ear. “No one else gets to flirt with you. You are mine. Do you need me to remind you?”

“What?” you reply, turning your head to face her, until a hand grabs your jaw, forcing your head forwards again.

“Maybe you do need reminding,” she replies lowly, her lips grazing your neck, making your stomach clench.

“Wanda— boss, I don't—”

The woman's legs spread beneath you, her torso leaning forward,her lips pressing and sucking trails up the column of your neck and jaw. “You're going to keep quiet aren't you, pretty girl? I wouldn't want to have to...silence you myself,” she whispers, her free hand trailing down the front of your dress. Between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, across your abdomen.

Your heart beats a little faster at her touch, the thought of being restrained and needy for her. “I can...be quiet.”

"Yes, Mum," Jenni says as she holds her phone up to her ear using her shoulder," Yes, we're fine. The weather is lovely. Like usual...Y/n is fine. She's doing well...Yes...No...Yes...We'll see. I still have matches to play. We'll come home when we have nothing else on."

Her mother drones on more in her ear and the little pitter-patter of tiny feet has Jenni looking up from the plate and knife in front of her.

You hoist yourself up and onto the stool at the kitchen island, a fox toy fisted in your grasp.

Your hair is all tustled and messy and still the bedhead that you'd woken up with and Jenni still hasn't brushed all the way through. Your special fox pjs are crumpled from a good night's sleep and your whole body trembles as you stretch and yawn.

"Listen, Mum, I've got to go. We're about to have lunch, okay? Yes, we love you. Okay, bye...Bye, Mum."

Jenni finishes cutting up your panini and slides the plate towards you as you reach eagerly for it.

"Don't eat too quickly," She reminds you," Otherwise you'll hurt your tummy."

The only acknowledgement you give her as a curt nod of your head before you're tucking in.

Jenni watches you for a brief second, just to make sure you're doing as you're told before she turns around to grab her breakfast meal prep from the fridge.

You watch her thoughtfully.

Jenni only really cooks for you and you alone.

There's a nice lady that comes at the beginning of every week to prepare all of Jenni's meals in advance so there's always little plastic tubs of food in the fridge filled with all of the things she needs to eat to do her job running around on a field well.

She tells you all the time that you have different food needs to her because you're still growing which is why the two of you eat different foods.

Like now, as Jenni shovels the weird yoghurt-y mixture into her mouth with all the oats and fruit and you chomp on your panini.

You think that your food must taste better than Jenni's because sometimes she puts a spoon into her mouth and makes a weird face but that might just be your imagination.

You're not sure.

"We're going to have a lazy day today," Jenni says as she washes her tub and spoon," Just us. Nothing to do. Is that okay?"

You nod as you chew the last bite of your panini, pushing your plate towards Jenni to wash up.

You yawn again and Jenni smiles fondly.

"Why don't you get all snuggly on the sofa and we'll watch a bit of Pablo?"

Pablo the Little Red Fox is your most favourite show in the world. It's a very old show that Jenni has to go to YouTube to get episodes for because it isn't shown on the tv anymore.

But you love it.

You don't really remember how Jenni found Pablo for you. It happened so long ago that you can't quite remember but you're glad she did it.

"Mami?" You ask when Jenni doesn't emerge from the kitchen," Mami? It's Pablo time! Maaamiii!"

It's not often that you get vocally impatient with her. Most of the time you just kind of pull on her hand and linger in front of her to show your discontent.

Jenni smiles to herself as she wipes the water off her hands with a tea towel as she comes into the living room.

You've made yourself comfortable on the sofa with one of your little fox toys, all snuggled up with it and a nice blanket that Jenni's ninety-percent sure you told her you hated the other day.

"It is Pablo time, that's right," Jenni says, already selecting an episode on the tv's YouTube app to keep you happy," Do you want a drink before we start? Or some food?"

You breath out a long, drawn out sigh. "Just Pablo, Mami."

Jenni laughs. "Alright, osita. Just Pablo."

The familiar theme song is enough for you to turn your head away from her, hands rhymically stroking down the back of your toy.

Jenni could probably recite every episode by memory at this point but she doesn't want to ruin your fun so she sits back, relaxes and scrolls on her phone.

The tv spits out another episode of Pablo when the first one ends and Jenni hears a little rustle.

She turns her head but there's nothing out of the ordinary.

She goes back to her phone.

Another rustle.

You're staring ahead at the tv as Pablo runs around in the rain.

Jenni assumes she must be imagining it but it happens again and again and again and suddenly your legs are pressed up against hers and, somewhere along the way, her arms are reaching out to help you climb onto her lap.

You shuffles a bit to get comfortable before you're leaning back against Jenni's chest and forcing her arms to curve around you.

"Mami," You say," Can we have a Pablo?"

Jenni's only half paying attention, trying to remain very still so that you don't suddenly push away from this hug. "A Pablo? I'm sure I can find you a real Pablo toy."

"No, Mami, a real Pablo."

"What?"

"You are a brilliant veterinary surgeon with a thriving practice in the Eixample, Y/N," Alexia had said, her voice dropping into that rhythmic, low Catalan-infused cadence that always sounded slightly like an ultimatum. "You own a luxury pet boutique. You manage an entire rehabilitation shelter. And yet, you are communicating with your staff trought phone that looks like it survived a mortar attack in the nineties. Take the box before I force you to take it."

Y/N had simply grinned, her large, heavily tattooed shoulders shifting beneath an oversized, paint-splattered charcoal hoodie. To anyone walking down the Carrer de València, Y/N looked exactly like the sort of woman who might lead an underground motorcycle club or have a strong opinion on industrial techno. She stood a comfortable five-foot-nine, broad-chested and striking, her skin a rich tapestry of intricate ink—sleeve designs of anatomical flora, geometric wolf silhouettes, and soft charcoal portraits of the very first rescue dogs she had saved during her residency in London. Her jawline was sharp, her style decidedly heavy-duty boots and distressed denim, giving off an untouchable, slightly intimidating 'bad girl' aura that made people give her a wide berth on the metro.

But inside that imposing frame lived a girl who was effectively a soft, oversized loaf of bread. A total push-over who would literally dissolve into tears if a stray kitten sneezed within a three-mile radius of her person.

"I don't need a professional camera, Ale," Y/N had mumbled, her calloused, strong hands carefully opening the box with a degree of clumsy hesitation that always made Alexia’s chest ache with fondness. "The old one still holds a charge for three hours if I don't turn the Wi-Fi on. And the crack gives the photos a nice, vintage filter. Very indie."

"It makes you look like you live in a cave," Alexia shot back, though she was already sliding across the barstool, her hands reaching out to loop around Y/N’s waist, burying her face into the soft crook of Y/N’s neck where the scent of cedarwood, expensive veterinary antiseptic, and chamomile soap always lingered. "And your shelter needs visibility. My mom says your website looks like it was coded by a badger. Use the new phone. Record the animals. People like seeing you covered in mud, apparently."

That was how the great TikTok experiment of 2026 began.

The relationship between the captain of FC Barcelona and the most soft-hearted vet in Catalonia was the worst-kept secret among their immediate circles, yet completely invisible to the broader public. Eli and Alba knew Y/N as the woman who kept their family anchored, the one who had spent Christmas dinners quietly checking their elderly aunt’s arthritic retriever under the table while everyone else drank cava. The team knew Y/N because she was the intimidatingly handsome woman who occasionally turned up at the training ground in a battered Land Rover Defender, her sleeves rolled up, casually tossing 40k bags of premium kibble over her shoulder like they were bags of crisps, before turning into absolute mush the moment Mapi León’s English bulldog came trotting over for belly rubs.

She was charming, effortlessly cool, and completely unfazed by the glittering status of the professionals around her. When Lucy Bronze had tried to discuss high-level defensive transitions with her over a coffee, Y/N had simply blinked, pointed at a tiny scratch on Lucy’s forearm, and spent twenty minutes explaining the exact cellular structure of cat-scratch fever while applying an organic ointment she’d mixed herself. The players adored her because she treated them like normal human beings who happened to have highly reactive dogs.

But nobody outside that small ecosystem knew that the luxury apartment in Castelldefels, with its sleek minimalist decor and expensive cream carpets, had essentially been converted into a high-traffic subterranean transit station for the most physically and emotionally damaged canine citizens of Spain.

Alexia had tried to set boundaries. In the third year of their relationship, after Y/N had brought home a blind Greyhound who could only sleep if he was resting his entire muzzle on Alexia’s left football boot, the captain had stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her arms crossed, trying to look like a pillar of athletic authority.

"No more, Y/N. I am serious this time," Alexia had declared, her eyes tracking a stray piece of golden dog hair that was floating toward her dry-cleaned suit. "We are a professional household. I need eight hours of undisturbed sleep for my recovery cycles. We cannot have a revolving door of broken creatures."

Y/N had simply stood there, holding a tiny, shivering, mangy puppy with one ear pointing north and the other pointing south, looking up at Alexia with those massive, dark, completely defenseless eyes that matched the dog's perfectly. She hadn't said a word. She had just shifted her grip so the puppy’s small, pink tongue poked out, licking a stray bit of dirt off Y/N’s tattooed wrist.

Alexia had lasted exactly four seconds. She had let out a long, defeated groan in Catalan, rubbed her temples, and walked into the kitchen to find a clean towel and a bottle of specialized puppy milk. "You are a manipulative woman," she had yelled from the pantry. "And this creature is sleeping on your side of the bed."

By the spring of 2026, the temporary resident of the Castelldefels fortress was Benny.

Benny was a mistake of genetics and geography—a tiny, chocolate-brown ball of absolute chaos who was supposedly a cross between a Labrador and a Weimaraner, though he mostly resembled an oversized brown bean with massive, floppy ears and the clumsy coordination of a drunken sailor. Y/N had found him tied to a rusted bench outside her clinic in the Eixample on a rainy Tuesday morning, shivering so violently his tiny teeth were chattering. He had a severe case of sarcoptic mange, a parasite load that would have killed a smaller pup, and an absolute, terrifying attachment to the sound of Y/N’s voice.

The first video Y/N uploaded to TikTok was an absolute technical disaster. It was a three-minute, unedited clip of Benny’s first bath at the clinic. Y/N hadn’t known how to cut the footage, so the video began with twenty seconds of her large, tattooed face staring directly into the lens, her forehead creased in profound concentration as she muttered, "Is the red dot mean it’s saving, or is it broken? Ale said press the button... right, okay, I think it’s doing it."

The rest of the video showed Y/N, with her sleeves rolled up to reveal her massive, ink-covered forearms, gently lifting the tiny, hairless, scabby brown puppy into a stainless-steel sink. Her voice shifted instantly from her awkward, tech-confused rumble into this incredibly soft, high-pitched, British-accented coo that she reserved exclusively for things that weighed under ten kilograms.

"There we go, my little chocolate candy," she whispered, her large fingers incredibly delicate as she worked a specialized medicated oatmeal shampoo into Benny’s raw skin. "I know it stings, darling. I know you’re a bit worried about the water, but you’re quite safe now. Look at those ears. You’re going to be a very handsome boy when we get your jacket grown back, aren't you? Yes, you are. Don't eat the bubbles, you silly goose."

She didn't use music. She didn't use captions. She didn't use any of the trending algorithms that the youth of 2026 used to gain traction. She just uploaded the raw, honest footage because her shelter coordinator had told her that 'content drives adoptions.'

Within forty-eight hours, the video had reached three hundred thousand views.

The algorithm had stumbled upon a goldmine of contrast: a tall, remarkably striking woman who looked like she could clear out a nightclub single-handedly, possessing a deep, gravelly voice, who was currently treating a tiny, pathetic street dog with the maternal gentleness of an angel. The comments section was an absolute mess of people having an existential crisis over her appearance.

“Right, who is this absolute unit of a woman and why am I crying over a mange puppy at 3 AM?”

“The tattoos? The accent? The way she’s cradling that dog like it’s made of glass? I am incapacitated.”

“Is she single? Does she need a wife? Does she need another stray dog to look after? Because I can bark.”

Y/N, entirely unaware of how the platform worked, didn't notice the numbers. She just kept uploading videos because she thought it was a digital filing cabinet for Benny’s medical chart. She posted a clip explaining how to safely clean a dog’s ears after a chronic infection, standing in her clinic uniform—a fitted black scrub top that showed off her sleeve tattoos to perfection—holding a very calm golden retriever while she spoke directly to the camera with her clear, articulate, and completely professional veterinary authority. She gave practical, no-nonsense advice about canine nutrition, warnings about local Mediterranean parasites, and detailed logs of Benny’s fur slowly growing back into a rich, shiny coat the color of dark chocolate.

She became known as "The hot Vet" across Spanish social media. People loved her no-nonsense, deeply educational style, mixed with her total lack of presentation skills. She would routinely drop her phone into the kibble bin, or Benny would jump up and lick the camera lens until the video cut out entirely.

Then came the comment that changed the nature of the digital filing cabinet.

A user with the handle Maria_BCN94 left a message on a video of Benny learning how to fetch an old tennis ball in a quiet park: “Your husband must be the most fortunate man in Barcelona. Imagine coming home to this gorgeous, talented woman and a house full of puppies every day. Literal dream life.”

Y/N saw the comment while she was sitting at the kitchen island after a long day of surgeries, her feet propped up on a stool, a glass of red wine within reach. Alexia was currently in the living room, supposedly watching film on Chelsea’s defensive block, though in reality, she was lying flat on her back on the designer rug with Benny asleep directly on her stomach, his giant brown paws twitching under her chin.

Y/N decided to do a 'video reply' because she had finally figured out how that specific button worked.

She hit record, the phone resting against a fruit bowl. She was dressed in her evening uniform—a black tank top that exposed her broad, inked collarbones and the soft, silver scars on her shoulders from an old horse-riding accident during her youth. Her dark hair was messy, tied back with a rubber band from the clinic.

"Bona tarda, Maria," Y/N said, her British accent thick and relaxed as she took a sip of her wine. "Just saw your comment about the husband. It’s very sweet of you to say, really. But there’s no husband here, I’m afraid. I don't think a man would survive the amount of dog hair that enters this household, to be quite honest. I have a girlfriend, actually. We’ve been together going on four years now."

She smiled, a soft, private expression that made her sharp features look incredibly tender. "She’s the one who actually handles the administrative side of the fosters—mostly by complaining very loudly in Catalan that we have no more room, and then secretly buying the most expensive orthopedic dog beds from my shop when she thinks I’m not looking. She’s currently through in the lounge being held hostage by Benny because he’s fallen asleep on her sternum and she’s convinced she’ll disrupt his circadian rhythm if she moves. So, yes. No husband. Just two women and an increasingly large grocery bill for premium tripe."

She hit stop. She uploaded it. She didn't tag anyone. She didn't mention that her girlfriend was currently featured on a forty-foot billboard overlooking the Diagonal.

The internet, however, is an investigative body that rivals MI6.

The comment section under the 'girlfriend' revelation went into absolute hyperdrive. People began analyzing the background of the kitchen. The sleek, dark marble countertops. The specific view of the hills behind Castelldefels visible through the high glass windows. The very distinct, modern gold light fixtures hanging over the island.

“Wait a minute... that kitchen looks incredibly familiar.” “Hold on. Is that the same marble from the house tour that a certain Catalan athlete did for a sports magazine last year?” “No, don't start this. There are thousands of houses in Castelldefels with dark marble. Don't be unhinged.” “But the accent... the vet clinic in Eixample... didn't someone see Mapi León leaving that exact clinic last month with her bulldog? Guys. GUYS.”

Two weeks later, Y/N decided to do her very first 'TikTok Live.' She had reached fifty thousand followers, and her shelter coordinator had told her that doing a live Q&A would be an excellent way to raise funds for the upcoming spring vaccination drive for the local street colonies.

She set up the phone in the living room, propping it against an expensive ceramic vase on a side table. She sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a pile of donated chew toys, looking entirely comfortable as the viewer count began to climb from five hundred to five thousand within three minutes.

"Right then," Y/N said, leaning forward to read the tiny text on the screen, her dark eyes squinting. "Hullo everyone. Thanks for joining. We’re raising money for the Eixample Rescue Fund today. If you drop those little digital gifts or whatever they are, the money goes straight to the antibiotic treatments for our senior dogs. Ask whatever veterinary questions you like, and I’ll do my best to answer between checking my spelling."

For forty minutes, the live stream was a masterclass in professional competence. Y/N answered questions about feline leukemia, the correct way to clip a nervous dog’s nails, and what to do if a puppy eats a chocolate wrapper. She was articulate, charming, and completely in her element, occasionally reaching out to scratch Benny behind the ears as the puppy rumbled past her lap like a small, brown freight train.

Then, the background of the video shifted.

The heavy glass door leading from the home gym opened. A woman walked into the frame, completely oblivious to the fact that the phone was recording. She was dressed in an oversized, faded grey training top with the emblem of the Spanish National Team partially peeled off the chest, a pair of worn-out black cotton shorts, and a pair of white Nike slides. Her hair was pulled back into a chaotic, messy bun held together by a pink scrunchie, and she was carrying a half-empty shaker bottle of protein mix.

It was Alexia Putellas. The captain of Barcelona. The two-time Ballon d'Or winner. Looking exactly like a woman who had just spent two hours doing leg presses in her basement and desperately needed a shower.

Alexia didn't look at the phone. She looked straight at the floor, where Benny had immediately abandoned Y/N to go trotting over, his tail wagging so hard his entire rear end was shaking.

"Hola, mi pequeñito," Alexia murmured, her voice dropping into an incredibly soft, completely uncharacteristic baby-talk register that no football journalist had ever heard in their life. She immediately dropped her shaker bottle onto the sofa and sank down onto her knees on the rug, entirely unconcerned with her athletic dignity. She caught Benny by his front paws, letting the brown puppy launch himself into her chest, his wet tongue instantly covering her jawline in sloppy kisses.

"Ay, qué bruto eres," Alexia laughed, a warm, bright sound that echoed through the quiet living room. She rolled onto her side on the floor, letting the puppy climb over her shoulder, her hands gently grabbing his massive, floppy ears, massaging them with the practiced familiarity of someone who spent every evening doing exactly this. "Are you being a good boy for mummy? Huh? Did you eat your kibble or did you give it to the cats? You are a beautiful monster, yes you are."

Y/N froze on the screen. She looked down at the live chat, which had suddenly transitioned from standard questions about dog food into an absolute, vertical wall of capital letters moving so fast it looked like a glitching computer program.

“IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS.”

“ALEXIA PUTELLAS IS ON THE FLOOR BABY-TALKING A LABRADOR MIX IN HER SLIDES. I AM HAVING A STROKE.”

“THE NATIONAL TEAM SHIRT. THE SCRUNCHIE. THE ACCENT. OH MY GOD THE EIXAMPLE VET IS ALEXIA’S GIRLFRIEND.”

“LOOK AT THE BACKGROUND LOOK AT HER CONCEALING THE RELATIONSHIP FOR FOUR YEARS ONLY FOR IT TO BE RUINED BY A PUPPY CO-DEPENDENCY.”

Y/N cleared her throat, her broad, tattooed shoulders turning slightly as she looked over at her girlfriend, who was currently letting Benny chew on the sleeve of her shirt.

"Ale," Y/N said, her deep voice carrying a trace of suppressed laughter.

"Qué?" Alexia replied, not looking up from the puppy. "He’s hungry, Y/N. His belly is making noises. Did you feed him the expensive wet food or the cheap one from the supermarket? Because he prefers the one with the duck."

"Ale, darling," Y/N repeated, pointing a large, tattooed finger toward the ceramic vase. "I’m currently doing that live broadcast for the shelter. The one I told you about at breakfast."

Alexia froze. Her entire body stiffened on the floor. Slowly, like a character in a horror film, she turned her head toward the side table, her hazel eyes locking directly onto the tiny lens of the iPhone 15 Pro Max. She stayed entirely still for three seconds, her brain processing the fact that her current appearance—messy bun, slides, and puppy drool—was being broadcast to approximately twelve thousand live viewers.

Without saying a single word, Alexia let go of Benny, rolled backward with the athletic agility of a seasoned midfielder, stayed low beneath the line of the sofa, and scurried out of the room toward the kitchen like a tactical commando.

Y/N burst into a loud, booming, British laugh that shook her entire chest, her hand coming up to cover her face as she looked back at the screen. The viewer count was now climbing toward twenty thousand.

"Right," Y/N muttered, her cheeks completely flushed a lovely shade of pink, her tattoos catching the light as she rubbed her neck. "Well. That’s Alexia. She’s... she’s a bit shy when she hasn't had her shower, as you can see. Let’s go back to the question about the German Shepherd’s hip dysplasia, shall we? Before I get murdered in my sleep."

The internet did not go back to the German Shepherd’s hip dysplasia.

By the next morning, TikTok and Twitter were completely flooded with screen recordings of the "Castelldefels Commando Roll." The contrast between Alexia’s fierce, untouchable public persona as the stone-faced captain of Barcelona and her reality as a woman who rolled around on a rug in slides while singing to a brown mix dog became an overnight sensation. The fans were absolutely enchanted. They loved Y/N’s calm, laughing reaction; they loved the sheer domesticity of the scene; and most of all, they loved how Y/N had casually referred to the most famous woman in women’s football as 'darling' while she scurried out of the room.

