28, she/they This is where I experiment with writing. I'm not in anyway a professional but I try to better myself. Regina Mills// Olivia Benson// With mentions of Wanda Maximoff
Thursday morning | SFW |
A quiet morning is filled with rain, coffee, and the kind of love you once thought belonged only to other people.
Three Words burning on your lip | SFW |
Angsty oneshot that slowly unravels grief. Regina is there for comfort <3
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Summary: A visit with your parents awakens buried emotions. When the darkness inside you grasps for anything to still the storm, can Wanda and Natasha be the life raft, or will the memories drag you, and them beneath the waves?
Warnings: Angst with a happy (ish) ending. 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Punishment, Flogging, Aftercare, Domme Drop (Kind of). Domestic Abuse, Familial Abuse, Mentions of R's weight and appearance, Alcoholism. Mentions of previous self-harm, Mild DubCon (R does not use appropriate safe words when she needs to), Safe word use (Red).
A/N: Hey friends, quick heads-up on this one. Please pay attention to the warnings, if anything feels uncomfortable or triggering, itâs totally okay to skip it. No pressure at all. If you still want Râs backstory but in a less triggering way, just ask, and I can share it in a way thatâs hopefully less intense.
This one isnât the usual âOur Little Oneâ story; itâs way more about angst than smut. I know some of you have been waiting for angst, but if itâs not your thing, please donât be mad at me. Honestly, Iâm already nervous about posting this (when am I not?) and Iâm scared it might flop, lol. So just⊠go easy on me, okay?
Also, a huge, huge thank you to @whisperofaflame for beta-reading this for me, and to @nattaik for helping with the Russian and Slovak, and for beta-reading as well, honestly. Youâre both amazing, and I am so grateful!
Word Count: 17,603
NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.
You had been dreading tomorrow for weeks. It hung over you like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting, a day you had shoved to the back of your mind until there was no more room to ignore it. Your parents were coming to visit.
You loved them, you truly did, but love didnât erase the tight coil in your chest, didnât mute the small, precise criticisms that always seemed to find their mark. You knew the routine by heart: the looks that left your stomach twisting, the faint edge in your mother's voice that carved at your confidence, the subtle, almost imperceptible gestures that made you question yourself long after theyâd left. Every encounter ended the same, you left with your mood low, your confidence splintered, and an anger youâd never learned to hold properly.Â
You should have told Natasha and Wanda. You knew that. They would have met it with their usual patience, with warmth so steady it felt like a safe harbour. Wandaâs soft frown, Natashaâs calm voice, the gentle insistence that you breathe, it would have anchored you, kept you from being swallowed by the rising tide of dread.Â
But the thought of it made something inside you twist. You didnât want them to worry. You didnât want to be the source of their concern. You didnât want to seem fragile, weak, or, worst of all, like a burden they had to shoulder.
So you lied. Said you were spending the day with Kate. The words slipped out too easily, smooth and convincing, as though rehearsed a thousand times. Wanda had only smiled and said to tell Kate hello. Natasha had brushed a thumb along your cheek, murmuring, âBehave yourself,â before pressing a light kiss to your forehead. You had smiled back, hiding the tremor that ran through your hands, the tight tension in your shoulders, and slipped away before either of them could notice.
And now, as you made your way back to your dorm, preparing yourself for tomorrow, your stomach tightened with a preemptive ache, a loop of anxiety that had already begun. You could picture every glance, every half-word that would cut too sharply, every sigh that would echo in your chest. You wanted to rewind, to disappear, to find some corner of the world where the weight of expectation couldnât reach you. But you couldnât. Tomorrow was coming, whether you were ready or not.
â
Kate was already there when you returned to your dorm, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop balanced on her knees, a packet of crisps between her hands. Her hair was tied in that messy way that somehow looked deliberate, and the glow from her screen painted her face in shifting blues.
âHey, roomie,â Kate greeted, glancing up from her laptop with a grin that faltered almost immediately. âJesus, you look like shit. Did Nat and Wands do something? Do I need to get revenge for you?â
You tried to laugh, though the sound came out thin and tired. âIâm good. Just tired.â
âUh-huh.â She gave you one of her sceptical looks, the kind that made you feel like she could see right through your skin. âThatâs your lying through your teeth voice.â
You dropped your bag by the desk and sat on the edge of your bed, shoulders slumped. âItâs nothing dramatic, honestly. I have to see my parents tomorrow,â you said with a groan.
âOh.â The teasing in her voice vanished instantly. Youâd mentioned your parents before, vaguely, during one of those late-night conversations where the words came out half as jokes, half as quiet admissions.Â
Kate closed her laptop with a soft click and turned fully toward you. âDo I need to fake a sudden allergic reaction? Because I can. Iâm excellent at making a scene.â
A reluctant smile tugged at your lips. âAw, youâd really do that for me?â you asked, trying to sound playful, anything to hide the part of you that desperately wanted to take her up on it.
âPlease,â she huffed, tossing a crisp from her half-eaten packet in your direction. âI live for the drama. Give me a reason to clutch my chest and collapse into someoneâs arms. Iâve been practising.â
You shook your head, the tension in your chest easing just enough for the smallest laugh to slip out. Kate always had that effect; she could weave humour into the cracks of your anxiety, softening the edges without ever dismissing them, easing what you couldnât quite bring yourself to say aloud.
A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the low hum of the radiator and the faint thud of music somewhere down the corridor. Kate crinkled the crisp packet absently, her gaze flicking over you with that half-worried, half-calculating look she got when she was trying to decide whether to press further or not.
âYou gonna be alright?â she asked at last, her voice softer now, stripped of its usual playfulness. âYou donât have to talk about it if you donât want to⊠but do you?â
You hesitated, staring at the floor where your trainers left faint marks on the carpet. âItâs notââ you started, then sighed, your voice dropping lower. âItâs not even worth the conversation, honestly. Itâs just dumb.â
Kate tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. âYou say that about a lot of things that arenât dumb.â
A humourless little laugh escaped you. âYeah, well, this one probably is. Itâs just⊠parents being parents, me overthinking everything. Same story as always.â You picked at the edge of your sleeve, keeping your gaze fixed anywhere but her. âI shouldâve grown out of this by now, shouldnât I? Getting worked up over nothing like some teenager.â
Kate leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied you. âYou really think being messed up by your parents is something people just grow out of?â
You let out a long sigh, shaking your head slightly. âOther people have it worse. I shouldnât even feel like this. I just⊠I donât know. I make everything bigger than it is.â
Kate was quiet for a moment, just watching you. The kind of quiet that didnât demand an answer, didnât rush to fill the space. Then she sighed softly, sitting back a little.
âYou know,â she said, her tone light but steady, âthatâs the biggest load of crap Iâve heard all week. And I watched a guy on YouTube try to deep-fry soup yesterday, so thatâs saying something.â
You glanced up before you could stop yourself, and she caught the faint flicker of amusement in your eyes. It wasnât much, but she grinned like sheâd won a small battle.
She leaned back, resting on her hands. âSeriously, though. You canât just rank pain like itâs a competition. You donât need to hit some kind of trauma quota to justify feeling awful.â Her voice was gentle, but it carried that quiet conviction that always made it hard to argue with her. âYou feel bad, it hurts. Thatâs enough.â
You looked down again, fingers worrying at the frayed cuff of your hoodie. âIt doesnât feel like it should be enough,â you murmured. âI donât know. Other people go through things so much worse and just⊠handle it. I fall apart over a few passive-aggressive comments and suddenly Iâm back to being fourteen again. Itâs pathetic.â
Kate tilted her head, watching you closely. âHey,â she said, her tone softening even more. âItâs not pathetic. Itâs human. And itâs okay that certain people still get under your skin, especially the ones who helped put those cracks there in the first place.â
Her words made something twist in your chest, a painful kind of understanding that sat too close to home. You took a slow breath, but it still came out shaky. âYeah. Maybe.â
âNot maybe,â she said, and though her voice was still quiet, there was no room for doubt in it. âDefinitely.â She shifted closer, reaching out to nudge your knee with the tip of her foot. The light touch was grounding and casual, but intentional. âLook, I know I joke around a lot, but I mean it, youâre allowed to have a hard time, even if someone else has it worse. Thatâs not how pain works.â
You nodded faintly, eyes still on the floor, your throat tightening as you tried to push out the words. âThanks, Kate.â
Her expression softened, a quiet warmth flickering behind her usual smirk. âAnytime,â she said, then paused, letting the seriousness ease just a fraction. âIâll be invoicing you later. Premium emotional support package, top-tier stuff, it doesnât come cheap.â
A small, reluctant laugh escaped you, quiet but genuine this time, and Kateâs grin widened like that had been her goal all along. âSee?â she said lightly. âAlready getting results.â
The silence that followed wasnât heavy anymore; it drifted through the room, soft and forgiving, like the air itself had loosened. Kate didnât try to fill it, and you didnât feel the need to, being quiet together felt like its own kind of relief. Â
â
Youâd been drifting in and out of restless half-sleep all night, thoughts looping endlessly, each one circling back to the same dread that sat heavy in your chest. Every time you closed your eyes, it felt like your mind refused to let you forget what the morning would bring.
By the time the alarm went off, exhaustion had already settled deep in your bones. Your head throbbed faintly, that dull kind of ache that comes from too little rest and too much thinking. You lay still for a moment, eyes shut, pretending you could delay the inevitable just a little longer.
Somewhere across the room, you heard movement, drawers opening, a cupboard shutting, the faint clink of a spoon against a mug. Then the familiar smell of coffee drifted through the air, warm and grounding.
âWake up, sunshine,â Kate called, her tone light and teasing, though you could hear the careful edge beneath it, the way she was testing the waters, gauging your mood. âI made coffee. You clearly need it.â
You cracked one eye open, managing a small, sleepy smile. âYou are the best,â you mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
Kate appeared beside the bed, setting a steaming cup on your nightstand with an exaggerated flourish. âDonât say I never do anything for you.â
âThank you,â you said quietly, sitting up and reaching for the cup. The warmth seeped into your palms, soothing the tension that had been sitting in your chest since last night. You took a sip, strong, a little too sweet, exactly how you liked it.
But even as you stared into the mug, trying to focus on the small comfort it offered, you could feel her eyes on you. That kind of not-looking look sheâd perfected, phone in hand, gaze supposedly fixed on the screen, but the quiet weight of her attention resting squarely on you.
You could almost feel her studying you, cataloguing every tell you thought you were hiding, the tightness in your shoulders, the dark circles under your eyes, the way you kept your jaw clenched.
You eventually forced yourself to start getting ready, pulling open your wardrobe and sifting through the hangers with a kind of grim determination. You werenât looking for something you liked, not really; you were looking for something safe. Something that said youâd made an effort, but not too much. That impossible middle ground between trying too hard and not trying enough.
After a few false starts, you settled on a pair of your nicer jeans, a top that fit just right without drawing attention, and your favourite jacket, comfortable, familiar, a small piece of yourself tucked into the armour.Â
You slipped under the spray of the shower, hoping the heat would loosen the knot sitting in your chest. It didnât. The water ran over you, too hot, too sharp, but you didnât turn it down. You scrubbed harder than you needed to, chasing the idea that you could wash the nerves away, rinse the tension from your skin. When you finally turned the water off, the mirror was a blur of fog, mercifully hiding your reflection, for now at least.
Once dressed, you moved to the sink, combing through your hair, weighing every choice like it mattered, up or down, neat or casual, natural or styled. The same battle continued with your makeup, just enough to look put-together, not enough to invite questions. Simple, but polished. Presentable.
Anything to avoid the comments. The sighs. The way your motherâs eyes would flick over you, assessing, unimpressed, like she was already disappointed before youâd even opened your mouth.
You let out a slow breath, easing your shoulders down with deliberate control, the kind of composure that left nothing to be picked apart. Then you took a step back from the mirror, taking in the reflection youâd assembled piece by piece, a version made for containment, for surviving scrutiny. The longer you looked, the more foreign it felt, like you were watching someone else entirely.
And then your phone buzzed.
Mother: âChange of plans, meet at our hotel.â
You stared at the words, the familiar anger rising like heat in your chest. It was supposed to be brunch. Casual, quick, neutral territory. But this meant she was hungover. Or still drinking. Probably both. And if that was true, sheâd be worse.
You scowled as you stepped out of the bathroom, finding Kate waiting, perched on the edge of her bed with her mug in hand. Her eyes flicked to you instantly, sharp and searching. âWhatâs wrong?â
You shook your head, sighing heavily. âShe wants to meet at the hotel now.â
Kate frowned, confusion crossing her face just long enough for you to add quietly, âSheâs probably already drunk. I just⊠donât want to deal with it. Iâm just being moody. Donât worry about it.â
Her expression shifted, understanding first, then frustration, then something softer. âYou could just not go,â she said. âStay here with me. Weâll watch movies, order food. Iâll even let you pick.â
That earned a weak chuckle from you. âI canât. They came all this way. If I donât go, itâll just cause drama. Or worse, theyâll show up here.â You grimaced, the thought alone enough to make your stomach tighten.
Kate nodded slowly, accepting but not happy about it. âOkay,â she said at last, âbut like I said yesterday, I've got you. If you need to bail, text me. Iâll call with a fake emergency. Maybe Iâll actually set something on fire for realism. And once you are home, we are watching movies and eating junk, no excuses.â
That pulled a small laugh from you despite everything. âI know I already said it this morning, but you really are the best.â
Kateâs grin came back, easy and bright, as if she was determined to keep things light for both your sakes. âOh, I know,â she said, her voice soft but teasing. âI take my best friend and roommate duties very seriously.â
She hesitated then, the humour fading just enough for something gentler to take its place. Her eyes followed you as you slipped into your coat and slung your backpack over your shoulder, movements slower than usual. âJust⊠be careful, okay?â she said quietly.
You swallowed, the words catching somewhere in your chest. The weight of what was waiting for you pressed in again, dull and familiar. You nodded, glancing toward the door without quite meeting her eyes. âYeah,â you murmured, voice low. âIâll try.â
â
You were barely present when you arrived. Once moment you were walking, eyes unfocused on the pavement, and the next you were stopped outside a pub with a confusing knot in your stomach. Your phone dangled loosely in your hand, the map app still open, but before you could even check the address your mother sent, a sharp gust of wind cut across the street.Â
Then the smell hit, sudden and violent, wrapping around you like a vice. Stale beer, cheap perfume, and that acrid cleaning fluid that never quite covered the sour rot beneath. The smell that clung to everything, skin, hair, the corners of your memory, and yanked you backwards before your mind could brace itself.Â
Suddenly, you are small again, curled up on two bar stools, knees pressed to your chest as the air thickens with laughter and shouting. The sharp edge of the wooden seat is digging into your side, and the music is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your ribs.Â
You beg her to take you home, you always do, but she just waves you off with that slurred smile, another drink sloshing around in her hand. You eventually give in, knowing this is a battle you will never win, curling yourself up tighter beneath your coat as the night drifts on.Â
You start counting the hours until morning, doing the sums in your head to see how much sleep you could get before school if she decides to leave now, but she wonât, she never does. By the time the last of the pub crowd thins, you have managed to fall asleep across the stools, a practised balancing act after too many nights of rolling off onto the sticky floor below.Â
Then comes the walk home. Her arm hangs heavily over your shoulder, her laughter too loud, slicing through the quiet streets. You walk slowly, painfully aware of each unsteady step she takes, your body leaning into hers to keep her upright. Every time she drifts too close to the road, you shift her back, guiding her with hands and murmurs you shouldn't have to give, âweâre nearly thereâŠnot long nowâ, âcarefulâ, âitâs okayâ. The words fall automatically, soft and steady, but they feel wrong.Â
These are words she should be saying to you. She should be comforting you. Nonetheless, you feel your stomach tighten with every wobble, every misstep. If she falls, it is your failure. This is your responsibility. You have to get her home safe.Â
When you finally get home, you guide her carefully into bed, tug off her shoes, and pull up the blanket, pretending not to notice the slurred, biting words that slip from her between her hiccups. You linger, though, your heart hammering in your chest, silently pleading that she wonât vomit, that she won't start choking again, not tonight. Just not tonight. You are so tired.Â
Only when you are certain she has settled do you finally allow yourself to slip away to your own bed. You realise that you are still in your uniform, the same one you had worn when she dragged you to the bar that afternoon, promising it would just be a âquick drinkâ.Â
Your body feels unbearably heavy, your head is pounding, and the exhaustion coils through every limb. You fall asleep in it anyway, only to wake up shortly after to your alarm, the room thick with the lingering stench of beer and cigarettes that had clung to your clothes and hair.Â
You are still bone-tired, starved of both sleep and proper food, yet there is no choice; you have to get to school. It would be worse if you didn't. So you force yourself up, make your own breakfast, and get ready alone, before making your way to the bus.
