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texting loser!ellie that you have n!pple piercing in class 5
nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader
bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.
masterlist
“Bitch, you better be joking,” you muttered under your breath, still gripping the steering wheel as you stared wide-eyed at the massive colonial house in front of you.
Ellie raised an eyebrow, already halfway out of the car. “What?”
“You live here?” you blinked at her, completely dumbfounded. “I pass by this house every day. I thought some retired judge or old money CEO lived here. You’re telling me you live here?”
Ellie shut the car door behind her, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. “My grandparents own it,” she said, casual as ever, like the pillars on the porch and the ivy-draped brick weren’t screaming generational wealth.
You followed her up the path, still half in disbelief. “So like… you’re rich-rich?”
Ellie threw a look over her shoulder, half-smirking. “You said that like you’re not.”
“That’s not the point,” you shot back, stepping into the house like you were stepping into a dream. The air smelled like pinewood floors and something faintly floral—clean, expensive, and lived-in. “I loved this house. I’ve loved this house since I was, like, ten. I used to imagine living here.”
Ellie laughed, locking the door behind you. “Yeah? Guess you manifested this group project then.”
You spun slowly where you stood in the foyer, taking everything in. “Shut up. This is insane. I genuinely thought this place belonged to, like, a state senator.”
She shrugged. “Close enough. My grandma’s mean enough to be one.”
Ellie led the way upstairs, the steps solid beneath your feet, the bannister polished to a shine. You trailed behind her, eyes scanning every framed painting and antique light fixture like you were walking through a museum.
She pushed open a door near the end of the hallway and stepped aside. “Uh… make yourself at home, I guess,” she muttered, scratching the back of her neck.
You stepped inside and looked around, slow and curious. It was like walking into Ellie’s brain—quiet, thoughtful, full of little obsessions. The walls were painted a soft sage green that warmed in the late afternoon sun spilling through two wide windows, their white curtains swaying gently in the breeze from a cracked-open pane.
The room was spacious and organized but clearly lived in. A plush, cream-colored sofa sat beneath one of the windows, half-draped with a knitted throw. Nearby was a sleek study desk—minimal but well-used—covered with neat stacks of notebooks, a digital tablet, and a mechanical keyboard that softly glowed. A small but powerful PC setup occupied the far end of the desk, dual monitors angled just right, wallpaper rotating slowly through constellations and galaxies.
You turned slowly, letting your gaze settle on a tall glass cabinet against the far wall. Inside, dozens of small figurines stood in tidy rows—dinosaurs in different colors and sizes, some realistic, some clearly stylized. A few of them had tiny chips on their edges, signs of years of care and collecting rather than neglect. One had a bent tail that made you smile.
“I didn’t know you were this much of a dinosaur girl,” you said.
Ellie was at her closet, kicking off her sneakers. “I was obsessed for a while,” she mumbled.
You moved closer to a nearby shelf, lined with hardcovers—space encyclopedias, sci-fi novels, and what looked like Ellie’s old astronomy notebooks stacked in a row. A small solar system model sat at the end, its planets perfectly aligned. You gently tapped the base and watched them rotate, slow and precise.
“You’re, like… a full-blown space nerd.”
Ellie shrugged, half-smiling. “I like stars. And planets. And stuff.”
In the corner rested a black acoustic guitar on a mahogany stand, a patterned strap loosely draped over it. Next to it, under the windowsill, sat a low wooden crate filled with vinyl records, their covers carefully arranged. A small speaker setup stood nearby, connected to a vintage-looking turntable.
You smiled as you traced your finger along the edge of a record sleeve. “I didn’t expect this.”
Ellie raised a brow. “What’d you expect?”
You looked around again. “I don’t know.”
That made her smile, just a little. “You saying you’re impressed?”
You shrugged. “Maybe.”
You let your eyes roam one more time—across the sunlight on the hardwood floors, the cabinet of dinosaurs, the calm glow of her screen-saver, the way everything felt exactly like her—and then turned to her.
Still smiling, but with a slight shift in your tone. “Will you marry me someday, Ellie?”
Ellie blinked. A beat passed. Her brows pulled together in that way she had when she was trying to tell if you were serious.
“No.” She frowned softly.
You scoffed, placing a hand over your chest. “Ouch.”
Ellie cracked a smile, dropped her bag beside the bed, and flopped down onto the mattress like she was trying not to look at you. “You just want the house.”
“Obviously.” You sat at the edge of her bed, fingers brushing lightly over one of the velvet pillows. “I’d treat her so well.”
“She’s not a person.”
“She’ll be everything to me.”
Ellie glanced at you, shaking her head with a barely-there grin.
Working with Ellie for the past week had actually been… easy. Surprisingly easy, if you were being honest.
She’d disagree with your ideas sometimes—always with that slight squint of her eyes, arms crossed like she was mentally sorting through what she was about to say. But she always heard you out first. Every time. Even when she clearly thought your suggestion was insane. Especially when it was insane.
Except that one time you suggested writing the entire novel in second person, with multiple timelines and unreliable narrators. She didn’t even entertain that one. Just stared at you for a full three seconds before muttering, “God help me,” and going back to outlining the plot like she hadn’t heard you at all.
Aside from that, though, she was surprisingly agreeable. Focused and quiet, unless she was explaining something or making a snarky comment.
And oh, she's incredibly easy to pick on.
You’d learned that by day two.
There was something about the way she always lined up her pens or re-highlighted things that were already highlighted—little habits that made it way too tempting to mess with her. Like when you started moving her bookmarks just an inch to the left every time she wasn’t looking.
She noticed. She always noticed.
“The hell is wrong with you?” she whispered once in the middle of class, narrowing her eyes as she fixed it for the third time that day.
You had just smiled sweetly. “Just keeping you on your toes.”
“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, and didn’t speak to you for the entire English class that followed, even though you sat directly beside her.
It kind of became your thing after that—poking just enough to get a reaction, then spending the rest of the day slowly earning her tolerance back.
Not that she ever seemed really mad. She’d roll her eyes, tell you to shut up, shove her sleeve over her mouth like she was hiding a smile. And by the time your next meeting rolled around, she’d be exactly the same again—pen in hand, posture stiff, pretending not to look at you first.
Ellie had barely set her laptop down before saying she was going to grab snacks.
“Be right back,” she mumbled, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands as she left the room.
You nodded, watching her disappear down the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence felt sudden. The occasional creak from the hallway. Afternoon light painting golden lines across the floor.
You pulled your phone from your pocket and tapped it awake.
Still nothing.
You opened your last conversation with E, thumb hovering over the screen.
you:
i kinda don’t want to have lunch today..
but i also haven’t had breakfast
whatever
That was hours ago. And E hadn’t even left you on read—just nothing at all.
Your eyes scanned the rest of the thread—long, tired little chains of conversation that started somehow and never really ended. Late-night check-ins. Stupid memes in the morning. A “good luck” before class. Each photo you sent—whether it was your face half-buried in a hoodie, a thigh pic under your desk in class, or a cropped mirror shot angled just right to show your waist, the subtle curve of skin beneath your shirt—always got something back.
Sometimes even the ones where your top had slipped lower, nipples visible, the tiny glint of silver from your piercings catching in the light.
But it was the fics that really did it.
The smutty ones. The dog-eared AO3 screenshots, annotated with unhinged commentary, sent half-laughing, half-serious. “ok but imagine this is us?”
And she would bite. Every time.
“You’re sick for this.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’m gonna dream about this tonight.”
She made it easy to keep wanting her. Easy to overshare. Easy to feel like you were wanted right back.
Talking to E had really become your favorite part of the day. A kind of warmth that reached into quiet parts of you no one else did. And it wasn’t even about what she said, always—it was just her. The feeling of being known by someone who didn’t ask for the clean version of you.
But sometimes, you notice the pattern.
The way she disappeared and went quiet. Left just enough space between replies to make you feel like maybe you were doing too much.
Or not enough.
Something in her tone that made you reread it three times and still not be sure if she was pulling away or just tired.
You didn’t want to be the kind of person who obsessed over gray bubbles and silence. But here you were.
Thumb hovering again.
Typing. Deleting.
You locked the screen.
Ellie’s door opened a second later, followed by the rustle of a grocery bag and her voice—low and casual.
“Okay. I didn’t know what you wanted so I grabbed, like… every snack we had. And also a root beer I will probably not share.”
You turned in your seat, slipping your phone face-down onto the desk.
“That’s fair,” you said, smiling like nothing was stuck behind your teeth.
Ellie kicked the door shut behind her and dropped the snacks on the bed. “Also, if you eat all the cheddar popcorn, we’re done. That’s, like, the one boundary I have.”
You snorted. “Good to know you’re finally opening up.”
She raised a brow. “One time. One time I tell you I liked dinosaurs and you’re never letting it go.”
You grinned. “Never.”
You set your laptop on your lap, fingers hovering over the keys as you waited for it to wake. She’d claimed the sofa across from you, legs folded under her, root beer cracked open with a soft sound.
You glanced up for a second—just long enough to watch her sip it, the can tipped lazily to her lips, her focus already buried in the screen.
Your eyes flicked back to your phone, opening your conversation with E last night.
E:
i feel like you wear perfume just to ruin lives
you:
maybe i do. maybe i want your life ruined a little
E:
ok relax dark temptress
you:
say that again. slower
E:
shut up
you:
ur blushing
E:
i literally am
you:
i win
E:
i’m blocking you
you:
you always say that
u never do it though
ur obsessed
E:
it’s disgusting how right you are
A grin tugged at your lips before you could stop it.
Ellie glanced up briefly from her screen, root beer still in hand. “What.”
You shook your head quickly, too quick. “Nothing.”
She gave you a suspicious look. “You’re smiling like a creep.”
You tucked your phone under your thigh and lifted your laptop slightly. “No I’m not.”
“You are,” she said, dry. “If you start giggling and kicking your feet I’m unplugging the router.”
You snorted. “Let a girl have her delusions.”
Ellie rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. She turned back to her laptop and tapped a few keys, half-muttering, “Insufferable.”
You didn’t respond.
Instead, you unlocked your phone again and snapped a quick pic of you, laptop on your legs, lips curved in the softest almost-smile. The light was warm and flattering. Your hair is a little messy.
you:
im at my classmate’s house rn 😗
working on a thing
You hit send and waited, thumb hovering over the screen just a little longer than necessary. Nothing yet.
Across from you, Ellie’s brows flicked up—so quick you almost missed it. She's looking at her laptop like she’d just gotten a notification. But she didn’t say anything, didn’t look up. She quietly shifted slightly in her seat, set her root beer down, and kept typing.
So you went back to work too.
Or tried to.
You clicked into the doc, reread the last paragraph you wrote twice, pretended to focus. But your eyes kept drifting—screen, phone, screen again. The silence started to feel heavier.
You opened the chat again.
you:
i miss u :(
wife
You didn’t mean to stare at it that long. But you did. You just… sat there, screen dimming, thumb tracing over the side of the phone.
You didn’t really notice you were zoning out until you sighed—long, quiet, maybe just loud enough for Ellie to hear. She didn’t say anything. But a few seconds later, she stood.
“I’m gonna go get something,” she said.
You looked up. “Okay,” you said, voice soft and low.
She grabbed her phone from the table before walking out.
You sat there for a moment, blinking. Feeling the quiet settle again, too deep this time. Hating the way the room suddenly felt too big.
Then—
A buzz.
You scrambled for your phone.
E:
i miss u too :(
sorry just a bit busy with school stuff
The smile hit you before you could stop it.
you:
oh no
don’t be sorry
i totally understand hehe
but don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?
save some energy for me 🫶
You didn’t even look up when Ellie walked back in.
But if you had, you would’ve caught her pausing at the door—glancing over at you, then down at her screen before moving again. Like she wasn’t sure which part of her day she was more interested in.
You tried to focus on working again. Really, you did. Fingers moved over the keyboard, screen glowing softly, but your eyes kept drifting—just slightly—to your phone resting on the table. Still nothing new. Still sitting there, like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.
Across from you, Ellie had settled further into the sofa, her posture loose now. Laptop resting on her legs, hoodie sleeves bunched around her wrists. Her fingers clicked quietly against the keyboard, jaw soft with focus, root beer can now abandoned beside her.
You glanced at her once—just once—before biting your bottom lip and reaching for your phone again.
you:
do u wanna see me again?
You stared at the message for a second longer than you should’ve. Feeling the weight of it in your chest—hopeful and maybe a little reckless.
