draw me a sheep.

Emily had never really had a home. Houses, yes, plenty of them, though few could actually be called hers. Even when she did have her name on the lease, she didn't have the warmth burning at every corner, the full, heavy air of a house lived in—a house inviting, a house that was a home. There was always just silence, or tension, or disagreements echoing off the walls.

There was never this.

The faint sound of your humming, music pouring out from your phone and into the hallway; your touch in the decor, the furniture—your blankets draped over the couch and a million candles lit on tables; the palpable warmth of home-cooked food, the bits of you in every corner, crowding her lungs. Rushing home is a still-fresh novelty to Emily. The reason sits flitting about the kitchen, your hair a little frizzed around your face, two pans and a pot sitting on the stove-top.

Emily's mouth pulls.

"Hey, stranger."

You turn, your mouth parting in an O. Faint surprise lights up your face. A smile follows.

"Hi." You step back from the stove and meet her halfway, twining your arms around her neck. Emily presses a kiss to your cheek. She tugs you into her, hugging you flush. Her hands slip around you and settle on your waist, your warm, bare skin spilled wide under her palms.

She skims a thumb over your side. Skirting her hand up, she finds the hem of your shirt, a stretching, clingy thing, and gently tugs it back down. You shift to brush a kiss to her cheek; it catches the corner of her mouth, instead, and Emily smiles, turning to kiss you properly.

"Hi," she murmurs.

You hum, thread your fingers through her hair. "You're back early."

"Missed you." She shrugs, trailing her lips over your jaw.

You lightly shove at her shoulder, laughing.

"Sap."

Emily's chuckle is soft, unapologetic. She gives you a squeeze, her eyes cutting to the stove as she kisses your temple. "What're you making?"

"Stir fry," you say, wriggling out of her arms. She reluctantly tucks her hands in her pockets, stalking over with you to the stove. You hover above the pot of noodles, steam flushing your face, and poke them with a fork. Satisfied, you turn the heat off.

"Can I help?" She asks. Quite uselessly, but you hum and shake your head.

"I'm almost done. You go get changed." You wave her away, reaching up for the cupboard above you.

With the movement, your shirt rides up again. Your skin flashes, and the shirt is still stubbornly bunched even after you shut the cupboard and settle back on your heels. Emily's smile pulls. She steps in, trapping you before you can get closer to the stove-top. Her fingers hook into the hem of the shirt and tug it back down.

You smile at her over your shoulder, eyes squinting with it, and she drops a small kiss on your mouth, hands splaying wide on your side. She gives your waist a squeeze.

"Careful you don't get splashed," she murmurs, her lips to your temple.

Emily had never really had a home. Houses, yes, plenty of them, though few could actually be called hers. Even when she did have her name on the lease, she didn't have the warmth burning at every corner, the full, heavy air of a house lived in—a house inviting, a house that was a home. There was always just silence, or tension, or disagreements echoing off the walls.

There was never this.

The faint sound of your humming, music pouring out from your phone and into the hallway; your touch in the decor, the furniture—your blankets draped over the couch and a million candles lit on tables; the palpable warmth of home-cooked food, the bits of you in every corner, crowding her lungs. Rushing home is a still-fresh novelty to Emily. The reason sits flitting about the kitchen, your hair a little frizzed around your face, two pans and a pot sitting on the stove-top.

Emily's mouth pulls.

"Hey, stranger."

You turn, your mouth parting in an O. Faint surprise lights up your face. A smile follows.

"Hi." You step back from the stove and meet her halfway, twining your arms around her neck. Emily presses a kiss to your cheek. She tugs you into her, hugging you flush. Her hands slip around you and settle on your waist, your warm, bare skin spilled wide under her palms.

She skims a thumb over your side. Skirting her hand up, she finds the hem of your shirt, a stretching, clingy thing, and gently tugs it back down. You shift to brush a kiss to her cheek; it catches the corner of her mouth, instead, and Emily smiles, turning to kiss you properly.

"Hi," she murmurs.

You hum, thread your fingers through her hair. "You're back early."

"Missed you." She shrugs, trailing her lips over your jaw.

You lightly shove at her shoulder, laughing.

"Sap."

Emily's chuckle is soft, unapologetic. She gives you a squeeze, her eyes cutting to the stove as she kisses your temple. "What're you making?"

"Stir fry," you say, wriggling out of her arms. She reluctantly tucks her hands in her pockets, stalking over with you to the stove. You hover above the pot of noodles, steam flushing your face, and poke them with a fork. Satisfied, you turn the heat off.

"Can I help?" She asks. Quite uselessly, but you hum and shake your head.

"I'm almost done. You go get changed." You wave her away, reaching up for the cupboard above you.

With the movement, your shirt rides up again. Your skin flashes, and the shirt is still stubbornly bunched even after you shut the cupboard and settle back on your heels. Emily's smile pulls. She steps in, trapping you before you can get closer to the stove-top. Her fingers hook into the hem of the shirt and tug it back down.

You smile at her over your shoulder, eyes squinting with it, and she drops a small kiss on your mouth, hands splaying wide on your side. She gives your waist a squeeze.

"Careful you don't get splashed," she murmurs, her lips to your temple.

You've been in Tokyo for almost a month now, and Natasha still can't decide what to grab for breakfast. You made your choice ages ago, it seems, and all you're doing now is stand next to her and help speed up her decision.

It's not that she doesn't like what's offered. Most of it is delicious. But Natasha isn't someone who likes change, and she has a somewhat specific idea of what breakfast should look like, and it turns out 7/11 in Japan doesn't sell scrambled eggs.

"I'd be fine with oatmeal", she says, looking at yet another bento box. "Honey and cinnamon, it's simple."

"They have pancakes", you say. "Maybe instant oatmeal?"

"Too watery." She pauses. "You think they have that?"

You go back to roaming the aisles. Instant noodles, Pocky and chips. Again, she likes all of those. They're not breakfast items, though, so you find yourself in front of the refrigerators again.

She ends up grabbing an iced coffee and a bacon and egg croissant. You pay, head outside, and sit on the sidewalk to eat.

"I like the convenience stores here", she says. "I'll miss having one right across the street." 

"Agreed", you hum, sticking a piece of pancake into your mouth. "We can always come back."

Natasha doesn't reply to that, but she picks a croissant flake off her quarter zip. You told her it'd be too warm to wear that. You were right, she realized soon after arriving, but in the mornings, the temperatures are still bearable if she rolls up the sleeves.

Joining you on your work trip wasn't a difficult decision. She doesn't like traveling, but when you're away for weeks at a time, multiple times a year, she'll take any opportunity to be with you. 

"The flight's Monday?", she asks. 

"Monday afternoon", you confirm. "Gives me enough time to get that Zoom meeting done."

She nods. She stuffs the remainder of her croissant into her mouth and wipes her hands. 

It took a while for her to develop a liking for Tokyo. Much like New York City, it is massive in every sense of the word. Tall buildings, a huge population, and a rapid lifestyle. You adapted quickly. Natasha needed more time. 

She got used to it, though, and now she's close to admitting how fond she's grown of it.

"We still have a few days", you say. "I'm almost done working, just need to get through the review of the final draft and edit a couple details. I'm sure we can still do something nice."

She nods and gets up, her hand reaching out for yours. "Got anything in mind?"

"I do", you say, letting her pull you to your feet. "It's fun, I promise. Ever tried karaoke?"

Her movements slow down for a second. She rubs her thumb across your knuckles, mulling over the idea, her eyes lowered. It certainly doesn't sound like something she'd enjoy much. 

"I haven't", she admits. "Singing? In front of strangers?"

"Yeah", you nod. "I mean, not really. They have private rooms, so..."

"I get it."

"No strangers. Just us." You squeeze her hand and, almost like an afterthought, add: "And whoever we invite to join."

Natasha hates saying no to you. She says no sometimes, anyway, when she really can't bring herself to do whatever you proposed. This time, she feels her heart sink at the idea of shooting this down. 

"Fair enough", she says, leading you across the street. "Just us. And whoever we invite."

You enter the building and press the elevator button. The door swishes open, you get in, and once you're shielded from the eye of the public, you lean against her front. She presses her lips to your nose. 

Your hands slip under her quarter zip. "You know we don't have to do it."

"I want to", she assures you. "You deserve some time off after working so much."

You shut the door to your apartment and take off your shoes. You end up sprawled out on the couch, feet in her lap, your laptop propped up on your thighs.

Natasha helps review your draft. She's by no means an expert on the subject, but she's read enough articles, still skims the daily newspaper like a middle aged dad.

Her feedback is more helpful than what you've received from some editors. You plant a kiss on her mouth to thank her, and though a distraction isn't what either of you had intended, it's much welcomed. 

You straddle her on the couch, fingers slowly raking through her hair. Her heart beats against her ribs. Over half a year of kissing you like this, and her body still reacts violently. 

It's lazy and deliberate. Her hands squeeze their way down your sides. You tilt your head and part your lips, feeling her tongue against yours. 

The sex is lazy, too. You lean your head against her shoulder, quickened breaths brushing her neck and making her shudder. Your limbs slacken when you come, and Natasha nuzzles your neck. 

She picks up lunch for you after. At night, you get dressed for karaoke. You made plans with the same people you went out with the night before. 

Tokyo's nightlife even manages to fascinate Natasha. It's raining, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. Dozens of colorful umbrellas drift past. Inside the karaoke bar, music spills out of the private rooms. 

Her hand tightens around yours. You slip into the room you booked and sit down. 

"You've never tried karaoke?", one of your newfound friends asks. Natasha shakes her head. "Oh, you'll love it."

"Y/N told me the same thing", Natasha says. "I'm not too sure. At least it'll be entertaining for you, though."

You order drinks for everyone. There's another couple in the group, Koji and Jun, and Jun's sister Mai. Koji volunteers to go first.

"Give me a song", he says. "American one."

Natasha glances at you. You shrug, cheek resting against her upper arm. Though both of your playlists are extensive, she's the one who's familiar with the American classics. 

She hesitates, lowering the beer bottle in her hand. "Bon Jovi, Livin' On A Prayer."

He types it into the catalogue. You look up at Natasha, watching her watch Koji when he starts singing. Her fingers are tapping against your knee, the neon lights inside the room reflecting in her eyes. 

You know what she's doing — she's trying to figure out how this whole thing works. She's always been good at mirroring, a skill she developed early on in her childhood when she first began playing ice hockey. It developed with time. When she was a teenager, every ice hockey team in your area knew about this habit, this strength. 

Your hand, resting on the inner side of her forearm, slides down to thread your fingers through hers. She brings your entwined hands up to her face and absently kisses your knuckles.

Jun jumps up when the song ends. She cups Koji's face and kisses him, his upper lip sweaty and a wide smile on his face. He gestures at Natasha, who raises her eyebrows. 

"What?"

"You next", he encourages. "Go, pick a song."

"Oh, no." She shakes her head. "I don't sing."

You tilt your head to look at her, meeting her eyes briefly. "You're sure? It's fun, you might like it."

Natasha is adamant. She shakes her head again, her hand squeezing yours. You shrug, lean up to kiss her jaw, then grab the mic when Koji hands it to you. You take a look at the catalogue before settling on a song.

In all your years of traveling, you've done enough karaoke to be comfortable straight away. For some reason, it's popular, widely known. In New York, there was a karaoke bar across your friend's dormitory — a much shabbier one — and you frequented it all the time.

By the end of the night, you all have had a little too much to drink. Your throat hurts, you're tired, and Natasha agrees to do the last song of the night.

If she weren't tipsy, she might not do it. But she reaches for the microphone and lets you pick a song.

It's your song. The one you kissed to, the one she heard playing in the bar all those years ago when you were still separated.

"Good choice", she mumbles, cheeks pink. She's staring at the screen, not looking at you or the others. 

She doesn't turn her head away from the lyrics once. When she's done, however, she turns around and kisses you before you can comment on it. Your hand finds her jaw, your head tilts to deepen the kiss. She breathes into your mouth.

Even at 2am, the streets are alive and filled with people. Wet pavement and neon lights, your hands tangled together, Koji and Jun laughing as they watch Mai pretend to be too sleepy to walk. Natasha looks at you, and for the first time, she quietly admits she might like Tokyo more than she thought she would.

. . .

Minnesota is in the middle of a heatwave when you arrive back home.

Natasha hauls your suitcases out of the taxi. She's worked up a sweat already, despite being in a tank top and shorts. Her baby hairs are moist, clinging to her temples, and her cheeks are rosy.

"You got a sunburn", you comment, brushing your thumb across her cheek. "Need help with that?"

"Don't you dare", she says. She grabs the last item — a duffel bag — and closes the trunk. The taxi driver waves goodbye before backing out of the driveway. "We need to pick up Frodo. I bet your parents are tired of him."

"They love him", you assure her. "They told me he makes the house feel less empty. We'll pick him up once we get everything else sorted out, I need to-"

"Ms Romanoff! Do you want some tomatoes?"

You both turn around in sync. There's an older lady living right down the street, but you don't run into her a lot. You both know her — she owns the Christmas tree farm with her husband, and her granddaughter graduated high school with you. 

Whenever you do see her, she's either taking care of her garden or running errands. Opportunities to chat are rare; you haven't managed to talk to her in the half year that you've lived here.

She holds up a basket of tomatoes as she approaches you. You give her a polite smile.

"So much produce this year", she keeps talking. "Sweetcorn, tomatoes, berries. Feedin' the whole family. Tomatoes in abundance."

"Hey, Mrs Winter", Natasha says, tipping her cap. "Those look amazing."

"Don't they?" She grabs a tomato and makes you smell it. You hum in agreement. "Got too many, they'll go bad. We already turned a bunch of 'em into sauce."

"That's very kind of you."

"Take 'em, take 'em." She nods frantically, shoving the basket straight at Natasha. Then she looks up at you, and her sparse eyebrows rise a little. "Y/L/N, isn't it? I heard you were back in town."

You glance at Natasha. The news spread like wildfire — Natasha told you about it, and so did your parents, and basically every other person you're close with. You've had a hard time trying to guess the town's feelings on it.

Locals all have that same sense of loyalty. People don't leave, and when someone does decide to break that silent rule, it's frowned upon. Humans judge. It's in their nature. You never wanted to be in the spotlight of such scrutiny, though.

"Moved back in January", you say after a beat. "It was a good call."

She nods, her hands clasped together. "New York wasn't better after all, was it? Big cities got their own issues." She leans in, her voice lowering a little. "We thought you'd come back, you know. I always wondered how long it'd take."

You pause for a second. You look at Natasha again, who's furrowing her eyebrows at the older woman. There's your confirmation. Moving back makes people talk.

"I mean...", you trail. You're not sure what to say, though. "Yeah. I guess."

"A lot of the folks who leave think they're too good for this town", she adds. She's trying to be nice, you can tell as much, but it's not working. "You seem very down to earth. You're a good kid, Y/N. And those little articles you write, they're a nice read."

Little articles. You let a silent breath escape. "Thank you. I do work hard on them."

Mrs Winter nods again, a smile on her lips. She gestures at the tomatoes, and then at the house behind you. You take a tiny step backwards.

"Don't want to hold you two up much longer", she says. "You do travel a lot. I'd be exhausted. Enjoy the tomatoes, yes? Put 'em on a sandwich!"

You give her a halfhearted wave, the smile on your face not too enthusiastic, either. The woman leaves, Natasha looks at you, and you both don't know what to say. Instead of talking, you carry the suitcases inside.

You unpack in silence. Souvenirs, clothes, snacks, moisturizer. Clean the suitcases, put them away, then clean the house. You end up in the kitchen, wiping counters together.

You stop mid wiping the stove and turn around, the wet towel still in your hand. "They talked about me?"

Natasha pauses. She puts her towel aside and looks at you, hesitating. For years, the knowledge that you were far away from all the buzz comforted her. It got quieter with time, people found other things to talk about, but it never fully disappeared. 

"You know what the people here are like", she says. "They...talk. It's all they do. They love gossip. Many people knew you even before you left. Then you became this world famous journalist, so...probably the most interesting thing that's ever happened to this town."

"Right."

"I don't like it, either", she admits. "They can be harsh."

You nod, folding the towel. Your thoughts are a mess, trying to race through your head but stumbling over one another. 

"You knew about it", you say softly. 

"I did." 

Curiosity killed the cat. You cross your fingers and take that leap anyway, just like you've done so many times before. "What else do they say?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Honey, don't let them get to you. The less you think about them, the happier you'll be."

You frown at her. "Natasha, come on."

"I mean it."

"So do I", you insist. "Is it really that bad? You can't even tell me?"

She fidgets. Is it good? No. Overwhelmingly negative? Again, no. But it's not neutral. You're good at not letting other people affect you. Moving back here was a huge step, though, and having an entire town criticize over a decade of your life isn't easy. 

"It's just talk", she says, speaking slowly. "They didn't get any of it right. They can't grasp the idea that somewhere else might have better opportunities. Honestly, neither did I back then. I was too young to understand."

You nod. You've had this conversation before. You don't blame her for how she felt back then. Natasha rubs the back of her neck. 

"It's not even rumors, really. I mean, yeah, the whole thing during Christmas — and some other bullshit. But most of the time, they just talk about you." She pauses. "They stopped after a while, but once you came back, it was the same thing all over again."

You stare at the butter yellow kitchen tiles. Natasha's said both everything and nothing. Nothing tangible, graspable, but you have an idea. Rumors about you swirled around the town, and though they were only a handful scattered amongst so many more, so many rumors that weren't about you, they still existed. Now they exist again, and though so much time has passed, they're still the same. 

"Are any of them true?"

"No", she assures you, dropping the towel to step closer. Her lips press against your temple. "No, they're not. And I promise that most of the people here love you very much. It's just a couple loud idiots."

You lean against her. Part of you believes her — a smaller part doubts her words. You don't like that doubt, so you shove it aside and bury your face in her chest. 

. . .

When you first moved back to Aster Falls, you had no idea what leaving and returning would entail. You never thought your choices would be picked apart like this. You didn't think of the possibility that, just like they judge everyone else, the people here would judge you as well. 

Now, every conversation, every glance cast your way, carries a weight you didn't expect. You know you shouldn't let it affect you, but it does, and Natasha is all too aware of it.

Her hand brushes your shoulder one afternoon. You're sitting at her desk in the ice rink, surrounded by old lockers and ice hockey trophies. 

"My mom called", she says, smoothing her hands across your shoulders. 

You lean back into her touch. She squeezes your upper arms and kisses the top of your head. 

"Mhm?"

"Want to go visit my parents for a while?", she asks. "They invited us over. Said they want to see you again."

You turn your head to glance at her. You somehow haven't seen Melina and Alexei again. Over half a year of being back together, and you still haven't managed to visit your girlfriend's parents. 

