⋆ 𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒.

Praia de Falésia.

Renowned as a miniature Grand Canyon by the Portuguese sea, this iconic beach features soaring crimson cliffs, soft golden sand, and crystal-clear waters. It remains a fixture on lists of the world's top coastal destinations.

The red rental Ford Thunderbird roared along the winding coastal road of Albufeira, the Atlantic ocean gleaming like crushed diamonds to your left. The summer sun was high and unforgiving, but the ocean breeze whipping through the open top made the heat feel like heaven.

In the back seat, Isla and Halston were already sticky from ice cream pops before you’d even reached the sand. In the driver’s seat sat Wanda, wearing an oversized button-up shirt, a backward cap, and Ray-Ban aviators, looking far too pleased with herself as her hand rested lazily on the gear shift.

"Okay, my turn again," Wanda called out over the rumbling engine, glancing in the rearview mirror. "I spy with my little eye... something that is loud, whiny, and sitting in the back right."

Isla gasped, scandalized. "Is it Halston?!"

"Hey!" Halston squeaked, throwing a foam pool noodle at the back of a chuckling Wanda's head. "I am not whiny!"

"Spot on, Isla, two points to you," She smirked, dodging the pool noodle without taking her eyes off the road.

You rolled your eyes, pulling your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose to glare at your girlfriend. "You're thirty seconds away from a backseat mutiny. And for the record, it's my turn to guess."

"Fine," With a dramatic sigh, Wanda adjusts her grip on the wheel. "I spy something... green, leaves, planted in the dirt."

"A tree," you said instantly.

"Nope."

"A bush?"

"Nope."

"Wanda, it's literally a palm tree, we've passed fifty of them!"

"Incorrect! It was a succulent on that villa's balcony three miles back," Wanda grinned, tossing you a wink from behind her dark lenses. "That's five to zero, darling."

"Oh God, you're the most irritating person I have ever met!" you threw your head back, the wind snatching your voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is the sound of me winning too loud for you?" Your girlfriend shot back smoothly at your faux-irritated self, turning up the radio just as a bass-heavy Portuguese summer track hit the speakers.

From the back, Isla dropped her head against the leather seat with a dramatic, full-body groan. "Mom, Halston is stepping on my towel! Tell her to get her gross feet off!"

"They're not gross! They have pink nail polish!" The younger one shrieked, deliberately stomping her sandy sandal (this time) right onto Isla’s bright yellow mermaid beach towel. "And it's half my side anyway!"

"It is not your side! You're on my leg!"

"Am not!"

"You are!"

"Am not infinite times!"

Halston reached over and snatched Isla's sparkly pink bucket right out of her lap. The eldest let out a screech that probably alerted half of Albufeira, grabbing the blue spade and threateningly raising it like a tiny weapon.

"That's mine! Give it back, you baby!"

"I'm not a baby, you're a big butt-head!" Halston yelled, clinging to the bucket with both hands and kicking the back of Wanda's empty seat for emphasis.

"Girls! Enough!”

The absolute authority in your voice made both girls freeze mid-tussle, Halston's hands still glued to the bucket and Isla's spade hovering in mid-air.

"If the two of you don't stop this right now, we are not going to the beach," you declared, pointing a finger firmly toward the gravel parking lot exit. "Mama will turn this car right around, and we are returning straight back to the hotel. No sand, no waves, and absolutely no more ice cream. Do you understand me?"

Wanda choked back a snort from the driver's seat, turning the key just enough to cut the radio off. She pulled the Thunderbird into the gravel parking lot overlooking the golden cliffs of Praia da Falésia. "You heard your mother," she said, winking at the girls in the rearview mirror. "One more squeak, and I'm driving us back to pool rules.”

Silence fell over the back seat instantly.

Isla slowly lowered the spade, her mouth forming a tiny 'o'. Halston swallowed hard, carefully setting the pink bucket back into her sister's lap and smoothing it over with her hands.

"We're being good," Halston whispered quickly.

"Very good," Isla agreed, putting her hands neatly in her lap around the bucket. "We love each other."

"That's what I thought," you said, hiding your own smirk as you unlatched your seatbelt. "Now grab your water bottles."

