If youâre new to my blog, Iâm Macayla but you guys can call me anything you want to.
I write WLW fanfics, mainly about Marvel - but sometimes I might go into other fandoms too.
If youâre a man or a minor please do not interact with my blog.
And if any of you have any requests for any fics you want me to write, feel free to put a message through my asks box, or if you just want to talk thatâs okay too!
I do do anons so if you want to be one of my anons just say your age, pronouns and the emoji youâd like đ
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I don't know why, but Best Girl doesn't appear under any of the tags you have used. That is a shame because the story is incredible and every should read it
Oh thatâs really weird⌠𤨠I was thinking something mightâve been happening with it because usually my longer fics get a lot of interactions in the first like 24-48 hours.
Iâll have a look at it through my alt account to check before I decide if I want to reupload or anything. đŤŠ
A/N: All of the works in this collection are entirely fictional and created for storytelling purposes only. They explore obsessive and unhealthy dynamics, and are not meant to reflect or romanticise real-life relationships. Please read with that understanding in mind.
âď¸ď¸ Summary: You think Wanda barely notices you. Meanwhile she has an entire folder of videos proving otherwise.
Time Loop Devotion
âď¸ď¸ Word Count: 4.7k
âď¸ď¸ Summary: Youâre stuck in a time loopâbut youâre the only one who forgets. Wanda remembers every reset, guiding you through it⌠a little too perfectly. The more time you spend with her, the more it starts to feel like sheâs not just helping you survive the loopâsheâs shaping it. And somehow, she always knows exactly how to make you stay.
Summary: The Avengers rescue an injured wolf from the woods surrounding the Compound. Keeping her is supposed to be temporary. Weeks turn into months, the wolf refuses to leave, and somehow Wanda and Natasha end up far more attached than either of them intended. Unfortunately, secrets donât stay buried foreverâand neither does the past sheâs been running from.
The new Avengers Compound still doesnât quite feel lived in yet.
The building itself is enormous, gleaming glass and steel rising out of the countryside like something pulled straight from a science fiction film, but there are still boxes in hallways, equipment waiting to be unpacked, and entire sections of the facility that remain eerily quiet. The team is settling in, finding routines, claiming rooms, learning which elevators are the fastest and which kitchens are stocked with the good coffee. For the first time in a long time, things feel almost peaceful.
Outside, the late afternoon sun paints the grass in shades of gold.
Tony sits on a blanket spread across one of the open lawns surrounding the compound, watching Morgan run through the grass with the endless energy only a child seems capable of possessing. She laughs as she chases a butterfly, tiny sneakers kicking up dirt behind her while Tony pretends not to be smiling.
âYou know,â he calls out, leaning back on his hands, âI personally think that butterfly is cheating.â
Morgan gasps dramatically. âDaddy! Butterflies donât cheat!â
âSays who?â
âSays science.â
Tony snorts. âIâve made a career out of arguing with science.â
The little girl simply sticks her tongue out before continuing her pursuit.
For a while, everything is normal.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
The forest bordering the compound sways gently in the breeze, leaves rustling softly overhead. Birds sing somewhere beyond the tree line. The distant sounds of construction and moving equipment drift from the compound itself.
Then Tonyâs phone buzzes.
One of the technicians inside needs a security code.
âOne minute,â he tells Morgan, standing up. âDonât go anywhere.â
She nods absentmindedly, completely focused on the insect sheâs following.
Tony walks inside.
It should take less than sixty seconds.
Back in the forest, far beyond the compoundâs sensors and surveillance systems, you move silently through the undergrowth.
The woods belong to your pack.
Humans rarely come this deep into the territory, and when they do, they almost never notice the wolves watching from the shadows. Your kind has survived that way for generations. Hidden. Careful. Unseen.
The breeze shifts.
Your ears twitch.
A strange scent drifts through the trees.
Human.
Several humans.
You pause.
The scent isnât unfamiliar anymore. Ever since the massive compound appeared on the edge of the forest months ago, humans have become a constant presence. Loud machines, strange smells, bright lights.
Usually, you stay away. Today should be no different.
Then another scent reaches you.
Predator. Your head immediately lifts. Bear. Large. Close.
Far too close to the humans.
You break into a run.
Back at the compound, Morgan finally notices the silence. The butterfly has disappeared. The breeze has changed. Something feels wrong. Slowly, she turns. The enormous brown bear stands at the edge of the lawn.
For a moment, neither moves.
Morgan freezes.
The bear stares.
Then the little girl screams.
The sound rips through the countryside.
Inside the compound, Tonyâs heart nearly stops.
He drops everything and sprints.
Outside, the bear begins moving forward. Not charging. Not attacking. Just advancing.
But to a frightened child, the difference means nothing.
Morgan stumbles backward.
Tears immediately spring into her eyes.
The bear huffs.
And then a brown blur explodes from the forest.
You hit the animal with enough force to throw both of you sideways across the grass.
The bear roars.
Morgan gasps.
The lawn erupts into chaos.
You land on your feet first, placing yourself directly between the predator and the child. Fur bristles along your spine as a deep growl tears from your chest.
The bear answers with one of its own.
Neither backs down.
The size difference is obvious.
The bear is massive.
But you donât move.
Behind you, Morgan cries.
The sound only hardens your resolve.
The bear lunges. You dodge.
Teeth snap inches from your face.
You retaliate instantly, slamming into its shoulder hard enough to stagger it. The two of you crash across the lawn, tearing up grass and dirt as claws and teeth flash.
The bear recovers first.
A powerful paw swings.
You try to evade.
Almost.
The claws rake across your side.
Agony explodes through your body. A strangled yelp escapes before you can stop it. Warm blood immediately begins soaking into your fur.
The smell fills the air.
But you remain standing.
The bear advances again.
You bare every tooth you have - growling, threatening. Refusing to yield. The predator hesitates.
You take one step forward. Then another. Ignoring the blood. Ignoring the pain. Ignoring the way your legs are beginning to shake beneath you.
Something changes.
The bear decides you arenât worth it.
With one final warning growl, it begins backing away.
Then it turns.
Then it disappears into the forest.
Only then do you allow yourself to breathe. Tony bursts out of the compound.
âMorgan!â
He reaches her in seconds, dropping to his knees and pulling her against his chest. She immediately buries her face against him, sobbing as he frantically checks for injuries.
âDadâdadâthe wolfââ
âIâm here,â he says quickly. âYouâre okay. Youâre okay.â Only then does he finally look up.
And see you.
The wolf standing twenty feet away.
Covered in blood. Swaying unsteadily. Your breathing is ragged. Your legs threaten to buckle beneath you.
For a second, Tony simply stares. Because wolves donât protect humans. They certainly donât throw themselves at bears for them.
And then, right before his eyes, your body finally gives out. You collapse into the grass. And everything goes black.
Consciousness returns slowly, surfacing through layers of exhaustion and pain that seem determined to drag you back under every time you try to fight your way awake. Your entire body feels heavy, your limbs sluggish and weak, and the deep burning ache radiating from your side makes it painfully obvious that whatever happened before you blacked out was not some strange dream.
The first thing you notice is the smell. Sterile. Artificial. Clean in a way no forest ever is. Beneath it are dozens of other scents layered togetherâmetal, electronics, unfamiliar cleaning products, coffee, humans. Lots of humans. Your eyes slowly open and immediately narrow against the bright overhead lighting. White ceiling. White walls. Medical equipment. Panic sparks through your chest almost instantly.
You try to sit up only to discover something restraining you. Thick rope is looped securely around your torso and forelegs, keeping you anchored to a reinforced medical bed, while an uncomfortable muzzle wraps around your snout. A low sound rumbles in your throat before you can stop it. The movement pulls painfully at your injured side and your gaze drops to find your entire flank wrapped beneath layers of thick bandages. Even through them, you can smell dried blood.
Across the room, three men stand talking. One of them you recognise immediately from countless distant observations near the compoundâs perimeter. Tony. Beside him stands the broad-shouldered blond man youâve seen training outside before, and another dark-haired man wearing glasses.
None of them notice youâre awake at first, too focused on their conversation. âIâm serious,â Tony is saying, arms folded tightly across his chest. âWeâre putting up fencing. Big fencing. Electric fencing if we have to. I step inside for sixty seconds and a bear shows up. A bear. Do you know how insane that sounds?â The blond man sighs. âTony, wildlife exists. We built this place practically next to a forest.â
âGreat. Then wildlife can stay in the wildlife section and my daughter can stay in the not-being-eaten-by-bears section.â The man with glasses pinches the bridge of his nose. âMorgan wasnât hurt. Thatâs the important thing.â âBecause of her,â Tony immediately replies, pointing directly at you. âOr him. Her. Whatever. The wolf. If that animal hadnât intervenedâŚâ His voice trails off slightly, and for the first time you hear genuine gratitude beneath the protective frustration. âMorgan keeps asking if the wolf is okay.â
The movement of your head finally catches Steveâs attention. His posture immediately straightens and his eyes widen slightly. âGuys.â Tony and Bruce turn at the same time. For several seconds none of them say anything as they realise youâre conscious and staring directly back at them.
The room becomes strangely quiet. You can practically smell their uncertainty. Tony takes a cautious step forward first, not fearful exactly, but wary in the way anyone would be standing this close to a predator. âWell, hey there.â His voice softens unexpectedly. âGood to see youâre still with us.â You stare back without blinking.
The muzzle makes it impossible to communicate anything beyond a low frustrated huff. Bruce glances between you and the restraints. âSheâs calmer than I expected.â âShe just woke up,â Steve points out. âGive it a minute.â Tony studies you for a long moment before exhaling. âSo what exactly do we do now?â Nobody answers immediately because they all know itâs a complicated question. In every practical sense, youâre a wild animal. An unusually large wild animal, but a wild animal nonetheless. Wild animals belong in the wild. Thatâs the obvious answer. The problem is that every single person in the room knows what would happen if they released you right now.
You can barely move without pain. The deep claw wounds across your side would leave you vulnerable to infection, other predators, or simply collapsing somewhere in the forest where nobody would find you. Steve seems to reach the conclusion first. âWe canât release her like this.â Bruce nods almost immediately. âAgreed. Medically speaking, sheâs nowhere near healed enough.â Tony looks at you again, meeting your gaze directly. âAnd considering she basically saved my kidâs life, dumping her back into the woods half-dead feels like a pretty terrible thank you.â He rubs a hand over his face before letting out a long breath. âAlright. Fine. We keep her here. Temporary arrangement. We treat the injuries, make sure sheâs recovered, then we release her back into the forest when sheâs healthy enough to survive on her own.â
Steve folds his arms. âYou realise youâre talking about keeping a wolf inside the Avengers Compound.â âTrust me,â Tony mutters, looking directly at you. âI am painfully aware of how ridiculous that sounds.â Despite the conversation being about you, none of them notice the strange intelligence lingering behind your eyes as you watch every word, every movement, every decision being made. Because as far as the Avengers know, lying restrained in that medical bed is nothing more than an injured wolf.
The discussion about your future inside the compound is interrupted by the sudden crackle of a radio sitting on one of the nearby counters. The burst of static immediately draws everyoneâs attention before a familiar female voice comes through the speaker. âControl, this is Romanoff. Requesting clearance to land.â Steve reaches over without hesitation, pressing the response button. âYouâre clear. Padâs open.â A brief pause follows before Natashaâs amused voice returns. âGood. Because weâre landing whether itâs clear or not.â
The transmission clicks off, earning a tired sigh from Steve and an eye roll from Tony. âSheâs been spending too much time around you,â Steve comments. âExcuse you,â Tony replies. âThat level of confidence is a gift.â Despite the conversation, your ears have already perked up. Two unfamiliar scents drift faintly through the building, carried in through ventilation systems and opening doors. Human. Female. One carrying traces of smoke, leather and gunpowder. The other carrying something warmer. Something strange. Something that almost reminds you of standing in sunlight during winter. Before you can properly identify it, distant engines rumble somewhere outside the compound. Even through the walls you can hear the unmistakable sound of a Quinjet settling onto the landing platform.
Several minutes later the medbay doors slide open and both women walk inside. The first thing you notice is that every scent in the room immediately changes. The dark-haired woman enters first, dressed in a partially damaged tactical suit with several shallow cuts visible along her arms and one across her cheek. Nothing serious from the smell of it, but enough to explain the dried blood. Beside her walks the redhead. Unlike the other woman, she appears mostly unharmed apart from a split lip and a few smudges of dirt lingering across her uniform.
The moment your eyes land on them, something strange happens. Your tail immediately begins thumping lightly against the medical bed. Once. Twice. Then continuously. You donât even realise youâre doing it at first. Every instinct in your body suddenly seems focused on the two newcomers.
They are, quite simply, the prettiest women you have ever seen. The dark-haired one carries herself with effortless confidence while the redhead seems to possess an almost unnatural kind of beauty that makes it difficult to look away. Your tail continues its rhythmic tapping against the mattress despite the pain in your side. Natasha notices first. âWell thatâs either adorable or concerning.â Tony turns. âOh great. Now sheâs happy.â âMaybe sheâs happy to see me,â Natasha says with a grin. âMost creatures are.â âMost creatures donât have teeth the size of steak knives.â
Bruce immediately shifts into doctor mode the second he spots the cuts on Natashaâs arms. âSit.â Natasha glances at the medical bed beside yours. âYou know, every mission I come back from, you somehow find a way to make this place look more ridiculous.â Bruce points firmly at the bed. âSit.â âBossy.â âNatasha.â âFine.â
She drops onto the mattress with exaggerated suffering while Bruce begins gathering supplies. Wanda remains standing instead, her attention entirely focused on you. Unlike the others, she isnât studying you with caution. Sheâs simply watching. Curious. Interested. Your tail somehow starts wagging harder under her gaze.
The movement finally draws a laugh from Steve. âSee? Thatâs what I mean.â Natasha glances between you and Wanda before smirking. âLooks like somebody has a favourite already.â Wanda doesnât respond immediately. Her eyes remain fixed on you, lingering on the muzzle wrapped around your snout, the ropes binding you to the bed and the thick bandages covering your side.
Something about the sight clearly bothers her. âWhat happened?â she finally asks. Tony launches into the story while Bruce works on Natashaâs injuries. By the time heâs finished explaining the bear attack, Morganâs involvement and the rescue, both women are staring at you with entirely different expressions than when they entered. Natasha looks impressed. Wanda looks heartbroken. âPoor thing,â Wanda murmurs softly. âShe saved Morgan?â Steve nods. âPretty much.â âAnd now sheâs tied to a bed.â âBecause sheâs still a wolf,â Tony immediately replies. âA very large wolf. A very injured wolf. But still a wolf.â
The conversation continues for several minutes as the men explain the situation. They explain how releasing you would almost certainly be a death sentence in your current condition. They explain how keeping you permanently isnât realistic either. They explain that despite everything youâve done, youâre still a wild animal and they canât simply start treating you like a domesticated pet.
Wanda listens quietly throughout the explanation, though itâs obvious she dislikes almost every part of it. âSheâs scared,â Wanda says at one point. âAnybody would be scared.â Tony gestures toward the muzzle. âAnybody with those teeth gets the muzzle until further notice.â Natasha snorts. âFair.â Despite the teasing, even she seems reluctant to argue with the precautions.
Eventually the discussion reaches the same conclusion Steve, Bruce and Tony had already reached earlier. You stay. You heal. Then youâre released once youâre healthy enough to survive. Bruce finishes patching Natasha up, Steve gets called away to deal with something involving training schedules, and Tony leaves shortly afterwards after reminding everyone at least twice that he intends to install enough fencing to make the compound look like a small country. Before long the room falls quiet again. Bruce eventually departs as well, leaving only two occupants besides yourself.
Natasha leans back against her bed while Wanda slowly pulls a chair over beside yours. Neither woman seems in any particular hurry to leave. The silence that settles over the room feels strangely comfortable. Your tail has finally slowed, though it still occasionally taps against the mattress whenever either of them looks your way. Wanda reaches forward carefully, stopping her hand several inches from your head. Giving you the choice. Giving you space. âHi there,â she says softly. Her voice is warm enough to make your ears immediately tilt forward.
Natasha watches the interaction with an amused expression. âThatâs it. Youâve adopted the giant wolf already.â Wanda doesnât look away from you. âI havenât adopted her.â âYouâve got the voice on.â âI do not have a voice.â âYou absolutely have a voice.â For the first time since waking up, something almost resembling contentment settles through your chest. Youâre still injured. Still restrained. Still trapped inside a building full of humans. But as Wanda continues speaking softly to you while Natasha teases her from across the room, you find yourself thinking that maybe staying here until you heal wonât be quite as terrible as you first imagined.
By the end of the evening, Tony has somehow managed to do what only Tony Stark could accomplish. Instead of simply discussing solutions, he has apparently purchased an entire reinforced animal enclosure online, paid an obscene amount of money for immediate delivery, and had it assembled inside the common room before dinner. Nobody is entirely sure how he managed it so quickly. Nobody is particularly surprised either. The temporary enclosure occupies one corner of the large living space, significantly bigger than any normal dog crate but still undeniably a cage. Thick metal bars form the walls while several blankets have been piled inside alongside a large padded bed that Bruce insisted on providing.
You were less than thrilled when they moved you from the medbay. The journey had pulled painfully at your injuries, and despite everyoneâs best intentions, being carried through hallways and elevators by a collection of superheroes had done very little to improve your mood. Still, once settled inside the enclosure, you had begrudgingly accepted that this arrangement was better than being tied to a medical bed.
The common room itself is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the darkening forest beyond the compound, soft lighting illuminates the space, and several large couches surround a television that currently occupies most of the roomâs attention. The rest of the team drifts in and out throughout the evening, some stopping to stare at the giant wolf now living in their headquarters, others barely reacting at all because after alien invasions, killer robots and Norse gods, an injured wolf somehow doesnât seem that strange. Eventually, however, most of them disappear to their own rooms, leaving the common area quieter and considerably more peaceful.
Natasha and Wanda remain. Apparently, post-mission takeaway has become a sacred tradition between them, one neither injury nor exhaustion is allowed to interrupt. Several containers are spread across the coffee table while a movie plays on the television. Natasha has already changed into comfortable clothes and sits stretched out across one end of the couch. Wanda occupies the other, though only briefly before Natasha hooks an arm around her waist and effortlessly pulls her closer. Wanda rolls her eyes but doesnât resist for even a second, immediately settling against her side with the kind of casual familiarity that only comes from years together.
From inside your enclosure, you watch the interaction with far more interest than the film currently playing. Earlier, after what felt like an unfair amount of debate from the men, Wanda had finally convinced them to remove the muzzle. More specifically, she had waited until Tony left the room, spent twenty minutes researching what wolves could safely eat, then used her powers to float a plate through the bars while giving everybody a look that clearly dared them to argue.
The meal itself sits mostly untouched beside you now. Youâd eaten enough to stop Wanda worrying, but your appetite remains limited by pain, exhaustion and confusion. Your head rests against the cool metal bars instead, chin propped between two of them as you quietly observe the women across the room. The scent of food fills the air alongside the steady rhythm of their conversation, occasional laughter and the comforting knowledge that neither of them seems remotely bothered by your presence.
You tell yourself youâre watching because theyâre interesting. Humans are fascinating creatures, after all. These particular humans even more so. They possess extraordinary abilities, live inside a futuristic fortress, and somehow spend their evenings arguing about which takeaway restaurant is superior. That should be enough to justify your attention.
Unfortunately, even you know thatâs not entirely true. The reality is significantly more embarrassing. You simply canât stop looking at them. Every time Natasha presses a kiss against Wandaâs temple while pretending to focus on the movie, your ears twitch. Every time Wanda unconsciously leans closer to Natasha while reaching for food, your eyes follow the movement. They fit together so naturally it almost seems effortless. Comfortable. Safe. Familiar. The sort of bond most people spend their entire lives searching for. A small, unhappy feeling settles somewhere in your chest.
You donât fully understand it. Maybe itâs loneliness. Maybe itâs homesickness. Maybe itâs simply the knowledge that while they sit together surrounded by warmth and companionship, youâre currently occupying a cage in the corner of the room. Whatever the reason, you find yourself lowering your head further onto the bars and staring quietly at the pair.
Across the room, Wanda notices first. Her expression immediately softens. âSheâs not eating much.â Natasha glances over. âSheâs eaten enough.â âShe looks sad.â âSheâs a wolf.â âShe still looks sad.â Natasha studies you for several seconds before shrugging. âOkay. Slightly sad wolf.â
Wandaâs attention remains fixed on you long after the conversation ends. Every few minutes you catch her looking over. Not out of caution. Not out of concern that youâll suddenly become aggressive. Just checking on you. Making sure youâre comfortable. Making sure youâre okay.
Itâs a level of care youâre entirely unprepared for. Back home, your pack looks after one another because youâre family. Protection is expected. Support is expected. Here, however, these people owe you nothing. They barely know you exist beyond being the wolf that saved Morgan. Yet Wanda still worries when you donât finish your dinner. Natasha still casually points out that your water bowl needs refilling before getting up to do it herself. The entire situation feels bizarre. The movie continues playing in the background while darkness settles fully beyond the windows.
Eventually Natasha stretches, pulling Wanda even closer until the redhead is practically curled against her side. âYou know,â Natasha says, glancing toward your enclosure again, âfor something thatâs technically a giant predator, sheâs ridiculously well behaved.â Wanda smiles faintly. âMaybe she knows weâre helping her.â
You lower your gaze before either woman can notice how intently youâve been watching them. The truth is that you donât know what tomorrow will bring. You donât know how long your injuries will take to heal. You donât know how youâre supposed to eventually explain being a werewolf when that particular problem inevitably arrives.
Right now, however, none of that feels especially important. The television flickers softly across the room, the compound remains peaceful around you, and for the first time since waking up inside a building full of strangers, you slowly close your eyes and begin drifting toward sleep while listening to Wanda and Natasha quietly talking on the couch.
The movie eventually ends sometime after midnight. The takeaway containers are cleared away, the television is switched off, and the compound gradually settles into the quiet stillness that only arrives when dozens of people finally go to sleep.
Before leaving, Wanda kneels beside your enclosure one last time. Her expression softens as she studies you resting amongst the blankets, though she still reaches for caution over sentiment. With a small wave of her hand, red magic surrounds the muzzle resting nearby and gently secures it back around your snout. You immediately huff your displeasure.
Wanda offers an apologetic smile. âIâm sorry, detka. Just for tonight.â Natasha snorts from behind her. âThe giant predator is judging you.â âI know.â âHarshly.â Wanda reaches through the bars to scratch lightly behind one of your ears before standing. âGoodnight.â
The simple word shouldnât matter. Humans tell each other goodnight all the time. Yet somehow, as you watch the two women disappear toward the elevators together, the common room immediately feels emptier than before. Much emptier. Soon the sound of their footsteps disappears entirely, leaving only silence, distant ventilation systems and the occasional hum of electronics somewhere deeper within the compound.
For a while you remain curled amongst the blankets, trying to settle back down. You close your eyes. Open them again. Shift positions. Try another position. Nothing helps. The common room is comfortable enough. Youâre safe. Warm. Fed. Your injuries are being treated. Rationally, there is absolutely no reason for the uncomfortable feeling sitting heavily inside your chest. Yet it refuses to go away.