A few days later, Y/N uploaded a video titled "A Day in the Life of a Barcelona Vet."

It was a compilation of her day: starting at 6 AM, loading her Land Rover with medical supplies, performing a dental cleaning on an elderly cat at her Eixample clinic, and then—the clip that everyone was waiting for—showing her afternoon routine. The video tracked her driving toward the Estadi Johan Cruyff.

She didn't film from the luxury VIP boxes. She filmed from the standard parking area, dressed in her usual heavy leather jacket, boots, and a simple black beanie, walking toward the stadium gates with a completely calm, detached demeanor. She didn't look like a fanatic fan; she looked like a woman who was going to watch her partner do her job, carrying a small tupperware container of homemade protein bars she’d baked because she was convinced Alexia didn't eat enough density after her matches.

The camera showed a brief snippet of the match from her perspective—the crowd roaring as the team took the pitch—and then a very short, shaky clip after the final whistle. Y/N was standing near the private tunnel, where the families usually waited.

The camera was slightly tilted, capturing Y/N’s boots, when a pair of standard Barcelona training tracksuits entered the frame. A hand reached out, grabbing Y/N’s tattooed wrist with a familiarity that made the screen shake slightly.

"Did you bring the bars?" Alexia’s voice asked off-camera, sounding tired but instantly lighter.

"In the bag, love," Y/N’s deep voice replied. "Good match. Your positioning in the second half was a bit deep, wasn't it? You looked like you were playing center-back at one point."

"Mapi wasn't shifting," Alexia grumbled, her face briefly flashing into the top corner of the frame—sweaty, her hair sticking to her forehead, but looking at Y/N with an expression of such total, relaxed safety that it felt almost intrusive to watch. "Give me the keys. I want to drive the truck home. Your car smells like wet dog today."

The video cut out there, but the casual confirmation of their four-year routine sent another wave of warmth through the fanbase. There was no grand statement, no formal press release from the club. It was just an honest, comfortable glimpse into a relationship that had survived the highest levels of sporting pressure by simply focusing on who was going to drive the Land Rover home.

The true peak of the technical incompetence, however, happened the following Tuesday.

Y/N was attempting to record an educational video about the correct dosage of tick medication for larger breeds. She had set up the phone on the kitchen counter, but the device kept slipping against the smooth marble, tilting backward until it was filming nothing but the ceiling extraction fan.

"Bloody hell," Y/N muttered, her large hand entering the frame, trying to wedge a piece of cardboard under the case. "Stay still, you stupid thing. Ale said turn the grid on, but I don't see any grid... it’s just black lines..."

Alexia walked into the kitchen, dressed to head out to the morning training session. She was wearing her official club tracksuit, her training bag slung over one shoulder, looking sharp and professional. She stopped behind Y/N, watching her partner struggle with the settings with an expression of amused exasperation.

"What are you doing with the configuration, Y/N?" Alexia asked, her voice rich with fondness as she dropped her bag onto the floor. "You have adjusted the aspect ratio to cinematic mode. You are trying to film a tick tutorial like it is a feature film by Pedro Almodóvar."

"I just pressed the button, Ale," Y/N grumbled, her broad shoulders slumping as she held her hands up in defeat. "Technology is a farce. If it doesn't have a heartbeat or four legs, I don't understand how it functions. Fix it for me, would you?"

Alexia let out a soft chuckle, stepping into the frame completely. She leaned over Y/N’s shoulder, her smaller, nimbler fingers tapping the screen with practiced ease, resetting the video parameters while Y/N stood beside her, looking down at her with an expression of absolute, puppy-like gratitude.

"There," Alexia said, her hand resting naturally against Y/N’s hip as she stood close. "It is recording normally now. Don't touch anything else."

Before she turned to grab her training bag, Alexia stood on her tip-toes, her hand moving up to cup Y/N’s sharp jawline. She pressed a soft, lingering, and incredibly sweet kiss directly onto Y/N’s cheek—the kind of unvarnished, domestic kiss that belonged entirely to a quiet kitchen before work. It was slow, romantic, and thoroughly 'ñoño,' her nose nuzzling against Y/N’s skin for a second before she pulled away.

"I am going to be late," Alexia murmured, her eyes softening as she looked at Y/N’s pink cheeks. "Don't let Benny dig up the rosemary bushes while I am gone. I see him looking at them from the window."

"No promises, love," Y/N chuckled, her deep voice vibrating as she watched Alexia grab her bag. "Have a good session. Don't let Mapi tackle you too hard."

"Mapi wishes she could catch me," Alexia shot back from the hallway, the front door clicking shut a moment later.

Y/N turned back to the phone, intending to start her tutorial, but she realized with a jolt that the camera had been recording the entire time. She stared at the lens, her large hand coming up to touch her cheek where Alexia’s lips had just been.

"Oh," Y/N said to the camera, her forehead creasing. "Right. Well... I don't actually know how to clip that bit out without deleting the whole file. So... we’re just going to leave it in, I suppose. Moving on to the tick prevention..."

When she uploaded the video later that afternoon, the comment section completely disintegrated. The raw sweetness of the interaction—the casual way Alexia helped her tech-challenged partner, the soft kiss, the total lack of performative behavior—was more effective than any public relations campaign. The fans weren't looking at an elite sports celebrity anymore; they were looking at a woman who was deeply, securely, and happily in love with her partner of four years.

The final chapter of the great foster experiment occurred three weeks later.

The video began with Y/N sitting on the floor of the Castelldefels living room, a sheet of official adoption paperwork resting on her knees. Benny was currently sitting directly on top of the paper, his giant brown head tilting as he looked into the camera lens.

"Hullo everyone," Y/N said, her voice holding a mixture of defeat and immense joy. "This is an official update regarding Benny’s foster status. As you know, he’s spent the last four months recovering from his mange, his parasites, and his general lack of common sense. He is now completely healthy, his coat is beautiful, and he was officially cleared for permanent adoption this morning."

She let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, though her dark eyes were dancing with light. "The shelter had three wonderful families lined up to meet him this weekend. A lovely couple from Girona with a massive garden and two older dogs for him to play with. It would have been perfect for him."

She reached out, her large, tattooed arm wrapping around Benny’s neck, pulling the brown puppy close against her side. "However... the foster process has encountered a major administrative roadblock. And that roadblock is currently sitting on the floor behind me."

The camera panned down slightly to reveal Alexia. The captain of Barcelona was lying flat on her stomach on the rug, her chin resting on her hands, her hazel eyes fixed entirely on Benny with a stubborn, defensive expression that she usually reserved for referee disputes.

"He is not going to Girona, Y/N," Alexia said directly to the camera, her tone completely final. "The people in Girona might have a garden, but they do not have our specific couch. And Benny is accustomed to the couch. He understands the layout of this house. It would be a psychological trauma for him to relocate at this stage of his development."

"Ale," Y/N’s voice said from behind the lens, full of laughter. "He’s a dog. He doesn't have a mortgage. He will adapt to a new garden within twelve minutes."

"No," Alexia repeated, her jaw tightening as she slid forward on her stomach until she could wrap her arms around Benny’s rear legs, anchoring him to her body. "He is my son. I have decided. We are signing the paper. Amor, come down here and tell him he is staying. Come play with Benny."

The sheer, unadulterated sweetness of the phrase—"Amor, ven a jugar con Benny"—spoken by a woman who spent her weekends commanding forty thousand people from the center of a pitch, was the final blow to the internet’s collective sanity.

Y/N dropped the phone onto the rug, the video continuing to record sideways as she slid down beside Alexia. Her large, tattooed arms wrapped around both the footballer and the brown puppy, the three of them forming a chaotic, laughing pile of limbs, paws, and soft Catalan murmurs in front of the fireplace.

The video racked up four million views in twelve hours. The 'Eixample Vet' and her 'stubborn footballer girlfriend' had officially become the favorite domestic narrative of the country.

The next afternoon, Alexia decided that the privacy of their relationship no longer required the protection of silence.

She opened her official Instagram account—the one followed by millions of football enthusiasts across the globe—and uploaded a single photograph.

The image was taken in the garden of their Castelldefels home, the late-afternoon sun casting a golden, ethereal glow over the grass. Y/N was sitting on a wooden bench, looking relaxed and handsome in a dark green utility shirt, her sleeve tattoos vibrant against her skin, her large frame holding Benny across her lap. Alexia was sitting right beside her, her head resting securely on Y/N’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist, her face clear, radiant, and completely free of the pressure of her world. Both women were looking down at the brown puppy, who was currently trying to lick Y/N’s chin, their expressions identical in their soft, unshielded happiness.

The caption was short, written in elegant Catalan:

@alexiaputellas: Benvingut a casa, Benny. Gràcies per no deixar-nos espai al llit, i gràcies a la millor veterinària del món per trobar-te a la pluja. T’estimem, Y/N. (Welcome home, Benny. Thank you for leaving us no room in the bed, and thank you to the best vet in the world for finding you in the rain. We love you, Y/N.)

In the quiet kitchen of their home, away from the notifications, the retweets, and the roar of the upcoming match, Y/N sat with her new iPhone 15 Pro Max, staring at the screen with a slight frown.

"Ale," she called out, her deep voice echoing down the hallway.

"Sí, el meu amor?" Alexia replied, walking into the room with a fresh basket of laundry, Benny trotting right at her heels like a small, chocolate shadow.

"How do I leave a comment on this photo?" Y/N asked, her forehead creased in profound confusion as she tapped the glass with her thumb. "I’ve pressed the little heart thing, but now the screen has gone all blue and I think I’ve accidentally ordered a set of winter tires for the Land Rover."

Alexia set the laundry basket down, a warm, bright laugh shaking her shoulders as she walked over to the island. She slid into Y/N’s space, her arms wrapping around her neck from behind, her chin resting on Y/N’s broad shoulder as she took the phone from her calloused hands.

"Give it to me, you beautiful disaster," Alexia whispered, her lips pressing a warm, lingering kiss right into the side of Y/N’s neck. "I will write the comment for you. You just focus on the dogs. I will handle the technology."

“Or maybe I would finally tell them that you are my girlfriend and have been for-” she held the last syllable while she dramatically looked at her watch. “2 years, 11 months, 30 days, 23 hours and 27 minutes”

“I know” you sighed, understanding that she was hinting that you should stay.

It was your three year anniversary and she wanted nothing more than for you to just spend the night in her room, regardless of the rules of camp and her being the captain of the team. The captain, person who was meant to strive for excellence and be a good role model for the other players. But none of that mattered when it came to you.

“Fine, but just tonight, and if we get caught I am telling them you kidnapped me” you rolled your eyes as she cheered quietly.

“Come on then” she smiled, taking your hand and leading you back to the double bed that was placed in the centre of the room.

Kei

Come to my room

Now

G

I’m in bed

Kei

NOW

-

It was the next morning when you woke to Leah’s never ending alarm.

“Turn it off, Lee” you groaned loudly.

You hated that stupid alarm, it was the worst noise in the world. She reached over and smacked her phone, unsure if she’d turned the alarm off or broken her phone, but either way the alarm had stopped.

“Morning” she smiled tiredly and placed a kiss on your lips.

“Happy anniversary” you kissed her back.

“Happy anniversary, love” she mumbled between kisses.

“Have you anything romantic planned?” You teased.

“I was thinking of jetting us off to Paris?” She smirked.

“How convenient” you giggled. It was travel day, you were going over to play France in Paris in a few days time.

“I should probably go and start packing then, should I?” You kissed her cheek.

“I’ll be over in a few minutes to help” she smiled, full well knowing that was a lie.

“Oh my dear sweet Leah, you know I’ll be back in a few minutes to pack up this mess” you moved your hands around the room, reiterating the state it was in as you burst out laughing.

“Yeah, yeah. Well hurry back, bus is in an hour” she smirked as she stretched back into the bed.

You went back to your room, quickly sprinting the few doors down and started packing. It was on your way back to Leah’s room that you bumped into your sister and Tooney.

“Morning” you smiled.

“Good morning” Alessia beamed, wrapping you straight into a hug.

“Where you off to?” Ella asked, looking you up and down. You were just in a pair of shorts and a hoodie.

“Off to help the messiest person alive pack her bags” you rolled your eyes. The pair knew you and Leah were close friends, but not that you’d been dating for three years. Nobody knew that.

“Her shorts would probably be better off in the bag than on you” Ella laughed as you looked down at Leah’s number displayed on your thigh.

“Oh no, maybe she’s rubbing off on me” you groaned, making the two girls laugh. “Are you both packed?” You asked and they both nodded.

“Y/n, can you hurry up?” Leah grunted from her door.

“Duty calls” you saluted them both.

“Morning Lessi” Leah smirked.

“Morning” she smiled back, innocently.

“I wonder what she would think if she knew how I made her sister-” she whispered to you as you got closer and you pushed her into her room before she could finish her sentence.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You know she’s terrified of you as it is” you laughed, shaking your head.

You began packing her big bag neatly, before you told her to go and get your bag from your room. She wheeled both of them down to the lobby while you were scrolling on your phone. You were now both dawned in matching tracksuits with each other’s numbers on the opposite person, accidentally.

“Maybe just permanently switch numbers” Ella teased as she tapped the printing on your chest.

“I’m the captain now” you done your best Leah imitation as she gave you the finger and went off to leave your bags in the pile before heading to speak to Georgia and Keira.

“Nice number, Russo #3” Georgia laughed at the blonde who punched her softly when she stood next to her.

“Sleep alright?” Keira asked with the slightest upticks of her lips.

“Yeah” Leah smiled. Probably the best sleep she’d had all camp. “You?” She asked as Keira fully smirked.

“Not really” she shook her head. “I was just saying to Georgia actually, maybe if the walls were thicker I would have slept better” her and Georgia’s smirks were growing wider as Leah gulped. She knew Keira was next door to her room.

“But at least none of us were out of our rooms and in someone else’s all night, right?” She asked.

“And none of us have secret girlfriends to have in our rooms” Georgia pointed out with a laugh.

“Can you two shut up?” Leah pleaded as their giddiness was starting to make their voices grow louder.

“Why? Did you have your secret girlfriend in your room all night?” Keira asked, bursting out laughing, making Georgia also fall into a fit of laughter.

“Leah looks annoyed” Alessia pointed out as you looked over. You knew that whatever conversation was going on over there, that she was fit to put one or both of their heads through the closest wall.

“Doesn’t she always?” You joked, trying to lighten the mood and forget what was happening.

“If you two stop laughing, I will tell you everything” Leah huffed as the pair tried to stop laughing.

“We just have one question” Keira said and Leah nodded at them, indicating they could ask.

“Who is it?” Georgia asked quickly, getting in ahead of Keira.

“What?” Leah laughed.

“We couldn’t make out who it was” Keira sighed.

“You can’t both surely be that thick?” Leah frowned before she pointed at the number on her chest.

“Oh fuck” Georgia shouted as she slapped Leah’s chest.

“Ow, G, fucking hell” Leah winced, rubbing her chest.

“You and Y/n? How long?” Keira whispered.

“It’s actually our anniversary today” Leah smiled.

“Which anniversary, you idiot?” Keira huffed.

“Three years” Leah replied.

“You’ve been with her three years and you didn’t tell me” Keira was slapping Leah playfully to the beat of each syllable that left her mouth, making the captain laugh.

“Nobody knows, so can you please keep it down?” Leah asked.

“Not even Less?” Georgia frowned and Leah shook her head.

“Especially not Alessia”

Only one person knew about you and Leah, and that was Alex Scott. Leah and Alex were out one evening in a nightclub, when they’d randomly bumped into you and your friends from outside of football, who had no idea who the pair even were. That was the night you and Leah first kissed, and a few weeks later she asked you out.

“You know Alessia won’t object right? She’s already afraid of you” Keira laughed as Leah rolled her eyes.

“We just don’t know how to tell her” Leah shrugged.

“Ladies can we get a move on? Onto the coach please” a member of staff shouted.

You made your way out to the bus with Ella and Alessia while Leah made her way with Georgia and Keira. It was just a quick trip to the airport but that didn’t stop Leah frowning when she realised Alessia had taken the seat beside you.

“Lessi, don’t leave Tooney all alone” Leah smirked. “Go on, up you get” she said as the younger blonde scrambled to her feet and rushed into the seat beside Ella.

“Lee, be nice” you warned. “You know she gets nervous flying” you pouted, looking back at her anxious little face.

“Less, I was just joking, sit here if you want” Leah called but the blonde shook her head.

“I don’t get why she’s so mean to me all the time” Alessia frowned.

“Probably cause she’s friends with Y/n. It’s harmless Lessi” Ella shrugged.

“Stop being mean to her or I will out you as the little spoon that you are” you whispered with a smirk.

“Baby, you promised to stop using that as a threat” Leah pouted as she sunk into the chair next to you.

“Actually, Keira and Georgia know” she said nonchalantly as she stretched in the seat.

“I’m sorry?” You asked.

“Apparently the walls are stick thin in George’s Park” Leah laughed as you blushed in embarrassment.

“Leah, that’s so humiliating” you groaned. “Why didn’t you deny it?”

“What was the point?” She whispered with a frown.

“We agreed only Alex was allowed to know. What if Alessia finds out?” You anxiously rubbed your hands together.

“So what if she finds out?” Leah shrugged.

“Lee, I’m not arguing with you about this right now” you groaned.

“No, you’re happy to just keep me a secret forever” she huffed as she stood up and moved to sit beside Lucy, who was a few rows behind you with Keira and Georgia down there too.

She walked by your sister who she gave a stern look to before turning away. You swung your head back in frustration before you put your headphones on and pressed your head against the window.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Niamh asked.

“Sorry?” You took your headphones off as she smiled at you.

“Can I sit here?” She repeated.

“Yeah, of course Niamhy” you smiled.

“You’re normally stuck with Lessi or Leah on these trips” she pointed out.

“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me today” you laughed.

“I wouldn’t call it stuck” she shrugged. “Only if I have to sit beside you on the plane too” she smirked as you punched her arm.

“Is Niamh and your sister flirting?” Ella laughed, as the pair looked over at both of you.

“That’s hilarious” Alessia burst out laughing, which caught Leah’s attention.

She followed Alessia’s eyes, which were drawn on you and Niamh. She got up to go and walk towards you, but just as she did, the bus started moving and Lucy pulled her back into the seat. It was a quick drive, you and Niamh had just chatted the whole way to the airport. You stood up and got your things together as Niamh moved off the seat.

“See you on the plane” Niamh smiled, as she jogged to catch up to Esme and Lauren.

“You’re sitting with her on the plane too?” Leah frowned as she watched you take your bag and shuffle off the bus.

“Y/n” Leah groaned, walking after you.

“Trouble in paradise already” Georgia laughed quietly to Keira.

“Lee, can you just stop? You could have sat with me on the bus but you were acting like a child” you rolled your eyes at the girl who’d just stopped protesting about you sitting with Niamh on the plane.

“Why were you flirting with her?” Leah frowned.

“Get a grip, Leah” you huffed, walking towards the nearest place to get a coffee and a treat for the plane.

It was clear to anyone watching that you were arguing. The only ones that were watching though, was Keira, Georgia and Alessia, although she was stood separately to the other two. You’d eventually gotten away from Leah, leaving her to pay for your coffee, and you started walking towards the gate.

“Here, I can take that” Niamh offered, trying to take your bag.

“It’s fine” you smiled and waved her away.

“No, give me it” she laughed, taking the bag as you both continued to walk. “Do you want a coffee or a smoothie or something?” She asked.

“Here” Leah pushed a coffee in front of you, exactly what you wanted right now. “Do you mind if I steal her for a minute?” Leah asked Niamh who frowned, shook her head and walked off.

“Thank you for my coffee” you smiled.

“I’m sorry for acting like a dickhead” she began. “I’ll speak to Keira and G, but please stop winding me up with Niamh” she huffed.

“Was it because she took my bag?” You smirked.

“Obviously, that’s my job” Leah protested. “Can you sit with me on the plane?” She pleaded as you nodded.

A staff member called for you all to board the plane, when Leah headed over to Niamh. You watched her say something to the brunette who smiled and nodded.

“Sit in your assigned seats. You can move once we’re in flight” the staff member shouted. You shuffled in beside Georgia and Keira who both smirked at you as you sat down.

“Don’t start” you rolled your eyes at them as they both laughed. Leah checked the rows and pushed into the seat beside what she thought was Alex.

“Alright?” Leah asked as Alessia whipped her head around.

“Hi” Alessia anxiously replied. Leah was taken aback that it was your sister she was sitting beside, but quickly got a bit protective as your sister looked a mess.

“You okay Less? You look real pale” Leah whispered, turning to face her.

“I hate flying” she shook her head.

“Yeah, I know” Leah nodded, remembering all the times you’d had to keep her calm on a plane.

“Can I do anything?” She asked as your sister looked at her funny. Leah was never nice to her, always teasing her in some way or another.