Wanda just chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made your chest feel ridiculously warm despite your annoyance. The moment the engine cut out, the sound of crashing waves filled the car.

As the girls reached into the footwell for their water bottles—suddenly the picture of perfect, silent obedience—Wanda unbuckled her belt and unzipped the trunk latch.

Instead of stepping out immediately, she leaned across the center console. It all happened in a flash—her hand gently grabbing your jaw and locking your lips together in a deep yet gentle kiss—and the sudden proximity made you whimper and pause with your hand still on the car door's handle.

Pulling away from the kiss that leaves you breathy and hood-eyed already, your girlfriend drops her sunglasses down her nose just enough so her hazel eyes could lock onto yours. A slow, lopsided smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth—she was aware of the effect she had on you and loved it when you made no effort to hide it.

Isla and Halston’s chatters serving as half background noise as they banter on which toys to take and to not.

"You know," she murmured against your lips, her voice dipping low enough that it wouldn't carry to the back seat, "that strict mom-voice of yours really shouldn't do what it does to me."

"I am disciplining our kids," you tell her, trying for a flat tone, though the way your eyes kept flicking between hers and her lips betray you.

"I know," the Sokovian whispers, her thumbs sliding beneath the hem of your short peach colored sundress that she'd picked this morning to stroke the soft skin of your hips. "And you do it so well. It’s a very good look on you.”

You blinked, letting out a soft laugh as you glanced around then shook your head—no. Not when you just arrived. "Baby, we are parked at a public beach."

"Just making an observation, Love," she says, trailing two fingers lightly down your bare neck, sending a subtle shiver through the summer heat. "You get all authoritative, your eyes narrow, you start laying down the law... It’s absurdly hot."

"That's me maintaining parental order," you whisper back, a warmth feeling creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the Albufeira sun.

"And you look gorgeous doing it," Wanda winked, leaning in to press a quick, cheeky kiss to the shell of your ear. "Keep raising the stakes like that, and I might start misbehaving just to see what happens."

Your eyes widen oh so slightly as you hit her shoulder. “Wanda Maximoff!"

From the backseat, Isla stuck her head out the open window, clutching her pink water bottle. "Mommy, can we go now? We're being quiet!"

Wanda leans in, pressing a swift, sun-warmed kiss to your lips that made the frown on them disappear instantly before throwing the driver's side door open. " Duty calls, hot stuff. Now come on, let's go carry fifty pounds of beach toys so you can get wrecked in twenty questions on the sand.”

A fond smile found its way to your lips and you're thankful that she'd turned her head by that time—since she happens to take a huge pleasure at getting you flustered.

Today was for sure going to be a long day.

. . . .

Getting down to the golden sand of Praia da Falésia meant navigating the long wooden staircase built directly into the red clay cliffs. Wanda made two turns, insisting on carrying the heavy cooler, the collapsible beach chairs, and the giant umbrella, leaving you to manage the tote bags and hold tightly onto Halston and Isla’s sticky hands as you made the steep descent.

At the bottom, one of the local beach huts had a line of blue-and-white sun loungers stretched across the sand. A quick tap of your card at the wooden rental kiosk secured two prime transats and a heavy-duty parasol right near the tide line, giving you a shaded sanctuary for the afternoon.

The second the wooden umbrella popped open, the girls immediately stripped off their sundresses, revealing matching floral swimsuits underneath.

"Can we go in now? Mom, look at the waves!" Isla squealed, bouncing on her heels.

"Not until every inch of you is covered in SPF 50," you replied, pulling the bottle from your tote. Halston squirmed under your hands as you rubbed the cold lotion onto her shoulders and belly, while Isla waited her turn, chattering endlessly about finding starfish. "And remember the rule: no ocean until an adult is in the water with you. Go build a sandcastle right here while I finish."

"Fine!" Halston giggled, already dropping to her knees and dragging a yellow plastic bucket into the sand.

With the girls momentarily occupied, you turned around to Wanda, who had kicked off her sandals and collapsed onto one of the transats. She leaned back against the canvas, her legs spread comfortably, watching you with an unreadable, lazily fond expression.