Several hours pass before the loneliness finally wins. It begins with a small sound escaping your throat. Barely noticeable. A quiet whine. Then another. Then another. You donât entirely understand why youâre making the noise. Back home, wolves are rarely alone. Pack members sleep together, hunt together, exist together. Solitude is unusual. Wrong, almost. The compound is filled with people, yet none of them are here. The common room feels too large. Too quiet. Too empty. Before long, soft whining begins slipping from your muzzle every few minutes despite your best efforts to stop.
Unfortunately, the architects responsible for designing the compound made one critical mistake. Directly above the common room sits Wanda and Natashaâs bedroom. Every single sound carries upward with remarkable efficiency. Upstairs, Natasha is the first to recognise what sheâs hearing. She groans into her pillow. âIgnore it.â Beside her, Wanda lifts her head immediately. âSheâs upset.â âSheâs a wolf.â âSheâs whining.â âSheâs dramatic.â Another muffled whine drifts through the floorboards. Wandaâs eyes narrow.
Natasha immediately recognises the expression. âNo.â âNatasha.â âNo.â âWhat if sheâs scared?â âWhat if she wants attention?â Wanda pulls the blankets aside. âThen sheâs getting attention.â Natasha falls backwards onto the mattress with all the suffering of somebody deeply wronged by the universe. âThis is how it starts. One minute youâre checking on the wolf. Next minute sheâs paying rent.â
By the time the elevator doors open, Wanda is already halfway across the common room wearing oversized pyjamas and fluffy socks. Natasha follows several steps behind, muttering complaints she clearly doesnât mean. The moment you spot them emerging into view, the change is immediate. Your ears perk up. The whining stops entirely. Your tail begins thumping against the blankets.
Wanda pauses beside the enclosure and immediately points triumphantly toward you. âSee?â Natasha folds her arms. âTraitor.â Wanda crouches beside the bars. âWere you lonely?â The question is ridiculous. You cannot answer. Yet your tail somehow starts wagging even harder. Natasha notices.
âDonât encourage her.â âLook at her.â âI am looking at her.â âSheâs sad.â âShe was sad.â Wanda studies you for another few moments before standing again. A thoughtful expression appears on her face. Natasha immediately looks concerned. âDonât.â âWhat?â âWhatever youâre thinking.â âIâm not thinking anything.â âWanda.â The redhead glances between you and the elevator. Then back to Natasha. Then back to you. âShe can come upstairs.â
Natasha stares at her. âAbsolutely not.â âWhy?â âBecause sheâs a giant wolf.â âSheâs injured.â âSheâs still a giant wolf.â âNatasha.â âNo.â Wanda doesnât even argue. Instead, red energy immediately begins surrounding your enclosure. Natasha closes her eyes. âYouâre not listening to me.â âI listened.â âYou ignored me.â âThatâs different.â
The journey upstairs is probably one of the strangest experiences of your life. One moment youâre inside a cage in the common room. The next youâre floating through hallways suspended in glowing red magic while several night-shift agents openly stare. Wanda ignores them entirely. Natasha follows behind carrying armfuls of blankets while continuing her entirely unsuccessful campaign against the idea.
When you finally arrive at their bedroom, you discover it is significantly less intimidating than expected. Large bed. Soft lighting. Bookshelves. Personal photographs. Comfortable furniture. It feels lived in. Safe. Familiar. Wanda immediately directs your enclosure toward an empty corner of the room before finally lowering it onto the floor.
Natasha drops the blankets beside it with a dramatic sigh. âThis is ridiculous.â âYouâre helping.â âIâm helping because if youâre doing this, weâre doing it safely.â Despite her complaints, she begins arranging the blankets anyway.
Within minutes she has constructed what can only be described as a wolf-sized nest. Additional blankets line the floor. Extra cushions are added for comfort. Water is placed nearby. Then comes the final precaution. Natasha disappears briefly before returning with a length of sturdy rope from one of the roomâs drawers (đ). âThere.â She secures it carefully to create a boundary between your corner and their bed. âPerfect.â
Wanda raises an eyebrow. âReally?â Natasha points directly at you. âThat wolf could probably bite through steel if she wanted to. The last thing I need is waking up to discover sheâs decided two in the morning is cuddle time.â Wanda laughs despite herself. âSheâs not going to maul us.â âYou donât know that.â âI do.â âYou absolutely do not.â The argument continues as they prepare for bed, but it grows softer with each passing minute.
Eventually both women settle beneath the blankets. The room darkens. Silence returns. This time, however, it feels entirely different. Because instead of being alone several floors below them, youâre only a few metres away. You can hear Natasha turning pages of a book. You can hear Wanda quietly speaking to her. You can smell both of them nearby. The loneliness that had twisted uncomfortably in your chest earlier disappears almost instantly.
As sleep finally begins pulling at your consciousness once more, you curl deeper into the blanket nest Natasha built for you and listen to the gentle sound of the women talking until their voices gradually fade and the room falls completely silent.
The arrangement that began that night somehow became permanent. Not officially, at least not at first, but nobody seems capable of stopping it. Your injuries heal steadily over the following weeks. The angry wounds across your side gradually close. The bandages disappear. The limp fades. Bruce declares you healthy enough to return to the wild on at least three separate occasions. Unfortunately, nobody ever accounted for the fact that you had absolutely no intention of cooperating.
Somewhere along the way, the blanket nest in Wanda and Natashaâs room becomes your blanket nest. The common room enclosure is quietly dismantled and removed. The muzzle disappears entirely after several weeks without a single incident, much to the visible horror of the male members of the team.
Tony claims it is reckless. Clint claims theyâre all going to die. Sam insists he wants written documentation proving the decision wasnât his idea. Wanda ignores all of them. Natasha occasionally joins in solely because she enjoys watching them suffer.
You, meanwhile, spend most of your days following the two women around the compound with the determination of a particularly oversized shadow. Training room? Youâre there. Kitchen? There. Movie night? There. If Wanda gets up to refill her coffee, you immediately lift your head to make sure sheâs coming back. If Natasha disappears for a mission briefing, youâre waiting outside the room by the time she emerges.
Steve attempts to bond with you several times. Bruce brings treats. Clint tries bribery. Thor enthusiastically declares you a warrior beast worthy of Asgard. None of it works. The only people you consistently choose are Wanda and Natasha. It becomes such an established fact that nobody even questions it anymore.
Morgan, however, quickly becomes a special exception. The young girl absolutely adores you. Every time she visits the compound, she immediately seeks you out. It starts with cautious petting and nervous excitement but rapidly develops into complete confidence. She sits beside you during movie nights, reads stories aloud while leaning against your side, and occasionally attempts conversations that make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
One afternoon she discovers that you enjoy licking the cheese powder from her fingers after sheâs been eating Cheetos. From that moment onward, the behaviour becomes a tradition. Tony nearly has an aneurysm the first time he witnesses it. âMorgan!â he practically shouts. âStop feeding the giant wolf your fingers.â âSheâs not eating my fingers.â âThatâs not the point.â âShe likes the Cheeto dust.â
You do, in fact, like the Cheeto dust. Morgan giggles every time your tongue cleans the orange powder from her hands while Tony watches with the exhausted expression of a father who has long since accepted that nobody listens to him. Wanda finds the entire thing adorable. Natasha takes photographs specifically to annoy Tony later. Life settles into a comfortable routine. A surprisingly normal one considering it involves superheroes and a wolf living inside a high-security compound. For the first time since being dragged from the forest, everything feels stable.
Naturally, that is precisely when Secretary Ross arrives to ruin it. The disruption begins on an otherwise ordinary afternoon when a government vehicle pulls up outside the compound. Nobody is particularly happy to see him.
Ross spends the first fifteen minutes arguing with Tony, the second fifteen arguing with Steve, and then somehow finds time to annoy everybody else as well. You pay little attention until your nameâor rather, your speciesâenters the conversation.
The moment the word wolf reaches your ears, you immediately become interested. Unfortunately, the news is not encouraging. According to Ross, there are laws regarding wildlife. Lots of laws. Apparently keeping a wolf inside an Avengers facility falls into several extremely complicated legal categories.
Tony argues that they didnât capture you. Bruce argues that they rescued you. Steve argues that releasing you while injured would have been irresponsible. Ross agrees with all of them. Unfortunately, the law does not particularly care. The solution seems obvious at first. Release the wolf. End of discussion.
The team actually attempts it. Once. Bruce drives you back toward the forest. Steve walks you to the tree line. Everybody says their goodbyes. You wait until theyâre halfway back to the compound before sprinting directly past them and returning home. The second attempt lasts even less time. The third attempt ends with you somehow arriving back before Bruceâs vehicle does. By then even Ross appears irritated.
Several days of phone calls, paperwork and governmental nonsense follow. Eventually a compromise is reached. A legal exception. A special permit. Some absurd mountain of documents that only bureaucrats could create.
The conclusion is simple enough. You may remain at the compound. However, somebody must legally assume responsibility for you. Any damage, incidents or accidents become that personâs liability. Technically the responsibility could belong to anyone.
Practically speaking, everybody already knows how the vote would go. You spend approximately ninety percent of your time attached to either Wanda or Natasha. Nobody else even comes close. âThis is ridiculous,â Sam says during the discussion. âThe wolf already chose.â Clint nods. âSheâs basically their kid at this point.â Natasha immediately points at him. âDonât call her our kid.â âYour giant wolf daughter.â âClint.â âFurry daughter.â Wanda is trying very hard not to laugh.
By the end of the meeting, the paperwork is signed. Wanda signs. Natasha signs. Just like that, they become your official owners in the eyes of the government. The entire concept feels deeply insulting from your perspective. You are a werewolf. A member of a pack. A fully capable person. Yet all anybody else sees is a very large animal. Still, there is something unexpectedly comforting about the way neither woman hesitates before accepting responsibility.
A few days later, Wanda and Natasha return from town carrying several shopping bags. The moment they enter the compound, you immediately investigate. Natasha attempts to stop you. You ignore her. Wanda laughs. Inside one of the bags is a collar. Not the cheap kind found in ordinary pet stores.
This one is clearly custom-made. Thick padded leather. Soft lining. Durable metal fittings. It smells new. Expensive. Natasha holds it while Wanda kneels beside you. âBefore you get offended,â Natasha says, as though you can somehow understand every word, âthis was not my idea.â âYou helped choose it,â Wanda immediately points out. âI helped stop you buying the one covered in stars.â âThe stars were pretty.â âThe stars were ridiculous.â
While they argue, Wanda carefully fastens the collar around your neck. It fits perfectly. Not restrictive. Not uncomfortable. Just secure enough to stay in place. Hanging from the front is a custom metal tag. On one side is Wandaâs symbol. On the other is Natashaâs. The metal catches the light as it settles against your chest.
For several seconds, neither woman says anything. Then Wanda reaches forward to smooth the fur beneath it. Natasha scratches behind one of your ears. âThere,â Natasha says quietly. âOfficial.â You should probably hate it. You should definitely hate the entire concept. Instead, standing between the two women while they admire the collar theyâd chosen together, you find yourself doing something deeply embarrassing. Your tail starts wagging.
The collar somehow marks the beginning of an entirely new phase of your life at the compound. Once the novelty wears off and everybody accepts that you are, apparently, staying forever, the team gradually stops treating you like a rescued animal and starts treating you like part of the household. It begins innocently enough.
Wanda teaches you basic commands, mostly because she thinks itâs funny. Sit. Stay. Come here. Spin. The first time she asks you to shake her hand, you stare at her in complete disbelief. You are a werewolf. A hunter. A member of an ancient pack. Yet five minutes later youâre placing your paw into her hand because the look of excitement on her face makes refusing impossible.
Natasha finds the entire thing hilarious. She begins inventing increasingly ridiculous tricks solely to see if youâll do them. Bruce walks into the common room one afternoon to discover you balancing a biscuit on your nose while Wanda counts down dramatically. Sam nearly falls over laughing. Clint records the entire thing.
The problem is that youâre embarrassingly good at all of it. You understand what they want almost immediately. Your intelligence is significantly higher than any normal wolfâs, and years of pack communication have made interpreting body language second nature. Within a matter of weeks youâve mastered every trick either woman can think of.
Eventually Natasha narrows her eyes at you one evening after watching you flawlessly follow a complicated chain of commands. âOkay,â she says. âI have an idea.â Wanda immediately looks concerned. âThatâs never good.â Natasha ignores her. âI wonder if she can do tactical commands.â
What begins as curiosity rapidly evolves into training. Real training. Natasha starts small. She hides objects around the compound and teaches you to locate them. Then she begins using volunteers. Usually Clint. Sometimes Sam. Once Tony, who spends the entire exercise loudly protesting that billionaires shouldnât be hunted for sport.
Natasha teaches you hand signals. Silent directions. Ways to circle around a target without being noticed. Methods for steering people exactly where you want them without ever physically touching them. The first time she points toward a fleeing agent during a training exercise and signals for you to intercept, you understand instantly.
Instead of tackling him, you cut off every escape route until he unknowingly moves exactly where Natasha wants him. The look on her face afterwards is almost alarming. âOh no,â Clint says from nearby. âDonât make that face.â âWhat face?â Natasha asks. âThe face that means youâve discovered something.â âIâve discovered something.â Clint groans.
Over the following weeks the exercises become more advanced. Tracking scents through forests. Locating hidden individuals. Moving quietly through difficult terrain. Working alongside Wandaâs powers. The entire thing feels so natural that it barely registers as training. Youâve hunted with a pack your entire life. Coordinating movements. Anticipating teammates. Understanding positioning. Reading body language. None of it is new. The only difference is that your packmates now happen to be a telekinetic witch and one of the deadliest spies on the planet.
Eventually Natasha decides thereâs only one way to find out if the training works. âAbsolutely not,â Steve says the moment she suggests it. âAbsolutely yes,â Natasha replies. âSheâs not going on a mission.â âSheâs more qualified than half the people Clint recruits.â Clint immediately points at her. âLeave me out of this.â
The argument somehow continues for three days. Tony sides with Steve. Wanda sides with Natasha. Bruce attempts neutrality. Thor enthusiastically supports bringing the giant wolf warrior into battle. Nobody is surprised. In the end Natasha wins, mostly because the mission in question is relatively straightforward.
A small HYDRA facility operating deep within a remote forest. Limited personnel. Minimal risk. The objective is simple. Get inside. Gather intelligence. Shut the operation down from the inside. The plan relies heavily on stealth, tracking and coordinated movement.
In other words, exactly the things youâve been doing for months. Even so, the atmosphere inside the Quinjet feels different on the day of the mission. Steve looks like heâs preparing for disaster. Tony keeps finding reasons to repeat safety instructions. Wanda spends most of the flight scratching behind your ears while Natasha reviews the operation for the tenth time. âSheâs going to be fine,â Natasha eventually says. âYou donât know that,â Steve replies. Natasha gestures toward you. âLook at her.â Everyone does. Youâre currently asleep.
The mission itself begins just after nightfall. The HYDRA facility sits hidden amongst dense woodland, isolated from nearby towns and protected by layers of security designed to detect approaching humans. Humans being the important word.
You move through the trees almost effortlessly. Every scent. Every sound. Every vibration beneath your paws paints a picture of the environment around you. Long before the others spot the first patrol, youâve already identified three separate guard routes and two concealed entrances. Wanda and Natasha follow close behind while communicating through earpieces.
The coordination feels effortless. Familiar. Comfortable. Natasha gives a silent signal and immediately you move. One guard notices movement in the trees and leaves his assigned position to investigate. Exactly as intended. Another follows. Then another. By the time they realise something is wrong, Natasha has already guided them directly into an ambush.
Further inside the facility the pattern repeats. Guards are distracted. Patrols separated. Escape routes quietly eliminated. Whenever Natasha points, you understand. Whenever Wanda shifts position, you adjust automatically. The three of you move through the operation with a level of coordination that surprises even yourselves. At one point Wanda glances toward Natasha after watching you flawlessly herd two fleeing agents directly into her line of sight. âYou trained her too well.â Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself. âI know.â
By the time the facility finally falls, most of the fighting is already over. SHIELD teams move in to secure prisoners while agents begin collecting intelligence. The mission is declared an overwhelming success. Steve congratulates everybody over the comms. Tony reluctantly admits the operation went smoothly. Natasha spends the entire return flight looking unbearably smug. You curl up on the floor of the Quinjet, exhausted but content, while Wanda absentmindedly runs her fingers through the fur around your collar.
For the first time since arriving at the compound, it truly feels like youâve found your place. Not as a rescued animal. Not as a guest. Not even as Wanda and Natashaâs oversized shadow. Out there in the forest, moving beside them through the darkness, working together without needing words, everything had felt instinctive. Natural. Like slipping back into a role youâd been born for. The only difference was that this pack looked very different from the one youâd left behind.
For a while after the HYDRA mission, everything seems perfect. The teamâs concerns about bringing a giant wolf into active operations disappear almost overnight after seeing how effectively you work alongside Wanda and Natasha. Training becomes less about teaching you and more about refining what already comes naturally.
You spend mornings following Natasha through obstacle courses and afternoons stretched across the common room floor while Wanda reads with her feet resting against your side. Life settles back into its familiar rhythm.
On the afternoon everything changes, the team has gathered outside to enjoy one of the rare warm days where nobody is actively saving the world. Someone has produced a baseball bat. Someone else has produced enough enthusiasm to convince half the team to participate.
Natasha is currently standing in the middle of the makeshift field arguing with Clint about rules that neither of them are actually following. Sam is laughing. Steve is trying unsuccessfully to keep things organised. Tony is insisting that technology should be allowed in sports. Morgan is cheering for whichever team happens to be winning at any given moment.
You lie comfortably in the grass nearby with your head resting across Wandaâs lap while her fingers move absentmindedly through the fur around your neck. The collar sits comfortably against your throat now, so familiar you barely notice it anymore. Every now and then Wanda scratches behind your ears and you find yourself leaning into it without thinking.
Across the field Natasha glances over and catches the sight. âSpoiled,â she calls. Wanda doesnât even look up from her book. âSheâs earned it.â You close your eyes, content to simply enjoy the moment. The smell of freshly cut grass fills the air. Laughter drifts across the compound grounds. Everything feels peaceful.
Then the wind changes.
Your eyes snap open instantly.
The scent hits you before anything else.
Wolf.
Not one.
Many.
Every muscle in your body immediately locks.
Wanda notices the change at once. Her hand stills against your fur. âDetka?â she asks quietly. Across the field Natasha turns as well. Years of experience make her notice danger the same way you do. The laughter gradually dies as the team picks up on the tension spreading through both of you.
The bushes bordering the compound begin to shake. Once. Twice. Then violently. Steve straightens immediately. Natasha lowers the baseball bat. Wanda stands. For several long seconds, nobody moves.
Then figures begin emerging from the tree line. One after another. And another. And another. Some appear fully human. Others remain in wolf form. Every single one carries themselves with the same confidence as an apex predator. They are large. Powerful. Scarred by years of survival. Several of the wolves are nearly your size. One is larger. The atmosphere changes instantly. Even the Avengers look unsettled.
The newcomers donât appear frightened by the heavily armed superheroes standing between them and the compound. If anything, they barely seem interested. Their eyes pass over the team entirely. Their focus settles on only one person. You.
By now youâve already risen to your feet. Your tail is rigid. Your ears flattened. A low growl vibrates through your chest. The wolves spread slightly as they approach. Not threatening the Avengers. Not even acknowledging them. Their attention remains fixed entirely on you.
The first voice comes from a broad-shouldered man standing at the front of the group. âThere you are.â The words immediately freeze half the team. Because wolves arenât supposed to talk. Behind him, a woman folds her arms and openly scoffs. âUnbelievable.â Her gaze drifts over your collar. Over Wanda. Over Natasha. Disgust twists across her face. âLook at you.â Nobody says anything. Even Tony appears too stunned to interrupt. The man steps closer. âWeâve been looking for months.â Your growl deepens. âAnd this is what we find?â another pack member asks. âLiving with humans?â âWearing a collar?â âSleeping in their house?â
The accusations come one after another. Natasha slowly moves toward your side. Wanda does the same. Neither woman takes their eyes off the strangers. âCare to explain whatâs happening?â Natasha asks quietly. You canât answer. Not without revealing everything.
Unfortunately, the pack has no such concerns. The broad-shouldered man laughs harshly. âYou didnât tell them?â Wandaâs expression shifts. âTell us what?â The woman beside him gestures directly toward you. âThat sheâs one of us.â Silence falls across the field. You feel it immediately. The confusion. The disbelief. Wandaâs gaze snaps toward you. Natashaâs follows a second later. âOne of you?â Steve asks carefully. The man smirks. âA werewolf.â The word lands like a grenade.
For several seconds nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Then all at once the carefully controlled situation collapses. âYouâre kidding,â Tony says. âYouâre not kidding.â Clint looks personally offended. âThe wolf was a person this entire time?â âTechnically,â Sam mutters. Natasha still hasnât looked away from you. Neither has Wanda. The emotions flickering across their faces are impossible to ignore. Confusion. Shock. Hurt.
Not because youâre a werewolf. Because youâve apparently been capable of understanding everything for months without ever being able to tell them. The pack continues speaking. âYou abandoned us.â âFor them.â âYou traded your pack for humans.â âFor a collar.â
The last comment finally snaps something inside you. Before anyone can react, youâre moving. The nearest wolf barely has time to dodge before you slam into him. The impact sends both of you tumbling through the grass. Another pack member lunges. You meet her head-on.
The fight erupts instantly. Growls tear through the air. Teeth flash. Bodies collide. Years of resentment and frustration explode all at once. The Avengers start forward. Steve shouts something. Natasha curses. Wandaâs eyes begin glowing red. None of it matters. Not until one particularly large wolf crashes into you and the two of you roll dangerously close to Morganâs position. That is the moment Wanda finally intervenes.
Chaos simply stops.
Scarlet energy erupts across the field.
Every werewolf is ripped apart from the fight and suspended in midair before they can react. You included. One moment youâre snarling at a pack member. The next youâre floating several feet above the ground, completely immobilised by Wandaâs magic.
The field falls silent except for heavy breathing. Wanda stands in the centre of it all. Her eyes glow brightly. Her expression is impossible to read. Natasha steps forward beside her. Neither woman looks angry. Somehow that makes it worse.
They look hurt. Genuinely hurt. Wandaâs gaze settles on you first. Then on the collar around your neck. Then back to your eyes. âYou understood us,â she says quietly. It isnât really a question. Natasha folds her arms. âMonths.â The word hangs heavily in the air.
Around you, the rest of your pack remains trapped in scarlet energy while the Avengers stare in stunned silence. Nobody seems entirely sure what to do next. Least of all you. Because for the first time since arriving at the compound, there is no hiding behind being a wolf. No pretending. No misunderstandings. The truth has finally arrived. And judging by the expressions on Wanda and Natashaâs faces, it may have cost far more than you ever intended.
Nobody says anything for a long time after Wanda stops the fight.
The field remains frozen in an uncomfortable silence broken only by heavy breathing and the distant rustling of leaves. Scarlet energy still glows around every member of your pack, holding them suspended several feet above the ground. The anger that had fuelled the confrontation has long since faded, leaving behind something much worse. Embarrassment. Regret. Uncertainty.
You remain trapped amongst Wandaâs magic as her gaze moves across the assembled werewolves. Some glare back defiantly. Others avoid her eyes entirely. The sheer power radiating from her is impossible to ignore. Even your pack seems to understand that pushing things further would be a very bad idea. Eventually Wanda takes a slow breath and lowers her hands slightly.