“Can you just make sure when we take off to get Y/n or Tooney?” Alessia asked as the captain nodded. As the plane went up, Alessia’s heart dropped and grabbed Leah’s hand to squeeze it tightly.

“It’s okay Less” Leah rubbed her hand with her thumb. Meanwhile, you were completely missing this interaction due to being quizzed by Georgia and Keira.

“How did it happen?”

“Who asked who out?”

“Do you live together?”

“Do you love her?”

“What are your intentions with our Leah?”

“Can you both please-” you groaned and sighed in relief as the seatbelt sign went off. You saw Leah practically jump out of her seat, scanning the plane until eventually her eyes settled on you and she gestured you over quickly.

“Don’t keep her waiting” Georgia smirked as both of the girls fell into a state of laughter again.

“Everything okay?” You asked the girl, touching her fingertips briefly with yours, before looking at the seat she’d just jumped from.

“Oh my god, Lessi” you pushed Leah out of the way and jumped in beside your sister. She had always been awful on flights, even when you were kids you sometimes begged for Alessia not to come on holidays because she would scream and cry for the whole flight.

“Can you stay for the rest of this?” She asked, still pale as a ghost.

“Of course, just try and relax. It will go by so quickly” you smiled, grabbing hold of her hands. “Lee, can you get her some water?” You asked as she went down the aisle to ask the hostess for a bottle.

“Here, kid” Leah handed her a bottle of water as your eyes gestured to the seat next to you.

Leah slipped into the seat, understanding that’s what the look you’d given her meant. It was a bumpy flight, and you thanked the heavens that you’d gotten Alessia settled and she was sleeping comfortably against the window, or so you’d presumed.

“Some anniversary” Leah whispered and playfully rolled her eyes.

“Well, I heard we’re sharing rooms in Paris” you smirked. “And I think you’d like my roommate, she’s just as mean as you” you teased.

“I’m not mean” Leah huffed.

“You know you are” you replied, your tone slightly serious.

Due to Alessia’s eyes being shut, she couldn’t see the smiles or the touches you two shared, she could just hear the conversation. She couldn’t see the smirk on your face and the playful scowl Leah was giving you. She could just hear you and Leah arguing about Leah being mean.

The plane eventually landed and all three of you woke up simultaneously as the plane hit the ground. Alessia was asleep on your back, due to you being turned and cuddled into Leah. Your hand quickly broke free from where it was holding Leah’s as you looked around and sighed in relief that nobody was in the row opposite you. You quickly checked on Alessia and let her cuddle into you while you waited for the plane to stop. You got off the flight and boarded yet another bus, where you went back to sleep against Leah.

“Baby, we’re here” Leah whispered ever so quietly so nobody could hear the pet name. Although, it was just Georgia and Keira behind you. The plan for today was for a light training session and then back to the hotel to chill for the rest of the night.

You and Leah, like usual, paired up together and in typical Leah fashion, she teased the life out of you. She teased you during training, she teased you on the bus back to the hotel and she teased you while you were sitting on the couch in the room that you were all relaxing in. You don’t know in particular what caused it. Maybe it was you rolling your eyes for the 500th time today, or just overall frustration, but Alessia snapped as she watched Leah drive you demented. Leah was so harmless though, you did not mind her teasing at all. It was just the way your girlfriend was.

“Do you ever fucking stop?” Alessia proclaimed loudly, making you almost jump out of your skin.

“Sorry?” Leah turned with a smirk, slightly amused that your sister was riled up.

“Can you not just sit quietly? Or maybe not make my sister the butt of your jokes for a change?” She hissed.

“Less, that’s enough” you said sternly as Leah laughed.

“No, she’s always mean to me too. Why are you even friends with her?” Alessia was furious, but now so were you.

“I was nice to you on the plane” Leah said in a low voice, like she was trying not to ruin her reputation of being stern. You forgot the entire team was in the room as you stared at your sister, who either forgot or didn’t care who could hear.

“I said that’s enough, Alessia” you repeated and Leah knew what that tone meant. You were one more thing out from being pushed to start speaking in Italian.

“Right, maybe let’s just calm it down” Keira stepped in.

Leah’s smirk was still there, but mostly due to how anxious she was about the ongoing heated conversation. She always laughed or smirked uncomfortably when she was anxious.

“Yeah, Less let’s just go for a walk or something” Ella tried to take hold of Alessia’s arm but she freed herself from her best friend’s grip.

“Would you not rather be friends with someone who actually cares about you?” Alessia questioned.

“I do care about her” Leah frowned, now she was furious. It was on the tip of Leah’s tongue to tell your sister the truth and you were so appreciative that she hadn’t just spat it out.

“Well maybe stop acting like a cocky little dickhead all the time then” Alessia shouted.

“Alessia, do not speak to her like that” you snapped.

“Why do you care so much about-”

“Leah’s my fucking girlfriend, that’s why” you cut her off as everyone in the room froze. You heard whispers around the room and that’s when you were brought back to the realisation that the entire team was in here.

“She’s your what?” Alessia stuttered.

“Okay, okay let’s all just take a deep breath” Georgia now spoke, trying to defuse the situation. Leah jumped to her feet, guiding you quickly out of the room and all the way up to your shared room, where you collapsed on the other side of the door.

“Hey, breathe, it’s okay” she cooed as she sat infront of you and held your hands tightly.

“This is all my fault” you sobbed.

“Baby, come on. It’s going to be okay” Leah reassured you as she pulled you against her and let you cry. Keeping Leah a secret had been so hard, but after just one argument with Alessia, you’d ripped off the band aid like it was nothing.

“She’s going to hate me” you cried.

“She’s your sister, she’s not going to hate you. Me, maybe, but not you” Leah laughed. She always knew how to make you smile, even if you were in a bad situation.

“Let’s go talk to her” Leah said, standing up and taking your hand. You took her hand as she helped you up. She tucked your loose hair behind your ears before kissing you gently on the forehead. “Love you” she whispered.

“Love you too” you smiled. She went to grab a bottle of water beside the bed as you wiped your eyes quickly. You opened the door to reveal Alessia, stood on the other side.

“Love?” She asked as you practically yanked the girl in and closed the door. “You’re in love with her? How long has this being going on for?”

“Less, I just didn’t know how to tell you” you softly said.

“How long?” She asked again, a bit more sternly.

“Three years” Leah frowned. “Today is our anniversary”

“You kept this from me for three years?” Alessia pouted. She thought you two were as close as sisters could be.

“You told Keira and Georgia and not me?” Alessia was angry now. You’d started crying again when you felt a horrible wave of guilt wash over you.

“Can you cut her some slack?” Leah grunted.

“Stay out of this” Alessia hissed.

“No, actually. You’re making my girlfriend upset and unless you’re going to stop shouting at her, I’m gonna ask you to leave” Leah raised her eyebrows.

Your sister’s new found confidence for standing up for herself was now lost. Maybe not with you, but Leah could turn serious and intimidating in the space of a few seconds.

“I told Keira and Georgia this morning, the specifics as to why I did don’t matter right now. Your sister decided to keep it between us, and you need to just respect that. You know now” Leah was soft spoken but stern.

“Lessi, I’m really sorry. I know I should have told you. I just- I love Lee so much and I didn’t want anybody to get in between that or any pressure to be on us” you shook your head.

“So, you two are actually together?” Alessia asked, looking a bit stunned.

“Is that alright?” Leah smugly asked and Alessia nodded.

“If you’re not okay with this, please tell me” you pulled your sister’s hands so she would look back at you.

“She can’t tease me anymore” Alessia huffed.

“I can’t agree to that, that’s who I am” Leah argued.

“Leah” you grunted and stared at her.

“Fine, okay, yeah, I can lay off” she shrugged.

“I’ll see you in the morning okay? We can talk then, alone” you whispered as you gave your younger sister a hug.

“I’m not angry, I love you” she smiled as she pressed her forehead against your shoulder.

“Love you too” you smiled sweetly. As Alessia opened the door and left, it was like something clicked in Leah as she ran out after her.

“Two seconds, don’t follow me” she said as she sprinted by you and out the door. Before you could even get her name out of your mouth she was gone.

“Less” Leah shouted after your sister.

“Yeah?” The girl asked as she stopped walking and turned to face Leah.

“I’m sorry if it came across to you like I didn’t care about her” Leah began before clearing her throat. “I really love your sister and I care about her more than anything in the world”

“Well, it’s clear she really loves you too” Alessia smiled before turning away.

“Wait, Less” Leah pleaded as the girl turned back around looking confused.

“I’m sorry if it seemed like I was picking on you. I was just trying to get along with you more and I didn’t know it was upsetting you” Leah pouted. “It’s just the way Tooney is with you, that I didn’t think you minded”

“I’ve known Tooney my whole life, though” she shrugged and Leah nodded.

“I’m sorry, I hope there’s no bad blood and we can be friends” Leah stuck out her hand.

“Come here you big softie” Alessia chuckled pulling Leah in for a hug who immediately wrapped her hands around the blonde forward.

“We’re okay” Alessia added before letting Leah go and walked back to her room. Leah got back to the door, where you were stood in the frame.

“Thank you” you smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, get inside” Leah smirked.

The floor of the hotel was silent, even with girls sharing rooms. Due to flying and training and the dramatic reveal in the chill out area earlier, most people had opted to head straight to sleep.

“You awake?” Leah whispered as she felt you wriggle in her hold.

“Yeah” you replied quietly, turning to face her now, and smiling when you saw her.

“I got you something for our anniversary and I completely forgot about it until now. Do you want it now or in the morning?” Leah asked.

“Now. Obviously now” you giggled as you sat up and she laughed with a shuffle to get to her feet, turning on the light as she left the bed. She dug around her bag, the small one you hadn’t packed, until she eventually got her hand on a small box and pulled it out.

“Here” she smiled, handing you the box and sat anxiously on the foot of the bed, hugging her knees.

You opened the box to reveal a keyring attached to a key. You knew it was the key to Leah’s house that you already had, because you’d drawn a little heart on the side of it.

“What’s this?” You laughed. “You’re regifting me my own key to your house?”

“Look at the key ring” Leah whispered, hugging her knees even tighter. It was a picture of a little house with writing underneath that read:

Y/n and Leah’s

You stared at the keyring before you looked back at her.

“Will you move in with me?” She asked.

“Yes, yes. Oh my god Lee, yes” you squealed as you jumped to hug her.

“Oh my god Georgia, wouldn’t it be so bad for a certain couple if the walls were also thin here and everyone heard them” Keira dramatically shouted from the next room.

“Oh yes Keira, it would be terrible for everyone. And I repeat, everyone” Georgia shouted louder.

“God I hate them so much” Leah groaned.

part 1:

Tonight, it was too much.

Your period had arrived with a vengeance just after lunch, bringing cramps that twisted through your abdomen, making your legs feel weak, and a heavy exhaustion clouded your head. You’d already taken painkillers and applied warming patches to your front and lower back, but they were all doing very little.

You just couldn’t wait to get home and collapse onto the couch.

The bell above the café door chimed.

You glanced up instinctively, even as your face pinched. Your body wanted to immediately straighten, but your lack of energy prohibited it.

Rumi.

She stepped inside wearing a light-grey hoodie, hands tucked into her pockets. Her attention landed only on you, and instantly sharpened.

Normally when she came in, your whole face lit up before you could help it, your very energy shifting towards her.

But you only managed a tired little smile. “Hey, Rumi.”

Her stomach sank immediately. Your voice was too soft, too distant. “Hey,” she echoed carefully.

You pushed yourself upright, trying to ignore the cramp twisting through your lower stomach. “What can I get for you?”

“Um… A green tea, a caramel cappuccino, and a mint hot chocolate, please.”

She stayed standing at the counter while you started making her drinks, watching you quietly. You seemed… off. Not upset exactly. Just absent. Your movements were slower than usual, less animated. You didn’t meet her eyes for long before looking away again. Even your voice sounded flatter.

Rumi’s mind turned ugly fast.

The weekend with Mira.

Of course.

A small amount of jealousy and a huge amount of insecurity had been simmering quietly in her chest since Friday night, though she hated admitting it. Like Zoey the weekend before, Mira had gotten two-and-a-half days with you. Mira, who flirted shamelessly and knew exactly how to make people melt. Mira, who by her own admission when she returned, had blown your mind out of your body more times than she could count over the weekend.

And now here you were on Monday, looking like your interest in Rumi had evaporated entirely.

She shoved her hands deeper into her hoodie pockets. “Have you had a busy day?” she asked cautiously.

You nodded while steaming milk. “Pretty nonstop here, and school was long.”

“Uh-huh…”

The silence stretched. Usually, you filled such moments with little stories, but today you just looked tired.

Rumi tried again. “You do anything nice this weekend?”

The question made heat creep faintly into your cheeks. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I had a good weekend, thank you.”

That was all you said.

She swallowed. “Cool.”

You finally looked at her properly then, brows pinching slightly like you’d noticed something strange in her tone. “You okay?”

The irony almost made her laugh. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

You placed the holder with her drinks on the counter between you. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Normally your fingers would brush hers. Normally you’d linger.

You pulled away, subtly shifting your weight with a tiny wince you clearly thought she didn’t notice.

Rumi noticed everything. “You don’t have to force yourself to talk to me, you know,” she said suddenly.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“If you’re not feeling it anymore.”

Confusion crossed your face instantly. “Rumi, what are you talking about?”

She shrugged, gaze dropping to her cups. “You just seem different today.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I’m just a little out of it today.”

Rumi nodded once, but the reassurance didn’t fully land.

You pressed your lips together against another wave of cramps.

Unfortunately, that expression looked devastatingly like discomfort with her specifically.

Her heart sank further. “Right,” she said quietly. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

“What? Rumi, no, you don’t have to-”

“It’s okay.”

But it didn’t sound okay.

And before you could untangle the misunderstanding, she started stepping back towards the exit. She gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have a good evening, Y/N.”

Then she turned and walked back out into the rainy evening before you could stop her.

By the time Rumi got back to Huntrix Tower, rain had soaked through the shoulders of her hoodie and her mood had sunk even lower during the journey home.

The penthouse was alive with noise when she entered, music playing softly in the large open living area, the smell of cooking drifting from the attached kitchen.

Zoey looked up first from where she sat at the kitchen island. “…Whoa. Rumi, what’s wrong? Apart from the rain?”

Mira glanced over from her place at the cooker, immediately narrowing her eyes. “What happened?”

Rumi placed her keys and the coffee cup holder onto the counter, shrugging off her damp hoodie. “Nothing.”

“Liar,” Zoey said instantly.

Rumi shot her a look.

“You have your sad face on,” she informed her.

“I do not have a sad face.”

“You literally do,” Zoey pointed accusingly. “You look like somebody told you they’re discontinuing our ramen. Wait! They’re not discontinuing our ramen, right?”

Despite herself, Rumi almost smiled.

Almost.

Mira caught that too. Her expression softened slightly. “Did something happen at the coffee shop with Y/N?”

Rumi sat down on the stool next to Zoey, leaning against the counter with a sigh, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. “She was weird today.”

Mira’s brows furrowed. “Weird how?”

“Distant.” Rumi stared down at her hands. “She didn’t really want to talk to me.”

Zoey sat up straighter immediately. “Maybe she just had a bad day at school?”

Rumi shook her head. “No, it felt…” She hesitated. “Different.”

Mira stayed quiet, listening. You had been fine with her that morning, but she hadn’t heard from you since.

Rumi exhaled slowly. “She didn’t seem excited to see me,” she admitted quietly. “Usually she does.”

Something about the vulnerability in her voice made Zoey’s teasing disappear completely. “Oh,” she said softly.

Mira leaned one hip against the counter, thoughtful now rather than concerned. That didn’t sound like you. Especially not after the weekend you’d spent together.

She pulled out her phone.

Rumi noticed immediately. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating.”

“Mira-”

“She likes you, Rumi.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I literally have eyes. I asked her if she was seeing anyone else, and her face lit up when she mentioned you both.”

Mira was already typing on her phone.

Hey, hope you’ve had a good day. You okay?

Your reply came faster than expected.

Y/N🩷👑: Hey! It’s been a bit rough, actually. My period arrived today and it’s trying to absolutely murder me. I’ve been cramping since lunchtime, my head’s pounding, I’m exhausted xx

Y/N🩷👑: I’m surviving with painkillers and heating pads but I can’t wait to get home xx

Y/N🩷👑: Still excited to see you tomorrow though 🫶 xx

Mira smiled softly at the last message, turning her phone around so Rumi and Zoey could see. The unnie straightened slowly, reading the messages. Then again.

The tension visibly drained from her shoulders. “Oh.” At that moment, her own phone pinged. Taking it out of her pocket, she saw it was a message from you.

🩷Y/N L/N🩷: Hi Rumi, I wanted to apologise for and explain how I seemed tonight. My period arrived this afternoon and I’m really suffering from it. I WAS excited to see you (like always!) but I was just in a lot of pain and it obviously came off like I didn’t want to talk to you. I’ll feel better in a few days – do you want to go out on Thursday? xx

Zoey burst into laughter. “Oh my God,” she wheezed. “Rumi.”

Rumi covered her face with one hand immediately. “Shut up.”

“You thought she hated you,” Zoey accused delightedly.

“She was acting strange!”

“She’s in pain,” Mira said dryly. “Not rejecting you.”

Rumi groaned quietly into her hand.

Mira leaned over the counter, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You panic too fast; you know that.”

“I know.”

Zoey grinned wickedly. “Aww. Our fearless leader got insecure.”

“Don’t!”

Mira laughed softly as she straightened up, putting her phone back down, and returning to the pots on the stove. “Relax,” she said. “Our girl just needs a heating pad and some sleep. I’ll see how she is tomorrow.”

Tuesday was better.

Not perfect – your cramps still lingered dully in your lower stomach, and you’d consumed a concerning amount of caffeine – but you felt far more human than you had the day before.

By late afternoon, you were actually humming softly to the music playing overhead whilst wiping down the counter between customers.

The bell over the café door chimed.

And there she was.

Mira walked in wearing an oversized dark coat, sunglasses pushed into her hair despite the cloudy weather. Effortlessly gorgeous, annoyingly composed.

The second her eyes landed on you, her expression warmed.

And despite yourself, your entire face lit up.

Mira noticed. “Well,” she drawled softly when she got close enough. “Someone looks more alive today.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just about.”

She leaned casually against the counter. “Good.”

“So,” you said while picking up three cups, “What can I get for you?”

“A macchiato with an extra shot; a lemon tea; and an iced ginger latte.” Mira tilted her head slightly. “And three of those little strawberry cakes, please.”

Neither of you really spoke whilst you made her drinks. The café buzzed around you, but the space between you felt strangely private. You bit back a small smile as you swirled the hot milk in the metal jug.

Mira softened then, gaze tracing over your face for a moment. “How are you feeling, really?”

“Better,” you admitted. “Still aching. But not as miserable as yesterday.”

“Good. Did you eat dinner when you got home last night?” she asked seriously.

You blushed. Putting one of the drinks down, you quickly leant into her ear, whispering, “Yes, Daddy.”

She grinned back at you, one side of her mouth lifting. “Do you feel up to a mini-date after you finish? Just some food and I’ll walk you home?”

Your answer came instantly. “Yes!”

No hesitation. No need to think about it.

Mira’s smile turned bright and victorious. “Good girl,” she murmured, squeezing your fingers once before pulling away.

Wednesday evening was slower than usual.

The sun had come out after two days of rain, brightening the whole city’s mood. Including your own; your period symptoms had finally alleviated, leaving you feeling more energised and more like yourself, even as you kept bleeding.

The city outside glowed through the glass windows, mellow music drifting through the speakers overhead. You were halfway through wiping down the pastry display when the front door opened.

You looked up, already smiling.

Zoey practically bounced into the café, hood slipping off her head, energy filling the room within seconds.

“There she is,” you chuckled.

She frowned playfully as she approached the counter. “You look way too pretty today.”

Heat instantly touched your cheeks. “Hello to you too.”

“I’m serious.” She leaned across the counter conspiratorially. “You’re trying to ruin my life, aren’t you?”

You shook your head fondly as you took her order and started her drinks.

Unlike Mira’s slower, more deliberate flirting, Zoey’s came fast and playful, thrown at you constantly like confetti. It should have been overwhelming. Instead, it made you feel warm.

“Are you busy after work?” she asked.

You glanced up, smiling cheekily. “Maybe.”

“Cancel it. I’m taking you on a date.”

“Yeah? A date?”

“Yes.” She grinned brightly. “A fun one.”

“And if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

“You sound very confident.”

“I am very confident.” Zoey tilted her head. “Also, I’m cute, which helps.”

You laughed despite yourself.

Unfortunately, she looked incredibly pleased every time she managed that.

“What kind of date?” you asked carefully.

Zoey hummed thoughtfully. “Food. Maybe arcade games. Maybe some making out afterward.” Her grin turned teasing. “Maybe we end up back at your apartment.”

Your face went hot immediately. “Zoey!”

“What?” She grinned innocently.

You did want to see her after work. You liked how alive she made everything feel. How easy it was to smile around her.

But…

You bit your lip awkwardly. “There is… Uh…” You lowered your voice slightly. “One issue.”