And then, without waiting for a reply, something tugged at your lips. An idea. The kind you didn’t bother talking yourself out of.
You stood, placing your laptop gently on the table.
“I’m gonna go use the bathroom,” you said, casual.
Ellie looked up, blinking like she hadn’t realized you’d moved. “Uh, sure—it’s just in the corner.” Her chin tilted toward the far end of the room, gesturing toward a white-painted door.
“Thanks.” You smiled, trying to keep it innocent, even as something smug curled under your words. You turned, walking off toward the door, heartbeat a little quicker now.
And behind you, you didn’t notice the way Ellie’s eyes followed you, lips caught gently between her teeth, wondering what exactly you were about to do.
You stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch sounding louder in the stillness. The mirror greeted you with your own reflection—flushed cheeks, slightly messy hair, eyes too full of something unspoken.
You set your phone on the sink and stared at yourself for a moment, lips twitching at the corners. You started posing—hands on your waist, a little tilt of your head, a soft pout. You ran your fingers through your hair, gave the mirror a wink, then laughed under your breath.
Off came the blouse—baby pink, loose and soft—leaving you in a delicate lace bra that matched your skirt a little too well. You leaned on the sink, bit your lip, and snapped a few mirror shots. Nothing too posed. Just enough.
A short clip followed—hair tousled, your hand brushing it back while you grinned at your own reflection. Just a second of warmth and soft vanity.
You selected your favorites and sent them.
you:
here’s for ur hard work today ;)
hope u like it
Before heading out of the bathroom, you typed out one last message:
you:
i’m gonna go focus now on our work
my partner’s gonna kill me for being on my phone too much
talk to u later 💋💋
You slipped your phone into your pocket, still grinning. When you opened the door, the smile softened—for a moment you just frowned, noticing the room was empty.
Ellie wasn’t there. Her laptop sat open on the coffee table, casting a faint glow over the sofa cushions.
You crossed the room, then straightened, deciding to find her.
“Ellie?” you called, voice low. The hallway answered with silence. Sock-footed, you drifted past closed doors, the house somehow too quiet.
Downstairs, you hesitated at the landing, then turned toward the kitchen.
Ellie stood at the sink, hoodie tossed onto the nearby table. She was in a black tank top now, shoulders taut, biceps flexed slightly as she braced both hands on the edge of the basin. A glass of water rested beside her. She bowed her head, then lifted it toward the wide window, as though trying to breathe.
“Ellie?” you tried again, softer.
She startled, fingers closing around the glass—only for it to slip from her grip and crash to the tile, water splashing everywhere.
“Shit,” she hissed, crouching.
“Don’t—” You hurried forward. “Let me. You’ll cut yourself.”
She froze, still crouched, hands hovering above the shards before pulling back. She didn’t look at you—or more like she couldn’t.
You grabbed a cloth, knelt, and gathered the larger pieces. Ellie straightened, leaning into the counter, her gaze fixed on a spot far ahead.
Glass disposed of, puddle mopped up, you rose and turned toward her. Her cheeks were tinged pink, jaw a little tight.
“Sorry you had to do that,” she murmured, finally glancing your way.
“It’s fine,” you said, giving a small nod.
You lingered there a second longer, eyes drifting. Ellie still wasn’t looking at you—not really—but you couldn’t help but look at her. The way she was leaning into the counter, arms behind her, her black tank top clinging to the curve of her shoulders. Her arms were more toned than you expected. Defined in a way that caught the light when she shifted, muscles flexing under skin.
You didn’t raise your brows, didn’t let your face say anything, but the thought crept in anyway.
She’s kind of… hot.
You cleared your throat softly.
“You okay?” you asked gently. “If you’re not feeling well, we can stop for today.”
She exhaled shakily, finally looking at you again—really looking this time.
Her gaze lingered. And then her lips parted, like she was going to say something else. Instead, she bit down gently on her bottom lip, shook her head, and pushed off the counter to walk past you.
“I’m going crazy,” she muttered under her breath as she brushed by.
You frowned as you followed her.
“You’re so weird, dude,” you muttered.
Ellie didn’t respond. Still in her black tank top and grey sweatpants, she headed upstairs, her shoulders tense. She plopped down on the sofa and pulled her laptop back onto her lap.
You followed her in and sat across from her again, settling your own laptop on your legs. But your eyes didn’t move to the screen just yet. They were on her.
She felt it.
After a few seconds, she finally asked—without looking up, voice too casual.
“What?”
You squinted slightly. “Nothing.”
Why was she suddenly being so weird?
You sighed and slid your laptop toward her, tilting the screen. “Read this.”
Ellie didn’t look at you. She just took it and started reading, her brows knitting together in concentration.
Her eyes scanned the text. Her lashes flicked. Her messy hair fell into her face again—she didn’t bother pushing it back. The scar above her eyebrow tugged faintly when she focused, and the line of freckles across her nose caught the light from the window beside her.
You stared a second too long.
And then looked away—too fast—like something in your chest stirred and you weren’t ready to name it.
You nodded toward the window, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.
“You ever use that to sneak out?”
“No,” Ellie said, still reading.
“Really? So you don’t sneak out at all?”
“Why would I sneak out?” she replied flatly.
You rolled your eyes. “Right.”
That got her to finally glance up. Brows raising.
You pulled your laptop back and placed it on your lap again. She shifted, eyes dropping back to her own screen.
“What?” she asked. “You’re suddenly interested in my social life now?”
You shrugged. “Just curious.”
You tried to go back to work. Tried. But your cursor blinked beneath a sentence that ended in the word kiss, and your mind trailed off again.
You glanced sideways at her.
“How about dating life?”
Ellie sighed, long and reluctant.
“Oh, come on,” you groaned. “I’m just making conversation. It’s awkward as hell in here.”
Still not looking at you, Ellie leaned back against the sofa, laptop balanced on her knees. “If you’re asking if I’m dating anyone, I’m not.”
You raised your brows. “Really?”
Then, after a beat—leaning in just slightly, eyes glinting—
“What’s your type, then?” you asked, tone casual, but your eyes didn’t leave her.
Ellie scoffed, still focused on her screen. “I hate it when you ask questions like that. It’s creepy.”
You rolled your eyes. “I asked what your type is, not if you believe in ghosts.”
She sighed like you were exhausting her, dragging her fingers across the trackpad. “I don’t know... but it’s definitely someone who isn’t as annoying as you.”
Your mouth fell open. “Fuck you. I’m not annoying. People literally beg to be around me.”
That earned a quiet scoff—like she remembered something, lips twitching faintly, her gaze still fixed on the screen. “Yeah, no. You’re a bitch.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Wow,” you muttered, like you were offended—but only a little. You stared at her for a second, then gave a small nod. “Fair.” You looked back down at your screen, typing a few lines just to give your hands something to do.
You turned back to her after a beat like you couldn't help it, wanting to ask something tugging inside your head, and maybe your heart. Your voice was calm but edged with something else.
“If I’m that annoying, would you rather have someone else as your project partner?”
Ellie looked up, finally meeting your eyes, a flicker of amusement breaking through her guarded expression.
“Yes.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Rude.”
You shrugged, settling back in your seat.
“It’s fine. I just know no one else has both an imaginative mind and looks like me. So, your loss, really.”
Ellie hummed, nodding slowly, like she was pretending to be thoughtful.
“Imaginative mind, yeah,” she muttered, eyes still on her screen—but her jaw shifted a little like she was biting back something else. Her mind clearly somewhere else.
You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she said, a little too quickly.
She didn’t look at you. She didn’t have to.
But she could still hear you in her head—your voice in those texts, the unhinged little messages from your secret account, the pictures burned somewhere behind her eyelids. And now you were just… here. Saying things like that. Teasing. Smiling. Still somehow not knowing.
She cleared her throat.
You smirked, just faintly. “Weird.”
Ellie shot you a look. “You’re the weird one.”
You raised a brow, clearly not believing that. But you dropped it for now and just rolled your eyes.
The silence stretched again. Just the quiet sound of keys tapping, the occasional shift of weight on the cushions.
Then Ellie spoke—low, almost too casual.
“How about you?”
You blinked, glancing up. “What?”
Ellie didn’t look away from her screen.
“Your type,” she said. “What is it?”
Your brain stuttered. For a moment, you felt your whole internal system freeze and reboot.
“Oh,” you said, voice a little too light. “I mean…”
You leaned back slightly, trying to play it cool, your fingers toying with the corner of your laptop.
“I guess I like someone smart. Like… nerdy, maybe.” You swallowed. “Not, like, pocket protector-nerdy, just… brainy. Sarcastic. Kinda mean.”
It was stupidly obvious who you were thinking about. E. You were literally just describing her.
Ellie’s eyes flicked up at that. Just for a second. Then back to her screen again.
You didn’t miss it.
You looked down quickly, suddenly shy, and not even sure why. Saying it out loud had felt bolder than you meant for it to. Too revealing. Too… real.
Wait.
Your fingers stilled on your trackpad.
Did I just describe—?
You glanced sideways.
Ellie was quiet, still working, her jaw resting lightly on the back of her hand as she scrolled through the doc. Focused, casual, totally unreadable.
But—
She was definitely a nerd. That much was obvious.
And sarcastic? Always.
Kind of mean? Especially when you teased her. Or suggested something vaguely unhinged to add to the project.
Your eyes drifted to her hands. Sometimes you saw silver rings on her fingers, glinting when she reached for something or tapped her screen. But today, they were bare. Still, you recognized the way her knuckles tensed when she got too focused.
You glanced around the room again—the constellations on her wallpaper, the dinosaur display, the well-loved sci-fi books. Her hoodie still tossed on the table downstairs, abandoned after she came to the kitchen like something had knocked the breath out of her.
Could it be?
You felt your chest tighten at the thought.
No. You shut it down immediately.
It’s impossible.
You bit the inside of your cheek, turning back to your screen like it had all the answers.
Ellie wasn’t like that.
She wasn’t that type.
She wouldn’t be the kind to—
You shook your head, jaw tight.
Stop.
You weren’t going there.
You slumped deeper into the sofa, already getting your phone on the table.
Maybe you were just bored. Or spiraling. Or looking for something you weren’t ready to find.
You opened E’s thread again. Still nothing since earlier. No “💋,” no typing bubble. No read receipt.
You chewed your bottom lip and typed anyway, feeling nervous.
You:
wyd rn
Sent.
Your eyes lifted, straight to Ellie.
She was still perched on the couch, posture relaxed with her laptop on her thighs. No shift in her expression. No glance in your way. Just her fingers moving across the keyboard like she hadn’t even noticed your presence, let alone a text.
You swallowed. Something in your chest tugged—tightly. Not hope. Not exactly. Just dread.
Then your phone buzzed.
E:
ran out for a sec
need to walk off this headache lol
You blinked. Without meaning to, your eyes immediately looked up to Ellie again.
Ellie didn’t move. Still typing. Still locked into whatever she was working on.
Another buzz came in.
E:
[Image attachment]
It loaded slowly.
A blurry sidewalk. A lamppost. Empty curb. Gray light stretched thin across cracked pavement.
Your stomach twisted.
You glanced back at Ellie. No change. No tells. Still in the same exact spot, brows drawn in quiet focus.
So… not her.
You let your shoulders relax, barely. A breath slipping out of you before you even realized you were holding it.
And yet—
Why did that feel like disappointment?
The thought didn’t even finish before another crashed in.
What if it had been her?
The idea alone sent a wave of heat and panic flooding up your spine. You tried to shove it down, but it lingered—rising anyway.
You thought about the photos you’d sent. The unfiltered, teasing messages. The fics. The way you flirted like it was a game, like it didn’t mean anything.
The idea that this girl across from you—Ellie, with her freckles and sharp tongue and dinosaur figurines—might’ve been on the receiving end of all of that?
Dread curled sharp in your chest. Embarrassment came right after—fast and bright and cloying. But beneath the dread, buried somewhere in the quiet crackle of your nerves, was something else.
Something you couldn’t name yet.
And that scared you most of all.
You unconsciously turned your attention back to your screen—anything to distract from the way your chest still felt tight.
Your breath caught as you stared at the screen in front of you.
The document was… gone.
One second it was there, the cursor blinking like normal—and the next, just a blank screen. The title still at the top, autosave icon spinning, but no text. Not even a draft in the history.
“Fuck.”
You said it again, louder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
Ellie looked up from her laptop, brows furrowing. “What happened?”
You angled your laptop slightly toward her, panic bubbling in your voice. “I don’t know—I didn’t touch anything. It just… disappeared.”