It's more than just that, too. Escaping the noise for a few days is exactly what Natasha had in mind when Melina proposed the idea. Knowing you might get a few days off felt like a weight falling off her chest. 

"I'd love that", you say, finding one of her hands and holding it. "How long is a while?"

"A few days, I guess."

"They're okay with that?"

Natasha nods. Her parents love you as much as yours love her. You merged into this huge family when you were kids, spending holidays and birthdays together — and you have a feeling not much changed. All it'll take is seeing them again. 

"They wouldn't have asked if they weren't", she says. She cracks a smile. "Good luck getting through that. They'll ply you with questions."

You laugh. The sound is real and unfiltered, and Natasha grins as you tilt your head back. Her eyes search yours.

"I'm fine with that", you promise. "How does Friday sound?"

"Friday it is."

. . .

On Friday, you leave early. Frodo is in the backseat of the truck, his head on his paws and his eyes closed. He's not asleep — just dozing. By the time you pull into the road that leads to her parents' house, he'll be wide awake.

Melina and Alexei left Aster Falls a couple years after Natasha and Yelena moved out. They sold the house, bought a larger one in the countryside and renovated it. Melina has chickens, Alexei smokes his own sausages, and somehow, leaving a small town to move to the middle of nowhere fixed everything. 

You're sitting with your knees against your chest. It's a two hour drive, but time is flying by, and you've already reached the area they live in. 

There's not much happening out here. A couple of houses and barns, all widely scattered across the landscape. A bunch of trees, grass growing tall, and golden fields of wheat. 

"Imagine growing up here", you comment, lazily watching the scenery. "Can't believe I complained about Aster Falls."

"It's not that bad, thinking about it now", she agrees. "Still tiny. Love that town, though."

You hum, adjusting yourself in your seat. Aster Falls is tiny — nothing to do, nothing to see. Compared to bigger cities, anyway. Maybe it's not the town's fault. Maybe it's your expectations, or maybe it's that growing up somewhere takes away from everything that makes it special.

Their home is a lonely white house with a red roof, nestled between a handful of trees and shielded by a crooked fence. There are no houses nearby, only a small shed and a tractor that looks like it's seen better days.

Frodo sticks his head between the front seats, his paws tapping impatiently, before turning around and pressing his muzzle against the window. He barks.

"He play hunts", Natasha says. "Wait until he sees a rat."

"Oh wow", you laugh, unbuckling. "Can't wait for that."

He's scooted under the fence by the time you get your luggage. The door opens, Melina steps out, and she gives you a wave. 

She meets you halfway to pull you into a hug. It's been over five years since you last saw her, which feels insane. Last time, she was loading the last few boxes from her old house into a van. 

"Look at you!", she exclaims, her Russian accent as prominent as ever. "Oh darling, you look so lovely. How was the drive?"

"No complaints", you say. "Nat's a good driver. Melina, how are you?"

She gives a dismissive shake of her head. Natasha gets a pat on the back, then Melina slings her arm around your shoulder and starts leading you up to the house. 

"Same old", she says. "Nice but quiet. Boring. But I like it. Tell me, did you eat today? Did Natasha feed you?"

"I made eggs, mom."

"Eggs?" Melina scoffs, pushing open the door. Natasha grins to herself. "Come on, I got real food. Alexei, get your ass off the couch! Lentyay."

'Lazy man' — that phrase you do remember. You didn't manage to retain much of the Russian Natasha and her family taught you, but some things stick. 

Alexei appears in the doorway. Without a word, he opens his massive arms and tugs you and Natasha into a bear hug. 

She makes a sound of protest. "Hey, dad-"

"Hush", he says, patting both your backs. "Ah, this is how it's supposed to be. What take you so long?!"

You pull away, a flush to your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Alexei. I work a lot, it gets stressful sometimes."

"That's true", Natasha agrees, fixing her hair. "We're here now, aren't we?"

"That you are", Melina says. You turn around to a loaded dining table — smoked sausages, pelmeni, borscht, bread. "Don't just stare. Come, eat!"

Lunch (brunch, more accurately) lasts forever. You like their new house, you decide in the middle of letting Melina piling dessert onto your plate. 

It's not unlike the old one. It smells of black tea and the sweet honey cake Melina made. They still own that floral couch and the crocheted blankets, and the walls are covered in pictures of Natasha and Yelena. 

You touch one of the porcelain figures placed in the middle of the table runner. You remember a whole showcase filled with them.

You help Melina clean up. You wash the dishes, Natasha dries them, and Melina puts them in whatever cabinet they belong. Alexei lingers in the doorway, making a few jokes too many until Melina chases him out by tossing a wet sponge at him.

There's not much to do out here. Once everything is clean, you sit in the living room and sip black tea. Melina offers you vodka, but you both turn down the offer. 

"So, tell me", she insists, "how have you been? I heard a lot from Natasha, but I prefer straight from the source."

Natasha flushes and shifts. She's seated on the floor, right in front of the spot on the couch where you are. Her hand is resting around your shin.

"A lot, huh?", you muse. Natasha squeezes your leg. "I mean, I don't know — I traveled a lot after New York. I still do. We just got back from Tokyo."

Melina's eyes flit to Natasha. "You too? You don't say."

Natasha warned you about the possibility of being plied with questions, and she was spot on. You sit there for a while, answering questions, nodding along, explaining and describing and trying to stay awake.

Outside, the sky turns orange as the sun begins to set. Frodo falls asleep on the porch, and you barely stifle a yawn as you tell them about Berlin. That's when Natasha interrupts the conversation for the first time.

"I think that's enough for today", she says, straightening up. "We should shower and get some sleep."

"Agreed", you say, scrubbing your hands down your face. "I'm beat. Russian food makes you tired."

Natasha laughs quietly, planting a kiss on your ankle before getting up. Melina clasps her hands together. 

"Of course. I got the upstairs bedroom ready for you. There's towels in the dryer."

You both thank her. Natasha takes your hand and you start making your way up the creaking stairs.

. . .

There are no neighbors out here. Only trees, a sunny backyard, and a shady spot on the hammock.

Frodo is lying in the grass, tail whipping contentedly. It smells like the barbecue Alexei is making on the other side of the house — smoke, spices, the sweet and tangy sauce Melina whipped up. Birds tweet somewhere in the distance, and you feel the hammock move with the breeze.

For the first time in years, you feel the peace settle deep in your bones. It's a kind of peace you only knew before losing Natasha, and after finding her again.

She's in the grass, too. Her shoulders are pale in the sunlight. They're glistening from the sunscreen you put on her.

Your laptop was in your lap at first, but you soon realized work could wait. You shut it and put it aside before rolling over, one leg dangling off the hammock. You close your eyes and feel the baby hairs at your nape flutter.

"Are you awake?", you mumble. She hasn't talked in a while.

No response comes from the redhead. You open your eyes to look at her, but she doesn't stir. There's no need to ruin her nap — you close your eyes again and yawn, fully prepared to nod off as well.

The days out here are slow. You spent your Sunday morning eating kasha made from semolina and watching Frodo run around outside. Natasha was right about the play hunting. He chased a rat all the way to the porch, barking furiously.

 Alexei comes walking to the backyard eventually. He leans against the fence, a plate of steaks and sausages in his hand, and starts wafting the smell toward you. Frodo notices it first and gets a piece of chicken as a reward. Natasha frowns in her sleep, and you lazily lift your head at Frodo gulping something down.

"Who's the lentyay now?", he asks. "Up, up! I got dinner."

Natasha groans. "Huh?"

"Barbecue, Natasha! Come on, or it's all gone!" He rubs his stomach. "All for me, you slowpokes."

"It's 4pm", she complains. "The hell you mean, 'dinner'?"

You want to agree with her, but your stomach rumbles quietly. You're a decent cook, so is Natasha, but getting fed by your family — in laws or not — is always going to win. You roll over in the hammock and sit up.

"We can eat outside", you offer. Natasha peeks at you, her eyes narrowed as the sun shines right in her face. "I'm hungry."

She sighs, fingers reaching out to brush against your foot. She rolls onto her back and props her upper body on her elbows. 

"Steak?", she asks, trying to get a look at the plate. Alexei nods proudly. "Alright."

A few minutes later, you're seated around the patio table. Meat and a couple different salads fill the spaces between the plates, and though Natasha initially wasn't hungry, she's piling some of everything onto her plate now. 

"So", Melina asks, reaching for a shashlik. "How do you like it out here, you two?"

"I love it", you say. You're not lying — it's the opposite of New York, and for some reason, you seem to like both. "Got the best sleep of my life here."

Natasha murmurs through a mouthful of steak. "Me too."

Alexei nods. Any other answer would've outraged him. An appreciation for raw nature is something he believes everyone should have. 

"Attagirl", he says, pointing his fork at the landscape. "Can't get this in city, right? Beautiful."

"And the houses are so cheap", Melina adds. She gives Natasha a look that has her frowning warily. "What? Come on, you said it yourself. You love it here."

You stay quiet, watching Natasha shake her head. She doesn't want to leave Aster Falls — you don't want to leave Aster Falls to move into the back of beyonds, no matter how much you enjoy being here. One of the perks of loving a place is being able to return. 

"That doesn't mean we want to move here."

"Yes, yes." Melina rips some white bread apart. "I get that. But that house, it's so small! Tiny. Yes, very pretty, but tiny. And you'll need more space someday. I mean, when you have kids..."

You both pause. Then, you exchange a panicked look. You didn't discuss this with anyone. Why would you? Starting a family is about the most private decision you can think of. 

Natasha exhales, her fingers drumming against the table. She knows her parents have expectations. In their mind, it's the natural order of things: relationship, house, marriage, kids. Work in between, death at the end. 

"We're not sure we'll have kids", she speaks, the words slowly leaving her mouth. "It's not something we have decided on yet."

You want to add something, have Natasha's back, but your mouth is dry; all you manage is a nod. 

"Oh", Melina says. Her eyes move from Natasha to you, and back to Natasha. She puts the bread down. "No babies? You're serious?"

"No", Alexei laughs. "No way. You say that now, but once it happens-" He gestures, an amused look on his face, "you're happy!"

"Dad", Natasha says, careful with her words, "it can't just happen. It doesn't work like that. Not for us. Besides-"

His eyes fly open and he smacks the side of his head. "Oh, blyat, I'm such an idiot! Biology, of course!"

"It's fine", you say. You sound just as awkward as you're feeling. "Anyway, it's...kind of private, I'm sorry."

"It's a big decision, too", Natasha helpfully adds. "And even if we did, you know- we probably wouldn't move. Not here. It's not practical."

"Ah", Melina says. She sounds disappointed. "I get that."

You both nod. Silence falls. Frodo lies on the ground, waiting for pieces of food to drop, and Alexei scratches his beard. Melina makes a mental note to pack away Natasha's and Yelena's old baby clothes. 

The rest of dinner is uncomfortable. You don't talk a lot, and when you do, it feels fake — like a performance, like you're all trying to distract from the previous conversation. You help them clean up, agree to watch some tv with them, but once evening rolls around, you go upstairs. 

You stand in front of the sink together, brushing your teeth. You haven't dared touch on the baby subject yet, and neither of you is sure how to bring it up. You came to an agreement back then, back when you talked about it the last time, but it's been a few months. 

You take a shower while Natasha gets the suitcases ready and packed. You switch places once you're done, and when Natasha steps back into the bedroom, you're in bed already.

Something inside her throbs at seeing you like this. You're sprawled out on your stomach, only clad in a pair of little sleeping shorts. Your back is bare, your arms crossed under your head. 

She walks up and climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her. She presses her lips to your lower back.

"Hi", she mumbles.

"Hi."

"Suitcases are ready?"

You nod, and she hums and plants a kiss on your shoulder. You smell like soap and lotion, you're soft all over — she curls up against your back and tucks her hand under your stomach.

The conversation at the dinner table continues lingering in her mind. For you, it's not different, and yet, neither of you dare bringing it up. Too peaceful is the feeling of being in bed together like this, too afraid you are of ruining it. 

You roll over to look at her. She stares back at you, green eyes attentive, trying to spot any change in attitude. She finds none, and so she leans in a little closer. Your hand comes up to cup her cheek.

"We’re good?", you mumble.

"Why wouldn’t we be?"

You hum, the tension leaving you. You tilt your head up and kiss her.

It's soft and tentative at first, a firm press of lips neither of you interpret as more. But you shift closer, and Natasha's breath hitches when you grab her wrist. You're gentle as you tug her hand between your legs, letting her feel the damp heat that's building up. 

A finger slips in. She opens her eyes to look at you, gauge your reaction. The feeling is like a nudge of relief, making you close your eyes. When another finger joins, relief turns into pleasure. Her hand starts moving, fingers pumping in and out of you, temporarily locking the previous thoughts away. 

. . .

Camping, Natasha suggested. Just the two of us. 

There were many arguments you could've brought up against this. How it's summer, how it'd get hot, how there's a bathroom to renovate and a shit ton of gardening to do. How the bugs might crawl into your sleeping bag, or how lying on the floor might ruin your back for the next week. 

You didn't bring any of them up, though, because the first thing that entered your mind were the summers you and Nat regularly tried to spend in a tent. 

For some reason, it didn't work. Natasha was doing just fine — she grabbed bugs and tossed them outside when they managed to sneak in, and she packed flashlights and happily blew up inflatable mattresses. 

And then there was you, poor terrified you, who started crying at seven years old, and who kept getting startled by noises Natasha swore were normal. There was no serial killer out to get you, just neighbors checking their doors before bed. 

That phase lasted longer than you'd like to admit; Natasha teases you about that whenever you accidentally mention something that's related to camping. In junior year, however, when you had your first kiss and everything was sunshine and rainbows, you jumped at the opportunity to stay out there with her all night. 

It paid off. Being alone in a confined space with someone you really really like is what everyone wants. Having that someone like you back only made things a hundred times better, and you kept camping in your backyard until the nights got too cold and you both were shivering. 

You're an adult now. You're not scared of serial killers — not here, not in Aster Falls. You're not fond of the ideas of bugs and not being able to sleep properly once you're back home in your bed, but you're not about to pass up this idea because of it. 

Natasha's thrilled. She's trying to keep it subtle, but it shows in every smile she shoots your way.

"Yours", she says, handing you a backpack. She reaches for the second one. "And mine. I'll get the tent, you're keeping an eye on Frodo?"

"Sure that's not too heavy?"

"What's the other option?", she asks, grinning, and wipes a wayward strand of hair out of her face. "I'm good. Just hold the leash tight."

Frodo has great recall, but there are times where he will see something and block out the rest of the world. A rat, a squirrel, a deer — and off he is, playing hunt and running until he's out of sight. Natasha once spent an entire afternoon searching the woods when he was still a junior. 

You nod and wrap the leash around your hand. He gives you an impatient look. 

You start making your way to the campsite. It's summer, and it's a warm afternoon, and though the sun is filtering through the trees they're still preserving enough shade and cool air to keep it comfortable. 

You duck under a low hanging branch and carefully step down a larger drop. Natasha glances at you. 

"We're alright?"

"All good", you reply. Frodo jumps after you. "Nice out here."

"Ever been here before?"

You try to think, and after a few seconds, you raise your eyebrows. You never went camping here — too far out in the wilderness, too dark at night — but you did join Natasha and a few of her friends for lunch one time. 

"Once, I think", you say, catching up to her. She hums. 

"Clint and I go camping here sometimes. Not that much nowadays, with his kids and whatnot — but before that. Carol, too."

You take another look around. You reach the clearing Natasha talked about earlier, and you help her set up the tent before getting everything else ready.

One thing always felt special between you — when you work together, things get done in no time. Even as kids, when cleaning up your toys felt like a cruel way of punishing you, it was over in the blink of an eye when you and Natasha were put into the same room. Granted, you also managed to create chaos in record time. 

You sit down on the blanket Natasha spread out. The sun is setting, the forest is filled with the sounds of crickets and cicadas and running water somewhere nearby. Natasha hands you a cup of coffee and you toast. 

"Worth it?", she asks. 

"One hundred percent."

She grins and leans over, kissing your mouth. "I've wanted to take you here for so long. Don't think anyone could appreciate it as much as you."

"Wouldn't be too sure", you tease, pecking her lips again. You can't help yourself — she stayed in kissable proximity. "It is nice, though. Looks a lot like our backyard."

Natasha chuckles. Her voice is quieter, raspier at this hour. You're nowhere near your usual bedtime, but going camping will do that to her. She nudges your nose with hers, breathing you in before pulling away a little. 

"It's not like New York at all, is it?" She pauses. "Or Tokyo. Or any of the places you love."

You watch her. You know what she's hinting at: that you settled for this place. That you never really chose it. You chose Natasha, and Natasha and Aster Falls are a package deal. 

"Don't say that", you say. "This is basically Central Park. Only without the fat rats and the tourists."

"Sounds charming", she jokes. "Makes me regret missing out on it."

"Oh, we'll go back and then you'll get the full experience. We can get lost together, good luck finding the subway."

She smiles, but it's absentminded, heavy almost. You exhale softly, sipping on your coffee and tucking your knees against your chest. 

You use some water from a nearby river to clean the cups. You throw on a zip up when the sun disappears and the air gets colder, and you pull out the inflatable mattress when Natasha points out the lack of clouds and light pollution. 

You lay down flat on your backs, the treetops surrounding a patch of the star studded sky. Natasha's shoulder is touching yours. You feel her fingers brush your wrist, and your hand slips into hers easily.

"I didn't choose Aster Falls", you begin. "I chose you. That could've led me anywhere. I didn't care, and I still don't."

Natasha doesn't look at you. She feels her throat constrict a little. "You wanted to leave so bad. I just can't imagine that to have changed."

Did it? Do you still feel the need to leave? Does Aster Falls still feel like a burden you need to shake?

It didn't. You still feel the need to leave. You do leave, temporarily, returning after days, weeks, coming back to something you thought you'd have to leave behind in order to be happy. You didn't — you only needed to be able to get away from time to time. 

"I still leave", you say. "But I come back. That's why I like it now. I get to go away when it becomes too much."

"I get that."

"Our house helps. I like it. I like having a place of our own. Hotel rooms are nice, but they're not the same thing at all." You turn your head to peek at her. "And you're there. What better reason to come back? I'm learning to love it all over again."

"It's a nice house", she agrees. 

You smile. "Even if Melina says otherwise. It has enough space, doesn't it?"

She hesitates. You're starting to touch on a subject you've been pushing aside for over a week. Her eyes are glued to the twinkling stars above her. The words leaving her are heavy. 

"Enough space for us, yeah." She pauses. "We made a decision about that kids thing, didn't we?"

You pause, eyes locked on a particularly big star. Natasha isn't moving. You're not sure why — fear? Insecurity? The knowledge she keeps saying one thing but thinking the other?

"I guess we did."

"Right."

You roll onto your side. Natasha gives you a tentative glance before doing the same. You're side to side, eye to eye, and you pull her hand to your chest.