One by one, every member of your pack is released. Boots hit grass. Paws hit dirt. Nobody immediately moves. For several tense seconds it seems like another fight might break out. Then the broad-shouldered man who had spoken first glances toward you. His expression softens slightly, though not by much. âCome on,â he says quietly to the others. The woman beside him gives one final look toward the compound before turning away.
Gradually the rest of the pack follows. Human forms disappear back toward the tree line. Wolves melt into the shadows between the trees. Within moments the forest begins swallowing them once more. They leave without another word. Without another accusation. Without looking back. Everyone is released except you. Scarlet magic continues holding you motionless above the grass while Wanda watches the last traces of your former life disappear into the woods.
The moment the final pack member vanishes from sight, Wandaâs attention returns entirely to you. Natashaâs does too. Somehow that feels significantly more intimidating. Neither woman appears angry. You almost wish they were. Anger would be easier. Simpler. Instead they simply look at you. Really look at you. As though theyâre trying to reconcile the wolf theyâve spent months caring for with the person they now know has been hiding behind those golden eyes the entire time.
Natashaâs expression remains unreadable, though the hurt is obvious if you know where to look. Wanda doesnât even attempt to hide hers. Confusion flickers across her face. Questions. Doubt. She opens her mouth as if to say something. Then closes it again. Whatever words she had donât seem sufficient. For several more seconds nobody moves.
Then, without warning, the magic disappears. You drop back onto all four paws. The impact barely registers. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing before you. Wanda studies you one final time before turning away. No dramatic speech. No confrontation. No shouting. She simply turns and begins walking toward the compound. Natasha hesitates slightly longer. For a brief moment it almost looks like she wants to say something. Instead she follows Wanda. Together they disappear through the glass doors and leave you standing alone on the lawn.
One by one, the others eventually follow. Steve offers you a sympathetic look before heading inside. Bruce looks concerned. Clint awkwardly pretends not to be staring. Sam gives a small nod before leaving as well. Nobody knows what to say. How could they?
The wolf theyâve been living with for months apparently isnât a wolf at all. Eventually the field empties entirely. The baseball game is forgotten. The equipment remains scattered across the grass. The afternoon sunlight gradually shifts toward evening. Through it all, you donât move. You simply stand there.
The compoundâs enormous glass walls make it impossible to avoid looking inside. Every room seems brighter now. More distant. More unreachable. Occasionally you catch glimpses of Wanda moving through the common room. Natasha appears beside her. Sometimes theyâre talking. Sometimes theyâre simply sitting together. Every so often one of them glances toward the window. Toward you.
The looks arenât angry. Thatâs what hurts the most. They arenât glaring. They arenât avoiding you. They just look thoughtful. Processing. Trying to understand. Hours pass this way. The sun sinks lower. Shadows stretch across the grounds. Inside, life continues. Outside, you remain exactly where they left you.
As darkness begins creeping across the compound, a strange realisation slowly settles over you. You have spent months building a life here. Months becoming part of something. You learned routines. Earned trust. Found a place within a new pack. Yet standing alone in the grass, watching the people you care about through a wall of glass, youâve never felt further away from them.
The truth is finally out. The secret youâve carried since the day you collapsed outside the compound no longer exists. And somehow everything feels worse now than it did when nobody knew.
Your eyes find Wanda one final time. Sheâs sitting beside Natasha on the couch. Neither woman is looking outside at the moment. For the first time all day, you finally break your stare away from the compound. Slowly, you turn around. The forest waits silently beyond the edge of the property. Familiar. Dark. Home. Or at least it used to be.
You take a step toward it. Then another. Nobody notices. Nobody stops you. The grass gives way to dirt beneath your paws. Trees begin surrounding you once again. Within minutes the compound is hidden behind trunks and leaves. The lights disappear. The voices vanish. Soon there is nothing left except the forest stretching endlessly ahead. And without allowing yourself a chance to look back, you continue walking deeper into the darkness.
The compound feels wrong that night.
Not quieter. Not emptier. Wrong.
The difference is subtle enough that neither Wanda nor Natasha notices it immediately. After everything that happened outside, after the pack, the revelations, the fight and the silence that followed, neither woman has much energy left for analysing why the atmosphere feels off. They simply move through the evening together.
Natasha makes coffee she never drinks. Wanda spends almost an hour staring at a book without turning a single page. Neither brings up you. Neither brings up the fact that the wolf theyâve spent months caring for apparently understood every conversation, every argument and every embarrassing nickname theyâd ever used around you. Neither mentions the look on your face when you realised they were hurt.
Eventually exhaustion wins over confusion and they make their way upstairs. The routine is automatic by now. Natasha brushes her teeth. Wanda changes into pyjamas. Lights are switched off. Curtains are drawn. The bedroom settles into darkness.
For a few moments both women simply stand there staring at their bed. The bed that suddenly seems much larger than it did yesterday. Wanda climbs in first, pulling the blankets over herself before instinctively leaving a gap near the foot of the mattress. Natasha notices immediately. Neither comments on it.
A few seconds later Natasha slides beneath the covers as well. Silence settles between them. The room should feel familiar. Comfortable. Safe. Instead there is a strange absence hanging over everything. An absence both women are becoming increasingly aware of.
Wanda is the first to suffer from it. Sleep refuses to come. She shifts onto one side. Then the other. Pulls the blankets higher. Kicks them lower. Every position feels wrong. More than once her foot drifts toward the bottom of the bed without conscious thought, searching for a familiar bundle of fur that should be curled there.
Every single time she remembers halfway through the movement and immediately stills. The first few times itâs merely frustrating. After the fifth or sixth attempt it starts becoming painful. Beside her, Natasha remains motionless. At least outwardly. Her hands rest behind her head while she stares up at the ceiling as though it contains some secret answer she hasnât found yet. It doesnât. The ceiling remains spectacularly unhelpful.
Hours seem to pass with neither woman speaking. Eventually Wanda lets out a quiet huff and rolls onto her back again. âStop looking at the ceiling.â Natasha doesnât move. âIâm thinking.â âThe ceiling isnât helping.â âI know.â Another silence follows. Longer this time. âDo you think she left?â Wanda finally asks. Natasha closes her eyes briefly.
The question hangs heavily in the darkness. âNo.â The answer comes immediately. Certain. Confident. Wanda turns her head. âYou donât?â âNo.â Natasha stares upward again. âSheâs stubborn.â Despite everything, a tiny smile briefly appears on Wandaâs face. It disappears just as quickly.
Eventually they both drift asleep. Not properly. Not deeply. The sort of sleep people fall into when their minds refuse to fully switch off. Every few hours one of them wakes. Sometimes itâs Natasha checking the time. Sometimes itâs Wanda reaching toward the foot of the bed before remembering why itâs empty. Neither sleeps for longer than an hour or two at a time.
By the time morning finally arrives, both women feel exhausted. The pale sunlight creeping through the curtains drags them awake properly. Neither moves for several moments. They simply lie there staring at opposite walls. Thinking. Processing. Wondering. Finally Wanda sits up. Natasha does the same. No discussion takes place. None is necessary.
One look passes between them and an entire conversation somehow happens without words. They both know exactly what the other is thinking. Whatever happened yesterday, whatever conversations need to happen later, whatever questions remain unanswered, the first thing they need to do is find you.
Wanda is already climbing out of bed by the time Natasha stands. Within minutes theyâre dressed and heading downstairs together. Neither heads toward the kitchen. Neither stops for coffee. They walk straight through the compound and out onto the grounds where theyâd last seen you standing.
The morning air is cool. Dew clings to the grass. The field remains exactly as it was left yesterday. A few forgotten pieces of baseball equipment still lie scattered near the edge of the lawn. Wanda scans the area immediately. Natasha does the same. Neither sees what theyâre looking for.
For several seconds they continue walking forward anyway, as though expecting you to appear from behind a tree or emerge from somewhere nearby. Nothing happens. The patch of grass where youâd stood for hours is empty. Wandaâs pace slows. Natashaâs expression tightens slightly. Together they reach the edge of the property and stop. Beyond them, the forest stretches endlessly in every direction. Dense. Silent. Unfamiliar. The same forest youâd disappeared into the night before.
Wanda studies the tree line for a long moment. Then another. Then another. Eventually she lowers her gaze. Natasha follows the direction of her stare. There, pressed into the damp earth at the forestâs edge, are a set of pawprints leading away from the compound. Deep. Clear. Fresh enough that neither woman has any trouble recognising them.
Neither speaks. Neither needs to. Because for the first time since finding an injured wolf bleeding on their lawn all those months ago, there is no sign of you anywhere.
The panic begins approximately thirty seconds after Wanda and Natasha reach the tree line.
At first neither of them says the word out loud. Neither woman is particularly eager to admit that theyâre worried. Wanda keeps insisting there must be a reasonable explanation. Natasha keeps insisting that if you wanted to leave permanently, you would have done so months ago. Both arguments sound increasingly hollow with every passing minute. The pawprints leading into the forest are impossible to miss. Fresh enough to follow. Clear enough to confirm exactly where youâd gone.
Before long theyâre gathering supplies and heading into the woods themselves. Steve attempts to convince them to bring backup. Natasha refuses. Tony suggests drones. Wanda ignores him entirely. Within an hour theyâre moving between the trees, following the trail deeper than either of them has ever travelled before. The forest surrounding the compound is enormous. Larger than most people realise. The Avengers have mapped sections closest to the facility, primarily for security purposes, but nobody has ever found much reason to venture further.
As the hours pass, even those familiar landmarks disappear. Cell signals fade. Marked routes vanish. The terrain becomes rougher and less travelled. More natural. More wild. Wanda occasionally spots broken branches or faint traces of movement through the undergrowth. Natasha finds tracks. Neither says much. Both remain focused entirely on finding you.
By the third hour of walking, even Natasha is beginning to look concerned. âHow far out does this forest go?â Wanda asks quietly. Natasha studies the endless trees ahead. âApparently further than we thought.â
Eventually the landscape begins changing. The signs are subtle at first. A narrow path that clearly didnât form naturally. Cut logs stacked neatly beside a stream. Marks on trees. Evidence that people live here. Both women immediately become more alert.
They continue following the trail until the forest finally opens into a small clearing. Nestled amongst the trees sits a structure that looks somewhere between a cabin and a hunting lodge. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney. The building itself appears handmade, weathered by years of exposure.
Natasha and Wanda exchange a look. Neither says anything. They simply continue forward. A few minutes later another building appears. Then another. Then two more. Some are little more than huts. Others are larger communal structures. Children dart between them. A few wolves nap lazily beneath shaded trees.
Human voices drift through the air. The entire settlement seems to emerge naturally from the forest itself, hidden so effectively that it would be almost impossible to locate without knowing exactly where to look. âThis has to be it,â Wanda murmurs. Natasha nods slowly. âPack territory.â The words feel strange to say aloud. Until yesterday werewolves had been something neither of them believed existed. Now theyâre standing in the middle of an entire village filled with them.
The pack notices them almost immediately.
Conversations gradually stop as heads turn toward the newcomers. Several adults rise from where theyâd been sitting. None appear particularly alarmed. Curious, perhaps. Wary. But not hostile. Many of the faces are familiar from the confrontation outside the compound. The broad-shouldered man stands near one of the larger buildings speaking with a younger wolf. The woman who had mocked your collar the day before sits sharpening a knife near a fire pit. Several pups in wolf form immediately stop playing to stare openly at the strangers.
Natasha instinctively scans the area. Wanda does the same. Both searching for the same thing. Brown fur. Golden eyes. Any sign of you. They find neither. Instead Wanda suddenly stops walking altogether. Natasha notices immediately. âWhat?â Wanda doesnât answer. She simply points.
Standing beside one of the largest huts in the settlement is a carved wooden post.
And hanging from that post is your collar.
The thick padded leather is unmistakable. Wanda recognises it instantly because she spent almost forty minutes choosing it. Natasha recognises it because she spent twenty arguing over which design looked least ridiculous. The metal tag glints softly in the sunlight. Wandaâs symbol on one side. Natashaâs on the other.
Seeing it hanging there feels strangely wrong. Too final. Too deliberate. For several seconds neither woman moves. The sight creates an uncomfortable knot somewhere deep in Wandaâs chest. Natashaâs jaw tightens slightly. The collar had become part of you. As ridiculous as that sounds. Seeing it removed and abandoned here feels like a message neither of them particularly enjoys receiving. âWell,â Natasha says carefully. âSheâs definitely been here.â
âObviously.â
âNot helping.â
Wanda doesnât respond.
Because a much larger problem has just occurred to her.
Every werewolf in sight appears human.
Every single one.
The adults standing nearby. The children. The people moving between buildings. None of them resemble the wolf theyâve spent months living with. Not because you arenât here.
Because they have absolutely no idea what you actually look like.
The realisation arrives simultaneously for both women.
Months.
Theyâve known you for months.
They know your favourite sleeping spot. Your favourite food. The exact way your ears twitch when youâre annoyed. They know you secretly like being brushed despite pretending otherwise. They know you steal Wandaâs side of the bed whenever given the opportunity.
Yet they donât know the simplest thing of all.
Your face.
Natasha slowly looks around the settlement again.
âDo you know which one she is?â
Wanda opens her mouth.
Then closes it.
Because she doesnât.
Neither of them do.
Somewhere amongst the dozens of werewolves moving through the village is the person theyâve spent months caring about. And they have absolutely no idea who theyâre looking for.
You catch their scent long before you actually see them.
Even amongst dozens of pack members, countless overlapping smells and the constant presence of the forest itself, their scents remain unmistakable. Wandaâs carries traces of coffee, old books and something warm that has always reminded you of home. Natashaâs carries leather, gunpowder and the faintest hint of whatever shampoo she stubbornly refuses to admit she uses.
The moment those scents reach you, every muscle in your body locks. Youâd spent the entire night convincing yourself they wouldnât come. That theyâd be angry. That theyâd be relieved to finally be rid of the giant wolf that had apparently lied to them for months. Yet somehow, despite all logic, theyâd followed you. Followed you further into the forest than any human should reasonably be willing to travel.
Now, standing amongst your pack in a half-shifted form, you find yourself wishing youâd had more time to prepare. Thirty feet separates you from them. Thirty feet and an entire world of uncertainty. Around you, other pack members continue watching the strangers cautiously. Some are openly suspicious. Others merely curious. You barely notice any of them. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing near the central huts.
Seeing them here makes everything hurt far worse than it did yesterday. Guilt twists painfully inside your chest. Every memory seems determined to replay itself at once. Wanda sneaking you treats when Bruce said no. Natasha pretending she didnât enjoy your company while secretly building you a blanket nest. Movie nights. Training sessions. Sleeping curled at their feet before eventually earning a place on the actual bed. Youâd never meant to deceive them. Not really. Yet looking at them now, you can suddenly understand exactly why they felt betrayed.
Unfortunately, your body chooses this exact moment to completely betray you as well.
Specifically, your tail.
At first itâs only a slight movement behind you. Barely noticeable. Then Natasha shifts her weight slightly and your tail immediately starts wagging. You freeze. It freezes. Wanda turns her head and your tail starts wagging again. Mortified, you attempt to force it still. The effort lasts approximately three seconds. Because despite everything that happened yesterday, despite the guilt currently eating you alive, despite being surrounded by your actual pack, seeing them again fills you with an embarrassing amount of happiness.
Your ears flatten slightly as you realise exactly what this means. Somewhere along the way, entirely against your better judgement, youâve become hopelessly attached. Across the clearing, Natashaâs eyes narrow. You know that look. It is the look of a predator noticing something important. The same look she gets during missions. The same look she gets whenever Clint attempts to lie.
Your tail continues wagging. âTraitor,â you mutter under your breath. The tail does not care. Natashaâs gaze moves across you carefully. Not threatening. Not judgemental. Just observant. She notices your eyes repeatedly flicking toward the collar hanging from the wooden post. She notices how quickly your attention returns to her and Wanda every time you try looking elsewhere. She notices the obvious guilt written all over your face.
Most importantly, she notices that every other werewolf in the clearing is looking at her and Wanda like outsiders. Potential threats. Strangers. Youâre looking at them like youâve just found something important that you thought youâd lost.
The problem, unfortunately, is that Natasha Romanoff is very, very good at noticing things.
âYou see that?â she asks quietly.
Wanda follows her gaze.
For several seconds she doesnât seem to understand what Natasha means.
Then she notices your tail.
A tiny, unwilling smile immediately appears before she quickly suppresses it.
âOh.â
âYep.â
The smile almost returns.
Meanwhile, neither woman seems particularly prepared for finally discovering what you actually look like. Back at the compound, every image theyâd ever formed of you had been filtered through fur, paws and golden eyes. The reality standing before them is⌠different. Your half-shifted form leaves the wolf traits obvious enough. Brown ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues its humiliating display behind you. Yet the rest of you is undeniably human. Or close enough.
Like most of the pack, your clothing consists primarily of practical materials gathered from the forest itself. Leather wraps around your waist. Woven vines and natural fibres cover your chest and shoulders. Functional. Traditional. Entirely normal by pack standards. The arrangement leaves your arms and much of your skin exposed, revealing years of hunting, climbing and surviving in the wilderness. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-bronzed skin every time you move.
Yet somehow the intimidating image is completely ruined by the fact your tail refuses to stop wagging. Natasha notices that too. In fact, she notices everything. Her expression slowly becomes more complicated with every passing second. Wanda seems equally distracted. Neither woman had expected this. Not really. Theyâd imagined meeting you eventually. Theyâd wondered about it countless times without realising it. But now that the moment has actually arrived, neither seems entirely certain what to do.
The silence stretches.
You donât approach them.
They donât approach you.
The distance remains exactly the same.
Yet somehow it feels far smaller than it did a few minutes ago.
Around the clearing, several pack members are beginning to notice the strange exchange taking place. The broad-shouldered man whoâd confronted you outside the compound folds his arms. A few of the younger wolves openly watch with interest. One of the elders looks suspiciously amused.
You wish the ground would swallow you whole. Your tail is still wagging. Natasha is still watching. Wandaâs gaze keeps softening every time your eyes meet hers. Everything is becoming increasingly unbearable. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Wanda finally takes a small step forward. Not enough to invade your space. Not enough to force anything. Just one step. The sort of step someone takes when approaching a frightened animal. Or perhaps someone they care about.
Your tail somehow wags even harder. Natasha immediately notices. Of course she does. And for the first time since arriving at the pack grounds, a faint smirk appears on her face.
âOh,â she says quietly.
âWhat?â Wanda asks.
Natasha never takes her eyes off you.
âI think we found her.â
And despite everything, your stupid tail practically confirms it for her.
The moment Natasha says it, every survival instinct you possess immediately takes over.
Run.
The command slams through your brain with enough force to make your ears flatten against your head.
You donât wait to see what happens next. The second Wanda takes another step forward, you turn and bolt. Straight into the forest. Branches whip past as you sprint between trees, heart hammering violently against your ribs. Behind you, voices erupt from the clearing. You donât stay long enough to hear what theyâre saying. Shame burns through every inch of you. Embarrassment. Guilt. Relief. All twisted together into something impossible to untangle. Youâd spent months imagining what would happen if Wanda and Natasha discovered the truth. Somehow every scenario had been less humiliating than this one.
Because now they knew. They knew you understood every conversation. Every argument. Every movie night. Every time Natasha secretly let you onto the bed after pretending not to want you there. Every time Wanda called you pet names when she thought nobody was listening. And worst of all, they knew exactly how attached youâd become.
Your tail had made absolutely sure of that. You hear movement behind you. Not footsteps. Something much worse. Red magic.
âOh come on,â you groan.
A second later scarlet energy wraps around your waist. The forest disappears beneath your feet. You immediately find yourself suspended several feet in the air.
âReally?â you call.
âReally,â Wandaâs voice replies.
The world moves alarmingly fast as the magic carries you backwards through the trees. Several branches narrowly miss your face. One doesnât. âOw.â
âYou ran.â
âI panicked.â
âYou always panic.â
âI do not always panic.â
âYou literally turned around and sprinted away.â
Unfortunately, she has a point.
The clearing comes back into view moments later. Several amused pack members are openly watching the entire thing. One of the elders is laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.
You decide you hate everyone. Especially Wanda. Mostly because sheâs right. The magic finally lowers you back onto solid ground a few feet from the two women.
For a moment nobody moves. You stare at the grass. Wanda stares at you. Natasha stares at you. The silence stretches.
Then suddenly both women are moving. Before you can react, Wandaâs arms are around your shoulders. At almost the exact same moment Natasha wraps her arms around your waist. The impact nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.
âWhatââ
Wanda hugs tighter. Natasha somehow hugs tighter than that. The result is less a hug and more a coordinated assault.
âYou idiot,â Natasha mutters.
You blink. That isnât the response you expected.
âWe thought you were gone,â Wanda says quietly.
Her voice sounds suspiciously emotional. Your confusion only deepens.
âYou left.â
âYou left us first.â
âI thought you hated me.â
Both women immediately pull back just enough to stare at you. The looks on their faces are almost offended.
âHate you?â Wanda repeats.
âYou lied to us,â Natasha says. âThatâs not the same thing. We were confused. We were hurt. But we didnât hate you.â
Wandaâs arms tighten again.
âIf anything,â she admits quietly, âwe were more upset with ourselves.â
You frown.
âWhat?â
The women exchange a glance. Then Natasha sighs.
âWe shouldnât have left you out there.â
Your ears twitch.
âWhat?â
âYesterday,â Wanda says softly. âAfter the fight.â
The guilt returns immediately.
âWe found out this huge secret and instead of talking to youâŚâ Her expression falls slightly. âWe just walked away.â
âYou were hurt.â
âSo were you.â
The simple response steals every argument from your mouth.
For several moments nobody says anything. The forest around you feels strangely distant. Eventually you lower your gaze.
âI didnât know how to tell you.â
Wanda and Natasha remain silent. Waiting. So you continue.
âAt first I couldnât.â
Your tail lowers slightly behind you.
âThen after I healedâŚâ You swallow. âYou already thought I was a wolf.â
Natasha nods slowly.
âAnd every day that passed made it harder.â
You laugh weakly.
âHow do you even start that conversation?â
Neither woman interrupts.
ââHey, thanks for rescuing me. Also Iâve secretly understood every word youâve said for six months.ââ
To your immense relief, Natasha snorts. Wanda covers her mouth. Encouraged, you continue.
âThen I got scared.â
Their expressions soften immediately.
âIf I told you, everything wouldâve changed.â
Your eyes finally lift to meet theirs.
âAnd I liked it.â
The admission leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You immediately regret it. Your tail, however, begins wagging. Traitor.
âI liked being there.â
Wandaâs eyes soften even further.
âThe compound felt like home.â
Your throat tightens.
âYou felt like home.â
Silence follows. A dangerous silence. The sort that makes your heart beat significantly faster. Especially when Natasha keeps looking at you like that. You try very hard not to notice. Really. You do. Unfortunately, Natasha Romanoff has spent the last several minutes finally getting a proper look at you.
A very proper look.
Your half-shifted form leaves very little to the imagination compared to the giant wolf sheâd become accustomed to. Years of hunting and surviving in the wilderness are obvious in every movement. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-warmed skin. Wolf ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues wagging with absolutely no regard for your dignity whatsoever.