Then suddenly you were back, and a sharp, bitter anger coiled through your chest, twisting around your ribs like barbed wire. Why did she do that? Why did she always choose alcohol over you, and why the hell is she still doing it?Â
And your father? Why did he never step in? He knew, he saw it all, yet he stayed silent. He chose to work away, he chose a quiet life, while you stayed home, carrying it all alone. He had peace, safety and warmth, and you carried fear, exhaustion, and the impossible weight of responsibility that should never have been yours.Â
Your eyes stung as you lifted them, taking in the bar in front of you once again. You checked your phone, as if that would make sense of it, but the address was right. And then you saw it, the small cracked sign above the door advertising rooms. Of course. Of course she had chosen a hotel above a bar.Â
The realisation hit like ice rushing through your veins, a cold fire that twisted in your chest tight as it coiled down into your stomach, making each breath jagged, heavy, almost impossible. She will never change. No matter how many promises she spills, no matter how many tearful apologies, she will always find her way back to what she truly loves, her home, the one thing that makes her happiest, alcohol.Â
â
You closed your eyes and drew a slow, steadying breath before pushing through the door, forcing yourself forward. The hallway stretched dim and grim, the carpet frayed, walls scuffed; the hotel was cheap, chosen purely for convenience. You made your way to the room number your mother had texted, each step heavier than the last.
When you knocked, your heart thundered in your chest, a fire of anticipation and dread simmering through your veins. The door creaked open, and your father appeared, his face softening as he pulled you into a hug.Â
You couldnât help but melt into him, if only for a moment, despite the resentment coiling in your stomach. But the way he held you, too tight, spoke volumes. He was already worn down, and that was enough warning that today would unfold exactly as you feared.
You eased back slightly, giving your father room to step aside, and that was when your gaze fell on her. She was half-lying, half-sitting on the edge of the bed, a posture that seemed to wobble between effort and collapse. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, the dull sheen of alcohol catching the morning light that filtered through the curtains.Â
The nightstand beside her was a scatter of proof of her morning activities. An empty bottle lay toppled, its contents long gone, useless. Another bottle teetered against the lamp, precarious and careless, a half-full glass with condensation beading and dripping down its side.
It wasnât even noon. You swallowed, your throat was dry, your voice low and measured, trying to keep the tremor out of your words. âHey, Mom⊠how are you?â You forced a small, careful smile, hoping for something ordinary, maybe a soft start, a few minutes where it could just be normal.
Her huff came quick and sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room. âI shouldnât have had to travel here to see you. You abandoned me.âÂ
Your stomach tightened, your hands flexing at your sides. âI never abandoned you, Mom. I had to go to college. I wanted to start a life.â Your words trembled despite your effort to keep them steady.
She leaned forward slightly, her glare hard, eyes narrowing as though trying to drill into your very soul. âYou left me alone. You donât care about me. You never have.â The accusation rolled off her tongue like a sharpened blade, and it was familiar, every syllable dredging up years of helplessness, resentment, and quiet self-blame youâd tried to shove down for the sake of surviving.
The room, the faint smell of stale alcohol, the harsh morning light filtering through the blinds, the distant hum of traffic, it all pressed down on you, dragging you back into that small, exhausted girl you had once been, the one who had carried far too much for far too long.
âIâm sorry, Mom,â you murmured, voice careful, almost brittle. âI didnât mean to⊠I just wanted you to be proud.â
Your fatherâs voice broke through, soft, hesitant, almost pleading. âWe are proud, so proud. Youâll be the first of us to graduate. If it means being away for a while, we understand.â His words were gentle, but there was an edge of fear in them, the unspoken worry that your mother might turn on him instead.
She turned her sharp gaze on him before taking a long, deliberate sip from her glass, eyes narrowing as if measuring everyone in the room. âYes, proud⊠but I would like to see you more,â she said, and then her attention drifted to you. Her eyes ran over your body slowly, deliberately, like she was scanning for faults. A faint grimace tugged at her lips. âItâs clear youâre not taking care of yourself properly.â
You tugged at the sleeve of your jacket, heart tightening. âWhat do you mean?â Your voice was quiet, careful, too aware of the tension in the room.
Her tone shifted, deceptively casual, like she was letting a passing observation slip. âLook at you. Did you even try today? You canât tell me you think it is appropriate to walk through the streets like that.âÂ
You wanted to laugh at the absurdity. She was sprawled on her bed, hair messy, her shirt stained, and she thought she could judge you? But you couldnât. Instead, your chest constricted, a familiar ache settling there.
You tried to defend yourself quietly, but even your effort felt insufficient. âI did try, Mom. I did my hair the way you like, and I put on makeup. You said you liked these jeans last time.â
A short, humourless chuckle escaped her lips. âYou fit in them properly last time. Seems like youâve put on a few pounds since then, eh?â The words were light, almost careless, as if teasing, but each syllable landed with surgical precision, pressing into the tenderest parts of you.
A tight, twisting knot of disgust coiled in your stomach, an old, familiar companion from years of whispered judgments, of mirrors and scales and the relentless inner voice that had once dictated every bite you took.Â
Before your mind could process anything, your mouth betrayed you, spilling words like water over a dam. A need to defend yourself, to prove that you were still deserving of love, still allowed to exist in your own body without shame, even if you had gained weight.
âIf Iâve put on weight, itâs because Wanda makes sure I eat properly. She checks on me every day⊠Itâs been⊠nice, having someone who wants me to thrive.â
The instant the words left your lips, your chest tightened and your stomach dropped. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air heavy and suffocating. You knew exactly the storm youâd just unleashed. There was no undoing it now.Â
Your mother's head snapped up, eyes sharp and incredulous, her lips parting as though she could barely process the words. âWho is Wanda?â
Panic clawed at your chest, heat rushing to your face. Your stomach twisted, your mind frantically spinning for a way to fix the slip-up. âI⊠uh⊠sheâs my roommate in my dorm,â you managed, sounding smaller than you felt. The weight of her gaze made it harder to hold your composure as you prayed she wouldnât remember if youâd ever mentioned Kate in passing on the phone.
Her eyes narrowed, disbelief hardening into accusation. âYour roommate is called Kate. Why are you lying to me?â Her voice had sharpened now, the quiet, sly cruelty of before replaced by the sting of direct confrontation.
The walls seemed to press in, closing the space around you until each breath felt stolen. Heat burned up your neck and into your face, hands trembling at your sides, while a cold sweat ran down your spine. Your body wanted to flee, but your feet were nailed to the floor, your hands frozen, and somewhere deep inside, your heart screamed in warning. But there was nothing you could do; you had no choice but to tell the truth.Â
You lowered your head, forcing your eyes to the floor, trying to make yourself smaller, maybe even invisible. âWanda⊠sheâs⊠sheâs my girlfriend, okay?â Your voice barely rose above a whisper.
You risked a quick glance at your father, and for a fleeting second, relief softened his features, a quiet light in his eyes that seemed to say he understood, that he was on your side. But it evaporated instantly.
Your motherâs voice cut through the room like a whip. âGirlfriend? I thought we got over that little phase!â She leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. âI made it very clear I expect you to marry a man, sooner rather than later!â
Your father stepped forward, hesitant, voice tight. âLove, sheââ
âNo! Donât say she canât control it!â your mother snapped, cutting him off like a whip. âShe can! This is a choice, and she is choosing sin!â Her words struck your chest like blows, sharp and relentless. Her face was a storm of fury, every muscle taut with disgust.
Something inside you broke, a dam you hadnât realised was still holding. How could she see something that gave you warmth and safety and call it sin?Â
âYou know what, Mom?â Your voice cracked, raw and trembling, but louder than it had any right to be. âNeglecting your child all these years, thatâs the real sin. But itâs fine because itâs you, right?â
She stood up from her bed and lurched toward you, unsteady, the movement sharp and full of venom. âYou think I neglected you?!â she hissed through clenched teeth. âI gave you a roof over your head! I made sure you did well in school! I left food for you to cook! Other kids have nothing, and youââ she jabbed a finger toward you, voice rising to a snarlâ âyou ungrateful little brat, you dare to complain?!â
Her words slurred together, each one soaked in alcohol and anger. Her chest heaved, her eyes wild, and you could almost feel the heat rolling off her as she stumbled another step forward.
This time, you didnât back down. Youâd learned from Wanda and Natasha how to stand your ground, how to speak even when your voice shook. You werenât going to be silenced again.
âI know I was lucky in some ways!â you shot back, each syllable cutting through the thick air. âBut you never treated me like I mattered! Like I was loved! I wasnât a daughter to you, I was just a carer!â
Tears blurred your vision, hot and relentless. The anger and grief tangled together, building until it erupted from you in a scream that cracked your voice. âBut I needed you! I needed a mother! I needed to be seen, to be loved! And all I got was shame and fear!â
For a heartbeat, the room went still. Then your mother slammed her hands down on the desk next to you, suddenly much closer than she was when you last looked up. âYou dare talk to me like that?!â she shouted, her voice shaking with rage. âI raised you! Youâre alive, arenât you? Youâre safe! Where was your father, huh? Never there! I gave up everything for you, and this is how you repay me?â
You shook your head, trembling, breath coming fast. âI donât care about your excuses! I donât care about what you think you gave me! I donât even care where Dad was! You werenât my mother, not really. You were a stranger who screamed and drank and left me to fix you when I was still a child! I deserved a mother. I got you. And I hate what you did to me!â
Then she moved. It happened fast, her face twisted, hand swinging before you could even think. The slap cracked across your cheek, the sound sharp and final. Your head snapped to the side, skin burning, eyes watering from the sting.
You stumbled back, hand pressed to your face, and for a second, you just froze. You were numb, your breath caught halfway in your chest. Of course it ended like this. It always did. Every fight, every confrontation, it always came back to this.
Your father caught you before you fell completely, one arm steadying your shoulders as he moved to position himself fully between you and her. âIâm sorry,â he murmured, voice quiet, breaking. âAre you okay?â
You stared at him, your cheek throbbing, your heart still hammering. The fury hadnât gone. It burned hotter now, sharper. âYouâre just as much to blame,â you spat, voice trembling with hurt more than rage. You didnât fully mean it, but it slipped out anyway.Â
His eyes filled with shame, and his mouth opened once, twice, before the words came out in a whisper so soft it barely reached you. âI know,â he said, voice cracked and raw. âI know. Iâm sorry.â
That was all it took for the fire inside you to die out. The anger, the strength, the desperate courage that had pushed the words from your chest, it all vanished in an instant. What filled the space instead was heavy and suffocating, crawling through your body like smoke after a fire. Regret. Shame. Guilt.Â
The girl who had stood her ground was gone, buried beneath the one who bit her tongue and kept the peace. The old instinct was all that remained, the need to disappear, to stop taking up space. Your shoulders curved inward, your throat tight with words youâd never say again. And before you even realised it, your body was already moving, turning towards the door.
Your motherâs voice split the silence like a whip. âOh, so thatâs it?â she barked, her tone sharp and wet with tears. âYouâre just leaving now? You come in here for ten minutes, tear me apart, and now youâre walking out like the victim?â
You turned slowly, your lips trembling. âI canât do this every time, Mom.â The words came out as a sob, your throat aching from the effort to speak through it. âI love you, I really do, but I canâtââ
âOh, stop it!â she snapped, cutting you off, her eyes blazing. âWhat about me? You think I wanted this life?â Her voice cracked into a bitter laugh as she snatched up her glass, draining it in one swallow. âThis is why your dad worked away. This is why I drink. You⊠Youâre the reason everything fell apart!â
You flinched. Every word landed like salt rubbed in an open wound. You wanted to argue, to say she was wrong, to tell her that it wasnât fair, but the fight had bled out of you completely. The tears that slipped down your cheeks burned. âIâm sorry,â you whispered. You didnât even know what you were apologising for. For yelling? For not being what she wanted? For being born?
Your father still stood between you, hand half raised, like he might reach for you but couldnât quite decide if he had the right. You turned to him, eyes blurred, voice shaking. âIâm sorry, Dad,â you said, the words cracking under the weight of everything you couldnât say.
He looked at you then, and the heartbreak in his eyes was unbearable. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The silence was deafening, proof of all the times he hadnât spoken before, all the times heâd let it happen.
You nodded without looking at either of them, because if you did, you might never move again. The room seemed to tilt slightly as you turned, each step heavy, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You reached for the door, and your hand shook so badly that you almost missed the handle.
âGo on then,â your mother muttered behind you, voice brittle with drink and bitterness. âRun away like you always do.â
You didnât look back. You couldnât. The door creaked open, and the cool air from the hallway hit your face, but it didnât bring relief. You hated yourself for ever opening your mouth. For believing, even for a moment, that this time might be different, that honesty might reach her where silence never had.Â
You hated the fragile hope that had made you brave, the foolish part of you that still wanted her to understand. And as the sting on your cheek throbbed in rhythm with your heartbeat, you cursed yourself for thinking she ever would.
â
The walk back to your dorm felt endless. Every step was heavier than the last, each breath scraping through your chest as your motherâs voice looped in your head. Every word sheâd said replayed with cruel clarity, laced with disappointment you could still feel in your bones. The cold bit at your cheeks, but it did nothing to cut through the fog of panic that clung to you like smoke. You told yourself to focus on the pavement, on breathing, on getting back, but your hands wouldnât stop shaking.
By the time you reached the dorm, your fingers were numb, clumsy as you fumbled with the keys. The lock stuck once, twice, before giving way, the door creaking open on its hinges. You pushed the door open, hoping Kate might miraculously not be there. But as soon as you stepped inside, the hope vanished. She was there, eyes flicking immediately towards you, her brows knitting together with that sharp instinct that made you feel seen, even when you didnât want to be.Â
Her gaze scanned you from head to toe. âHey⊠you okay?â she asked, voice soft but probing. âI thought youâd be gone for longer.â
Your stomach lurched. âYeah⊠Mom was tired. I didnât stay long.â The lie sounded fragile, unsteady. Your voice pitched higher than you meant, trembling around the edges. You kept your gaze fixed on the carpet, on the faint tear in the seam, anything but her eyes.
She rose slowly from the bed, the mattress creaking under her weight. âLook at me,â she said, her voice calm but deliberate, refusing to let the moment slip by.
You shook your head quickly, forcing out a laugh that felt thin and wrong. âKate, Iâm fine. I just⊠I just need to go to the bathroom, okay? Then we can watch something. You can pick the film this time.â The words tumbled out too fast, too rehearsed, brittle with the kind of cheer you used when everything inside was breaking.