"Your turn, muscle," you told her, squeezing a generous dollop of sunblock onto your palms and stepping between her knees as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

As you leaned over her to spread the lotion across her shoulders and down the slope of her back, Wanda’s hands slid naturally to your hips, pulling you just an inch closer.

From her angle looking up, your breezy sundress dipped low, giving her a front-row view. The Sokovian’s eyes flicked downward, a slow, devilish grin spreading across her lips.

"You know," Wanda drawled softly, her hands smoothing over your hips and the back of your thighs as her fingers drummed against your skin, "I suddenly don't mind staying up here on the sand a little longer. The view from down here is pretty spectacular."

You swiped a dab of excess white cream right onto the tip of her nose. "Keep your eyes up here, lower back."

Your girlfriend laughed, wiping the cream away with the back of her hand without letting go of your waist. "Can't blame a girl for appreciating the perk of being sat down."

"You're unbelievable," you murmured, finishing up her arms and patting her chest. "All set."

She stood up, stretching her arms above her head and turning to face the ocean. She looked down at you, her sunglasses tucked into the collar of her shirt. "Comin’ in with us, counselor?"

Sinking gratefully into the shaded transat, you propped your legs up and picked up the chilled passion fruit cocktail you'd bought at the rental hut. "I’d much rather sit right here, sip this, and pretend I don't know any of you for at least twenty minutes."

Wanda chuckled, not pushing it for a second. "Fair enough. Enjoy your peace."

She turned to the girls, clapping her hands together. "Alright, monsters! First one to hit the water gets to pick what ice cream flavor we get later!"

"No fair, you have longer legs!" Isla shrieked, instantly abandoning her sand bucket and taking off down the beach, with Halston waddling as fast as her four-years-old legs could carry her right behind.

Wanda jogged softly behind them, making sure she let Halston stay a step ahead, her warm laughter echoing over the crash of the Atlantic waves. Leaning back into the cushions under the cool shade of the parasol, you took a slow sip through your straw, watching the three of them splash into the foaming white surf, a smile permanently fixed on your face.

Halston was the first to wander back up the sand, towing a new friend behind her. The girl whose name turned out to be Anne was visiting for the summer from Denmark. Behind them dragged Anne’s teenage sister, looking utterly miserable at being dragged into babysitting duty. You caught the teenager’s eye and offered a quiet, sympathetic smile, receiving a dramatic roll of her eyes in solidarity before she sank into the sand a few feet away.

Within minutes, Halston and Anne were completely engrossed in a high-stakes construction project involving three plastic buckets and an endless pile of wet sand.

Shortly after, Wanda and Isla splashed out of the surf, dripping wet and grinning. Your eldest daughter immediately darted over to join the little girls' sandcastle operation, while your girlfriend sauntered straight over to your sun lounger. Without asking, she leaned down, grabbed your passion fruit cocktail, and took a deep pull from the straw.

"Sharing is caring, babe," Wanda murmured before you could complain, leaning lower to press a cool yet salty peck to your lips before collapsing onto the transat beside yours. She wiped ocean water from her eyes, her gaze drifting over your sundress-ed’s body. She blinked, looking around. "Wait. Why aren't you in your swimsuit yet?"

You shifted in your seat, suddenly very interested in smoothing down the dress. "Oh, I just didn't really plan on going into the water so it’d be kind of pointless now."

Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly, green eyes narrowing as she read right through you. She’d been with you long enough to know the signs. Mid-thirties, and a body that had changed after two pregnancies—you had a habit of hiding behind oversized cover-ups, convinced the stretch marks and soft curves weren't something to show off.

Before you could change the subject, the younger woman reached out, taking the cocktail glass out of your hand and setting it on the sand. She shifted her weight, sliding onto the transat until she was framing you, her hands resting gently on your knees.

"You're doing it again," Wanda said softly, her playful banter dropping into something far warmer and entirely earnest.

"Doing what?" you mumbled, looking away toward the waves.

"Hiding," she whispered. Wanda reached up, her thumb gently cupping your jaw and turning your face back to hers. "Look at me."