She didn’t answer. She stood wordlessly and walked over.
You barely had time to scoot forward before she was behind you—standing at the back of the sofa, leaning over. One hand braced lightly against the cushion beside your shoulder, the other already sliding across the trackpad.
You froze.
Her face was close. Closer than it had ever been. You could smell her perfume again—clean and soft, with something sharp underneath. Something citrusy and grounding, like cedar and white musk.
You didn’t mean to look at her, but your eyes flicked sideways.
Her focus was locked on the screen, brows drawn, lips parted just slightly in concentration. Her fingers moved with quick, confident precision across the keys. Her head was tilted down, so close to yours you could feel the whisper of her breath against your cheek every now and then.
You didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
Your own mouth parted—just a bit. The warmth between you was suddenly too real. And too loud.
She didn’t seem to notice.
Her right hand stayed pressed behind you on the couch for balance, close enough to feel the heat of her knuckles. You were caught—body still, heart sprinting, stomach twisted in something you couldn’t quite name.
This was fine.
This was just Ellie fixing the doc.
Except…
Except your mind wasn’t on the laptop anymore.
It was on the curve of her shoulder, the quiet sound of her breathing, the way she looked from this close—freckles soft across her cheek, scar curling slightly over her brow, lashes lowering as she focused.
“It’s fixed,” Ellie said simply, tapping a few final keys before standing like she hadn’t just made your heart try to break through your ribcage—and went back to her spot on the opposite sofa, resuming her quiet focus like nothing happened.
You just sat there.
Staring.
Your screen glowed in front of you, but your eyes didn’t register anything. Your heartbeat was still racing—loud, fast, confusing. You pressed your palm lightly to your chest, like you could calm it down through sheer will.
Damn it.
You only felt like this when E texted you something flirty. When she said your name in lowercase followed by a period.
So why the hell were you feeling it now?
You looked over at Ellie again, who was already typing like nothing happened. No trace of what just passed between you. No sign she noticed how close she'd gotten. How soft her voice had been. How her perfume still clung faintly to your nostrils softly.
What is happening to me?
You blinked and looked away.
Just as your heart finally started to settle, Ellie’s voice cut through the silence—calm, a little smug.
“You know, for a one-page document, you really freaked the hell out.”
You turned your head slowly, squinting at her. “It was deleting itself.”
She raised a brow, fingers still tapping away. “Mm-hm.”
You rolled your eyes, shifting your laptop back onto your lap. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish this at home and send it to you immediately, boss.”
Ellie looked up, deadpan. “Yeah, I doubt you’ll actually do that.”
You gasped, mock-offended. “What do you mean? I study at home. Like… all the time.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
Because okay, she wasn’t wrong. You did spend most of your time after class texting E. Not exactly studious behavior. But she didn’t know that.
Right?
You rolled your eyes, recovering. “Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot you’d rather have someone else do this project with you anyway.”
Ellie let out a short laugh, shaking her head with a smirk. “Yeah,” Ellie said, dry. “Someone who doesn’t scream bloody murder when their laptop hiccups.”
You glared. “I didn’t scream.”
“You said fuck three times—four times” she replied, raising an eyebrow.
Something about the way she said it—calm, flat, unbothered—made heat crawl up your neck.
Why the hell did that sound hot?
It was just a word. One you said. But hearing her say it, with that voice, that look—
You blinked hard and looked away.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
You were losing it.
You sighed as you slipped your laptop into your bag. So many things happened today. Well—not many, technically. You just spent it with Ellie. But still.
Why are you feeling like this?
Why did her fixing your document feel… hot? Why did the way she leaned in nearly knock the air out of your lungs? Why is she the one making your heart feel like it’s skipping steps?
Is it because the thought of her being E crossed your mind?
You glanced over.
Ellie was quietly gathering the snack wrappers, her back turned as she picked up the root beer can and half-eaten popcorn bag to bring them downstairs. The curve of her arm flexed slightly as she lifted the snacks, her black tank top hugging her back just enough to make your thoughts spiral all over again.
Her sweatpants hung low on her hips. Her shoulders were strong. Her posture effortless.
Fuck.
You needed to go home. You needed to get away from her.
I don’t like her.
You repeated that to yourself like it might cancel out whatever was happening in your chest.
When Ellie stepped out of the room, you nearly exhaled in relief.
The second the door clicked shut, the air felt easier to breathe. Like the heat that had been crawling up your neck finally backed off.
You grabbed your bag and headed downstairs. The sun was long gone, sky outside bruised and dark. You weren’t even planning on saying goodbye—just a quick escape.
But as you reached the foyer, she reappeared from the kitchen.
“Uh,” she started. “Can I ride with you? I just need to stop by the store.”
You froze for half a second.
“Uh… yeah,” you said, even though you absolutely did not want to.
“Great,” you muttered under your breath.
You stepped out into the night air, crossing her driveway toward your car as Ellie trailed a few steps behind you.
And even with all this distance, you still felt the press of her in your thoughts.
You drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes straight ahead. Ellie sat beside you, quiet. The car filled with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle when you turned.
On a normal day, you might’ve said something dumb by now. Something teasing or annoying. You’d poke fun at her playlist, or ask if she really believed Pluto shouldn’t be a planet. She’d groan and you’d grin.
But not tonight.
Not after… everything.
The silence settled too comfortably between you both.
She pointed when you reached the street corner. “There,” she said softly.
You pulled over by the small convenience store, the red glow of its sign washing over the dashboard.
She got out after muttering a simple “thank you,” the car door clicking gently shut. Still in that black tank top. Still completely unaware of what she was doing to your brain.
You watched her walk up the short curb. Then your gaze flicked to the two girls standing outside near the vending machine. One of them nudged the other, laughing softly under her breath. Their heads turned.
Staring at Ellie.
Your fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening just slightly.
They were checking her out. Of course they were. She looked like that.
You swallowed, jaw tight.
Why does it piss me off that they get to see her like that?
You blinked hard and shifted in your seat, willing yourself to breathe through your nose. Your foot tapped lightly against the gas pedal, like your body was ready to drive away before your mind gave permission.
But you didn’t.
You just sat there, staring out the windshield. Telling yourself not to care. Not to feel anything.
The interrupt system in mass effect is truly so good and I wish more games would utilize it. It helps the player feel like cutscenes are things they participate in rather than things they watch AND allows you to indulge in the desire to tell someone running their mouth to shut the fuck up
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Summary: Few people get second chances, and you were the one unlucky enough to get one in a whole new world away from your family, the Waynes. But when you return it comes as a shock, but what was more shocking was when you left, and only Damien remembered. Now you have to deal with the Wayne’s in your new universe, one not as kind as the last.
YN Pronouns: Female - She/Her
Disclaimer: This series is originally by @fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)
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People will say she was motivated by their tragic story (and it’s partly true) but in reality she just wanted an excuse to listen to that BoJack moment for 100 times on repeat
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Warnings: canon typical violence, Sam going a little mad
Summary: Ethan is your close friend, and he might be the only one who still trusts you. You know it makes you even more suspicious in Sam's eyes, you know Mindy will take it as confirmation, but you simply don't care. You just want this to be over.
Masterlist
You sit in the trunk of Sam's car, furiously rubbing blood from your hands. Mindy cries in Chad's arms, Tara hovering over them both. Sam's beside you, a cigarette clutched between her fingertips. She hasn't said anything since she dragged you out, carefully sitting you down and wiping your face clean before you scooted away from her, accepting some wet wipes and dissociating at the sight of your blood stained hands.
Your head is a little clearer now and you don't flinch when she starts cleaning the wound on your shoulder, blowing gently when you wince from stinging pain.
Body bags are rolled on stretches one by one. You look down when you see detective Bailey break down in the middle of the street.
But you can't look away from Mindy stomping your way after she's been patched up by the medics, murder in her eyes. She halts to a stop before you, hand poised for a slap. Sam pushes her away before she can land it. "What the fuck, Mindy?"
"Yeah, what the fuck? You're defending her?!" She shouts, furiously wiping away her tears. "It's her, don't you see?"
Her raised voice attracts unwanted attention, people start looking at you with furrowed brows and you see a blonde woman take a few notes in her notepad.
"She made her go, Sam! If it wasn't for her Anika would be here," she breaks down in a sob, falling to her knees. Chad follows her, hugging her close to his chest, his eyes on you. You shudder at the rage shimmering in the dark pools.
"Mindy, she did her best," Tara whispers, clutching Sam's hand.
Your vision blurs with unshed tears, your fingers itching with need to do something, maybe go back to the elevator and keep trying to bring Anika back. Maybe you need to chase him and take his life.
You look away. "She's right, it's my fault."
"No, it's not." Sam reaches out to you, reassurances on her tongue, but Mindy pushes her back before she can voice them.
"She hid the knives," Mindy hisses with a cold look in her eyes.
"What?" Tara mumbles.
Your head suddenly feels too heavy for your neck as you try to understand what she is talking about. What knives?
"What a caring fucking girlfriend you are, huh? Let me get you a glass of water, Sam," she mocks. "You hid the knives right before we got attacked. And you got the call. You were at the fucking bodega. Did you kill that man in the alley too? Fuck, maybe you let that fucker in yourself, maybe you planned all of this. Maybe- Maybe you killed Anika in that elevator. You did, didn't you?!"
Her hands are on your shoulders, pushing hard enough to leave bruises. Your mouth falls open, but not a single word leaves your lips. You tremble violently, shaking your head, and see Tara takes a few careful steps back, her eyes glossed over. Mindy shakes you, screaming right in your face, and all you can do is crumble to the ground, choking on a sob.
Sam catches you before your knees hit the ground, pulling you into her chest and squeezing you tight.
"It's, okay," she whispers, "it's not your fault."
Sam's hands feel scalding hot on your body, but her words fall on deaf ears when the only thing your brain can register is Mindy's anguished cries.
It's your fault, it's your fault, it's your fau-
Loud shouts ring from the entrance, another stretcher rolled out. Mindy gasps, and in a flash she's gone, running after the group.
Anika.
You shoot up, ready to run after Mindy, but Chad stops you with a firm grip and a shake of his head, before turning around and following his sister.
You sag back into the truck, closing your eyes. When you open them, Tara is nowhere in sight, only Sam left standing by your side.
"Do you trust me?" You ask.
She freezes, her eyes widening a slightest bit at the abrupt question. "I do."
"Would you trust me with Tara?"
You can tell your question takes her by surprise. She's silent, tension taking root in her shoulders before it spreads over her whole body. She gulps, her eyes flickering around the street.
You nod, resigned. "I understand."
She turns to face you, her brows pulled tight, and takes her hand. "I trust you, I do. But Tara- Sometimes I don't even trust myself to protect her."
A dark chuckle escapes your lips. "That's not what I'm asking, Sam, and you know it. It's not about protection. Do you trust me not to hurt her? Not to kill her?"
She looks down, letting go of your hand, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. She takes a drag, blowing smoke away from you, her hands tremble.
This is it, you think. No matter what she said about Anika, no matter what she said about trusting you, you know she doesn't. Not completely.
"I don't know."
You look away in an attempt to hide your tears and nod, drawing a sharp breath. "It's okay. I'll just- I'll go, wait it out. And if you still want me when it's all over, I'll be there."
Sam straightens like a rod, her hand around your waist in an instant. "No. I'm not letting you out of sight." She clings to you, cigarette thrown to the ground. You let yourself enjoy the warmth of her embrace for a few fleeting moments before you start pulling away, but she doesn't let you, forcing your head up to meet her pleading eyes. "Please, don't go. I can't let you go."
You swallow dryly, and wipe away another set of tears. "You'll have to. N-none of you trust me," you choke on a sob, pushing against your girlfriend when she only hugs you tighter, pressing fleeting kisses into your hair. "You- you'll keep looking behind your back to make sure I haven't fucking stabbed anyone. I'd rather wait it out than go through that."
Sam shakes her head, "I need you close, so I can protect you."
You scoff, and forcefully push her away. "I don't need your protection. You should go to them," your head jerks in the twins direction, "make sure they're safe."
"Stop it," she hisses, following you as you try to walk away, "what the fuck do you think will happen once you're alone?"
"Nothing."
You need to get away. You need to go back home, curl on your bed and cry until you physically can't anymore. You still see Anika's empty eyes staring back at you, still feel the stillness of her chest under your palms. Everything around you is blurry as you stumble through the mass of people - paramedics, police officers, reporters and…
"Ethan?" You blurt as he steadies you.
He pants loudly, his eyes wide and questioning. "What- what happened?" He asks, pointedly looking at the blood all over your front.