She moved across the room, her gaze fixed on you. You could feel it tracing the tiny tells you couldnât control, the way your shoulders hunched, the way you flinched as her shadow fell across you. âWhy wonât you look at me?â she asked again. Her voice wasnât sharp, but it carried weight, pressing right through the fragile barrier you were trying to keep up.
âKate, please,â you whispered, stepping back. If you could just get to the bathroom, two minutes, maybe less, you could cover the mark, fix your face, breathe long enough to pretend again. Youâd learned that early, how to patch the damage before anyone noticed. You didnât want questions; questions meant exposure. Questions were dangerous. But before you could reach the door, she caught your wrist.
âWait.â You barely had time to react before she spun you around, her grip firm but careful. The movement was fast, a flash of motion, a blur, and then you were facing her, the light from the window catching your cheek, exposing everything.
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Then Kateâs eyes widened, confusion flickering first, chased quickly by shock, and then by anger, fierce and burning. You flinched before you could stop yourself.
Her jaw tightened, breath shuddering. âI fucking knew it!â she burst out, the words tearing free like something sheâd been holding back. Her voice was caught between rage and something rawer, almost frightened. âWhat the hell did she do?â
You froze. Words crowded at the back of your throat, useless. You wanted to say it was nothing, that youâd tripped, that youâd fallen, anything but the truth. But the lie wouldnât come. Not when the guilt was sitting in your chest like a stone. Youâd pushed too far; youâd made her angry. Youâd caused this. It was your fault.Â
Her eyes narrowed, fierce and unyielding, and you felt their weight press against you until you could barely breathe. You wanted to shrink, to curl in on yourself, to vanish into the silence you knew so well. But Kate didnât give you that option.
âIâm not looking away,â she said quietly, but her tone was hard as steel. âTell me what happened.â
Your throat burned. For a long moment, you couldnât speak, couldnât even lift your head. When the words finally came, they barely made a sound. âI⊠I made her angry. I said things I shouldnât have. I pushed her too far.â
Kate went still. Her face drained, just for a second, before her anger surged back, fiercer than before. âYou made her angry, so she hit you?â Her voice cracked on the last word, disbelief giving way to something that sounded dangerously close to grief. âOn purpose?â
You nodded weakly, shame flooding you. âI⊠I messed up, Kate. I upset them bothâŠI deserved it.â
Kateâs breath hitched. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, but every syllable was deliberate. âNo,â she said, her tone steady as steel. âYou never fucking deserve that.â She took a slow step forward, gaze locked on yours. âI donât care what you said, or how angry she was. You donât ever deserve to be hurt for speaking up. Do you understand me? Not ever.â
You swallowed, the words tangling in your throat before they could even form. âKate⊠it isnât that simple,â you muttered, quieter than you meant.
Her brow furrowed, confusion cutting across her features, softening the edge of her anger. âWhat do you mean? How isnât it simple?â There was no fury in her voice now, just the restless frustration of someone who cared too much, someone desperate to understand.
âJust drop it, Kate,â the words snapped out, faster and sharper than you intended. And the instant you heard yourself say them, guilt hit like ice in your chest. Youâd done it again, youâd snapped, lashed out. Why couldn't you control yourself? The shame coiled tight in your stomach, and your voice wavered as you added, ââŠI donât want to talk about it anymore.â
Kate blinked, startled, mouth parting as if she might argue, then closing again when she saw the tension in your posture, the way your shoulders curled inward. For a long, heavy moment, she just watched, breathing steadying, gauging how far youâd retreat this time.
Finally, she spoke, her voice softer, even careful. âOkay⊠okay, we donât have to talk about it,â she said gently. âDo you want to watch a movie?â
You let out a shaky breath, relief mingling with the ache in your chest. âYeah⊠yeah, letâs watch a movie,â you murmured, voice barely above the quiet hum of the dorm. âI⊠Iâm sorry. I didnât mean to snap at you.â
Kate chuckled, low and warm, the sound grounding in a way that almost made your chest ache less. âShut up, idiot,â she teased, shaking her head. âYouâre allowed to set boundaries. If this is one, then thatâs okay. Donât get me wrong, I do want us to talk about it eventually, but while youâre not ready? Thatâs fine.â She reached out then, pulling you into a firm, brief hug before letting go. âGo get the laptop ready, Iâll grab drinks and snacks.â
You nodded, a strange, uneasy weight settling low in your stomach, though you couldnât quite name it. You obeyed anyway, letting yourself sink onto your bed and opening the laptop to Netflix, your fingers fumbling over the keys as if on autopilot.Â
A few minutes later, Kate returned, sliding onto the bed beside you. She set down two cans of Coke and a small pile of snacks between you, the smell of chocolate and salty popcorn filling the small space.
âI canât wait to show you this movie,â she said, her eyes bright, a soft grin tugging at her lips. âItâs my favourite.â She nudged the laptop awake, fingers lingering for a moment on the trackpad as she loaded the film. Then she leaned back against the wall, tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth with a casual, easy motion, as if trying to make the moment feel normal, light.
â
An hour later, the two of you were wrapped in blankets, Kateâs attention fixed on the film, her lips moving softly as she mouthed the lines sheâd probably seen a hundred times before. You couldnât have said what was happening on the screen if someone had asked. Youâd been staring at it, yes, but you hadnât been watching.Â
Your thoughts were spiralling, a mess of noise and flashes. Every harsh word that had ever been thrown at you seemed to echo again in your mind, blending with your own voice until you couldnât tell the difference.
You needed to be punished; that slap was not enough. That was the truth clawing its way up through the chaos. Youâd done wrong, hadnât you? And when you did wrong, you were meant to pay for it. That was how it had always been. The memory of it lived under your skin, raised voices, the sting, the humiliation, the cold silence afterwards. It was all you knew growing up: mistakes were fixed through pain.
When they stopped hurting you, youâd simply taken over. Youâd learnt how to do it yourself, quietly, efficiently, without the need for witnesses. It had made sense at the time. Pain was order, pain meant control. It meant you could make the guilt stop before it drowned you.
Even now, years later, the memory of it hummed in your bones, soft and seductive. You knew exactly how it would feel if you went back to it, how the noise in your head would fade, how your breathing would even out, how youâd feel clean again.
But you couldnât. You couldnât. Youâd promised yourself that much, and it had taken years to pull yourself out of it, to learn how to stay away. Natasha and Wanda had already seen the edges of that damage, the faint, almost invisible scars that youâd brushed off with some half-hearted explanation.Â
They were barely noticeable now, and you told yourself that was a mercy. It meant you wouldnât have to tell the truth. You wouldnât have to see the look on their faces if they ever realised what youâd done to yourself. Youâd sworn youâd never let it come to that again.
And yet the thought wouldnât leave. Natasha and Wanda. The names themselves seemed to spark something dark and desperate inside you. Maybe there was another way. If they punished you, if they took control, then it wouldnât be the same. It wouldnât count. You could pretend it was something else, something loving, even as you used it to quiet the guilt. Theyâd never know.
The idea was vile, but it rooted itself all the same. You knew exactly how to push them, how to get under their skin, how to provoke the reactions that would hurt just enough to make you feel better.Â
The thought made you sick, but that didnât stop it from making sense. You always hurt the people closest to you. It was what you did, wasnât it? That was who you were. A bad person pretending to be good. Always taking something pure and turning it into something rotten.
Your thoughts kept spiralling, looping tighter and tighter until you barely noticed the world around you. It wasnât until Kate stretched beside you with a long, satisfied groan that you realised the film had ended. The screen was dark, and in that silence, something in you settled, cold, certain. The decision had already been made.
âWould you mind taking me to Natasha and Wandaâs, please?â you asked, forcing your voice into something light, almost innocent. âI told them Iâd see them this evening,â you added, the lie slipping out far too easily.
Kateâs face softened instantly, her smile gentle and full of understanding. She probably thought you just needed comfort, that you wanted the safety of their arms, the warmth of home. And you did, just not in the way she believed. âOf course! Let me find my keys,â she chirped, already moving.
You nodded, though your throat felt tight and your breath wouldnât settle into anything steady. You slipped into the bathroom quickly, closing the door with a soft click. The mark was easy enough to cover, no swelling this time, just faint discolouration that makeup would hide without effort.
A sick kind of relief, dark and unclean, spread through you as you left the bathroom to gather your things. It was wrong. Every part of it was wrong. But even knowing that didnât change the quiet certainty that this was the only thing left to do.
â
Youâd spent the entire drive over trying to work it out, running through scenarios in your head like some sort of twisted rehearsal. You knew which buttons to press, but pressing them without revealing what was really going on inside your head would be the challenge.Â
You werenât the type to act out without reason, not really. You didnât push boundaries for fun. You only broke rules when you needed something, and this⊠this was a need. The question was whether they would see it for what it was.
When Kate pulled up outside the house, you thanked her softly, leaning over the centre console to give her a quick hug before unbuckling your seatbelt. You opened the door, stepping out into the sharp afternoon air, but when you glanced back, she was still there. She gestured for you to go on; she wasnât leaving until she saw you safely inside. You managed a small wave before pulling out your key, unlocking the door and slipping quietly into the house.
You walked further in, footsteps soft on the wooden floor, and then you saw them. Curled together on the sofa, the kind of sight that wouldâve made your chest ache if your mind wasnât such a mess.Â
Wanda was reading, her voice barely audible as she murmured under her breath, while Natasha rested her head against her shoulder, eyes closed, utterly content. It was a perfect moment, so gentle, so loving, and for the briefest second, you considered turning around and walking out. Leaving them undisturbed. Almost.
Instead, you cleared your throat before you could change your mind. Both of them jumped, clearly startled, their heads snapping up toward you.
âSweetheart, what are you doing here? You said youâd be with Kate today,â Wanda said, a smile blooming across her face, the kind that made her eyes soften. She sounded happy, relieved even. Natasha looked up too, her smile smaller but no less warm.
And that was when the idea fully took place, it was sharp, it was cruel, and it was mean. The lie would come easily; youâd already told one today. You could twist this, turn it into what you needed. âI⊠I need to tell you something,â you said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. The guilt in your voice wasnât entirely feigned.
The change in them was instant. The light in their expressions dimmed, replaced by concern. Natasha straightened, tension flickering through her posture as she tapped the space beside her. âCome sit, tell us,â she said, calm but guarded.
You shook your head slightly, choosing instead to lower yourself into the armchair opposite, keeping that deliberate bit of distance. âI lied to you about where I was going today,â you whispered, and the weight of it sat heavy in your throat. You could feel the guilt pressing down, not just from the lie itself, but from what you were about to do next.
Wanda leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, the book long forgotten on the coffee table. Her voice was gentle, but the worry threaded through it was unmistakable. âOkay⊠so where were you?â
The question felt heavier than it should have. You could hear your own pulse in your ears as you swallowed, your throat dry, the lie already sitting bitter on your tongue. You drew in a slow breath, forcing the words out, each one feeling heavier than the last. âI⊠I met up with Carol.â
Natashaâs head snapped up, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before they hardened into something sharper. âWhat?â The word sliced through the quiet, low and dangerous. Her voice rose, but it was laced with disbelief. âWhy would you lie to us?â
You felt your stomach twist, but you forced the mask on anyway, the posture, the attitude. You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, trying to make it careless even as your pulse raced beneath your skin. âI just wanted to hang out with her,â you said, keeping your tone deliberately flat and defensive. âAnd I knew you wouldnât be happy about it.â
Wanda straightened up, her expression tightening, the softness receding as she took in what you said. Her voice was still calm, but now there was an edge to it, it was disappointment. âSo you lied instead of talking to us? You know communication is everything, we could have discussed it.â
The disappointment in her voice stung in a way you hadnât prepared for. You needed it to hurt differently, though. You needed anger. So you let the next words fly before you could stop yourself. âSo you could tell me no? Dictate who I can see, what I can do, stop me having friends?â
The accusation hung in the air. You could almost see the flicker of confusion in their faces as the tension shifted. You didnât believe a word of it; you knew they trusted you, that they would have listened if youâd asked. But that wasnât the point. The truth wouldnât give you what you wanted. The truth wouldnât make them react.
Natashaâs voice broke the silence.âExcuse me?â she said, each syllable deliberate, controlled, the danger beneath it coiling like a blade ready to strike. âWhen have we ever stopped you having friends? We actively encourage it. We just want you safe.â
âAs long as you can control it, you mean,â you shot back, the words biting and cruel. You could feel the heat in your chest, that trembling, dangerous thrill that came with stepping over a line you couldnât uncross.
âDarlingâŠâ Wandaâs voice softened, though there was a warning threaded through it now, her brows knitting together as she studied you. âWhere is this coming from?â
You looked up, meeting her gaze for a fleeting moment. Her eyes were warm, and too full of understanding, it nearly undid you. The pounding in your chest was so violent you were certain she could hear it, could see right through you. You dropped your gaze before she could read what was really there.
You shrugged, the motion weak, unconvincing. âMaybe I just wanted to see what youâd do,â you said finally, forcing the words out with a feigned calm you didnât feel. You prayed it would be enough to shift something, to make them stop seeing you as fragile and start seeing you as something that needed to be handled.
Natashaâs eyes narrowed immediately, her tone low and disapproving. âAre you testing us, little girl?â
A flicker of something dark and electric ran through you, and you forced a smirk, even though it felt wrong on your face. âMaybe. What if I was?â you said, letting your tone drip with false indifference.Â
You wanted it to sound like a challenge, like you werenât trembling inside, desperate for them to take the bait. You knew what that kind of behaviour earned, and you wanted it, needed it, in all the wrong ways.
Natasha rose slowly, the authority in her posture unmistakable. âThen I think youâd need to be reminded what happens when you do,â she said, her voice calm and dangerous.
But before she could take another step, Wandaâs hand reached out, touching her wrist. âWait,â she said firmly. Her eyes didnât leave yours. âYou donât just test for no reason. Whatâs really going on, sweetheart? Tell us, or this goes no further.â
Natasha hesitated, her jaw tight, before sinking back down beside her, her frustration visible but restrained. She was waiting for the truth you couldnât possibly give them.
You hesitated, feeling the weight of their attention, and then fell back into the script youâd built for yourself. âI need Mommy and Daddy,â you whispered, adding a pout that felt hollow even as you forced it. âI⊠Iâm just needyâŠâ
Wandaâs eyes softened a fraction, but her voice stayed steady. âAnd you couldnât just say that?â she asked quietly. âYou had to act out instead?â There was no anger, only concern. It was as if she already knew this wasnât about what you were saying.
You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking between them. âI⊠want to be put in my place,â you said finally, the words soft but deliberate. It wasnât a lie, not really, but it wasnât the truth either.Â
What you wanted wasnât discipline or dominance, it was punishment. The kind that stung, that left marks, that made the noise in your head go quiet for a while.Â
Wandaâs breath caught audibly, and Natashaâs jaw flexed, the faintest tremor in the muscle there betraying her restraint. âAnd why is that?â Wanda asked, her tone gentle but lined with concern, like she was walking a tightrope between curiosity and dread.
You hesitated, letting the pause stretch long enough to seem real, long enough to let the lie build shape in your mouth. âI just⊠I canât stop thinking about the time you punished Mommy,â you said, quiet but clear. âI⊠I want to try it.â You dropped your gaze halfway through the sentence, letting your voice trail at just the right pitch of timidness.