"You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman on this entire beach," She continued, her tone absolute and leaving no room for argument. "You carried two human beings. You work your ass off. And despite whatever nonsense your head is telling you right now, you are ridiculously hot."

A small, embarrassed heat rose up your neck. "Wanda..."

"No, don't 'Wanda,' me." she cut in, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your lips again—soft, lingering kisses that made your heart skip. "We didn't spend an hour in that shop picking out that green bikini for it to stay at the bottom of the beach bag. You bought it because you loved it. Now go put it on."

"It's fine, really, I'm comfortable like this—"

"I'm not asking, counsellor," Wanda smirked, pressing one final, firm kiss to your lips before sliding off the lounger and taking your hand to pull you up. "You are going to wear it, you are going to flaunt it, and I am going to respectfully stare at you the entire time."

You couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped you, the lingering insecurity melting away under the sheer weight of her certainty. "Fine. Fine! I'm going."

You grabbed the bag and turned toward the beach wooden changing cabins near the boardwalk. You barely took two steps before a firm, playful pat landed right on your backside.

"That's my girl!" Your girlfriend called out shamelessly, flashing you a wicked grin as you turned around to glare at her. "Hurry back, I'm waiting!”

. . .

A few minutes later, you made your way back down the sand, the green two-piece hugging your curves just right under a sheer white sarong wrapped loosely around your waist. Your hair was pulled into a quick, messy low bun to keep it off your neck. You stopped right in front of Wanda's transat, crossing your arms and tossing her a dry, "Happy now?" look.

Wanda didn't answer right away. Her eyes dragged slowly from your ankles all the way up to your face, her lips parting in an appreciative grin. In one smooth motion, she reached out, grabbed your waist, and pulled you down into her lap.

Before you could balance yourself, her mouth was on yours—warm, deep, and tasting like sea salt. While her right hand gripped your ass, her left snaked behind your head, her fingers effortlessly tugging out the hair tie.

"Hey," you murmured, pulling away just a fraction of an inch, trying to inject a stern scolding into your tone. "I liked my hair in a bun. Took me three tries."

"Much better down," Wanda muttered against your lips, her mouth sliding down to brush against your jawline, her voice dropping into a low, husky whisper that sent a sudden jolt straight down your spine. "And you look so broad-daylight edible in this green outfit that I'm considering taking you back to the car."

You swatted her shoulder, flustered again.

She just chuckled, turning her head to scan the horizon. Her eyes darted between the sparkling turquoise water and the sight of you sitting in her lap. A wicked, mischievous spark lit up her green eyes.

"Wanna do something fun?" she asked softly.

"What do you mean—woah!"

Before you could finish the sentence, your girlfriend shifted beneath you, hooked her arms under your thighs, and scooped you effortlessly into her arms as she stood up.

"Babe! Put me down!" you shrieked, instantly wrapping your arms around her neck for dear life.

From down on the sand, Isla and Halston gasped, their eyes wide before bursting into wild, uncontrollable giggles.

"Throw her in! Mamaa, throw Mommy in!" Isla cheered, jumping up and down and kicking up sand as she sprinted after you toward the shore while Halston remained in the sand with her friend, giggling.

"You traitor!" you yelled back at your daughters, clinging even tighter to Wanda's shoulders as her long strides carried you past the dry sand and straight into the cool foam of the shore. "Wanda, I am serious! Do not—Wanda, please, I'd very much like to keep my hair dry! I am begging you!"

"Sorry, counsellor," Wanda grinned down at you, her grip like iron, her eyes gleaming with utter betrayal. "I'm outnumbered two to one. You know I can't say no to the kids."

"Wanda Maximoff, don't you dare—"

"One, two... three!"

"Wanda—!"

With a loud splash, the cold Atlantic water swallowed you whole. You went under for two brief seconds before breaking the surface, gasping for air and wiping wet strands of hair out of your face.

Your girlfriend was standing right over you, waist-deep in the water, hands on her hips, laughing louder than you'd heard her laugh all week. Up on the shore, your daughters were practically rolling in the shallow foam, cackling in absolute victory.