He's thrown against a nearby car before you can answer, Sam's fist raised for a punch. "Where were you?" She growls, her hand closing around his throat. He's almost crying, his eyes glistening with tears.
You can see yourself in his place. You fight the urge to throw up.
"Sam," you speak up, but she doesn't hear you, pushing him hard enough to leave a dent.
"I- Econ," he wheezes, "I had econ."
"Sam, stop."
She listens this time, her eyes not straying from the gasping boy as she takes a few steps back.
You shudder as her hand returns to yours. "I'll take him with me."
She stills and doesn't utter a single word for a long moment. Ethan watches you, confused, but hesitant to voice his concern, as you both wait for Sam to speak.
"What?" She asks, her voice gravely quiet. "What did you just say?"
You swallow. "He'll stay with me, that way I won't be alone. He's a big guy, he's more than capable of protecting me."
She tilts her head to the side, her eyes growing a shade darker. "You're not going anywhere, especially with him."
“Wha- what is that supposed to mean?” he splutters, visibly offended.
You shush him with a look, shaking your head.
It's not ideal, you know, but it'll have to do. Ethan is your close friend, and he might be the only one who still trusts you. You know it makes you even more suspicious in Sam's eyes, you know Mindy will take it as confirmation, but you simply don't care. You want to barricade yourself in your room, open a bottle of tequila and fall asleep in your warm bed. You just want this to be over.
Sam shakes you out of your thoughts, a question in her eyes.
“What?” You ask, suddenly too tired to look her in the eye. You focus on the spot over her shoulder, still feeling the burning intensity of her eyes.
“I don't trust him.”
“You don't trust me either.”
"I can't afford to, but I can't- I can't afford to lose you either," she confesses, her voice shaking ever so slightly.
You close your eyes, feeling her arms envelope you, the smell of her cologne tickling your nose.
“Sam?” Tara calls.
Sam doesn't allow you to leave the sanctuary of her warmth, pulling you closer when you try to step away. “No,” she whispers, her grip so tight you struggle to breathe, “you're staying with me.”
“Sam, Gale found something.” There's an edge to Tara's tone, and when you open your eyes to look at her she doesn't meet your gaze, pointedly looking away.
Sam nods, tugging you along to follow Tara.
“Actually,” the blonde you saw earlier steps closer, her hand hovering over her gun on her thigh, “I don't think she should go with us.” She pointedly looks at you, her brows furrowed.
“What?” Sam hisses, shooting daggers at the shorter woman, but she appears unfazed.
“From what I've gathered, she seems to be our prime suspect. It wouldn't be wise to take her with us.”
“We should hurry,” Tara says, pleading Sam with her eyes.
“No,” Sam growls.
“Sam,” you plead, tugging your hand out of her grasp. “Just let me go, please.”
You're so tired.
“Sam,” Tara pleads. “We can't take her with us.”
“Then we don't go.” Sam's words are final.
Tara’s eyes narrow, you close your eyes, anticipating the verbal fight.
“What?”
“You heard me. For all we know Kirby is the killer.”
The blonde woman, Kirby, snorts, shaking her head. “This isn't your first rodeo, Sam. Love interests are always top suspects, and, with all of the evidence Mindy presented me with, you should be grateful I'm not putting your girlfriend in a cell.”
Tara looks at you, really looks at you for the first time since Mindy's outburst, her eyes swimming with questions. You look away, unable to hold her gaze any longer without crumbling apart.
“Sam, I'm going.” Tara says quietly. “She'll be-” she stutters, glancing at Ethan, “she can take care of herself.”
You nod, peeling yourself from Sam. She holds your hand tight, staring at Tara. “You're making me choose?” She asks, trembling.
Tara gulps, her eyes wide as she looks at your joined hands. “Whatever Gale found, we need to check it out,” she says, trying to convince herself as much as Sam, “I- I'm going, Sam,” she stutters, arms tight around her stomach.
All you can see is a girl forced to go through another massacre, a girl who still hasn't moved on from her best friend's betrayal. You understand.
Still, it hurts like hell.
“Go,” you whisper, managing a tired smile, “I'll be okay.”
With the last push, you leave Sam staring at her sister, and follow Ethan in the direction of his car.
×××
A movie theater.
That's what Gale found.
Sam walks in, Tara in her wake, timid and hesitant. She can't even look at her little sister right now, instead she focuses on what's right in front of her - her fathers hooded robe.
“You think she's still alive?”
She clenches her teeth tight and glances behind her shoulder. Another hallucination, just what she needs.
“Fucked up, isn't it?” Her father taunts, walking around her in circles.
She closes her eyes, clenching her fists tight. “Get lost.”
His mocking laugh grates at her ears. “I think one of them is already dead.”
She grinds her jaw, closing her eyes. “I said get lost.”
She turns on her heel, leaving the open space. She walks aimlessly, disappearing behind one of the many doors and sliding to the floor with her back against the wall. “Fuck,” she whispers, blinking back tears, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
The door creaks open.
“Sam?”
It's Kirby.
Sam's fists clench.
“What?” She hisses.
The blonde looks at her for a moment, her eyes holding an understanding that hits Sam like a hammer. “We have some good news.”
Sam nods, not really caring.
“The next time that asshole calls we'll know where he is.”
Sam nods again.
“Sam.”
She looks down, playing with a loose thread in her shirt. “Good.”
“You made the right decision.”
Sam scoffs, standing up in one swift motion, now looming over the shorter blonde. “The right decision? She's alone. With that fucking-”
“He's alone with her.”
“Kirby,” Sam growls, a clear warning in her tone.
“I know. I went through this too, remember?” The shorter woman holds her ground, not budging an inch. “You know we can't trust her. You know it was the right thing to do.”
Sam swallows down the urge to scream. Instead she leaves, her steps echoing around the empty room, contemplating just going back and making you stay by her side, even if she has to force you.
×××
Ethan has to pack a bag. That's what he tells you anyway.
You sit in the passenger seat of his car - you didn't even know he had one - and wait for him to come out of his dormitory. You don't even jump every time a random car driving by honks. You tense, looking around, but you don't jump. You count that as a win.
You miss the feeling of safety Sam always brings.
“All good,” Ethan smiles, getting back behind the wheel. You startle, looking to your left.
“You sure?” You mumble, eyeing the small duffle bag he throws on the back seat.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I don't need much anyway. I know Sam's gonna get that fucker soon.”
You smile, relaxing for the first time since you left your girlfriend's side. “She will.”
His driving is a little messy - he hits at least three potholes on the way to your apartment and texts someone twice - but you don't complain, you're a far worse driver.
“That's me,” you sigh, welcoming him inside your apartment.
He looks around, his eyes widening as he takes in the mess that is your living room. You didn't really have enough time to clean up after Sam's visit.
“Sorry about that.” You blush, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”
×××
“Sam,” Tara pleads, tugging at her sister's arm.
“Not now,” Sam hisses, looking around the park.
Kirby's plan to simply sit and wait for a call didn't sit right with Sam, so now they're here, in the middle of a park, with Kirby and Bailey as back up, baiting one of those fuckers in broad daylight.
She prays it works.
“Sam, you know-”
“Not now,” she hisses. Tara jumps away. Her sister never used that tone with her.
“I'm sorry,” she whispers, blinking back tears. “Maybe we shouldn't have left her. Not like that.”
Sam's eyes narrow as she turns on her heel. “You say that now?”
Tara squares her shoulders, wiping her cheeks. “I thought-”
“It doesn't matter what you thought. You made me choose. I would've never done that to you.”
Her sister folds in on herself, hugging her stomach. Sam sighs, looking around. She knows she's being too hard on her sister, but she can't bring herself to care right now. Not when you're in danger.
Sam starts, “Look, I know you're scared-”
“Yes, for you!” Tara interrupts, shaking. “You remember Richie? Remember his plans for you? And this- Kirby was right about love interests. We both know it.” Sam opens her mouth to protest, but Tara doesn't let her speak. “Don't try to deny it! I care about you, Sam, and if it means I have to be the bad guy to keep you safe, I'll do it.”
Sam's mouth snaps shut. Tara's eyes glint with determination now, her face set. She nods, feeling some of her anger seep away. “Okay,” she sighs. “I'm sorry for snapping.”
“I'm sorry for making you leave her.”
The sisters share a look and, after Sam nods, Tara throws her hands around her older sisters shoulders.
And then her phone rings.
“You're gonna die, you know?” She answers, looking around.
“No, you're gonna die, Sam, but not before watching your little sister bleed out.”
Sam swallows. Tara squeezes her hand, grounding her sister.
“But don't worry,” the voice starts, taunting, “it’s not her time. Yet.”
Sam stares ahead, unseeing, as the phone clicks.
“Kirby, did you get it?” Tara says into her ear peace. “What?” she pales, looking at Sam with wide eyes. “Yes, I know the address…” she trails off, trembling “...it's Y/n’s”
"What?" Sam breathes out and freezes.
Tara, not wasting any time, grabs her sister and runs to Bailey's car, pushing her in before taking a seat behind the wheel. The sirens blare, gnawing on Sam's mind.
Ethan, she thinks, that motherfucker. She's going to kill him. She'll make sure he suffers.
"Sam." Tara glances at her sister, expertly waving through the traffic. "I know you care about her, but..."
"What?"
Sam nods, her palms bleeding from how hard she's dug her nails into them.
"It might be... not what we expect. At Y/n's place, I mean." Tara mutters, glancing at her sister warily. Sam closes her eyes, taking deep, even breaths as her sister speaks. "Be ready for anything, okay?"
She is more than ready to gut the boy.
“Faster,” her father hisses from the backseat and she doesn't spare the hallucination a glance. “Or you'll lose your precious girlfriend.”
She grits her teeth, nails digging into her palms, and focuses on the road ahead, willing him to go away. She can't afford a distraction, not now, not when you are in danger. Tara glances at her warily, before hesitantly placing her palm on her shoulder, squeezing.
The breaks screech and she's out before the car comes to a full stop. She forgoes the elevators, running up the stairs to your apartment and bursting through the unlocked door.
The first thing she sees is blood.
The first thing she hears is Ethan's sobs.
"S-sam," he whimpers, clutching his stabbed stomach. "Please…"
Tara bumps into her back, panting and coughing. Sam's hand shoots out, stopping her sister from getting closer to the boy.
"Where is she?" Sam asks, her voice gravely quiet. She scans the apartment with her eyes, seeing no signs of struggle.
Her father appears by her side, nodding at the knife lying by the boy's side. “She did him good,” he grins in appreciation.
"I'm sorry," he wails, tears streaming down his face, "I'm so sorry, Sam."
She hums and takes a step closer, her fists clenched tight. "Where. Is. She."
Ethan blanches, pressing himself flat against the wall. "We were talking and she- she told me how sorry she was about Anika, told me how hard it was seeing her die, and then… then I hugged her, because she was crying and shaking, and I couldn't just stand there." Sam nods, crouching, and urges him to go on, her fingers squeezing around his wrist. "And then I felt the pain. I- I pushed her away and she- she did it again, she stabbed me again. It hurts so bad, Sam… Please," he sobs, wheezing.
Sam hums, pulling his hand away from the wound and presses her palm against it, hard. "That's not what I asked you," she hisses, enjoying the way he starts to writhe, screaming in pain, and pushes harder. She leans down to whisper in his ear, "Where is she?"
Ethan looks at her with wide eyes, terrified.
"Sam," Tara warns, "stop."
Her father chuckles.
When Ethan doesn't answer, she pulls her hand away, only to punch him straight in the gut, earning a pathetic wheeze. "I won't ask again."
"You're m- mad," he chokes, looking at Tara for help.
"We all go a little mad sometimes," Sam hisses before punching him again and again.
In the corner, her father smiles proudly.
She needs to know where you are. She needs to know you didn't do this. She needs to know you're not one of them.
"Sam, that's enough." Her sister pulls her by the shoulders, forcing her to stop the assault on the poor boy. "You heard him.. You see him. It's her," she whispers, blinking back tears. Sam shakes her head, ready to resume the interrogation, but Tara stops her. "Sam. This is not you. Stop."
Sam blinks rapidly, only now seeing a twinge of fear in her sister's eyes. Fear of her. She stumbles back, choking on her breath and falls to her knees, numb.
She sees her father shaking his head, disappointed in his daughter for stopping so early, for trusting you. She feels her sister's warm embrace, and hears her soothing words. She clings to her, burying her face in the smaller girl's frame, only one thought on her mind.