For a moment, the room was still. Both women were watching you, but not in the same way, they were reading you. Wandaâs eyes were searching, cautious; Natashaâs sharp and assessing, like she was peeling back the layers to see what hid beneath.Â
You made yourself stay still beneath their gaze, every breath measured, every twitch restrained. Your expression stayed soft, open, that quiet kind of shy you knew they found endearing. Youâd learned a long time ago how to adapt, how to become what someone needed you to be, even when it felt wrong.
Youâd never had to use it with them before, though. With Natasha and Wanda, submission had always been something different. They drew it out of you so carefully, so patiently, that it never felt like giving up control, but like being held. This wasnât that. This was mimicry, hollow and cold beneath your skin. But you knew how to pretend to submit, pretending had always been the safest thing you could do.
âCome here,â Natasha said finally, her tone steady but low.
You rose immediately, moving across the space like a reflex, eyes downcast, heartbeat echoing through your chest. You could feel her watching you the whole time. When you reached her, she guided you easily onto her lap, her hands grounding in a way that made your breath hitch. You hated that it felt comforting.Â
Her thumb brushed a strand of hair from your face, the tenderness of the gesture so at odds with what you were chasing that it almost made you flinch. âTell me what you want,â she said quietly.
You blinked, trying to find words that didnât sound wrong, that didnât sound like what they really were. âI told you,â you said, your voice small and fragile. âWhat you did to Mommy.â
Natashaâs eyes narrowed slightly, not unkindly, just enough to make your stomach twist. âNo,â she murmured, her voice a warning. âUse your words. Tell me.â
You took a shaky breath. It felt heavy in your chest, shame pressing against your ribs. âThe⊠the wall,â you whispered finally, your voice trembling. âAnd the flogger.â
Her pupils darkened, and a slow exhale slipped past her lips. The shift in the air was palpable, heat curling, tension thickening. âYeah?â she said softly, her voice dipping low, dangerous. âYou want Daddy to tie you to the wall and flog that pretty chest until itâs purple and red for me?â
Your body betrayed you, a shiver running through you at her words. It wasnât arousal, not exactly, it was need, raw and confused and far too familiar. You nodded before catching yourself, forcing the word out in a whisper. âYes.â Then, remembering what they expected of you, you added, âYes, please.â
Natashaâs hand rested at the back of your neck, thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin. Wandaâs eyes were still on you, watching, cautious, like she could sense that something underneath this wasnât right, that your submission wasnât born from desire but from damage. But you couldnât let that show. You couldnât let either of them see that this wasnât about play, it was about penance.
You all made your way upstairs together, the air thick with something unspoken, something that buzzed against your skin. Each step seemed heavier than the last, your heart a dull, unsteady drum in your chest. By the time you reached the bedroom, the tension was almost unbearable, an odd mix of anticipation and dread twisting inside you.
Wanda turned to you first, gentle hands finding your waist as she drew you close. Her lips brushed yours, soft and cautious. âAre you sure about this?â she murmured, her voice so full of care it almost broke you.
âIâm sure, Mommy,â you breathed, your tone dipping into that familiar, needy whine. âPlease.â It slipped out like muscle memory, the way it always did when you wanted her touch, except now, it made your stomach churn. You hated how easy it was to sound like that, how natural it felt to beg for something that wasnât what you truly wanted.
âOkay, darling,â she whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. âBut you tell us if itâs too much, all right? You mightâve pushed us today, but if this isnât fun, then it is not happening. Understood?â
Her warmth, her sincerity, it burned. Guilt crawled up your throat like acid, thick and choking. You were going to make them do this. Make them hurt you, believing it was for play, for pleasure. You told yourself it didnât matter. It would still be something, still a release. Maybe satisfaction and pleasure were close enough to count.
âI understand,â you said, forcing steadiness into your voice. âIâm green.â You kissed her before she could look too closely, before she could see the cracks. She kissed back with a quiet sound of need, and you deepened it, desperate to drown her questions in desire.Â
When she finally pulled away, her eyes were darker, her voice lower. âCome here,â she said, guiding you toward the wall. Behind you, Natasha had already opened the concealed panel, the metal hooks glinting under the soft light.
Wanda kissed you again as her hands moved to your clothes. She slid your jacket from your shoulders, your shirt following, then your bra. Her breath hitched. âFuck, youâre beautiful,â she murmured, her lips tracing down the line of your throat.
You didnât feel beautiful. You didnât feel anything but the sudden, sharp urge to hide. The words from your motherâs voice echoed in your head, and shame rose like bile. You fought the instinct to cover yourself, fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. If you flinched, if you hesitated, sheâd stop. Sheâd ask. And you couldnât afford that. So you stood still, bare and burning, and let her believe this was what you wanted.
Natasha returned a moment later, her footsteps steady, deliberate. In one hand, she held the flogger, its tails glinting softly under the light; in the other, a set of silk ribbons, not the rope she had used on Wanda. Of course sheâd chosen those. Easier to untie, gentler against skin, forgiving if you panicked or needed out. Always thoughtful, always careful. You felt a flicker of something, shame, affection, maybe both curl inside your chest.
âI see Mommy has started getting you ready for us, kotenok (kitten),â Natasha said with a smirk that was equal parts fondness and command. Her eyes roamed over you, slow and assessing, and you felt heat rush to your face and chest. You nodded, unable to find words, watching as she set the flogger down on the edge of the bed before guiding you closer to the wall.
But as she moved, the reality of it hit you. The wall meant exposure, meant being seen. Theyâd be able to read every flicker of your expression, every tremor that slipped through. Theyâd see too much. Panic stirred low in your gut. âC⊠can youâŠCould you do my back instead?â you stammered, voice trembling despite your attempt to sound casual.
Natasha paused, her gaze softening immediately. âYes, printsessa (princess). Of course. Thank you for telling me what you want,â she said gently, her voice warm with approval that made your throat tighten. That pride, it was so genuine, and so undeserved, it made it all that much worse.Â
She stepped behind you, turning you slowly until your front faced the wall. Her touch was patient, tender. The ribbons brushed your wrists as she tied them to the hooks, loose enough not to hurt, secure enough that you wouldnât slip away.Â
When she leaned in to kiss the space between your shoulder blades, her lips were soft, reverent. And for a moment, your chest loosened. The world dulled around the edges. The familiar haze began to settle in, that floating quiet of real submission creeping into your bones even though youâd sworn you wouldnât let it.
âYou ready, kotenok? (kitten)â Natasha murmured, her voice low enough to send a shiver through you. Her breath brushed your ear, warm and steady, grounding and unsteadying all at once. âWhatâs your colour?â
âGreen, Daddy,â you managed, though the word caught in your throat. It came out smooth enough to sound sure, but inside, you were trembling, a knot of nerves and determination sitting heavy in your chest.
âGood girl,â she said softly, and the praise cut through you like a blade wrapped in silk. It shouldnât have felt good, not when you were doing this for all the wrong reasons, but it did. It settled somewhere deep in your stomach, twisting tight, shame and longing tangled beyond recognition. âYou know your safe words,â she continued, her tone steady, protective. âWands and I will both be watching, all right?â
You swallowed, forcing the smallest nod, your voice barely holding. âI know. Thank you.â The words tasted false, like they belonged to someone else entirely.
Because you didnât mean it. You had no plans to stop this, no intention of pulling back. Even as your body softened under their touch, even as that familiar haze began to creep in, your purpose stayed sharp.Â
You werenât chasing pleasure, not tonight. You wanted the pain, the kind that silenced everything else, the kind that made you feel clean again. And you were going to make sure you got it.
You leaned forward until your forehead rested against the cool wall, the texture grounding you as your breathing slowed into something steady, deliberate. Behind you came the soft swish of the flogger slicing through the air.Â
Natasha was testing the weight, feeling the rhythm, the same careful warm-up she did before she used the same flogger on Wanda. The sound alone sent a shiver through you, a strange blend of dread and anticipation curling under your ribs.
âCan you tell us why youâre here, maliÄkĂĄ (little one)?â Wandaâs voice floated across the room, calm but edged with that quiet authority that made your body instinctively want to obey. It wasnât harsh; it was controlled, commanding, the tone that always made your knees weak.
You exhaled shakily, the haze already thickening in your head. It took a moment to remember your own lie, to recall the script youâd set in motion. âI⊠I lied to you. IâŠI went to see Carol,â you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.
âMhm,â Wanda hummed, the sound low and deliberate. âYou did. And why is that bad?â
âBecauseâŠâ you swallowed hard, your chest aching with the irony of it all. âBecause we should communicate our needs.â The words left a bitter taste in your mouth. They were right, of course, but saying them now, while manipulating them into hurting you, felt like tearing something out from inside yourself.
âExactly,â she said, her tone dipping lower, softer, almost pitying. âAnd all you wanted to see was how it felt for me. And you didnât ask.â She paused, letting the silence press against your skin. âDoes it feel good to know you lied to us?â
The question broke something loose in your chest. Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them, and you shook your head, the movement jerky and small. âNo,â you choked, your voice trembling. âIâm sorry.â
âItâs okay,â Wanda murmured after a moment. âDaddy will give you what you need. You are not actually in trouble, but next time, I want communication. Do you understand?â
âYes, Mommy,â you whispered, the words barely audible over the storm in your chest. Guilt coiled through you like a living thing, thick and choking, turning your throat dry. You are not actually in trouble, she had said, but you should be.Â
It was suffocating, the weight of your lies, your needs, your craving for punishment pressing down from all sides. You wanted to explain, to spill the truth that this wasnât about disobedience, that you hadnât seen Carol, that this was something else entirely, but the stubborn, broken part of you knew better. If you revealed even a fraction of your intent, they would stop. You couldnât risk that.
âYouâll take ten,â Natasha said, her voice level but edged with command. âNo thank yous in between. I want you to think about how youâll communicate next time.â But it wasnât the sharp anger youâd hoped for.Â
âI will,â you murmured, and for once it wasnât a lie.
The first strike landed across your back with a dull, stinging crack. It hurt, but not enough. The pain was shallow. You knew immediately she was holding back. Natasha wasnât angry; she was being careful, treating it like you were learning something new, it was not a punishment.Â
That was the problem. The second hit followed, then the third, and each one fell with the same precision, the same restraint. Between each blow, she pressed a kiss to your skin, her lips soft and unbearably tender, her hand trailing over the fresh warmth to soothe what sheâd just caused.
It was meant to comfort you, but it only made it worse. The warmth of her mouth, the soft drag of her fingers, the sting fading under her touch, it pulled you somewhere you didnât want to go. Your body betrayed you, pleasure creeping in where punishment shouldâve lived. You could feel heat low in your stomach, your breathing uneven, your underwear sticking uncomfortably to your skin.
This wasnât right. This wasnât punishment. This was something else entirely. âHarder⊠please,â you choked out, the words trembling against the wall. It had to hurt. It had to, or none of this would mean anything.
The next hit cracked sharper across your back, the sound splitting through the air, the sting biting deep into your skin. It was satisfying in a horrible, hollow way, finally, an ache that felt real. Natashaâs rhythm was steady, each strike blurred into the next until the pain spread hot across your shoulders, climbing and blooming in layers until it became everything.
You wanted this, you needed this, but the longer it went on, the more something inside you began to twist. Each hit seemed to carry more than the weight of leather; it carried the past. Every impact dragged you further from the room and deeper into memory, into moments youâd buried and sworn never to revisit.
Your motherâs voice, her insults, her disappointment. The slaps that burned for days. The bruises youâd hidden beneath your clothes. Your fatherâs devastated eyes when youâd told him it was his fault. Kateâs face when you lashed out at her. Wandaâs when you lied. Natashaâs when you pretended.
Each strike tore open another wound that had never really healed. Until all of it, the punishment, the memory, the pain, it all bled together. You started to sob. Not the kind of sobs that came from catharsis or release, but the broken, guttural ones that clawed their way out of your chest.Â
The sound of it was raw and ugly, your throat straining, your lungs struggling to catch up. You couldnât breathe. The room faded to nothing, just pain and that terrible voice in your head whispering over and over, you deserve this, you deserve this, you deserve this.
Natasha stopped. The absence of sound was sharper than the strikes had been. You felt her stillness behind you, her breathing uneven. âDo you need to stop?â she asked quietly, the calm command in her tone unmistakable. It wasnât a suggestion, it was an order. She wanted you to safeword. She knew.
But you couldnât. You shook your head, hair sticking to your tear-wet cheeks. You couldnât stop, not now, not when it finally felt like you were paying for everything. âIâm green,â you croaked, the words shaking apart as they left you.
Wanda moved closer. âmaliÄkĂĄ (little one), I donât think you are. Please, can you be honest with us?â
âI am!â The lie burst out, tangled and desperate. âIt just hurts, but in a good way! I want the rest, please, Mommy, please.â Your voice cracked. The tears wouldnât stop. You tried to swallow them down, to blink them away, but they only came harder, faster. âPlease,â you whispered again, the sound collapsing into another sob. You didnât deserve to stop. Not yet. Not until it hurt enough.
You were shaking when Natasha spoke again, her tone unbearably gentle. âYou know, you donât have to finish this punishment. Weâre not angry with you. This was never about that. This was for you, because you asked for it.â
Something in you splintered. âNo!â you cried, turning your face enough that your words didnât muffle against the wall. âYou should be! I was bad! I need this. I need to hurt! Please, please finish, please!â
A silence stretched out before Wandaâs voice broke it, soft but shaking slightly, as though she was trying to hold herself steady. âEven if youâve done something wrong, even if you feel bad,â she said slowly, âyou never deserve to actually be hurt, little one.â Her hand found your shoulder, warm and grounding, and the contrast made your chest ache. âWhat we do here can be painful, yes, but itâs meant to bring you pleasure, or clarity, or safety. Itâs never meant to break you. It is never just to make you suffer. And right now⊠You are suffering.â
You shook your head, words tumbling out between sobs. âI need to suffer⊠please.â
Wanda sighed, the sound soft and cracking at the edges, as though she were close to tears herself. âNo, zlatĂÄko (darling). Thatâs not what this is. We love you, and thatâs not love, thatâs abuse. And I wonât let you confuse the two.â Her voice gentled further. âRemember what I said, hm? If this isnât fun, it isnât happening. Now I want you to use your safe word. Can you do that for me?â
You shook your head even harder, dizzy from crying. âI donât need to safeword, I just need you to finish,â you said, defiant even as your voice broke apart.
âCall it,â Natasha said quietly. âI wonât be finishing either way, but I want you to call it.â
There was no escape in her tone. You realised then that youâd gone too far, said too much, that they finally understood. The guilt tangled with the fear, pressing against your chest until you could barely breathe. And even though it felt like a defeat, even though every part of you wanted to resist, you forced the word out through shaking lips.
âRed.â
â
âGood girl, thank you. So good for us,â Wanda whispered, her voice soft and warm against the raw edge of the moment. But you didnât feel good. The words didnât settle like they usually did. They scraped. You hadnât finished your punishment; you hadnât earned anything. The relief you were supposed to feel never came. Instead, the shame spread wider, sinking deep into your stomach.Â
Natasha and Wanda worked together in silence, untying the ribbons from your wrists with slow, deliberate care. Your arms ached from tension, from holding yourself still. You flinched when Natashaâs fingers brushed your skin, not from pain, but from guilt. She noticed, but said nothing. She just helped you put on a soft t-shirt, before trading your jeans for your favourite pyjama bottoms.
The silence between them was unbearable. They werenât speaking, not to you, not even to each other, but you could feel the weight of it, the quiet, knowing glances, the unspoken communication you werenât part of. They were disappointed. They hated you. Theyâd realised what you really were: broken, deceitful, impossible to love. You werenât useful to them anymore. Not as a partner, not as a submissive. You couldnât even give them what they wanted.