Zoey leaned in instantly. “Tell me.”

You whispered, “I’m on my period.”

You expected awkwardness. Hesitation. Maybe disappointment.

Instead, Zoey blinked once and shrugged casually. “Okay?”

You stared at her. “Okay?”

“Why would that be a problem?”

Your face heated further. “Well…”

She just smiled at you. “It doesn’t bother me. There’s plenty of things we can do, we’ll just lay some towels down.”

The earnestness in her playful tone made you smile. “You’re so sweet,” you murmured, your hormones making you a little emotional.

“I know.” She beamed. “It’s devastatingly attractive. You’re devastated right now.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

Zoey watched you for a moment with something warmer now in her expression. Then she said quietly, “So… Is that a yes?”

Your stomach fluttered. “Yes,” you agreed softly.

Zoey lit up so brightly it almost startled you. “Hell yeah.”

Your hands gripped the headboard of your bed as you bounced your hips on the strap around Zoey’s waist. “Fuck, Mummy,” you cried unrestrainedly.

“Keep going, baby,” she breathed, her fingers pinching your nipples. “You’re doing so well, riding my dick like this. Fucking your own ass for me.”

The strap rocked in and out of your back hole as you frantically rode Zoey, sweat accumulating along your hairline. You’d had a single glass of wine with your dinner; you should be mortified by how wild you were on top of her, but neither of you cared. She just kept looking up at you, her face filled with arousal and wonder.

Zoey matched her hips with yours, reaching down with one hand to smack your ass. “Keep up, baby. Don’t slow down. I wanna watch you fall apart for me. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, panting with the pleasure and exertion. “Yes, Mummy. I-I’ll do it for you.”

She giggled lightly. “I love how you call me that, your little accent is so cute.” She cupped your cheek, sliding her thumb into your mouth. “Are you getting close, sweetie?” She moved her other hand around to your front, resting her thumb against your hard clit, rubbing it gently. “I can feel your button throbbing,” she grinned. “You’re gonna cum soon, aren’t you?”

You whined, your eyes closing, your hands tightening their grip. “Yes, Mummy!”

“Don’t let me down, baby,” she breathed. “I want to watch you come apart with my strap in your ass.  You really surprised me tonight, suggesting I fuck your ass. I thought you were a good girl,” she mocked. “But no. No, you’re just a little slut, aren’t you?”

“I’m a little slut, Mummy,” you nodded, feeling your orgasm about to crest as Zoey increased the pressure on your clit.

“You’re my slut?”

You keened as she started rubbing faster, making you briefly see stars. “Fuck! Yes! Yes, Mummy, I’m your slut!”

“Then cum for me, baby.”

You came apart on top of her, your hips trembling as your ass clamped down around the strap, your pussy spilling as you climaxed. She cooed praise at you, pulling your head down to kiss you deeply, swallowing your moans.

You slowly came down above her, Zoey holding your body close as you caught your breath.

“Well done, sweetheart,” she praised softly, running her hands over your back and sides.

You lifted your head a little. “I… I’m going to take care of you, I promise!”

She giggled. “I know. Don’t worry, just take a minute.”

“No, no, I’m up,” you insisted, lifting yourself up. “Fuck! Zoey, I’m sorry!”

Zoey raised her head to look down at her hips, seeing the smears of blood on her lower tummy. “It’s okay-”

“No, it’s not! I’m sorry!” you cried, reaching for the closest towel and starting to wipe her down. “We-We’ll take a shower-”

“Baby,” she said firmly, cupping the back of your neck and pulling you down for a kiss. “Calm down. It’s alright. I’m a girl, too. Remember?” she smiled cheekily.

“But-”

“No ‘but’s. I knew you were on your period when I asked you out tonight; I knew this could happen. I’m not grossed out. It’s okay.” She spoke each sentence so clearly, it was hard to argue with her. “Give me a kiss.”

You obeyed with a teary smile, pressing your lips to hers.

“Again.”

You kissed her again, relaxing a little more.

“And again.”

You kissed for her a third time, your body visibly settling.

“Good girl. Now, let’s go take a shower. And then we can keep going. Okay?”

Zoey practically skipped into the penthouse.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out humming under her breath, cheeks still aching from how much she'd smiled that evening.

The date had been perfect.

You had laughed so hard during dinner that at one point, your drink nearly came out of your nose. You’d curled up against her in the restaurant booth, sharing desserts you both claimed you weren’t hungry enough to order, before ending up back at your apartment, just like she’d said you would.

And she got to fuck your ass! Frankly, Zoey felt fantastic.

“Good evening, girlies,” she announced cheerfully as she wandered into the living room.

Both women were sitting on the sofa staring at Rumi’s laptop on the coffee table in front of them.

Silent, still.

The atmosphere felt wrong.

Zoey’s smile faded slightly. “What’s happened?” Slowly, she approached. “Why do you both look like somebody died?”

Rumi didn’t laugh; Mira didn’t even look away from the screen.

Finally, the unnie glanced over. “We, uh, found her channel,” she explained quietly.

Zoey frowned. “… Okay? What’s on it?” She gasped. “Please don’t tell me she’s a horrible person who needs to be cancelled!”

Neither woman answered. Instead, Mira picked up the remote and turned the large TV screen on. Pressing a button on her laptop, she casted her screen to the TV. Zoey watched with agonised tension as the TV loaded for a second, and then displayed your channel.

A beautiful banner of you in a park in the city as the header. A close-up shot of your smiling face as the logo. You had a few thousand subscribers, most of your videos getting up to 10k views. No doubt you were earning a little extra money from your channel – not a huge amount, probably just enough to contribute towards your bills.

The videos looked… Normal? ‘Day in the life’ videos; some little travel vlogs of you visiting parts of Korea with friends or colleagues; some Q&As and storytimes; a few videos of you teaching some basic Korean phrases or lessons on English…

Everything looked normal?

Zoey voiced as such. “What’s the problem? This looks… Fine?”

Mira clicked into the Videos section, and then sorted by most popular.

Your most-viewed video was you moving to Korea almost two years ago, the thumbnail showing you sitting on the floor in your apartment surrounded by suitcases and boxes, grinning widely.

Your second most-viewed video was obviously what had upset Rumi and Mira.

You sat at your desk in the thumbnail, looking serious and upset, your eyes a little teary as you looked off into the distance.

The title sat beneath the video…

‘My Eating Disorder’

Buy me a coffee! 💜

Wanda sighs. “Sleep good?”

“Like a baby.”

Wanda pushes a plate of pancakes towards you, the plate stopping in line with a bowl of berries.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Wanda replies softly.

Natasha settles beside you at the island, stealing a strawberry from your bowl before you can stop her. “Hey.”

“You weren't eating it.”

“I was about to,” you groan.

“You hesitated.”

“That doesn't mean you can just take it.”

“It does in Russia,” Natasha replies with a smug smile.

“It absolutely does not.”

Wanda laughs quietly to herself while flipping another pancake. You miss the look she shares with Natasha completely. Natasha doesn't. Three years. Three years of lingering touches, extra blankets left outside your room, favourite snacks mysteriously appearing in the kitchen and invitations to every movie night. Three years. And somehow you still thought they were just being friendly.

“Y/N?” Wanda asks.

“Mm?”

“You know we care about you, right?”

You blink. “Obviously.” Natasha nearly chokes on her coffee. Wanda sighs. “What?” you ask.

“Nothing.”

“Why are you both looking at me like that?”

Neither answers. Because if they start that conversation at eight in the morning Natasha might genuinely lose her mind.

Natasha sighs again. “You wanna come to our room tonight? We're gonna have another movie night.”

You hum. “Maybe. What are you watching?”

Wanda smiles, sweet as sugar. “Anything you want, detka.”

Wanda calls you that often. It's Russian. You have no idea what she's saying. You can only assume it's something friendly.

“Jurassic Park?” you ask. It had been a favourite of yours since childhood.

“Seriously?” Wanda asks. She had been planning for something vaguely rom-com esque. Titanic, or Notting Hill or even The Princess Bride. But no, you want Jurassic Park.

Natasha sighs a little, smiling. This was the woman they both fell in love with. “Jurassic Park it is then.”

“We need snacks,” you tell them seriously. “Especially dinosaur shaped nuggets. It's important.”

Wanda rolls her eyes lovingly, sharing Natasha's silent sentiment. “Alright. Nuggets then.”

________________________________________

Wanda and Natasha's room in the compound is dark. It's clear when you walk in that the lighting has been dimmed beyond what's reasonable, but a few candles light up the area around the coffee table. Clearly they'd already prepared for the movie before you'd even got there.

A fresh bouquet of roses sits on a cupboard at the side of the room, strategically placed to catch the perfect amount of light through the window, though the curtains where now shut. In the center of the coffee table is a large plate, covered by aluminium foil. Probably the Dino nuggets. Next to the plate is two smaller bowls, each containing sweets and chocolate, and one larger one that you can already see is heaped with steaming popcorn.

“Wanda? Nat?” you call, walking towards the couch.

“Coming!” a voice echoes from the bedroom, before the two women appear carrying a blanket and extra pillows. Somewhere in a kitchen-like area, a kettle clicks off.

“I'll finish the hot chocolate,” Natasha says quietly to Wanda, draping the blanket over the couch arm.

“I'm so excited. Thanks for inviting me!” you thank Wanda cheerfully as she places cushions carefully on the couch, murmuring something about 'again' and 'oblivious' under her breath.

Wanda claims the left side of the couch, while Natasha, returning with the hot chocolates, claims the right side. You slide carefully in between them, reaching over Natasha to pass the blanket over the three of you. Natasha forces her eyes away from the side of your face, almost too close for her heart to take.

“Are you ready for literally the best movie of your whole lives?” you ask, already leaning forward to claim a handful of dinosaur-shaped nuggets.

Natasha claims your free hand under the blankets, her thumb rubbing quietly over your knuckles, moving soothinly up and down with the rise and fall of the bones. “Mm. I trust you, it must be amazing.”

“It is. You'll love it.”

Wanda leans forward to grab one of the small bowls of chocolate and sweets, fingers moving through them to find what she's looking for: Love Hearts. She flips the sweet over from the sunglasses face to the words which read "BE MINE."

She smiles down at it, passing it to you just as the opening scene begins, the classic music playing as the fossil digsite appears onscreen. “Aw, Wands, I'm already yours. You guys are my best friends.”

Natasha's eye twitches, not that you notice. “Yeah. Best friends.”

Natasha's hand stops moving against yours. Not because of the movie. Because Wanda has just physically handed you a sweet that says BE MINE and somehow you've interpreted it as friendship. Again. Across the couch, Wanda looks ready to throw herself into the nearest volcano.

You remain blissfully unaware. "Oh!" you whisper excitedly as the T-Rex escapes. "This is the best part."

"Mm," Natasha replies absently.

Wanda reaches into the bowl again. Another Love Heart. This one reads KISS ME. Natasha watches with interest. Wanda places it directly into your hand.

You squint at it. "Oh." Hope sparks instantly in both women. You smile. "You want one too?"

Then you hand it to Natasha.Silence. Natasha stares at the sweet. Wanda stares at the ceiling.

You happily eat another dinosaur nugget. "Guys?" Neither answers. "Are you okay?"

"Fantastic," Natasha says flatly.

"Wonderful," Wanda agrees.

You find yourself leaning against Natasha halfway through the movie, her hand still rubbing circles across your knuckles, her other arm around your back. Wanda is leant against you too, her head tucked against your side, one arm resting around your waist.

“You're a comfy pillow, detka,” Wanda whispers quietly beneath the scream of Lex as a raptor snaps behind the door, only held shut by the weight of Alan and Ellie.

“Thanks. Nat's pretty comfy too.” Both women sigh a final time.

The movie ends around midnight. By then, Wanda has somehow ended up half asleep against your shoulder while Natasha's arm remains draped along the back of the couch behind you. The credits roll.

You stretch. "That was amazing."

"Mm."

"Told you."

________________________________________

Tony's parties are always big. Alcohol, dozens of people, and a pumping bass that rattles your bones. Dim lighting in the main room, expensive food and even more costly spirits. Chatter surrounds you, faces you recognise and faces you don't. Mostly faces you don't.

Your eyes search the crowds for any familiar face you could talk to, and finally your eyes find Maria Hill.

“Maria!” you call, approaching her. “Hey.”

“Hey, Y/N. I've been looking for you. I wanted to ask if you'd come for dinner with me sometime.”

“Maybe. Where at?” you ask.

Across the room, Natasha and Wanda finally find you, Natasha's eyes narrowing as she sees you talking to Maria. “Wands.”

“I know.”

The two women watch as Maria makes you laugh loudly at a comment, her hand frequently grazing yours. You only laugh louder, throwing your hair over your shoulder.

Natasha's jaw clenches tight, she'd probably break a tooth if she clenched it anymore. Wanda's hand was a stark white where it was balled into a fist, her nails leaving small cresents in her palm as Maria leans into you.

And more annoyingly? You don't step away. Infact, you seem to lean in as well, meeting Maria's lips halfway.

The room seems to freeze. Not for you. For Wanda and Natasha. Because after three years of flirting, three years of movie nights and hand-holding and buying your favourite snacks and looking at you like you hung the moon...Maria Hill gets a kiss. In under ten minutes.

"Nat."

"I saw."

"Tell me I imagined that,” Wanda says tightly.

"You did not."

Across the room, Maria is smiling. You're smiling too. Wanda briefly considers committing a crime.

“See you tomorrow?” Maria asks as she pulls away.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” you repeat, watching her walk away. As you turn around, you freeze, caught under Wanda and Natasha's steely gaze. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Natasha replies. “What was that?”

“What?”

“With Maria,” Wanda adds, a sickly sweet smile across her lips.

“She asked me to dinner tomorrow, that's all,” you tell them truthfully.

“And?”

You tilt your head slightly. “And...I'm going?”

Natasha hums, pushing her tongue against her cheek to stop any...unsavoury words from coming out.

“Nat,” Wanda warns.

“You kissed her.”

“Was I... not meant to?” you ask.

Natasha actually closes her eyes. Wanda stares at you. You stare back. “I feel like I'm missing something.”

“You are missing several things,” Natasha replies.

“A lot of things,” Wanda agrees.

You frown. “Okay?”

“Y/N,” Wanda says carefully, like she's approaching a wounded animal. “Why did Maria kiss you?”

You blink. “Because she likes me?”

“Correct.”

“Okay.”

“And why are you going to dinner with her?” Natasha asks now.

“Because she likes me.”

“Right.”

You nod. Wanda waits. You wait. Natasha waits. Nothing happens. “Detka,” Wanda says weakly, “please tell me you're doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“The thing.” Natasha confirms.

“What thing?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“The—” Wanda gestures wildly between all three of you. “This!”

You look at Natasha for help. Natasha looks like she's aged ten years. “Y/N,” she says, voice unusually patient. “How many movie nights have we had?”

You think about it. “Lots?”

“How many times have we invited anyone else?”

“None?”

“Correct.”

Wanda points at herself. “Who buys your favourite snacks?”

“You.”

“Who remembers your coffee order?”

“You.”

“Who spent two hours searching three grocery stores because you said one specific brand of dinosaur nuggets tasted better?” Wanda continues.

“...you?”

“Who holds your hand every movie night?”

“Nat.”

Natasha points at herself now. “Who bought you flowers on your birthday?”

“You.”

“And Valentine's Day?”

“You.”

“And the random Tuesday in June?”

“You.” You pause. “The flowers was because they were pretty.”

Natasha physically pinches the bridge of her nose. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“The flowers were for you.”

“I know.”

“No.” Wanda's voice comes out strangled. “No, detka, I don't think you do.”

You look between them. Then back. Then between them again. Something slowly starts connecting. Very slowly. “Oh.”

Wanda freezes. Natasha freezes. “Oh?” Wanda repeats carefully.

Your eyes widen. “OH.”

“OH?” Natasha echoes.

“You were flirting with me?”

The silence is deafening. “You are only just figuring that out?” Natasha asks.

“I gave you a sweet that said 'BE MINE!'” Wanda tells you.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE SHARING!”

Wanda makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

“You handed me one that said 'KISS ME!'” you reply.

“You gave it to Natasha!” Wanda reminds you incredulously.

“I thought she wanted it!”

Natasha looks ready to launch herself out the nearest window.

“Oh my god.”

“Exactly,” Wanda says.

“Oh my god.”. you repeat again.

“Three years,” Natasha mutters.

You stare at them. Then a new realization hits. “Wait.” Both women look at you. “You like me?”

Wanda immediately softens. “Yeah, detka.”

“Very much,” Natasha adds quietly.

“Both of you?” The women nod. “That's a THING?” They nod again.

The jealousy suddenly makes sense. The flowers. The hand-holding. The pet names. The movie nights. The way they always saved you a seat between them. Your face burns. “Oh.”

Nobody speaks. The music from Tony's party thumps somewhere behind you, people laughing and talking around the room, but all you can hear is the sound of your own heartbeat. Wanda and Natasha are staring at you like they're waiting for a bomb to go off. Which, honestly, is fair. Because it kind of feels like one just did.

"You both like me," you say slowly.

"Yes," Wanda replies.

"Romantically."

"Very romantically," Natasha confirms.

You blink. "Together."

"Yes."

"At the same time."

"That's generally how this works, detka."

You stare at them. Wanda stares back. Natasha stares back. You stare some more. "Is that legal?"

Natasha actually chokes. Wanda covers her face with both hands. "What?" you ask.

"No, no," Natasha says between laughs. "Please explain your thought process."

"I didn't know three people could date."

"Well, they can."

"Oh." A pause. "Oh." Another pause. "Oh my god."

"That's the fourth time you've said that," Wanda points out.

"Because this is a lot of information!"

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. "We've been trying to tell you for years."

"I thought you were friendly."

"Friendly?" Wanda repeats.

"We bought you flowers!" Natasha adds.

"Friends buy flowers."

"On Valentine's Day!"

"I thought you were being supportive."

Natasha looks physically pained. "Detka, I held your hand through three entire movies."

"I thought you were affectionate."

"I kissed your forehead."

"I thought you were sleepy."

Wanda laughs so hard she nearly doubles over. Natasha points accusingly at you. "You sat between us every movie night."

"Because there was space."

"The candles?"

"I thought you liked candles."

"The roses?"

"I thought you liked flowers."

"The hot chocolate?"

"I thought you were being nice!"

"We were being nice!"

"Exactly!"

Wanda is openly crying with laughter now. "Nat," she wheezes. "She really had no idea."

"Clearly."

You look between them again. Then another thought occurs to you. "Wait."

The laughter dies immediately. Wanda straightens. Natasha straightens. "If Maria hadn't kissed me..." Neither woman answers. Your eyes widen. "You would've kept doing this forever."

Wanda opens her mouth. Closes it. Natasha sighs. "...possibly."

"Natasha!"

"What?" she asks. "You thought the Valentine's flowers were friendship flowers."

"There are friendship flowers!"

"Not twelve red roses!"

You groan loudly and cover your face. "Oh my god."

"There it is again," Wanda says.

"The flowers?"

"Flirting." Natasha tells you.

"The movie nights?"

"Flirting." She repeats.

"The hot chocolate?"

"Flirting." Wanda confirms.

"The dinosaur nuggets?"

Natasha shrugs. "Those were just dinosaur nuggets."

"THANK GOD." You sigh in relief. "Wait," you say suddenly.

Wanda and Natasha immediately tense. "Now what?"

You point between them. "So if you were flirting with me..."

"Yes?" Wanda asks cautiously.

"And you two are dating..."

"Yes?" Natasha echoes.

"And Maria was flirting with me..."

"...yes?"

You blink. "Do I flirt back?" The silence is immediate. Natasha stares. Wanda stares. You stare back. "I don't know how this works!" you defend.

Wanda makes a strangled noise. "You've never flirted with anyone?"

"I don't think so."

"You kissed Maria."

"That happened very fast."

Natasha laughs despite herself, rubbing a hand over her face. "Detka, do you want to go on a date with us?"

"Was that easier?" Wanda asks.

"Much."

"Good."

You think for a moment. Then another. Then another. Natasha starts looking nervous.Actually nervous. Which feels impossible. Wanda notices it too.

And suddenly your chest does something strange. A warm, fluttery feeling. One you've definitely felt before. Movie nights. Hot chocolate. Holding Natasha's hand. Listening to Wanda ramble about a book she liked. Watching them look for dinosaur nuggets because you'd mentioned them once. "Oh."

"There it is again," Natasha mutters.

"No, I think this one's important."

Wanda's expression softens immediately. "Yeah?"

Your face warms. "I think I like you too."

For a second neither woman moves. "Both of us?" Wanda asks.

"Yeah."

"Romantically?" Natasha asks.

“Yeah.”

Natasha laughs so hard she doubles over. Wanda is smiling now. The soft smile. The one reserved entirely for you. "You have no idea how long we've waited to hear that."

"Apparently three years."

"Three years and four months," Natasha corrects automatically.

You stare. "You counted?"

"I am deeply in love with you."

"That's slightly terrifying,” you admit.