You wiped the saltwater from your eyes, glaring up at your gorgeous, insufferable girlfriend, though the huge smile breaking across your face completely ruined the act.

. . .

After another hour of relentless water gun battles and jumping over waves, the tide started creeping higher up the shore, signaling it was time to retreat. Anne’s teenage sister finally trudged over to call her back for lunch, leaving Halston to wave a dramatic, beach-toy-filled goodbye.a

Keeping her word, Wanda marched the girls over to the wooden beach kiosk to co-select the afternoon ice cream. After a heated two-minute debate, they settled on a chaotic combination of pistachio and raspberry sorbet swirl.

By 3:47 PM, the late afternoon sun was glowing, and everyone was famished. You ordered a large, wood-fired Margherita pizza and a couple of cold drinks from the beach bar.

The girls commandeered one of the transats, sitting side-by-side like tiny queens, munching on hot slices of pizza and happily swinging their legs over the edge with juice boxes in hand.

On the other transat, you settled back between Wanda’s legs. Your wet back rested against her chest, her arms wrapped comfortably around your waist to anchor you. Every now and then, you’d tear off a piece of crust or lift a slice over your shoulder to feed her, which she took with lazy, grateful bites, resting her chin on your shoulder between mouthfuls.

"Mom?" Isla asked around a mouthful of crust, her face smeared with tomato sauce. "Can we stay here forever?"

"Yeah!" Halston agreed, holding up her apple juice box like a goblet. "We don't need to go home. We can just live in Portugal in the Thunderbird!"

"Two weeks isn't long enough," Isla pouted, leaning back against the lounger. "Can't we stretch it to a month? Or five months?"

You laughed, shaking your head as you reached over to wipe a spot of sauce off Halston’s chin. "As amazing as that sounds, sweeties, you know we can't. Two weeks is our special time, and then you have the second half of the summer with grandma in Greece."

Both girls instantly let out a collective, synchronized pout. Isla crossed her arms, and Halston sighed dramatically, staring down at her pizza crust as if it had personally betrayed her.

"I know, I know," you said softly, your voice full of understanding. "But she’s excited to see you guys, too. And you get to go to the waterpark with her, remember?"

The mention of the waterpark softened the blow. Halston grumbled a low "Fine," before taking another huge bite, and Isla went back to sipping her juice box, the short-lived disappointment already evaporating under the warm afternoon sun.

Within ten minutes, the pizza box was completely cleared. The girls hopped off the transat, their energy magically restored, and trotted back down toward the damp sand near the parasol to rebuild their fallen fortress.

With the kids happily occupied a few feet away, the quiet settled back over the two of you. Wanda wrapped her arms a little tighter around your midsection, burying her face into the side of your neck and inhaling the salty, sun-warmed scent of your skin.

"You handled that well," Wanda murmured, her voice a low rumble against your back. "The grandma talk."

"It's always a delicate balance," you sighed, leaning your head back against her shoulder, watching the gentle rise and fall of the ocean. "I just want them to have a good summer without feeling caught in the middle."

"They're happy, baby," Wanda said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the sweet spot just below your ear. "Look at them. They're obsessed with you. And, for the record... so am I."

You smiled, resting your hands over hers where they were joined across your stomach. Your gaze settles on the almost empty beach, a low curl on your lips as you speak up, "Even when I'm lecturing you about throwing me into the Atlantic?"

"Especially then," Wanda smirked into your skin, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your waist. "You're very cute when you're trying to scold me.”

A dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you turn your head to eye her.

"Cute, huh? Well, what I'm about to do won't look very cute," you murmured, leaning up to press a lingering, heat-laced, tongue-tangled kiss to her lips that left your girlfriend's breath catching in her chest.

When you settled back down against her front, your body relaxing into hers, Wanda exhaled quietly. She knows for a fact that you hadn't meant to initiate anything but oh she was turned on. Keeping her eyes casually scanned over the beach where the girls were deeply involved in digging a massive moat, her hand reached back. She grabbed her dry, untouched striped beach towel from the frame of the transat.

With practiced, deliberate ease, she draped the thick towel over your lap, tucking it in snugly so it covered you completely from your stomach down to your knees. Beneath the thick fabric, her warm, calloused hand slid straight under the hem of your green bikini bottom, her fingers making slow, possessive contact with your sensitive, sun-warmed skin.