You wanted to apologise, to drop to your knees and beg them not to leave, not to replace you with someone better, someone whole. You wanted to tell them you were sorry for lying, sorry for ruining everything, sorry for being you. But no words came. Your mouth refused to open. Your body wouldnât move. You just stood there, waiting for them to decide what to do with you.
The atmosphere shifted the moment Wanda spoke. Her voice was quiet, warm, and impossibly gentle, the kind of softness that made your chest ache. âMommy and Daddy are here, little one,â she murmured, and the words wrapped around you like a blanket you didnât think you deserved.
You nodded numbly, allowing her to guide you to the bed. She lay down in the middle and held out her arms, an invitation to come closer. For a second, your brain refused to process it. She was offering comfort now? After everything? That wasnât right. You were supposed to be shut out, left to sit alone in your guilt until it swallowed you whole. Thatâs how it always worked.
And then it broke. All of it. The tension in your chest, the shaky control youâd been clinging to. A strangled sob tore from your throat as you stumbled forward, collapsing against her. You buried your face in her neck, the air hot and wet against your skin as you tried to breathe, but couldnât, not properly, not when everything hurt this much.
Wanda shifted slightly, turning your head just enough so you could breathe again, her hand sliding up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. âIâve got you, baby,â she whispered, the sound barely audible over your sobs.
Natasha climbed onto the bed too, though she kept her distance, sitting near the foot with her elbows resting on her knees and her hands laced tightly together. Neither of them spoke. They just stayed with you while everything inside you broke open.Â
Wanda kept humming quietly, fingertips tracing slow, weightless shapes over your back as you trembled and hiccupped, until the noise of your crying dwindled into a soft, uneven breath.
After a long pause, Wanda spoke, her tone soft but deliberate. âAre you ready to talk now, sweetheart?â
You froze, the question landing heavy in your chest. Youâd known it was coming, but hearing it still made your throat tighten painfully. âDo I have to?â
Wandaâs hand stilled on your back. âNo,â she said gently, âyou donât have to. But I think it might help. We can go slow. Just start wherever you can, okay?â
Now it was up to you, whether to tell them everything, to confess what youâd done. You needed to. They needed to know how bad youâd been, how much youâd lied. Maybe then theyâd stop being so kind, maybe theyâd treat you the way you deserved.
And you did. You told them everything, about seeing your parents, about the argument, about how youâd snapped at Kate and lied to them. You confessed that none of what youâd said about Carol was true. Then came the hardest part, the one that made your voice tremble and your stomach twist. You told them that you had manipulated them into hurting you and why.
You heard Natashaâs sharp inhale behind you, though she said nothing. The silence stretched out, thick and tense. You forced yourself to keep talking. âI just⊠I wanted you to⊠to punish me.â Your voice broke on the last words, and your eyes filled again. âI manipulated you⊠again.â
The sound of Natashaâs breathing changed, it was uneven now, heavy, strained. She stood abruptly, pushing off the mattress with both hands. âI⊠I need a minute,â she muttered, voice rough. âIâll be back.â
You flinched as the door closed behind her, and Wanda exhaled, the sound full of quiet sorrow.
âShe left?â you asked, barely a whisper.Â
Wanda hesitated for a moment, then smoothed her thumb along your spine. âShe just needs to decompress a little,â she murmured, her voice gentle but steady. âItâs alright, sweet girl.â
You shook your head, panic rising in your chest. âNo, sheâs angry,â you blurted out. âSheâs angry, and she hates me. I didnât finish. I couldnât even do that right. Sheâs mad, and sheâs going to replace me, sheâs going to find someone else.â
âHey, hey, no,â Wanda said quickly, sitting up and cupping your face in both hands. âLook at me.â Her tone softened again, her thumb brushing away a tear. âShe doesnât hate you. Sheâs proud of you, baby. I promise. She just needs a little space to calm down, thatâs all.â
But your breath was hitching again, breaking apart into ragged sobs. âShe stays for aftercare now,â you managed between gasps. âShe always stays. Sheâs supposed to stay.â
Wandaâs own expression flickered, grief and empathy mixing behind her eyes. She pulled you closer again, tucking your head beneath her chin. âI know, baby,â she whispered. âI know she does. She will come back. She just needs a moment to breathe. That doesnât mean sheâs gone, or that sheâs angry with you. It just means sheâs human too.â
You buried your face in Wandaâs shoulder, trembling so hard your teeth almost chattered. âI donât want her to hate me,â you whispered, the words catching and breaking as they left your throat.
âShe could never hate you,â Wanda murmured, her fingers sliding gently through your hair. Her voice was calm, steady in a way that felt like a tether. âYouâre her heart. Both of us just want you safe. And what happened earlierââ she paused, her breath shuddering slightly ââthat wasnât safe.â
You swallowed thickly, shame pressing at your chest. âI know it was wrong,â you whispered. âI do. I just⊠Itâs been so long since I messed up like that, and I didnât know what to do with it. I panicked. Itâs like my brain just⊠went somewhere else.â
Wanda nodded slowly, her expression soft but firm. âAnd when that happens,â she said gently, âyou come to us. You tell us whatâs hurting. You donât have to carry it alone or try to make sense of it by hurting yourself. You let us remind you that what was done to you wasnât love, that you never deserved it. You let us hold you and help you find your way back.â
You hesitated, voice cracking as you mumbled, âMy mom wouldn't agree that I never deserved it.â
Wanda exhaled, a quiet, sympathetic sound. âYour mom,â she said carefully, âis very clearly unwell. She needs help. And from what youâve told me, your dad does too. Theyâre both stuck, sweetheart, trapped in their own pain.â
Tears welled again, hot and sharp. âI told my dad it was his fault,â you whispered, guilt threading every word. âAnd it isnât. I know it isnât.â
âNo,â Wanda said softly, shaking her head, âit isnât. Heâs being hurt too, just in a different way. But listen to me. Feeling angry with him for not protecting you, or for not being what you needed? Thatâs okay too. You can love him and still wish heâd done more. You can understand that heâs suffering and still feel that he failed you.â
You looked up, eyes red and glassy. âIt feels wrong to be angry,â you murmured.
âI know it does,â Wanda replied, her thumb brushing your bruised cheek. âBecause you were never allowed to be angry. You were punished for it. But youâve been hurting for a long time, and pretending youâre not angry doesnât make that go away. It just turns it inward. Thatâs what you did tonight. You turned it on yourself.â
Her voice softened even more, almost a whisper. âYou donât have to do that anymore. We may be Mommy and Daddy, but weâre not your parents. We never want to hurt you that way.â
Wandaâs hand stayed in your hair, combing through the strands slowly, rhythmically, until your breathing began to even out. Her body was warm beneath you, solid and steady, the rise and fall of her chest grounding you in something that felt almost unreal after everything that had just happened.
âYouâre safe,â she whispered against the top of your head, her lips brushing your hair as she spoke. âYou donât have to earn safety, or forgiveness, or love. You already have it.â
You wanted to believe her, desperately, but your chest felt tight with the old, familiar panic that told you it couldnât be true. âWhat if I mess up again?â you asked, voice barely audible. âWhat if I hurt someone again?â
Her hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its slow motion down your spine. âThen we deal with it together,â she said simply. âYou talk to us, we listen, we work through it. Youâre not a child waiting to be punished anymore. Youâre not powerless. You donât need to bleed or break to make things right.â
You turned your face slightly, cheek pressed against her collarbone, and whispered, âBut it feels like I do. If I donât, it feels like Iâm getting away with it.â
Wandaâs breath hitched softly, but she didnât pull away. âThatâs because for a long time, pain was the only kind of consequence you were given,â she said. âItâs what you were taught. That hurt meant control, that suffering meant balance. But zlatĂÄko (darling), that was never justice.â
Your lip trembled. âI donât know how to stop,â you admitted. âItâs like my brain doesnât let me.â
âI know,â Wanda murmured, leaning forward just enough to kiss your temple. âIt wonât stop overnight. Healing isnât about pretending those urges donât exist, itâs about letting us catch them before they catch you. Letting us hold you until they lose their power.â
You felt her shift slightly, one hand moving from your back to cradle your jaw, guiding you to look at her. Her eyes were soft, but they glistened faintly, her own emotion showing through the calm. âYou donât have to be perfect for us to love you. You donât have to be good all the time. You donât have to earn anything. You just have to let us in.â
Your throat tightened again. âWhy do you still want me?â you whispered. âAfter everything?â
Wandaâs smile was small, sad, and impossibly tender. âBecause youâre ours,â she said. âBecause underneath all the noise and guilt, thereâs a heart that still wants to do better. Because youâre trying. And because youâre not broken, no matter how much you believe you are.â
Wanda caught your face gently between her hands, her thumbs sweeping away the lingering tears as if they were something fragile. Her voice came quiet and steady, each word sinking into you like warmth seeping through cold skin. âYou donât need to be punished to be forgiven, sweetheart. You just need to be loved, and that partâs already taken care of.â
Your chest ached at the tenderness in her tone. âI love you, Wands,â you whispered, your voice cracking halfway through. âIâm so sorry. I didnât mean toâŠâ You trailed off, swallowing hard. âWhen⊠when can we see Nat?â
Wandaâs expression softened even further, though hesitation flickered across it. âI donât know yet,â she admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âHow would you feel if I went to speak to her for a bit? I just need to make sure sheâs okay before we bring her back in.â
You nodded slowly, even though your chest tightened at the thought of her leaving. âShe needs you too,â you murmured. âIâll be fine here. I promise.â
âGood girl,â Wanda said gently, leaning down to press one last lingering kiss to your lips. It was soft, grounding, full of that wordless care she was so good at giving. When she pulled away, the space she left behind felt vast. You rolled onto your side as she stood, watching her move toward the door.
Part of you wanted to call her back, to ask her to stay, to let you hide in her arms a little longer, but you bit your tongue. Natasha needed her too. And loving both of them meant letting them take care of each other, even when what you wanted most was for Wanda to stay and keep holding you together.
â
Wanda POV
Wanda lingered at the edge of the living room doorway, her shoulder resting lightly against the frame as she watched Natasha curled up on the sofa beneath a heavy blanket. The soft glow from the lamp painted her in muted gold, but it couldnât soften the shadows under her eyes or the taut line of her mouth.
âNat?â she said quietly, her voice low and steady, meant to reach without startling.
Natasha stirred at the sound, head lifting just slightly. Her eyes found Wandaâs, unfocused at first, then weary. âHm?â The syllable was small, tired. Her voice carried no defences, just fatigue. Wandaâs chest ached at the sight, the exhaustion in her expression, the tension gathered around her eyes, the tight clench of her jaw holding back everything she couldnât say. Her breathing had steadied since earlier, but the calm was brittle.
Wanda crossed the room slowly and lowered herself onto the sofa beside her. She didnât touch her right away. She simply let her presence fill the space, close enough to be felt but not pressed. âWhat do you need, moya lyubovâ (my love)?â she asked softly, the endearment slipping from her tongue like instinct, her tone a careful blend of compassion and grounding strength.
Natashaâs answer came after a moment, quiet and uncertain: âDavay, idi syuda (Come on, come here)â. The Russian hit something deep in Wandaâs chest. She always reverted to her mother tongue when her composure fractured, when emotion outweighed logic. Wanda moved immediately, closing the distance, her warmth a gentle tide against Natashaâs cold skin.
Natasha leaned forward, gathering Wanda into her lap and burying her face into the crook of her neck. It was desperate, the kind of embrace that spoke of someone trying to breathe again. Wanda wrapped her arms around her in return, holding her close, feeling the tremor in Natashaâs muscles gradually begin to fade.Â
Each breath evened out a little more, though the ache beneath it remained. Wanda stayed quiet, letting silence and the slow rhythm of touch do what words couldnât. Natasha had been here before; Wanda knew that. Sheâd learned to wait, to let her come back in her own time.
After a long stretch of quiet, Natasha pulled back just enough to speak. Her voice cracked, the words trembling. âYA yeyo ranila. YA pravda prichinila yey bol'âŠâ I hurt her. I really did hurt herâŠ
Wandaâs heart squeezed. She reached up, brushing her thumb across Natashaâs cheekbone, grounding her with that simple, steady touch. âYa znayu, lyubovâ moya,â I know, my love, she murmured. âNo ty zhe ne znala. Kak ty mogla znat'? But you didnât know. How could you have known?
Natashaâs throat bobbed as she swallowed, her hands tightening on Wandaâs arms as though holding on for balance. âYA ne zametila. YA dolzhna byla ostanovit'sya.â I didnât notice. I should have stopped.
Wanda shook her head gently, palm moving to Natashaâs back, firm and reassuring. âNet,â no, she said softly but with resolve. âTy ostanovilas'. Ty proverila. Ty zadavala pravil'nyye voprosy. Ona skryvala to, chto delala.â You stopped. You checked. You asked the right questions. She was hiding what she was doing.
Natashaâs breath hitched, a sound between a sigh and a sob. âYA videla priznaki, no pozvolila yey ikh otmakhnut'. YA vso isportila.â I saw the signs, but I let her brush them off. I ruined everything.
Wanda exhaled softly, resting her forehead against Natashaâs temple. âMy obe propustili eti priznaki,â We both missed the signs, she murmured. âno teper' my znayem, na chto obrashchat' vnimaniye.â But now we know what to look for.
She let the silence stretch for a heartbeat before continuing, her voice tender but firm. âYA znayu, chto ty seychas chuvstvuyesh' sebya plokhoy dominatriks, no eto ne tak,â I know you feel like a bad domme right now, but youâre not, she whispered. âI ona vso yeshcho nuzhdayetsya v tebe.â And she still needs you.
Natasha made a small sound, half sigh, half broken laugh, and buried her face into Wandaâs neck again. Her words came out muffled, quiet, trembling. âNet, ty yey nuzhen.â No, she needs you.
Wanda smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to Natashaâs hair. Net, moya lyubov'. Ona nuzhdayetsya v nas obeikh.â No, my love. She needs us both.
Natasha shuddered, a small, involuntary tremor that ran through her entire body, but she nodded faintly. Wanda felt it as a fragile kind of acceptance, a quiet opening.Â
She knew the emotions wouldnât vanish instantly, the guilt, the self-reproach, the echoes of everything that had just happened would linger, pressing at Natashaâs chest for a while yet.Â
But she also knew her wife was listening, that even in the haze of shame and fatigue, the care she offered would begin to thread its way through. Slowly, with steady warmth and the soft insistence of presence, the tension would ease, the edges of torment smoothing, just enough to breathe.
Wanda began to speak softly, walking Natasha through the details you had shared after sheâd left the room. Her voice was measured, explanatory, but gentle, guiding, filling in the gaps without rushing, giving context where it was needed.
Natasha stayed quiet, absorbing each word, nodding occasionally, exhaling in short huffs when she heard how harshly you had spoken about yourself, about your mother, about the ways you had been treated.
Despite the weight of the conversation, Wanda could feel Natasha slowly letting go of some of the tension, her muscles relaxing just slightly, her breath deepening. She wasnât fully free from the guilt, not yet, but she was no longer drowning in it.Â
With each word, each careful pause, Wandaâs presence reminded her that she could sit with the pain without being consumed by it, that she could allow herself to calm, to exist in the room, in the moment, without carrying the full weight of blame.
â
You felt as though youâd been holding your breath for hours, every second stretching thin as you tried to give them space. You wanted to be good, wanted to stay put like Wanda had asked, but the quiet pressed in too tightly. Restlessness crawled beneath your skin, fraying at the edges of your control, and the longer they stayed away, the more the spiral tried to claw its way back in.