Pairing: WandaNat x Barton!Reader, Clint Barton x Reader(siblings)
Words: 10k
Summary: Wanda has known grief, but not like this.
Warnings: angst, all of the angst, major character death, Vormir, survivor’s guilt, no happy ending, grief and mourning, please let me know if I missed one
A/N: this is the one I told you to grab tissues for. I'm not sorry, you were warned lol, it’s a long one, and I’m actually really proud of this one, so I hope you like it ☺️
NOW
Sunlight beams through the window, landing fully on Wanda’s face. She groans, wincing when the light burns her eyes.
A set of arms reach out and wrap around her waist. A smile stretches across her face as she lets herself be pulled back into the cocoon that she rolled out of sometime in the night. A trail of kisses is left by a familiar set of lips across her shoulder.
“Good morning, lyubov,” Natasha whispers into her ear.
The Sokovian rolls over to face her girlfriend, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips once they are face to face. “Good morning,” she bumps noses with the assassin.
The sound of a clearing throat comes from the other side of Natasha. “Good morning to you too,” you scoff sarcastically. “Where’s my good morning kiss?”
The two women giggle.
In less than a second, Natasha has scooped you up and switched spots with you. Now, with you settled between them, the Russian playfully raises an eyebrow, “I woke you up with good morning kisses.” She leans down to press her lips to yours to further prove her point.
“You may have, but there are those amongst us who refuse to do so,” you pout.
Grabbing your chin, Wanda guides you to look at her and smiles, “I am so sorry, my love. Please accept my deepest apologies. Allow me to remedy the situation.”
The kiss she gives you is soft and slow and thorough. By the time she lets you come up for air, you feel dizzy and completely under her spell.
“Good morning, my beautiful detka,” Wanda gazes down at you, eyes full of adoration, “was my apology to your satisfaction?”
Smiling giddy, you reply, “I think it will do.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, a grumbling sound comes from your stomach. Your girlfriends laugh as you attempt to cover your face.
“Well, I guess we know Y/n’s hungry,” Natasha teases. Her fingers dance across your ticklish sides.
Wanda watches happily but does not partake. She learned her lesson the time she tried to tickle you and ended up with a stray elbow to the stomach.
When Natasha finally gives you a break, Wanda leans down to kiss your head, “I will make us some breakfast.” She grabs Nat’s chin to kiss her as well before rolling off the bed.
The moment her bare toes meet the cold hard wood floor, an almost electric pulse runs up her body, and everything goes black.
The witch jolts awake in an empty bed and cold sheets. She peers at her surroundings reminding herself where she is…
The bedroom of a cabin in the middle of nowhere, completely alone.
She cries, lying there contemplating the series of events that led her here. The downfall of her relationship.
One lover gone from Wanda’s life, while the other is just gone.
Both made the choice to leave her. After all that’s happened, all that she has said and done, the guilt weighs heavy on the witch, but she can make it right. She can fix it.
Wanda walks through the rows of trees, trimming along the way. You had planted them before you left.
The three of you chose this place because it was beautiful. You wanted somewhere beautiful to call home after your time as Avengers came to an end. But now, Wanda lives here alone.
Soft steps on the grass alert Wanda to the arrival of another.
“Apples?”
She turns to find Stephen Strange approaching. “Eventually,” she offers the small limb out for him to take.
The Doctor takes branch, bringing the flower to his nose to smell, “it smells…..”
“Sweet,” Wanda finishes, “but that’s not why you came.” She plucks the limb from his hand and turns to place it in a box with the others, “what are you here for?”
She suspects why he is here, but she needs to hear him say it.
Stephen slightly cocks his head to the side, “I just came to see how you are doing.”
The Sokovian turns to face him, “and why would you do that?”
“We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”
Wanda folds her arms, “We fight one purple titan together, and that makes us besties?” She adds a twinge of petulance to last word. “Come now, Stephen,” she continues her walk through the trees, “let’s discuss what you really came to discuss.”
The Sorcerer falls into step with the her with a sigh, “alright, we’ve detected a growth in dark energy congregating in this area. I do some investigating, and I end up here. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea,” Wanda shakes her head, “I left the magic behind me.”
Stephen huffs, “so it seems.” He stops walking and lets Wanda get a few steps behind before she notices. “This magic you are meddling in, it is the kind to corrupt everything and everyone it touches,” he warns. “Whatever you are trying to do isn’t worth what could happen.”
“Why do you assume I am trying to do something?” Wanda takes a step closer to him. “The only thing I am trying to do is to find some peace in my life. After everything I have been through, don’t I at least deserve that?” The pain is ebbing again. The gaping hole in her life making itself known.
The Doctor retreats a step, “of course, you do, but destruction with dark magic won’t help you achieve it.”
“I have nothing left to destroy. Is there something else I can help you with?”
Stephen sighs. He knows this conversation is going nowhere. She isn’t ready to give it up, and he can’t convince her. The only thing he can do is continue to monitor the situation and pray he can intervene in time if necessary.
The Sorcerer opens a portal back to the sanctum. Before he walks through it, he turns one last time, “just don’t let it destroy you, Wanda. She wouldn’t want that.”
After he is gone, Wanda returns to the house and into the basement. Her eyes dance over the pages as she searches for a way to fix this mess. She reminds herself of her mission and repeats over and over to herself.
“I will get her back.”
THEN
A tear falls from your eye as you look out over the horizon. The floating red man’s words play on a loop in your head.
‘A soul for a soul.’
Your heart breaks at the thought of not getting to be there when Wanda returns. You think of Clint and his family, your family, how this will affect them.
But your soul grows angry at the thought of that purple giant winning. You fear the possibility of failing again, of everyone you love and half of the world remaining dead. You take a deep breath and step towards the edge of the cliff.
You are brought to a halt by an iron grasp on your arm pulling you back.
“Over my dead body,” Natasha looks you in the face. Your partner stares into your eyes as intensely.
“Natasha, if we don’t get that stone, billions of people stay dead. Wanda stays dead,” your voice cracks at the mention of her name. Your third that you both have missed desperately since the snap. “I can’t allow that.”
The widow places her hands on your shoulders to get your complete attention, “and I cannot allow you to do this.”
“You have to,” you shake your head sadly, “it has to be me. The team needs you. The world needs you. Wanda will need you.”
“You don’t think she’ll need you too?” Tears gather in her eyes, “Y/n, she loves you so much.”
“She loves you more.”
“NO,” the redhead denies firmly, “and what about Clint? How am I supposed to face him and tell him his baby sister is gone?”
A sad smile graces your lips, “he’ll have his best friend to help him through it.”
“You’re his best friend.”
You shake your head, denying her statement.
“It’ll be ok,” you pull her into your arms, “you’ll be ok. You and Wanda and everyone, you all will be ok.”
She cups your face, tears streaming down both of your cheeks, “we wouldn’t, ever.”
You bring her in to gently press your lips to hers. She deepens the kiss, and you both know what this means. This is goodbye. You can feel it.
Only question is who is leaving.
Pulling back, the two of you hold each other for the last time.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
In a second, you grab her wrist and spin her to cuff her hands behind her back. You knock her off her feet, and she crashes to the ground in a heap. The terror on her face nearly breaks you, but you steel yourself and dash for the edge.
You don’t even make it halfway before you collapse to the ground in pain. Reaching for the source, you eventually find and rip off a widow bite. Looking up you see Natasha nearing the cliff.
Out of desperation, you pull out your gun and hit her in the back of her calf. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, as you sprint the final distance to the edge.
You jump and wait for an impact that comes much sooner than you had predicted. Natasha’s body collides with yours midair, then you both slam into the side of the mountain. You cling to her as she nearly slips from your hands.
The two of you hang from the side of the mountain. You look up to see the wire that is firmly attached to your belt.
“Damn you,” you look back down to Natasha, “why did you do that?”
Her face is calm as she looks back up at you, “let me go.”
“NO!”
“Let me clear my ledger,” the widow asks.
“Your ledger is clean!” You try to reach for her with your other hand, but you fall short, “baby please, don’t do this.”
Natasha smiles, “Its ok.”
All you can do is shake your head.
“I love you,” she knows this is it. She waits for you to repeat it. When you don’t, she prompts you, “say it.”
“Please,” you whimper.
“Say it,” her voice cracks. She needs to hear it, “please.”
“I love you, Natasha.”
“I love you both,” your partner smiles, “tell Wanda.”
Your face screws in pain, but you nod, “I will.”
“I’m so sorry,” Natasha whispers, then she kicks away from the mountain and slips through your fingers.
“Did this actually work?”
The team looks around with smiles on their faces, but their celebration is interrupted by a bone chilling scream. They turn to the source and find your crumpled form on the ground.
No one needs to ask what happened or where’s Nat. They can all see the answer when you writhe in indescribable pain.
Natasha is gone.
NOW
The pages flip one after the other as Wanda continues to search the book for a way to bring her love back to her.
For months, all she has done is search for a solution. There must be one. How many times have they cheated death? She should have died all those years ago in Sokovia, but she didn’t. Steve was buried in ice for nearly 70 years, but he came back ready to fight. Bucky survived cryo-sleep and torture, but he’s still around. Hulk was missing for two years, presumed dead, playing gladiator on some ridiculous planet, but he came back. They all came back.
So there has to be a way, and Wanda won’t stop until she finds it.
She’s already scoured every book on Earth relating to magic and nonhuman abilities. Every scrap of classified information that the Avengers, former SHIELD files, and any other organization of this type she could find.
It is here that she was introduced to the multiverse. There’s an infinite number of alternate realities just floating around out there. There are realities where the team never fought Thanos, the snap never happened, Natasha never sacrificed herself on Vormir, and the three of you were still together.
Somewhere out there are universes where you’re all happy.
All she has to do is find a universe with her lost love still alive and bring her back to this one. The problem is crossing between the universes is impossible, at least for now.
She searches day and night for a way, and her searching led her to a magic book, the Darkhold. They call it the book of the damned. It’s made of dark magic, Wanda is well aware of that. It’s the means to an end and nothing more.
The Darkhold speaks of a Scarlet Witch that is powerful enough to rule or destroy the entire universe, but Wanda doesn’t want that. She just wants to get her love back.
She flips the page again, unaware of the way her fingers have begun to lose their normal coloring. Her eyes scan over the lines, and she halts.
Dreamwalking. A way in which one can enhabit the body of their alternate self, living in that universe while also remaining in their own.
This is it. A chance for her to access another universe, to find the one she needs.
The book floats in front of Wanda as she sits on the ground. With a wave of her hand, she surrounds herself with a circle of candles. Her hands and eyes glow red as she reads the words out into the air. Red wisps stretch out all around.
Wanda blinks twice slowly before actually closing her eyes and slowly rising from the ground.
She is sent through a network of sorts, almost a red tunnel. There’s a struggle. As if she has to remove an obstacle from her path. It’s difficult, but suddenly the fight is over. The tunnel seems to open and so do Wanda’s eyes.
Looking around, Wanda stands in a kitchen. There are crayon drawings on the fridge and colorful dishes in the sink. She’s wearing a black dress that shows a little more cleavage than she would normally.
Across the room, she spots a framed picture of herself, Natasha, and you. She approaches it to get a closer look. You’re all dressed in white, smiling ear to ear. The bottom of the frame reads: Mrs. & Mrs. & Mrs.
“We were so happy,” she whispers to herself, completely unaware that she has an audience.
“Everything ok, love?”
Wanda holds her breath at the sound of that melodic voice that she hasn’t heard in so long. She turns quickly and finds Natasha standing behind her. She’s wearing a very nice dress suit, and she looks amazing.
All Wanda can do is stare.
The Russian smirks in that way that makes Wanda’s insides turn to mush.
“What?” she approaches the younger woman, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She wraps one arm around Wanda’s waist, while the other hand strokes her cheek, “what’s wrong?”
Wanda smiles and shakes her head. Nothing, absolutely nothing is wrong. She revels in Natasha’s touch, one she feared she would never feel again.
Natasha leans in to kiss her quickly.
“Peter just got here,” she says as she fixes Wanda’s lipstick. “The twins are begging him to let them stay up and play video games all night,” she chuckles. She wraps her arm Wanda once her makeup is fixed, “he probably will. Maybe we should have picked someone else babysit.”
The younger woman can barely pay attention to what she is saying. She is too busy staring. She watches those perfectly kissable lips open and close to form words. She gets lost in emerald eyes that she only gets to see in her dreams.
“…Detka sent me to find you. Are you ready?” Natasha finishes.