"Did something change?", you mumble. "Or why the question?"

She hesitates again. She can't just say it — not when your opinions differ so drastically. Having kids is a huge thing, she's well aware of that, and she knows it's better to regret not having kids than to regret having them. 

She gently drums her fingers against your chest, mulling it over. In her mind, she always was convinced she'd have children, though. It started as a silly dream when she was a teenager, as some teens have, but it turned into something more serious with time. She's good with kids. You're great with them, too, in your own way. That doesn't change much, though.

"Don't think so", she says. "I was just wondering. After that conversation with my parents, you know..."

"Oh god, yeah. I love them, but that was uncalled for."

"Touched a sore spot", Natasha agrees. She leans in and kisses your eyebrow. "What about you? Did something change?"

She keeps her hopes low. Even if you say no, even if you're still against the idea of having kids, it's not that big of a deal. She wasn't lying when she said she wanted to wait a few more years, anyway. You're not even engaged yet.

"I don't know", you admit. "But I'd say no, probably not. I travel so much, Nat. I'm gone, like, five months a year. Or I'd have to give up my job, at least for a while, and I...I'm not sure I could do that."

"I get that", she says gently.

"I can't expect you to take care of everything, either. You work, too. You do so much around the house. Try putting a kid on top of that, you'd hate me in no time."

Her face turns a little more serious, eyes searching yours to look for anything that'd indicate you were joking. "Hey, don't say that. I-"

"Sorry", you cut her off. You bring her hand to your lips and brush them across her knuckles. "It's just...you get what I mean, don't you?"

Natasha sighs. Her fingers touch the corner of your mouth. "I do get what it would look like to you. Like you're abandoning me with a shit ton of responsibilities while you go sightseeing. But that's not true. I love being here, and taking care of our home while you're gone. It gives you something to come back to."

You close your eyes for a beat. You don't doubt it. Natasha's honest. If she hated how you're handling things right now, she'd tell you. Even if there isn't much about your situation that can be adjusted anymore.

Her hand drops in between your bodies. "And just saying, I'd love to take care of our baby as well."

You falter a little at this. The worst part is that you don't doubt this, either, and yet it's not enough to change anything. Because, no matter the outcome, Natasha will do everything right, and you'll be stuck at airports and in hotel rooms wondering over and over again whether you made the wrong choice.

"I know that." 

"I'm not trying to pressure you", she says. "I'm okay with whatever you want. Seriously. I'm the happiest I've ever been, Y/N."

You nod, relief filtering in through the worry and guilt eating at you. She leans in and kisses you, firmly, allowing no room for backtalk. Your arm wraps around her waist, your grip so tight that your bodies get drawn closer and closer.

Above you, the stars shine. The inside of the tent is warm and safe when you do crawl in. You lie awake for too long, both of you, both trying to figure out how much of what was said is true.

. . .

"Full house", Natasha says. 

You glance at the backseat. Four people, two kids, one truck. Frodo couldn't be bothered to squeeze himself under the backseat, so he stayed home with your mom. Your dad left to get the car fixed, otherwise you would've taken two cars.

It's summer. Your nephew is on summer break, and your sister decided to come visit for a few days. Her visit overlapped with Yelena's, who's staying at your place, and so you had the idea to have a lake day together.

"Like old times", you agree. "You guys comfy?"

"Could be worse", Yelena says. She glances at your niece. "Hey, you, quit eating my bag."

Natasha glances at them through the rearview mirror. "How old is Polly again?"

Your sister adjusts the baby, peeling the bag out of her chubby hands and making her let out an offended cry. "Almost nine months."

"I'm eight", Riley loudly announces. 

Natasha's eyes flit to the boy sitting behind you. "I know. You're getting so big, buddy."

You reach the parking lot before the baby starts crying, which is a victory in itself. The lake in Aster Falls is nice — small, clean, quiet enough. No sand beaches, though. It was your sister's wish to go to one of the bigger lakes near Minneapolis.

Yelena jumps out and stretches. Kim climbs out after her, thanking Natasha when she helps her with the baby. You grab Riley's hand and lock the car once everyone has grabbed their bags.

"Got everything?", you ask. 

Natasha nods. She's got Polly in a front facing hold, carrying her with enough ease to take you off guard. She's around tweens and teens constantly, but you're not sure you've ever seen her with a baby.

"Onward!", Yelena announces, taking a dramatic step towards the lake. "We're wasting precious time blabbering."

You exchange a look with Natasha. It feels like forever since you last saw Yelena, and somehow, she managed to stay the exact same. You didn't spend much time together as kids, given how much younger she was, but that didn't affect your relationship with her. Seeing her again felt like reuniting with yet another part of your childhood.

The beach isn't empty, but it isn't awfully crowded, either. You find a quieter spot in the shade, put down your towels and drop into the sand. Riley's grabbed his floatie before you've even thought about going into the water. 

"Hey!", Kim calls. She's shifting Polly around so she can feed her. "Stay here!"

"I wanna swim", he protests. 

Natasha, who's already standing there in swim shorts and a bikini top, looks up. "I'm going with you. That alright?"

"That's sweet, Nat", Kim says. "You really don't have to."

Too late — they're already approaching the water. You lean back on your elbows, watching them (watching Natasha), feeling the sun on your skin. Yelena sprawls out next to you, flopping onto her belly.

There aren't many people where Natasha and Riley are swimming. She helps him onto the floatie, one hand steadying the inflatable dragon and the other making sure he doesn't slip. The floatie rocks with the waves, Riley laughing out loud. 

You're lost in thought. They're talking (though you can't decipher their words), giggling. Natasha catches him when he bounces up into the air and off the floatie. Again — you knew she was good with kids. You didn't think you'd see her prove it over and over again today. 

Next to you, Yelena yawns. She turns her head to peek at you, and you give her a look like she just caught you ogling her sister. Which is exactly what happened, to be fair, but after years of being in a relationship (interrupted or not), it's to be expected.

"Oh blyat", Yelena says, wrinkling her nose. "Why you looking at me like that? You're out of the closet now, no need for-" She gestures at your face, "that."

You roll your eyes and flick some sand at her. "Real funny."

"It's true!"

"Hush", you retort. You lay down next to her, arms crossed over your chest. "I was just checking on Riley."

"Right", she drags. "You really didn't change, huh."

Your head lolls to the side. That's new. You're not sure anyone — besides Natasha — ever pointed that out. You're not mad about it, though. 

"Neither did you", you say. "Except for the hair."

"Cut it myself."

You snort. Natasha did the same thing when she was younger. She dyed it black, too, and all without telling anyone. 

"You two are so alike."

She tilts her head, contemplating, before shrugging and shoving her face into the beach towel. "I'll assume that's a compliment."

"It is", you confirm.

"It better be, suka."

You laugh quietly, nudging her with your elbow. Around you, the world keeps moving. Riley is balancing on the dragon floatie, and Kim just put Polly, who fell asleep nursing, down next to you. She gives you an apologetic look. It clicks instantly.

"I'll watch her", you say.

"If you need something, it's probably in the diaper bag", she says, scrambling up. "You're the best!"

Kim goes into the water as well. She talks with Natasha, who steers Riley and his floatie towards her. Your sister and Riley stay where they are, and Natasha starts wading out of the water. 

You were ogling her earlier — no point in denying that — but it's nothing compared to this. Her hair is slicked back, her body covered in hundreds of tiny water droplets. Her biceps have been looking more impressive with each passing month. Her eyes meet yours, and you shift slightly atop your towel.

She walks up to you, running a hand over her hair. Your eyes inch upwards as she comes closer, and when she's right next to you, she crouches. 

"Hey", she says, bending over you. You feel water drip on you. "She's asleep?"

"Which one?"

Natasha laughs and leans in. Her lips are warm and wet when she kisses you. You close your eyes and cup her cheek, kissing her again and again, until she's on her knees with her hands planted next to your head. 

Public beach, your brain screams. You lift your head anyway, chasing her mouth and the kiss. It takes Natasha off guard, makes her let out a noise, but she doesn't pull away. 

Oh well. Yelena is asleep, so is the baby. Natasha is still kissing you, but her mouth is starting to wander. Your arms snake around her neck as she peppers kisses along your jaw. 

"Wish we were alone", she mumbles, running a hand down your sand caked side. "You're so beautiful."

"The truck is empty", you point out. Natasha huffs and shakes her head. 

"Stupid idea", she says, rolling off you. She lays down next to you, and you scoot closer to put your head on her chest. "We got plenty of time later."

"Not with Yelena around."

Natasha pauses. The sun is beating down on you. Your skin shines with sunscreen and energy. You're both warm and alive and all fuzzy inside, and she'd rather book a motel room than miss out on you.

"We'll find a way", she dismisses. "Trust me."

"I do", you mumble, nuzzling her chest. For a moment, she's all yours, yours alone. Everyone else is either swimming or asleep. 

Your hand settles on her stomach, and you feel her lips place kisses on the top of your head. You press closer, like you're trying to melt into her, which might just happen. It's hot enough, anyway. 

Right as your leg tangles with her, you hear a quiet whine next to you. You pause, then look up, and on the towel next to you, Polly is fussing. 

"She just fell asleep", you sigh. 

Natasha huffs. She looks at Polly again. You both hope she might fall back asleep, but she's kicking her legs and flailing her arms, and Natasha caves. She sits up and scoops Polly into her lap. 

"There we go", she says. "You good? Is it too warm out here?"

No baby talk or cooing, no artificially high voice. Natasha's talking to get the same way she talks to her kids at ice hockey. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows. "I think she misses her mom."

"Makes sense", Natasha admits. She cradles the baby against her shoulder and pats her back, but Polly keeps fussing angrily. "Hey, what happened? God, she sounds pissed."

Polly gets shifted around again, now sitting in Natasha's lap. Her cheeks are reddened and warm, and her eyes are teary. She grabs Natasha's hand, and suddenly, she's chewing on the side of her thumb. The fussing stops. 

"Oh", Natasha says. "She's teething. That sucks."

"Yeah", you mumble, watching her watch Polly. "It does."

It feels like the universe is poking you in the most cruel way possible. Natasha begins to realize how ironic this entire situation is, and you sit there dumbfounded. If anyone walks by, they'll think the three of you belong together. 

Or maybe it's supposed to be a glimpse at what you'll be missing out on. That'd be cruel in its own way. Tiny teeth gnawing at your thumbs, fussy baby cries, being interrupted during the sweet part of intimacy. 

Polly lets out a little noise. She fusses, lets go of Natasha's thumb, and then dives back in and sinks her teeth into her skin again. 

"Fuck", Natasha curses. "Gentle, alright?"

You can't help it. "Still want a baby?"

She laughs, but it sounds strained. At least you had the guts to bring it up. "Fair enough, Y/N. You win. Can you take her?"

You hum and transfer her into your lap. Natasha's thumb is bleeding. The sudden bite Polly launched at it was enough to break the skin. 

Natasha glances at you. You're more at ease holding Polly than you were with trying to talk to Riley earlier. And just like the picture of Natasha holding her lingers in your mind, so does the picture of you and Polly linger in hers. 

Kim returns a few minutes later. You hand Polly back to her, and the relief is palpable. You don't like playing house, it seems. 

Later that day, you drive your sister and the kids home. You go back to your place, order food, clean up. Natasha finds you in the bedroom, half naked and about to go shower. 

Your plan falls flat. She steps behind you and wraps her arms around your middle. Plush, hot lips press against your shoulder, your taste salty and sweet. Her hand rubs your stomach, feeling the coating of sand you carried home. 

"I think I found a way", she murmurs. You smile and turn your head. "Who would've thought? Plenty of privacy in our bedroom."

"I'm impressed."

"You should be." She tugs you back into her, a little mark getting sucked into your shoulder. "Are you tired? You sound tired."

"I'm okay", you say. She leaves another kiss on the back of your neck. "More than okay. Just sweaty and full of sand."

"I can tell." She coaxes you into turning around. You tilt your head up and meet her lips in a brief kiss. "We should shower."

Your hands smooth up her sides, thumbs hooking under her shirt and lifting it up. "We should."

"We're gross", she nods, starting to walk you backwards. "We'll ruin our bedsheets."

"Agreed", you whisper. You've taken her shirt off. It lands somewhere in a corner. "And god forbid we change those."

She chuckles. Your bra comes undone with a click. She slides the straps off your shoulders and lets it drop. 

Your legs hit the side of the bed. Natasha cups your face to tilt it up again. You kiss, bodies flush and hands wandering, groping, feeling the heat from earlier in the day come back alive. 

"I miss this", you admit, lying on your back and watching her get out of her own bra. "When I'm gone, I mean. I do think it's the only thing I struggle with."

"You miss the sex?", she says, eyebrows raised playfully. "I feel used."

You shake your head, both of you laughing. Natasha's head dips into the crook of your neck, and her deft fingers tug down your panties.

"Not that", you say. "You know what I mean. I miss you. And honestly, I don't think I could bear missing another person."

She pauses, her nose nuzzling your neck. You're warm, sleepy soft already. Your skin is gritty with sand. She didn't think you'd revisit this conversation today, or maybe even ever again. 

The pause is heavy. Not heavy enough to ruin the mood, though. She lifts her head, you cup her face. A kiss is placed on your palm. She presses another one to your chest, one to your stomach, before moving on to your thighs. 

Your legs part instinctively. Natasha settles between them, her calloused hands sliding under your ass and cupping it. The next kiss is placed on your cunt, firm and making you shudder. 

Even as she dives in deeper, as your back starts arching and the sweat begins to drip again, your words keep replaying in her head. Your hands tangle in her hair, she presses her tongue against your clit, her fingers slip in. 

She's starting to understand something that seemed blurry ever since you first talked about it. Her biggest dream is building a home, your biggest fear is being absent from it. Even if you share the same future, the difference would be huge. 

It doesn't change anything about her belief, though. Your heavy breathing gets louder, and Natasha drowns out her thoughts. 

. . . 

Minneapolis, Minnesota. Noon on a Friday. The biggest mall in America. 

You're home, working on a new article. You haven't told her much about it yet, but you promised you'd let her read the first draft, and Natasha was happy with that. She was especially happy because it kept you busy and gave her a reason to leave for a few hours. 

She's not happy about being stuck in a giant crowded building, though. From her small town perspective, it seems like all of Minnesota squeezed into it. She can't walk five feet without bumping into someone, and she can already tell the volume won't go down — she can only try to block it out. 

Coming her was both impulsive and well thought out. The decision was made over a decade ago. She decided to go through with it this morning, after seeing you sit on the kitchen counter and complain about the coffee you didn't know you'd run out of. 

She did tell herself she'd wait a little longer. She might. But she needs to have the physical proof, anyway, so that when she feels that nudge in her soul, she won't have to wait any longer. 

Natasha takes the escalator upstairs. She's fidgeting. The fear of doing it all wrong and ruining it is louder than the years old, steadfast trust sitting deep in her chest. 

She passes by a handful of stores, eyes sweeping across each one. When she finds what she's looking for, she steps inside before she can change her mind. 

The clerk behind the counter is wearing an expensive looking suit. He looks up and smiles. Can I help you, he'll ask, and Natasha will point at the thing she wants. 

That's exactly what happens. She stands in front of the counter, glancing at the other shiny items displayed in front of her, quietly waiting for him to hand the ring to her so she can take one last look.

It's perfect. She stares at it for a beat too long. The clerk is patient, though, giving her all the time in the world. It is a big deal, after all. 

You've been in Tokyo for almost a month now, and Natasha still can't decide what to grab for breakfast. You made your choice ages ago, it seems, and all you're doing now is stand next to her and help speed up her decision.

It's not that she doesn't like what's offered. Most of it is delicious. But Natasha isn't someone who likes change, and she has a somewhat specific idea of what breakfast should look like, and it turns out 7/11 in Japan doesn't sell scrambled eggs.

"I'd be fine with oatmeal", she says, looking at yet another bento box. "Honey and cinnamon, it's simple."

"They have pancakes", you say. "Maybe instant oatmeal?"

"Too watery." She pauses. "You think they have that?"

You go back to roaming the aisles. Instant noodles, Pocky and chips. Again, she likes all of those. They're not breakfast items, though, so you find yourself in front of the refrigerators again.

She ends up grabbing an iced coffee and a bacon and egg croissant. You pay, head outside, and sit on the sidewalk to eat.

"I like the convenience stores here", she says. "I'll miss having one right across the street." 

"Agreed", you hum, sticking a piece of pancake into your mouth. "We can always come back."

Natasha doesn't reply to that, but she picks a croissant flake off her quarter zip. You told her it'd be too warm to wear that. You were right, she realized soon after arriving, but in the mornings, the temperatures are still bearable if she rolls up the sleeves.

Joining you on your work trip wasn't a difficult decision. She doesn't like traveling, but when you're away for weeks at a time, multiple times a year, she'll take any opportunity to be with you. 

"The flight's Monday?", she asks. 

"Monday afternoon", you confirm. "Gives me enough time to get that Zoom meeting done."

She nods. She stuffs the remainder of her croissant into her mouth and wipes her hands. 

It took a while for her to develop a liking for Tokyo. Much like New York City, it is massive in every sense of the word. Tall buildings, a huge population, and a rapid lifestyle. You adapted quickly. Natasha needed more time. 

She got used to it, though, and now she's close to admitting how fond she's grown of it.

"We still have a few days", you say. "I'm almost done working, just need to get through the review of the final draft and edit a couple details. I'm sure we can still do something nice."

She nods and gets up, her hand reaching out for yours. "Got anything in mind?"

"I do", you say, letting her pull you to your feet. "It's fun, I promise. Ever tried karaoke?"

Her movements slow down for a second. She rubs her thumb across your knuckles, mulling over the idea, her eyes lowered. It certainly doesn't sound like something she'd enjoy much. 

"I haven't", she admits. "Singing? In front of strangers?"

"Yeah", you nod. "I mean, not really. They have private rooms, so..."

"I get it."

"No strangers. Just us." You squeeze her hand and, almost like an afterthought, add: "And whoever we invite to join."

Natasha hates saying no to you. She says no sometimes, anyway, when she really can't bring herself to do whatever you proposed. This time, she feels her heart sink at the idea of shooting this down. 

"Fair enough", she says, leading you across the street. "Just us. And whoever we invite."

You enter the building and press the elevator button. The door swishes open, you get in, and once you're shielded from the eye of the public, you lean against her front. She presses her lips to your nose. 

Your hands slip under her quarter zip. "You know we don't have to do it."

"I want to", she assures you. "You deserve some time off after working so much."

You shut the door to your apartment and take off your shoes. You end up sprawled out on the couch, feet in her lap, your laptop propped up on your thighs.

Natasha helps review your draft. She's by no means an expert on the subject, but she's read enough articles, still skims the daily newspaper like a middle aged dad.