Eventually you couldnât sit still any longer. You pushed yourself up from the bed, your legs unsteady beneath you. A sharp pinch flickered across your back, fleeting but enough to make you wince, before you forced yourself fully upright, anchoring your breathing one slow inhale at a time.
The house felt too quiet as you crept through it, each step careful, almost guilty. You finally spotted them on the sofa again, curled into one another. For a moment it felt like a strange echo of earlier, like stepping back into a scene you werenât meant to witness twice. Something in your chest twisted, and instinct pulled you back. You turned slightly, ready to retreat before you disrupted them again.
Natashaâs voice stopped you cold. âI know youâre there, Kroshka (little crumb). Come here.â
It wasnât sharp. It wasnât commanding. It was warm, worn-out, soft in a way that sank straight into your ribs. You froze for a heartbeat, stunned by how easily she had sensed you compared to last time, and then your feet carried you forward without resistance.
This time, you didnât keep your distance. You lowered yourself onto the sofa beside them, hesitant for only a fraction of a second before Natasha shifted, pulling back from Wanda just enough to open her arm. The invitation was quiet but unmistakable.
You folded into her immediately. Her arms wrapped around you in one smooth, instinctive motion, guiding your head to her chest. The steady thrum of her heartbeat radiated through her shirt, through your cheek, through every part of you that had been trembling since they left the room.
Wanda eased off Natashaâs lap, settling beside her, and Natashaâs second arm wrapped around her just as firmly, holding her wife close with the same protective certainty she held you. The three of you pressed together in a warm, tangled line, the kind of closeness that made your chest tighten, like your body couldnât quite decide whether to melt or break open.
The breath youâd been clutching finally slipped free, a fragile whisper against your lips. Then another, shuddering and uneven, followed quickly by a surge of tears that caught you off guard, wracking your body until it seemed you might shatter.Â
It hit you all at once, the crushing mixture of guilt, exhaustion, and shame, the heavy certainty that you were falling apart again, and that somehow, despite your own fears, you were dragging them into your storm. The thought made your chest tighten, but their hold around you was unrelenting, steady, and protective, and slowly you felt some small part of yourself start to loosen.
âIâve got you,â Natasha murmured, her lips brushing the top of your head in soft, steady kisses. Her arm contracted around you, pulling you in deeper, as though the more you crumbled, the more secure she became. âIâve got you.â
You pressed closer, sobs shaking through your shoulders. Each shuddering breath felt too big, too jagged, but Natashaâs rocking was slow, deliberate, and it matched the beat of your heart as if she were carrying it for you. âLet it out, baby.â
Wanda shifted closer, her hand slid across Natashaâs stomach before finding your cheek, cupping it with firm, steady pressure. Her thumb traced long, slow, soothing circles along your skin, a rhythm that grounded you deeper than you could have anticipated.Â
âYouâre safe,â she murmured, her voice low, controlled, and sure, threading through the storm of your sobs. âLet us hold it for you.â
Her words sank into you like heat into frozen limbs, spreading through your chest and limbs in a way that made your body feel small, pliant, and entirely hers and Natashaâs to care for. Your shoulders sagged, your knees bent a little further, and another shuddering sob ripped from your chest before you could stop it.
âIâm sorryâŠâ You choked out, voice trembling. âI donât know why Iâm crying this timeâŠâ
Wandaâs palm cupped your cheek more firmly, her thumb brushing slow, circular motions over your skin. âShh⊠none of that,â she said softly but with an authority that sank into your bones. âYou are not a burden. Not now, not ever. Let us take care of you.â
Natashaâs arms somehow tightened again, fingers pressing lightly into your back as she adjusted you impossibly closer, anchoring you. âWeâve got you,â she whispered, soft and sure, her warmth wrapping around you like a shield.
Neither of them tried to quiet your sobs or coax you into pulling yourself together. They didnât urge you to breathe, didnât tell you to calm down, didnât try to tidy the mess of your emotions before you were ready. They just held you and let you break as deeply as you needed to.
Your tears rose and fell in uneven waves, but they never wavered. They simply stayed with you through every swell, every shudder, every desperate clutch for air. It felt like being carried in a small, sturdy boat while a storm tore at the world outside, their bodies the solid hull keeping you afloat, their warmth the ballast keeping you stable, their presence the anchor that kept you from being carried into the dark.
Eventually, your voice found its way back to you, thin and shaky around the fading hiccups. The storm inside you had eased just enough to let a thought surface, the need to apologise, the need to make sure she wasnât hurting because of you.
You swallowed, breath catching, and finally managed, âYou⊠you okay, Nat?â
The words came out soft, almost fragile, as though you were afraid they might shatter between you the moment they left your lips. Your tone carried that timid edge, the one that always surfaced when you convinced yourself youâd caused too much, taken too much, been too much.
She lifted her head slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and gave a slow, measured nod. âIâm okay⊠just had a bit of a moment. But you know, Wands always fixes us, huh?â A faint smile tugged at her lips, though her eyes still carried the faint tension of lingering guilt.
Your throat tightened. âIâm sorry for what I didâŠâ You admitted, each word heavy with the weight of everything you had done.
âItâs okay. I understand,â Natasha murmured, drawing you closer. Her hand found the back of your neck, steady and grounding, and you leaned in instinctively, letting your head rest against her chest again. âAnd Iâm sorry for hurting you. I never want to make you feel pain just for the sake of it. Thatâs⊠never the point.â
You exhaled shakily, letting a little of the tension in your shoulders slip away. âYou donât need to apologise. I know what I did was wrong. I hid what I really wanted⊠and I knew exactly what to say to get past your checks. You did everything right. Everything.â Your voice dropped to a near whisper, but it carried sincerity.
Natashaâs fingers lingered in your hair, tracing small, deliberate paths as she spoke, her voice calm but edged with reflection. âI⊠should have noticed. But now I know what to look out for.â She echoed Wandaâs words carefully, as if saying them aloud helped her truly believe them herself, letting the meaning settle between you both.
âI wonât ever do that again, I promise,â you said, pressing a little closer, letting your cheek rest against her chest. âIâll tell you whatâs going on, every time.â
âYou better,â she replied, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips as she mimicked Wandaâs accent. âWhat does Wands always say? âCommunication is key.ââ
Wanda swatted her arm playfully, though a soft laugh betrayed her amusement. âIt is! And Iâll keep saying it over and over until you both actually communicate properly, inside and outside of scenes.â
Natasha rolled her eyes, though a reluctant grin crept across her face. âYeah, yeah⊠Mommy knows best and all that.â
You let out a small, relieved laugh. Wanda tilted her head, her smile gentle and warm, but with a hint of mischief. âMommy does. And donât start ganging up on me now, both of you,â she warned, though the warmth in her eyes made the joke clear.
Natasha leaned back slightly, letting her head rest against Wandaâs. âFine, fine⊠Mommyâs right, as always,â she muttered, low and teasing, her fingers still brushing your arm in quiet reassurance.
The ease between them, the teasing, the softness, and the complete lack of tension melted the last stubborn bit of fear inside you, the part that still worried theyâd pull away now that the worst had passed.
The tension in your body finally began to ease, each breath loosening the tight coil that had gripped your chest for so long. Natashaâs warmth pressed along your back, steady and reassuring, while Wandaâs hand moved slowly across your arm, tracing gentle lines that seemed to whisper, you are safe.Â
The storm inside you quieted enough to simply exist in their presence. Not calm, not fixed, but safe enough to rest, safe enough to let them hold the pieces together until you could find your own balance again.
Tag list: @chansawrelier, @Angelicbrats, @Brooklyn-r-dawson, @lizzieolsie216, @godhatesgoodgirls, @libbyofc, @sevikasoneandonlywife, @jizzuo308, @ciaoooooo111, @natashasmuse, @angelxblink (If Iâve accidentally missed you from the list, Iâm so sorry, I know Iâve probably missed a few comments! Also, if youâd like to be removed, just let me know.)
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Natasha Romanoff x Reader. Anxious Reader. Comfort.
You and Natasha had only been dating for a couple of weeks, but she always had this way of reading you, of seeing you, almost in a way you didnât know was possible. It was as if she could peel back your layers with just a singular glance into your eyes. It was unnerving. It wasnât anything you were used to, and it scared you. But it was also comforting, so, so comforting. To have someone who knew what you were feeling and to really understand, without you even having to do so much as utter a word.
And you could try to hide it; God knows you tried to hide the sadness you felt at times. The emptiness that would just creep its way into your soul like a parasite. It would latch on to you and stay for what felt like forever. But she wouldnât let you.
It was midnight when the thoughts came. Those same spiralling thoughts that always started as something small and seemingly insignificant and then just spun out of control. Your chest started to tighten as those same old feelings of worthlessness started to worm their way into your mind and heart. Natasha was asleep, snoring like a 70-year-old man suffering from sleep apnoea. To be fair to her, she did just return from an incredibly gruelling mission. She deserved the rest, which is why you tried your hardest to suffer in silence. It was becoming more challenging as your breathing started to get heavier; you were almost heaving. Your chest started to get tighter as the thoughts in your head grew louder and louder.
She sensed your turmoil from the depths of her sleep. She always did. Natasha shuffled next to you, reaching her hand out to yours to comfort you as she tried to fight the sleep and force herself awake. âSweetheart⊠sweetheart, what is it?â she asked in the darkness of the night. You tried to hold your breath and stay quiet; maybe she would go back to sleep. Maybe you wouldnât ruin her night. A slice of moonlight peeked through the curtains, illuminating her beautiful form. You found yourself staring at the curve of her lips, the hook of her nose. So beautiful. How her beauty could somehow still those dark thoughts for a moment, you never understood. A brief moment it was, as you soon started to feel undeserving of a woman like her. A woman so brave and bold and beautiful. You didnât feel worthy of her at all.
Your lack of response began to worry her. She pulled herself out of her sleep and laid those gorgeous sleepy eyes on your face. âOh, my darling,â she whispered as she saw your shuddering breaths, quivering lips and tears streaming down your cheeks. When did you even start to cry? You hadnât noticed.
She pulled you into her arms quickly, rubbing the sides of your arms as you started to shiver. Her hands trailing the little goosebumps along your upper arms. She kissed your head like it was a promise that everything would be okay again. That it would pass. âIâm here, malyshka; Iâm right here, and Iâm not leaving you. Not one second. Let it out now, baby; Iâve got you. Iâve always got you,â she uttered in hopes of easing that aching heart of yours. You turned your head towards her with tear-filled eyes and a shaky smile.
You didnât have the energy to speak, but she knew you, and she knew you were grateful for her. âI know, my love, I know,â she murmured softly, giving you a brief kiss on your ear. You tucked your head in the crook of her neck and breathed in her soft scent. Warm cinnamon and spice entered your nose instantly; her inviting aroma always soothed your sorrowful soul. She smelt like home and love and freshly baked cookies. It felt like huddling near a fireplace on a miserable rainy day. Your breathing began to even out as you started to relax in her comforting hold. Sometimes, it felt like she was the only thing holding you together; she was the only reason you werenât constantly falling apart. Brave Natalia would go out on dangerous missions, risking her life for the sake of others, and here you were crumbling at night. You felt pathetic.
âThank you, Natalia. Thank you so much.â You still felt so guilty for disturbing her sleep.
âDonât you thank me for anything, my darling; itâs what Iâm here for,â she replied instantly whilst giving you ticklish pecks on your cheeks, eliciting a warm blush. She didnât need you to be thankful; she just needed to know you were okay. You both sat like that for a while in quiet solitude, with Nat offering more comforting words. Just her presence could be so healing for you. âDarling girl, how are you feeling now?â
âI donât know,â you whispered. âItâs a lot quieter, though. My head, itâs not so loud anymore.â
âPlease donât hide from me again; I donât want you to feel alone,â she pleaded.
âI know, I just. I didnât want to disturb you, and you have had a long few days. You deserve to rest.â You were starting to ramble.
âAnd so do you, my love,â she spoke firmly. âYou deserve rest too, as much as I do. You deserve to sleep without having incessant noise in that pretty head.â She was looking straight into your eyes, like she was trying to break through all the messy and anxious thoughts in your head. She needed you to listen, needed you to understand. âYou are not a burden to me, and you never will be. When you feel like you are disturbing or bothering me, youâre not. I want to hear your worries, and I want to hold and love you through them. Please donât keep yourself from me; Iâm your girlfriend, and I love you so much.â Her tear-filled eyes caused your heart to ache. You didnât mean to upset her; you thought it was best to keep it all in. Maybe you were wrong. Her words gave you a sort of epiphany. You donât have to hide the difficult parts of yourself. Not from Nat.
âIâll try, Nat. I promise to try.â For Nat, you were willing to try. With her, it didnât seem that scary anymore.
âI want every part of you. I want to know when you're happy as well as when you feel anxious and afraid. Donât shy away, baby, not from me.â She cupped your cheeks and gazed into your eyes.
âOkay Natty, no more hiding,â you promised resolutely whilst gazing back into those angelic eyes of hers. For Natasha, you would do anything.
âHmmm, thatâs my darling girl,â she murmured and moved a strand of hair behind your ear. Natasha kissed your lips softly, as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. Her lips were gentle and smooth as they caressed yours with such care you began to tear up. Her thumb began to stroke your cheek slowly. The combination of her tender affections made your head all warm and fuzzy. You were safe and warm and loved. You were with your Natalia.
Pairing Regina Mills x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort. Established Relationship.
Summary
Grief sneaks up to you in unwanted moments and you finally say those 3 words. Regina is there to help, hold and guide you through it all.
â ⊠â
Warning: Grief and loss of a parent. Angst. Emotional overwhelm. Comfort. Reader in denial. Talks about self soothing. Cute plushy. Reader suckles on plushy. Undressing with consent. A little bit of praise. Comfort.
Word count: 2611
A/N: This is a oneshot but I feel like this could be turned into a series. I'm not 100% sure if people are interested?
A/N: This was suppose to be a spicy oneshot where Regina sits in a chair and watches and guides you through touching yourself. Something with begging and calling certain names. But alas it went the wrong way I'm afraid. But a lot can happen after the concert :)
English is not my first language so please bare with me.
Arriving at the hotel, you watched Regina step out of the car first, just so she could come around and open your door.
In the beginning of your relationship the two of you would argue about this. About her insistence on opening every door for you. Why would she, when you had two capable hands and legs that worked just fine. But in time you learned that Regina was never going to let you get out of the car on your own. It was one of her love languages, control wrapped in chivalry.
âCome on, princess. We do not have all day.â One eyebrow raised and a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. That smug look she wore every time she opened your door said enough.
âI am, in fact, a princess,â you replied, sticking out your tongue as you hopped out of the SUV. You knew she hated it when you rolled your eyes or stuck out your tongue. But when you were tired, your bratty side surfaced and you had no energy to fight it today.
âYes, you are,â she murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but impossible for you to miss. She closed the door behind you with a soft thud.
Inside, the kind receptionist explained how to get to your room. She wished you both a pleasant stay and mentioned your luggage would be waiting when you arrived.
The exhaustion from traveling finally began to settle in your shoulders. A dull ache stirred behind your eyes. Reginaâs hand slid to the small of your back as the elevator chimed open, guiding you inside like she had been doing it your entire life. By the time you reached the top floor your legs felt heavy. The worst part was that it was barely noon.
âNearly there,â she said softly, seeing the fatigue on your face.
The suite was spacious and warm, floor to ceiling windows revealing a skyline washed in sunlight. Clean cream tones mixed with brown accents gave the room a calm and curated feel. The scent of fresh cotton lingered in the air, softened by the familiar trace of Reginaâs perfume. A small kitchen in the corner made the suite feel more like an apartment than a hotel room.