Wanda reaches for your hand first. Gentle. Giving you every chance to pull away. You don't. Her fingers lace through yours. Natasha steps closer a second later.

"So..." you say.

"So?" Wanda replies.

"What happens now?"

Natasha and Wanda exchange a look. Then Wanda leans forward first. Slow enough for you to stop her. You don't.

Her lips brush yours softly. Warm. Sweet. Far less terrifying than you expected. When she pulls back, she's smiling. And then Natasha is there too, cupping your cheek gently before kissing you just as softly. Your brain promptly forgets how to function. "Oh."

Natasha groans. Wanda bursts out laughing. "Was that another important one?" Wanda asks.

You nod. "Definitely an important one."

Natasha's eyes finally meet yours, still half-fiery from the glare you shot Pietro. The corner of her lip twitches, barely. Wanda's eyes avoid yours like the plague, a slight pink tint dusting her face.

“Natasha,” She introduces herself, a smug smirk on her face. “And that's Wanda.”

The other woman glanced up at you with a small smile before looking back down again.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply politely, before hitting Pietros chest. “Seriously, give me my drink back.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, handing it back. You take a sip, swallowing it down.

“C'mon, Y/N/N. We gotta go.”

You hum. “See you around, ladies.”

Pietro spins you, walking with his arm around your waist for a few strides before breaking apart, blowing a mocking kiss. “Later. Love you.”

“Bye. Love you more,” you reply sweetly, waving as you walk in opposite directions. Wanda and Natasha's eyes are fixed on you as you leave. Clearly, Pietro was your boyfriend. But God if they didn't think you were stunning anyway.

________________________________________

A few weeks later, Wanda and Natasha have unfortunately learned two things.

The first was that Pietro was apparently incapable of existing within a five-foot radius of you without touching you somehow. An arm around your shoulders. His head in your lap. Your legs across his. Random hugs.

The second thing they'd learned was that every single time they started convincing themselves maybe you weren't dating, Pietro would do something ridiculous. Like now.

"Y/N/N!" You barely have time to react before Pietro launches himself dramatically onto the couch beside you.

"Move."

"No."

"You are sitting on my leg,” you complain, shoving his shoulder.

"Good."

"You are literally crushing me." Pietro grins and settles more of his weight on you.

Across the common room, Natasha look away before she could accidentally commit a felony. "They're definitely dating," she mutters.

“Definetly.” Wanda sighs miserably.

“Ow, my foots going numb! Move!”

“Nope,” Pietro replies, popping the P dramatically. “I'm cofmy.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, glancing at Wanda. Pietro eventually does move.

Mostly because you threaten to spill your drink on him. "Violence," he says dramatically, standing up. "Against your own boyfriend."

"You ate my fries."

"Exactly what a loving boyfriend would do."

Across the room, Wanda freezes.

Natasha slowly lowers her coffee. Boyfriend. There it is again. Not friend. Not roommate. Not "we're basically siblings." Boyfriend.

Pietro steals one final fry from your plate before sprinting away when you try to kick him. You point after him. "He's the worst."

"You're obsessed with me!" Pietro yells from the kitchen.

"I hope a bird steals your wallet!"

Natasha watches the exchange with a thousand-yard stare.

Wanda looks physically pained. "Maybe they're joking?" Wanda offers weakly.

Natasha gestures toward where Pietro is now blowing kisses at you from across the room. "...No."

________________________________________

Another frat party. The girl beside you laughs, touching your arm lightly as she talks.

Across the room, Wanda's eye twitches.

"Nat."

"I see it."

"That's flirting."

"I know."

Meanwhile, Pietro is currently leaning against a wall charming the life out of another woman across the room.

Natasha narrows her eyes. "...Is he also flirting?"

Wanda follows her gaze. "...Oh my God."

The two women exchange a horrified look. Because now it isn't just a relationship. It's apparently two people cheating on each other at the exact same party. "Maybe they're broken up?" Wanda offers.

"Then why is he blowing kisses at her?"

As if summoned by the accusation, Pietro catches your eye from across the room and dramatically blows you another kiss. You respond by flipping him off. Natasha stares. Wanda stares. "That's not helping."

A little later, Natasha decides she's had enough. The second your conversation with the girl ends, a hand wraps around your wrist. "Come with us."

You blink. "What?"

"Now."

"Am I being kidnapped?” you ask. "Wanda?"

"Now."

They drag you into an empty guest bedroom upstairs. The door closes. You stare between them. "...Am I in trouble?"

"Are you cheating on Pietro?" Natasha asks immediately.

You stare. "What?"

"At least look guilty."

"I don't know what's happening."

Wanda throws her hands into the air. "The girl downstairs!"

"What girl?"

"The brunette!"

"The pretty one?"

"YES THE PRETTY ONE."

"Oh."

Natasha points accusingly. "You were flirting with her."

"Yeah?"

"And Pietro was flirting with someone else."

"...yeah?"

"You're dating."

Silence. Then you start laughing. Not a little laugh. A full-body, doubled-over laugh. Wanda and Natasha exchange confused looks.

"What's funny?" Wanda asks.

You wipe tears from your eyes. "Oh my God."

"Y/N."

"No—"

"Y/N."

"No, because this is actually incredible."

Natasha crosses her arms. "We're waiting."

You take a breath. "Pietro and I aren't dating."

The room goes silent. "What?"

"We're not dating."

Wanda blinks. Natasha blinks. "What do you mean you're not dating?"

"We've never dated."

"But he called himself your boyfriend."

"He calls himself lots of things."

"He said he loved you."

"He also told a professor he was legally dead so he could get an extension."

“Explain,” Natasha tells you bluntly.

“Well I told him the paper was due the next day, and he still waited until 11pm to start it and fell asleep, so he had to go ask fo—”

“The dating, not the paper.”

Then comes the real explanation. A year ago, at a different frat party, Pietro had stupidly started flirting with one of the frat leaders girlfriends. You realised this, and had quickly pulled him away, telling everyone that you were his girlfriend, and he thought the other girl was you because he was drunk.

"You've let us think you're dating for months?"

"Nobody asked."

Wanda groans. Natasha drops onto the edge of the bed. "I need a drink."

"You were jealous?" Both women freeze. "Oh."

"Oh no," Wanda mutters.

Your grin grows. "You were jealous."

"No.”

"Natasha."

"No,” Natasha tells you seriously.

"Wanda."

"...a little."

"A little?"

Natasha laughs. "A lot."

"So you thought I was dating Pietro this whole time?"

"Yes."

"And you still liked me?"

Wanda snorts. "Unfortunately."

"Very unfortunately," Natasha agrees.

You smile. "Why?"

The answer gets softer. Because now it's real. Because now they aren't hiding behind jealousy.

Wanda admits she fell first. Natasha claims that's a lie. Wanda insists she spent six months staring at you. Natasha immediately points out Wanda once drove forty minutes to buy your favourite coffee.

Then they accidentally expose all the ridiculous things they've done because they liked you. And you just stand there staring. "You two are idiots."

"Correct,” Wanda admits.

"Huge idiots."

"Also correct,” She repeats.

You smile. "I kinda like you too."

Silence. Wanda freezes. Natasha freezes. "You what?"

"I said I like you."

Wanda immediately grabs Natasha's arm. "She said yes."

"I heard her."

"She said yes. Can I kiss her?" Wanda blurts.

Natasha laughs. "That's your first question?"

"It's an important question."

You nod. "Yeah."

Wanda kisses you first. Soft. Sweet. The kind that's been waiting far too long. When she pulls back, Natasha immediately looks offended.

"What?"

"I waited months too."

You laugh. "Then come here."

And Natasha kisses you too while Wanda is still smiling like she's won the lottery.

“Here, we're gonna double check with my boss if it's okay for you to stay, alright? She can be a little scary sometimes, okay?” he warns you, raising a fist to knock on the large dark oak door.

“Enter.” you hear a woman's voice from inside.

Your dad pushes the door open, the office room inside just as dark as the corridors. The office looked too big. Everything in it was tall. Tall windows. Tall shelves. A tall black desk that looked wider than your entire bedroom at home. Even the ceilings felt giant, disappearing high above your head where soft golden lights glowed warmly.

It smelled nice though. Like coffee and fancy perfume and something woodsy you couldn’t name. You stood just inside the doorway, your shoes sinking slightly into the soft dark carpet while your eyes wandered everywhere at once.

The windows were the first thing you noticed. They stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling, showing the whole city below like tiny toy buildings. Cars crawled through the streets like ants, their headlights blinking in little lines far beneath you. Rain tapped softly against the glass.

Then the desk. It was shiny and dark, so clean it barely looked used. No piles of paper. No mess. Just a little lamp, a glass bottle with brown liquid inside, and one pen sitting perfectly straight like somebody measured it with a ruler.

Behind the desk sat Natasha. She looked small compared to the room somehow, even though everybody else always seemed smaller around her.

One leg crossed over the other. Red hair glowing softly beneath the lights. Black rings on her fingers tapping once against the arm of her chair while she listened to someone talking on the phone in Russian. You didn’t understand the words. Only the tone. Quiet. Calm. The kind of calm that made grown men nervous.

The shelves behind her were filled with books you couldn’t read and little statues and boxes with locks on them. One shelf had a chess board set up halfway through a game, pieces frozen in the middle like someone had walked away and never came back. The whole room was quiet except for rain and Natasha’s voice. No clocks ticking. No people talking outside. Nothing. It felt like the office was holding its breath.

Your dad's hand still held yours tightly, and as the woman puts the phone down, your dad pulls you further in. “Good morning, Ms Romanoff,” your dad greets, bowing his head slightly.

Natasha nods in return. “Morning.” She glances down at you. Her face doesn't change. “I see we have company.”

“Hi,” you reply shyly with a wave.

Natasha’s eyes linger on you for a second too long. Not annoyed. Not even surprised, really. Interested. Which is somehow worse.

Your father clears his throat nervously beside you, talking quietly, like he didn't want you to know. “I’m sorry, Ms Romanoff. My wife left this morning and I didn’t exactly have childcare arranged and—”

“She left?” Natasha interrupts calmly.

Your father visibly hesitates. “Temporary situation.” Even you know that’s not true. Natasha knows it too.

Her gaze flicks back to you. Tiny backpack. Velcro shoes slightly unbuckled. One sock folded lower than the other. You smile at her anyway, because adults liked smiles. Usually. “You brought your child to a mafia headquarters,” Natasha says flatly.

Your dad swallows. “Just for today.”

Silence.

Rain taps softly against the giant windows behind her while Natasha leans back slightly in her chair. The black rings on her fingers catch the warm office light as she studies you carefully. “What’s your name?” You tell her shyly.

Natasha nods once. “And how old are you?”You hold up five fingers proudly. “Hm.” Her expression doesn’t soften exactly, but something shifts faintly behind her eyes. “Can you read?”

Your father blinks. “What?”

“I asked the child.”

You puff your chest slightly. “A little bit.”

Natasha gestures toward the chessboard sitting on the shelf behind her. “Do you know what that is?”

“A game.”

“What kind of game?”

You think very seriously for a moment. “…the horsey one goes like this.” You wave your hand in a crooked L-shape through the air. A quiet sound escapes Natasha’s nose. Not quite a laugh.

Your father looks more confused by the second. Natasha stands then. Tall. Sharp black suit. Red hair spilling over one shoulder. The entire room somehow straightens with her, like even the furniture knows she’s important. You stare openly.

She walks around the desk slowly before crouching in front of you instead. Expensive perfume. Cold rings. Calm eyes. Scary, your dad said. But not really. “Do you know what your father does here?” she asks.

Your dad immediately panics. “Ms Romanoff—”

“He talks to angry people on the phone,” you answer proudly before he can stop you. “And he types really fast. And...and some other stuff.”

Natasha hums softly. Honest. Observant. Comfortable around dangerous environments already. Interesting. Very interesting. Her eyes flick upward toward your father. “You said your wife left today?”

“…yes.”

“And there’s no family?”

“No.”

“No nanny?”

“I can’t exactly hire one on this notice.”

Natasha goes quiet again. Then she looks back at you. You’re staring at one of the locked boxes on her bookshelf now, curiosity written all over your face. “Do you know why people like children?” Natasha asks suddenly.

You blink at her. “'Cause we’re little?”

A real laugh almost appears this time. “Partly.” Her fingers tap once against her knee. “People underestimate children. They ignore them. Stop noticing them after a while.”

Your father looks increasingly alarmed now. “Ms Romanoff…”

Natasha ignores him completely. “You know what that means?” she asks you. You shake your head. “It means children hear things.” Your father pales instantly. Natasha finally stands again smoothly before walking back toward her desk. “The child stays.”

Relief floods your father’s face immediately. “Thank you, Ms Romanoff, I swear she’ll stay quiet—”

“She won’t.” He stops. Natasha picks up the glass bottle from her desk, pouring amber liquid slowly into a crystal tumbler. “Quiet children are noticeable. People remember them.” Her eyes flick toward you over the rim of the glass. “Friendly children disappear into rooms.”

You beam proudly despite having no idea what that means. Your father, however, looks like he’s about to faint. “Ms Romanoff… respectfully… what exactly are you suggesting?”

Natasha finally smiles. Small. Dangerous. “Oh,” she says calmly, “I think your daughter is going to be very useful to me.”

“Mhm I can colour really goodly!” you announce happily.

“Thank you, Ms Romanoff, it won't happen again.”

“If the child is truly as useful to me as I think they will be...you can bring the child anytime.” She replies. “You may go.”

Your father looks moments away from cardiac arrest as you carefully pick up the knight between both hands. “Ms Romanoff, I really don’t think—”

“You think I’m going to recruit your child into organized crime?” Natasha asks dryly.

“…aren’t you?”

Natasha takes a slow sip of her drink instead of answering immediately. Honestly? Maybe.

Not now. Not directly. But children were useful. Invisible. People talked freely around them. Guards ignored them. Politicians smiled at them while accidentally saying too much. And this one? Observant.Comfortable. Unafraid. Natasha gestures toward the chair near her desk. “Sit.”

You climb into it immediately, legs dangling far above the floor while your father stands there awkwardly like he still isn’t sure if he should leave or call somebody.

Natasha opens one of her desk drawers, pulling out a thick folder before sliding it toward you. Inside are photographs. Buildings. Faces. Maps. You blink down at them curiously. Your father looks horrified. “Ms Romanoff—”

“Relax.” Natasha doesn’t even look at him. “The child can’t exactly decipher money laundering routes.”

“She can hear you.”

“And?”

You’re already pointing at one of the photographs. “That man looks mean.”

Natasha’s eyes flick toward the picture.

One of her business rivals. Interesting. “Why?”

“He got angry eyebrows.”

“…angry eyebrows,” Natasha repeats. You nod very seriously.

Natasha leans back slowly in her chair again, studying you in silence now while your father shifts nervously beside the door. Children noticed things adults trained themselves to ignore. Tone. Body language. Fear. Instinct. And instinct couldn’t really be taught.

“You will pick them up at six.”

“Yes, Ms Romanoff,” your dad replies after a minute, the door shutting behind him.

“Not like this man,” you tell her, pointing at another picture.

“How come?”

“He looks scary, and...his eyes, I think.”

Natasha’s fingers tap slowly against the crystal glass in her hand while you continue sorting through the photographs with complete seriousness. “That one looks sad,” you announce.

Natasha glances down at the picture. A senator currently under investigation for skimming money through shell charities. “He embezzled from children’s hospitals.”

You gasp softly. “That’s mean.”

“Yes,” Natasha agrees calmly. “Very.”

You point at another photo next. “This one’s pretending.”

That gets her attention. “Pretending what?”

“To be nice.” You squint harder at the picture. “His smile doesn’t match his eyes.”

Silence settles across the office for a moment. Natasha studies you carefully now. Not just amused anymore. Evaluating. Because adults lied with words. Children noticed the face underneath them. Interesting. Very interesting.

Your first “job” happens three weeks later. Nobody calls it that around you, of course.

Natasha simply crouches in front of you one afternoon while one of her men buttons your tiny coat wrong because his hands are too big. “I need your help today,” she says.

You brighten immediately. “Like colouring?”

“Not exactly.”

You tilt your head. Natasha smooths a strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. “You’re going to get a little lost for me.”

“…on purpose?”

“On purpose.”

That sounds exciting. Your father looks significantly less excited standing near the office door. “Ms Romanoff, I really don’t think—”

“The child will be perfectly safe.” That somehow does not comfort him. Natasha ignores his concern entirely, focusing on you instead. “Do you remember what I told you?”

You nod proudly. “People don’t notice kids.”

“Good.” Her mouth twitches faintly. “And what do you do if somebody asks where your parents are?”

You recite carefully, “I can’t find my daddy.”

“Very good.” Your father looks physically ill now.

The rival mob’s restaurant smells like cigar smoke and expensive food. You stand outside for exactly thirty seconds before the nerves hit.

Because Natasha’s men aren’t beside you anymore. The building is huge. The men at the door look scary. And suddenly this doesn’t feel like a game. One of the guards notices you almost immediately. “…kid?”

Your bottom lip wobbles before you can stop it. “I can’t find my daddy,” you whisper. Oh. Oh, you’re really crying now.

Real tears spill down your cheeks fast enough that even you seem surprised by them. Your chest hurts suddenly. Everything feels too loud. Too big. The guards exchange awkward looks instantly. “Well shit,” one mutters.

“I lost him,” you hiccup.

The larger guard crouches awkwardly in front of you like he’s handling a bomb. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…” Which only makes you cry harder.

Inside, Natasha would’ve been impressed. Nothing sold a performance better than reality. Within minutes you’re sitting inside the restaurant wrapped in somebody’s oversized suit jacket while mobsters awkwardly attempt to calm you down with orange juice and breadsticks. It works a little. Mostly because you’re distracted. Adults really do ignore children after a while. Especially crying ones.

“Whens the shipment coming through?”

“It can't come through Jersey anymore. Customs flagged two containers last time.”

“Use the Canadian route. We paid six million for the hardware already.”

“Then transport them in charity trucks. Noone searches medical equipment.”

You sit swinging your legs beneath the chair quietly while eating free bread. Nobody lowers their voices around you anymore. Interesting.

One man even pats your head absentmindedly while arguing about weapons inventory. Another complains about “the redheaded psycho” watching ports.

You memorize everything because Natasha likes when you remember things. Eventually one of the older men sighs heavily. “We should probably take the kid somewhere.”

“Police?”

“No cops.”

“Foster services then.”

You sniff dramatically on cue. The older man softens immediately. “Hey, hey, kid… we’re helping you.” You nod miserably.

The foster center smells like crayons and disinfectant. You hate it instantly. Too bright. Too loud. Too many strangers.

A tired woman behind the desk kneels in front of you gently. “Do you know your phone number, sweetheart?” You shake your head. “Address?”Another shake.

Truthfully, Natasha told you not to answer too many questions. You curl tighter into the plastic chair instead, clutching the stuffed rabbit somebody gave you twenty minutes ago.

You wonder briefly if Natasha forgot you. Then the front doors open. Black coat. Red hair. Sharp eyes scanning the room once before landing on you. Natasha. Relief hits so hard your tiny body practically launches out of the chair.

“Mama!”

The entire room freezes. Natasha catches you effortlessly as you crash into her, one arm wrapping securely around your back. Her expensive coat smells like snow and perfume and safety now. “Oh, there you are,” she murmurs smoothly into your hair.

The social worker blinks rapidly. “You’re her mother?”

Natasha doesn’t hesitate once. “Guardian.”

Close enough. “She never gave us a name.”

Natasha sighs softly like she’s exhausted rather than running one of the largest criminal organizations in the city. “She wanders off when she’s upset.”

You hide your face dramatically against her shoulder. The social worker melts immediately. “Well, she’s been very brave.”

“I know.”

Natasha rubs a hand slowly up and down your back while signing paperwork with the other. Calm. Controlled. Perfect.

Nobody notices the subtle nod one of the workers near the door gives her. Nobody notices the black car waiting outside. Nobody notices this entire situation was orchestrated hours ago. Except you.

Back at Natasha's office, the world is quiet again. Calm. “Tell me everything.”

“They was talking about...Canadian.” you reply.

“Canada? What about it?” she asks.

“I think...about the ships.”

Natasha pauses for a second, thinking. “The shipping routes?”

You nod. “And...they paid six for the ware.”

“How many 'six'?”

“Lots of six. A bajillion six!”

Natasha stares at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiles. Not the sharp, dangerous kind she gives everyone else. Something quieter. Almost proud. “A bajillion six,” she repeats thoughtfully, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “Very expensive hardware.”

You nod seriously from where you sit curled sideways in the chair, still clutching the stuffed rabbit from the foster center. One of its ears droops sadly over your arm. “And charity trucks.”

Natasha’s eyes sharpen instantly. “What about them?”

“They said nobody checks them.”

The room goes still.

One of the men standing near the office door straightens subtly. Another glances toward Natasha, waiting. Your father looks like he might actually throw up.Because that’s it. That’s the shipment route they’d been trying to find for months. And you found it by crying over breadsticks.

Natasha leans back in her chair slowly, studying you with a look your father can’t quite decipher anymore. Not amusement now. Not curiosity. Calculation. “You remembered all that?” your father asks weakly.