Her feedback is more helpful than what you've received from some editors. You plant a kiss on her mouth to thank her, and though a distraction isn't what either of you had intended, it's much welcomed. 

You straddle her on the couch, fingers slowly raking through her hair. Her heart beats against her ribs. Over half a year of kissing you like this, and her body still reacts violently. 

It's lazy and deliberate. Her hands squeeze their way down your sides. You tilt your head and part your lips, feeling her tongue against yours. 

The sex is lazy, too. You lean your head against her shoulder, quickened breaths brushing her neck and making her shudder. Your limbs slacken when you come, and Natasha nuzzles your neck. 

She picks up lunch for you after. At night, you get dressed for karaoke. You made plans with the same people you went out with the night before. 

Tokyo's nightlife even manages to fascinate Natasha. It's raining, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. Dozens of colorful umbrellas drift past. Inside the karaoke bar, music spills out of the private rooms. 

Her hand tightens around yours. You slip into the room you booked and sit down. 

"You've never tried karaoke?", one of your newfound friends asks. Natasha shakes her head. "Oh, you'll love it."

"Y/N told me the same thing", Natasha says. "I'm not too sure. At least it'll be entertaining for you, though."

You order drinks for everyone. There's another couple in the group, Koji and Jun, and Jun's sister Mai. Koji volunteers to go first.

"Give me a song", he says. "American one."

Natasha glances at you. You shrug, cheek resting against her upper arm. Though both of your playlists are extensive, she's the one who's familiar with the American classics. 

She hesitates, lowering the beer bottle in her hand. "Bon Jovi, Livin' On A Prayer."

He types it into the catalogue. You look up at Natasha, watching her watch Koji when he starts singing. Her fingers are tapping against your knee, the neon lights inside the room reflecting in her eyes. 

You know what she's doing — she's trying to figure out how this whole thing works. She's always been good at mirroring, a skill she developed early on in her childhood when she first began playing ice hockey. It developed with time. When she was a teenager, every ice hockey team in your area knew about this habit, this strength. 

Your hand, resting on the inner side of her forearm, slides down to thread your fingers through hers. She brings your entwined hands up to her face and absently kisses your knuckles.

Jun jumps up when the song ends. She cups Koji's face and kisses him, his upper lip sweaty and a wide smile on his face. He gestures at Natasha, who raises her eyebrows. 

"What?"

"You next", he encourages. "Go, pick a song."

"Oh, no." She shakes her head. "I don't sing."

You tilt your head to look at her, meeting her eyes briefly. "You're sure? It's fun, you might like it."

Natasha is adamant. She shakes her head again, her hand squeezing yours. You shrug, lean up to kiss her jaw, then grab the mic when Koji hands it to you. You take a look at the catalogue before settling on a song.

In all your years of traveling, you've done enough karaoke to be comfortable straight away. For some reason, it's popular, widely known. In New York, there was a karaoke bar across your friend's dormitory — a much shabbier one — and you frequented it all the time.

By the end of the night, you all have had a little too much to drink. Your throat hurts, you're tired, and Natasha agrees to do the last song of the night.

If she weren't tipsy, she might not do it. But she reaches for the microphone and lets you pick a song.

It's your song. The one you kissed to, the one she heard playing in the bar all those years ago when you were still separated.

"Good choice", she mumbles, cheeks pink. She's staring at the screen, not looking at you or the others. 

She doesn't turn her head away from the lyrics once. When she's done, however, she turns around and kisses you before you can comment on it. Your hand finds her jaw, your head tilts to deepen the kiss. She breathes into your mouth.

Even at 2am, the streets are alive and filled with people. Wet pavement and neon lights, your hands tangled together, Koji and Jun laughing as they watch Mai pretend to be too sleepy to walk. Natasha looks at you, and for the first time, she quietly admits she might like Tokyo more than she thought she would.

. . .

Minnesota is in the middle of a heatwave when you arrive back home.

Natasha hauls your suitcases out of the taxi. She's worked up a sweat already, despite being in a tank top and shorts. Her baby hairs are moist, clinging to her temples, and her cheeks are rosy.

"You got a sunburn", you comment, brushing your thumb across her cheek. "Need help with that?"

"Don't you dare", she says. She grabs the last item — a duffel bag — and closes the trunk. The taxi driver waves goodbye before backing out of the driveway. "We need to pick up Frodo. I bet your parents are tired of him."

"They love him", you assure her. "They told me he makes the house feel less empty. We'll pick him up once we get everything else sorted out, I need to-"

"Ms Romanoff! Do you want some tomatoes?"

You both turn around in sync. There's an older lady living right down the street, but you don't run into her a lot. You both know her — she owns the Christmas tree farm with her husband, and her granddaughter graduated high school with you. 

Whenever you do see her, she's either taking care of her garden or running errands. Opportunities to chat are rare; you haven't managed to talk to her in the half year that you've lived here.

She holds up a basket of tomatoes as she approaches you. You give her a polite smile.

"So much produce this year", she keeps talking. "Sweetcorn, tomatoes, berries. Feedin' the whole family. Tomatoes in abundance."

"Hey, Mrs Winter", Natasha says, tipping her cap. "Those look amazing."

"Don't they?" She grabs a tomato and makes you smell it. You hum in agreement. "Got too many, they'll go bad. We already turned a bunch of 'em into sauce."

"That's very kind of you."

"Take 'em, take 'em." She nods frantically, shoving the basket straight at Natasha. Then she looks up at you, and her sparse eyebrows rise a little. "Y/L/N, isn't it? I heard you were back in town."

You glance at Natasha. The news spread like wildfire — Natasha told you about it, and so did your parents, and basically every other person you're close with. You've had a hard time trying to guess the town's feelings on it.

Locals all have that same sense of loyalty. People don't leave, and when someone does decide to break that silent rule, it's frowned upon. Humans judge. It's in their nature. You never wanted to be in the spotlight of such scrutiny, though.

"Moved back in January", you say after a beat. "It was a good call."

She nods, her hands clasped together. "New York wasn't better after all, was it? Big cities got their own issues." She leans in, her voice lowering a little. "We thought you'd come back, you know. I always wondered how long it'd take."

You pause for a second. You look at Natasha again, who's furrowing her eyebrows at the older woman. There's your confirmation. Moving back makes people talk.

"I mean...", you trail. You're not sure what to say, though. "Yeah. I guess."

"A lot of the folks who leave think they're too good for this town", she adds. She's trying to be nice, you can tell as much, but it's not working. "You seem very down to earth. You're a good kid, Y/N. And those little articles you write, they're a nice read."

Little articles. You let a silent breath escape. "Thank you. I do work hard on them."

Mrs Winter nods again, a smile on her lips. She gestures at the tomatoes, and then at the house behind you. You take a tiny step backwards.

"Don't want to hold you two up much longer", she says. "You do travel a lot. I'd be exhausted. Enjoy the tomatoes, yes? Put 'em on a sandwich!"

You give her a halfhearted wave, the smile on your face not too enthusiastic, either. The woman leaves, Natasha looks at you, and you both don't know what to say. Instead of talking, you carry the suitcases inside.

You unpack in silence. Souvenirs, clothes, snacks, moisturizer. Clean the suitcases, put them away, then clean the house. You end up in the kitchen, wiping counters together.

You stop mid wiping the stove and turn around, the wet towel still in your hand. "They talked about me?"

Natasha pauses. She puts her towel aside and looks at you, hesitating. For years, the knowledge that you were far away from all the buzz comforted her. It got quieter with time, people found other things to talk about, but it never fully disappeared. 

"You know what the people here are like", she says. "They...talk. It's all they do. They love gossip. Many people knew you even before you left. Then you became this world famous journalist, so...probably the most interesting thing that's ever happened to this town."

"Right."

"I don't like it, either", she admits. "They can be harsh."

You nod, folding the towel. Your thoughts are a mess, trying to race through your head but stumbling over one another. 

"You knew about it", you say softly. 

"I did." 

Curiosity killed the cat. You cross your fingers and take that leap anyway, just like you've done so many times before. "What else do they say?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Honey, don't let them get to you. The less you think about them, the happier you'll be."

You frown at her. "Natasha, come on."

"I mean it."

"So do I", you insist. "Is it really that bad? You can't even tell me?"

She fidgets. Is it good? No. Overwhelmingly negative? Again, no. But it's not neutral. You're good at not letting other people affect you. Moving back here was a huge step, though, and having an entire town criticize over a decade of your life isn't easy. 

"It's just talk", she says, speaking slowly. "They didn't get any of it right. They can't grasp the idea that somewhere else might have better opportunities. Honestly, neither did I back then. I was too young to understand."

You nod. You've had this conversation before. You don't blame her for how she felt back then. Natasha rubs the back of her neck. 

"It's not even rumors, really. I mean, yeah, the whole thing during Christmas — and some other bullshit. But most of the time, they just talk about you." She pauses. "They stopped after a while, but once you came back, it was the same thing all over again."

You stare at the butter yellow kitchen tiles. Natasha's said both everything and nothing. Nothing tangible, graspable, but you have an idea. Rumors about you swirled around the town, and though they were only a handful scattered amongst so many more, so many rumors that weren't about you, they still existed. Now they exist again, and though so much time has passed, they're still the same. 

"Are any of them true?"

"No", she assures you, dropping the towel to step closer. Her lips press against your temple. "No, they're not. And I promise that most of the people here love you very much. It's just a couple loud idiots."

You lean against her. Part of you believes her — a smaller part doubts her words. You don't like that doubt, so you shove it aside and bury your face in her chest. 

. . .

When you first moved back to Aster Falls, you had no idea what leaving and returning would entail. You never thought your choices would be picked apart like this. You didn't think of the possibility that, just like they judge everyone else, the people here would judge you as well. 

Now, every conversation, every glance cast your way, carries a weight you didn't expect. You know you shouldn't let it affect you, but it does, and Natasha is all too aware of it.

Her hand brushes your shoulder one afternoon. You're sitting at her desk in the ice rink, surrounded by old lockers and ice hockey trophies. 

"My mom called", she says, smoothing her hands across your shoulders. 

You lean back into her touch. She squeezes your upper arms and kisses the top of your head. 

"Mhm?"

"Want to go visit my parents for a while?", she asks. "They invited us over. Said they want to see you again."

You turn your head to glance at her. You somehow haven't seen Melina and Alexei again. Over half a year of being back together, and you still haven't managed to visit your girlfriend's parents. 

It's more than just that, too. Escaping the noise for a few days is exactly what Natasha had in mind when Melina proposed the idea. Knowing you might get a few days off felt like a weight falling off her chest. 

"I'd love that", you say, finding one of her hands and holding it. "How long is a while?"

"A few days, I guess."

"They're okay with that?"

Natasha nods. Her parents love you as much as yours love her. You merged into this huge family when you were kids, spending holidays and birthdays together — and you have a feeling not much changed. All it'll take is seeing them again. 

"They wouldn't have asked if they weren't", she says. She cracks a smile. "Good luck getting through that. They'll ply you with questions."

You laugh. The sound is real and unfiltered, and Natasha grins as you tilt your head back. Her eyes search yours.

"I'm fine with that", you promise. "How does Friday sound?"

"Friday it is."

. . .

On Friday, you leave early. Frodo is in the backseat of the truck, his head on his paws and his eyes closed. He's not asleep — just dozing. By the time you pull into the road that leads to her parents' house, he'll be wide awake.

Melina and Alexei left Aster Falls a couple years after Natasha and Yelena moved out. They sold the house, bought a larger one in the countryside and renovated it. Melina has chickens, Alexei smokes his own sausages, and somehow, leaving a small town to move to the middle of nowhere fixed everything. 

You're sitting with your knees against your chest. It's a two hour drive, but time is flying by, and you've already reached the area they live in. 

There's not much happening out here. A couple of houses and barns, all widely scattered across the landscape. A bunch of trees, grass growing tall, and golden fields of wheat. 

"Imagine growing up here", you comment, lazily watching the scenery. "Can't believe I complained about Aster Falls."

"It's not that bad, thinking about it now", she agrees. "Still tiny. Love that town, though."

You hum, adjusting yourself in your seat. Aster Falls is tiny — nothing to do, nothing to see. Compared to bigger cities, anyway. Maybe it's not the town's fault. Maybe it's your expectations, or maybe it's that growing up somewhere takes away from everything that makes it special.

Their home is a lonely white house with a red roof, nestled between a handful of trees and shielded by a crooked fence. There are no houses nearby, only a small shed and a tractor that looks like it's seen better days.

Frodo sticks his head between the front seats, his paws tapping impatiently, before turning around and pressing his muzzle against the window. He barks.

"He play hunts", Natasha says. "Wait until he sees a rat."

"Oh wow", you laugh, unbuckling. "Can't wait for that."

He's scooted under the fence by the time you get your luggage. The door opens, Melina steps out, and she gives you a wave. 

She meets you halfway to pull you into a hug. It's been over five years since you last saw her, which feels insane. Last time, she was loading the last few boxes from her old house into a van. 

"Look at you!", she exclaims, her Russian accent as prominent as ever. "Oh darling, you look so lovely. How was the drive?"

"No complaints", you say. "Nat's a good driver. Melina, how are you?"

She gives a dismissive shake of her head. Natasha gets a pat on the back, then Melina slings her arm around your shoulder and starts leading you up to the house. 

"Same old", she says. "Nice but quiet. Boring. But I like it. Tell me, did you eat today? Did Natasha feed you?"

"I made eggs, mom."

"Eggs?" Melina scoffs, pushing open the door. Natasha grins to herself. "Come on, I got real food. Alexei, get your ass off the couch! Lentyay."

'Lazy man' — that phrase you do remember. You didn't manage to retain much of the Russian Natasha and her family taught you, but some things stick. 

Alexei appears in the doorway. Without a word, he opens his massive arms and tugs you and Natasha into a bear hug. 

She makes a sound of protest. "Hey, dad-"

"Hush", he says, patting both your backs. "Ah, this is how it's supposed to be. What take you so long?!"

You pull away, a flush to your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Alexei. I work a lot, it gets stressful sometimes."

"That's true", Natasha agrees, fixing her hair. "We're here now, aren't we?"

"That you are", Melina says. You turn around to a loaded dining table — smoked sausages, pelmeni, borscht, bread. "Don't just stare. Come, eat!"

Lunch (brunch, more accurately) lasts forever. You like their new house, you decide in the middle of letting Melina piling dessert onto your plate. 

It's not unlike the old one. It smells of black tea and the sweet honey cake Melina made. They still own that floral couch and the crocheted blankets, and the walls are covered in pictures of Natasha and Yelena. 

You touch one of the porcelain figures placed in the middle of the table runner. You remember a whole showcase filled with them.

You help Melina clean up. You wash the dishes, Natasha dries them, and Melina puts them in whatever cabinet they belong. Alexei lingers in the doorway, making a few jokes too many until Melina chases him out by tossing a wet sponge at him.

There's not much to do out here. Once everything is clean, you sit in the living room and sip black tea. Melina offers you vodka, but you both turn down the offer. 

"So, tell me", she insists, "how have you been? I heard a lot from Natasha, but I prefer straight from the source."

Natasha flushes and shifts. She's seated on the floor, right in front of the spot on the couch where you are. Her hand is resting around your shin.

"A lot, huh?", you muse. Natasha squeezes your leg. "I mean, I don't know — I traveled a lot after New York. I still do. We just got back from Tokyo."

Melina's eyes flit to Natasha. "You too? You don't say."

Natasha warned you about the possibility of being plied with questions, and she was spot on. You sit there for a while, answering questions, nodding along, explaining and describing and trying to stay awake.

Outside, the sky turns orange as the sun begins to set. Frodo falls asleep on the porch, and you barely stifle a yawn as you tell them about Berlin. That's when Natasha interrupts the conversation for the first time.

"I think that's enough for today", she says, straightening up. "We should shower and get some sleep."

"Agreed", you say, scrubbing your hands down your face. "I'm beat. Russian food makes you tired."

Natasha laughs quietly, planting a kiss on your ankle before getting up. Melina clasps her hands together. 

"Of course. I got the upstairs bedroom ready for you. There's towels in the dryer."

You both thank her. Natasha takes your hand and you start making your way up the creaking stairs.

. . .

There are no neighbors out here. Only trees, a sunny backyard, and a shady spot on the hammock.

Frodo is lying in the grass, tail whipping contentedly. It smells like the barbecue Alexei is making on the other side of the house — smoke, spices, the sweet and tangy sauce Melina whipped up. Birds tweet somewhere in the distance, and you feel the hammock move with the breeze.

For the first time in years, you feel the peace settle deep in your bones. It's a kind of peace you only knew before losing Natasha, and after finding her again.

She's in the grass, too. Her shoulders are pale in the sunlight. They're glistening from the sunscreen you put on her.

Your laptop was in your lap at first, but you soon realized work could wait. You shut it and put it aside before rolling over, one leg dangling off the hammock. You close your eyes and feel the baby hairs at your nape flutter.

"Are you awake?", you mumble. She hasn't talked in a while.

No response comes from the redhead. You open your eyes to look at her, but she doesn't stir. There's no need to ruin her nap — you close your eyes again and yawn, fully prepared to nod off as well.

The days out here are slow. You spent your Sunday morning eating kasha made from semolina and watching Frodo run around outside. Natasha was right about the play hunting. He chased a rat all the way to the porch, barking furiously.

 Alexei comes walking to the backyard eventually. He leans against the fence, a plate of steaks and sausages in his hand, and starts wafting the smell toward you. Frodo notices it first and gets a piece of chicken as a reward. Natasha frowns in her sleep, and you lazily lift your head at Frodo gulping something down.

"Who's the lentyay now?", he asks. "Up, up! I got dinner."

Natasha groans. "Huh?"

"Barbecue, Natasha! Come on, or it's all gone!" He rubs his stomach. "All for me, you slowpokes."

"It's 4pm", she complains. "The hell you mean, 'dinner'?"

You want to agree with her, but your stomach rumbles quietly. You're a decent cook, so is Natasha, but getting fed by your family — in laws or not — is always going to win. You roll over in the hammock and sit up.

"We can eat outside", you offer. Natasha peeks at you, her eyes narrowed as the sun shines right in her face. "I'm hungry."

She sighs, fingers reaching out to brush against your foot. She rolls onto her back and props her upper body on her elbows. 

"Steak?", she asks, trying to get a look at the plate. Alexei nods proudly. "Alright."

A few minutes later, you're seated around the patio table. Meat and a couple different salads fill the spaces between the plates, and though Natasha initially wasn't hungry, she's piling some of everything onto her plate now. 

"So", Melina asks, reaching for a shashlik. "How do you like it out here, you two?"

"I love it", you say. You're not lying — it's the opposite of New York, and for some reason, you seem to like both. "Got the best sleep of my life here."

Natasha murmurs through a mouthful of steak. "Me too."