Natasha notices all of it. Every single bit. You pretend not to. Desperately. The problem is that pretending becomes significantly harder when her gaze briefly drops before returning to your face. Then does it again. Your tail somehow wags harder. Mortified, you immediately focus on literally anything else. Trees. Clouds. The ground. A random squirrel. Anything.
Across from you, Natashaâs lips twitch suspiciously. Wanda notices both your tail and Natashaâs expression at the exact same moment.
âOh my god,â Wanda says.
âWhat?â you ask instantly.
âNothing.â
Natasha looks away far too quickly. Your tail continues wagging. The elder watching nearby starts laughing again. And for the first time since everything fell apart outside the compound, Wanda and Natasha are smiling.
The conversation with your pack takes far longer than expected. Not because anyone is actively trying to stop you from leaving, but because the entire settlement seems fascinated by the fact that two Avengers have wandered several hours into werewolf territory just to find you.
By the time the sun begins dipping lower through the trees, youâve endured enough teasing to last a lifetime. The elder who had laughed at your tail earlier somehow finds even more reasons to do so. The broad-shouldered man apologises, in his own gruff way, for causing problems at the compound. Several of the younger wolves openly ask Natasha questions about fighting. Through all of it, Wanda remains close enough that her shoulder occasionally brushes yours, while Natasha hovers nearby with the casual protectiveness of somebody pretending not to be protective at all.
Eventually the topic everyone has been carefully avoiding finally comes up. âSo,â Wanda says softly, glancing toward the path leading back through the forest. âAre you coming home?â The simple question immediately steals your attention. Home. Not the compound. Not the Avengers facility. Home.
Your ears twitch slightly. Natasha notices. Of course she does. âYouâre not getting rid of us that easily,â she adds. âBesides.â A faint smirk appears on her face. âYouâre our girl.â Heat immediately rises into your cheeks. Wanda smiles. âOur best girl.â Your tail begins wagging before you can stop it.
Around you, several pack members groan dramatically. One of them pretends to gag. You completely ignore them. Because despite everything that happened, despite the confusion and hurt and misunderstandings, the thought of returning with Wanda and Natasha fills your chest with a warmth you havenât felt since leaving the compound. The decision becomes surprisingly easy after that.
The journey back feels very different from the journey out. Nobody is rushing this time. Nobody is desperately following tracks or searching for signs. Instead, the three of you walk together through the forest, gradually leaving the hidden settlement behind. Conversation comes slowly at first. Then more naturally. Wanda asks questions about your pack. Natasha asks questions about shifting.
You answer what you can. Some things make sense to them. Some clearly donât. More than once Natasha has to stop herself from reaching out to touch your ears when they twitch. More than once Wanda fails entirely. By the time the compound finally comes into view through the trees, the tension that had lingered since the confrontation outside has largely disappeared.
Unfortunately, a new problem immediately presents itself. Namely: the rest of the Avengers. âAbsolutely not,â Natasha says the second the building comes into view. âAbsolutely not what?â you ask. âIf Clint sees you first, weâre never hearing the end of it.â Wanda immediately agrees. âOr Tony.â âDefinitely Tony.â âEspecially Tony.â Before you can question their logic further, youâre being ushered around the side of the compound like part of some highly classified operation.
Thankfully, the boys appear distracted elsewhere. Within minutes youâve been successfully smuggled through side corridors, up elevators and into Wanda and Natashaâs room without a single person spotting you. Natasha actually looks proud of herself afterwards. âSee?â she says. âPerfect.â âWeâre literally sneaking a werewolf into our bedroom,â Wanda points out. âExactly.â
The moment the door closes behind you, however, both women suddenly seem to notice something theyâd previously been too distracted to fully process. Specifically, your clothing situation. Or lack thereof, compared to normal human standards. You immediately become aware of it the second Wandaâs eyes flick downward. Then Natashaâs do. The woven vines across your chest. The leather around your waist. The practical attire of someone who grew up in the wilderness rather than modern civilisation. Perfectly normal amongst your pack. Significantly less normal standing in a high-tech Avengers compound.
âRight,â Wanda says after a moment. âWe should probably fix that.â You glance down at yourself. âWhatâs wrong with it?â Natasha makes a small choking noise that suspiciously resembles laughter. Wanda immediately elbows her. âNothingâs wrong with it.â âYou just might be more comfortable in actual clothes.â âActual clothes are overrated.â
Both women stare at you. âActual clothes,â Natasha says firmly, âare happening.â Wanda disappears toward the wardrobe while Natasha remains where she is. For several moments neither speaks. Wanda begins sorting through drawers. Natasha watches her. Wanda glances back. Natasha watches her a little more. A completely silent conversation seems to pass between them.
One youâve seen countless times over the months. Tiny expressions. Small looks. Entire discussions occurring without a single word. This one feels different somehow. More nervous. More deliberate. When Wanda finally turns back around holding a bundle of clothes, neither woman immediately moves to hand them over.
Instead, the room grows unexpectedly quiet.
You glance between them.
Then back again.
Your heart begins beating a little faster.
Natasha takes a single step forward.
Then another.
Close enough now that you can see every tiny detail in her expression. Every flicker of uncertainty. Every trace of affection she isnât bothering to hide anymore. Her hand rises slowly, brushing lightly against your cheek. For a moment she simply looks at you. Really looks at you. Not the wolf sheâd rescued months ago. Not the mystery sheâd spent weeks trying to understand. Just you.
Then she leans forward.
The kiss is soft.
Gentle.
Almost hesitant.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing demanding.
Just Natashaâs lips meeting yours as though sheâs trying to memorise the feeling for the first time. The contact lasts only a few seconds before she slowly pulls away again. Yet somehow those few seconds leave your heart attempting to escape your chest entirely. Your tail is wagging. Obviously. Because apparently it has completely abandoned all loyalty to your dignity. Natashaâs forehead briefly rests against yours before she finally steps back.
And then Wanda is there.
Warm fingers finding your jaw.
A smile so soft it almost hurts.
She waits just long enough for you to look at her.
Then her lips meet yours too.
The kiss is every bit as gentle as Natashaâs had been.
Careful.
Affectionate.
Like sheâs been wanting to do it for far longer than sheâs willing to admit.
When she finally pulls away, the three of you remain standing there for a moment in complete silence.
The clothes are still forgotten in Wandaâs hands.
Your tail refuses to stop wagging.
And neither woman seems particularly interested in pretending they donât find that adorable.
The room remains quiet after the kisses, though it feels like an entirely different kind of silence now. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Heavy. Warm. The sort of silence that settles between people when something important has finally been acknowledged.
Wanda is still holding the clothes sheâd pulled from the wardrobe, though judging by the way her fingers have gone still against the fabric, sheâd completely forgotten about them. Natasha remains standing close enough that you can feel her body heat, her attention fixed entirely on you with an intensity that makes it difficult to think straight. You become painfully aware of every little thing all at once. The way your heart is hammering against your ribs. The way your tail continues sweeping behind you despite your desperate attempts to stop it. The way both women keep looking at you differently now. Not because youâve changed. Not because youâve suddenly become someone else.
But because for the first time there are no misunderstandings left between you. No pretending. No secrets. Just you. Standing in front of them. And somehow that feels far more exposing than running around the compound covered in fur ever did.
A faint smile tugs at Natashaâs mouth as she watches your increasingly failed attempts to force your tail still. âYou know,â she says, voice lower than before, âfor somebody who spent months hiding the fact she understood everything we said, youâre actually terrible at keeping secrets.â Heat immediately rushes into your cheeks. Wanda lets out a soft laugh beside her. âShe really is.â You groan and look away, only for Wanda to immediately reach out and guide your attention back toward them with a gentle hand beneath your chin.
The movement isnât forceful. If anything, itâs almost unfairly tender. âDonât hide now,â she murmurs. Her thumb brushes lightly across your cheek as she speaks, and the simple contact nearly short-circuits your brain. Natasha notices instantly. Of course she does. You see the amusement flicker across her expression before something softer replaces it. Something that makes your stomach perform an alarming number of somersaults. âLook at her,â Natasha says quietly. âSheâs still trying to run.â âI am not.â âYou literally ran into a forest earlier.â âThat was different.â âWas it?â Natasha asks. âBecause this looks exactly the same.â
Wanda laughs again, shaking her head fondly before finally setting the clothes down somewhere behind her. The action feels oddly significant. Like sheâs consciously choosing not to interrupt whatever this moment has become. You swallow hard as both women remain close. Too close to ignore.
Then Natashaâs lips connect with yours again, hungrier this time. Like sheâs a starved woman. Wanda appears behind. Her arms wrap around your waist and her lips connect with the side of your neck. If it werenât for them holding you up, youâre sure you wouldâve turned into mush on the floor by now.
Natasha finally parts from you, only to sink her teeth down into the side of your neck. A whimper escaped your mouth before you can stop it. You didnât even realise when they started pulling your clothes off, and their own, until they were pulling you back towards the bed.
Wanda moves to sit against the headboard and pulls you down into her lap, your eyes immediately find her breasts. Theyâre bigger than yours, fuller. Her nipples stood hardened against the cold breeze and the arousal coursing through her body. Wanda follows your gaze and a soft smirk graces her lips. âYou can touch, Detka. I donât bite.â She murmurs as her hands find yours, pulling them up to her soft mounds.
Your tail wags even harder, if that was even possible at this point, as you squeeze her. Wanda watches as literal drool forms on your lips whilst you obsess over her body like a teenage boy seeing a bare woman for the first time. Her thumb absentmindedly wipes it away, even as her chest begins to heave from your touches. Then without warning, the digit moves into your mouth and your lips wrap around it like second nature.
Youâd almost forgotten about Natasha at this point. Almost being the keyword. Then her hands wrap around your neck from behind and the familiar sound of your collar buckling sounds out as she attaches the thick leather back around your neck with a sultry whisper of: âYouâre ours, pretty girlâ
Wandaâs thumb, the one in your mouth, moves to press down on your tongue and a little whine escapes you. Natashaâs hands move from your neck and down to your own breasts, her large hands easily cup both of them before she rolls your nipples between her fingers. A broken moan slips from around Wandaâs thumb in your mouth.
Her eyes flicker red for a brief moment, and you feel something pressing against your core that wasnât there before. You try to look down, but unfortunately Natasha keeps your head raised.
Wandaâs free hand moves down to the dick sheâs enchanted into her body, guiding it to your entrance that is soaked by now. In one movement she bottoms out, causing you to cry out. Your teeth clamp down around her thumb but she doesnât care or at least react to it.
Natashaâs hands find your hips and start moving you to grind against Wandaâs cock. Every movement of her inside you hits deep and hard, cries turn into moans as you get used to the feeling of her. Her thumb slides out of your mouth only to rub up and down your sides, occasionally squeezing your breasts.
One of Natashaâs hands moves from your hip to press hard circles against your throbbing clit, each one making your hips buck against her hand.
âYouâre doing so good, pup⌠so good.â The praise comes from one of the girls, you canât exactly tell which one, too lost in the pleasure of Wanda hitting every wall inside of you.
Her eyes glow red again, you barely pick it up this time. And before you know it, Natasha is rubbing, an admittedly smaller, cock against your ass. She uses the arousal from between your legs as makeshift lubricant before pushing the cock into your ass. That completely wrecks you. You collapse against Wandaâs bare chest, hands clutching the bedsheets beneath her as both your holes are fucked by the two most attractive women youâve ever seen.
âBreathe baby, your okay⌠your doing amazing.â Wanda says, now rolling her own hips up into you since you stopped when you collapsed against her. She presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and guides your lips to wrap around her nipple. You easily take the hardened bud into your mouth, the skin muffled your cries and absorbs your tears. Wanda revels in this, her baby girl crying whilst taking two cocks at one. She couldnât be prouder honestly.
Natashaâs hand on your hip moves to wrap around your waist, her movements are a lot more juttery and uncontrolled compared to Wandaâs. Sheâs also a lot louder than Wanda is, soft groans leaving her as she pressed her lips between your shoulder blades.
The feeling of being so full eventually pushes you over the edge, your back arches up and toes curl against nothing. You mouth opens but no sound comes out. Then like clockwork, both of the cocks inside you begin to twitch as the women let their loads sink into each of your holes.
The room gradually settles into a comfortable silence.
Not the awkward sort.
Not the uncertain sort.
The kind of silence that only exists between people who feel completely safe around one another.
You barely have enough energy left to move. Every muscle in your body feels heavy, your thoughts pleasantly slow and fuzzy as you remain curled against Wandaâs side beneath the blankets. At some point sheâd pulled you fully against her chest, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while her fingers drift lazily through your hair. The motion is absent-minded. Instinctive. The same way sheâd stroked your fur countless times when she thought you were just a wolf. Somehow the familiarity of it makes your chest ache.
Home. The word keeps returning. Home.
Natasha eventually slips out of bed with a quiet groan, disappearing into the bathroom for a few moments before returning with a damp cloth, a glass of water and an entire armful of snacks sheâd apparently stolen from somewhere. You watch her approach through half-lidded eyes, your ears twitching lazily when she sits back down beside you.
âWere those already in here?â you mumble.
âNo.â
âDid you go downstairs?â
âMaybe.â
âNatasha.â
âWhat?â
âYou robbed the kitchen.â
âIt wasnât robbery.â
Wanda doesnât even open her eyes.
âIt was absolutely robbery.â
âI live here.â
âYou stole my crackers.â
âI stole our crackers.â
Wanda finally peeks one eye open.
âThat isnât better.â
Natasha looks deeply offended.
You let out a tired laugh and immediately regret it because it uses far too much energy.
âThere she is,â Wanda murmurs softly.
One of her hands leaves your hair long enough to gently cup your cheek.
âYou okay, Detka?â
The concern in her voice immediately melts something inside your chest. You nod. Then, after a momentâs consideration, shake your head. Then nod again. Both women laugh.
âIâm taking that as a yes.â
âIt means sheâs tired,â Natasha says knowingly.
âI am not.â
âYou once fell asleep standing up.â
âThat happened one time.â
âIt happened three times.â
You glare weakly. Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself.
The glass of water is gently pushed into your hands before you can continue arguing. Both women watch until youâve taken several proper drinks. Only then does Natasha seem satisfied. The crackers are next. You take one mostly because refusing seems like too much effort. Then another. Then another.
âYou were prepared for this,â you realise.
Natasha shrugs. âI know you.â
Wanda hums in agreement. âShe does.â
Your tail immediately thumps beneath the blankets.
Traitor.
The movement earns a smile from both women.
âYou did good today, pup.â
The praise catches you completely off guard.
Your ears twitch.
Natasha reaches over and scratches lightly behind one of them.
âYou came back.â
Something unexpectedly emotional tightens in your chest.
You lower your gaze. âI almost didnât.â
The admission slips out quietly. Immediately both women go still. Wandaâs arm tightens around your shoulders. Natashaâs expression softens.
âHey.â
You glance up. Natasha is looking directly at you now.
âYou came back.â
The words are simple. Matter-of-fact. Yet somehow they hit harder than anything else could have. Because sheâs right. You did. And they came looking for you. The thought settles warmly somewhere beneath your ribs.
Before the room can become too emotional, Wanda reaches for another cracker and immediately discovers Natasha has already eaten half the packet.
Her eyes narrow.
âNatasha.â
âWhat?â
âYou ate all the cheese ones.â
âNo I didnât.â
âThere are literally none left.â
Natasha glances into the packet.
âOh.â
âNatasha.â
âI didnât realise.â
âYou absolutely realised.â
âIt happened accidentally.â
âYou sorted them.â
âI was organising.â
âYou organised them into your mouth.â
You bury your face against Wandaâs shoulder as laughter threatens to escape.
Natasha points accusingly.
âDonât encourage her.â
âIâm not encouraging anything.â
âYou are smiling.â
âBecause youâre ridiculous.â
âYou love me.â
Wandaâs entire expression softens instantly.
âUnfortunately.â
âSee?â
âThat wasnât a compliment.â
âIt was close enough.â
The argument continues for another ten minutes. It isnât really an argument. Just the familiar back-and-forth that youâve spent months listening to from various corners of the compound. The same bickering that always ends with one of them laughing and the other pretending they arenât.
Somewhere during it, your eyes begin drifting closed. Wanda notices first. Of course she does. Her fingers never stop moving through your hair. Natasha notices a few moments later when your head slowly slides further onto Wandaâs shoulder.
âOh, sheâs gone.â
âIâm not gone.â
âYou answered that three seconds late.â
You choose not to respond. Mostly because you are, in fact, nearly asleep.
A warm blanket is pulled higher around you. Someone presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another to the top of your head. You arenât entirely sure who does which.
By the time the girls finally stop bickering and settle down themselves, youâre practically glued to Wandaâs side, your tail loosely wrapped around both of their legs beneath the blankets.
Safe. Warm. Loved.
The last thing you hear before sleep finally wins is Natashaâs quiet voice from somewhere beside you.
âOur girl.â
Wanda immediately hums in agreement.
âOur best girl.â
Your tail gives one final sleepy wag.
Then everything fades into darkness.
:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:
Masterlist
A/N: I started writing this as âwhat if Wanda and Natasha found a wolf?â and somehow ended up 16.8k words deep into a story about them accidentally adopting a werewolf. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fluff, the angst, the possessive girlfriends, and Natasha discovering that she has absolutely no authority in a relationship where Wanda exists.
A/N: All of the works in this collection are entirely fictional and created for storytelling purposes only. They explore obsessive and unhealthy dynamics, and are not meant to reflect or romanticise real-life relationships. Please read with that understanding in mind.
âď¸ď¸ Summary: You think Wanda barely notices you. Meanwhile she has an entire folder of videos proving otherwise.
Time Loop Devotion
âď¸ď¸ Word Count: 4.7k
âď¸ď¸ Summary: Youâre stuck in a time loopâbut youâre the only one who forgets. Wanda remembers every reset, guiding you through it⌠a little too perfectly. The more time you spend with her, the more it starts to feel like sheâs not just helping you survive the loopâsheâs shaping it. And somehow, she always knows exactly how to make you stay.
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Summary: Youâre stuck in a time loopâbut youâre the only one who forgets. Wanda remembers every reset, guiding you through it⌠a little too perfectly. The more time you spend with her, the more it starts to feel like sheâs not just helping you survive the loopâsheâs shaping it. And somehow, she always knows exactly how to make you stay.
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The first time you notice it, it feels like dĂŠjĂ vu stretched just a little too thin.
Not the usual kindâwhere something is vaguely familiar, like a dream slipping through your fingersâbut something sharper. Precise. The way the barista at the cafĂŠ smiles at you before you even speak, already reaching for the exact drink you were about to order. The way a stranger on the street sidesteps you before you even move. The way the same song hums faintly from passing cars at the exact same point in its chorus, over and over.
You brush it off at first. People do that. Your brain fills in patterns where there are none. Thatâs what you tell yourself.
Until you meet her.
Sheâs standing outside your building like sheâs been waiting. Not pacing, not checking her phoneâjust there, still and composed, like a fixed point in everything that feels slightly off. Her eyes find yours immediately, like theyâve done it a hundred times before. Maybe they have. Thereâs something about the way she looks at you that makes your chest tighten, like recognition without memory.
âHi,â she says softly, as if sheâs careful not to startle you.
You hesitate. âDo I know you?â
Thereâs the smallest flicker across her face. Not surpriseâsomething closer to disappointment, quickly masked. âNot yet.â
You should walk away. Every instinct tells you that this is strange, that something about her presence doesnât line up with reality the way it should. But thereâs a calmness in her voice that settles over your nerves like a weighted blanket.
She steps closer, slow enough to give you time to retreat. You donât.
âIâm Wanda,â she says. âAnd youâre⌠stuck.â
You blink. âStuck?â
âIn a loop.â Her gaze searches yours, intense but not unkind. âSame day. It resets. Over and over.â
You laugh, because what else are you supposed to do with that? âRight. And you just decided to tell me that outside my building?â
âIâve told you before,â she replies gently.
The laughter dies in your throat.
Thereâs no mockery in her tone. No hint that this is a joke. Just quiet certainty, like sheâs stating something as obvious as the sky being blue.
âI think Iâd remember that,â you say, but it comes out weaker than you intend.
Wanda tilts her head slightly, studying you. âYou donât. Thatâs part of it. You reset too. Your memories go with it.â
âAnd yours donât?â you ask.
Her lips press together briefly. âNo.â
Something in your chest tightens again. You donât know why you believe herâbut you do. Not completely, not blindly, but enough that the world feels like itâs shifted under your feet.
âIf this is a jokeââ
âItâs not,â she interrupts, still soft, still careful. âI can prove it.â
And she does.
She tells you what youâll say before you say it. Finishes your sentences like sheâs memorised them. Points out things that happen seconds before they doâa car honking, someone dropping their bag, the flicker of a faulty streetlight. Each time, it lands with a quiet, devastating precision.
By the time the day ends, youâre not laughing anymore.
By the time the day resets you understand.
â
Itâs not immediate, the way you adjust to it.
At first, itâs panic. Every time the clock strikes midnight and the world snaps back to morning, it feels like drowning. You wake up in the same bed, the same light filtering through your curtains, the same dull hum of routineâbut now you know.
Or at least, you remember until you donât.
Because you forget.
Thatâs the cruelest part. You donât get to carry it with you. Each reset strips you back to ignorance, leaves you wandering through the same day like itâs new.
Except Wanda is always there.
Always waiting.
Always remembering.
And every time you meet her, she tells you again.
At first, she keeps it simple. Gentle. She helps you navigate the confusion, grounds you when it starts to spiral. She shows you how to test the loop, how to recognise the patterns, how to hold onto the knowledge for as long as you can before it inevitably slips away.
âYouâll forget me,â she says once, her voice quieter than usual as you sit together in a quiet park, the world frozen in its endless repetition. âBut I wonât forget you.â
Thereâs something heavy in the way she says it. Something that lingers even after the day resets and your memory wipes clean.
You donât notice it then.
Not properly.
But something starts to shift.
â
It takes longer than it should for you to realise that Wanda isnât just guiding you through the loop.
Sheâs⌠adjusting it.
At first, itâs subtle. Barely noticeable. A conversation that goes slightly differently. A person who isnât where they should be. A missed moment that should have happened but didnât.
You only catch it because, somehow, fragments stick. Not full memoriesâjust impressions. Echoes. Like trying to recall a dream and only grasping the feeling it left behind.
And the feeling is⌠wrong.
You start paying attention.
Watching her.
Wanda doesnât always approach you the same way. Sometimes sheâs waiting outside your building. Sometimes she âbumpsâ into you at the cafĂŠ. Sometimes she doesnât appear until later, like sheâs testing how long it takes before you start noticing the loop on your own.
Each time, her approach is different.
Each time, you are different.
More open. More guarded. More curious. More distant.
It takes a while for the realisation to settle in, slow and sickening.
Sheâs experimenting.
You donât know how many times sheâs done this. You donât know how many versions of this day have existed, how many variations of you sheâs met, guided, adjusted.
But you know one thing.
None of it is accidental.
â
âWhy do you always find me?â you ask one evening, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
Wanda stills.
Itâs a small reaction, almost imperceptibleâbut you catch it.
âI told you,â she says carefully. âBecause youâre stuck. And I remember.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
Silence stretches between you.