You couldn't wait to let yourself sink into the soft mattress. You bent to kick off your shoes, but Regina caught your wrist gently. "No darling, let me."
She sank to her knees, fingers steady as she loosened the knot in your laces. She eased one shoe off, then the other, placing them neatly in the shoe cubby.
She knelt in front of you, fingers confident as she loosened each lace. Shoes removed and placed neatly away. The sight of Regina on her knees for you sent a strange flutter through your chest.
âI could've done that myselfâ you muttered, letting just enough attitude bleed into the words.
Regina looked up, one eyebrow raised as usual.
âI am aware,â she said. âAnd yet, here I am.â You stole one more glance at her before you rolled your eyes and looked away.
She gracefully pushed herself up, dusting imaginary lint from her pants. When she stepped closer, you found yourselves toe-to-toe, her presence filling the small space between you. Fingertips gently hooking beneath your chin to tilt your head up.
âThat tone,â she murmured, eyes darkening âBe very sure you want to use it right now.â
Your pulse stuttered. A slow heat curled low in your stomach. Frustration, longing, and something more tender tangled up together.
The truth was that you had been mouthing off at her since the moment your eyes opened. Small complaints, eye rolls and little jabs at everything she did. Today was suppose to be exciting. You hadnât had a reason for your mood. This morning your bed felt comfortable, her arms safe and you felt at peace in the quiet space of your shared bed with Regina. A place where the world couldn't reach you. A place where you didn't have to feel your feelings too deeply.
A few months ago Mumford and Sons had announced they were going on tour again. But the tickets for your city sold out before you even had the chance to try. It stung more than youâd admitted. You and your mom did not share many favorite things let alone artist, but Mumford and Sons was one of them.
Your mother had been gone three years now, and some days you felt that loss like a missing limb. Invisible. Constant. A thread always pulling.
Regina saw your disappointment. She didnât say much, just disappeared into her office for a while. And when she returned, she had two tickets to Cologne and a hotel booked.
The look on your face had said everything.
Joy. Surprise. Guilt. Sadness.
Every emotion had flooded through you.
Regina wasnât simply taking you to a concert. She was helping you feel close to your mom again.
Maybe that was why your chest felt tight.
Why your mood felt unpredictable.
Why your tongue had been sharper than you intended.
"What is going on in the pretty head of yours,hmm?" she slightly tiled her head, brows slightly raised, eyes softened and soft smile grazing her lips . This was the look. The one that always made you unravel and confess every word that was overflowing in your mind and burning on yours lips. She already knew what was happening but gave you the space to explore your own feelings.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your gaze dropped to the floor as embarrassment crawled hot over your cheeks. It was ridiculous, being so overwhelmed on a day that should have felt joyful. But emotions did not follow logic. They never had.
Regina stepped closer, her fingers slipping beneath your chin and guiding your eyes up to meet hers again.
âDo not look away from me,â she said, voice quiet but stern. âTalk to me.â
You swallowed hard. The room suddenly felt smaller.
Your mouth opened the denial ready on your tongue. Suddenly the floor looked interesting again, embarrassment from earlier behavior rising in your cheeks. All these contradicting feelings of love, grief, joy, tripping over each other until you couldnât untangle them anymore. Before you could say anything she tilted your chin higher, refusing to let the lie escape.
Your breath caught. The part of you still trying to hold everything together trembled under her touch. Vulnerability rushed too close, too fast and unwanted. You tried for a scoff, some deflection, anything that would keep the ache from showing.
âIâm fine.â
Regina lifted a single brow âYou are many things, my love. But a good liar is not one of them.â
âItâs stupid,â you managed. âI should be happy. You did something so thoughtful and Iâm justâŠâ Your voice cracked. âRuining it.â A single tear carved a path down your cheek so more could follow.
âYou are not ruining anything,â gently pulling you closer into her. Your head falls onto her shoulder. One hand settled protectively on the back of your head while the other traced slow shapes along your spine.
"Is this okay baby?" she whispered. You just nod, letting yourself sink into the feeling of being safe in her arms again. A few more tears quietly rolled down your cheek. Creating a small spot of tears mixed with mascara on her cream silk blouse.
The room slowly softened around you. Only the sound of your sniffles, the low hum of the lights, and Reginaâs steady breathing filled the quiet. "Alright princess," let's get you cleaned up. Maybe get us both into something comfy so we can lay down and have little talk, hmm?
There was no hurry in her movements. She guided you toward the bathroom, switching on the soft light above the mirror. With a gentle nudge, she eased you down onto the closed toilet lid.
âSit here and be pretty,â thumb tracing the tear streaks on your cheek âI will grab our things.â
Only now you could feel every emotion catch up to you. Your eyelids grew heavy. A nervous shiver traced up and down your spine. It had been in a while since you've felt like this. An hour ago you were just fine, just a bit bratty and tired. Suddenly all these feelings came rushing in like a freight train passing through a station. Loud, obnoxious and annoyingly fast.
-
Regina returned with a small toiletry bag, the soft overhead light catching the gold on her fingers as she knelt in front of you. A cool makeup wipe broke the warmth on your cheeks, clearing the dark stains your tears left behind. Your brain seemed to look for a way to deal with everything that was happening. Vision unfocused, everything around you becoming a blur. The only thing you could focus on was the sound of water, dull and deep. Warm water.
The first touch of warmth against your cheek made you sigh, a sound so quiet you were not sure you meant to let it escape. The cloth smelled faintly of the hotels laundry detergent. She wiped carefully along the line of your lashes, catching the dark smudges left by the make up wipe before they could dry. Placing a soft kiss on the top of your crown, her gentle movements slowly bringing you back to reality.
Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt. Three words burning on your lips. The ones you have been avoiding for the last 3 years.
âI miss herâ
Saying them made her absence real.
âI still check my phone sometimes,â you whispered, voice thin. âLike she might text. Saying she is running late.â Your throat ached.
âEveryone else moved on. Like grief is a phase. Like there is an expiration date on where grief is suppose to end.â
You blinked and another tear slid free.
âBut I am still right where she left me.â your breath wavered.
A tiny broken sound escaped before you could swallow it down. Regina leaned in until her forehead rested against yours. The warmth of her breath tickled your cheek. You took a deep breath in, holding it.
For the first time since your mother has passed, it did not feel like you were keeping grief at armâs length. It felt like you were slowly letting it in. Allowing it to touch the parts of you that still ached but numbed over the years. Letting it move, careful and hesitant, through the places that needed healing.
Regina brushed her nose against yours, the softest touch urging you to breathe again. When you finally blinked the tears away, she pulled back just enough to see your face. Her hands slid down to hold yours, grounding you in this moment instead of letting the memories swallow you.
âLet me take care of you,â she murmured.
You nodded, small and quiet.
Carefully pulling you up. Her palms stayed steady at your waist as she guided you toward the bedroom.
When booking the tickets Regina had anticipated a reaction like this. Like no other did she know that everyone has their own grieving process. It was clear as day that you were avoiding yours like it was the plague.
Baking sourdough at midnight.
Teaching yourself guitar until your fingers hurt.
Rearranging the entire living room on a random Tuesday.
She never stopped you. She had let you indulge yourself in all of it because it was a part of your process. But she also knew these moments would someday catch up to you.
Quiet and sudden. When you least expected it.
A gut feeling had told her to pack some of your favorite comfort items. An old t-shirt that smelled like her and your rainbow colored caterpillar plush. The one you got when you broke your arm when you were 4 years old.
Your eyes followed Regina's hand as she pulled something colorful out of her suitcase and gently placed it in your arms. Your fingers closed around the worn out fabric from the antennas, your body already recognizing it before your mind could catch up. A soft pink blooms on your cheeks.
You had told Regina about the plush somewhere in the beginning of when you started dating. It was better to get the embarrassing part out of the way. To give her the chance to walk away before things went further. Like many other people had done.
Regina stayed.
She listened. She looked at you in that way that made your heart ache in a good way. Like nothing about you was strange or too much.
You told her how you counted the segments of its body when you felt anxious. How you rubbed its soft little legs over your lips and face to ground yourself. Or when the world felt too big, too much, too overwhelming you would suckle on the fabric of it's antennas for comfort.
In the end she kissed the caterpillar on its tiny head and said it was lucky to have been loved so well by you.
Regina rested her hand lightly on your shoulder, watching your grip tighten on the caterpillar. It made you feel small, like you were 4 again back at the hospital waiting for an x-ray. Your breath hitched once athe the memory, then settled into something slower.
âCome,â she said softly.
Sitting you down on the edge of the bed. Her voice barely above a murmur. âArms up.â You lifted them without argument as she slid off your shirt.
âCan I take this off too,â fingers brushed the strap of your bra. Another small nod. She unclipped it smoothly and eased the fabric away from your skin. Cool air pricked at your skin, your teeth softly shattering.
âI know, sweet girl. Almost done.â
She knelt in front of you, eyes lifted for permission before touching the button of your pants. You nodded again, trusting her came naturally. She removed them with the same quiet respect and care as everything else. Folding your clothes neatly over the chair.
Regina helped you into the oversized shirt, the soft cotton carrying her the smell of home and her perfume. This was one of your favorite shirts you have ever stolen from her. Something in your chest twisted at the thought of Regina packing your favorite comfort items.
Then she guided you to lie down, pulling the duvet over you and making sure the plush was secure against your chest. âI will be right back. Just changing,â she whispered.
Regina returned and climbed into bed beside you. She pulled you gently into her arms, your head tucked beneath her chin. Her heartbeat steady under your ear.
"I love you darling. Thank you for trusting me with your feelings" voice low and warm, she kissed the shell of your ear. Your mind going fuzzy. "Close your eyes" she urged, her voice a soft command. Fingertips tracing slow circles on your back.
âOkayâ you breathed, small and pliant under her touch.
âGood girl,â she whispered against your skin, her lips lingering just long enough to make your heart stumble. The weight of exhaustion finally pulled at your mind as Regina whispered sweet nothings in your ear.
Caterpillar plush snug between your chests.
Reginaâs arm wrapped securely around your waist.
Her thumb tracing that gentle pattern on your back that always coaxed you toward sleep.
âI'm hereâ she murmured. âand I'm not going anywhere.â Kissing your temple once more, letting her lips linger.
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Okay you asked for something to write, Iâm after something soft and fluffy, maybe Readers had a really bad day (can be anything) and Wanda and Nat comfort her and help to calm her down when she comes to them all tearful!
So little bit of angst from the day R has had but ends up fluffy in their arms? (Iâve never sent a request before so I hope this makes sense!)
summary: small inconveniences pile up until you're having the worst day possible. luckily, your girlfriends are there to help put you back together again.
warnings: sensory overwhelm, mentions of hypervigilance from ptsd, mentions of past invalidation of emotions, emotional hurt/comfort
word count: 1.5k
a/n: thank you so much for your request @beekneelsformommy!! i really hope i did it justice and you can find some comfort in this <3
cross-posted on AO3
Your day has been shit.
It hadnât started well, due to sleep eluding you the previous night, and it had only gotten worse as the train made you late to university and your laptop died halfway through a tutorial. The train ride home had been unbearably overstimulating, every little sound amplified in your exhausted mind. By the time youâre walking through the front door of the apartment you share with your girlfriends, youâre barely holding it together.
After dumping your backpack by the front door and kicking off your shoes, you make a beeline to the couch, walking past Wanda who is busy in the kitchen. You flop face-down on the couch, grabbing the nearest blanket and pulling it snug around your body. You will away the tears threatening in your throat; you still find it terrifying to cry in front of anyone, even your girlfriends.
Wanda glances up at you from across the room, a gentle frown overtaking her features as she assesses you. âIs everything okay, solnishko?â
You make a non-committal noise, burying your face further into the cushions as if you can hide from her and her loving concern. But of course Wanda isnât going to be pushed away so easily. You hear her footsteps approach before a familiar weight settles beside you on the couch. A steady hand settles on your shoulder, fingertips gently stroking patterns on the fabric of your t-shirt.
âBad day, malyshka?â she asks gently. You just hum, afraid that if you speak, what comes out wonât be words but sobs. Wanda hums sadly, her fingers still tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder. âIâm sorry, dekta. Do you want to talk about it?â
You manage to choke out a ânoâ, ever determined to keep your defences up. Itâs something that upsets Wanda to no end, even if she understands that your struggles with vulnerability have nothing to do with her and everything to do with all the people who have hurt you in the past. Sometimes it takes all of her self-control to not slip into your thoughts, to see whatâs wrong and ease her anxieties. But thatâs a boundary she told herself sheâd never cross without permission, and she holds herself to that.
âOkay,â Wanda says, her hand moving to card through your hair. âCan I do anything to make it better?â
Your request comes out as a whisper, as if youâre scared of rejection. âPlease hold me.â
Of course, you didnât need to worry. Wanda murmurs a soft âof course, solnishkoâ before gently manipulating your body so your head is on her chest, one hand resting on your waist while the other continues to soothe your hair.
âIs this okay, dekta?â she whispers. You just nod, words eluding you as the exhaustion of the day begins to catch up with you and settle heavy in your bones. Your eyes slip shut as you focus on Wanda, on the rhythm of her fingers through your hair, the steadying hand on your waist, and the faint beat of her heart beneath her chest.
The distant thump of the front door rips through the calm, your eyes shooting open as you tense in Wandaâs arms.
âShh, dorogaya. Itâs okay, itâs just Nat.â
A quick glance at the clock, as well as the familiar sounds of Natasha sorting out her bag by the entrance, confirm Wandaâs words, that Natasha is home from work. You do your best to relax again and take a few deep breaths to calm your heart rate. Youâre so grateful for the way that Wanda and Natasha donât judge the way you jump at the smallest things, or the paranoia that creeps in at night and the nightmares that wake you up most nights. Theyâve never judged you or belittled your trauma - they just do everything they can to make you feel safe.
Sure enough, a familiar face soon appears in the doorway, green eyes impossibly soft as she takes in her girlfriends curled up on the couch. She looks to Wanda, asking a silent question. Wanda slightly shakes her head in response and Natashaâs expression only softens further. She pads over to join you on the couch and you lift your legs to allow her to sit before settling your feet on her lap.
Something about being held between them, both of them radiating concern and their intentions nothing but pure, broke your silence.
âEverything-everything just went wrong today,â you choke out, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. âI barely slept last night, and then the train was late, and my laptop died during a tutorial, and then the train home was so loud and I-â
As a sob escapes your chest, Natashaâs hand comes up to cup your cheek, her thumb gently brushing away a stray tear. Combined with the reassurance of Wandaâs fingers through your hair, thatâs all it takes for you to finally break down. Sobs wrack your frame, tears falling freely down your face, as the stress of the day all comes out at once. Wanda holds you firmly against her, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, as Natasha gently massages your feet, a silent promise of her presence.
Youâre vaguely aware of the fact that you should be embarrassed, to be so open like this. A small part of you is waiting for the invalidation, to be told that youâre being ridiculous, to just get over it. But of course, it never comes. Youâre simply held, cherished, reassured by the two women who love you more than you ever thought possible. With them, you are safe to feel whatever you need to.
Eventually, your sobs start to ebb and your body relaxes into Wandaâs hold. A strange tranquillity settles over you as your mind clears, the burdens of the day dissipating like mist on a warm summerâs day.
âBack with us, milaya?â Natasha asks gently, still rubbing soothing patterns onto your sock-covered feet.