Wanda is brought out of her thoughts and quickly comprehends what was said. “Detka…” she whispers reverently.
As if on cue, your voice floats around the corner, “if we don’t get going soon, Tony will come personally escort us to this party.” Both of your wives turn to the doorway which you enter. You stop only a few feet into the room, taking in the sight of them still in each other’s arms with their faces only inches apart. “Am I interrupting?” you ask playfully.
Both of your wives laugh and take in the sight of you. Just like them, you are dressed to the tens. You wear a long magenta dress that hugs you in all the right places. The slit that runs to your hip allows a delectable view of your right leg. Your hair is expertly pulled up, with small strands falling loose to frame your face perfectly. You look stunning, and Wanda can’t take her eyes off of you. She is sure you’ve never looked more beautiful.
She smiles widely, “you could never.”
In an instant, everything is gone. She is sent back into the tunnel, fighting to get back through.
Wanda lands on the ground with a thud. “What?” she looks around wildly looking for her lovers, but she is alone.
“No,” she exclaims as she crawls over to the book that is now laying closed on the ground, “no, she was there! She was right there!”
Desperately, she opens it back up and tries to recite the words again. She has to get back. That was only a second. Wanda only got to be with her for a second. It wasn’t long enough.
She raises herself into the air again and is able to reach the network, but when she reaches the obstacle she is unable to fight through. Groaning, she lands on the ground again.
The other version of herself is resisting her. That’s the obstacle she can’t fight through. She isn’t strong enough, but she will be. Or she’ll just find a reality with a weaker Wanda.
Either way, she will see her love again.
THEN
Tree leaves rustle in the wind, and that is the only thing to be heard. The small group stands silent as the dirt is thrown back into the hole it came from.
There’s no service for Natasha. No gathering of people who fought beside her. Not like what they held for Tony. No.
All she gets is a handful of people and an empty casket. A stone that reads her name.
Natasha Romanoff
Daughter – Sister – Lover – Avenger
This was Clint’s idea, to help you and Wanda find some kind of closure. Somewhere to go to say goodbye, even if there is nothing to bury. You had agreed hoping he was right. That this would help, but it seems not.
Wanda hates it. She hates the stone, the casket, the idea that Natasha is really gone, and she’s not coming back. Wanda hates a lot of things these days, but who can blame her. She just lost the love of her life.
The two of you stand side by side, silent tears roll down your cheeks. You’ve stopped wiping them away along time ago. You’re breaking. You’ve been trying to stay strong for Wanda. That’s what Natasha asked you to do, but your strength is wearing thin.
The Sokovian wants nothing to do with you seemingly. She barely talks to you and when she does it is almost always some passive aggressive remark. Her resentment is apparent.
As the last shovel of dirt falls to the ground, you feel another pang of grief. The finality of your time with Natasha hitting you full force. You grab Wanda’s hand for support, but she snatches it from you.
The pieces of your heart break again, and it takes everything you have just to stay standing.
She walks away, leaving you there alone.
Alone. That’s all you feel now. The past two months have been spent sharing a house with the partner you still have, but you still feel entirely alone. Natasha had wanted you to come together, but all you’ve done is drift further and further apart.
Clint comes beside you, wrapping an arm around you.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
You brother looks at you with concern, “you have every right to be here, just like her. You loved Natasha too; you deserve to say a proper goodbye.”
“No Clint,” you can’t lift your eyes off the ground, “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come back.”
“Don’t say that,” he turns you to face him straight on.
Your voice breaks, “Wanda thinks it. She won’t say it, but I know she thinks it’s my fault.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is!” you whisper yell, not wanting Wanda to hear you from where she stands a few yards away. “I don’t blame her. She needs Natasha, not me. But Nat’s not here, and that is all my fault.”
Clint grabs you by the shoulders, “no, it is not. It was that purple bastard. Natasha made a decision to bring Wanda and everyone back. She wanted you to be here for that.”
You shake your head and shrug sadly, “it doesn’t change the fact that the wrong person died on that mountain…. It should have been me.”
NOW
Audience laughter fills the bedroom as you, Natasha and Wanda lay on the bed watching I Love Lucy reruns.
Natasha leans against the headboard with Wanda’s back pulled flush to her front. You rest between their legs with your head in Wanda’s lap. She cradles you, gently stroking your cheek and playing with your hair. She nearly puts you to sleep.
Natasha’s arms wrap so tightly around her, she’s not sure where Natasha starts and she ends.
It’s perfect.
The only thing that would make it more perfect is if this reality belonged to her.
Wanda can feel the alternate version of herself fighting to regain control, but she is stronger now. She can hold her at bay while she basks in the presence of her lovers, surrounded by Natasha with you in her arms.
From somewhere, someone knocks on a door. Wanda waits, but when neither you nor Natasha react, she ignores it. When the sound pops up again without reaction from either of you, she knows the knocking is not from this reality. It’s from hers.
Mentally, Wanda groans. She doesn’t want to leave, not yet. She still hasn’t found a permanent solution for bringing back her girlfriend. Dream-walking is just a place holder. A nice distraction to get her through the long nights and keep from losing hope.
She leans her head back against Natasha’s shoulder to put this Wanda to sleep.
When she opens her eyes, she is back in the dark confines of the house she shares with no one. The runes she cast on the walls preserve the exterior from the destruction of the Darkhold, but she must quickly throw up a hex to disguise the interior as any other home.
The visitor knocks on the door again, and Wanda mutters under her breath, “I’m coming.”
When she opens the door, she finds quite possibly the last person she expected to see… well maybe the second to last.
“Clint,” she stands in the doorway, “I figured you never wanted to see me again.”
The archer shrugs stiffly, “Y/n asked me to check on you.”
Wanda hums quietly. Of course, you did. After everything she has done, you still thought about her first. He heart breaks all over again. She never deserved you.
The tension is thick in the air between them. He clenches his jaw. This is harder than he expected, after the way she treated you. He nods into the house, “may I?”
She stands aside, lifting an arm to invite him in. Her hex stands well. The house looks just as it did when you still lived here with her.
Clint looks around. He remembers the day he helped you move in. Smiling sadly, he lifts a photo of you and Natasha from a side table, “this is a good picture.”
“Yeah,” Wanda agrees. Her lips tremble.
He returns the frame to its place, “how have you been?”
She smiles tight lipped, “I’m staying busy. The trees are a lot of work.”
Its not a complete lie. They do require quite a bit of upkeep. You had cared for them before you left. Wanda wants to take care of them while you’re away. She just uses magic to do that. Then she can stay focused on her main task.
“I saw those. They’re looking good,” Clint nods. Small talk was never his specialty, but he just has to make sure she’s taking care of herself. “You take care of them all by yourself?”
“Did you really come all the way out here to talk about apple trees?” She is a bit over the pleasantries. He interrupted a very lovely dream-walk that she would love to get back to.
The archer straightens, “I came all the way out here because I love my sister.”
“and I don’t?” the witch asks curtly.
The archer pauses and considers his next words carefully. He relents with a sigh, “I never said that.” Whatever happened between you, you still loved Wanda with everything you had. As hard as it is, he wants to respect that. “She didn’t want you to be out here all alone.”
Wanda smiles genuinely this time, “you won’t have to worry about that much longer.”
Clint furrows his brow, tilting his head down, “what are you talking about?”
Wanda shakes her head with a sly smile, “wouldn’t you like to get your best friend back?”
It takes a few seconds for what she is implying to really sink into his brain, but when it does, deep concern floods his entire system.
“She is dead, Wanda,” he states flatly, “she’s gone forever.” His voice cracks as he forces the tears away.
“I’m gonna bring her back,” she whispers.
Clint shakes his head angrily, “it can’t be undone. It was an everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul-”
“I’m talking about that damn mountain,” she yells. She takes menacing steps towards him, but your brother manages to stand his ground. “I am the most powerful magic wielder on the planet. There is a way to bring her back, and I will find it.” Red wisps begin to dance between her fingers.
He searches her eyes for the person he once knew, but he is fairly certain she is lost. “How do you plan on doing that?” he asks.
The witch takes a step back, shrugging nonchalantly, “with this.” Slowly she brings down the hex to reveal the Darkhold and all its destruction.
Clint looks around frantically, trying to find something he recognizes, but the only thing he can find is Wanda and even she has been corrupted nearly beyond recognition.
“What is this?” he asks exasperated, “dark magic?!”
“Chaos magic, it’s the way I’m going to bring her home,” Wanda stands resolute.
The archer looks to her incredulously, “you can’t be serious. Have you even thought about Nat?”
“I think about her every day. I’m doing this for her.”
“Nat wouldn’t want this!” he tries to break through to her.
“Natasha’s not here!” Wanda takes a deep breath to calm herself. She can’t let her anger take over. If she ever harmed your brother (accidentally or not), you would never forgive her for that. Then all of this would be for naught.
“I am going to bring her back,” she states leaving no room for doubt, “and once we’re all together again, maybe we’ll invite you over to visit.”
Clint shakes his head attempting to approach, to try and reason with her, but he is quickly swept out of the house by a red mist.
Wanda’s voice follows him out the door, “it was nice to see you again, Clinton.”
Once he is out of her house, she returns to the Darkhold, more determined than ever to find the permanent solution to her problem. There has to be a way to bring her love home to her, and she must not stop until she finds it. She can’t afford to waste any more time dream-walking.
“I’m going to bring you back, my love,” she promises, “don’t worry, I’m going to bring you back.”
THEN
The lump in your throat appears to be permanent at this point.
Reaching into the cardboard moving box, you pull out an old worn-out SHIELD hoodie.
It was Natasha’s.
Bringing it to your nose, you inhale deeply, filling your lungs with her scent. You clutch the garment tight to your chest, as if it could fill the ever-gaping hole in your chest.
Without a fight, you lose the battle against the tears. Sobs rock your body as the wounds of grief open wide again. This pain is never-ending. Everywhere you look you find something that reminds you of the fact that Natasha’s not here.
Everything hurts all of the time, and you don’t even have Wanda to help when it does.
You both moved into the house not long after the final battle, and the only boxes left to go through were the boxes of Natasha’s things. Wanda had been helping, but she only lasted about 5 minutes before storming out of the house.
She won’t cry in front of you. Because if she does, she knows you will comfort her and the last thing she wants is comfort from you. She still resents you even if she won’t say it. You know she feels it.
The front door slams, and you are startled from your tears. Quickly, you wipe your cheeks and stand to put the hoodie away. You listen as heavy footsteps make their way through the house until they reach the door of the walk-in closet.
You turn and before you can say anything, Wanda has captured you in her arms, pressing her lips against yours frantically. At first, you lean into the touch, kissing her back. You’re starving for any kind of touch since the dry spell that she has subjected you to.
This is what she does now. She inflicts radio silence with no physical contact, until something happens and she needs to feel something other than grief or anger.
Every time she does this, you know who she really wants. She tells you when she whispers her name in your ear.
..and every time the pain comes back tenfold.
Still, you give her this. You let her strip you and have her way with you because it means you at least have her for a short while. If this is what she needs, you give it to her. You wrap around her and hold her bare body to yours knowing full well in the morning she will act as though it never happened.
Today, however, you can’t. The tears are still drying on your cheeks. The pain in your chest drowns out anything you could possibly feel between your legs.
When she reaches for the hem of your shirt, you grab her hands, “no, Wanda.”
She tries to kiss you through your protest. She holds you tightly as you push her shoulders.
“Not now, Wanda, please,” you pull yourself away from her enough to step back.
“I need this,” Wanda steps towards you, reaching for your face.
Shaking your head, you back away again, “I need you.”
She rolls her eyes, “then stop pushing me away.”
“No, Wanda!” you wipe away the tears that threaten to fall, “I need you here, actually here. I can’t keep living like this.”
You walk out of the closet, and Wanda follows you into your bedroom. “I am trying to be here for you, to help you when you need me, but I am grieving too, and I need you to actually be here with me.”
“You’re grieving?” she scoffs, “you don’t know grief. I have lost everyone I ever loved. All I had left was you and Natasha. You knew that, and still, you let her die!”
You release a long sigh. Finally, here it is. The moment she finally says what she has been thinking for the last several months.
“No, I didn’t,” you deny, “I tried to take her place. I wanted to jump, but she beat me. I did not let her die! I fought her for it-“
“Not hard enough,” she interrupts, “yeah, you fought, but you made sure that it was you who came back with that stone.” Her accusation hits you in the chest, and you have to catch your breath for a second.
“You think I want to be here?” you ask incredulously. “Do you honestly think I wanted to lose the love of my life, just to come back and have the other love of my life hate me?”