Thereâs something different about this loop. You can feel it. The air is heavier, the space between your words more fragile. Like youâve stepped slightly off the path she expects.
Wanda studies you, her gaze sharper now. Assessing.
âYouâre not supposed to notice this early,â she murmurs.
A chill crawls up your spine. âNotice what?â
She doesnât answer immediately.
And thatâs when you know.
Something cracks open in your chest, a quiet, creeping horror that settles deep in your bones.
âHow many times?â you ask, your voice unsteady. âHow many times has this happened?â
Her expression shifts. Not guiltânot quite. Something more complicated. Something almost⌠conflicted.
âA lot,â she admits.
The simplicity of it makes your stomach drop.
âA lot?â you repeat. âThatâs not an answer.â
âItâs the only one I have,â she says softly.
You shake your head, stepping back. âNo, thatâsâno. You donât get to justâwhat are you doing, Wanda?â
Her eyes flicker with something intense. Desperate, almost. âIâm trying to get it right.â
âGet what right?â
A pause.
And thenâ
âYou.â
The word lands like a blow.
You stare at her, your mind scrambling to make sense of it. âMe?â
âIâve tried different approaches,â she continues, her voice steadier now, like sheâs already said this before. Maybe she has. âDifferent ways of telling you. Different ways of⌠interacting with you. Some work better than others.â
âWork better for what?â you demand.
She hesitates.
And that hesitation tells you everything.
Your chest tightens. âNo.â
Wanda steps closer. âListen to meââ
âNo, you listen,â you snap, something sharp breaking through the confusion. âYouâre not just helping me. Youâreâwhat, running trials? On me?â
âItâs not like that.â
âThen what is it like?â
Silence.
Your heart pounds.
âSay it,â you push. âJust say it.â
Her gaze locks onto yours, unflinching now. Certain.
âIâm trying to make you fall in love with me.â
The world tilts.
For a second, everything goes quiet. Like the loop itself has paused to let the weight of her words settle.
âYouâre joking,â you say, but it comes out hollow.
âIâm not.â
âYouâre resetting the dayâover and overâjust to test how to make me fall for you?â
Her jaw tightens. âItâs more complicated than that.â
âHow?â
âBecause you do,â she says, her voice suddenly fierce. âIn some loops, you do. You choose me. Youââ She cuts herself off, her expression twisting with something raw. âBut it never lasts. It always resets. And then you forget.â
Your breath catches.
âAnd you donât,â you whisper.
âNo.â
The weight of that single word is unbearable.
âSo you just⌠keep trying?â you ask. âUntil what? Until you find the perfect version of me?â
âIâm not changing you,â she insists.
âArenât you?â you shoot back. âYouâre changing everything else around me!â
Her silence is answer enough.
A cold, sinking realisation settles in your chest.
âHow many times have I said no?â you ask quietly.
Wanda doesnât respond.
Your throat tightens. âHow many times have I rejected you?â
Still nothing.
âWanda.â
Her voice is barely audible when she finally speaks.
âEnough.â
The word echoes in your mind, heavy and suffocating.
You take another step back, shaking your head. âThatâs not okay. Thatâsâthatâs not okay.â
âI know.â
âThen why are you still doing it?â
Because she can.
Because there are no consequences.
Because the day will reset, and none of this will matterâexcept to her.
Wanda looks at you like sheâs memorising every detail, every reaction. Like this moment is just another variation to catalogue.
And maybe it is.
âBecause I love you,â she says.
Itâs not dramatic. Not loud. Just quiet, certain, immovable.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
âYou donât get to do this,â you whisper.
Her expression softens, something almost pleading slipping through. âI donât have a choice.â
âYou always have a choice.â
âNot if I want to keep you.â
The words send a sharp, icy fear down your spine.
âKeep me?â you repeat.
The air feels thinner now. Harder to breathe.
Wanda steps closer again, slow and deliberate, like approaching a frightened animal. âYou donât understand. Every time the loop resets, I lose you. Every version of you. Everyâeverything we build, it just disappears. Iâm the only one who remembers it ever existed.â
âThat doesnât give you the right to control it,â you snap.
âIâm not controlling you.â
âYou literally are!â
Her eyes flash, something dangerous flickering beneath the surface. âIâm giving us a chance.â
âAt the cost of my choice?â
âYou still have a choice.â
âDo I?â you challenge. âIf I say no, you just reset the day until I say yes. Thatâs not a choice, Wanda. Thatâsââ
You stop, the word catching in your throat.
Manipulation.
Control.
Something darker.
Wandaâs gaze doesnât waver.
âYouâll understand,â she says quietly.
âNo,â you reply, your voice firm despite the fear curling in your chest. âI wonât.â
A beat of silence.
And thenâ
âOkay.â
The word is soft. Almost gentle.
Too gentle.
Something in your gut twists.
âOkay?â you repeat.
She nods slowly, her expression unreadable now. Calm. Resolved.
âWeâll try a different approach.â
Your stomach drops.
âWhat does that mean?â
Wanda smiles.
And thereâs something about itâsomething just slightly offâthat makes your blood run cold.
âIt means,â she says, her voice smooth and certain, âthis version didnât work.â
The world flickers.
Just for a second.
But itâs enough.
Your breath catches, panic surging as the edges of reality seem to blur, like a glitch in something thatâs not as stable as it should be.
âWaitâWandaââ
But sheâs already stepping back, her gaze still locked onto yours.
Memorising.
Evaluating.
Deciding.
âIâll see you again,â she says softly.
And thenâ
everything resets.
â
You wake up.
Same bed. Same light. Same day.
No memory of what came before.
But across the room, standing in the doorway like sheâs always been thereâ
Wanda watches you open your eyes.
This time, she doesnât smile.
This time, she looks⌠certain.
Like sheâs finally figured something out.
âGood morning,â she says gently.
And something deep inside youâsomething you donât remember earningâfills with a quiet, unexplainable dread.
Because somehowâ
you feel like this is the loop where she gets it right.
â
You donât know why you trust her so quickly this time.
Thatâs the first thing that feels wrong.
It settles into you without resistance, like itâs always been there, like sheâs always been someone you can lean on. Thereâs no hesitation when she explains the loop, no disbelief, no frantic questioning. Just a strange, calm acceptance that sinks into your bones like it was placed there deliberately.
Wanda notices.
Of course she does.
You can see it in the way her shoulders relax, in the way her voice softens when she speaks to you, like sheâs handling something fragile but precious. Like sheâs finally holding something sheâs been reaching for.
âDoesnât it scare you?â she asks at one point, her eyes searching yours carefully.
You pause, considering it.
âIt should,â you admit slowly. âBut⌠it doesnât feel new.â
Her breath catches.
Just slightly.
And you donât know why, but that tiny reaction sends something uneasy curling in your chest.
âWhat do you mean?â she asks.
You frown, trying to put it into words. âItâs like⌠Iâve already been through the panic part. Like I already know how this goes.â
Wandaâs gaze softens, something almost relieved flickering through it. âMaybe you do. In a way.â
You nod, accepting that answer far too easily.
Thatâs the second thing thatâs wrong.
Because somewhere, deep down, something is screaming at you that you shouldnât be this okay with it.
That something has been⌠adjusted.
You just donât know what yet.
And Wandaâ
Wanda knows exactly what she changed.
She watches you closely, tracking every reaction, every word, every subtle shift in your expression. Not with the anxious trial-and-error of before, but with quiet, careful precision. Like sheâs already narrowed it down. Like sheâs refining something instead of searching for it.
âDo you trust me?â she asks later, her voice softer than youâve ever heard it.
The question lingers in the air, heavier than it should be.
And without thinkingâ
âYes,â you say.
Wanda exhales, something deep and long-held loosening in her chest.
And thatâs when it clicks.
Not fully. Not clearly. But enough.
A flicker of something ŃŃĐś breaks through the calm in your mind, sharp and dissonant.
Too easy.
That was too easy.
Your brow furrows slightly, confusion threading through the haze. âWaitââ
Wandaâs expression shifts instantly.
Just a fraction.
But you see it.
The calculation.
The readiness.
âWhat is it?â she asks gently, stepping closer.
âI justââ You hesitate, the feeling slipping through your fingers like sand. âThat didnât feel like⌠me.â
Her gaze sharpens.
Dangerously subtle.
âWhat didnât?â she presses.
âTrusting you,â you say, the words slow, uncertain. âI meanâI do, but⌠I donât know why.â
Silence.
Wanda studies you, her mind moving faster than you can track.
Adjusting.
Recalculating.
Because this wasnât supposed to happen.
Not this soon.
Not in this version.
âYouâve trusted me before,â she says carefully. âMaybe that feeling just⌠stayed with you.â
Maybe.
Itâs a reasonable explanation.
Too reasonable.
You nod slowly, but the unease doesnât go away this time. It lingers, faint but persistent, like a crack forming beneath the surface.
And Wanda sees it.
She always sees it.
Which means she also knowsâ
this loop isnât perfect.
Not yet.
But itâs closer.
Closer than any of the others.
And sheâs not going to lose it now.
Not when youâre finally looking at her the way sheâs always wanted.
Not when youâre this close to staying.
So when you hesitateâ
when that flicker of doubt threatens to growâ
Wanda makes a decision.
A small one.
A precise one.
Barely noticeable.
She reaches out, her fingers brushing against yoursâ
and the world shifts, just slightly.
Just enough.
Your thoughts settle instantly, the unease dissolving like it was never there. The tension in your chest eases, replaced with something warm. Familiar. Safe.
Wanda watches it happen in real time.
Watches you relax.
Watches you smile, soft and unguarded, like nothing was ever wrong.
And this timeâ
this time, you donât question it.
You just look at her like sheâs the only constant in a world that refuses to stay still.
Like sheâs the only thing that makes sense.
And Wandaâ
Wanda finally smiles back, something victorious and quietly possessive settling behind it as she realisesâ
sheâs getting closer.
So, so close.
And if she has to bend reality just a little more to keep you thereâ
well.
You wonât remember it anyway.
The day will reset.
And sheâll try again.
And again.
And again until thereâs no version of you left that could ever think to leave her. and the terrifying part is, you donât feel trapped.
Not at first.
Itâs subtle, the way it settles into you. The comfort. The ease. The way Wandaâs presence starts to feel like the only stable thing in a world that quietly resets itself over and over again. You stop questioning the repetition. Stop resisting the strange, hazy gaps in your memory. Because every time something feels like it might be wrongâlike a thought just slightly out of placeâsheâs there.
Grounding you.
Soft voice, steady hands, eyes that hold yours just long enough to pull you back under.
âYouâre okay,â she murmurs one afternoon, her thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles against your wrist. âItâs just the loop. It can make things feel⌠disjointed.â
You nod, even though the word doesnât quite fit.
Disjointed implies something broken.
But this doesnât feel broken.
It feels⌠guided.
Thatâs what it is. Thatâs what sheâs made it.
Your days begin to blur together in a different way nowânot as a chaotic spiral of confusion, but as something smoother. Curated. There are no sharp edges anymore, no moments of panic that spike too high, no lingering dread that stays long enough to take root.
Wanda doesnât let it.
And the more time you spend with her, the more natural it becomes to follow her lead. To let her decide where you go, what you do, how the day unfolds. Because every time you donâtâevery time you drift even slightly off the path sheâs nudging you downâsomething feels off.
Not wrong.
Just⌠less right.
Like youâve missed a step in something you were supposed to know by heart.
Itâs easier not to fight it.
Easier to stay close to her.
Easier to let her guide you back.
â
âYouâre happier like this.â
The words slip out of Wanda one evening, quiet but certain, like sheâs been holding onto them for a long time.
You glance at her, a small smile already forming before you can think about it. âLike what?â
âLike this,â she repeats, her gaze soft as it traces your face. âWith me.â
Thereâs no pressure in the statement. No demand.
Just⌠truth.
And thatâs what makes it so easy to accept.
âI am,â you admit.
Because you are.
Thatâs the part that should scare you.
But it doesnât.
Wandaâs smile deepens slightly, something satisfied flickering behind it. Not smugânever that. Just⌠relieved. Like sheâs finally seeing something fall into place.
âI knew you would be,â she says.
Of course she did.
She always does.
â
The cracks donât disappear.
They just⌠change.
Instead of loud, jarring breaks in your awareness, they become quieter things. Fleeting inconsistencies. Moments that almost slip by unnoticed if youâre not paying close enough attention.
A phrase Wanda repeats exactly the same way, down to the smallest inflection, hours apart.
A stranger who reacts to you like theyâve met you beforeâbefore quickly correcting themselves.
A song that restarts halfway through, like reality itself lost its place.
Each time, your mind brushes against itâjust for a second.
Each time, Wanda is there before the thought can fully form.
âFocus on me,â she says gently, drawing your attention back, anchoring you before the unease can spread.
And you do.
You always do.
Because focusing on her feels⌠right.
Because every time you donât the world feels like it might slip out from under you.
â
âYou trust me, donât you?â
Itâs not the first time sheâs asked.
But it feels different this time.
Heavier.
More important.
You look at her, really look this time, and for a split secondâjust a split secondâyou see something beneath the surface. Something tightly controlled. Something waiting.
Waiting for your answer.
âYes,â you say.
And itâs true.
But this time you know it didnât start that way.
The thought hits you like a glitch in your own mind, sharp and sudden.
It didnât start like this.
Your breath catches.
Wanda notices instantly.
Her entire body stills, eyes locking onto yours with laser focus. âWhat is it?â
You shake your head slightly, the feeling already slipping, already fading. âNothing, I justââ
No.
Not nothing.
Something is wrong.
Not with the world.
With you.
âI didnât used to trust you,â you say slowly, the words dragging themselves into existence through resistance you donât understand. âDid I?â
Silence.
And that silence is deafening.
Wanda doesnât answer.
Which is an answer.
Your chest tightens. âWanda.â
Her jaw clenches, just for a second.
Then she steps closer, her voice softer now, carefully measured. âIt doesnât matter how it started.â
âIt does to me.â
âYou trust me now,â she counters, like thatâs the only point that should exist.
âThatâs not the same thing.â
Her expression shifts, something sharper breaking through the calm. âWhy does it have to be?â
Because itâs not real.
The thought slams into you, sudden and overwhelming.
Because she made it this way.
Your head spins, fragments pushing to the surfaceâfeelings that donât belong to this version of you. Fear. Resistance. Anger.
Rejection.
You stagger back slightly, your breathing uneven. âYou changed something.â
Wandaâs eyes darken.
âBe careful,â she says quietly.
The warning sends a cold spike down your spine.
âYou did,â you press, the words coming faster now, stronger, like something inside you is finally breaking through whatever sheâs done. âThatâs why it feels so easy now. Thatâs why Iâm not questioning anythingâyou made me like this.â
âI didnât make you anything,â she snaps, and thereâs something raw in it now, something dangerously close to unraveling. âI just⌠helped you see what was already there.â
âNo,â you shake your head, your heart pounding. âNo, thatâs notâthis isnât real.â
Her composure cracks.
Just a little.
But itâs enough.
âDefine real,â Wanda shoots back, her voice tightening. âBecause from where Iâm standing, this is the most real thing either of us has.â
âYouâre controlling it!â
âIâm stabilising it!â
âYouâre manipulating me!â
âIâm saving us!â
The words echo between you, sharp and desperate.
Silence follows.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Your chest rises and falls too quickly, your thoughts spiraling as the pieces start to click together in ways you canât ignore anymore.
Every reset.
Every change.
Every version of you that ever said no.
âTheyâre all gone, arenât they?â you whisper.
Wanda freezes.
âAll the versions of me that didnât want this,â you continue, your voice quieter now, but steadier. âYou just⌠erased them.â
âI didnât erase them,â she says quickly, but thereâs a crack in her voice now. âThey reset. Thatâs how the loop works.â
âBut you chose not to keep them.â
Her silence confirms it.
Something in your chest breaks.
âI donât even know if anything Iâm feeling is mine anymore,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
Wandaâs expression falters, something almost pained flashing across it. âIt is.â
âHow do you know?â
âBecause Iâve seen every version of you,â she says, stepping closer again, slower this time. Careful. âIâve seen the ones that hate me. The ones that fear me. The ones that walk away without looking back.â Her voice tightens, emotion bleeding through despite her control. âAnd Iâve seen the ones that love me.â
Your breath catches.
âAnd this?â you ask, your voice trembling. âWhich one is this?â
Wanda reaches out, her fingers hovering just inches from your face.
âThis,â she says softly, âis the one that stays.â
The words settle over you like a weight.
Heavy.
Final.
And for a moment you almost believe her.
Because it would be so easy.
So easy to let go of the doubt, to sink back into the warmth sheâs built around you, to let her be the constant that holds everything together.
You can feel it pulling at you.
Inviting you.
All you have to do is stop questioning.
All you have to do is let her.
But thenâ
a flicker.
A memory that isnât yours.
Or maybe it is.
A version of you, standing exactly where you are now, looking at Wanda with the same fear, the same realisationâ
saying no.
Your breath sharpens.
âNo,â you whisper.
Wandaâs hand freezes mid-air.
âI donât want this,â you say, louder now, the clarity cutting through everything sheâs tried to smooth over. âNot like this.â
Something shatters behind Wandaâs eyes. Not surprise. Not even anger. Something worse.
Understanding.
Because sheâs seen this before. Heard these words before.
Watched this version of you slip through her fingers â
again.
The air shifts.
You feel it instantly.
That subtle, unnatural distortion, like reality itself holding its breath.
âNo,â Wanda says quietly.
The word is firm this time.
Unyielding.
âWeâre not doing this again.â
Your stomach drops. âWandaââ
âI got it right,â she insists, her voice tightening, something desperate creeping in. âThis time, I got it right. You were happy.â
âI wasnât free.â
âI can fix that.â
âYou canât fix this!â
Her composure cracks completely.
âI CAN!â she shouts, and the world jerks violently around you, like something just snapped under the strain.
Silence slams down after it.
Wandaâs breathing is uneven now, her control slipping in a way youâve never seen before.
âI can make it better,â she says again, softer this time. Pleading. âI can adjust it. Just a little. You wonât even notice.â
Thatâs the problem.
You wonât.
And that terrifies you more than anything else.
âOr,â she continues, her voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous, âI can reset.â
Your blood runs cold.
âWandaâdonâtââ
âItâll be easier next time,â she says, like sheâs convincing herself as much as you. âIâll start earlier. Change less. Keep more of you intactââ
âNo!â you step forward, grabbing her wrist before she can pull away. âStop. Justâstop.â
The contact sends something sharp through both of you.
Wanda goes still.
Completely still.
Her eyes flicker down to where youâre holding her, something unreadable flashing across her face.
âYouâve never done that before,â she whispers.
Your grip tightens slightly. âDone what?â
âStopped me.â
The weight of that settles in your chest.
Because sheâs right.
Every other version of you every other loop you never got this far. You never pushed back like this. Which means this moment is new. Wanda feels it too.
You can see it in the way her expression shifts, something uncertain breaking through the desperation for the first time.
A variable she didnât account for. A version of you she hasnât seen yet.
And for the first time Wanda doesnât know what happens next. The loop trembles around you, unstable, like itâs waiting for her decision.
Reset. Or donât. Her entire world hangs on that choice. And so does yours.
Her gaze lifts back to yours, searching, conflicted, something raw and unguarded bleeding through all the control sheâs been holding onto for so long.
âIf I donât reset,â she says quietly, âthis is it.â
No more adjustments. No more retries. No more different versions of you. Just this one. This choice. Your heart pounds, but you donât let go of her.
âThen let it be it,â you say.
Wandaâs breath catches.
And for the first time since you met her - since any version of you has ever met her - she hesitates.
Not calculating.
Not adjusting.
Just⌠feeling it.
The risk.
The uncertainty.
The possibility that this might not end the way she wants it to.
Her fingers twitch slightly in your grip.
The world flickers.
Once.
Twice.
On the edge of collapse.
And Wandaâ
Wanda closes her eyes.
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Masterlist
A/N: Starting a collection of obsessive/stalker Wanda fics đ If youâve got any specific ideas or tropes you want to see, send them through my asks or message me!
Summary: Your first showing was stressful, being bought by two alphas who canât stop looking at you - it should make you uncomfortable, but it doesnât. From first cuddles to your first time, you find out what itâs like to really be owned and loved.
Your first showing feels like a dream you havenât quite woken up from â too bright around the edges, too loud, too scented with the pheromones of alphas who stare like they already own you. The velvet curtains are heavy behind you, pressing that reality into place.
You swallow hard, stepping out into the auction hall. Everything quiets in a strange, unnerving wave, like your scent reached the crowd before you did.
But among the rows of alphas assessing you with greedy or bored eyes, two figures stand out immediately.
Not because theyâre famous.â¨Not because theyâre powerful.
But because the moment they look at you, something inside your chest answers.
Wanda Maximoff â her gaze warm, soft, and startlingly gentle.â¨Natasha Romanoff â sharp-eyed, leaning back with a half-smirk like she already knows exactly how this ends.
You tell yourself to look away, but you canât.
Natasha nudges Wanda with her elbow, murmuring something you canât hear. Wanda doesnât laugh â but her lips curl into a smile so tender it nearly knocks the breath out of you.
Theyâre already focused on you.â¨Like theyâve seen hundreds of omegas walk across this stage and not one of them mattered until now.
You inhale shakily, and Wandaâs eyes soften further, as if she can sense the spike of nerves.
You have to speak, you remind yourself when the auctioneer asks if youâre ready.
âI⌠yes,â you manage, voice barely above a whisper.
Natashaâs eyes light up at the sound, like your voice is a gift.
âââ
The numbers start low. They always do.
âTwenty thousand.ââ¨âForty.â
Then Natashaâs voice cuts through the murmuring crowd, smooth and lazy:
âFifty.â
A collective shift of attention. Even the auctioneer hesitates.
Then the hostile alpha â the one whose scent reeks of bitterness and frustrated dominance â snaps:
âSeventy.â
Your breath stutters. Something about his gaze makes your stomach knot.
Wandaâs expression changes. Her eyes narrow, protective in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest.
âOne hundred,â she says.
The hall reacts with shock. The couple never bids. Never competes.
The not-so-nice alpha stands, glaring at you like youâre spoiling something for him.
âTwo hundred.â
Natasha laughs under her breath and leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on yours.
âThree-fifty.â
The crowd gasps.
The hostile alpha snarls. âFive hundred.â
Wanda barely waits a beat. âSix.â
Silence.
The man sits down, jaw clenched, scent souring the air.
Sold.
Your knees nearly give out.
âââ
You were held in a back room at first. Then after ten minutes, the two alphas walked in with a natural air of dominance it made you do a double take.
They didnât look at you like theyâd won a prize, or like you were some sort of prey animal. If anything they looked at you as if youâre something worth looking at.
Natasha opens the door of the sleek black car for you herself, which immediately feels wrong, someone with her status doesnât do that.
But she only wiggles her eyebrows and says, âAfter you, sweetheart.â
Youâre startled into a tiny laugh, and Natasha looks disproportionately pleased with herself.
You slide into the plush seat, letting out a slow breath as the door closes and soft light fills the interior. Wanda slips in beside you with elegant ease, her presence warm and comforting.
She waits a moment before speaking, giving you time to breathe.