Alexei nods. Any other answer would've outraged him. An appreciation for raw nature is something he believes everyone should have. 

"Attagirl", he says, pointing his fork at the landscape. "Can't get this in city, right? Beautiful."

"And the houses are so cheap", Melina adds. She gives Natasha a look that has her frowning warily. "What? Come on, you said it yourself. You love it here."

You stay quiet, watching Natasha shake her head. She doesn't want to leave Aster Falls — you don't want to leave Aster Falls to move into the back of beyonds, no matter how much you enjoy being here. One of the perks of loving a place is being able to return. 

"That doesn't mean we want to move here."

"Yes, yes." Melina rips some white bread apart. "I get that. But that house, it's so small! Tiny. Yes, very pretty, but tiny. And you'll need more space someday. I mean, when you have kids..."

You both pause. Then, you exchange a panicked look. You didn't discuss this with anyone. Why would you? Starting a family is about the most private decision you can think of. 

Natasha exhales, her fingers drumming against the table. She knows her parents have expectations. In their mind, it's the natural order of things: relationship, house, marriage, kids. Work in between, death at the end. 

"We're not sure we'll have kids", she speaks, the words slowly leaving her mouth. "It's not something we have decided on yet."

You want to add something, have Natasha's back, but your mouth is dry; all you manage is a nod. 

"Oh", Melina says. Her eyes move from Natasha to you, and back to Natasha. She puts the bread down. "No babies? You're serious?"

"No", Alexei laughs. "No way. You say that now, but once it happens-" He gestures, an amused look on his face, "you're happy!"

"Dad", Natasha says, careful with her words, "it can't just happen. It doesn't work like that. Not for us. Besides-"

His eyes fly open and he smacks the side of his head. "Oh, blyat, I'm such an idiot! Biology, of course!"

"It's fine", you say. You sound just as awkward as you're feeling. "Anyway, it's...kind of private, I'm sorry."

"It's a big decision, too", Natasha helpfully adds. "And even if we did, you know- we probably wouldn't move. Not here. It's not practical."

"Ah", Melina says. She sounds disappointed. "I get that."

You both nod. Silence falls. Frodo lies on the ground, waiting for pieces of food to drop, and Alexei scratches his beard. Melina makes a mental note to pack away Natasha's and Yelena's old baby clothes. 

The rest of dinner is uncomfortable. You don't talk a lot, and when you do, it feels fake — like a performance, like you're all trying to distract from the previous conversation. You help them clean up, agree to watch some tv with them, but once evening rolls around, you go upstairs. 

You stand in front of the sink together, brushing your teeth. You haven't dared touch on the baby subject yet, and neither of you is sure how to bring it up. You came to an agreement back then, back when you talked about it the last time, but it's been a few months. 

You take a shower while Natasha gets the suitcases ready and packed. You switch places once you're done, and when Natasha steps back into the bedroom, you're in bed already.

Something inside her throbs at seeing you like this. You're sprawled out on your stomach, only clad in a pair of little sleeping shorts. Your back is bare, your arms crossed under your head. 

She walks up and climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her. She presses her lips to your lower back.

"Hi", she mumbles.

"Hi."

"Suitcases are ready?"

You nod, and she hums and plants a kiss on your shoulder. You smell like soap and lotion, you're soft all over — she curls up against your back and tucks her hand under your stomach.

The conversation at the dinner table continues lingering in her mind. For you, it's not different, and yet, neither of you dare bringing it up. Too peaceful is the feeling of being in bed together like this, too afraid you are of ruining it. 

You roll over to look at her. She stares back at you, green eyes attentive, trying to spot any change in attitude. She finds none, and so she leans in a little closer. Your hand comes up to cup her cheek.

"We’re good?", you mumble.

"Why wouldn’t we be?"

You hum, the tension leaving you. You tilt your head up and kiss her.

It's soft and tentative at first, a firm press of lips neither of you interpret as more. But you shift closer, and Natasha's breath hitches when you grab her wrist. You're gentle as you tug her hand between your legs, letting her feel the damp heat that's building up. 

A finger slips in. She opens her eyes to look at you, gauge your reaction. The feeling is like a nudge of relief, making you close your eyes. When another finger joins, relief turns into pleasure. Her hand starts moving, fingers pumping in and out of you, temporarily locking the previous thoughts away. 

. . .

Camping, Natasha suggested. Just the two of us. 

There were many arguments you could've brought up against this. How it's summer, how it'd get hot, how there's a bathroom to renovate and a shit ton of gardening to do. How the bugs might crawl into your sleeping bag, or how lying on the floor might ruin your back for the next week. 

You didn't bring any of them up, though, because the first thing that entered your mind were the summers you and Nat regularly tried to spend in a tent. 

For some reason, it didn't work. Natasha was doing just fine — she grabbed bugs and tossed them outside when they managed to sneak in, and she packed flashlights and happily blew up inflatable mattresses. 

And then there was you, poor terrified you, who started crying at seven years old, and who kept getting startled by noises Natasha swore were normal. There was no serial killer out to get you, just neighbors checking their doors before bed. 

That phase lasted longer than you'd like to admit; Natasha teases you about that whenever you accidentally mention something that's related to camping. In junior year, however, when you had your first kiss and everything was sunshine and rainbows, you jumped at the opportunity to stay out there with her all night. 

It paid off. Being alone in a confined space with someone you really really like is what everyone wants. Having that someone like you back only made things a hundred times better, and you kept camping in your backyard until the nights got too cold and you both were shivering. 

You're an adult now. You're not scared of serial killers — not here, not in Aster Falls. You're not fond of the ideas of bugs and not being able to sleep properly once you're back home in your bed, but you're not about to pass up this idea because of it. 

Natasha's thrilled. She's trying to keep it subtle, but it shows in every smile she shoots your way.

"Yours", she says, handing you a backpack. She reaches for the second one. "And mine. I'll get the tent, you're keeping an eye on Frodo?"

"Sure that's not too heavy?"

"What's the other option?", she asks, grinning, and wipes a wayward strand of hair out of her face. "I'm good. Just hold the leash tight."

Frodo has great recall, but there are times where he will see something and block out the rest of the world. A rat, a squirrel, a deer — and off he is, playing hunt and running until he's out of sight. Natasha once spent an entire afternoon searching the woods when he was still a junior. 

You nod and wrap the leash around your hand. He gives you an impatient look. 

You start making your way to the campsite. It's summer, and it's a warm afternoon, and though the sun is filtering through the trees they're still preserving enough shade and cool air to keep it comfortable. 

You duck under a low hanging branch and carefully step down a larger drop. Natasha glances at you. 

"We're alright?"

"All good", you reply. Frodo jumps after you. "Nice out here."

"Ever been here before?"

You try to think, and after a few seconds, you raise your eyebrows. You never went camping here — too far out in the wilderness, too dark at night — but you did join Natasha and a few of her friends for lunch one time. 

"Once, I think", you say, catching up to her. She hums. 

"Clint and I go camping here sometimes. Not that much nowadays, with his kids and whatnot — but before that. Carol, too."

You take another look around. You reach the clearing Natasha talked about earlier, and you help her set up the tent before getting everything else ready.

One thing always felt special between you — when you work together, things get done in no time. Even as kids, when cleaning up your toys felt like a cruel way of punishing you, it was over in the blink of an eye when you and Natasha were put into the same room. Granted, you also managed to create chaos in record time. 

You sit down on the blanket Natasha spread out. The sun is setting, the forest is filled with the sounds of crickets and cicadas and running water somewhere nearby. Natasha hands you a cup of coffee and you toast. 

"Worth it?", she asks. 

"One hundred percent."

She grins and leans over, kissing your mouth. "I've wanted to take you here for so long. Don't think anyone could appreciate it as much as you."

"Wouldn't be too sure", you tease, pecking her lips again. You can't help yourself — she stayed in kissable proximity. "It is nice, though. Looks a lot like our backyard."

Natasha chuckles. Her voice is quieter, raspier at this hour. You're nowhere near your usual bedtime, but going camping will do that to her. She nudges your nose with hers, breathing you in before pulling away a little. 

"It's not like New York at all, is it?" She pauses. "Or Tokyo. Or any of the places you love."

You watch her. You know what she's hinting at: that you settled for this place. That you never really chose it. You chose Natasha, and Natasha and Aster Falls are a package deal. 

"Don't say that", you say. "This is basically Central Park. Only without the fat rats and the tourists."

"Sounds charming", she jokes. "Makes me regret missing out on it."

"Oh, we'll go back and then you'll get the full experience. We can get lost together, good luck finding the subway."

She smiles, but it's absentminded, heavy almost. You exhale softly, sipping on your coffee and tucking your knees against your chest. 

You use some water from a nearby river to clean the cups. You throw on a zip up when the sun disappears and the air gets colder, and you pull out the inflatable mattress when Natasha points out the lack of clouds and light pollution. 

You lay down flat on your backs, the treetops surrounding a patch of the star studded sky. Natasha's shoulder is touching yours. You feel her fingers brush your wrist, and your hand slips into hers easily.

"I didn't choose Aster Falls", you begin. "I chose you. That could've led me anywhere. I didn't care, and I still don't."

Natasha doesn't look at you. She feels her throat constrict a little. "You wanted to leave so bad. I just can't imagine that to have changed."

Did it? Do you still feel the need to leave? Does Aster Falls still feel like a burden you need to shake?

It didn't. You still feel the need to leave. You do leave, temporarily, returning after days, weeks, coming back to something you thought you'd have to leave behind in order to be happy. You didn't — you only needed to be able to get away from time to time. 

"I still leave", you say. "But I come back. That's why I like it now. I get to go away when it becomes too much."

"I get that."

"Our house helps. I like it. I like having a place of our own. Hotel rooms are nice, but they're not the same thing at all." You turn your head to peek at her. "And you're there. What better reason to come back? I'm learning to love it all over again."

"It's a nice house", she agrees. 

You smile. "Even if Melina says otherwise. It has enough space, doesn't it?"

She hesitates. You're starting to touch on a subject you've been pushing aside for over a week. Her eyes are glued to the twinkling stars above her. The words leaving her are heavy. 

"Enough space for us, yeah." She pauses. "We made a decision about that kids thing, didn't we?"

You pause, eyes locked on a particularly big star. Natasha isn't moving. You're not sure why — fear? Insecurity? The knowledge she keeps saying one thing but thinking the other?

"I guess we did."

"Right."

You roll onto your side. Natasha gives you a tentative glance before doing the same. You're side to side, eye to eye, and you pull her hand to your chest.

"Did something change?", you mumble. "Or why the question?"

She hesitates again. She can't just say it — not when your opinions differ so drastically. Having kids is a huge thing, she's well aware of that, and she knows it's better to regret not having kids than to regret having them. 

She gently drums her fingers against your chest, mulling it over. In her mind, she always was convinced she'd have children, though. It started as a silly dream when she was a teenager, as some teens have, but it turned into something more serious with time. She's good with kids. You're great with them, too, in your own way. That doesn't change much, though.

"Don't think so", she says. "I was just wondering. After that conversation with my parents, you know..."

"Oh god, yeah. I love them, but that was uncalled for."

"Touched a sore spot", Natasha agrees. She leans in and kisses your eyebrow. "What about you? Did something change?"

She keeps her hopes low. Even if you say no, even if you're still against the idea of having kids, it's not that big of a deal. She wasn't lying when she said she wanted to wait a few more years, anyway. You're not even engaged yet.

"I don't know", you admit. "But I'd say no, probably not. I travel so much, Nat. I'm gone, like, five months a year. Or I'd have to give up my job, at least for a while, and I...I'm not sure I could do that."

"I get that", she says gently.

"I can't expect you to take care of everything, either. You work, too. You do so much around the house. Try putting a kid on top of that, you'd hate me in no time."

Her face turns a little more serious, eyes searching yours to look for anything that'd indicate you were joking. "Hey, don't say that. I-"

"Sorry", you cut her off. You bring her hand to your lips and brush them across her knuckles. "It's just...you get what I mean, don't you?"

Natasha sighs. Her fingers touch the corner of your mouth. "I do get what it would look like to you. Like you're abandoning me with a shit ton of responsibilities while you go sightseeing. But that's not true. I love being here, and taking care of our home while you're gone. It gives you something to come back to."

You close your eyes for a beat. You don't doubt it. Natasha's honest. If she hated how you're handling things right now, she'd tell you. Even if there isn't much about your situation that can be adjusted anymore.

Her hand drops in between your bodies. "And just saying, I'd love to take care of our baby as well."

You falter a little at this. The worst part is that you don't doubt this, either, and yet it's not enough to change anything. Because, no matter the outcome, Natasha will do everything right, and you'll be stuck at airports and in hotel rooms wondering over and over again whether you made the wrong choice.

"I know that." 

"I'm not trying to pressure you", she says. "I'm okay with whatever you want. Seriously. I'm the happiest I've ever been, Y/N."

You nod, relief filtering in through the worry and guilt eating at you. She leans in and kisses you, firmly, allowing no room for backtalk. Your arm wraps around her waist, your grip so tight that your bodies get drawn closer and closer.

Above you, the stars shine. The inside of the tent is warm and safe when you do crawl in. You lie awake for too long, both of you, both trying to figure out how much of what was said is true.

. . .

"Full house", Natasha says. 

You glance at the backseat. Four people, two kids, one truck. Frodo couldn't be bothered to squeeze himself under the backseat, so he stayed home with your mom. Your dad left to get the car fixed, otherwise you would've taken two cars.

It's summer. Your nephew is on summer break, and your sister decided to come visit for a few days. Her visit overlapped with Yelena's, who's staying at your place, and so you had the idea to have a lake day together.

"Like old times", you agree. "You guys comfy?"

"Could be worse", Yelena says. She glances at your niece. "Hey, you, quit eating my bag."

Natasha glances at them through the rearview mirror. "How old is Polly again?"

Your sister adjusts the baby, peeling the bag out of her chubby hands and making her let out an offended cry. "Almost nine months."

"I'm eight", Riley loudly announces. 

Natasha's eyes flit to the boy sitting behind you. "I know. You're getting so big, buddy."

You reach the parking lot before the baby starts crying, which is a victory in itself. The lake in Aster Falls is nice — small, clean, quiet enough. No sand beaches, though. It was your sister's wish to go to one of the bigger lakes near Minneapolis.

Yelena jumps out and stretches. Kim climbs out after her, thanking Natasha when she helps her with the baby. You grab Riley's hand and lock the car once everyone has grabbed their bags.

"Got everything?", you ask. 

Natasha nods. She's got Polly in a front facing hold, carrying her with enough ease to take you off guard. She's around tweens and teens constantly, but you're not sure you've ever seen her with a baby.

"Onward!", Yelena announces, taking a dramatic step towards the lake. "We're wasting precious time blabbering."

You exchange a look with Natasha. It feels like forever since you last saw Yelena, and somehow, she managed to stay the exact same. You didn't spend much time together as kids, given how much younger she was, but that didn't affect your relationship with her. Seeing her again felt like reuniting with yet another part of your childhood.

The beach isn't empty, but it isn't awfully crowded, either. You find a quieter spot in the shade, put down your towels and drop into the sand. Riley's grabbed his floatie before you've even thought about going into the water. 

"Hey!", Kim calls. She's shifting Polly around so she can feed her. "Stay here!"

"I wanna swim", he protests. 

Natasha, who's already standing there in swim shorts and a bikini top, looks up. "I'm going with you. That alright?"

"That's sweet, Nat", Kim says. "You really don't have to."

Too late — they're already approaching the water. You lean back on your elbows, watching them (watching Natasha), feeling the sun on your skin. Yelena sprawls out next to you, flopping onto her belly.

There aren't many people where Natasha and Riley are swimming. She helps him onto the floatie, one hand steadying the inflatable dragon and the other making sure he doesn't slip. The floatie rocks with the waves, Riley laughing out loud. 

You're lost in thought. They're talking (though you can't decipher their words), giggling. Natasha catches him when he bounces up into the air and off the floatie. Again — you knew she was good with kids. You didn't think you'd see her prove it over and over again today. 

Next to you, Yelena yawns. She turns her head to peek at you, and you give her a look like she just caught you ogling her sister. Which is exactly what happened, to be fair, but after years of being in a relationship (interrupted or not), it's to be expected.

"Oh blyat", Yelena says, wrinkling her nose. "Why you looking at me like that? You're out of the closet now, no need for-" She gestures at your face, "that."

You roll your eyes and flick some sand at her. "Real funny."

"It's true!"

"Hush", you retort. You lay down next to her, arms crossed over your chest. "I was just checking on Riley."

"Right", she drags. "You really didn't change, huh."

Your head lolls to the side. That's new. You're not sure anyone — besides Natasha — ever pointed that out. You're not mad about it, though. 

"Neither did you", you say. "Except for the hair."

"Cut it myself."

You snort. Natasha did the same thing when she was younger. She dyed it black, too, and all without telling anyone. 

"You two are so alike."

She tilts her head, contemplating, before shrugging and shoving her face into the beach towel. "I'll assume that's a compliment."

"It is", you confirm.

"It better be, suka."

You laugh quietly, nudging her with your elbow. Around you, the world keeps moving. Riley is balancing on the dragon floatie, and Kim just put Polly, who fell asleep nursing, down next to you. She gives you an apologetic look. It clicks instantly.

"I'll watch her", you say.

"If you need something, it's probably in the diaper bag", she says, scrambling up. "You're the best!"

Kim goes into the water as well. She talks with Natasha, who steers Riley and his floatie towards her. Your sister and Riley stay where they are, and Natasha starts wading out of the water. 

You were ogling her earlier — no point in denying that — but it's nothing compared to this. Her hair is slicked back, her body covered in hundreds of tiny water droplets. Her biceps have been looking more impressive with each passing month. Her eyes meet yours, and you shift slightly atop your towel.

She walks up to you, running a hand over her hair. Your eyes inch upwards as she comes closer, and when she's right next to you, she crouches. 

"Hey", she says, bending over you. You feel water drip on you. "She's asleep?"

"Which one?"

Natasha laughs and leans in. Her lips are warm and wet when she kisses you. You close your eyes and cup her cheek, kissing her again and again, until she's on her knees with her hands planted next to your head. 

Public beach, your brain screams. You lift your head anyway, chasing her mouth and the kiss. It takes Natasha off guard, makes her let out a noise, but she doesn't pull away. 

Oh well. Yelena is asleep, so is the baby. Natasha is still kissing you, but her mouth is starting to wander. Your arms snake around her neck as she peppers kisses along your jaw. 

"Wish we were alone", she mumbles, running a hand down your sand caked side. "You're so beautiful."

"The truck is empty", you point out. Natasha huffs and shakes her head. 

"Stupid idea", she says, rolling off you. She lays down next to you, and you scoot closer to put your head on her chest. "We got plenty of time later."