You wait for an answer, but she can’t give you one.
Wanda can’t even look at you. She doesn’t hate you. She knows she still loves you, but the pain and anger she has felt for months have festered and boiled until now they’re ready to blow. Grief clouds her judgement every second of the day. Even though she knows deep down that you aren’t really to blame, you’re the only one here to receive it.
“I didn’t want to be here! I would have gladly followed her over the edge of that cliff, but then you and everyone else would have stayed dead. Natasha would have given her life for nothing.”
“So, I came back to bring you back. Wanda, you're the only reason I have to left to be here. I just need you to meet me halfway."
When all you receive is silence, you whine in exasperation. You’ve met your end, “if there was some way, I could trade myself to bring her back to you, Wanda, I swear I would.”
Time stands still. Wanda looks up with ice in her glare. Before she can stop them, the words just tumble out, “I would too.”
The last remnants of your heart shatter. What was left of your heart belonged to Wanda, and she doesn’t want you here. The pain falls away, and all that you are left with is a numbness that spreads over you entirely.
You take a few heavy breaths and nod your head, “I’m gonna go.” You walk out of the bedroom, but before you leave the door, you turn back to face Wanda one last time, “I love you.”
Silence stretches as you wait for a response that never comes. Crying, you quickly grab your keys and head for the front door. You didn’t grab a single thing. Tears blur your vision as you drive away from the home that was supposed to be your forever with Wanda and Natasha.
Wanda stands frozen in the bedroom until she hears the car engine start and then slowly fade as you drove further and further away.
Now she is really alone. There is no one to hide her emotions from, so now she has no choice but to face them.
Wanda screams as she finally expresses everything she has held off for months. No one is here to stop her, so she lashes out. She throws everything her hands land on. She topples furniture, crying as her angers finally finds its outlet leaving her empty inside.
NOW
A red cloud extends in front of the Sokovian. She repeats the words she found in the book and watches as the cloud expands and forms an arch in front of her. A wild wind picks up around her. Unsuspecting items are lifted in the breeze and circle the witch as well as the quickly growing red mist.
The cloud grows through the house. It tears a part a wall, followed by the deconstruction of the rest of the house.
Wanda doesn’t care. She repeats the spell, red magic pouring from her hands.
“Wanda!”
Wanda hears yelled at her from the right. She turns away from the book to find Stephen Strange standing in the middle of her spell. Now thoroughly distracted, she loses her focus, and the red cloud shrinks back into nothing.
“What are you doing?” the sorcerer questions with his hands raised ready to intervene.
Her eyes glow bright red as anger courses through her. She was so close. “I am going to another reality to bring back my love,” she takes a deep breath and magic begins to flow from her hands.
“NO!” Stephen conjures magic cuffs that hamper Wanda’s powers.
She turns to him with daggers in her eyes, “let me go.”
“Wanda, this is a flagrant violation of every natural law,” he tries to reason, “you could destroy both universes. I cannot allow you to do this.”
Now, Wanda has had enough. She will get her partner back. Nothing and no one is going to change that. She clenches her jaw and breaks the magic restraints from her wrists, “and how are you going to stop me?”
With a wave of her hand, she sends the sorcerer flying away. Quickly she returns to the spell. The magic pours from her hands forming another red cloud in front of her. The longer she repeats the words, the cloud begins to take shape, creating an arch. The cloud begins to thin in the middle, and Wanda can almost see vague shadows of the reality she is connecting to.
Suddenly, a magic chain wraps around Wanda’s arm, pulling her focus from the portal again. She easily breaks it and redirects Stephen’s magic back towards him, but by the time she returns to the spell the portal is open to the alternate reality.
…the wrong alternate reality.
Wanda stares at the sight. This new Earth’s Natasha and you cuddling on a couch with two young boys. One boy is curled into your side, while the other lounges across both of your laps.
This isn't the universe she meant to conjure. She was looking for one where the three of you weren’t together yet to cause the other Wanda the least amount of suffering as possible. She didn’t want to break up a family.
“Wanda, you can’t,” Stephen calls from behind her. He is going to stop her. Its now or never. This reality will just have to do.
Wanda steps through the portal. “Detka,” she smiles.
Instantly, you and Natasha’s heads snap to the intruder. Panic and protectiveness flood your body. In an instant, the two of you jump from the couch, dragging your sons with you.
“Wanda!” Natasha calls for her wife who runs in from the kitchen.
“No!” this Wanda yells. Before she can do anything, the Scarlett Witch sends her flying into the back wall.
“Boys, get behind me!” you place yourself between this witch and the children. You slowly back them to the far side of the room as Natasha attacks the intruder.
“Wait, Natasha,” the witch blocks the widow’s hits and kicks, but won’t retaliate, “I don’t want to hurt you!” She uses her magic to lift the Russian into the air and hold her there in the center of the room.
You run and kick Wanda’s hand, “let her go!”
Wanda’s loose hold on Natasha releases, and the red head falls to the ground with a groan.
The boys run to check on her, but once they reach her, she quickly stands to guard them again. “Billy, Tommy, this way!” she pushes them back to the far side of the room.
You fight the witch, trying to drive her back through the portal she came from.
“Stop fighting me,” she blocks your attacks, but will not use her powers. “Please, Y/n,” she tries to speak with you, “wait, love. Stop.”
Unable to avoid your attacks any longer, Wanda reaches out and wraps you in her magic. She restrains you as gently as she can, trying to get through to you, “Y/n, listen to me!”
“WANDA, STOP.”
The witch halts. Nearly shocked still, she turns to see her Natasha stepping through the portal.
“Let her go,” The widow looks to her lover with a heavy sadness. The frown lines around her mouth and between her eyebrows are deeper than the last time Wanda saw her. Her eyes a dull shell of the light they used to hold, “that’s not our Y/n. Our Y/n is gone.”
“But I…” Wanda’s voice breaks. Her magic fades away and releases you from her hold. A tear falls from her eyes, and her lips tremble, “I have to bring her back.”
THEN
"I'm on my way."
"No, Clint," your hand is shaking as you hold the phone to your ear, "you don't have to do that."
You can hear him moving, talking to someone, most likely Laura. The sound of his keys jingling in his hand fill your ear, "I'm not letting you be alone right now."
"No, don't leave Laura and the kids," you have to hold him off. If he gets here, he will stop you. "Just check on her," you ask.
"Y/n-"
"Please Clint," you cut him off before he can object.
The archer sighs in frustration. He'd much rather lay into the Sokovian for hurting you, his baby sister with a heart three times too big for your little body. But, if you want him to check on her, then that's what he'll do.
"Ok," he yields, "I'll call her."
"Thank you, Clint," you whimper, "so much."
He thinks your thanking him for showing Wanda mercy, but you're thanking him for so much more than that, for being your protector, partner in crime, shoulder to cry on.
You're thanking him for being your big brother and best friend.
"Everything is gonna be ok," he comforts you, and your heart aches.
"I love you."
"I love you too kiddo."
You end the call and take a moment to accept that was the last time you'll speak to your brother.
Taking a deep breath, you turn to your friend, "ok, I'm ready."
“Y/n, I can’t,” Bruce shakes his head.
You stand in front of him in a Pym suit ready to do what needs to be done, “I have to do this, Bruce.”
You hand him three envelopes, each of their names written on one of them, Clint, Natasha, Wanda. “Give these to them after, please.”
“But…” he swallows, “they won’t survive this. You have to know that.”
Swatting away the tears, you smile sadly, “they’ll have each other, like it should have been in the first place." You hold out the envelopes again, "please, Bruce."
"Ok," he takes them and nods. “How do you know this will work?” he asks as you stand in the center of the platform.
"It has to," you shrug, “goodbye Bruce.”
Not knowing what to say, if there is anything to say, he begins his count down, as he finalizes the last of the settings, “in three, two, one.”
Bruce presses the last button, and you’re gone. He looks down and sighs at the loss of yet another friend.
“Goodbye, Y/n.”
The phone picks up after the first ring.
“Have you heard from Y/n?” Wanda asks hastily as soon as the call connects.
It’s been 3 hours and 27 minutes since you walked out of the house. The argument had exploded faster than either of you could comprehend, and you both needed space.
After half an hour, Wanda had calmed down enough to think about what happened, and the guilt followed immediately.
She was horrified. She is horrified with herself and the words that came out of her mouth. She hurt you when you were already broken. She’s been hurting you this entire time, and she hates herself for it.
In tears, she paced around the home and clutched her phone waiting for any word from you. She called. She texted. She sent voice messages, emails, private chats on every social media platform. Hoping for any response from you.
When you still weren’t home an hour later, Wanda grabbed the keys and started driving. She checked every bar, every restaurant, every coffee shop, anywhere you possibly could have gone. She’s called everyone, but no one has seen you.
She answered the phone desperately when she saw the caller ID. If anyone had heard from you, it would be your brother.
“I’ve been looking for her everywhere,” her voice is distraught and panic riddles her body, “she won’t answer any of my calls, and she turned off her location on her phone and I need to find her ……. we got in a fight, and-“
“Yeah, I know,” Clint interrupts, “she called me. She asked me to check on you.” He tries to treat her how his sister asked him to but knowing how Wanda has treated her makes that near impossible. “I think its best if you give her some space-“
“Please Clint,” the witch begs, “I have to talk to her. I said something horrible. I didn’t mean it. I have to tell her I didn’t mean it. Please, Clint. She has to know.”
The archer takes a deep breath. When the three of you got together, he thought that your love was indestructible, but how could he have ever predicted this. A tragedy like this and its ripple effect are unpredictable.
“She said she was going to stay at the compound for a bit,” Clint admits. He’s not sure if telling Wanda is right or not, but if there is a chance to save your relationship, he has to risk it. You and Wanda need each other if you’re going to heal from this.
The Sokovian lets out a cry of relief, “thank yo-“
“Wanda,” he stops her with his voice cool as ice, “you either fix this or stay the hell away from her. Don’t hurt her again.”
“I’m gonna fix it,” she whips the car around and drives straight for the compound.
“I’m gonna fix it.”
Rocks crunch underneath your boot as you climb.
You look straight ahead. You’ve seen enough of this mountain in your nightmares.
“Y/n, daughter of Edith,” the floating black cloaked man greets.
Coming to a stop in front of him, you stare into his eyes, “I’m here for a trade. Me for her.”
He chuckles morbidly, “child, what you seek is impossible.”
“Bull shit,” you interrupt, “you said to take the stone, one of us had to die. A soul for a soul. Why do you care who’s soul it is?”
He stares at you silently, expression almost bare.
"I was here that day. I jumped too," you argue, "I jumped first. It should have been me."
Your suddenly filled with anxiety. This has to work. You have to make it work.
"I am going over that ledge," you assert, "and there's no one here to take the stone, so you'll have an extra soul. That has to have some negative affect according to the laws of universal balance or some shit. So, what are you gonna do about it?"
The wind blows all around, while you watch the guide weigh his options in his head.
He releases a deep breath, “as you wish.”
You turn to the cliff.
“but know, Y/n, daughter of Edith,” he calls. You look over your shoulder, “this will be an everlasting exchange. There will be no reversal this time.”
Clenching your jaw, you nod and walk to the edge.
When she runs through the compound doors, Wanda’s not sure where to go. She darts up to the shared room you and Natasha had stayed in for the 5 years she had been gone. Opening the door, she finds the room empty. She checks the common area, the kitchen, the library, and still you are nowhere to be found.
Frustrated, she turns to the AI hoping it is still functional, “Friday, where is Y/n?”
There is a long pause before the monotone voice rings through the room, “Agent Y/L/N is in the hangar with Dr Banner.”
Before Friday has finished the sentence, Wanda has taken off through the compound. She cannot get through the building fast enough. She pushes every door open with her magic before she gets to it. The elevator takes the longest, and the Sokovian paces the small space the entire time. When the doors open, she runs.
Wanda is nearing the hangar doors when a familiar voice stops her in her tracks. It’s a voice she thought she would never hear again.
“What happened? How did I get back? Where is everyone?”
“Hold on, there’s something I need to tell you. Wait, Nat.”
At the sound of her name, Wanda bursts through the doors and whimpers at the sight in front of her.
Natasha is walking away from Bruce, well the hulk technically, and towards the exit. She stops when her eyes fall upon Wanda. Her lover she hasn’t seen since Thanos snapped his fingers. She’s still confused, but that can all wait.
“Wanda,” she whispers through a watery smile.