âIf youâd like the window down,â she says gently, âor extra space, or water â you just ask. Your comfort matters.â
You blink at her, taken aback by the sincerity. âThank you. I⌠Iâm okay. Just overwhelmed.â
Natasha clicks her tongue playfully as she settles on your other side. âOf course you are. That room was full of idiots.â
Wanda nudges her. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being considerate.â She turns back to you. âYou handled it better than most omegas Iâve seen.â
Your cheeks heat. ââŚReally?â
âReally,â they answer in unison.
Wandaâs hand hovers near yours. She doesnât touch â she waits.
âMay I?â she asks softly.
You nod before you even think about it. Her fingers lace with yours gently, like youâre something precious.
Natasha watches the contact, her playful smile softening into something warmer. âWe meant what we said back there. You feel⌠different.â
You swallow. âDifferent how?â
Natasha leans her head on the seat, eyes tracing your face. âThe kind of different that makes my heart do weird things.â
Wanda adds, quieter, âThe kind that feels like coming home.â
Your breath catches. âBut you donât even know me yet.â
âNot yet,â Wanda agrees, curling her thumb against the back of your hand. âBut we will.â
Natasha winks. âUnless you decide you hate us. Then weâll drop you off somewhere nice with a very expensive gift basket.â
You laugh, genuinely this time. âI donât think Iâm going to hate you.â
The two alphas exchange a look that is nothing short of radiant.
âââ
The elevator doors open into a breathtaking open-layout home with windows stretching floor to ceiling, the city glittering below.
You take one step inside and freeze.
âItâs okay,â Wanda murmurs, her hand still in yours. âNew spaces can be overwhelming for omegas after a showing. Take your time.â
Natasha crouches beside the bags she picked up from the concierge desk. âWe got you a few things. Essentials. Some clothes. Snacks. Wanda went overboard.â
Wanda glares at her mate, flushing. âI didnât know what sheâd like.â
Your heart twists. âThatâs⌠really thoughtful. Thank you. Both of you.â
Wanda beams at the praise, and Natasha laughs under her breath. âYou just made her whole week.â
Wanda mutters, âNatasha,â and you canât help but smile again.
âââ
They donât just feed you.â¨They dote on you.
Wanda cooks, actual homemade food that smells like comfort and warmth and everything good. Natasha hovers around you, bringing water, adjusting the lights, making sure youâre not too hot or too cold.
At one point you murmur, âYou donât have to do all this.â
Wanda sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. âWe want to. Youâre ours now⌠not anyone elseâs. And we take care of what we own.â The words are soft, yet the possessiveness undertone is hard to ignore.
Natasha leans her cheek into her palm and grins at you. âPlus, youâre cute when you eat.â
You nearly choke, the slightest hint of pink tints your cheeks and you muffle something unintelligible that made the two alphas smirk.
âââ
Then, they both led you to the bathroom. Wandaâs fingers laced with yours like it was natural, Natashaâs hand pressed against your lower back like a silent promise.
They donât join you, they donât even offer. Instead, they run the bath, test the water, and set fluffy towels within reach.
Wandaâs voice is soft at the doorframe. âIf you want privacy, weâll be down the hall. If you need help with anything, anything at all, just call.â
Natasha adds, âAnd if the scents from earlier are sticking to you, the soaps in there will help.â
You look between them, feeling awkward and warm and safe all at once.
âThank you,â you say quietly. âReally. I⌠didnât expect any of this.â
Natashaâs smile softens. âThatâs okay. Weâll show you.â
Wanda finishes, âThereâs no rush for anything. Tonight is about you resting.â
When they leave and you sink into the warm water, something inside you unwinds in a way you canât remember feeling before.
Afterwards, wrapped in a robe Wanda insisted on warming for you, you wander into the living room. The alphas are lounging on the couch, space between them deliberately kept open.
Wanda pats the spot. âIf you want to join us?â
Your voice comes out shy. âCan I?â
Natasha snorts. âWe were hoping you would.â
You settle between them, shoulders brushing. Their scents are calm, soothing, protective â and you feel yourself relax so fully you almost melt into the couch.
A long moment passes.
Then, softly, you say, âI⌠think I like being here.â
Wandaâs fingers gently brush your arm. âWe like you here too.â
Natasha shifts just enough for her thigh to touch yours. âGet some rest, sweetheart. Weâve got you.â
Your eyes flutter shut.
Their scents wrap around you like a blanket as the city lights glow outside.
And for the first time in a long time you feel safe.
The morning after the showing, you wake slowly in a room you donât recognize. The bed is soft, the sheets warm, and sunlight pours in gently through gauzy curtains. It takes a moment for the memories to collect â the auction, the bidding war, Wandaâs soothing voice, Natashaâs teasing confidence. The car ride. The way their scents made your pulse slow instead of spike.
On the nightstand beside you is a small folded note. Wandaâs handwriting curls neatly across the page.
We let you sleep in. Thereâs food waiting whenever youâre ready.â¨Come find us. No rush.â¨â W & N
The simple kindness of it makes your throat tighten.
When you drift out into the open kitchen, Natasha lifts both arms like sheâs spotted a long-lost friend. âThere she is! Our sleeping beauty.â
Wanda gives her a look, though sheâs smiling softly as she plates food. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being welcoming.â
You sit down, cheeks warm. âI, um⌠good morning.â
Wanda slides a plate in front of you with the gentleness of someone placing something fragile. âEat as much or as little as you want. I wasnât sure what you liked, so I made a few things.â
âA few?â Natasha snorts, waving a hand at the absurd spread of dishes. âThis is a diplomatic buffet.â
You laugh quietly â and Wanda glows as if you handed her a gift.
Those first few days settle into a careful rhythm. You stay in the guest room without pressure to move. Wanda always knocks softly before entering. Natasha announces herself loudly enough that you hear her halfway down the hall.
They never crowd you, never loom the way some alphas do. You realize quickly that Wandaâs patience is bone-deep â she asks before every touch, every closeness. Natasha is bold, but she reins herself in beautifully, offering light teasing taps to your shoulder or a wink across the room but waiting for you to initiate anything more.
It doesnât take long for you to start gravitating toward them on your own.
One lazy afternoon, youâre curled on the couch reading. Wanda sits beside you with a gardening book, her knee barely brushing yours. Every now and then, she glances at you with that soft maternal fondness that makes your cheeks warm. Natasha lounges on the opposite end, feet propped up, pretending not to watch you even though she absolutely is.
You close your book with a sigh. âI⌠like it here.â
Wandaâs face softens. âWeâre glad. Truly.â
Over the next while â not days, not even weeks, just time thick and warm and steady, the penthouse becomes familiar. Comforting.
Wanda teaches you how to care for the balcony plants. She names each one like old friends and beams when you remember them. Sheâs patient, always guiding your hands lightly, her scent warm like cinnamon and hearthfire.
Natasha shows you her workout routine, exaggerating her flexing until youâre doubled over laughing. She jumps to your side the moment you wobble on a machine, steadying you with large warm hands but stepping back as soon as youâre stable again.
Once, she scoops you up bridal-style simply because âyou looked like you needed elevation.â You shriek and cling to her shoulders, and she laughs, bright and smug, while Wanda sighs in the background but fails to hide her smile.
Dinner becomes a shared ritual. Wanda cooks tender, aromatic meals that fill the whole penthouse with warmth. Natasha steals ingredients when Wanda isnât looking. You stir a pot, bumping elbows with them, and their scents mix in the air â not overwhelming, just present. Familiar.
One evening, you pause mid-stir and say, half-joking but not really, âYou two are trying to domesticate me.â
Natasha grins like sheâs been caught. âMaybe we are.â
Wanda flushes so sweetly it makes your stomach flutter.
You grow more comfortable with their scents as time passes. It starts with you sitting between them during a movie because âyou smell nice,â you admit without thinking. Natasha nearly drops the bowl of popcorn. Wanda goes pink to the tips of her ears.
Another night, a wave of leftover fear hits you out of nowhere â the memory of the auction room, the hostile alpha, the feeling of being on display. You sit on the couch and try to breathe through it, but your hands shake.
âHey,â Natasha murmurs gently, crouching in front of you. âWhat do you need?â
You swallow. âI⌠Wanda? Could IâŚ?â
Wanda is beside you instantly. âYou can always ask. May I hold you?â
Your nod is tiny but certain.
She gathers you slowly, her arms warm and secure. Her scent blooms, enveloping you in a soothing, maternal wave that eases the tremor in your chest. Natasha joins on your other side, rubbing slow circles on your back, her voice low and steady as she says, âWeâve got you, omega.â
And you believe them.
You fall asleep there again â tucked safely between them. When you wake much later with your cheek on Wandaâs shoulder and Natashaâs hand resting lightly on your knee, neither alpha pretends it was inconvenient. Wanda only smiles sleepily and whispers, âGood morning, honey,â while Natasha yawns and says, âBest nap ever.â
The shift in the air after that is subtle but undeniable.
You start seeking them out on purpose â leaning into Wandaâs side when she reads, poking Natasha in the ribs when she teases you, curling between them during lazy evenings without hesitation.
One rainy night, the three of you sit under a shared blanket on the couch, the city smudged behind fogged-up windows. Wanda strokes your hair absentmindedly. Natasha twirls a loose thread on your sleeve.
Quiet settles thick and warm, until you whisper, almost too softly to hear:
âI think⌠I think Iâm starting to feel like I belong here.â
Both alphas freeze â but not in fear.
Wandaâs hand cups your cheek gently, her thumb brushing your skin like you might vanish. Her voice shakes just a little. âWe want you to belong here. Truly.â
Natasha leans closer, her expression more earnest than youâve ever seen it. âWe want you, sweetheart. Not because of the bidding. Not because of obligation. Because⌠you fit with us.â
Your breath stutters. Your scent wavers, shy and warm.
Wanda inhales sharply. Natashaâs fingers curl in the blanket. You can feel tension tightening between them â hopeful, restrained, desperate to be patient for you.
ââŚNot tonight,â Wanda whispers, though her eyes are dark with emotion. âWe wonât rush you.â
Natasha nods slowly, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. âBut when youâre ready â fully ready â just tell us. And weâll show you exactly how wanted you are.â
Your heartbeat hammers.
ââŚI think Iâll be ready soon,â you murmur.
Both alphas inhale at the same moment, a sound you feel deep in your bones.
But Wanda only presses her forehead to yours, breathing in your scent with aching tenderness.
âWeâll wait,â she promises.
Natasha leans in, voice low, delighted, almost trembling. âFor you? Weâd wait forever.â
And between them â warm, safe, wanted â you finally let your eyes close.
The moment is coming. But right now is soft. Right now is home.
âââ
Though, they didnât have to wait that long.
Youâd been quiet all week, avoiding their eyes, their scents, rooms that you knew theyâd be in.
The alphas didnât quite understand. Sure, theyâd never had an omega before you. Werenât exactly sure what this behaviour was and definitely didnât know how to ask without sounding like fools.
Some random nature documentary was playing on the television, youâd fell asleep on the couch hours ago, but the couple didnât leave your side nor did they attempt to move you.
Wanda was reading a book sheâd bought months ago, Natasha was playing a game on her phone that she was only half paying attention too. Everything was quiet, until a low unmistakable whine escaped your sleeping throat.
They thought theyâd imagined it at first, even stared at you for a solid minute just to make sure that you were okay. But the beads of sweat that was collecting on your head, and the way your body seemed to be tremble on a microscopic scale caught their attention.
Carefully, Natasha lifted you from the couch - your body overheated and clammy, your scent releasing a sweetness the pair have never smelt before. Wanda carefully turned off all the lights before following Natasha and your still sleeping form to the shared master bedroom.
The scent hit them properly the moment they crossed the bedroom threshold.
Both alphas slowed, instincts snapping sharp and immediate. Heat. Full, undeniable, textbook heat. Wandaâs grip on the doorframe tightened just slightly, Natashaâs spine going rigid as she adjusted her hold on you without even thinking about it.
You woke up naturally, the two alphas sat by your side - nose deep against your scent glands. A pitiful whimper escaping your lips as you instinctively spread you legs, looking at them both with a desperate glint in your soft eyes. âPlease..â You whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.
Both of the Alphasâ eyes nearly turn completely black at your small plea and request, a growl building in both of their chests.
âOh, baby girlâŚâ Natasha practically purrs, her hand finding your hip.
âWe got you.â Wanda assures, giving you a little squeeze.
Both Alphas are on you, their hands everywhere they can reach. They leave kisses all over you, from your neck to your chest.
âYouâve got us for the next few days, little pup.â Wanda whispers softly into your ear.
âWeâll make sure youâre completely looked after by the end of it.â Natasha promises, beginning to help disrobe you along with Wanda.
The two girls made quick work of your clothes before they had you lying on the bed. They both waste not a moment removing their own clothes. Both of them stand near you on either side of the bed as they do so, their eyes raking over every inch of your bare form. And from the hungry looks on their faces, thereâs no question how little theyâre willing to share you.
Wanda is the first one back onto the bed, climbing onto it and straddling your waist as she looks down at you with lust-filled eyes. Natasha follows closely behind, slotting behind your head and running her fingers through your hair and over the soft skin of your neck.
âYouâre already whining so muchâŚâ
Natasha notes, her fingers ghosting down your cheek and stopping to hold your jaw in place.
Wanda, meanwhile, is working her way down your body, leaving small little marks on your skin as she goes. She stops at your chest, taking one of your nipples in her mouth, which earns a moan from deep in your throat. Behind you, Natashaâs fingers go down to your neck and press lightly against your neck where your mating mark from both Alphaâs soon will be.
Wandaâs hand slide down your sides as she flicks her tongue over your nipple and Natashaâs fingers brush against your neck, pressing lightly into your mating gland. A shiver runs down your spine at all the attention your most sensitive spots are receiving. Beneath them you begin to squirm desperately, clenching around nothing and aching to be filled.
âNeedy little girl, huh?â
Wanda releases your nipple with an audible pop before she continues further down, spreading your legs as she goes and settling between them. Natasha moves to your neck, grazing her teeth against your mating gland
âThatâs it, babyâŚâ she murmurs, her fingers still dancing across your neck as she holds you in place.
Down between your legs, Wanda inhales deeply, closing her eyes and moaning as your scent hits her. She looks back up at you with a hungry look in her eyes.
Before you can even get out a sound, one of Wandaâs fingers slide inside of you, already sliding in so easily thanks to your slick. Almost simultaneously, Natashaâs fingers press harder against your neck.
âSo wet and open.â Wanda purrs under her breath.
âYouâre already so willing and ready for us.â adds Natasha, her fingers pressing harder against your neck, her Alpha pheromones filling the room.
Between your heat and the sheer amount of Alpha pheromones now filling the room, your head feels like itâs swimming at the intensity. Wanda slides another finger inside of you, pumping in and out as her tongue swirls around your clit. Youâre practically writhing beneath both Alphaâs, struggling not to move your neck too much to stop Natasha from holding it in place. Youâre whining and trying to speak.
âPleaseâŚâ
Wanda and Natasha both smirk simultaneously at your desperate pleas.
âPlease what, pup?â Natasha asks, her fingers suddenly squeezing around your neck once more, cutting off your airways for a moment.
Wandaâs fingers press against one of your inner walls, making you see white spots for a moment.
âUse your words.â Wanda purrs. It was all you could do not to start whimpering and mewling at both their actions.
You try to get a word out but canât seem to get anything but incoherent moans to come from your mouth. So, instead, you try to use your body to speak for you. Your hips try desperately to grind against Wandaâs fingers.
âI think sheâs desperate to be filled⌠isnât that right, little puppy?â Natasha croons.
Wanda and Natasha both let out a breathy chuckle at your attempts to speak when all you can do is desperately whine. Natashaâs hand stays around your neck as Wanda picks up the pace.
âI think youâre right, TashaâŚâ Wandaâs voice is barely louder than a whisper, already knowing youâre well beyond the point of being able to hold a normal conversation.
Behind your head, Natasha suddenly removes her fingers from your neck, allowing you to breathe properly again. Her hand slides around to your mouth and you let out a gasp, only to be cut off as two fingers make their way into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, stifling your moans.
âSuch a needy little thing..â *Natasha mumbles. Beneath you, Wanda slides a third finger inside your core.
The stretch of your pussy around Wandaâs fingers has you whining around Natashaâs. Youâre trying desperately to speak against her but it just comes out as garbled words. Your hands are gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles are turning white, your breathing is shallow and the pressure building inside you is becoming unbearable.
âYouâre doing so well, pup.â Wanda assures, speeding up the movements of her fingers slightly.
You feel Natasha pull her fingers out of your mouth and sit back a little. She slides her thumb across your bottom lip before turning her attention on Wanda. She runs her fingers through her mates hair and cups her jaw in her palm.
âWandsâŚâ
âI know..â
The two of them share a look that could only be known by the other. You feel Wandaâs fingers leave your core and her body remove itself from between your legs.
You try to take a gulp of air in at the sudden emptiness and try to sit up but Natasha pushes you back down. This time her hand is on your chest, pinning you to the bed. Natasha moves herself between your legs, pressing her hips up against your core and you whine at the feeling of her hard, leaking cock against you.
âSuch a needy little puppy.â Natasha hums.
Just as you start to try and move your hips to create some sort of friction, Natashaâs hands grip your hips and still them. A growl rises from her chest at your movements.
âNo. Stop being a brat.â She scolds. Before you can protest even more, sheâs lining up the tip of her cock with your wet hole. You whine again, trying to squirm in her grip and try to get her inside you.
But Natasha is holding onto you tightly, keeping you where she wants you. Slowly, she starts to push in, inch by inch, making your head go blank as your fingers grip the sheets tighter.
âThatâs it.â She grumbles, keeping track in until her pelvis is pressed up against you.
You try to speak but your words turn into an incoherent moans. Wanda sits beside you on the bed, stroking your hair as you squirm a little.
âJust focus on feeling it.â Wanda instructs, giving you a comforting smile. âCan you do that for me, puppy?â
Before you can even try to reply, Natasha slides almost all the way out and then quickly back in, making you moan loudly.
âThere there⌠good girl.â Wanda murmurs, running her fingers through your hair in a soothing manner.
Natasha sets a rough pace, filling you to the brim with each brutal thrust. Sheâs growling and panting as she uses you, her fingers digging into your hips and her nails just barely break skin.
âSuch a good girlâŚâ she moans. âTaking my cock like a good little puppy..â
Wanda nods in agreement. âSheâs a good girl. Isnât she, Nat?â She asks, glancing over at her wife.
âSuch a good girl.â Natasha grumbles. âSo obedient..â
Wanda leans down, leaving soft kisses all over your face, down your neck and onto your chest. Her hands are still stroking your hair, trying to sooth you. Natasha is still pounding into you, her movements becoming harder but a little less coordinated.
âDonât you want to come, pup?â She asks. âIs that what you want?â
âJust ask..â Wanda instructs.
Your head is spinning and your brain feels fuzzy. You tried to form any coherent thought but they just wonât come out. So, instead, you nod
âPlease..â You manage to whine.
Wanda nods and turns back to Natasha. âLet her come.â Her voice is authoritative enough to make your brain focus for a brief moment before a particular harsh thrust makes you cry out.
âGood girl.â Natasha grunts. She gives a few more rougher thrusts, her fingernails practically drawing blood on your hips now. Then, when sheâs just on the edge, she gives a few final hard thrusts, pressing herself as far into you as possible and moaning your name loudly as she finally comes.
A moment of satisfaction washes over Natashaâs face as her she pants for a second, holding herself still as her cum paints the inside of your puffy cunt.
But then, before sheâs even had a moment to recover, she starts to grow inside you. You can still feeling her length twitching as it continues to throb, but it quickly starts to swell up as her knot starts to swell. âOh fuuuuck⌠you feel that little omegaâŚ?â She groans whilst her hips twitch.
The sudden growing pressure inside you has your hands reaching up to grab onto Natashaâs shoulders. Youâre gripping onto her tightly as she grows locked inside you.
âSshhhâŚâ Wanda soothes, noticing your face contorting at the feeling. âSshh⌠breatheâŚâ she instructs in an almost motherly tone.
Despite you whining and clenching around her knot, Natasha leans over you, her teeth grazing over your mating gland. You feel her breath against it as you wait for a moment.
âYouâre such a good girl,â she murmurs, nipping at the skin just enough to make you whimper.
After another moment and a particularly hard twitch from Natashaâs knot, she gives your mating gland a vicious bite and breaks the skin. A rush of pleasure and ecstasy washes over you as your first bond mark is planted.
âSuch a brave little girl..â Wanda coos.
Wanda had moved so sheâs sat against the headboard of the bed. Youâre still sandwiched between the two Alphaâs. Natasha is still tied to you but sheâs able to keep you spread open for Wanda.
âStay still, pup.â Wanda instructs. âLet momma look after you too..â
Wanda strokes your hair once more before one of her hands slides up your thigh. You feel her fingers spread open your ass before sheâs pressing up against your already occupied cunt. A yelp slips from your mouth, making Natasha growl and bite down on your neck to shut you up.
Wanda slides into you slowly, filling you even more than before. You whine and grip onto Natasha even harder. The brunette alpha lets out a groan of satisfaction as she bottoms out.
âJesus ChristâŚâ she breathes out. Natasha pulls her mouth away from your neck.
âSheâs tight, right?â
âGod, so tight.â Wanda grunts, her hands gripping your hips.
Natasha nods, her eyes shutting and a moan escaping her. âI think sheâs still so sensitive⌠from before.â
The two Alphaâs begin to slowly move.
The two Alphaâs move together, their movements in practiced sync as they keep you impaled on their cocks. Youâre panting and moaning, their names mixing together in your mouth.
âCan you take it, pup?â Wanda asks between her heavy breaths.
Natasha presses her hand onto your abdomen, feeling her own cock pushing up against the skin. You nod, trying to speak, but all you can get out is one word. âY-yes.â
âGood girl..â Natasha purrs. âSuch a good puppy.â Wandaâs hands tighten their hold on your hips, holding you in place as the two of them pick up the pace.
The two Alphaâs are growing rougher with their pace now, their hips smacking into your skin as the bed starts to creak beneath them. Your breaths and moans are getting shorter and more needy with every thrust.
Wanda wraps her hand around your neck again, her fingers applying a little pressure, making you see little white spots again. Natashaâs fingers are grazing your mating mark, making it burn and tingle. âYouâre doing so good, little puppy.â Natasha praises.
Your whole body seems to be on fire with pleasure. Your brain is fuzzy again and your stomach is clenching tighter and tighter.
âSo good, momma.â You manage to whine.
At the little honorific, the Alphaâs seem to take that as a praise, their movements getting rougher. Theyâre both panting and groaning heavily. Natashaâs fingers dig into your skin as she holds you steady while Wandaâs grip on your neck tightens even more.
Youâre getting closer and closer to the edge. Your moans are getting louder and needier as you try to speak.
âPlease. PleaseâŚâ You practically beg.
Both of the Alphaâs nod at you, understanding exactly what youâre trying to say. They pick up the pace even more. Wanda tightens her fingers around your neck, cutting off your breathing for a moment.
âCome, pup.â She instructs.
Wandaâs words and the pressure on your neck from both Alphaâsâ hands is all it takes, sending you over the edge. A strangled cry comes from you and you squeeze your eyes shut as you come.