Wanda leaned her face down right beside your ear, her lips brushing against your shell as her thumb began an agonizingly slow, rhythmic pressure that made your breath hitch instantly.

"Can you keep quiet for me, mommy?" she purred, her deep voice dropping into a low, filthy whisper that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.

“Such a dangerous proposal." You answered, feeling her fingers slip past the hem of your bikini bottoms.

“Thought you liked it like that. No?"

You did not agree or deny. You couldn't. Wanda Maximoff liked many things—being right was deeply included. And you hated giving her the satisfaction of being right.

No more room left for your thoughts as the pad of her middle finger rubbed against your already soaked clit. A soft gasp slipping past your lips.

“You can have me all night long, Wanda. At the hotel." You tell her quietly, emphasizing your last words. Because at your age, sex in public places wasn't exactly what you were used to anymore, and that was one of the perks of being in a relationship with her.

You felt alive. Anew.

"Don't pretend you don't want this as much as I do.” She tells you. "Doesn't the idea of all these people setting foot on this beach, being unaware of what I am doing to you, excites you?” she murmurs, nipping at your jaw while you let out whimper. "Breathe, Love. No one's looking.”

And she was right. People were mostly minding their own business, as the beach also wasn't that crowded anymore. The girls were still deep into their sandy games.

To anyone else, you both just looked like a couple resting into each other's arms.

"You started this, you know.”

"‘Twas only a kiss—ah” Two of her fingers slipped inside your cunt, stretching you open—while her teeth bit softly at your ears.

"Still.” She says, emphasizing the fact that it was your fault.

Parted lips, gasps and slightly rocky hips—that was you.

A moan left your throat as Wanda added a third finger—your brain was on automatic mode—you quickly bit down your lip in reminder that you were out there and not alone. Her unbusy hand slipped inside your swimwear’s bra, squeezing your tits in her large hand. "You have no idea how perfect you are, my darling.”

"I could touch you all day long, all night long without ever getting tired.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as you nuzzle her jaw, low moans and gasps escaping your lips. Fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, she's constantly changing the pace—slow then fast, fast then slow—she’s toying with you, as if she wants to test how long until you can't keep quiet anymore.

You can't see it but there's a small smirk on her lips as you muffle a whine in the crook of her neck.

Wanda pinches your nipple, then flicks it between her thumb and index finger.

“What was that, Lyubov Moya?” She tuts. "I didn't quite catch that."

“..C-can't hold it in anymore..ngh”

“Say please. I want to hear it.”

"Wanda..”

Your brows knit together as your orgasm approaches. She's switched her attention to your other breasts by now, knuckles deep inside your cunt.

She lowers her face so her lips are just inches away from yours. Her eyes remain on the girls before settling on your face.

"Say please,” Her tone has turned a little strict and it has your clit throbbing. "Or you're getting none.”

You exhale against her lips, eyes hooded now. You follow the rhythm of her hips with your fingers, hoping to go unnoticed by the people around you.

Your chest heaves as you beg her to let you cum.

Wanda brings her thumb rubbing your clit rapidly to allow you your release, kissing the top of your head repeatedly.

The kitchen in the Avengers Compound was usually loud, chaotic, and filled with the smell of burnt toast or over-extracted espresso.

But at six in the morning, it belonged entirely to Natasha.

She sat at the kitchen island, a steaming mug of black coffee cupped between her hands, staring out at the mist rolling off the lawn. Her shoulders were slightly relaxed—a rare posture for her—but her mind was still doing its usual quiet loop of threat assessments, mission logs, and upcoming schedules.

"You're awake early."

Natasha’s head turned, a soft, genuine smile instantly replacing her neutral mask. "I could say the same about you."

You walked in, wearing an oversized hoodie and slippers, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. But despite the groggy expression, there was an unmistakable spark of nervous excitement in your posture. Behind your back, you were hiding something.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, setting her mug down. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," you lied badly, sitting down on the barstool next to her. "Well, not nothing, just... happy anniversary."