You look confused. “I got good listening ears.”

Natasha snorts softly through her nose before setting her glass down. “Clearly.”

One of her men steps forward carefully. “Boss… if the shipment’s moving through medical trucks—”

“I know.” Natasha lifts a hand slightly, silencing him instantly. Her gaze never leaves you. “What else did they say?”

You think hard, swinging your legs beneath the chair. “One man smelled weird.”

“…helpful.”

“He had angry eyebrows too.”

Natasha’s mouth twitches faintly. “Did angry eyebrows have a name?”

You gasp suddenly. “Tony!”

The room stills again.

Your father blinks rapidly. “You remembered his name?”

“He yelled a lot.” you explain simply. “And he called you a psycho.”

A dangerous little smile appears on Natasha’s face now. “Did he?”

You nod enthusiastically. “But I thinked he was scared of you.”

That smile grows. Cold. Pleased. “Smart man.”

Your father rubs both hands down his face tiredly. “Ms Romanoff, with respect… this is insane.”

Natasha finally looks at him. “No,” she says calmly. “What’s insane is that your daughter walked into a rival operation, extracted information, and walked back out unharmed before dinner.”

“She’s five!”

“Yes.” Natasha’s eyes flick back toward you again. “Which is why nobody saw her coming.”

You smile proudly despite not fully understanding. Natasha gestures toward the untouched pastries sitting near the edge of her desk. “You hungry?”

You nod immediately. “Take whichever one you want.”

You scramble off the chair happily, immediately grabbing the chocolate-covered pastry twice the size of your hand. Natasha watches you carefully while you settle back into the chair with it. Crumbs instantly scatter across your coat. Your father looks horrified. “Don’t eat over Ms Romanoff’s desk—”

“It’s fine.”

“But—”

“It’s a desk,” Natasha says flatly. “Not sacred ground.”

You beam at her around a mouthful of pastry. Natasha reaches forward without thinking, brushing chocolate from the corner of your cheek with her thumb. The movement surprises everyone in the room. Including her.She pauses for half a second afterward. Then continues like nothing happened. “You did well today.”

Your entire face lights up instantly. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Can I help again?”

Your father makes a strangled noise. Natasha ignores it entirely. “We’ll see.”

That answer alone is enough to make you kick your feet happily beneath the chair. Natasha watches the reaction quietly. Strange. She’s handled politicians, assassins, billionaires, entire criminal empires without blinking. Yet somehow one tiny grin from a child feels dangerously rewarding. One of the men near the door clears his throat carefully. “Boss… should we move on the Canadian shipment?”

Natasha’s gaze hardens instantly. Business again. Cold again. “No.”

The room stills. “No?”

“They think they’re invisible.” Natasha picks up her glass once more. “Let them keep thinking that.” Her eyes drift briefly toward you again. “For now.”

You yawn suddenly, nearly dropping the pastry in the process. It’s late. Your tiny body finally catching up to the exhausting day. Natasha notices immediately. “Tired?”

You shake your head automatically while actively falling asleep sitting upright. Natasha huffs the faintest laugh before standing. “Take the car downstairs,” she tells your father. “My driver will bring you home.”

“That really isn’t necessary—”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Your father immediately shuts up. Natasha walks around the desk then pauses beside your chair. For a second, your father genuinely thinks she’s about to hand you back politely and return to work. Instead, Natasha bends slightly and lifts you effortlessly into her arms.

You barely wake, instinctively curling against her shoulder with a sleepy hum. Pastry still clutched in one hand. The room goes silent. Because Natasha Romanoff does not carry things gently. Natasha Romanoff breaks things gently.

Yet here she is adjusting your tiny body carefully against her coat so your head doesn’t bump her shoulder. One hand supporting your back automatically. Your father stares. “Ms Romanoff…”

One thing that was different, was relationships. Friends, romance, even just a teacher-student relationship. Sure, you all considred yourselves sisters within the confines of the Red Room, but at the end of the day it wasn't real. You weren't really sisters by blood, more like bonded through a shared hell-like life. But it was never said out loud, never recognised. You could have it used against you, a vulnerability. Something you have to kill.

Here, though, at this high school in New York, it was different. Girls walked in large groups, chattering down hallways. People kissed, laughed, held hands. They wouldn't last a day in the Red Room.

One girl, you realise, has taken a particular interest in you. She sits with you at lunch, helps with your homework since your learning is a little behind, laughs at anything you say.

So you decided to ask your big sister, who had experienced more of the world than you had. "Nat!" You call loudly, the apartment door clicking behind you.

"In the kitchen," Natasha replies.

You drop your backpack beside the couch and follow her voice. Natasha stands at the counter chopping vegetables, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It still amazes you sometimes; the former Black Widow, one of the deadliest women in the world, making dinner. "School okay?" she asks.

You shrug. "Fine."

Natasha glances over her shoulder immediately. Fine usually meant something was bothering you. "What happened?"

You sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island, swinging your legs slightly. "There is a girl."

The knife stops mid-chop. Natasha slowly looks up. "A girl." You nod. "A problem girl?"

"No."

"A bully?"

"No."

Natasha sets the knife down completely now. "Okay. Tell me about the girl."

You think for a moment. "She sits with me at lunch." Natasha hums. "She helps me with homework." Another hum.

"She laughs at my jokes." Natasha's lips twitch. "Even when they're not funny."

"Maybe you're hilarious."

You ignore that. "She walks with me between classes."

"Mhm."

"She gave me one of her cookies yesterday." Natasha is openly smiling now. "She said she likes spending time with me."

The smile grows. "And?"

You frown. "And what?"

"That's it?"

"Yes."

Natasha stares. You stare back. Then Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"She has a crush on you."

You blink. "A crush?"

"Yes."

You genuinely look confused. "No."

Natasha laughs. "Yes."

"No."

"Y/N."

"She is being friendly."

"She is flirting."

You fold your arms. "I know what friendship looks like."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "You spent your first week at school convinced the librarian was adopting you because she remembered your name."

"She was very nice."

"She worked there."

You huff slightly. The concept still feels strange.

In the Red Room, nobody gave gifts because they liked you. Nobody spent time around you because they wanted to. Everything had a purpose. Everything was a test. A weakness. A weapon. Not... affection. Not because someone simply enjoyed being around you.

Natasha's expression softens immediately when she notices you growing quieter. "Hey."

You look up. "She likes me?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

The question comes out genuinely confused. Natasha pauses.Because that was the real issue. You still didn't understand why anyone would choose you. Not after everything. Not after the Red Room spent years teaching you that love was something people exploited.

"Because you're smart," Natasha says. You immediately make a face. "Because you're funny." You make the same face. "Because you're kind."

"That seems unlikely," you continue. "I've done...not good things."

Natasha's expression softens. "So have I." You look up. "That doesn't mean we're only the worst things we've ever done."

You almost smile. Natasha points a carrot at you. "There it is."

"What?"

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"The reason people like you."

You frown.

Natasha smiles. "You don't even realize you're lovable." The words hit harder than they should. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Natasha reaches over and bumps your shoulder gently. "Do you like her?"

You think about it seriously. "She makes me feel... comfortable." Natasha nods. "She remembers things I tell her." Another nod. "And I like when she sits with me."

The smile on Natasha's face becomes almost impossible to hide. "Congratulations."

"For what?"

"I think you might have a crush too."

Your eyes widen. "Oh." A pause. "Oh no."

Natasha bursts out laughing. "Welcome to being a normal teenager, sestra."

The next morning arrives slowly. 

Gray light spills weakly through (Y/n)’s curtains, soft and rainy and dim enough that for a few seconds, (Y/n) isn’t fully awake. 

She just drifts there. 

Venom is curled up against her legs, his purring faint and steady. 

The room smells like rain, and coffee, and jasmine shampoo. 

Her body hurts, a deep ache in her muscles, exhaustion pressing into her bones, and the familiar, awful pounding in her chest. 

(Y/n) opens her eyes slowly. 

The other side of the bed is empty. 

For one irrational, exhausted second, panic flares low in her stomach.

Then she hears voices out in the hallway.

One of them is Rumi’s—and she sounds angry. 

“. . . don’t care if rehearsal gets delayed,” comes Rumi’s voice, sharp and low somewhere down the hall.

(Y/n) blinks blearily towards the cracked bedroom door. 

There’s a pause. 

“She is exhausted because she’s been forcing herself to keep up with us while feeling like that,” Rumi says, voice shaking now with restrained anger. “And instead of being worried, you made her feel guilty for it.”

(Y/n) pushes herself up against her pillows, a wave of dizziness rolling through her almost immediately. 

“I know what you say to us. Our faults and fears must never be seen,” Rumi says bitterly. “You repeat it constantly. She can barely stand up half the time,” Rumi says, slightly quieter now. “She’s exhausted constantly, and instead of helping her, you made her think collapsing was just an inconvenience.”

(Y/n)’s stomach twists.

Rain taps softly against the windows.

“Oh, bullshit. I don’t want to hear it,” Rumi snaps, something very unlike her. “Goodbye, Celene.”

Footsteps move slowly back down the hallway. 

The bedroom door opens carefully a few minutes later. 

Rumi steps inside carrying a mug in both hands. She freezes slightly when she notices (Y/n) awake. Immediately, all the anger from moments ago disappears from her face, replaced instantly by concern. “Hey,” she says softly. “You’re supposed to still be asleep,” she murmurs.

“My body had other plans, I guess,” (Y/n) murmurs.

Rumi’s expression flickers immediately with concern again.

She sets the mug carefully on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

The mattress dips softly beneath her weight. Up close, she looks exhausted too. There are faint shadows beneath her eyes. Her hair is still messy from sleep. And even now, tension lingers in her shoulders like she hasn’t fully calmed down since yesterday.

Guilt stabs at (Y/n), and her gaze drops instinctively. “You were fighting with Celene,” (Y/n) says softly. 

Rumi exhales quietly through her nose, “She was being an ass.”

“You yelled at her,” 

That almost earns a tiny smile.

“Yeah,” Rumi admits softly. “I did.”

(Y/n) fiddles weakly with the edge of the comforter, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Rumi looks at her for a long moment. Then, very gently, “Yes. I did.”

The certainty in her voice makes (Y/n)’s throat tighten.

Rumi reaches over slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from (Y/n)’s forehead. Her fingers are warm. “How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.

The automatic answer rises immediately.

Fine.

(Y/n) stops herself this time. “. . . tired,” (Y/n) admits instead.

Something soft flickers across Rumi’s face. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I figured.”

Rain continues tapping softly against the windows.

Venom stretches lazily against (Y/n)’s legs without waking up fully.

The apartment feels still.

(Y/n) stares down at her hands.

They’re trembling faintly again.

Without saying anything, Rumi gently reaches over and threads their fingers together loosely on top of the blankets.

(Y/n)’s chest aches suddenly, “I really scared you yesterday, huh?” The words come out small.

Rumi goes very still beside her. Then she laughs softly once, but there’s no humor in it at all, “You passed out in my arms. I thought . . . ” Rumi swallows hard. “I don’t know what I thought.”

(Y/n) looks over at her quickly. Rumi’s eyes are fixed on their intertwined hands now.

“She kept saying you were just tired,” Rumi says quietly. “But you looked so scared.”

(Y/n)’s stomach twists. “I’m sorry,” she whispers automatically.

Rumi closes her eyes briefly. Then she leans closer, resting her forehead lightly against (Y/n)’s temple. “No,” she murmurs. “No more apologizing for you.”

(Y/n)’s throat tightens painfully. She stares down at the blankets. “I wasn’t just Celene,” she admits. “I didn’t want everyone looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m fragile. “

Rumi pulls back just enough to look at her properly, “You know that’s not what I was thinking, right?”

(Y/n) blinks slowly.

Rumi brushes her thumb gently across the back of her hand. “I was thinking that I love you,” she says quietly. “And that you scared the hell out of me.”

(Y/n)’s lips twitch slightly in a small smile. “I love you too.”

For a few moments, neither of them says anything. 

Venom shifts sleepily at the end of the bed, stretching one paw before settling again with a grumpy little huff.

Rumi’s fingers stay loosely laced with (Y/n) as she settles down against the pillows at (Y/n)’s side. 

Rumi’s gaze drops toward their intertwined hands again, her thumb brushing absently over (Y/n)’s knuckles. “You really thought I’d look at you differently?”

The question is quiet.

(Y/n)’s chest tightens immediately. “I don’t know,” she admits softly after a moment. “Maybe.”

Rumi’s face crumples slightly around the edges, “Baby . . .”

(Y/n) looks away toward the rain-streaked windows, “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It kind of is,” (Y/n) mutters weakly. “I just . . .”

Her throat tightens.

God.

Rumi waits quietly beside her.

“I’m used to handling things myself,” (Y/n) says finally. “And lately it feels like my body can’t do anything right anymore. I can’t stand up without getting dizzy. I’m tired all the time. Half the time I feel like I’m gonna pass out if I move too fast.” Her fingers tighten weakly around Rumi’s. “And everybody kept looking at me like they were worried.”

“Because we were worried.”

(Y/n)’s eyes sting unexpectedly, “I know.”

Silence settles again.

Rain against the windows.

The soft hum of the apartment.

Rumi shifts a little closer beside her until their shoulders touch. “You know what I saw yesterday?” Rumi asks quietly. (Y/n) shakes her head once. “I saw someone who pushed herself way past her limit because she didn’t want to let people down.”

(Y/n)’s throat burns. “I’ve kinda just . . .” she shrugs weakly. “Handled things myself for a long time.”

Rumi watches her carefully, and slowly, something sad settles into her expression.

She knew (Y/n) lost her parents when she was eleven.

They know she bounced between foster homes for a while. 

Too many bags being packed and unpacked. 

Sitting here now, Rumi realizes she’d never really understood what those years had done to her girlfriend. Yes, her parents had died when she was very young, but she had Celene growing up. 

“You were a kid,” Rumi says softly.

“Didn’t really matter.”

“It should have,” the immediate fierceness in Rumi’s voice makes (Y/n) glance up. Rumi’s eyes are shining slightly now. “You shouldn’t have had to learn that the only person you could rely on was yourself.”

Something painful twists hard in (Y/n)’s chest.

She doesn’t even remember learning it. It just became true one day.

Adults stopped checking if she’d eaten. They’d stopped noticing when she was sick. They’d stopped paying attention unless she caused problems. So she’d stopped causing them.

“You learn pretty fast that people get tired of difficult things,” (Y/n) says quietly. “Especially when they already have their own stuff to deal with.”

Rumi shifts closer again until their knees press together beneath the blankets. “Hey,” she says softly, waiting until (Y/n) finally looks back at her. “You do not have to earn being cared for.” Rumi’s thumb brushes gently beneath her eye before (Y/n) even realizes tears had gathered there. “You being sick doesn’t make you inconvenient,” Rumi whispers.

(Y/n)’s breathing goes uneven for a second.

“I know you think if you stop holding everything together, people will leave.” Rumi swallows hard. “But I’m not going anywhere. And neither will Mira and Zoey. We all love you.”

(Y/n) presses her lips together hard, trying unsuccessfully to keep herself composed.

. . . 

It takes a bit of convincing from Rumi to get (Y/n) to leave her room. 

Rumi stays slightly behind her as they walk down the hallway, Rumi close enough that if (Y/n) needed anything, she’d be there.

The TV is on in the living room, playing some terrible reality show. 

Zoey and Mira are curled up together on one of the couches. 

Mira’s leaning against the armrest with a blanket over her lap, with Zoey practically draped across her. 

" . . . there's no way that's legal,” Zoey comments, gazing at the TV screen in mock horror.

"It's absolutely legal,” Mira replies.

"She's putting ranch on spaghetti,” Zoey protests. “That's a crime. It has to be.” Then she spots (Y/n). Her expression brightens immediately, "Hey."

"Hey,” (Y/n) smiles at her. 

Mira glances over next, "Morning."

"Afternoon,” (Y/n) corrects. 

Mira checks the clock, ". . . huh."

(Y/n) lets out a snort of laughter. 

Zoey points at the TV. “Tell Mira she’s wrong,” she tells (Y/n) as she sits down on the other end of the couch. 

"I'm not wrong."

"She's wrong."

"What am I judging?" (Y/n) questions. 

"The ranch."

(Y/n) squints at the screen. The woman on television is, in fact, still, pouring ranch dressing onto a bowl of spaghetti. “Oh,” she says. She pauses, “Yeah, that’s horrifying.”

“Thank youuuuu!” Zoey says. 

Mira groans as Zoey throws both arms into the air in victory. 

(Y/n) finds herself smiling, leaning back into the couch. 

Rumi disappears into the kitchen for a few moments. 

When she comes back, she places a water bottle on the coffee table in front of (Y/n) and sits down beside her. 

For a while, they just sit there—watching bad TV, listening to Zoey argue with people through the screen, and listening to Mira occasionally teasing Zoey about yelling at people that couldn’t hear her. 

. . . 

A few days later, the rain has gone. 

Sunlight spills through the penthouse windows in warm golden rectangles. 

For the first time in what feels like forever to (Y/n), she wakes up and doesn’t immediately want to go back to sleep. 

She takes her time getting up. 

She drinks water. 

She eats breakfast without Rumi having to practically beg her. 

Even Venom seems to notice her good day. 

. . . 

By afternoon, everyone else is scattered through the penthouse. 

Mira was working on choreography. Zoey is loudly arguing with some piece of technology. 

Rumi was on the phone somewhere. 

And (Y/n)’s in her room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her guitar resting in her lap. The window beside her is cracked open lightly to let a warm breeze from outside drift in.

Sheets of paper on clipboards are scattered all around her—half-finished lyrics, crossed-out verses, random notes scribbled in the margins. 

Her notebook sits open beside her. 

(Y/n) absentmindedly plucks a progression, adjusting notes. 

Her fingers move automatically. 

Slowly, the door to her room opens. 

She doesn’t hear Rumi approach, too focused on the notebook lying on the floor beside her knee. 

“That sounds really nice . . .”

(Y/n) jumps, her knee knocking into the guitar. 

She whips around. 

Rumi is standing in the doorframe, trying and failing not to laugh. 

(Y/n) glares playfully at her, “You almost got hit with a guitar.”

Rumi pushes herself off the doorframe, stepping into the room. 

Her gaze falls on the notebook, then the pages scattered around, and then to the guitar in (Y/n)’s hand. 

Her expression softens. 

(Y/n) notices the look immediately.

“What?” she asks. 

“Nothingggg,” Rumi replies. 

“Rumi,” (Y/n) knits her eyebrows. 

Rumi sits down at (Y/n)’s side, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips, before leaning lightly against her shoulder. 

“Keep singing,” Rumi murmurs.

(Y/n) hums, beginning to strum chords again. 

“Darlin', I will give up everything

Who I'll be and who I am

You can have it all

Baby, you could start a cult, you see

Anywhere you go, I'll be

You are so much more than beautiful to me” 

"Of course you have not," she hisses, tails lashing like so many snakes waiting to strike. "You are too busy murdering anything that doesn't reek of humanity to listen. It is a wonder they have let you live."

The pink-haired hunter and the small one wince, and Mother-fox delights in the lightning-strike of pain that burns across their features. Yes, feel ashamed, foolish Hunters. For once truly feel your due.

The child, the one whose human stink is mingled with the ash and earth and mustiness of the jeoseung saja, sits taller, and meets the gumiho's eyes. There is no fear, and none of the shame she has come to associate with patterned demons. Instead something that glints like a gumiho's pride. "We've changed."

A lip curls back from fangs itching for blood to drip off their lengths. Change. Hunters, who for generations have strung them up by their tails and stained their moon-white coats with red, changing to welcome a gumiho. A joke. The sort of cruel, ironic thing that only humans would be so heartless as to play. "Lies."

The child- so like her kit, this child!- is not cowed. "If you don't want to believe that we've changed, at least believe that we want to help Celine. She..." Her throat jumps as she swallows, and she drops her eyes to the ground. The gumiho watches as rounded fingernails dig into the earth, clenching the soil. When the human speaks again, there is a heaviness to her voice that...the gumiho's heart knows.

"I think she needs her mom."

Small One and Pink-Hair's fingers twitch in the ways Hunters do before they pull their weapons from their glowing barrier, plucking at invisible strings.

Years ago -- a lifetime ago -- those fingers had plucked a chain from the air and lashed her across her chest and it had felt like fire being poured into her lungs. And that chain had twisted around her kit's neck and the hunter and pulled and her kit had screamed and when the hunter lifted her kit up by the scruff of her neck, she had hung so limply in that hunter's grip she had looked dead.

And then a spear had sliced through the sapling near her head and she had --

She had abandoned her kit.

To these --

"Zoey, Mira," the child says, sharply.

She has her back to Mother-fox. Foolish child. Wasn't she ever taught to never turn her back on a danger?

Shorter and Pink-Hair, this... Zoey and Mira, still their hands and the strings of light wrapping around their fingers fade away.

"It's okay," the Child says, looking from her hunters to Mother-fox and back again.

Strange.

To tell her hunters to not draw their weapons.