"Not with Yelena around."

Natasha pauses. The sun is beating down on you. Your skin shines with sunscreen and energy. You're both warm and alive and all fuzzy inside, and she'd rather book a motel room than miss out on you.

"We'll find a way", she dismisses. "Trust me."

"I do", you mumble, nuzzling her chest. For a moment, she's all yours, yours alone. Everyone else is either swimming or asleep. 

Your hand settles on her stomach, and you feel her lips place kisses on the top of your head. You press closer, like you're trying to melt into her, which might just happen. It's hot enough, anyway. 

Right as your leg tangles with her, you hear a quiet whine next to you. You pause, then look up, and on the towel next to you, Polly is fussing. 

"She just fell asleep", you sigh. 

Natasha huffs. She looks at Polly again. You both hope she might fall back asleep, but she's kicking her legs and flailing her arms, and Natasha caves. She sits up and scoops Polly into her lap. 

"There we go", she says. "You good? Is it too warm out here?"

No baby talk or cooing, no artificially high voice. Natasha's talking to get the same way she talks to her kids at ice hockey. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows. "I think she misses her mom."

"Makes sense", Natasha admits. She cradles the baby against her shoulder and pats her back, but Polly keeps fussing angrily. "Hey, what happened? God, she sounds pissed."

Polly gets shifted around again, now sitting in Natasha's lap. Her cheeks are reddened and warm, and her eyes are teary. She grabs Natasha's hand, and suddenly, she's chewing on the side of her thumb. The fussing stops. 

"Oh", Natasha says. "She's teething. That sucks."

"Yeah", you mumble, watching her watch Polly. "It does."

It feels like the universe is poking you in the most cruel way possible. Natasha begins to realize how ironic this entire situation is, and you sit there dumbfounded. If anyone walks by, they'll think the three of you belong together. 

Or maybe it's supposed to be a glimpse at what you'll be missing out on. That'd be cruel in its own way. Tiny teeth gnawing at your thumbs, fussy baby cries, being interrupted during the sweet part of intimacy. 

Polly lets out a little noise. She fusses, lets go of Natasha's thumb, and then dives back in and sinks her teeth into her skin again. 

"Fuck", Natasha curses. "Gentle, alright?"

You can't help it. "Still want a baby?"

She laughs, but it sounds strained. At least you had the guts to bring it up. "Fair enough, Y/N. You win. Can you take her?"

You hum and transfer her into your lap. Natasha's thumb is bleeding. The sudden bite Polly launched at it was enough to break the skin. 

Natasha glances at you. You're more at ease holding Polly than you were with trying to talk to Riley earlier. And just like the picture of Natasha holding her lingers in your mind, so does the picture of you and Polly linger in hers. 

Kim returns a few minutes later. You hand Polly back to her, and the relief is palpable. You don't like playing house, it seems. 

Later that day, you drive your sister and the kids home. You go back to your place, order food, clean up. Natasha finds you in the bedroom, half naked and about to go shower. 

Your plan falls flat. She steps behind you and wraps her arms around your middle. Plush, hot lips press against your shoulder, your taste salty and sweet. Her hand rubs your stomach, feeling the coating of sand you carried home. 

"I think I found a way", she murmurs. You smile and turn your head. "Who would've thought? Plenty of privacy in our bedroom."

"I'm impressed."

"You should be." She tugs you back into her, a little mark getting sucked into your shoulder. "Are you tired? You sound tired."

"I'm okay", you say. She leaves another kiss on the back of your neck. "More than okay. Just sweaty and full of sand."

"I can tell." She coaxes you into turning around. You tilt your head up and meet her lips in a brief kiss. "We should shower."

Your hands smooth up her sides, thumbs hooking under her shirt and lifting it up. "We should."

"We're gross", she nods, starting to walk you backwards. "We'll ruin our bedsheets."

"Agreed", you whisper. You've taken her shirt off. It lands somewhere in a corner. "And god forbid we change those."

She chuckles. Your bra comes undone with a click. She slides the straps off your shoulders and lets it drop. 

Your legs hit the side of the bed. Natasha cups your face to tilt it up again. You kiss, bodies flush and hands wandering, groping, feeling the heat from earlier in the day come back alive. 

"I miss this", you admit, lying on your back and watching her get out of her own bra. "When I'm gone, I mean. I do think it's the only thing I struggle with."

"You miss the sex?", she says, eyebrows raised playfully. "I feel used."

You shake your head, both of you laughing. Natasha's head dips into the crook of your neck, and her deft fingers tug down your panties.

"Not that", you say. "You know what I mean. I miss you. And honestly, I don't think I could bear missing another person."

She pauses, her nose nuzzling your neck. You're warm, sleepy soft already. Your skin is gritty with sand. She didn't think you'd revisit this conversation today, or maybe even ever again. 

The pause is heavy. Not heavy enough to ruin the mood, though. She lifts her head, you cup her face. A kiss is placed on your palm. She presses another one to your chest, one to your stomach, before moving on to your thighs. 

Your legs part instinctively. Natasha settles between them, her calloused hands sliding under your ass and cupping it. The next kiss is placed on your cunt, firm and making you shudder. 

Even as she dives in deeper, as your back starts arching and the sweat begins to drip again, your words keep replaying in her head. Your hands tangle in her hair, she presses her tongue against your clit, her fingers slip in. 

She's starting to understand something that seemed blurry ever since you first talked about it. Her biggest dream is building a home, your biggest fear is being absent from it. Even if you share the same future, the difference would be huge. 

It doesn't change anything about her belief, though. Your heavy breathing gets louder, and Natasha drowns out her thoughts. 

. . . 

Minneapolis, Minnesota. Noon on a Friday. The biggest mall in America. 

You're home, working on a new article. You haven't told her much about it yet, but you promised you'd let her read the first draft, and Natasha was happy with that. She was especially happy because it kept you busy and gave her a reason to leave for a few hours. 

She's not happy about being stuck in a giant crowded building, though. From her small town perspective, it seems like all of Minnesota squeezed into it. She can't walk five feet without bumping into someone, and she can already tell the volume won't go down — she can only try to block it out. 

Coming her was both impulsive and well thought out. The decision was made over a decade ago. She decided to go through with it this morning, after seeing you sit on the kitchen counter and complain about the coffee you didn't know you'd run out of. 

She did tell herself she'd wait a little longer. She might. But she needs to have the physical proof, anyway, so that when she feels that nudge in her soul, she won't have to wait any longer. 

Natasha takes the escalator upstairs. She's fidgeting. The fear of doing it all wrong and ruining it is louder than the years old, steadfast trust sitting deep in her chest. 

She passes by a handful of stores, eyes sweeping across each one. When she finds what she's looking for, she steps inside before she can change her mind. 

The clerk behind the counter is wearing an expensive looking suit. He looks up and smiles. Can I help you, he'll ask, and Natasha will point at the thing she wants. 

That's exactly what happens. She stands in front of the counter, glancing at the other shiny items displayed in front of her, quietly waiting for him to hand the ring to her so she can take one last look.

It's perfect. She stares at it for a beat too long. The clerk is patient, though, giving her all the time in the world. It is a big deal, after all. 

“aww… poor baby,” she murmured. “anything you want from the store?” she asked, keys rattling aggressively.

“huh? don’t you have work?” you question, fighting through the mucus in your throat.

“oh. yeah. i guess i do. oh well. i’m the boss, what are they gonna do? fire me?” she laughed. “i’ll just drop some stuff off babe. i can be a little late. they’re understanding,” she reassured you.

you greedily accepted her assurance, longing to see her.

soon, she arrived with a gentle knock on your door and some of your favorite treats. you fought the urge to throw your arms around her- you were sick after all, you didn’t want to contaminate her- but she did it for you. wrapping you in her warm embrace that smelled of the liquor she so loved, roses she always kept since you loved them, and paper and ink from all her work.

“hi baby, how are you,” she murmured into your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead. as you opened your mouth to answer, she changed her mind and pressed her finger to your lips. “wait. let’s get inside first. i’ll get you situated,” she decided, shooing you back inside.

your sick, dazed mind didn’t even process how she was slowly working her way into your apartment when she had work.

she kicked her heels off with short clicks, followed by her bag, the leather dropping onto the floor with a soft thump! she wrapped you in her arm as she led you toward the couch. she sat down, placing her bag of goodies on the end table.

“okay baby, let’s get you settled in, mkay? i got your favorite flavor fruit ice pops-” she pulls them out of the bag with some rustling, holding them up. “you want one now?” she asks, brushing your unruly hair back out of your face.

“mm… yeah,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut and leaning into her touch.

she laughs softly. “okay sweet girl. your wish is my command.” she fumbles with the box for a second before finally opening it toward you, a rush of cool air hitting your warm face. you groan in appreciation, leaning towards it.

she unwraps an ice pop for you, holding it out for you to take. “let me go throw this away for you now, mkay?” she mumurs gently, pressing a kiss to your fevered forehead.

you nod with a hum, gratefully wrapping your lips around the frozen pole of fruit juice, the coolness soothing your throat immediately. you sigh in relief, sinking back into the cushions of your couch. emily comes back, and her hair is undone, tumbling loose and silver around her shoulders.

you frown. “em, your hair-?” you question.

she smiles sheepishly. “i called off,” she explains.

“wh- what?” you exclaim, frowning, sitting up. “you’re- you’re unit chief! they need you! the team-” you start before she gently cuts you off.

“can handle themselves. they’ll be fine. they’ve still got everyone else. rossi, jj… they’ll be fine,” she soothes, cupping your face in her hands. “you’re more important.”

“than crime?” you mumble doubtfully.

emily snorts. “than paperwork.”

you pause, debating her answer before accepting it. “…i… wasn’t expecting that,” you whisper, “you never take time off.”

emily’s face changes, almost hardening as she looks at you sternly. “you’re my girlfriend. i’m allowed to have a life and needs outside of my job. you don’t feel well, and i can help. someone else can worry about how many pages to write for once. i give my all to that job… so on days like this, i can give my all to you,” she says softly, cupping your face in her hands as she slowly rubs her thumbs over your cheekbones.

you melt in her touch. “y’mean it?” you mumble, looking up at her with big doe eyes.

“of course,” she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “now i’m going to change to get comfy with you. so put something good on- or something shitty works too i guess- and i’ll be right back,” she instructs, slipping off the couch and walking towards your room.

“okay, love you!” you holler hoarsely back.

“love you too!” she calls. in the momentary silence, you hear her phone buzzing. intrigued, you turn on the television before reaching over to pick it up to see a multitude of texts from her unit.

d. rossi: good. you deserve it. and she needs you.

p. garcia: OH MY GOD THATS SO CUTEEEE TELL HER I HOPE SHE FEELS BETTER SOON AND I LOVE HER I LOVE HER I LOVE HERRRRRR and you too em!!

j.j.: wow, is she dying? 😂 don’t think i’ve ever seen you take off work before

l. alvez: oh my god unit chief emily prentiss taking a day off? are the body snatchers invading?

you giggle.

“hey, nosy! whatcha doin!” emily exclaims with a laugh, gently tackling you.

you shriek, voice cracking, laughing as she digs her fingers into your sides, tickling. “your unit! they don’t think it’s you!”

she rolls her eyes, smirking. “they don’t think a lot, period end of sentence,” she teases, “they’re using humor to hide their devastation over not seeing their big cheese today.”

you giggle. “well i’m very glad you stayed with me.”

you stir the batter in the bowl more vigorously than before. this was the third time you had tried to perfect the consistency. it either had lumps impossible to beat, or was too runny to pour onto the hot skillet. normally, pancake batter wouldn’t hold so much importance, but today, you needed this one thing to go right.

last night, you’d been tossing and turning through most of the evening. when the sun started to peak through the curtains of your bedroom, you sighed and quietly slipped out of bed, abandoning all hope of feeling rested.

today, your boss’s boss and several colleagues were visiting the office. as office manager, any shortcomings from your team had a way of becoming your responsibility. the thought alone made your stomach curl. handling failure has never been one of your strengths.

lost in thought, your whisk scraping loudly against the porcelain bowl, you accidentally splash yourself with some of the batter. you hardly notice as you stare straight ahead out the glass window in the kitchen. bacon sizzling on the stove next to you pops in protest, being left on one side for too long.

“shit.” you mutter to yourself, setting the bowl to the side. you grab a pair of tongs, flipping the pieces of bacon you had haphazardly lined the pan with. you scrub a hand over your face, trying to take a deep, regulating breath.

“i see my busy bee is already buzzing this morning.” you hear a voice, still raspy from sleep, ring from the entryway to the kitchen. you turn, your face a little flushed as you’re faced with your favorite pair of sage green eyes.

“i’m sorry, did i wake you?” you ask. suddenly, you feel a little self conscious about the mess coloring the counters. not to mention, you’re sure your face is a clear reflection of your current state.

“yes, but i don’t mind.” wanda shuffles closer to you when you make no move to close the gap. her hands find your waist with easy recollection. she holds you steady—you didn’t realize your body was nearly vibrating before. her thumbs stroke you through your pajama shirt. you look at her, feeling something tug in your chest at the way she looks at you. she studies you carefully. you try to mask the worry and stress on your face, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“you know..” wanda starts, reaching up to wipe away some wayward flour that was caked onto your cheeks and chin. “breakfast is usually my job.” her hand returns to your waist, pulling you an inch closer. you exhale shakily. something about the warmth of her body pulls you from your thoughts.

“i like to do it sometimes.” you insist, reaching behind you for a cup meant to pour the pancake batter onto the pan. wanda regards you for a moment and then releases your waist. she grabs the cup from your unsuspecting hands.

“i’ll help.” she says, and the way she says it leaves no room for argument. she steps around you, taking your place in front of the stove. you stare at her back, swaying on your toes.

“wanda, you really don’t need to help.” you step closer so you’re shoulder to shoulder.

“and you don’t need to make breakfast. sometimes we do things we don’t have to do.” she pours generous sized circles of batter onto the heated pan. they sizzle, smoke rising off them. she reaches for the temperature knob, turning the heat down.

you exhale through your nose and step aside, bumping your shoulder lightly against wanda’s before reaching for the coffee mugs instead.

“do you think ‘tasha will be up soon?” you ask as you place a coffee pod into the machine. you’re the only one who uses the flavored pods—wanda and natasha prefer the plain coffee grounds.

“she was starting to wake up when i left the room.” wanda replies, flipping the pancakes. you nod, getting a third mug out of the cabinet.

as if on cue, you hear natasha’s footsteps coming down the hall, always louder when her body is heavy with sleepiness.

“it’s 6AM.” natasha grumbles, her eyes squint to adjust to both the sun streaming through the open window and the kitchen lights you had turned on when you first started making breakfast. she looks so soft standing there that guilt tugs at your chest for waking them both.

“the sun is coming up?” you offer, your shoulders shrugging. she can read the guilt creeping into your expression. she scrubs her hands over her tired face.

“come here.” she holds her hands out in front of her. you abandon your spot in front of the coffee maker, padding into her open arms. she gathers you against her with the same practiced familiarity as wanda. the embrace is heavier though, drawing you closer.

“you were tossing and turning most of the night. you wanna talk about it?” her hands glide lower down your back, her hands warm even through your pajamas.

you shake your head. “no, i’m okay. or i will be later …maybe.” you shrug. you look off to the side, suddenly finding a spot on your wrist very interesting.

you feel her hands tighten around your hips until you’re suddenly being lifted into the air, your bum now resting against the cold granite top counter. you shiver at the unexpected temperature difference. you cross your ankles, but natasha steps between your legs before you can, her palms resting flat against your bare thighs.

“you’re not wiggling out of this that easily, little bee.” her voice is firm, but there’s a softness to her eyes that tells you she’s not actually upset. “you’re stressed about the people visiting your work today.” it’s not a question. you frown, squirming under her close observation. “talk to me. what’s going on in that head of yours?” her finger gently pokes at your forehead.

you look at natasha through your lashes, your eyes darting to wanda who still has her back to you as she wraps up breakfast. you watch her plate the food and your stomach almost turns at the sight. you’re really not hungry. making breakfast had simply been a distraction.

“(y/n).” natasha calls your attention back to her. your eyes find her emerald green ones. you frown deeper, your posture falling.

“i don’t know… i’m just stressed. what if i fail? what if i’m held accountable for something i didn’t do wrong, but my team did? you know my boss is a total asshole and he always makes me feel stupid—like nothing i do is good enough. i just really don’t want to be reminded of that today.” you exhale forcefully when you finish. your body is tense with the confession.

natasha reaches up to cradle your face with gentle, yet firm hands. “hey, listen to me.” she doesn’t continue until she can tell you’re really listening to her. it takes a few beats.

“it’s going to be okay—really. you’ve been doing a very good job about helping your team stay in line. plus, they all love you. i’m sure they’re just as eager to perform well today for your guests as you are to please them.” she speaks with such a surety that you almost internalize her words. you think over them for a second, and then your boss’s face flashes into your mind. you sigh, eyes closing, shoulders falling again.

“natasha’s right, (y/n). you have nothing to worry about. you’ll see later tonight once this is all over with.” wanda chimes in, sliding your refillable water bottle over to you. you don’t reach for it.

“i want it to be over with now.” you groan stubbornly. it’s so petulant sounding, it has both of them chuckling softly despite themselves.

“i know, sweet girl. it’ll be okay.” wanda assures, standing next to her wife now. “for now, let’s try and get some food in that tummy. then after we can talk about it a little more before sending you off to work.”

—

“hey, (y/n), did you grab yesterday’s report off the printer?” your coworker kate asks. she was basically your unofficial assistant, always running around with you, willing to tackle whatever task you needed to take down. you were grateful for someone like her. sometimes she was the only thing keeping you sane throughout the work day.

“yep. first thing i did when i walked in this morning.” you nod your head, your fingers vigorously typing away at the keyboard in front of you. kate lingers in the doorway to your office, rocking back on her heels.

“what’re you typing up?” she asks curiously, stepping into the room.

“notes i forgot to add to yesterday’s report.” you mumble, eyes not even sparing a blink until you had the revised version ready to go. your “special” guests were due to arrive any moment now. you needed this done.

your phone buzzes next to you on your desk. your eyes don’t even glance in that direction. kate, being the nosy thing she is, steps closer, looking at your lit up phone screen.

“it’s natasha!” she declares cheerily. she was particularly supportive of your throuple relationship. she was also the only one in the office that really knew. she steps closer, getting a better look at the text before the screen goes dark. “she asking if you got to work okay.” she reads, taking a step back.

“shit.” you mutter, your hand on the mouse as you navigate to the print button. “i’m supposed to text them when i get to work. making sure i’m safe and all that.” you click on the print button. “i’ll text her back later.”

before you can think about it any longer, someone calls your name from the conference room.