She blinked, her brain immediately cross-referencing dates. Six months. It had been six months since the two of you officially decided that whatever was happening between you wasn't just a fleeting distraction, but something real.

"I didn't forget," Natasha said quickly, her voice softening. "I have something for you upstairs, but—"

"Nat, it's fine, you don't have to defend yourself," you laughed, setting a small, wrapped paper bag and a slightly lopsided envelope on the counter between you. "Mine isn't fancy. I actually handmade it."

Natasha looked at the items on the counter as if they might be rigged with explosives. "You... handmade it?"

"Yeah. Open the card first."

Nat reached out, her fingers surprisingly careful as she picked up the envelope. Your handwriting was scrawled across the front: To Nat. She slipped her thumb under the flap, taking extra care not to tear the paper.

Inside was a handmade card. You had folded a piece of heavy cardstock in half, drawn a surprisingly good little doodle of the two of you on the front, and glued small dried flowers near the edge. When she opened it, her eyes scanned the handwritten message. It wasn't just a standard greeting; it was a page full of quiet memories—the time you spent three hours making pasta from scratch, the way she took her tea when she was tired, how much you loved the quiet moments no one else ever got to see.

Natasha read every single word slowly. Her thumb stroked the rough edge of the paper, her breath catching slightly in her throat.

"And, uh, open the bag," you murmured, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious as the silence stretched. "I know it's silly, but..."

Natasha set the card down gently, taking the small paper bag. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, were two woven bracelets. They were intricately braided with dark red, navy, and gold threads.

"I made matching ones," you explained, rubbing the back of your neck. "I had to watch like four YouTube tutorials on bracelet knots, so the pattern isn't totally perfect, but.."

"You made this?" Natasha’s voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. Took me a few nights while you were on that briefing tour last week. The gold thread is supposed to be—"

Natasha hadn't looked up from the bracelets. A single, clear tear had slipped free from her eye, tracing a quiet line down her cheek before landing on the marble counter.

"Nat?" You panicked slightly, shifting closer and reaching for her hand. "Hey, what's wrong? If you don't like them, it's totally okay, I know they're a little juvenile—"

"No," Natasha choked out, her voice tight. She quickly reached up with the back of her hand to wipe her cheek, but another tear followed it. She shook her head, looking at the braided thread resting in her palm as if it were made of pure diamond. "No, it's... it's not that."

"Then what is it?" you asked softly, wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your chin on her shoulder.

Natasha leaned into your touch, letting out a shaky breath. She held up the card and the bracelets, her fingers trembling just a fraction.

"No one... no one has ever spent hours sitting down, picking out thread, learning how to weave it... just to give me something pretty like that." Natasha said quietly, her voice thick with an emotion she rarely let show.

She turned in her seat to face you, her green eyes bright and glistening with tears.

"No one has ever put that kind of time into making something special just for me," she whispered, looking at you like you had just handed her the key to the universe. "Just because they love me."

Your heart melted right there in the dimly lit kitchen. You reached out, gently cupping her face and using your thumb to brush away the wetness on her skin. "Natasha... you deserve things that take time. You deserve people who put effort into you."

She closed her eyes, leaning into your palm, taking a deep, shuddering breath. When she opened them again, the fierce, guarded Black Widow was nowhere to be found—there was only Natasha, raw and deeply touched.

"Put it on me?" she asked softly, holding out her left wrist.

"Of course."

You took the red, black and gold bracelet and carefully tied it around her wrist, making sure the double knot was secure. As soon as it was on, Natasha held her wrist up, admiring the way the colors sat against her skin. Then, without a word, she grabbed the second bracelet, picked up your wrist, and tied it on you with meticulous care.

Once both bracelets were secured, she didn't let go of your hand. Instead, she pulled you closer, wrapping her arms tightly around you and burying her face in the crook of your shoulder.

You held her close, feeling the steady beat of her heart against yours, resting your hand on her back as she held onto you like you were her anchor.

"Thank you," she murmured against your skin, her grip tightening just a little more. "I'm keeping the card forever."

"Good," you smiled, kissing the side of her head. "Because I'm planning on making you a whole lot more of them."