Was it possible that she was ... genuine?

Mother-fox wants to laugh at the thought. But this half-child who should not have existed, who was raised by a gumiho, even if her kit had been so thoroughly beaten down that she no longer transformed, would have been hers. If her kit had been allowed family.

"My child -- it has been a long time," Mother-fox says, reluctantly. "She does not remember her blood kin."

The hunters look at each other.

"Well, you never know unless you see her, right?" Zoey asks.

"You don't even have to come in," Rumi adds. "Just... I don't know, hang around? So she can smell you, maybe?"

Mira is nodding.

Seven days.

That’s how long you’ve been away from home, assisting Katara with an advanced healing seminar at a clinic in a small community. An entire week since you’d last seen your girlfriend, and the distance was slowly driving you insane.

It wasn't just the physical absence of her, it was the silence. You knew Toph better than anyone. Which means you knew the very idea of dictating her private thoughts to Sokka just so he could scratch them onto parchment was mortifying to her.

But usually, when you were away, even if only for a few days, something found its way to you. Most of the time in the past a messenger hawk would arrive with a blunt two sentence note about her day or a jab about the spirit spa baths you and Katara were teaching people about. Sometimes, she would even send a metal bent token as a way to show she's still thinking about you without all the mushy words attached to it.

You weren't expecting her to pour her heart out to you, but you at least hoped she'd send something to hold you over until you were back. But by the third day, the responses to your letters began to dwindle. And by the fifth, they stopped entirely.

A part of you had hoped Toph was just swamped with investigations and the daily grind of running the police force. You knew better than anyone that there would always be people to protect and criminals to bring to justice. You understood that her duty to Republic City and commitment to the badge often came first which was fine.

But there was another part of you, the part that's spent years learning the intricate map of Toph Beifong’s soul that felt a persistent, nagging worry.

When Toph went radio silent, it usually meant she was retreating into herself, reinforcing those metal walls she used to protect the vulnerable heart she so rarely lets anyone see.

It was heartbreaking to think about really. You’d spent so long stripping those defenses down, piece by piece, reassuring Toph that her mind, her body, and her heart would always be safe with you. And now, walking toward her apartment, you were terrified that a single week apart had convinced her it was safer to be alone again.

The streets of Republic City were a chaotic blur of noise and color, but you moved through the crowd with singular focus. Every step you took brought you closer to the cause of the ache in your chest that now felt like a gravitational pull that brought you closer to the woman you loved.

The gravel crunched beneath your Water Tribe boots that you hadn't even bothered to change out of. Stopping at your own apartment for a fresh set of clothes seemed like a waste of time when your heart was leading in the direction of Toph's place.

Besides, you’d rather just borrow one of her oversized shirts anyway, it smelled more like home than anything you owned anyways.

The hallway in the complex was quiet, the air inside the building felt charged with all the words you havent been able to say in your letters. It felt like you were stepping into a sinkhole of your own making. It was well into the evening, dinner time to be exact and you found yourself praying to the spirits that she was actually home and not still buried in paperwork at the precinct.

As the door came into view, your pace quickened, the thud of your boots echoed off the walls in the hallway. You didn't knock. You didn't wait. You pulled out the key Toph specially made for you that felt like a piece of her trust in your palm and turned it in the lock.

The silence of the apartment was heavy, but it wasn't empty. You spotted her bag slumped over the back of the couch and the discarded pile of her RCPD uniform on the floor. Which was a good sign, it meant she’s been home long enough to strip off the chief persona, but not long enough to settle the restlessness you could feel vibrating through the walls.

The click of the lock as you shut the door behind you sounded like a small bomb going off in the quiet room. You dropped your bag right where you stood, not caring that it cluttered the entryway. Your only focus was the shadow of her in the next room.

The scent of her shampoo, floral and crisp hit you the moment you stepped into the hallway. It was a domestic, intimate smell that made your chest ache even more. You pushed the bedroom door open just a crack, the light from the hallway spilling across the floor.

There she was.

She looked softer like this, hair damp and clinging to her neck, one of your old shirts that you left snug around her. Seeing your clothes on her, the silent admission that she’d been reaching for you while you were gone nearly broke your resolve.

Toph didn't turn around. She didn't offer a snarky comment or a welcome home. She just moved with a deliberate, quiet huff, climbing onto the bed and curling into the covers, with her back to you.

The silence in the room wasn't peaceful, it was filled with the weight of everything she wasn't saying. If you didn't know any better, you would probably think she just looked tired after a long day. But you could see the tension in her shoulders as she stiffly lay there. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the mattress so she wouldn't have to acknowledge the frantic, hopeful rhythm of your heart echoing through the floorboards.

You moved, stripping down to just your under garments, not wanting the outside clothes to touch the clean sheets. As you crawled onto the mattress, the bed groaned under your weight, but Toph remained a statue, her back still turned to you. It was only when you moved to straddle her, settling onto her lap with your thighs on either side of her hips, that you felt the sudden, sharp intake of her breath.

Being this close, you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, but more importantly, you could feel the tension. Toph's hands clenched into fists at her side, she was worrying her lip between her teeth so hard she nearly drew blood.

Over the years you have seen her run into collapsed buildings without blinking, stand toe-to-toe with the most dangerous benders in the world with her jaw set and her stance unbreakable. But here, with you in the quiet of her bedroom, stripped of her uniform and her bravado, she looked dangerously close to shattering.

You don’t think you have ever seen her look this fragile. You lifted your hand, fingers curling around her chin as you gently turned her head, forcing her to face you. Seeing those milky eyes usually so full of fire and defiance beginning to water had your heart breaking into pieces.

“Toph...” You breathed her name, the sound laced with an affection that bordered on reverence as you searched her face. “Tell me what's wrong.”

The sound of your voice, so gentle and familiar, seemed to act as a final blow against a weakening dam. She flinched, her breath hitching in a way that sounded like a sob she was trying to turn into a growl.

“What's wrong?” She repeated, her voice cracking as she finally let out a watery laugh. She tried to pull her chin from your hand, not to get away, but to hide. You didn't let her, you needed her to know she couldn't run from this. “Everything is wrong! The city is too loud, this bed is too big, the apartment is too quiet and the ground... the ground felt like it was shifting under my feet for seven days because you weren't here to keep it still.”

It was probably one of the most romantic things she has ever said to you, but you knew better than to point it out. If you teased her or made it a thing she’d retreat and bury that rare vulnerability under a layer of sarcasm and stubborn denial.

So, you just listened. You let her frustrations bleed out, her words tumbling over each other as she struggled to navigate the storm of feelings she usually kept under lock and key. Toph was a woman of action, of force. But when it came to the messy, quiet complexities of the heart, she often felt like she was punching at shadows.

She was angry, not really at you, but at the power you had over her peace of mind. She hated that she couldn't just be fine on her own anymore. You had infiltrated every layer of her life. You were in the scent of her sheets, the walls of her home, and most inconveniently, the quietest parts of her heart. The truth was, Toph didn't know how to be the iron willed, brooding chief and the woman who wore your shirt to bed when you were gone just to feel close to you.

“I missed you too, you know.” You say softly, interrupting her downward spiral. The pads of your thumbs tracing her jaw. “It was hard being away from you for so long. All I could think about was what you were doing, how your day was, what you were feeling. I was driving myself and Katara insane.”

Toph’s eyes welled up, a single, silent tear finally breaking free and trailing down her cheek. The sight of it was so rare and so heavy with the weight of her loneliness it drew you in instinctively. You leaned forward and kissed it away, your lips lingering against her skin for a moment longer than necessary, just to let her feel the warmth and the promise behind the gesture.

When you pulled away, the space between you felt electric. Toph didn't move, she remained frozen in your hold, her breathing uneven as she processed the tenderness. The frustration that had fueled her all evening seemed to evaporate, replaced by a stunned surrender. She looked smaller in that moment, now that her damp hair was framing a face that had finally run out of ways to hide.

“I mean it, Toph.” You whispered, your voice sounding much louder in the quiet room. “I was a mess. Every time I looked up at the moon, I was just counting the hours until I could get back to you.”

“Good,” Toph finally whispers, though her voice is thick, “You should be miserable. It’s only fair.”

The soft laugh that escapes you vibrates against her skin as the last of the tension finally snaps. You never want to feel that distance again, or that hollow, aching silence that made the world feel like it was titled.

Toph’s arms wind around your waist with a sudden, desperate strength, hauling you flush against her until there’s no air left between you. She buries her face in the crook of your neck, her breath hot against your pulse. You stay rooted in her lap, letting her take what she needs.

Her hands weren't gentle, they moved with an urgency that she's rarely displayed before. They glide across your body, her palms calloused and warm, mapping every inch of your ribs and spine as if she were trying to memorize every curve through her fingertips. It felt less like a caress and more like she's reclaiming her territory, her nails occasionally grazing your skin to ensure that you’re solid, real, and most importantly hers.

“Mine,” Toph mutters against your skin, her voice muffled but fierce. “Don't you dare leave me again. I don't care how many patients need healing, I'm the one who's falling apart when you're gone.”

The room falls into a charged silence as you let her possessive words hang in the air. You don't answer her, you knew when she got like this she needed to feel the declaration of your love against her skin.

So you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was a soft, bruising collision of a week’s worth of unspoken longing. Toph's lips tasted of the kind of relief that only comes with you being home.

As your mouth moves against hers, your hands finally slide beneath the hem of your shirt that she’s wearing. The feel of her warm, toned skin against your palms sends a current directly to your core. You moan into the kiss and toph drinks it in, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue like she was starved and you were the only thing that could sate her hunger.

The feel of you pressing her into the mattress as you deepened the kiss had her entire body buzzing with need. Toph’s breath hitches in her throat, her head lolling back in total surrender as your thigh settles firmly between her legs, providing the solid pressure she’s been starving for.

Fresh tears sting Toph's eyes, blurring a world she already cannot see but now feels with so much clarity. She is moving against you with a frantic desperation now, grinding down onto your leg as if she was trying to carve her essence into your bones so you could never forget how it feels to have her against you. Every thrust was a silent scream for the relief her body has been aching for since you've been gone.

“Yes, just like that, baby,” You encourage against her lips, your voice a low, sultry vibration that shatters whatever remains of her restraint.

Toph’s hips stutter and hitch as you flex the muscle in your thigh, increasing the firm, unyielding pressure right where she needed it the most. She chases the sensation with a fevered desperation, her head pressing into the pillow as the pressure building low in her belly began to spread across her entire body.

“Are you going to come on my leg for me, pretty girl?” The question, the possessiveness of it nearly breaks her.

A choked, sobbing moan spills from her lips as her body goes rigid, her fingers clawing into your shoulders.

“Yes!” Her breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps, and she nods frantically, her forehead bumping against yours as you kiss her sloppily. “Fuck, I missed you so much baby you feel so good against me.”

You lift up, breaking the kiss just enough to see the flush spreading across her cheeks. Your hands roam back up her sides, tracing the lean muscle of her ribs before finally molding the soft swell of her breasts. The moment your fingers make contact, Toph arches sharply off the bed, her body a live wire of unspent tension that she knew only you could handle.

She continues to grinds her core against your leg with fevered thrusts, her movements desperate and uncoordinated as she tries to close every inch of space between you. You felt the sting of Toph's fingers as they dug into your arms with a bruising intensity. Toph hitches her hips higher, trying to swallow the solid strength of your thigh.

Your own breathing was ragged as you watched her become consumed by her pleasure, succumbing to the feel of you as she fucked herself against your thigh. You can see how close Toph was to shattering in the way her lips were parted in a silent, breathless plea.

You give her peaked nipple a sharp flick before rolling it between your fingers, applying just enough pressure to draw a sharp cry from her lips. Your own core aches, clenching around nothing as you watch Toph become completely undone right before your eyes.

“Baby-” She was grasping at your shoulders trying to pull you down onto her more so she could feel the full weight of you on top of her. “Please I need to feel you, I need more.”

Your hands were tight around her hips, fingers indenting the creamy skin there. You stilled her movements and Toph whined. Your eyes traveled down between your bodies that were still pressed together. Your entire thigh was coated with her slick, and the sight of it had you groaning deep in your throat.

Fuck, this woman was going to be the death of you.

You allow your fingers to trace a slow, deliberate line down the center of her body, your nails lightly grazing her skin and catching on the hard ridges of her abs. Toph's stomach flexes instinctively under your touch. Her labored breathing following the path of your hand, acting as a physical map of her anticipation.

When you finally reach the soaked lace of her underwear, a deep, guttural moan escapes you. You slide down the length of the bed, settling between her trembling thighs to hover over the damp, ruined silk of her underwear that was a direct testament of just how much she’s been aching for you since you've been gone.

Your nostrils flare as you lean in, the scent of her arousal overwhelming your senses as you press your face against the fabric of her underwear.

You bury your face in her soaked cunt, the bridge of your nose brushes against her clit through the thin fabric. Toph arches her back sharply off the bed, a low, involuntary sound vibrates in her throat because of how sensitive she is. Toph's fingers tangle desperately in your hair, her nails scratching at your scalp to pull you even closer to where she needed you the most.

“Please don't tease me.” She begs hoarsely.

“I won't." You breathed, voice wrecked. "I promise, I won't. Just let me admire you baby, it's been so long.”

You don’t wait another second, your flattened tongue darts out, licking a long stripe across the soaked fabric, right where the heat is most intense. The thin fabric only adds a rough, tantanizing friction that has Toph nearly screaming.

Every time your tongue swirls over her through the material, she jolts, her hips bucking upward in a rabid, clumsy attempt to meet the pressure. Her fingers still cling to your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she pulled. The combination of the heavy, wet heat of your tongue and the rasp of the fabric was pushing her over the edge far quicker, than you have ever seen her come undone before.

You continued to make out with her pussy, slow at first, before you couldn't take not feeling the warmth of her on your tongue anymore and you just about tore the fabric off of her and discarded it on the floor.

With the last barrier finally discarded, the cool air hit her aching cunt making her shiver despite the heat radiating between you. Toph’s breathing became a series of shallow, broken hitches as she lay exposed, her thighs wrapped around you trembling in need.

You moaned deep in your throat at the sight of her swollen pussy lips that were glistening like jewels with her slick heat. Her clit was erect, the bundle of nerves throbbing and begging for you to wrap your lips around it.

You kissed the inside of her thighs first, nipping and biting the skin there. You were savoring each quiver of her body, each tug in your hair, and desperate demand for you to stop teasing her.

You only give in to her after you are satisfied with the marks you left on her inner thighs. You paused only for a second, hovering just shy of where she needed you the most. You puckered your lips, blowing warm air on her dripping cunt in one last effort to tease her. Toph's toes curl against the matters, her entire body stiffening as she mewled.

“Baby please,” Toph whined, her breath hitching into a near sob as the pressure building inside her core becomes an unbearable ache. “Please, I cant take it-”

You responded by parting her lips with your fingers, licking a stripe up her soaked cunt to silence her cries. Toph’s warm slick coated your tongue and you moan at the taste of her. You pulled away just a fraction, your darkened eyes catching the string of Toph's wetness that dripped from your own tongue.

“God, baby. You're soaked its so fucking sexy.” You moaned, before diving back in with more fever.

Toph arches off the bed up into your mouth, her legs completely falling open as she offers herself to you. Your tongue delves deep into her folds sweeping her cunt as you feel the flutters of her pussy walls as they constrict.

A broken cry is forced from her lungs. Toph's head snaps back against the pillow as her fingers tighten their grip in your hair, pulling you closer with a strength born from her earthbending.

The feel of your warm, wet tongue against her needy cunt has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Toph begins to move with you, her hips lifting to meet every firm stroke of your tongue. It became a desperate dance, her breath coming in quick gasps as you finally take what’s yours.

Your fingers smooth over her hips before sliding upward, your palms spreading wide over her taut, trembling stomach. You interlock your fingers over her midsection, using the weight and grip of your hands to secure her firmly in place against the mattress as your tongue teased her entrance before slipping inside and curling.

“Yes! Your tongue is so fucking deep, baby.” Toph's entire body was twitching, her breath uneven and sharp, her thighs tightened around your head, as you fucked her deliciously with your tongue.

You used your waterbending to amplify each stroke of your tongue. Playing around with the temperature, cooling the slick just enough for her to thrust into your mouth.

You ate Toph out like she was a deity you were worshiping, with each flick of your tongue serving as a desperate devotion. You were continuing to fluctuate the temperature as you fucked her with a reverence that bordered on something holy. Every deliberate stroke you gave her was a silent prayer her body was openly receiving.

Your own wetness was dripping down your thighs as you watched the woman you love completely give herself to the divine weight of your focus. Her body shuddering as she began to believe in the devotion you’re pouring into her.

The room echoed with the wet sounds of your consumption as your mouth suctioned around her slit to apply more pressure as you ate her out sloppily. Her wetness covered your cheeks and dripped down your chin but you didn't stop, you wanted to be baptized in her essence to the point it became apart of you.

Another melodic sound escapes Toph then. Part sob, part moan as she tries to lift off the bed but your arms are locked around her midsection holding her in place. Toph's hands moved from your hair to press against your cheeks instead, guiding you even deeper into her cunt as you tongue fucked her. Your jaw was starting to ache but you were so drunk on her pussy and the sweet sounds that were coming from her parted lips that if you died in that moment you would die happily where you belonged.

“You fuck me so good baby, you're the best I've ever had ahh..”

Toph's hands release you, tangling in the sheets, and then a pillow, as they desperately search for something to anchor herself to as the world was currently spinning out of her control.

You watched, burying yourself deeper, before licking your back up to her pulsing clit. Your tongue swirls around the hardened bundle, flicking it, as your now chilled lips wrapped around the sensitive nerves, sucking hard. You used your waterbending to make the wetness that pooled in your mouth and coated your tongue vibrate. It was a electric thrum that grew with each pulse of her clit that you could feel with you blood bending.

“Oh my god, baby I-”

The release hits her like a physical shock, starting deep in her core and radiating outward in powerful waves that pulse against your tongue. Toph lifts her hips off the bed, a loud, broken, keening sound tore from her throat that was quickly muffled by the pillow she was biting down onto.

You watch as her hands clench around the fabric with enough force to nearly rip the seams of the pillowcase, her legs shake uncontrollably as her chest heaves with every rapid breath.

You slowed your strokes but didn't stop your ministrations, her slick pooled in your mouth and you moaned, relishing in the taste as you licked the heavy current seeping out of her. The sound of it vibrated against her cunt causing her thighs to clench around your head once again.

Toph’s body continues to shudder in powerful aftershocks well after her release, her muscles still twitching from the phantom vibrations of your tongue. As the tension finally begins to ease, you release your firm hold on her, leaning down to place one last kiss to her center, before trailing your lips along the sensitive skin of both thighs.

You slide back up her shaking body, the heat of your skin the only thing she can really register at the moment. When you finally capture her lips again, the kiss is different, no longer a demand, but a slow sensual joining of lips and tongue.

Toph had met you halfway, a long, content sigh sounding in her throat. Her arms, still weak, find their way around your neck, pulling you down as if she’s trying to merge her very breath with yours in the quiet air of the room.

Toph moaned at the taste of herself on your tongue, her hands gripping your shoulders before sliding down your back and over your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. She was already sliding your ruined panties down your legs, her fingers desperately searching for your slick heat.

Your forehead rests against hers, your breath coming out in hot, harsh breaths as you spoke. “Baby if you keep doing that I won't be able to stop and I know you need rest.”

“You need to come.” Toph breathed against your lips. Already pulling you down so your thighs could slip between hers, aligning your slit against hers. “I want you to come with me this time please?”

Hearing her beg, something she rarely does, breaks something deep inside you. Toph wasn't just asking, you knew what she really craved was the intimacy of it, feeling you close as you come together. You felt the heat of the night bleed away until all that was left was the lingering arousal and the profound love you both have for eachother. You could never deny this woman. As long as she was yours she would have everything she desires.

You press a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling the dampness off her skin that was your own doing. “Okay baby.”

You shifted, slipping a pillow under her hips to elevate them. You then hooked one of her thighs over your hip, aligning yourself until your sopping cunt was flush against hers.

“Fuck” Your chorused whimpers echoed in the room as you slid your wet center against her, rolling your hips before grinding down in quick burst.

Toph's fingers dug into your wrist as you pressed down into her, her leg hooked over your shoulder as you smeared your wetness all over her cunt.

“Spirits, you're so wet for me baby you're going to make me come again.” Toph says, her head was strewn back againt the pillows, her hair spawled across the sheets as the heat between you became smoldering.

You could feel her all over, the way her clit delved between your folds. The sounds of your combined wetness filled the room mingled with your ragged breaths. The intensity of it was enough to have your own thighs stuttering. Each drag of your clit against hers sent waves of pleasure that erupted throughout your entire body.

“You feel so good, baby. Fuck, you’re so wet and perfect against me,” You growl, the words thick with a hunger you can no longer contain.

Your hands tighten around her thigh, your fingers digging into the flesh there hard enough to bruise as your pace quickens to match her as she grinds up into you. You kiss her ankle, dragging your tongue along her calve as Toph's thighs started to shake, her breath catching as the press of your warm pussy against hers has her nearly vibrating off the bed.