—

“jesus christ, they were intense.” steve comments when your whole team is huddled together in the break room at the end of the work day.

your visitors had come and gone, all without rattling the office too much. everyone was on their best behavior, which you were very grateful for. even steve and bucky seemed to keep their obnoxious inside jokes to a minimum around prying ears.

“i’ll say.” you agree, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“i’m glad that’s over with.” kate comments, clutching her water bottle close to her chest with two hands. “this one has been extra stressed more than normal for weeks.” she jabs a finger in your direction, her eyes light with her teasing comment. your whole team chuckles softly at your expense. you roll your eyes.

“okay, yeah, yeah, yeah. laugh it up. they could have had my ass if they found anything wrong today.” you try to defend yourself, but you can’t hide the smile threatening to stretch across your face. it was such a relief now that they were gone.

“oh, please, (y/n), you’re the best of us. the only reason tony gives you shit is because he’s probably threatened by you,” carol chimes in. you snort at her comment.

“threatened? please. like i’d want his job.” you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket. you pick it up without thinking too much about it. it’s from wanda.

We haven’t heard anything from you today. Did everything go okay at work?

you curse under your breath. you forgot to text both of them all day today. you know their expectation is at least one check-in. you quickly type out a brief response as the rest of your team talks amongst themselves.

went great. talk more about it a little later.

you hit send, shoving your phone back into your pocket.

“ready to go, everyone?” you ask, gathering your personal items you had set on a little table. your water bottle feels heavier than it should at the end of the day. you can’t remember taking a single sip.

kate walks you to your car once the rest of your team parts ways. “proud of you, chica. everything went amazing today.” she compliments as you round the drivers side of your car.

“couldn’t of done it without you katie girl.”

—

the house is quiet when you step inside. you shuck off your shoes, placing your car keys on a small table under a mirror that hangs adjacent to the front door.

the house feels still without wanda or natasha. they must have gotten called into the office for the day. you guessed they would be home in a little bit, but for now it was just you in the empty space. you place your empty water bottle on the kitchen counter. it waits there, beads of condensation trailing lazily down its sides. it sat there almost as full as it had been that morning. your stomach twists at the realization of disregarding yet another rule today. it wasn’t on purpose.

you stare at it for a moment longer before picking the bottle back up to take a small sip. you still didn’t feel very thirsty. you set it back down, leaving it to sit alone on the edge of the counter while you head for the couch in the living room.

the soft cushions envelop you as soon as you sit down, and you sigh heavily. more silence surrounds you as you lean back against the cushions, your eyes fixed on a random spot on the ceiling. your hands are clasped over your stomach, fingers tapping back and forth absentmindedly. you wait for the relief you’d been promising yourself all day.

it never comes.

you’re unsure how many minutes have passed when you hear the soft hum of the garage door opening through the walls. you sit up at once, a soft smile on your lips you didn’t even realize is there.

they’re home.

voices drift in from the entryway and you can feel your body relax at the sound. you glance towards the walkway, your eyes landing on your water bottle perched on the kitchen countertop. evidence. you look away before either of them can follow your gaze.

natasha rounds the corner first, her expression warm as her eyes find you. “hi, honeybee.” you’re already crossing the room before she can reach for you. her embrace eases an ache you’d been carrying all day. “hi.” you mumble into her shoulder, your arms wrapped tightly around her waist. she presses her lips to the top of your head, lingering there before she feels you loosen your arms to greet her wife.

wanda smiles warmly, her gaze taking in your small frame. she pecks your lips before you can bury your face into her neck, her arms wrapping around you automatically. you inhale her scent, the action just as comforting as her arms around you. she sways back and forth just a little as you linger in her arms.

“what do you say we make dinner?” wanda murmurs next to your ear after another beat of silence. you nod into her neck, loosening your grasp as you step back from the embrace.

the three of you moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. dinner was made, plates were set and you were all in your respective seats before you knew it.

“i wanna hear all about your special visitors today. how did it go?” wanda asks as she cuts into her steak.

“it actually went really well.” you start, smiling a bit as you recall your surprisingly successful day. “kate was a huge help. she reminded me to calm down whenever i was getting a little too stressed out. steve too. he kept trying to make me laugh. i was able to share my reports without forgetting key things or stumbling over my words. it almost went too well. like i was waiting for the other shoe to drop the whole time,” you stab a piece of steamed broccoli with your fork, popping it into your mouth when you finish your sentence.

“i’m not surprised to hear that it went well. i knew it would.” natasha says. you can hear a twinge of pride in her voice.

“we’re very proud of you, little love.” wanda places her hand over yours, giving it an affectionate squeeze. you glow under her praise, your stomach fluttering at both the gesture and her words.

“thank you.” you reply in a soft tone, your gaze falling towards your plate as you smile gently.

forks and knives clank against plates as you all enjoy your food. you reach for your water that natasha had placed in front of you when you first sat down. she hadn’t said anything about it being full, and neither did wanda. perhaps they forgot to mention it.

“how was work for you guys?” you ask before you take a drink. they recall their day, which sounded like it was just as successful as yours had been. the call into work had been unexpected, but they were able to smooth all the ruffled feathers. they’ve always been good at that.

after you were all done eating, the three of you work together to clean up. wanda stood at the sink, washing the dishes while natasha wiped off counters and you put away the leftover food.

you open the fridge, setting the tupperware of steamed vegetables on the top shelf.

wanda becomes more quiet, her movements slowing as she scrubs each plate before carefully placing it in the dishwasher. natasha doesn’t ask any more questions or spark up a new conversation as you all work together. she doesn’t glance at you even as she can feel you watching her, instead turning to wipe down the table.

you linger where you are, eyes darting between them. the silence makes your belly curl.

you forgot to text them. only after being texted multiple times did you reply, and even then, it was very brief. you also had neglected your water almost all day. the expectation was at least one gone by the time you got home.

your disobedience wasn’t intentional, just small actions you told yourself you’d eventually get to and then never did.

you watch wanda place the last dish into the dishwasher. her back is still to you as she dries her hands. she uses the same small towel to dry splashes of water that had gotten onto the counter surrounding the sink.

“little bee?” natasha’s voice cuts into the silence. your eyes dart to where she stands several feet away. “can we talk for a minute?”

the knot in your belly tightens, but you nod regardless. subconsciously, your legs carry you over to the living room couch. you sit in the middle of the long sofa, a practiced routine as wanda and natasha assume their spots on either side of you.

you stare at your hands in your lap. wanda curls one leg under the other as she faces you, the other hanging off the end of the couch. natasha sits with both her feet flat on the floor, her torso twisted to face you. silence settles over the three of you for a long moment.

“bee, look at me.” wanda says gently. she doesn’t reach for you yet. you lift your head, sage green eyes boring into yours with a softness you’re not sure made you feel better or worse. “did you drink your water today? or was what we saw from when i filled it this morning?” they’re both almost positive it was the latter, but she wanted to double check just in case.

“from this morning.” you mumble, eyes falling back to your lap. this wasn’t the first time this had happened. you hear natasha exhale through her nose beside you. it’s quiet for another few beats.

“this is becoming a pattern, isn’t it?” wanda still speaks gently. the words echo in your mind. memories of other instances you’ve neglected the small tasks begin to run through your mind.

“i don’t mean to do it.” you whisper, your fingers fidgeting with the hair tie you always kept on your wrist.

“we know.” wanda replies. “but it's still happening.”

more silence washes over the room. it’s deafening. the knot in your stomach twists even more.

“none of this is about the water bottle.” natasha speaks, her words echoing in your right ear.

“the water isn’t important because we want you hydrated. it’s important because we asked you to take care of yourself.” she adds, her voice even, without a trace of harshness.

“when you don’t, you tell yourself you’ll do it later. later becomes tomorrow. tomorrow becomes next week. eventually your needs become the last thing on your list.” your shoulders fall when wanda speaks again. her words begin to resonate as you listen to them, almost as if she’s painting the full picture of which you’ve never fully looked at before.

“i… i guess it’s just a habit. it’s not on purpose.” your defense is weak, but you have nothing else to offer but the honest truth.

“we know, honey.” wanda soothes.

“intent explains behavior. it doesn’t erase the impact of it.” natasha adds. you feel tears begin to prick your eyes, your cheeks growing warm. it’s silent for another couple seconds.

“this morning you didn’t let me make breakfast.” wanda says. you glance up at her for the first time in several minutes. you’re slightly confused at why she brings it up.

“today you wouldn’t let yourself drink water.” she continues. she pauses a moment, letting it sit there before going on. “you let us hold you when it’s easy. when you’re exhausted or falling apart..” another small pause. “but the little moments before that…you decide you can carry those alone.” a tear rolls down your cheek you didn’t realize was balancing on your lower lid. the weight of what they’re saying begins to wash over you.

you sniff, the clock ticking on the wall the only other sound in the room.

“this dynamic doesn’t work unless you allow us to take care of you. we can’t carry something you won't hand to us.” natasha speaks again. you can’t look at either of them, your vision suddenly blurry as more unshed tears brim in your eyes. you twist the hair elastic around your fingers with trembling hands.

“i didn’t really realize it looked like that.” your voice cracks at the end, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“we know.” they both say in unison.

they don’t fill the gaps of silence as the three of you sit there. wanda watches your face carefully as the realization washes over you in waves. neither of them rush to comfort you, instead letting you linger in the silence. when your shoulders begin to shake and the hair tie slips from your fingers, natasha places a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. wanda lifts your chin, tilting your face towards her. you blink, causing a couple more silent tears to fall. she wipes them away with her thumbs, cradling your face with tender hands.

“we’re not mad, little bee.” she assures, stroking your cheeks until your eyes finally meet hers.

“we’re very proud of you for hearing us.” her gentle praise causes warmth to bloom in your chest despite everything else.

you sniffle, blinking away the rest of your tears. natasha reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table, handing the tissue to wanda. she gently wipes away the salty tears, running the tissue under your nose that was getting a little runny. you exhale slowly through your mouth, letting the emotion run through you.

natasha leans forward, her face coming into your peripheral vision. she squeezes your thigh again, a silent call for you to look at her. your eyes lift to her gaze without much thought.

“understanding why this happened doesn’t mean we skip our responsibilities.” she says.

you cast your eyes back down to your lap.

“i know…” you say, resigned.

“do you understand why there still needs to be accountability?” she asks.

you nod.

“can you tell us why?” she presses gently.

“because if we only talked about it…” you swallow before continuing, “i’d probably tell myself i’ll do better,” you exhale shakily, “and then i’d do the same thing over again.”

“exactly.” natasha reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear before lifting your chin.

“we still love you very much.” she reassures, her eyes are tender but firm, conveying the weight of her words. your lip juts into a pout without consciously thinking about it, the softness of the moment almost overwhelming.

there’s some more silence as you hold her gaze before she speaks again.

“stand up for me, baby love.” you stand on slightly shaky legs, turning slowly until you’re standing facing her. her hands find the button of your pants, fingers pinching to undo it before she slides down your zipper. it echoes in the otherwise quiet room. your heart begins to race in anticipation.

she peels your pants down your legs, and you place a hand on your shoulder to steady yourself as you step out of them. she takes her time to fold them carefully before setting them aside.

“com’ere.” she murmurs gently, holding her hands out. she helps to guide your body down into her lap. your head rests comfortably in wanda’s lap, propped up by your folded arms while your lower half is draped across natasha’s. you exhale shakily as natasha hooks her fingers into your underwear, carefully shimmying them off your hips until they’re bunched at your thighs. you shiver at the new exposure, feeling the cool air on your legs.

“you don’t need to count, little bee. just lie your head there in mommy’s lap and feel.” she smooths a palm over your bare asscheeks. wanda runs a hand down your hair at the same time.

you nod when natasha doesn’t continue, figuring she was waiting for your acknowledgment.

your body tenses slightly as you lie there in anticipation. you flinch when her hand comes down for the first time. the first always felt like a shock to your system.

she rubs out the sting and then hits you in the same place. your asscheek begins to bloom with heat, the weight of her hand heavy against your sensitive skin.

her palm comes down on the other cheek. this time, she doesn’t soothe the sting before hitting you again.

she builds a predictable rhythm, careful not to spank you in the same spot too many times without rubbing your increasingly sensitive backside.

the more she hits, the more inflamed your skin becomes, each one hurting more than the last. tears begin to prick your eyes again.

another slap lands in the spot where your buttcheek and thigh meet, the sensation causing your whole body to jerk. she spanks you there twice, a sob ripping up from your throat. your fingers curl around the material of wanda’s pants, your knuckles turning white from how firmly you were grasping on.

“that’s it, honey. let it all out.” wanda encourages as her nails gently scratch along your back.

natasha doesn’t let up, maintaining her rhythm until she can see the visible shake of your shoulders—like the weight finally lifting off of them.

“there we go, baby. just feel.” natasha croons, another smack landing on your left asscheek. she soothes it this time.

“doesn’t it feel good to let us take care of you?” natasha murmurs, hand coming down on your right cheek again. you sob, nodding your head against wanda’s leg.

you can feel when the last of the tension dissipates from your body.

your weight suddenly feels heavier in their laps as your body fully surrenders to them. you even feel it in your mind; the thoughts quieting, the pressure to carry everything all on your own fading into nothing.

natasha spanks you twice more, sealing the end of your consequence. your whole body shakes with sobs. the release feels euphoric.

your limbs are heavy as wanda carefully gathers you until you’re sitting in her lap, your body pulled tightly against her as her arms wrap around you. she doesn’t shush you, simply rocking you back and forth and stroking along your spine as you ride out the emotion.

you’re unsure how much time passes as she sways you back and forth or when you finally stop crying.

it’s not until your sobs die down and turn into sniffles that you finally lift your face from where it was buried in wanda’s neck.

you glance around you, slightly disoriented as you sway in her lap. your cheeks are pink and tear stained, eyes puffy from all the crying, but you feel lighter than you’ve felt in weeks.

“there’s my little honeybee.” wanda cradles your face in her hands. her green eyes are endlessly soft, a gentle smile on her face. you sniffle, her hands wiping away the wetness on your cheeks.

natasha appears in your vision, sitting closely next to her wife. she’s holding a bottle of water.

she smiles, wanda chuckling affectionately when you lean forward and your lips part, like you’re waiting expectantly.

natasha unscrews the cap, bringing it to your lips and carefully tipping it back. you swallow the liquid easily, suddenly feeling very thirsty after everything that just happened. when you pull back, natasha pulls the bottle away, screwing the cap back on.

“you did so good, baby.” she praises, caressing your cheek.

“so good.” wanda echoes.

your mind is hazy, full of nothing but the warm fuzziness of your submission. you look between both of them with glossy eyes.

“next time, we’ll carry it together.” wanda says, hands holding firmly to your hips in a grounding manner.

“together.” you nod, the word barely above a whisper.

・・・・・

“It’s not the time for that, hon.” She bends to kiss your temple, placing her hand on top of yours and gently stalling your writing. Her wet hair drapes over your head, skimming your cheek, “With me, c’mon.” She murmurs into your skin.

You shake your head. “Wanna do it while it’s still fresh.” The words twist around a yawn you try—in vain—to conceal.

Emily’s lips leave your forehead as she looks down at you. She gently hooks her finger under your chin and tilts your face up, stifling a smile when you blink at her with drowsy, half-lidded eyes.

“I hardly think it’s fresh when you can barely see ten paces in front of you. C’mon, chérie, did you body-swap with Hotch or something? Up.” She pulls the pen from your fingers and tosses it somewhere on the floor. You frown and Emily ignores it, wrapping both hands around your own and forcefully tugging you up.

You resist, but she digs her heels into the floor and pulls harder, forcing you to stumble up from the couch. She steadies you when you half-crash into her. 

“Emily, I need’ta finish it,” you protest as she links her fingers through yours.

“You will finish it,” she drags you to the bedroom, not even bothering to turn off the living room lights, “tomorrow. Now we need to sleep. God knows we’ve been awake long enough.” Her words escape in a low mutter. The case was long and tiring; all her weary bones want to do is sink into your embrace, curl around you so tight she can’t tell where she ends and you begin. Instead you’re doing paperwork. 

Paperwork that can very much wait until tomorrow.

Emily drags you into the room and very firmly shuts the door. You’re grumbling under your breath so she turns, drops your hand, and surges forward to wrap her arms around your neck.

“Cuddle me,” she demands.

A low chuckle tickles the skin of her neck. Emily stifles the urge to shiver as you hold her back, tightly despite your reluctance.

“So demanding,” you yawn, your face falling into her collarbone. Your lashes flutter against her skin; you sink into her, your chest brushing hers, and she doesn’t know who’s holding who up.

“And you’re so stubborn.” She returns, tilting her head to catch your lips with hers. You sigh into the kiss, your fingers digging into the warm skin of her midriff. The soft cotton of her camisole scrapes against your harsh work button-down. “I don’t think even Hotch has his own report done.” She mumbles against your lips. 

“Please,” you scoff, “he writes them on the plane.”

“Well, he’s Unit Chief. You’re,”—kiss—“not.” Emily’s lips trace yours. Another kiss goes to the corner of your mouth, “And thank fuck for that.”

You hum, the vibrations of it traveling from your mouth to hers. “’M so tired.” The confession comes out slurred, adorably so. 

Emily bites back a smile. 

“Are you?” She brushes the hair away from your sleepy eyes. “I hadn’t noticed. Sit down.” She nudges you backward in the direction of the bed, dropping a soft kiss on your lips, “I’ll get you your pjs.”

Thankfully, you don’t protest. Not even when she starts unbuttoning your shirt and not when she helps you wriggle into your pajamas. When you slide beneath the sheets with no complaints, Emily lets out a low sigh, both relieved and content as she nestles right into your arms.

The slip of the cold sheets is soothing on her bare skin. She hooks a leg over your hip, sliding her hand into your hair when you nuzzle into her neck. Her finger lazily twists around a lock of hair.

“You smell nice,” you say, your voice muffled and drowsy.

Emily smiles at the compliment. “Just showered. Like you should’ve been doing.”

“Hmm. T’morrow,” you mumble.

“Tomorrow.” she kisses your forehead. Once, then twice, for good measure. “Goodnight, chérie.”

“Love you.” You whisper.

“Love you back.”

As you curl into her, your hand slipping under her camisole to rest on her skin and your lashes gently fluttering closed against her jaw, both Emily’s wishes are fulfilled. She stays awake only a little longer than you do, taking a few brief minutes to soak in the warmth of your body against hers. A few more ghostly kisses to your forehead, a twirl or two of your hair around her index finger, and soon after that she’s tumbling into the swift darkness of sleep.