âY-Yeah,â you manage through the haze. Embarrassment starts to settle in your cheeks, mixing in with the guilt of needing your girlfriendâs help, and you whisper, âIâm sorry.â
âHey, no, detka,â Wanda gently scolds, tilting your head up from her chest so she can meet your eyes. âNever apologise for your feelings. You have nothing to feel sorry for.â
âI know, Wands. Iâm-â
âDonât you even think about apologising again,â Natasha breaks in. You turn your head away from Wanda to see the corners of her lips twitching into a smile, betraying the teasing nature of her abrupt words. As soon as you meet her eyes, you dissolve in a fit of giggles, ever-amused by your girlfriendâs stern facade. Sure enough, Natashaâs mask shatters immediately and she laughs with you as Wanda just grins.
Once youâve both settled down, Wanda speaks, âI need to go and finish making dinner, moya lyubovs.â She tilts your chin up to meet her gaze once more. âAre you okay if I leave you here with Nat, solnishko?â
âWands, you say that as if Iâm some scary predator,â Natasha huffs.
âYour code name is Black Widow, is it not?â
Natasha just rolled her eyes, shaking her head with mock annoyance as you dissolved into giggles once more. You wordlessly shifted off of Wanda, letting her get off the couch and cross the room back to the kitchen. Your attention turns to Natasha, giving her a quick peck on the lips before you settle your head on her shoulder.
âHow was your day?â you ask her, your hand coming up to absentmindedly toy with her braid.
âBetter now Iâm home with you two.â
You sit in companionable silence as Wanda potters around in the kitchen. The aroma of pasta sauce begins to fill the air and makes your mouth water. With all the stress of the day, you havenât eaten much, and you are suddenly all too aware of your empty stomach. Thankfully, Wanda didnât have too much left to do and before you know it, sheâs serving pasta onto plates and placing slices of garlic bread on a board to share.
âTable or living room, malyshka?â Natasha asks softly as Wanda finishes up.
Your answer is almost instantaneous, brought about by a desire to be as close to your girlfriends as possible. âLiving room.â
Wanda must have heard you, because she walks over to rejoin you on the couch, plates and cutlery floating along behind her before settling perfectly on the coffee table. The Sokovian settles on your other side, feet tucked up beneath her on the couch cushion as she turns on the television with a flick of the wrist.
The stresses of the day melt away as you settle between your girlfriends, enjoying Wandaâs cooking while some lighthearted game show fills the silence. And a few hours later as you curl up in bed, Wanda reading to your left and Natasha gaming on her Steam Deck to the right, you can barely even remember what upset you that day. All you know is Wanda and Natasha, and the comfort of their love.
âMommy and Daddy have to go to meetings tonight, can you be our good girl until then?â
âAnd what if Iâm not?â
âLittle girl, do not test our patience right now. Mommyâs still not over how much of a desperate little pet you were in Daddyâs office this morning. Thereâs still a mess on her desk. Wouldnât want the whole office knowing just how filthy their best intern can be when Daddyâs fucking you dumb. Couldnât even wait for Mommy. How unfortunate for you, you know how jealous Mommy gets when Daddy doesnât share her toys.â
summary â when the weight of your day finally catches up to you, you find yourself tethered to the precinct with olivia
warning(s) â dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, age gap relationship, power imbalance, authority kink, domestic dominance, implied mommy kink, praise, soft affirmations, pet names, primarily comfort, light hurt/angst mentions of a shooting, alluded to anxiety, very lightly implied anxious attachment style, maybe illusions to subspace, olivia âpick your poison babe, iâm poison either wayâ benson, men/minors dni
authors note â this was written by high aura on a whim. happy 4/20. this was not proofread nor edited and literally not a single thing on this blog ever has been or will be. part two here.
You shouldnât be here. You shouldâve left hours ago, but thereâs a gentle glow coming from beneath an office door, and youâre reminded that youâre not alone, that youâre never alone â anywhere you go, sheâll be there; at work, at home, at the corner store across from her apartment with Noah when youâre just trying to surprise her with flowers â her favorite flowers, the kind that die in days but evoke a smile anytime the eye catches their colors. Itâs wrong, straight up sinful really, dating your boss, engaging in explicit sexual scenarios with your superior officer, letting personal mix with professional, but you crave her like a rugged addict. Maybe youâve never experienced addiction. Not true, stone cold, shivering, bone shattering addiction, but youâve experienced Olivia Benson, and her withdrawal symptoms come at a much larger price. Sheâs unavoidable poison, and she takes pleasure in your pain. Distance pulls your heart to shreds, but proximity gets you drunk. Either way, sheâs compromised you, but youâre too far in it to care anymore.
The blinds are drawn, an attempt to dissuade any disruptions. You know she wants to get back to Noah, how she likes to spend her nights, and how she gets unruly when things go unexpectedly even though sheâs been within the claws of unpredictability for decades. You know her skin is stained with blood from its sharp unforgiving grasp over the years, and you can only think of how itâs probably slickening with more as the unpredictable crimes of New York City keep her tethered to her desk like sheâs the criminal. You want to go in. Every muscle aches to be caressed beneath her fingers. You want to sit with her, share the lemonade you just pulled out of the vending machine, but you couldnât possibly pull her away. Not when youâre the reason sheâs here.
You swallow thickly, not sure if you want the lemonade anymore. You feel queasy, hot and cold. The belt around your waist had been noticeable when youâd gotten dressed this morning, and itâs outright insufferable now. You know your skin is rubbed raw, red and probably irritated. The marks on your thighs had been just as raw days ago, but bearing those had been different, consensual and somewhat dizzying. Thereâs no room for arousal at the memory of Olivia between your thighs when you so violently remember how youâd frozen during a chase. How you couldâve detained the suspect before heâd shot himself if youâd just moved faster when he turned the gun on himself after shooting at your feet. Your heart hammers now. You can hear the gunshot. Feel the reverberations through the bones in your feet even though thereâs no bullet mark on these tiles. You shake your head. You told 1PP you were okay. Youâd been cleared by psych. Everything that shouldâve been broken was intact, but everything that could be broken and allow you to still function was shattered into a million pieces.
Youâd never been shot at before.
Not like that. Not with the wind in your face, the blush in your cheeks, the clip already half empty. It was a messy fight. He shot back behind him. You shot head of yourself, only ever missing him by an inch as he weaved and zipped. You fired your gun twice. He fired nine. Seven shots had missed. Bouncing off windows, cars, bricks. One had so nearly grazed your toe for a second you wondered if it was gone. The second after that he had shot himself, and you thought it was you. Olivia had run past you, you only know because her fingers brushed your side as she made sure the suspect was dead and youâd never mistake the tingles she provoked, and that was the only confirmation that you hadnât been shot before youâd been thrown around by medics and officers all questioning you, only some concerned about your health.
Your fingers pass across the cold metal of a broach pinned to your right pocket. Itâs important to note that it wasnât a necklace. Not one that would tangle on your hair when you ran. Not a bracelet that could catch on the safety of your gun or the brackets of the taser holstered to your belt. Itâs a thoughtful sentiment. A meaningful one. A small mouse head sits sparkly against the dark thread of your slacks. Sterling silver. A notable addition. One that keeps you pushing toward one day having a metal to decorate you as a detective instead of a pin that represents a stupid nickname in the department. Mousey. Bensonâs creation.
You live up to that name as you continue past her office, the only evidence of your prolonged presence in the precinct the scrape of the rolling chairs wheels on the floor. Your body feels heavy as you fall into the cushions. You set the lemonade down, sure itâll stay there to die until Olivia inevitably grabs it off your desk and throws it away. The paperwork is standard follow-up, something that can certainly wait until the end of the week when everyone else stays late to overcompensate for the things they pushed off, but you canât leave. Something tethers you to the precinct the same way it chains Benson to her desk. If you leave, youâre out there again, and the streets of Manhattan have never felt so unsafe; so changed. Youâd been in SVU six months, but every day was opening your eyes to fears youâd ignorantly thought out of reach.
It couldâve been minutes, but it mightâve been hours before something shifted in the quiet building. The buzz of every device in the room quieted, letting you hear the creek of hinges behind your back. Olivia. You want to fall into her, to crash against her, but you failed today. You didnât step up despite her laying the stepping stones for it to be possible. It wasnât the end of the world. In the end, a criminal got taken down, but this wasnât just about karma coming around. For six months Olivia had gone to bat for you. Sheâs taken you beneath her wing and you let her down. Thatâs never felt good, and it certainly doesnât now.
âSweetheart,â Oliviaâs voice calls for you, sweet, soft, dripping with velvet affection. âCome see me, hm?â She attempts to draw you in, even opens her arms and nods her head toward her off in just the oddly specific way she knows makes your heart soar, but you donât look up from the black ink stained page to realize sheâs putting this much into comforting you.
She shouldâve comforted you before â youâd wanted her to comfort you before. When youâd thought youâd been shot twice. When your heart was pounding in your chest and your hands were trembling and you could see the way all of your wrong doings piled up on her shoulders in an instant. It was too late now. You felt submerged in the weight of your guilt and anxiety. You were drowning in your feelings, beneath the crushing knowledge that youâd disappointed her; the one person whoâd ever seen you.
When she realized you were purposefully ignoring her, your muscles flexing in unconscious acknowledgment of her presence, her jaw set, and her eyes narrowed. She hadnât seen it before. Youâd put up a mask of indifference and sheâd let herself accept it, but just the simple fact that youâre still here says enough. She doesnât think you realize that you do it, that you gravitate to her like an affection craving kitten seeking attention, but you do, and that need for closeness only strengthens when youâre distressed.
Oliviaâs heart hammers with guilt. She knows that you can handle so much. Youâve proven that fact and yourself time and time again â in ways you werenât even aware of â but so often you fell short recognized your own personal needs and feelings. As sheâd learned you, memorized your every emotion beneath her fingertips, your heartbeats pulsing as close as they possibly could, sheâd learned that certain events and feelings could leave you fuzzy, uncomfortable in your own skin, grappling for structure that gives way at the slightest touch. Your misstep had caused quite the commotion within 1PP and the precinct, it had pulled her away because it was job, but she canât let that keep happening. Youâre hers. She loves her job, honors her duty and serves it fully, but youâre worth more. At that moment, Olivia decides sheâs done with paperwork for the night.
âDetective.â Paperwork may be done, but the badge hasnât yet been unclasped from her waistband, and she canât help but take advantage of that â of you. âMy office. Now.â Her voice is thin, leaving no room for arguments of failure to comply. Your insides bristle. Prickly and uncomfortable. Her tone sent shockwaves through your bone marrow.
You need her.
When you still remain stationary, heavy in the rolling chair clutching your favorite black clicky pen that Olivia steals to sign rushed documents, she clicks her tongue demandingly, rolling out the kinks in her neck. âDetective, that was not a suggestion.â
You bristle again, but you swallow that sharp sting of stubbornness to finally give into the yearning in your bones. Your body moves towards her automatically, and when you blink up at her, swayed by the authority in her hard stare, she knows itâll only take a moment before youâre in the palm of your hand, the way you shouldâve been hours ago.
She lets the office door close behind her body before she draws you into her chest in a manner that convinces you to sink against her. âHi, sweetheart.â Her ribcage rattles beneath your cheek, her fingers twisting into your hair and pulling down, gently tugging the roots behind your ear â your weak spot, one of the quickest ways to get you to crumble that Olivia has found. You preen, knees buckling, and Olivia smiles tenderly. âLook at you.â She cooed, her fingers trailing across your cheekbone now, so high that your eyes flutter closed on instinct. The darkness that consumes you paired with the heat of her touch only draws you into that fuzziness further. âYouâve had quite the day, havenât you?â
You nod, just slightly, your eyes still closed even though her hands have wandered down to your waist, unbuttoning your pants that she knows are driving you crazy. You sigh when the pressure is released, and her fingers do wonders to ease the string where material had rubbed soft skin raw.
âI need words, my love.â She encourages, tilting your chin upward until your eyes meet hers. They're so soft. The love she holds for you makes your eyes sting, and your lip quivers at the release of all the emotions youâve been keeping inside.
âYes.â You whisper, the words hoarse as they cut through the air, slice your throat. Your lips downturn, something Olivja anticipated. You never were a fan of her religious checks for consent and understanding, and when you found yourself in this state, drunk beneath her affection and overworked from life, you donât exactly have a way with words.
âAnd I wasnât very attentive, was I?â She frowns sympathetically, letting you know that sheâs aware of her shortcoming in your relationship, even if you never expected her to guide your flight through life at every new gust of wind. You shook your head tentatively, because you know she wants an answer, and she accepts it. âIâm sorry, sweetheart. But Iâm here now. Iâm here now. Just let me have you, okay? Thatâs all I need you to do for me.â
âOkay.â You whisper, because the prospect of falling into your roles, your discussed dynamic, it just sounds too tempting after thinking your life had met an untimely end. Maybe some would call that dramatic, but some things couldnât be explained. Something changed today, your perspective had been more fragile than youâd realized.
âOkay.â She nodded, patting your cheeks before she let you go, âCome on, weâre just gonna sit down for a little while, okay?â Olivia asked softly, guiding your languished body toward her couch. It wasnât as comfortable as the King sized bed in her bedroom, but it made for a decent spot to steal five minutes of affection throughout the day. âGood girl. Such a good girl for me, sweetheart.â
Olivia sat down first, and the look that crossed your face was one she wished she could memorize. Your lips downturned, your eyes glassy and wide in betrayal. A short whine slipped out, but before you could stamp your foot into the ground, though it wouldâve been a welcomed sight, Olivia clicked her tongue disapprovingly at your impatience and guided you into her lap by the belt loops on your pants â and action that always made you feel small.
You sighed in content when she allowed you to sink into her chest, moving your hair and hers away from her chest so you could feel the soft pulse of her skin beneath yours directly. She didnât say anything, but it wasnât needed. Her fingers thrumming against your back, her breath against the shell of your ear, her perfume surrounding you⊠it was enchanting.
âYour strong, sweetheart, but you donât always have to be.â She reminded you, and even though sheâd been speaking those words to you for months, they only just settled in now, and your blissful state amplified.
Olivia chuckled warmly when you nuzzled your face up into her neck, blocking out the office light until that comfortable darkness got to you again. Olivia didnât let you get too comfortable, she never let you get too comfortable. The unpredictability of her love was adventurous and addictive, another dilemma to conquer whenever distance forced your heart to grieve what wasnât dead, just suspended. Before you could fall asleep, your breathing enough indication to say that was coming, Olivia tapped your thigh, shifting with the motivation to stand.
You whined, shaking your head, grabbing a fistful of her blazer to assert your claim over her even if she was in charge. You didnât want her to leave, to be any farther away then she already was right now. âNone of that, come on, letâs go, sweetheart. We can get you home and all comfy.â
When you remained unmoving, she tried another approach, trailing her fingers up your thigh until the tickle of her touch became prickles of arousal you werenât at liberty to shove aside at this time. Your breath caught and Olivia smirked knowing you were in the palm of her hand. âThe sooner we get home, the sooner we can work out some of these knots, baby girl.â She coed, her fingers curling around the fleshy part of your thigh until your breath trembled and your eyelashes fluttered tellingly.
âGood girl.â Olivia cooed, and guided you up when your persistence gave way. She didnât bother buttoning your pants again, just fixed your shirt to cover the bulge where metal stuck out, and nodded her satisfaction. âAlright, home now, little Mouse.â
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Summary: You have always been good at pretending, masking your quirks, hiding your overwhelm, and keeping your feelings locked away where no one can use them against you. Between a strained relationship with your mother, a father you refuse to claim, and a roommate who makes your skin crawl, you've learned that safety is something you have to build yourself.
Then one rainy night changes everything.
18+ ONLY
đŻ This is going to be a Mulitichapter Fic. This is a personal story to me, putting a lot of my own experiences into it, something I have been wanting to write for a while.
Prolouge ~ Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~