She clings to you, her fingers curling into your shoulders as you rut against her. The air in the room was now filled with the desperate sounds of the both of you breaking.

“I love you-” Toph's voice breaks, the words dying in her throat as you grind against her with a raw, relentless pressure. “I love you so much fuck!”

Your hips buck, your pace quickening as you reach your own breaking point. “I love you too. Now come for me baby, I want your pretty pussy to come all over me.”

Toph shatters at the sound of the command with a sharp, piercing cry that is instantly swallowed by the force of your lips crashing against hers. The sound vibrates between you, raw and unbridled, as you roll your hips in a way that draws out every last wave of her orgasm.

You collapse forward, completely on top of her now as you rut into her with quick, powerful thrusts, every muscle in your body coiling until the tension snaps and your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your entire body shake. A deep, guttural sound is torn from your throat, muffled by the heat of the kiss, as you press yourself firmly against her.

For several long, breathless seconds, the world ceases to exist, there is only the pulse of your shared release and the crushing weight of your bodies merging into one.

You bury your face in the crook of Toph’s neck, both of your bodies slick with sweat and the lingering heat of your shared intensity. You’re panting, the air in the room was still thick and heavy from your release.

Toph’s hands move lazily up your spine, her fingers tracing soothing patterns that ground you both as a peacefulness settles in the room. She lets out a small, characteristic snort after a moment. Her voice was still breathy and rough from exertion as she spoke.

“Well,” Toph teased, you could feel the smirk playing on her lips, “That’s one way to make it up to me.”

You hum tiredly, the lazy patterns she’s tracing on your spine acting as a sedative. Between the grueling travel and the intensity of the night, exhaustion was finally pulling at you.

“Anything for my baby,” You mumble sleepily, your voice muffled against her skin as your eyes drift shut. “I hope you’re comfortable, because I’m not moving.”

When she spoke next, her voice was a rare, soft hum, a sound Toph reserves only for the quietest hours of the night, exclusively for you.

“It’s okay, my love,” Toph reassures, her words a warm breath against your temple. Her arms tighten around you, pulling you into the solid safety of her embrace as if she’s shielding you from the rest of the world.

“Go to sleep,” Toph whispers, her fingers continuing their slow patterns against your back. “I’ll be right here holding you when you wake.”

Now secure in her hold and her promise settling in the air around you, the last of your exhaustion finally takes over. As you drift off to sleep the room fades into a peaceful silence, leaving only the synchronized beat of your two hearts.

you restlessly wandered around the castle that entire day. you usually spent your time in the sweet confines of your room, entertaining yourself with needlework or piano practice, but since you had a knight on your heels today — and a very annoying one at that — you decided to tire him out yourself, refusing to linger too long in one place.

what kind of knight would be happy about having to follow a spoiled princess all day through the most mundane of tasks? maybe if you kept this up, he’d back out himself, and your father would have nothing left to say, no more options to offer you. you snickered to yourself at how genius this plan was.

that is, until you’re the one who gets tired first. you’d been waiting for a reaction, a quip, a question— anything! anything so you could scold him for talking back to you or kicking him out.. but he simply stood up whenever you did, kept watch whenever you sat, all while keeping the safe distance you requested without a word.

this pissed you off. why was he giving you nothing to complain about?

“princess,” that low, smug voice pitched up again, “you seem out of breath. may i suggest a break?”

you scoff, getting up once more, wiping at the forming sweat on your forehead, “silence. i have no idea what you’re talking about. i want to walk more; i want to run, actually. is there a problem?”

a muffled chuckle slipped through the cracks of his armor, “none at all. lead the way, your highness.”

you mumbled a curse under your breath, picking up the pace as you raced through the corridor, casting furtive glances at him behind you. ugh, was he not the least bit inconvenienced? he had to be. you wished he didn’t wear that huge helmet covering his entire face, so you could at least see if there was any hint of irritation in his features. why were even his eyes hidden? you’d never seen a knight covering their eyes. his main purpose was to serve and fight, so how do you do that without your sight?

after some more laps up and around the castle, you stop at the back garden, panting heavily as you lean your weight against a wall, watching the sun set in a pool of pink and orange.

“.. are you sure you’re fine, princess?” the question is so rhetorical, so cocky, you feel more heat flood your cheeks along with the flush of all that running.

you pointedly glare at him, chest heaving with exhaustion, “ask me that one more time, and i will have your head.”

“so hot-tempered,” toph sighs, shaking his head, “no wonder you need a knight, princess. you wouldn’t last a day on the battlefield with such a short fuse.”

now that hit a nerve. a particularly sensitive one at that. you absolutely fucking hated when a man commented about your strength so matter-of-factly, when he had no way to know that through a simple exchange with you. seriously, he would’ve never said that if you weren’t a woman!

“listen here, you little shit.” the informal term slips out, too angry to think it over, as you quickly step over to where he stood. if metal wasn’t covering his whole fucking face, you would’ve given him the slap of the century. you settled on giving him a rough shove to the chest, though he only budged a bit, “don’t get too arrogant around me, you fool. you men are all the same! all pigs, overly confident and entitled, thinking the only show of strength is brute forcing your way through ranks of enemies— ah ah!”

you cut him off when you hear the hint of a confused protest about to leave his lips, shoving him again, “no! silence from you! i will not take any more of your disrespect, much less your sexist bullshit. father might like you, but i don’t, and i never will. i will be sending you off tomorrow and i hope to never see your face again— well, not like i can see it anyway! why are you even wearing that!? your gear’s ridiculous, i have never seen anybody as pretentious as you! you think you’re so—”

“hey!” his voice rises over yours, and as offended as that gets you, the assertiveness of it makes you falter for a second. he seizes that brief moment to interject, “you’re spiraling, your highness. you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. the thing is—”

“s-shut up!” you spit out, even angrier at his dismissal. he was just your fucking average male! acting so superior over you, like he was the voice of reason while you were just some hotheaded little girl, like he had you all figured out already! tears pricked at your eyes from the rage bubbling up inside you, but you refused to show weakness in such a crucial moment.

“you will regret this, i swear to you!” you give him a final shove, this time with both hands to make him fall a step back, then break into a run.

“don’t follow me!” you bark, even though you knew that order wasn’t going to be followed. you bunched up your dress over your knees, running out the back gate, ignoring his attempts at calling you back.

you disappear into the neighboring woods, deciding to use the trees to lose him. you ran until the clanking of his armor faded into the background, before taking cover under a leafy tree’s shade. you curled up on yourself, back against the bark, hugging your knees to your chest. you often sulked in this forest after an argument with your father, hiding from him until you cried it all out, and this occasion felt fitting too.

you felt a little ashamed for being so upset over such an irrelevant person, who didn’t deserve your tears in the slightest, but hits to your womanhood like these never failed to make you cry. maybe you overreacted, maybe you were too sensitive, but so what? it didn’t matter right now. you rested your face on your knees, a small hiccup leaving your throat. then a whimper, then a garbled sound, then you were sobbing, muffled by the heavy fabric of your dress.

minutes trickled by, and the sky darkened into more purple hues, nightfall close. you rubbed your eyes thoroughly, glancing around at your surroundings. ugh, maybe you went in deeper into the forest than you usually did. it’d be better to get a move on before everything goes dark.

but the second you shifted on the ground, your ears picked up on the sound of leaves crunching. the sound grew clearer and closer, heavy footsteps approaching you. you curled up on yourself again, pressing your back flush against the bark of the tree as you frantically wiped at your puffy eyes.

they came to a halt right behind you. you swallowed, huffing to try and conceal your hoarse voice, “leave me alone, toph. i’m not going back to the castle with you.”

“is that so?”

“very much s— huh?” you didn’t recognize that voice.

your blood ran cold immediately, quickly jumping out of your place to face them.

“a lost princess in the wild,” the silhouette approached you, a pleasantly surprised expression on their face. “i can hardly believe it. does your daddy know you’re here?”

when the man leaned down, sizing you up with his gaze, you felt terror seize your limbs. there was no way this was happening. you always came here and left safe and sound. spirits, just how deep into the woods did you go?

you crawled back, eyes blown wide in bewilderment. “d-don’t you dare come close to me. i’ll have you publicly executed.”

“i won’t hurt you, i promise,” he knelt by your side, an unsettling smile on his lips as his gaze sweeps over the outlines of your body, his hand sliding up your shin. a dreadful, dreadful shiver went up your spine. you immediately flipped over to quickly crawl away from his grasp, when a calloused hand drags you back to him by the ankle. the realization sets in, and you let out a shrill scream.

“shh.. don’t be so loud. i said i won’t hurt you,” the man tutted, grabbing both your legs to pull you closer to him, your dress riding up.

this wasn’t happening. this wasn’t happening. you’d heard the awful stories, but never in your life did you think someone as protected as you would ever have to worry about this. your vision got blurry from the tears welling up, jaw hung open in shock, lips quivering, completely paralyzed. you couldn’t move at all.

“d-don’t—” you pathetically stammered, tears streaming down your face, uselessly squirming as his touch travelled higher and higher. “please—”

you don’t understand what happens the following minute.

one second, you were helplessly watching his hungry smile, hands slowly pushing your legs open; the next second, you swore you saw his head fly off for a millisecond, but before you could even process if that was true or just wishful thinking, a thick burst of blood hit you right in the face, splattering all over your eyes.

that confirmed your doubts, and it took you over five seconds to remember how to breathe.

you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, slowly cracking them open. oh god. between your legs was now a decapitated man, blood gushing out in small fountains from where his head once rested. the sight broke you out of your stupor, adrenaline rushing back through your veins, and you screamed, kicking the body off you as you shakily sat up, utterly confused and terrified.

you only managed to rip your gaze off the gorey scene before you when the sound of a blade slicing through the air reached your ears.

you looked up to the source of the sound by your side, a big, armored figure looming over you. even though you recognized that familiar gear very well, your mind couldn’t fathom the fact that the intimidating person before you — droplets of blood trickling down the tip of their sword — was the very toph beifong you hung out with only some time ago.

he seemed so different, so out of reach. so unlike the annoying guard you knew.

his head turned to face your way, and you gasped, a new wave of fear rolling off your bones.

he stared at you for so long you half thought he was going to kill you too, until the blade suddenly dropped to the ground with a soft clink. you swallow, unable to look away, scared of his next move. this was all your fault— you ran off like a little child, almost getting yourself into your worst nightmare, and you made him kill. you made him kill.

he took a step closer to you, and you crawled back too, elbows digging into the dirt, lip trembling.

he stops in front of you, and your heart feels like it’s about to break out of your ribcage and fling itself off to the next planet. you flinch when his hands move, but they only land on his helmet.

you blink.

you watch it slowly slide off his head, a lump forming in your throat.

your breath audibly hitches, eyes blowing wide open.

long, black hair unrolls in thick curls and cascades down his back like a river of night, the rising moon gently highlighting his features. your sight adjusts to the setting darkness, analyzing his face — pretty lips tugged into a serious frown, a delicate nose slightly scrunched up in irritation, milky eyes glaring down at you — then a startled gasp slips out of your lips.

toph beifong was no “he”.

“about what you said earlier,” her voice makes you jump, the tone so low and serious and obviously female without the distortion of the armor, “here are your two answers. one, i’m not a man.”

“and two,” she leans down to your height, looking at some place a bit over your shoulder. “i don’t cover my eyes because i’m pretentious. i’m blind.”

you could only stare at her, mouth wide open but no sound coming out of it, too overwhelmed.

so much was happening all at once, you didn’t even get over your shock of being attacked by a man in the woods, and now you were trying to process that he was dead, bleeding out next to you, and you were saved by your knight. your valiant knight who turned out to be a blind woman.

“nevermind that,” she interrupts your train of thought, hands finding your shoulders, a deeply upset and frustrated expression on her face, “was i too late? are you okay? did that trash touch you? where?”

“i..” you trail off, lost for words. there was so much to be said, so much to process, so much to understand.. but when she soothingly rubs your back, all goes out the window and you break into a sob again.

funny how the very reason you even landed yourself in this situation was to avoid crying in front of her — or him, you thought then — and there you were now, bawling into the crook of her neck, armored arms holding you tight as she cradled the back of your head.

“he’s gone,” she whispers in your ear, running her metal-clad fingers through your hair, “he’s gone. for good.”

you were too far in to stop now, clinging to her tighter as you sobbed your heart out, fingers failing to curl around the metal of her gear. you could only cry in her arms for a while, even as the sky turned a charcoal black, both of you only illuminated by soft wisps of moonlight.

“i-i’m sorry,” are the first words you mumble, wiping your snot as you lift your head from her neck. you look up at her, and she only sighs, rubbing your scalp, “we’ll talk about this later. just hold onto me for now.”

her touch leaves you soon after, and you almost whimper at the loss, but when she stands up, you’re instantly picked up again, cradled in her arms.

the moon’s glow hits her right in the face at this angle, and you can only stare in awe, her long black hair blowing with the wind, sightless eyes sternly set forward, the femininity of her features warring with the image you had set of her.

“hold on tight,” she orders, and your arms loop around her neck immediately. you feel her foot repeatedly swipe over the ground, confusing you, until she feels the path of footsteps she left coming here. she begins walking, and your gaze drifts to the severed body over her shoulder.

you swallow, hesitant. “t-toph? are we just going to leave h—”

“the king will see to it.” her words are short and curt, spoken with such authority, worthy of a royal. you nod weakly, choosing not to push the matter any further.

“his majesty will agree with me,” she adds, tone lighter when she feels the tension in your muscles, “don’t worry, your highness. that scumbag does not deserve to live.”

you stay quiet for a little while, the clanking of her steps filling the background while you process your emotions.

“i..” you start, arms tightening around her neck as you chew on your bottom lip. “t-this never happened to me before. i.. i was so scared.”

“i know,” she says it so softly you almost want to cry again, “i know.”

you continue, voice breaking a little, “i.. i just never thought this would happen to me. and even if it did, i didn’t think i’d be so.. weak. i didn’t even put up a fight. i couldn’t move at all, my limbs felt so heavy, everything moved so slowly. maybe you were right, i’m not as strong as i think i—”

“hey.” she cuts you off, stopping in her tracks to look down at you. “don’t you dare say that. i didn’t mean what i said earlier that way, i’m sorry, i did not realize my poor wording. you’re not weak for not fighting back. you just froze, and that’s not your fault. you can’t predict how your body will react in surprise situations like these. you survived this, and that alone is proof of your strength. this was traumatic, so cut yourself some slack.”

for someone who pridefully refused to cry in front of other people, you managed to do the opposite of that over and over again this night.

she silently let you soak her neck, carrying you back home, mercifully not prodding further or showing you condescending pity. by the time you emerge out of the woods, you’d basically shed over a month’s worth of tears.

“w-wait, don’t go into the castle yet,” you try and rub off the evidence of your crying, and she patiently waits, feet anchored in the ground as she holds you.

her legs must be cramping from how long you had her stay still, and yet she did not complain. you gazed up at her, taking in her steely features, not a hint of discomfort in them.

you let out a shaky sigh, tapping her arm, “thank you, you can put me down now.”

“i’d rather not,” that makes you do a double take, looking back up at her, puzzled. she nods, “if you’ll let me, my mind will be more at ease if i take you to your chambers myself.”

you blinked, a blush creeping up your face at how she said that with a straight face. a knight personally taking you to your room?? how scandalous.. but now that you mulled it over, that was mainly under the assumption that all knights were male. you looked away, cheeks a little flushed, “i-i suppose i can allow that.”

she was a woman, so it was fine, right? the thought reassured you, but you didn’t know why it still had your heart racing.

you shamefully hide your face back into the crook of her neck, gasps and whispers filling the hallways as you pass them by. toph — whose face was only seen once in a blue moon — had ditched her helmet out in the woods, therefore many conspirational rumors started forming, some more ridiculous than the last. especially seeing you be carried as sweet as a doll, so unlike the fiery princess who adamantly refused help every time.

toph does not stop or pay them any mind, heading straight to your room. her stride is brisk and confident, and it now puzzles you further since you found out she was blind. how was she so good at it?

shifting your weight into one of her arms, she opens your doors with her now free hand, walking into your opulent chambers.

“where’s your bed, princess?” the innocent question makes your heart skip a beat, cheeks flushing deeper as you tried pushing your weird thoughts away. “j-just walk straight, then slightly to the right.”

the plush mattress sinks slightly under your weight, her arms finally detaching from you. you look up at her, uncharacteristically flustered. she then kneels between your legs in front of you, expression serious but gentle, “how are you feeling?”

you swallow, nodding, “good.. thank you.”

there was so much to thank her for, really. and you didn’t know where to begin.

you felt so embarrassed; not only did you throw completely off the mark insults at her, you gave her extra trouble by escaping so far into the woods — the fact that she found you even though blind baffled you — then having her slice off a man’s head, then carrying you all the way back home, all while offering you incredible reassurance and support through it all.. yeah, so much to thank her for. you really fucked up big time.

you take a deep breath, “um.. i’m s—”

“i’m sorry,” she interrupts you, tone airier than before, earning a quizzical “huh” from you. she gives you a small knowing smile, almost smug, “please forgive me princess, it seems i’ve broken all your rules. i followed you, didn’t stay five feet away from you — hell, i even had the audacity to barge into your room. i’ve truly gone and done it, haven’t i?”

confused was too small a word to describe how totally lost you were. what was she doing? what the hell was she talking about?

she feels around for your hand, then brings it to her lips to press a tender kiss there. “forgive me for being such a bad knight, your highness. i really, really hope you give me a second chance. i’ll prove myself better to you, so please keep me as your knight.”

your face scrunched in confusion, her words making no sense at all. after several seconds, it finally clicked.

she didn’t want you to feel like you were indebted to her. she didn’t want your confidence to be knocked down a peg as gratitude, or having you think she was pitying you. because in that change of your behavior, today’s events would be reinforced into your mind, and you would remember them in your every interaction with her.

she wanted to pretend this occurence never happened.

she had just killed for you, and she didn’t want to use that as leverage? she could have you — the kingdom’s princess — putty in her hands, reminding you of this deed if you ever gave her a hard time.. but she chose not to? she deliberately doesn’t want your gratitude?

“i..” you frown; you at least wanted to apologize once. “but i am sor—”

“oh, your highness!” she dramatically interrupts you, nuzzling your hand like an overjoyed puppy, “you’re too kind! really, what do you have to apologize for? you truly are the greatest. you’re so—”

“stop it!” you cringed, flushing red with embarrassment, “i just want to say sor—”

“ahhhhh!” she cuts you off again, grabbing your hand with both of hers now, “you’re too nice! too nice, your highness!” she’s practically screaming now, humiliating you further with the exaggerated show of devotion as she rubs her face against your palm.

“alright, alright! enough of this!” you whine in defeat, red as a tomato, prying your hand off her grasp.

she chuckles, ceasing her theatrics, and gives your leg a light tap, “good girl.”

you huff, silently watching her for a while, a million emotions coursing through you. but really, you were very grateful for this. she just witnessed you at your weakest, and didn’t use it against you — and for that, she earned your highest respect.

never in your life had you cried in front of someone, always putting up a mean rock-hard front, keeping your feelings to yourself— and if you eventually had to cry in someone’s arms, you were glad it was her.

it felt like a huge blow to your pride, so you were glad she genuinely did not intend to give you a hard time about it.

she rests her cheek on your knee, a smirk tugging at her lips, “so? do you forgive me, pretty princess?”

“p-pretty princess?” you stammer, flustered, then scoff, “you can’t even see me. how would you know i’m pretty?”

“oh, i just know you are.” she nods solemnly, “i can sense it.”

you raise your brow, a little curious, “you can sense beauty?”

she laughs, grinning up at you, “no. how would that even work? are you that gullible?”

you groan, blushing harder, and nudge her off your knee, “leave!”

your heart felt so much lighter now. you never thought you’d be grateful for how obnoxious and annoying she was, but this banter brought back an air of normalcy, slowly soothing you into forgetting all the earlier events.

she finally stands up, brushing some of her hair off her face, “though, i am wounded, princess. you thought i was a man this whole time?”

“ah..” you look away, abashed, “i-i didn’t—”

she sighs loudly, throwing her head back, “for someone who took that much offense in my apparent ‘sexism’, you surely played right into it.”

if you weren’t red enough, now you definitely were. steaming, even.

“t-that’s not the same! i just thought—”

“that’s what they all sayyy..” she drags the word, wiping her imaginary tears, “of course, a knight is always a man. never a woman, stupid weak women.”

“stop ittt!” you kick at her armored legs, your blush growing more pronounced as she lets out a booming laugh.

she leans down to your height, a devious smirk on her face, “so? what do you think of me now, hm? your father’s best knight is a woman, and a blind one at that. really cool, huh? got a crush on me now, i bet?”

now without the helmet, you could slap her. you pushed her face away from you, your hand splayed over her eyes, “l-leave me alone, fool!”

“alright then,” she fake pouts, standing back up straight. “need me to stay the night? cuddle you and sing you a lullaby?”

“.. get out.”

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