The witch is snapped out of her shock and runs for the Russian. She wraps her arms around her girlfriend’s neck. “Tasha,” she cries into the older woman’s neck.
"It worked," Natasha whispers with a grin, "we won."
The two hold each other tight, tears of relief streaming down their faces. Neither of them believed they would ever see the other again, and yet here they both were.
"How?" Wanda pulls back to look up happily confused, “how did you get here?”
“You got what you wanted.”
The two women turn to Bruce who they had honestly forgotten was there. His eyes bear into Wanda.
During the whole reunion, he sat back and watched solemnly. Everyone had seen the tension between you and Wanda since Natasha had sacrificed herself. He had no idea how bad it actually was until you came to him with tears in your eyes and a request.
No one else knew. They would have stopped you.
“What?” Wanda asks breathlessly.
“You got what you wanted,” he repeats with a bitter aftertaste to his words, “or should I say who you wanted.”
The momentary relief is shattered as Wanda stares back at her lover, speechless.
"What are you talking about?" Natasha looks past the witch expecting to see you right behind her, but there’s no one. She looks to Wanda, “where’s Y/n?”
Wand falls to her knees as the ground is seemingly ripped from under her. Natasha catches her and lowers them both to the ground, looking between her friend and her lover, “what’s going on?”
The pieces seem to fall in place, and Wanda is faced with pure horror. “No, no, no, no, no, I didn’t…” she looks up to Bruce, pleading that this isn’t true. It can’t be true. “Please, I didn’t mean it. I came here to tell her I didn’t mean it!”
“It's too late,” the doctor feels his anger melt into pity. Looking at her, he can see how sorry she is, but it’s too late for regrets, “you said it, and she loved you enough to make it happen.”
“What are you talking about?” Natasha asks. She’s still waiting for an answer to where her other partner is. Her brain works overtime, and she eventually catches up to their vague conversation. She puts the pieces together herself.
Then the terror sets in. “Where is Y/n?” she asks Bruce desperately. With tears already brimming in her eyes, Natasha looks to Wanda, “what did you say?”
The younger woman tries to bury her face in her hands, but the widow pulls them away.
"Wanda, what did you say?!"
What’s left of Wanda breaks. She crumples even further into the ground as a primal scream is torn from her chest.
NOW
“She’s gone, Wanda,” Natasha speaks calmly, trying to talk her partner back from this ledge, “our Y/n is gone. She’s not coming back.”
The Scarlet Witch shakes her head. She can’t give up, not when she is this close.
“No, I can bring her back. See!” She motions towards this Earth’s version of you, “I found her. We just have to take her back with us. We just have to bring her home.”
She turns back to you. The other Wanda stands in front of you protectively. With the flick of a wrist, she sends her flying and reaches out to you. “Come, detka,” she says sweetly. You’re finally here, in front of her.
She walks towards you but stops when you step back. Her smile waivers, “come with us, Y/n.”
“No, mama!” young voices plead.
You and the Scarlet Witch look over to the boys in the corner. They reach out for you, while this Natasha shields them with her body. The other Wanda has made it back to her feet and quickly resumes her position in front of you.
The witch takes a step back, and the rest of your family surrounds you. Tommy and Billy each cling tightly to your sides. Natasha wraps herself around all three of you, while also guarding you from the intruder.
“Come with us,” Wanda turns her attention back to you. She only has to convince you, but the conflicted look in your eyes makes her falter.
Why would you come with her? With your family fighting and clinging to you, why would you choose to leave them?
Her lips tremble in desperation, “please Y/n, please come back with us.” She falls to her knees and continues to beg, “I’m sorry, come back with us please... I’m sorry, Y/n please… Please come back to us.” Her anger falls away and she shakes with tears, “come back to us. I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m sorry, please come back.”
As her pleas fall into sobs, you can tell she is no longer speaking to you. She is calling for the one she really wants, the you that is gone.
“COME BACK, Y/N,” Wanda cries out into the multiverse as if you could hear her, “I’M SORRY, Y/n... I’m sorry. I love you; please come back.” A massive sobs washes over her body and she doubles over in pain. The tears are endless. She has no choice but to finally accept it.
She lost you.
The sight of her broken is too much for this Earth’s you. She’s not your wife, but she was obviously yours in this other world. You can’t stand to see her in pain.
You start to step out of your family’s arms, and they all protest. “She's grieving. She won’t hurt me,” you reassure them, "its ok."
Approaching slowly, you get a closer look at this version of your wife and your heart breaks. The discoloration of her hands. The way her thin frame tells you she isn’t eating. The shake of her shoulders as she sobs. The way this pain has devoured her.
Gently, you caress her face with one hand, using your thumb to wipe away tears as they fall. With renewed sobs, Wanda brings her black tipped fingers to cover your hand.
It doesn’t feel like you, not her you, not exactly, but its close enough. She’ll cherish whatever you give her, knowing after this she’ll never feel your touch again.
“You’ve lost so much,” you lower yourself in front of her and look into her eyes, “I’m so sorry I’ve added to your suffering, my dear.”
Wanda cries, “I hurt you. I should have held you and told you how much I loved you. I didn’t. I hurt you, and now I…. I can- I can never take it back. I can never apologize.”
You take her face into both of your hands, “you are forgiven.”
Wanda pulls away from you, shaking her head, “you don’t know what I did."
“No,” you sigh, “but I know the fire with which every version of me loves every version of you. I promise, you are forgiven.”
Wanda’s fingers reach for you tenderly hoping to feel some of this love, even if only by proxy.
You don’t move as she closes the distance and wraps her arms around your shoulders. You let her hold you, let her take the comfort she needs from you.
“Please, don't leave me. I need you,” she whimpers against your shoulder, “I have nothing.”
Gently, you rub her back, “you will be ok; you have each other.”
Wanda shakes her head against your shoulder in a silent denial.
You look up quickly to find the Natasha from the other reality, still standing at the portal entrance. The pain you find in her eyes nearly brings tears to your own.
Natasha swallows thickly, the dull ache of betrayal weighing heavily on her. What hurts the most is the way her betrayal is pointed to the partner in your arms.
THEN
The ringing in Natasha’s ears feels like it’ll drive her deaf. The thundering of horse’s hooves might as well be a lullaby compared to the pounding of her heart at this very moment. Drying tear tracks cool the redness of her cheeks.
"Show me."
Wanda shakes her head, "please, not again." She can't rewatch that memory anymore. She just can't.
The widow stares blankly ahead as her mind numbly takes in all that has transpired in the last hour. “I’m just trying to understand…”
The fight had erupted wildly. It began with Natasha asking Wanda to tell her what happened yet again, and it ended with the swapping of memories.
Natasha showed Wanda what happened on Vormir.
Wanda showed Natasha that last conversation with you.
This was the spark that lit the bomb. Natasha’s feelings of betrayal and Wanda’s growing guilt battled it out until they were both wounded.
Wanda was grappling with the consequences of her actions, and Natasha pressing her for answers she didn’t have.
“How?”
“I don’t know,” Wanda whimpers. How many times had she said those three words tonight? She can’t understand it either.
“…I know you loved her. I know how much you loved her,” Natasha says with an even tone. Her voice is scratchy from yelling, and her throat is hoarse.
“I just don’t understand how you can love her that much and still do what you did. I was at peace knowing you would lean on each other and love each other through the pain and still heal and find happiness. I trusted you with her, and I just don’t understand how I was this wrong.”
“I don’t know,” Wanda replies, “I was hurting so much. I lost you just like I lost everyone else-“
Natasha stands, “but you didn’t lose everyone! You still had her!”
“I know!”
“She was right there, Wanda, and she was in pain,” the widow paces the living room. Her words are angry daggers that hit the other woman right in the heart, “she was drowning in guilt, she was begging for you to help her, she needed you and you hurt her.”
Her tone raises as she continues, and the emotion builds as she tries to imagine what you went through. “You punished her and blamed her for something I did. I jumped off that mountain. I SAVED HER... and you told her she should have been the one to die. That wasn’t your decision to make!”
“I know!”
“How could you say that?!”
The witch stands, feeling as though she’ll burst any minute, “I DON’T KNOW!”
Her voice echoes against the walls, “I’ll never know! I’ll never understand why I didn’t cling to her, thanking every god that I still had her. I don’t know how I could have pushed her away or hurt her that way. I will hate myself for the rest of my life!”
The widow was going to interrupt, but she pauses. The witch’s self-loathing causes her to take a step back.
“If I could go back and change it, I would!” she yells, “I would hold her and tell her that is wasn't her fault. I would tell her how much I love her. But I can’t, and I am never going to forgive myself!”
Natasha sighs in despair. She sits down, tightly grasping the letter you left her.
In it, you apologized for reversing her sacrifice. You apologized for not being enough to get Wanda through this like she had said you would. You tell her how much you love her and hope she will be happy. At the end, you ask her to forgive Wanda, to please not blame her for your decision.
… and she is trying.
“Would you have said it to me?” the assassin asks quietly. “If she had beaten me on Vormir, and I was the one who survived, would you have said it to me?” She doesn’t know which answer would be better. At this point, she’s not entirely sure that it matters.
“I can't believe I said it to her,” fresh tears fall down the Sokovian’s face. The guilt is suffocating her. She just wishes it would drown her already, so she can be with you again.
In your letter to her, you promised that you didn’t blame her and that she shouldn’t feel guilty. You say you love her and just want her to be happy, but she never will be. Not without you. You loved her and forgave her, but she knew she didn’t deserve it.
“I love you, Wanda,” Natasha breaks the silence. There’s a finality in her tone.
Wanda’s blood runs cold.
She’s been expecting this. They have danced around each other for over a month. They’re trying to do what you asked them to, but maybe the cracks run too deep.
“I love you,” she repeats softly, “and I want to forgive you….. but I need time.”
With that, Natasha grabs her keys and leaves.
Wanda stares at the door blankly. This is her worst nightmare. Now, she really has lost everyone.
This, she ruined this. She has no one to blame but herself.
NOW
“Forgive her, Tasha,” you reach out for the redhead. She kneels in front of you, shuddering when you reach out to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Please, I can’t bear the thought of you being alone.”
She rests her forehead against yours.
You cup her cheek sweetly, “I know I would want you to be happy, together. I would die for it.”
“You did,” Natasha’s voice is barely over a whisper.
You nod in understanding. Your heart breaks even more for them. Their universe has been so unkind to them. Smiling sadly, you lift Natasha’s hand for her to look at you, “then grant me this last wish?”
She cries freely, but nods, “I promise.”
You look back to Wanda in your arms, "time to say goodbye, my love."
She holds you tighter, trying to memorize the feel of holding you against her.
Natasha gathers Wanda in her arms, “you have to close the portal, lyubov.” The two of them watch through the slowly closing window, as your family surrounds again in a tight embrace.
You smile to them, wanting that to be the last image they hold of you.
Once the portal has completely dissipated the Darkhold falls to the ground, closed.
Stephen approaches it carefully, lifting it from the ground, “we must destroy this.”
Wanda nods in understanding.
“Can we not do this now?” Natasha’s exhausted voice questions.
“Of course,” he steps back, “we’ll guard it in the sanctum until you are ready.” Quietly he opens a portal and leaves.
Left alone, Wanda breaks all over again. She clings tightly to Natasha as the sobs shake her entire body. The older woman holds her, rocking back and forth soothingly. She chokes out reassurances as she tries not to cry herself.
“It’s gonna be ok,” she whispers, but the Sokovian shakes her head against her chest, “it will. We’ll get through this.”
“How?”
“Together,” she rubs her back, “I promise, we’re both staying right here.”
The witch looks up slightly. She assesses the damage she has caused with Darkhold. The house she shared with you is in pieces, practically gone. A whine slips up her throat. You loved this house, and she’s destroyed it.
“What have I done?” she cries, “our home.”
“We’ll rebuild.” Natasha sits resolute, being the support her partner needs.
Wanda curls into Natasha as a fresh wave of grief hits her. “Y/n,” she whimpers into the Russian’s chest.
The widow can only hold her tighter, “I know.”
Natasha and Wanda sit there for a very long time. Nat holds her while she breaks down. Wanda eventually calms down enough to talk about how she is feeling.
Sitting in the rubble, they take the first step towards healing, together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: ...and yes, they rebuild the home. Apples do bloom on the trees. Many years later, maybe they have the twin boys they saw in the alternate reality. They also maybe have a baby girl. Her name is Y/n, and they hold her just a bit tighter.
.... :) anyway, I hope you guys liked it! let me know what you think!
-k❤️
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