Fluff: * | Established relationship: ♡ | Hurt/comfort: ★ | angst: ʚɞ

˗ˏˋ oneshots ˎˊ˗

cherry lips*

bloody mishaps*

bad day★♡

wounded hearts★♡

we were wild and fluorescent (come home to my heart)♡*

fall right into me*

sweet nothing♡*

midnight whispers♡*

midas touch*

my sleepless night, my winless fight♡*

date night♡*

if your cascade ocean wave blues come★♡*

helping hand♡*

the city’s asleep★♡*

the end of beginning*

unspoken requests♡*

I love you, I'm sorryʚɞ | thankful you don't send someone to kill meʚɞ

I can't read you (but if you want, the pleasure's all mine)*

born knowing you♡*

heaven is a place on earth with you*

take a seat♡*

this love is glowing in the dark♡*

giving you all my love♡*

etch♡*

know that it isn’t right (but you could be my one and only)★*

vertigo★♡*

supernova♡*

say it with your hands♡*

you've got a heart of gold (and mine is always broken)ʚɞ

sunwarmed♡*

put your loving where your mouth is♡*

drowning in the night*

all we are is skin and bone♡*

let it rush to my head♡*

˗ˏˋ blurbs ˎˊ˗

wandering hands♡*

lethargic♡*

nuisance♡*

in gold light♡*

but when you say my name (it all falls away so tenderly)★♡*

my shattered edges glistenʚɞ★♡

spoken for♡*

got lovestruck (went straight to my head)♡*

exclusive content♡*

untitled blurb*

untitled blurb♡*

untitled blurb♡*

untitled blurb*

˗ˏˋ series ˎˊ˗

mom!emily

vampire!emily

emt!reader

assistant!reader

about you

˗ˏˋ events ˎˊ˗

200 follower celebration

800 follower celebration

1k follower celebration

Flufftober

˗ˏˋ miscellaneous ˎˊ˗

Headcanons

She’s currently working her way down the buttons of your shirt. It’s slow progress, what with her fumbling fingers and distracted lips. Her cheek is pressed to the cushion of your chest, nose skimming at whatever skin she can expose to her hungry, uncoordinated mouth. 

You love the attention, you do. But while it hasn’t grown old, you’re eager to get her into bed. 

“C’mon, Em, please. It won’t take long.”

“But y’so pretty to look at.” She mumbles, tilting her chin up slow. Her eyes drag up to yours with a sluggish reluctance, glittering prettily and all but eaten up with black. “Don’t wanna look away for a second.” Her lips edge into something dangerously close to a pout.

A ridiculous thrill zaps in your blood. “You’re such a flirt.” You chide, the makeup wipe drying in your hand. Cupping her cheek, you hold her still and gently drag it over her eyes. 

Emily grumbles under her breath. You laugh quietly, massaging the makeup out of her lashes. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.” You promise.

Something distinctly French this time. You ignore it and focus on your task of wiping her face squeaky clean. Her makeup is warm, glittery; designed to attract, make it impossible for anyone to drop their eyes from the boldly drawn line of her lips, the shimmer that trails down from her eyes and dusts across her cheekbones. The curls she’d styled her hair in have loosened, fluffed and limp, lying carelessly over her shoulders—presumably from all her dancing, if the red soles of her feet are any indication. 

And not to mention her dress. God, her dress.

Her dress that she insists on you taking off, never mind the easy zipper running down her side.

“Help me,” she says coyly, 110% unsubtle as she guides your hands to her waist. Warm palms knead over your knuckles, her fingers circling your wrists and thumbing the thin skin protecting your pulse.

Admittedly, it does jump under her touch. 

You’re not totally immune. The added warmth of her weight on your thighs makes your skin hotter than usual, pulse already a touch above normal.

You nudge her off of your lap and stand, tossing the soiled makeup wipe before swiftly pulling the zipper down. Her dress wilts open, tumbling down her side until it snags on her hips. Emily does nothing to hold it up; the fabric gathers at her waist and traps your hands under it. 

You can hear the dimples taking root in her cheeks.

“Nope.” You laugh, pulling your hands from hers as she presumably tries to get them on her skin. “Don’t get your hopes up, pretty girl. We’re going straight to bed, nothing more.”

Emily’s lips drag into a sulk. “C’est dommage,” she mutters, tilting her head and batting still ridiculously long lashes at you. “Sure I can’t tempt you?” Her voice sweetens, lined with silk and entirely useless in hiding the way her tongue stumbles over the words. You chew the inside of your cheek against a smile.

“Another time.”

A dramatic groan, and suddenly she’s leaning her entire body weight against you. You huff out a laugh into her hair, the breath briefly knocked from your lungs as you stumble back and catch her. “Jesus, Emily. How much have you had to drink?”

A giggle gets muffled into your chest. 

A giggle. Christ, your heart aches. She’ll be the death of you, you think, far more fond than you should be as you thread your fingers through her loose curls and feel the slide of them against your skin. 

It’s hard not to swell with affection when she places herself in your trust so completely. Every muscle in her body is relaxed and pulled loose, leaning heavily against yours. All she’s preoccupied with is nuzzling her nose into whatever warm crevice she can find, her fingers skimming patterns on your hips, and while she’s done this countless times before—fully sober, eyes focused and sharp—there’s something about her undeniable sincerity in this moment that makes it feel inherently more precious.

Your insides flutter, and not because of Emily’s wandering fingertips over your shirt. Vibrations of her voice echo off of your bones, sporadic and uneven—the beat of her laughter. Gently, you tilt her face to yours, only catching a glimmer of her eyes before pressing your lips to hers.

Her laugh bubbles on your tongue when you kiss it off, golden and sparkly. Emily’s lips stretch so wide it hardly constitutes a kiss, but something about the act makes you glow from the inside nonetheless. You feel yourself melt under her influence and her flirting, gone soft with the weight of the open vulnerability she trusts you with. It does make getting her into bed ten times harder than it should’ve been—and makes her staying in bed ten times harder when you leave to get her a glass of water—but there’s really nothing else you’d rather be doing. Helping your girlfriend into her pajamas, wiping frothy toothpaste off her chin before it drips onto your shirt that she insisted on wearing to bed, is one of the greatest privileges of your life.

She’s face down on your pillow when you return, raven hair eating away at the white covers. You nudge it away from her face and smile when she lazily cracks open one eye, squinting at you through her lashes. Recognition is slow to come as you set the glass on the nightstand, but when it does, a smile tugs at her lips.

“My darling.” Her words drip with a loving drawl.

“My love,” you whisper, bending to wedge your hand under her side and sit her up. She braces herself, hands rising up to your shoulders and fingers hooking into your shirt.

“Been thinkin’. Do y’think the stars talk to each other?” She rasps, her voice quiet with drowsiness. Her body is pliant, easy to manipulate up against the headboard. “I mean, it must be lonely all up in space. Everythin’ is light years away.” The words get eaten up in a yawn.

“They’d have to be sentient to be lonely,” you murmur placidly, accustomed to strange questions when your girlfriend is in this state. You brush a kiss against the available skin under your lips. “I don’t think you have to worry about the stars’ feelings, sweetheart.”

“But they’re pretty. Glittery.”

“And not lonely.” You reassure.

Emily’s hum is thick with sleep. When she’s sitting fully upright, you hand her the glass. “Chug”—a quick peck to her mouth—“please.”

A little sigh parts her lips. “Anythin’ for you,” she slurs, eyes drooping as she takes a big gulp of water. Some of it spills on her shirt, soaking the fabric darker and sticking it to her body. 

You wipe the shine of the water off of her chin. In the two minutes you’ve been gone, her energy has completely fizzled out. Her gaze is unfocused and blurry, limbs moving clunkily as she downs the water. She’s miles away from her usual catlike grace, the piercing sharpness of her eyes dulled to something soft with sleep—and now, reverence.

It’s not that you don’t know what a drunk Emily looks like, it’s just that each inebriated version of her takes you by surprise every time. Sometimes she’s whiny and fit to burst with complaints (her feet, the itch of her clothes, the sticky tack of her drying makeup), sometimes she’s just sleepy—others strangely shy, flushing and losing her train of thought at the slightest of compliments from you. You’ve heard nonsensical ramblings and silky smooth flirtations.

All drunk Emily’s share two things: she can’t let go of you, and she can’t keep English straight on her tongue.

The glass is only just safely deposited on Emily’s nightstand. She slots herself into your chest before you even fully settle into bed, your back still curved above the plush softness of her pillow. Her forehead finds its home on your shoulder, but she pulls back to look at you before your muscles can dip under its weight, the pitch black of her pupils reflecting your face.

“I love you.” Her mouth barely parts around the words, but you know the shape of them well.

“I love you,” you whisper, shifting her down with you until you’re both lying with your heads on your pillows. When you lean over to kiss the tip of her nose, her exhale puffs over your chin, belated and warm.

“No, no, y’don’t get it. You—you make my heart go woah.” Her hands move in meaningless bursts, long fingers unfurling from fists and spreading wide with a flick of her wrists. You stifle an amused smile into one such wrist, lips tracing the blue lines of her veins. 

A visible drum beats in the divot of Emily’s hand. 

“See?” Her drowsy eyes go wide for a second. “It gets all—all warm and fast, and I can’t,” she shakes her head, hair rustling on the pillow, “no puedo controlarlo.”

Your smile finally splits beneath your teeth.

“Okay Casanova.” You laugh softly, tucking Emily’s arm back to her side. She curls it around your waist, moves from her pillow to yours, then your chest.

“Call me honey again.” She mumbles into your shirt. “Or Em.” A small beat—then, shyly, “Like it when y’say that.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

Emily giggles, her skin hot where it presses against yours. “You’re tryin’ to kill me.” She accuses. Her leg worms its way between yours.

You rub soothingly at her hip, noting the increased stickiness of her words. You haven’t got much time left with your giggly lover. “I love you too much to do that. But,” you kiss the shell of her ear, “it’s nice to see you getting a taste of your own medicine.”

“I’m that bad?” Emily yawns, daring to sound astounded.

You kiss her forehead next. “Honey”—her breath catches—“you’re so much worse.”

“Let’s go,” Emily whispers. Your bag is slung over her shoulder, its strap laying on top of the handle of her own bag. 

Ridiculously, it makes you want to cry. She holds her hand out for you and her love is so quiet but so, so loud; steady and patient even when you ignore her hand and stand up, tears burning the back of your eyes as you walk past her and out of the empty jet.

No one’s here, but you still can’t accept her touch. It would break you, and the pieces of you would shatter on the asphalt, glinting under the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. So you hold yourself stiffly and walk to the car without looking back to see if Emily follows.

Her heels click resignedly against the floor, sounding far enough away that you know she’s keeping her distance. The lump in your throat only grows as you pull open the car door and get into the passenger seat, hearing her throw both of your bags in the backseat. When she opens her own door your eyes are closed, tears dampening your lashes as you turn your head away.

She doesn’t deserve this. She was working the case same as you, losing sleep over it and pouring herself into finding the unsub. You know that, but you fear any apology would soon be followed by your sobs, the force of them shattering your body into pieces.

So you stay quiet, let the lump in your throat grow as Emily drives you both home in silence.

She quietly picks up the bags again when you arrive, her eyes briefly flitting over you as she fits the key in the lock. You see her brows draw together, her lips pressing into a thin line as she unlocks the door and swings it open.

It barely clicks shut before you barrel into her. Her chest caves as she huffs in surprise, the breath knocked out of her, but in seconds her arms are around you. Emily holds you tight, one of her hands cupping the back of your neck as you exhale shakily.

“Hey,” she breathes, her lips gently nudging your temple. “Hey, I got you, honey.” Her fingers weave into your hair, the cold inside of her palm pressing against the nape of your neck. “It’s not your fault.” She says. There’s a firmness to her low voice, ready to defend you against your own mind.

You press your lips together, trying to keep your tears at bay. “I know it’s not.” Do you, though? Your voice is croaky and unconvincing. “It just fucking sucks.” The last word breaks and shatters, along with what’s rest of your composure. 

Tears blur your vision. You close your eyes, trapping them inside. “Just wanna forget,” you mumble, stuffing your face further into Emily’s warm neck, “help me forget, Em.” 

Her breathing stutters. 

Emily squeezes you tighter. “How about we take a bath?” She whispers.

Weakly, you nod into her neck. You know she won’t let go before you do, so you do it even though your body screams in protest. Emily sets down the duffle bags and takes your hand, gently leading you through the dark apartment while switching the lights on, her fingers steading your shakier ones. She passes by Sergio with a quiet hello before pulling you into the bathroom.

You’re too drained to protest when Emily gently pushes you down on the closed toilet seat. She turns on the tap as you watch, running her fingers through the water and making sure it’s warm enough before she bends to plug the drain. The sound of it splashing against the sides of the tub almost loosens something in you. You close your eyes, smelling rather than seeing it when Emily sprinkles in bath salts.

Your eyes are still closed when she gently takes your hands. Her fingers wrap around yours, securely curling around your wrists as she tugs you up. You stand, opening your eyes as Emily lets go. She gives you a small smile and the ghost of a kiss on the corner of your mouth before slowly tugging at your clothes, as if waiting for you to say no. 

You don’t. You let her take care of you, peeling your clothes off and gently nudging you into the tub. The water is almost hot enough to burn, but you’re glad for the sting as you sink into it.

Water laps at the sides of the tub as Emily joins you. It sloshes over the edges and drips to the floor when you lean forward and hide in her neck, closing your eyes as her hands wrap around your shoulder blades.

Emily doesn’t say anything. She just holds you, quietly pressing kisses to your forehead as she rubs warm circles on your back. You let out a shaky breath as something in you unwinds, a product of her steady hands and the warm bath water swirling around you. Again you know she won’t let go until you do, so you reluctantly loosen your grip on her waist.

“Gonna wash your hair now,” she murmurs. 

You nod and hear the water as she gathers it in her palms; some of it drips onto your body before she pours it onto your head, soaking your scalp. Warmth cascades down your face, your shoulders. It takes a few more scoops before your hair is fully drenched, and when that happens, Emily grabs your shampoo bottle.

“No,” you rasp and she stills. Her brow raises in question. “Your shampoo,” you say quietly, the twist in your stomach telling you it’s a ridiculous request. Emily probably thinks the same; you lower your eyes and draw your knees into your chest, the very tips of them peeking out from the water and getting exposed to the cold air of the bathroom.

The comforting scent of Emily’s shampoo floods your senses. Soon after her gentle hands follow, raking through your hair and lathering the shampoo until it bubbles on your scalp. Her repetitive motions are soothing; your shoulders loosen and slump further into the warm water, some tension leaking from your body if not your restless mind. You keep your eyes down, chin on your knees, tilting with her movements as she moves your head this way and that to properly clean your hair. Her short nails scrape against your scalp as she generously massages the shampoo into your locks. You breathe out a quiet sigh.

Conditioner follows on your roots, Emily’s chin nudging against your forehead as she leans forward to reach them. This takes less time, though she’s no less thorough as she spreads it through your hair. When she’s done, you hear her dip her hands into the water, washing the conditioner off before gently nudging your chin.

“Head up, baby.” Emily whispers.

You oblige. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a small smile, concern visibly swimming in her dark irises. You can’t bring yourself to return her smile, but as she leans forward and kisses your temple, you grab her hand under the water and squeeze. Emily squeezes back.

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Gonna wash this off.”

Too tired to reply but not wanting to leave her with silence, you hum. Even that sound is thready and weak, drowned out by the splash of the water as Emily pours it over your head. 

Her arms must ache; she repeats it over and over, runs her fingers through your soaking hair to wash out any lingering shampoo or conditioner, and she does it all with endless patience. She doesn’t take the easy route by dipping your head backward into the water, or better yet telling you to wash your own damn hair yourself. Painstakingly, she cups her hands under the water and pours it on your head until your hair is clean.

Her love only brings tears to your eyes. You feel them gather beneath your closed eyelids, a lump forming in the back of your throat as something clicks and you smell Emily’s body wash next. Opening your eyes, you find her lathering it between her palms, letting it froth into bubbles before she starts rubbing it into your chest and shoulders.

“Emily?” You say, your voice thick with tears.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Tell me something good.” 

Tears balance on your lashes. You blink and they drip into the cloudy bath water, leaving small ripples in their wake. 

Emily stops lathering the body wash into your skin. Her hand slips down your chest, her fingers pressing into the left side of your ribs. “You’re alive.” She says quietly. Your pulse rises to meet her fingers. “We’re both home. We’re okay.” Her other hand gently cups your cheek, her thumb tracing the underside of your jaw. “It won’t always be like this.”

Maybe it’s the intensity of her stare. Or it could be her words, both firm and gentle. Or her hand against your heart, making the both of you feel your pulse. It could be all of these things, or none of them, that makes more tears drip down your chin, a choked exhale leaving your lips as you cover the hand on your cheek with your own.

“How do you always know what I need?” You ask, the tremble of your words echoing through the bathroom tiles.

Emily kisses the tip of your nose. “Because I know you.” Her hand leaves your chest and goes to the back of your neck, gently nudging you into her arms. Water sloshes as you sink into her again. “And because we’ve all been in this place before. We’ve been in it and we’ll continue to deal with it in the future, because that’s the price of the job.” She whispers into a kiss, this one to your damp hairline. 

“We can only do so much, honey. We have to remember that.”

The two of you are quiet after that. Emily trails her fingertips up and down your spine, again waiting until you move from her arms to continue taking care of you. She wipes the leftover tears on your face before grabbing her body wash, rubbing it onto your skin and chasing the bubbles off with rapidly cooling water and her soft lips. 

By the time you get out of the tub and pad into her bedroom, you feel somewhat lighter. Not as heavy as before, your tears and Emily’s touch taking away some of the heaviness in your chest. More of it is chased away when Emily hands you her pajamas and spreads her lotion over your skin, enveloping you in a bubble that’s purely her; her hair products and pajamas and lotion, her arms around you when she nudges you into bed and brings you into her chest.

Her fingers again delve into your hair, gently detangling the knots that have formed over the past few days. “Make you some tea?” She murmurs, her lips tracing your forehead. A kiss is pressed there.

“No.” You whisper, curling your fingers into the collar of her pajama shirt. Her pulse beats steadily under your knuckles—we’re okay. You swallow and nuzzle under her jaw, your eyes falling closed. “Just stay with me.”

“Okay.” Emily says.

Her fingers continue running through your hair, ever so carefully working through the knots in it. There’s the occasional scratch of her nails against your scalp, and even when you shift to get more comfortable in her arms, her lips follow your forehead. Sometimes they lay there, still, but every few minutes she’ll press an absent kiss to your temple.

The events of the day sink heavily onto your bones. With your girlfriend soothing your weary soul, her heart thumping steadily under your ear as she murmurs sweet nothings in a language you don’t understand, everything feels just a little bit better. The bed dips as Sergio climbs onto it, finding his way into the small space between Emily’s arms and your body. He curls into your side and one of Emily’s hands goes to your back, rubbing small circles at the base of your spine as she runs her fingers through your combed hair.

You didn’t think you’d find sleep again. But with her holding you like this, you’re helpless to stop it.