The two Alphaâs keep working through your orgasm, continuing to chase their own. Theyâre getting sloppy and rougher now. Natashaâs fingers still gripping onto your hip and holding you in place. Wandaâs hand holds your neck tighter.
âWeâre almost there.â Natasha moans.
Wanda lets out a long groan right after, her hips snapping up into you. Her face is flushed a dark pink, her lips parted as she pants. Behind you, Natasha is the last to come. Her whole body tenses up as her knot starts to swell in you.
âOh- Oh, f-fuck.â She moans and pants against your neck. Sheâs panting your scent in like itâs the last breath sheâll ever take.
After what feels like forever, both Alphaâs collapse down on the bed with themselves and you. All three of you are panting and trying to catch your breaths. Wanda is still holding your neck while Natasha is still holding your hip.
âSuch a good puppy.â Natasha praises.
You let out a shaky laugh, your chest rising and falling as the world slowly stops spinning. Wanda presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, murmuring softly, âShh⌠youâre okay. Youâre safe. Right here with us.â
Natashaâs hand never leaves your hip, rubbing soothing circles, grounding you. âLook at you,â she whispers, voice low and calm. âYou did so well. So, so well.â
Wanda shifts slightly, draping a soft blanket over all three of you, tucking you snugly between them. You feel the warmth seep into your bones, the weight of the blanket like a soft shield from the world. Natasha adjusts your position, nudging your head closer to Wandaâs chest. âThere, right there,â she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. âThatâs better, little one. Safe.â
Your muscles tremble slightly from the adrenaline, and Wanda brushes her fingers along your arms, slow, gentle strokes that feel like theyâre melting the tension out of you. âYouâre ours,â she whispers, âand weâre never letting go.â
Natasha hums softly in agreement, a quiet, steady vibration that travels through your chest. She moves her hand from your hip to your side, thumb brushing soothing circles across your ribs. âWeâll take care of you,â she murmurs. âEverything you need, whenever you need it.â
You nuzzle into Wandaâs chest, listening to her heartbeat, the steady rhythm like a lullaby. She runs her fingers through your hair, untangling stray strands, brushing the sweat from your forehead, tucking hair behind your ears with gentle precision. âSuch a good little omega,â she coos, voice thick with affection. âWeâve got every piece of you.â
Natasha slides a hand under your shoulders, giving a small supportive lift so youâre nestled perfectly between them. âYou can rest now,â she whispers, pressing her cheek to yours. âJust breathe. Youâre safe. Weâve got you.â
Wanda shifts again, adjusting the blanket so it covers your feet, pulling it up over your shoulders without breaking the gentle hold on your neck. She brushes her thumb along your jawline, tracing little circles. âWant some water?â she asks softly. âOr maybe a little snack?â
Natasha reaches for a water bottle from the nightstand and holds it to your lips. âThere,â she says, guiding it so you can sip without straining. âTake your time. Weâre not going anywhere.â She watches you carefully, eyes soft, her hand never leaving yours. âThatâs it. Good. Easy.â
You take a few slow sips, feeling the cool water slide down your throat, every swallow grounding you more. Wanda leans down, pressing her lips to your forehead, murmuring, âSee? Youâre safe. Right here, right now. Thatâs all that matters.â
Natasha hums again, running a finger along your arm and down to hold your hand. âWeâre proud of you,â she says softly. âEvery little bit of you. You were amazing.â
Wanda lifts your chin gently, brushing your hair away from your face. âDo you want me to brush your hair?â she asks, already reaching for a soft brush. You nod slightly, too tired to speak. She kneels behind your head and starts brushing slowly, deliberately, the bristles gliding through tangles, each stroke grounding you further.
Natasha leans close, pressing kisses to the top of your head, your temple, your shoulder. âSo good,â she whispers. âSo loved. So safe.â Her hands move to adjust the blanket around your body, making sure youâre fully cocooned in warmth.
Wanda hums a quiet tune, brushing your hair and letting her fingers trail down your arms, over your shoulders, across your back in calming strokes. âShh⌠just rest,â she murmurs. âWeâll stay right here. Always.â
You feel yourself start to drift, heavy with sleep and safety. Natasha notices and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. âGo on,â she says softly. âDream. Rest. Weâve got all of you.â
Wandaâs hand slides to hold yours, thumbs tracing soothing patterns across your knuckles. âWeâll keep you warm,â she whispers. âWeâll keep you safe. And when you wake, weâll still be here. Every time.â
Natasha brushes a finger along your cheek. âWeâre yours, little one. All of us. Every part of you. Never alone.â
You nestle fully between them, letting the exhaustion finally win. Their warmth, their soft touches, their steady breaths⌠everything melts together into a cocoon that feels unbreakable. Every little worry drifts away, replaced with safety, love, and an almost dizzying sense of being completely cherished.
Wanda presses one last kiss to the top of your head as you drift off, whispering, âSleep, little one. Weâll be right here.â
Natasha hums softly, holding your hand and stroking your back. âAlways,â she murmurs. âAlways here.â
And finally, with both Alphas holding you, soothing you, keeping you safe, you let yourself sink fully into sleep, into warmth, into love, knowing that nothing could ever reach you here.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Won by Youam
ABO AU
Alpha WandaNat x Omega Fem!Reader
Word Count: 6.2k
Summary: Your first showing was stressful, being bought by two alphas who canât stop looking at you - it should make you uncomfortable, but it doesnât. From first cuddles to your first time, you find out what itâs like to really be owned and loved.
Your first showing feels like a dream you havenât quite woken up from â too bright around the edges, too loud, too scented with the pheromones of alphas who stare like they already own you. The velvet curtains are heavy behind you, pressing that reality into place.
You swallow hard, stepping out into the auction hall. Everything quiets in a strange, unnerving wave, like your scent reached the crowd before you did.
But among the rows of alphas assessing you with greedy or bored eyes, two figures stand out immediately.
Not because theyâre famous.â¨Not because theyâre powerful.
But because the moment they look at you, something inside your chest answers.
Wanda Maximoff â her gaze warm, soft, and startlingly gentle.â¨Natasha Romanoff â sharp-eyed, leaning back with a half-smirk like she already knows exactly how this ends.
You tell yourself to look away, but you canât.
Natasha nudges Wanda with her elbow, murmuring something you canât hear. Wanda doesnât laugh â but her lips curl into a smile so tender it nearly knocks the breath out of you.
Theyâre already focused on you.â¨Like theyâve seen hundreds of omegas walk across this stage and not one of them mattered until now.
You inhale shakily, and Wandaâs eyes soften further, as if she can sense the spike of nerves.
You have to speak, you remind yourself when the auctioneer asks if youâre ready.
âI⌠yes,â you manage, voice barely above a whisper.
Natashaâs eyes light up at the sound, like your voice is a gift.
âââ
The numbers start low. They always do.
âTwenty thousand.ââ¨âForty.â
Then Natashaâs voice cuts through the murmuring crowd, smooth and lazy:
âFifty.â
A collective shift of attention. Even the auctioneer hesitates.
Then the hostile alpha â the one whose scent reeks of bitterness and frustrated dominance â snaps:
âSeventy.â
Your breath stutters. Something about his gaze makes your stomach knot.
Wandaâs expression changes. Her eyes narrow, protective in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest.
âOne hundred,â she says.
The hall reacts with shock. The couple never bids. Never competes.
The not-so-nice alpha stands, glaring at you like youâre spoiling something for him.
âTwo hundred.â
Natasha laughs under her breath and leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on yours.
âThree-fifty.â
The crowd gasps.
The hostile alpha snarls. âFive hundred.â
Wanda barely waits a beat. âSix.â
Silence.
The man sits down, jaw clenched, scent souring the air.
Sold.
Your knees nearly give out.
âââ
You were held in a back room at first. Then after ten minutes, the two alphas walked in with a natural air of dominance it made you do a double take.
They didnât look at you like theyâd won a prize, or like you were some sort of prey animal. If anything they looked at you as if youâre something worth looking at.
Natasha opens the door of the sleek black car for you herself, which immediately feels wrong, someone with her status doesnât do that.
But she only wiggles her eyebrows and says, âAfter you, sweetheart.â
Youâre startled into a tiny laugh, and Natasha looks disproportionately pleased with herself.
You slide into the plush seat, letting out a slow breath as the door closes and soft light fills the interior. Wanda slips in beside you with elegant ease, her presence warm and comforting.
She waits a moment before speaking, giving you time to breathe.
âIf youâd like the window down,â she says gently, âor extra space, or water â you just ask. Your comfort matters.â
You blink at her, taken aback by the sincerity. âThank you. I⌠Iâm okay. Just overwhelmed.â
Natasha clicks her tongue playfully as she settles on your other side. âOf course you are. That room was full of idiots.â
Wanda nudges her. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being considerate.â She turns back to you. âYou handled it better than most omegas Iâve seen.â
Your cheeks heat. ââŚReally?â
âReally,â they answer in unison.
Wandaâs hand hovers near yours. She doesnât touch â she waits.
âMay I?â she asks softly.
You nod before you even think about it. Her fingers lace with yours gently, like youâre something precious.
Natasha watches the contact, her playful smile softening into something warmer. âWe meant what we said back there. You feel⌠different.â
You swallow. âDifferent how?â
Natasha leans her head on the seat, eyes tracing your face. âThe kind of different that makes my heart do weird things.â
Wanda adds, quieter, âThe kind that feels like coming home.â
Your breath catches. âBut you donât even know me yet.â
âNot yet,â Wanda agrees, curling her thumb against the back of your hand. âBut we will.â
Natasha winks. âUnless you decide you hate us. Then weâll drop you off somewhere nice with a very expensive gift basket.â
You laugh, genuinely this time. âI donât think Iâm going to hate you.â
The two alphas exchange a look that is nothing short of radiant.
âââ
The elevator doors open into a breathtaking open-layout home with windows stretching floor to ceiling, the city glittering below.
You take one step inside and freeze.
âItâs okay,â Wanda murmurs, her hand still in yours. âNew spaces can be overwhelming for omegas after a showing. Take your time.â
Natasha crouches beside the bags she picked up from the concierge desk. âWe got you a few things. Essentials. Some clothes. Snacks. Wanda went overboard.â
Wanda glares at her mate, flushing. âI didnât know what sheâd like.â
Your heart twists. âThatâs⌠really thoughtful. Thank you. Both of you.â
Wanda beams at the praise, and Natasha laughs under her breath. âYou just made her whole week.â
Wanda mutters, âNatasha,â and you canât help but smile again.
âââ
They donât just feed you.â¨They dote on you.
Wanda cooks, actual homemade food that smells like comfort and warmth and everything good. Natasha hovers around you, bringing water, adjusting the lights, making sure youâre not too hot or too cold.
At one point you murmur, âYou donât have to do all this.â
Wanda sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. âWe want to. Youâre ours now⌠not anyone elseâs. And we take care of what we own.â The words are soft, yet the possessiveness undertone is hard to ignore.
Natasha leans her cheek into her palm and grins at you. âPlus, youâre cute when you eat.â
You nearly choke, the slightest hint of pink tints your cheeks and you muffle something unintelligible that made the two alphas smirk.
âââ
Then, they both led you to the bathroom. Wandaâs fingers laced with yours like it was natural, Natashaâs hand pressed against your lower back like a silent promise.
They donât join you, they donât even offer. Instead, they run the bath, test the water, and set fluffy towels within reach.
Wandaâs voice is soft at the doorframe. âIf you want privacy, weâll be down the hall. If you need help with anything, anything at all, just call.â
Natasha adds, âAnd if the scents from earlier are sticking to you, the soaps in there will help.â
You look between them, feeling awkward and warm and safe all at once.
âThank you,â you say quietly. âReally. I⌠didnât expect any of this.â
Natashaâs smile softens. âThatâs okay. Weâll show you.â
Wanda finishes, âThereâs no rush for anything. Tonight is about you resting.â
When they leave and you sink into the warm water, something inside you unwinds in a way you canât remember feeling before.
Afterwards, wrapped in a robe Wanda insisted on warming for you, you wander into the living room. The alphas are lounging on the couch, space between them deliberately kept open.
Wanda pats the spot. âIf you want to join us?â
Your voice comes out shy. âCan I?â
Natasha snorts. âWe were hoping you would.â
You settle between them, shoulders brushing. Their scents are calm, soothing, protective â and you feel yourself relax so fully you almost melt into the couch.
A long moment passes.
Then, softly, you say, âI⌠think I like being here.â
Wandaâs fingers gently brush your arm. âWe like you here too.â
Natasha shifts just enough for her thigh to touch yours. âGet some rest, sweetheart. Weâve got you.â
Your eyes flutter shut.
Their scents wrap around you like a blanket as the city lights glow outside.
And for the first time in a long time you feel safe.
The morning after the showing, you wake slowly in a room you donât recognize. The bed is soft, the sheets warm, and sunlight pours in gently through gauzy curtains. It takes a moment for the memories to collect â the auction, the bidding war, Wandaâs soothing voice, Natashaâs teasing confidence. The car ride. The way their scents made your pulse slow instead of spike.
On the nightstand beside you is a small folded note. Wandaâs handwriting curls neatly across the page.
We let you sleep in. Thereâs food waiting whenever youâre ready.â¨Come find us. No rush.â¨â W & N
The simple kindness of it makes your throat tighten.
When you drift out into the open kitchen, Natasha lifts both arms like sheâs spotted a long-lost friend. âThere she is! Our sleeping beauty.â
Wanda gives her a look, though sheâs smiling softly as she plates food. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being welcoming.â
You sit down, cheeks warm. âI, um⌠good morning.â
Wanda slides a plate in front of you with the gentleness of someone placing something fragile. âEat as much or as little as you want. I wasnât sure what you liked, so I made a few things.â
âA few?â Natasha snorts, waving a hand at the absurd spread of dishes. âThis is a diplomatic buffet.â
You laugh quietly â and Wanda glows as if you handed her a gift.
Those first few days settle into a careful rhythm. You stay in the guest room without pressure to move. Wanda always knocks softly before entering. Natasha announces herself loudly enough that you hear her halfway down the hall.
They never crowd you, never loom the way some alphas do. You realize quickly that Wandaâs patience is bone-deep â she asks before every touch, every closeness. Natasha is bold, but she reins herself in beautifully, offering light teasing taps to your shoulder or a wink across the room but waiting for you to initiate anything more.
It doesnât take long for you to start gravitating toward them on your own.
One lazy afternoon, youâre curled on the couch reading. Wanda sits beside you with a gardening book, her knee barely brushing yours. Every now and then, she glances at you with that soft maternal fondness that makes your cheeks warm. Natasha lounges on the opposite end, feet propped up, pretending not to watch you even though she absolutely is.
You close your book with a sigh. âI⌠like it here.â
Wandaâs face softens. âWeâre glad. Truly.â
Over the next while â not days, not even weeks, just time thick and warm and steady, the penthouse becomes familiar. Comforting.
Wanda teaches you how to care for the balcony plants. She names each one like old friends and beams when you remember them. Sheâs patient, always guiding your hands lightly, her scent warm like cinnamon and hearthfire.
Natasha shows you her workout routine, exaggerating her flexing until youâre doubled over laughing. She jumps to your side the moment you wobble on a machine, steadying you with large warm hands but stepping back as soon as youâre stable again.
Once, she scoops you up bridal-style simply because âyou looked like you needed elevation.â You shriek and cling to her shoulders, and she laughs, bright and smug, while Wanda sighs in the background but fails to hide her smile.
Dinner becomes a shared ritual. Wanda cooks tender, aromatic meals that fill the whole penthouse with warmth. Natasha steals ingredients when Wanda isnât looking. You stir a pot, bumping elbows with them, and their scents mix in the air â not overwhelming, just present. Familiar.
One evening, you pause mid-stir and say, half-joking but not really, âYou two are trying to domesticate me.â
Natasha grins like sheâs been caught. âMaybe we are.â
Wanda flushes so sweetly it makes your stomach flutter.
You grow more comfortable with their scents as time passes. It starts with you sitting between them during a movie because âyou smell nice,â you admit without thinking. Natasha nearly drops the bowl of popcorn. Wanda goes pink to the tips of her ears.
Another night, a wave of leftover fear hits you out of nowhere â the memory of the auction room, the hostile alpha, the feeling of being on display. You sit on the couch and try to breathe through it, but your hands shake.
âHey,â Natasha murmurs gently, crouching in front of you. âWhat do you need?â
You swallow. âI⌠Wanda? Could IâŚ?â
Wanda is beside you instantly. âYou can always ask. May I hold you?â
Your nod is tiny but certain.
She gathers you slowly, her arms warm and secure. Her scent blooms, enveloping you in a soothing, maternal wave that eases the tremor in your chest. Natasha joins on your other side, rubbing slow circles on your back, her voice low and steady as she says, âWeâve got you, omega.â
And you believe them.
You fall asleep there again â tucked safely between them. When you wake much later with your cheek on Wandaâs shoulder and Natashaâs hand resting lightly on your knee, neither alpha pretends it was inconvenient. Wanda only smiles sleepily and whispers, âGood morning, honey,â while Natasha yawns and says, âBest nap ever.â
The shift in the air after that is subtle but undeniable.
You start seeking them out on purpose â leaning into Wandaâs side when she reads, poking Natasha in the ribs when she teases you, curling between them during lazy evenings without hesitation.
One rainy night, the three of you sit under a shared blanket on the couch, the city smudged behind fogged-up windows. Wanda strokes your hair absentmindedly. Natasha twirls a loose thread on your sleeve.
Quiet settles thick and warm, until you whisper, almost too softly to hear:
âI think⌠I think Iâm starting to feel like I belong here.â
Both alphas freeze â but not in fear.
Wandaâs hand cups your cheek gently, her thumb brushing your skin like you might vanish. Her voice shakes just a little. âWe want you to belong here. Truly.â
Natasha leans closer, her expression more earnest than youâve ever seen it. âWe want you, sweetheart. Not because of the bidding. Not because of obligation. Because⌠you fit with us.â
Your breath stutters. Your scent wavers, shy and warm.
Wanda inhales sharply. Natashaâs fingers curl in the blanket. You can feel tension tightening between them â hopeful, restrained, desperate to be patient for you.
ââŚNot tonight,â Wanda whispers, though her eyes are dark with emotion. âWe wonât rush you.â
Natasha nods slowly, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. âBut when youâre ready â fully ready â just tell us. And weâll show you exactly how wanted you are.â
Your heartbeat hammers.
ââŚI think Iâll be ready soon,â you murmur.
Both alphas inhale at the same moment, a sound you feel deep in your bones.
But Wanda only presses her forehead to yours, breathing in your scent with aching tenderness.
âWeâll wait,â she promises.
Natasha leans in, voice low, delighted, almost trembling. âFor you? Weâd wait forever.â
And between them â warm, safe, wanted â you finally let your eyes close.
The moment is coming. But right now is soft. Right now is home.
âââ
Though, they didnât have to wait that long.
Youâd been quiet all week, avoiding their eyes, their scents, rooms that you knew theyâd be in.
The alphas didnât quite understand. Sure, theyâd never had an omega before you. Werenât exactly sure what this behaviour was and definitely didnât know how to ask without sounding like fools.
Some random nature documentary was playing on the television, youâd fell asleep on the couch hours ago, but the couple didnât leave your side nor did they attempt to move you.
Wanda was reading a book sheâd bought months ago, Natasha was playing a game on her phone that she was only half paying attention too. Everything was quiet, until a low unmistakable whine escaped your sleeping throat.
They thought theyâd imagined it at first, even stared at you for a solid minute just to make sure that you were okay. But the beads of sweat that was collecting on your head, and the way your body seemed to be tremble on a microscopic scale caught their attention.
Carefully, Natasha lifted you from the couch - your body overheated and clammy, your scent releasing a sweetness the pair have never smelt before. Wanda carefully turned off all the lights before following Natasha and your still sleeping form to the shared master bedroom.
The scent hit them properly the moment they crossed the bedroom threshold.
Both alphas slowed, instincts snapping sharp and immediate. Heat. Full, undeniable, textbook heat. Wandaâs grip on the doorframe tightened just slightly, Natashaâs spine going rigid as she adjusted her hold on you without even thinking about it.
You woke up naturally, the two alphas sat by your side - nose deep against your scent glands. A pitiful whimper escaping your lips as you instinctively spread you legs, looking at them both with a desperate glint in your soft eyes. âPlease..â You whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.
Both of the Alphasâ eyes nearly turn completely black at your small plea and request, a growl building in both of their chests.
âOh, baby girlâŚâ Natasha practically purrs, her hand finding your hip.
âWe got you.â Wanda assures, giving you a little squeeze.
Both Alphas are on you, their hands everywhere they can reach. They leave kisses all over you, from your neck to your chest.
âYouâve got us for the next few days, little pup.â Wanda whispers softly into your ear.
âWeâll make sure youâre completely looked after by the end of it.â Natasha promises, beginning to help disrobe you along with Wanda.
The two girls made quick work of your clothes before they had you lying on the bed. They both waste not a moment removing their own clothes. Both of them stand near you on either side of the bed as they do so, their eyes raking over every inch of your bare form. And from the hungry looks on their faces, thereâs no question how little theyâre willing to share you.
Wanda is the first one back onto the bed, climbing onto it and straddling your waist as she looks down at you with lust-filled eyes. Natasha follows closely behind, slotting behind your head and running her fingers through your hair and over the soft skin of your neck.
âYouâre already whining so muchâŚâ
Natasha notes, her fingers ghosting down your cheek and stopping to hold your jaw in place.
Wanda, meanwhile, is working her way down your body, leaving small little marks on your skin as she goes. She stops at your chest, taking one of your nipples in her mouth, which earns a moan from deep in your throat. Behind you, Natashaâs fingers go down to your neck and press lightly against your neck where your mating mark from both Alphaâs soon will be.
Wandaâs hand slide down your sides as she flicks her tongue over your nipple and Natashaâs fingers brush against your neck, pressing lightly into your mating gland. A shiver runs down your spine at all the attention your most sensitive spots are receiving. Beneath them you begin to squirm desperately, clenching around nothing and aching to be filled.
âNeedy little girl, huh?â
Wanda releases your nipple with an audible pop before she continues further down, spreading your legs as she goes and settling between them. Natasha moves to your neck, grazing her teeth against your mating gland
âThatâs it, babyâŚâ she murmurs, her fingers still dancing across your neck as she holds you in place.
Down between your legs, Wanda inhales deeply, closing her eyes and moaning as your scent hits her. She looks back up at you with a hungry look in her eyes.
Before you can even get out a sound, one of Wandaâs fingers slide inside of you, already sliding in so easily thanks to your slick. Almost simultaneously, Natashaâs fingers press harder against your neck.
âSo wet and open.â Wanda purrs under her breath.
âYouâre already so willing and ready for us.â adds Natasha, her fingers pressing harder against your neck, her Alpha pheromones filling the room.
Between your heat and the sheer amount of Alpha pheromones now filling the room, your head feels like itâs swimming at the intensity. Wanda slides another finger inside of you, pumping in and out as her tongue swirls around your clit. Youâre practically writhing beneath both Alphaâs, struggling not to move your neck too much to stop Natasha from holding it in place. Youâre whining and trying to speak.
âPleaseâŚâ
Wanda and Natasha both smirk simultaneously at your desperate pleas.
âPlease what, pup?â Natasha asks, her fingers suddenly squeezing around your neck once more, cutting off your airways for a moment.
Wandaâs fingers press against one of your inner walls, making you see white spots for a moment.
âUse your words.â Wanda purrs. It was all you could do not to start whimpering and mewling at both their actions.
You try to get a word out but canât seem to get anything but incoherent moans to come from your mouth. So, instead, you try to use your body to speak for you. Your hips try desperately to grind against Wandaâs fingers.
âI think sheâs desperate to be filled⌠isnât that right, little puppy?â Natasha croons.
Wanda and Natasha both let out a breathy chuckle at your attempts to speak when all you can do is desperately whine. Natashaâs hand stays around your neck as Wanda picks up the pace.
âI think youâre right, TashaâŚâ Wandaâs voice is barely louder than a whisper, already knowing youâre well beyond the point of being able to hold a normal conversation.
Behind your head, Natasha suddenly removes her fingers from your neck, allowing you to breathe properly again. Her hand slides around to your mouth and you let out a gasp, only to be cut off as two fingers make their way into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, stifling your moans.
âSuch a needy little thing..â *Natasha mumbles. Beneath you, Wanda slides a third finger inside your core.
The stretch of your pussy around Wandaâs fingers has you whining around Natashaâs. Youâre trying desperately to speak against her but it just comes out as garbled words. Your hands are gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles are turning white, your breathing is shallow and the pressure building inside you is becoming unbearable.
âYouâre doing so well, pup.â Wanda assures, speeding up the movements of her fingers slightly.
You feel Natasha pull her fingers out of your mouth and sit back a little. She slides her thumb across your bottom lip before turning her attention on Wanda. She runs her fingers through her mates hair and cups her jaw in her palm.
âWandsâŚâ
âI know..â
The two of them share a look that could only be known by the other. You feel Wandaâs fingers leave your core and her body remove itself from between your legs.
You try to take a gulp of air in at the sudden emptiness and try to sit up but Natasha pushes you back down. This time her hand is on your chest, pinning you to the bed. Natasha moves herself between your legs, pressing her hips up against your core and you whine at the feeling of her hard, leaking cock against you.
âSuch a needy little puppy.â Natasha hums.
Just as you start to try and move your hips to create some sort of friction, Natashaâs hands grip your hips and still them. A growl rises from her chest at your movements.
âNo. Stop being a brat.â She scolds. Before you can protest even more, sheâs lining up the tip of her cock with your wet hole. You whine again, trying to squirm in her grip and try to get her inside you.
But Natasha is holding onto you tightly, keeping you where she wants you. Slowly, she starts to push in, inch by inch, making your head go blank as your fingers grip the sheets tighter.
âThatâs it.â She grumbles, keeping track in until her pelvis is pressed up against you.
You try to speak but your words turn into an incoherent moans. Wanda sits beside you on the bed, stroking your hair as you squirm a little.
âJust focus on feeling it.â Wanda instructs, giving you a comforting smile. âCan you do that for me, puppy?â
Before you can even try to reply, Natasha slides almost all the way out and then quickly back in, making you moan loudly.
âThere there⌠good girl.â Wanda murmurs, running her fingers through your hair in a soothing manner.
Natasha sets a rough pace, filling you to the brim with each brutal thrust. Sheâs growling and panting as she uses you, her fingers digging into your hips and her nails just barely break skin.
âSuch a good girlâŚâ she moans. âTaking my cock like a good little puppy..â
Wanda nods in agreement. âSheâs a good girl. Isnât she, Nat?â She asks, glancing over at her wife.
âSuch a good girl.â Natasha grumbles. âSo obedient..â
Wanda leans down, leaving soft kisses all over your face, down your neck and onto your chest. Her hands are still stroking your hair, trying to sooth you. Natasha is still pounding into you, her movements becoming harder but a little less coordinated.
âDonât you want to come, pup?â She asks. âIs that what you want?â
âJust ask..â Wanda instructs.
Your head is spinning and your brain feels fuzzy. You tried to form any coherent thought but they just wonât come out. So, instead, you nod
âPlease..â You manage to whine.
Wanda nods and turns back to Natasha. âLet her come.â Her voice is authoritative enough to make your brain focus for a brief moment before a particular harsh thrust makes you cry out.
âGood girl.â Natasha grunts. She gives a few more rougher thrusts, her fingernails practically drawing blood on your hips now. Then, when sheâs just on the edge, she gives a few final hard thrusts, pressing herself as far into you as possible and moaning your name loudly as she finally comes.
A moment of satisfaction washes over Natashaâs face as her she pants for a second, holding herself still as her cum paints the inside of your puffy cunt.
But then, before sheâs even had a moment to recover, she starts to grow inside you. You can still feeling her length twitching as it continues to throb, but it quickly starts to swell up as her knot starts to swell. âOh fuuuuck⌠you feel that little omegaâŚ?â She groans whilst her hips twitch.
The sudden growing pressure inside you has your hands reaching up to grab onto Natashaâs shoulders. Youâre gripping onto her tightly as she grows locked inside you.
âSshhhâŚâ Wanda soothes, noticing your face contorting at the feeling. âSshh⌠breatheâŚâ she instructs in an almost motherly tone.
Despite you whining and clenching around her knot, Natasha leans over you, her teeth grazing over your mating gland. You feel her breath against it as you wait for a moment.
âYouâre such a good girl,â she murmurs, nipping at the skin just enough to make you whimper.
After another moment and a particularly hard twitch from Natashaâs knot, she gives your mating gland a vicious bite and breaks the skin. A rush of pleasure and ecstasy washes over you as your first bond mark is planted.
âSuch a brave little girl..â Wanda coos.
Wanda had moved so sheâs sat against the headboard of the bed. Youâre still sandwiched between the two Alphaâs. Natasha is still tied to you but sheâs able to keep you spread open for Wanda.
âStay still, pup.â Wanda instructs. âLet momma look after you too..â
Wanda strokes your hair once more before one of her hands slides up your thigh. You feel her fingers spread open your ass before sheâs pressing up against your already occupied cunt. A yelp slips from your mouth, making Natasha growl and bite down on your neck to shut you up.
Wanda slides into you slowly, filling you even more than before. You whine and grip onto Natasha even harder. The brunette alpha lets out a groan of satisfaction as she bottoms out.
âJesus ChristâŚâ she breathes out. Natasha pulls her mouth away from your neck.
âSheâs tight, right?â
âGod, so tight.â Wanda grunts, her hands gripping your hips.
Natasha nods, her eyes shutting and a moan escaping her. âI think sheâs still so sensitive⌠from before.â
The two Alphaâs begin to slowly move.
The two Alphaâs move together, their movements in practiced sync as they keep you impaled on their cocks. Youâre panting and moaning, their names mixing together in your mouth.
âCan you take it, pup?â Wanda asks between her heavy breaths.
Natasha presses her hand onto your abdomen, feeling her own cock pushing up against the skin. You nod, trying to speak, but all you can get out is one word. âY-yes.â
âGood girl..â Natasha purrs. âSuch a good puppy.â Wandaâs hands tighten their hold on your hips, holding you in place as the two of them pick up the pace.
The two Alphaâs are growing rougher with their pace now, their hips smacking into your skin as the bed starts to creak beneath them. Your breaths and moans are getting shorter and more needy with every thrust.
Wanda wraps her hand around your neck again, her fingers applying a little pressure, making you see little white spots again. Natashaâs fingers are grazing your mating mark, making it burn and tingle. âYouâre doing so good, little puppy.â Natasha praises.
Your whole body seems to be on fire with pleasure. Your brain is fuzzy again and your stomach is clenching tighter and tighter.
âSo good, momma.â You manage to whine.
At the little honorific, the Alphaâs seem to take that as a praise, their movements getting rougher. Theyâre both panting and groaning heavily. Natashaâs fingers dig into your skin as she holds you steady while Wandaâs grip on your neck tightens even more.
Youâre getting closer and closer to the edge. Your moans are getting louder and needier as you try to speak.
âPlease. PleaseâŚâ You practically beg.
Both of the Alphaâs nod at you, understanding exactly what youâre trying to say. They pick up the pace even more. Wanda tightens her fingers around your neck, cutting off your breathing for a moment.
âCome, pup.â She instructs.
Wandaâs words and the pressure on your neck from both Alphaâsâ hands is all it takes, sending you over the edge. A strangled cry comes from you and you squeeze your eyes shut as you come.
The two Alphaâs keep working through your orgasm, continuing to chase their own. Theyâre getting sloppy and rougher now. Natashaâs fingers still gripping onto your hip and holding you in place. Wandaâs hand holds your neck tighter.
âWeâre almost there.â Natasha moans.
Wanda lets out a long groan right after, her hips snapping up into you. Her face is flushed a dark pink, her lips parted as she pants. Behind you, Natasha is the last to come. Her whole body tenses up as her knot starts to swell in you.
âOh- Oh, f-fuck.â She moans and pants against your neck. Sheâs panting your scent in like itâs the last breath sheâll ever take.
After what feels like forever, both Alphaâs collapse down on the bed with themselves and you. All three of you are panting and trying to catch your breaths. Wanda is still holding your neck while Natasha is still holding your hip.
âSuch a good puppy.â Natasha praises.
You let out a shaky laugh, your chest rising and falling as the world slowly stops spinning. Wanda presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, murmuring softly, âShh⌠youâre okay. Youâre safe. Right here with us.â
Natashaâs hand never leaves your hip, rubbing soothing circles, grounding you. âLook at you,â she whispers, voice low and calm. âYou did so well. So, so well.â
Wanda shifts slightly, draping a soft blanket over all three of you, tucking you snugly between them. You feel the warmth seep into your bones, the weight of the blanket like a soft shield from the world. Natasha adjusts your position, nudging your head closer to Wandaâs chest. âThere, right there,â she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. âThatâs better, little one. Safe.â
Your muscles tremble slightly from the adrenaline, and Wanda brushes her fingers along your arms, slow, gentle strokes that feel like theyâre melting the tension out of you. âYouâre ours,â she whispers, âand weâre never letting go.â
Natasha hums softly in agreement, a quiet, steady vibration that travels through your chest. She moves her hand from your hip to your side, thumb brushing soothing circles across your ribs. âWeâll take care of you,â she murmurs. âEverything you need, whenever you need it.â
You nuzzle into Wandaâs chest, listening to her heartbeat, the steady rhythm like a lullaby. She runs her fingers through your hair, untangling stray strands, brushing the sweat from your forehead, tucking hair behind your ears with gentle precision. âSuch a good little omega,â she coos, voice thick with affection. âWeâve got every piece of you.â
Natasha slides a hand under your shoulders, giving a small supportive lift so youâre nestled perfectly between them. âYou can rest now,â she whispers, pressing her cheek to yours. âJust breathe. Youâre safe. Weâve got you.â
Wanda shifts again, adjusting the blanket so it covers your feet, pulling it up over your shoulders without breaking the gentle hold on your neck. She brushes her thumb along your jawline, tracing little circles. âWant some water?â she asks softly. âOr maybe a little snack?â
Natasha reaches for a water bottle from the nightstand and holds it to your lips. âThere,â she says, guiding it so you can sip without straining. âTake your time. Weâre not going anywhere.â She watches you carefully, eyes soft, her hand never leaving yours. âThatâs it. Good. Easy.â
You take a few slow sips, feeling the cool water slide down your throat, every swallow grounding you more. Wanda leans down, pressing her lips to your forehead, murmuring, âSee? Youâre safe. Right here, right now. Thatâs all that matters.â
Natasha hums again, running a finger along your arm and down to hold your hand. âWeâre proud of you,â she says softly. âEvery little bit of you. You were amazing.â
Wanda lifts your chin gently, brushing your hair away from your face. âDo you want me to brush your hair?â she asks, already reaching for a soft brush. You nod slightly, too tired to speak. She kneels behind your head and starts brushing slowly, deliberately, the bristles gliding through tangles, each stroke grounding you further.
Natasha leans close, pressing kisses to the top of your head, your temple, your shoulder. âSo good,â she whispers. âSo loved. So safe.â Her hands move to adjust the blanket around your body, making sure youâre fully cocooned in warmth.
Wanda hums a quiet tune, brushing your hair and letting her fingers trail down your arms, over your shoulders, across your back in calming strokes. âShh⌠just rest,â she murmurs. âWeâll stay right here. Always.â
You feel yourself start to drift, heavy with sleep and safety. Natasha notices and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. âGo on,â she says softly. âDream. Rest. Weâve got all of you.â
Wandaâs hand slides to hold yours, thumbs tracing soothing patterns across your knuckles. âWeâll keep you warm,â she whispers. âWeâll keep you safe. And when you wake, weâll still be here. Every time.â
Natasha brushes a finger along your cheek. âWeâre yours, little one. All of us. Every part of you. Never alone.â
You nestle fully between them, letting the exhaustion finally win. Their warmth, their soft touches, their steady breaths⌠everything melts together into a cocoon that feels unbreakable. Every little worry drifts away, replaced with safety, love, and an almost dizzying sense of being completely cherished.
Wanda presses one last kiss to the top of your head as you drift off, whispering, âSleep, little one. Weâll be right here.â
Natasha hums softly, holding your hand and stroking your back. âAlways,â she murmurs. âAlways here.â
And finally, with both Alphas holding you, soothing you, keeping you safe, you let yourself sink fully into sleep, into warmth, into love, knowing that nothing could ever reach you here.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Masterlist
A/N: so⌠I actually buckled down last night and finished this (go me), erm⌠not sure if I like every part of it, I think I could have written the smut a bit better but I donât really have that much practice in writing it. I also wrote this over the span of like⌠a month ish, so if some things repeat/happen twice, then Iâm sorry!
The compound at night always feels different. During the day it is loud in that chaotic, comfortable way that comes with too many strong personalities sharing the same building. Someone is always sparring in the training room, someone is always arguing in the kitchen, and Tonyâs lab is always humming like the walls themselves are alive. But when the night settles in, the noise disappears until the place feels cavernous and hollow, long corridors lit only by dim strips of light along the floor and the quiet ventilation system whispering through the walls.
At the end of one of those corridors, a thin line of light slips beneath a bedroom door that should have been dark hours ago. Inside the room, Wanda sits curled slightly forward on the edge of her bed, her laptop balanced on her thighs and casting a pale glow over her face. Her hair is messy, falling around her shoulders in dark waves, and she hasnât noticed how long sheâs been sitting there. The video on the screen reflects in her eyes while she watches with a stillness that borders on unnatural focus, the kind of attention someone gives when they are afraid to blink and miss something.
On the screen, itâs you.
The footage is clearly recorded from a distance, the frame slightly shaky like the phone had been held carefully but not perfectly steady. Youâre in the training room, standing in front of the heavy punching bag with your hair pulled back and your shirt damp with sweat from a long session. Every strike you throw makes the chain above the bag creak softly, and the force of your hits sends the bag swinging away before snapping back toward you again. Your breathing is heavy but controlled, shoulders tense with effort as you reset your stance and throw another punch.
Wanda doesnât move.
Her eyes track every movement you make, every shift of your body, every small habit you probably donât even realize you have. The way you roll your shoulders when your muscles tighten. The way you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist instead of stopping to grab a towel. The way your jaw tightens slightly when you get frustrated with yourself.
She has watched this exact video so many times she could probably recreate every frame from memory.
Still, she drags the cursor back to the beginning and presses play again.
Your first punch lands again with the same dull thud, and Wanda leans slightly closer to the screen without even noticing sheâs doing it. Her fingers rest lightly against the laptop near the edge of the frame, almost close enough to touch the image of you frozen in motion when she pauses it for a moment. Her lips part just slightly while she studies your face on the screen, her eyes moving slowly across the shape of it like sheâs committing it to memory again even though she already knows it better than she should.
âYou look even better angry,â she murmurs quietly to herself, her voice soft and almost breathless in the empty room. The words arenât ashamed or hesitant, just thoughtful in the way someone might admire a painting theyâve seen a hundred times but still canât stop looking at. Her fingers tap lightly against the trackpad before the video begins moving again, and her gaze sharpens with the same intensity it always does whenever youâre on the screen.
Her laptop is full of these videos.
Not just one or two.
Dozens.
Clips she recorded without you ever noticing. Moments she caught when no one else was paying attention. Little fragments of your life inside the compound that she collected slowly over weeks until the folder filled itself without her even realizing how much she had gathered.
Thereâs one of you asleep on the couch in the common room during movie night, your head tipped back slightly and your arm hanging lazily over the edge while everyone else argued about what film to watch next. Thereâs another where youâre sitting at the kitchen island early in the morning, half-awake while you drink coffee and stare blankly at nothing like your brain hasnât fully started working yet. Thereâs a clip from a mission where youâre shouting instructions over the chaos while civilians run behind you, your voice calm and steady in the middle of absolute disaster.
Wanda opens that one next.
The street in the video is loud and messy with dust and smoke curling through the air, distant sirens wailing somewhere behind the buildings. The camera angle is high up from a rooftop where she had been standing earlier that day, far enough away that no one noticed she had pulled her phone out for a moment. She watches the footage with the same quiet intensity while your figure runs into frame below, your boots splashing through a shallow puddle as you move toward the fight with your weapon in hand.
âYou didnât even hesitate,â she says softly, almost admiringly, as the video continues playing in front of her. Her thumb traces lightly along the edge of the screen while she watches you crouch behind a car and shout something toward Steve across the street. Your expression is sharp and focused, your attention completely locked on the mission like the chaos around you barely even registers.
That was the moment she started recording you more often.
Because she realized something then.
She realized she could watch you whenever she wanted.
All she had to do was keep the moments.
Her laptop shifts slightly when she moves it closer, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark room while she scrolls through the folder again. Each file name is meaningless and random, but she knows exactly what each one contains without needing to check. Her memory for anything related to you is perfect in a way that almost surprises her sometimes.
She clicks another video.
The common room appears this time, warm lighting filling the space while the team relaxes after a long day. Sam is sprawled across the floor with snacks scattered around him, Clint is half-asleep in an armchair, and someone is talking loudly near the kitchen entrance about something that clearly isnât important.
But Wanda barely notices any of them.
Because youâre sitting on the couch.
And next to you is Natasha.
Wandaâs gaze sharpens immediately, her attention locking onto the screen with an intensity that makes her shoulders tense slightly. The video had been recorded casually like the others, her phone angled from the hallway where she had been standing unnoticed while everyone relaxed inside the room.
Youâre laughing at something Natasha says, leaning back against the couch cushions while you shove her shoulder lightly in playful protest. Natasha smiles in that small knowing way she has, her body turning slightly toward you as the conversation continues.
Wandaâs fingers tighten against the laptop.
She watches carefully.
Every second.
Every small shift of your posture.
Natasha leans closer to say something quieter.
And then you kiss her.
Itâs quick. Soft. Casual in a way that makes it clear it wasnât the first time.
But itâs enough.
The moment it happens, Wanda goes completely still.
Her breathing stops.
Her eyes lock onto the screen like the image might change if she stares hard enough.
The video keeps playing, but she isnât hearing the voices anymore. The only thing she can see is the way Natasha smiles against your lips before you pull away, the two of you continuing to talk like the kiss meant nothing at all.
Wandaâs chest tightens in a sharp, sudden way that makes something inside her snap.
The laptop slams shut.
The sound echoes sharply through the room.
For a single second the silence hangs heavy in the air.
Then the room erupts.
Scarlet energy bursts from Wanda in a violent wave that rattles the walls, the desk across the room lifting into the air before smashing sideways into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood. Papers scatter everywhere as the lamp shatters against the floor, glass exploding across the carpet in glittering shards.
Her breathing becomes uneven as another pulse of power ripples through the room, sending a chair flying into the door with a
heavy metallic bang that dents the surface.
âShe doesnât get to touch you,â Wanda says under her breath, her voice low and shaking with something darker than anger. The red glow around her hands flickers violently while the mirror above her dresser cracks straight down the center, splintering outward into jagged lines.
âYou donât even look at me,â she mutters, almost like sheâs thinking the words out loud rather than saying them intentionally. Her gaze drifts toward the fallen laptop on the floor across the room, her chest rising and falling sharply while the faint scarlet glow around her fingers continues pulsing with restless energy.
Another surge of power rattles the walls again before finally beginning to fade, the red light slowly dimming until the room falls back into silence. The destruction left behind is scattered everywhere, broken furniture and glass littering the floor while Wanda kneels in the middle of the wreckage with her hands resting loosely against her thighs.
Her eyes stay fixed on the laptop.
Because it still has the video on it.
The moment with you.
The moment that should have been hers.
And thenâ
Thereâs a knock on the door.
The sound freezes her instantly.
ââŚWanda?â your voice calls gently from the other side, muffled through the metal but unmistakable.
Her heart slams violently against her ribs.
âI heard something crash,â you continue, concern threading through your voice as your hand touches the handle. âAre you okay in there?â
Wanda doesnât move.
Her gaze drifts slowly toward the door.
Because youâre standing right outside it.
And suddenly the distance that had always existed between youâthe safety of watching from hallways, from rooftops, from the glow of a laptop screenâis gone.
Now youâre here.
Only a door between you.
And Wanda has been watching you for far too long to pretend she doesnât want it opened.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Masterlist
A/N: My favourite song rn is Hysteria, and I just thought about Emo Wanda having that obsession over something she canât have, and I also thought that emo Wanda would love Muse in general (Her best era fr)
Summary: You wake up in Wandaâs bed with a pounding head, her shirt on, and just enough memory to know something happened â but not enough to feel safe about it. The panic isnât dramatic; itâs quiet and internal. You remember calling her. You remember her voice. You remember the way she stayed.
âŻÂ¸.â˘Â´*¨`*â˘âż âżâ˘*`¨*`â˘.¸âŻ
You wake slowly, like your body doesnât quite belong to you yet.
At first, itâs just the dull throb behind your eyes that pulls you out of sleep, a steady ache that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Your mouth feels dry, your limbs heavy, and thereâs a faint, lingering warmth wrapped around you that doesnât immediately make sense. You stay still, eyes closed, trying to piece together where you are without moving too much, because even the thought of opening your eyes feels like too much effort.
Then you notice the bed.
Not yours.
The sheets are softer, the mattress slightly firmer, the air around you carrying a scent thatâs familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten before your brain catches up. Lavender. Something warm underneath it. Something distinctly her.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling is wrong. The light filtering through the curtains is softer than the one in your room at home, casting a pale glow across unfamiliar walls. For a moment, you just stare, your mind blank, like itâs buffering, trying to load something it isnât ready to process yet.
Then it hits you.
Wandaâs house.
Your stomach drops slightly, not in fear, but in something far more complicated.
You donât move right away. Instead, you let your gaze drift slowly to the side, careful, cautious, like youâre scared of what you might find if you look too quickly.
And there she is.
Wanda is lying beside you, still asleep, her body angled slightly toward yours without quite touching. One of her arms is bent near her head, the other resting loosely on the bed between you, close enough that if you shifted even an inch, your fingers would brush against hers. Her hair is slightly mussed, falling across her cheek, and thereâs something softer about her like this â less controlled, less guarded.
Youâve never seen her like this before.
Your breath catches quietly in your throat.
For a long moment, you just look at her. Not in a rushed, curious way, but in that slow, lingering way that feels almost intrusive, like youâre seeing something you werenât meant to. The kind of quiet vulnerability she never shows when sheâs awake, when sheâs composed, when sheâs being Wanda.
And then, all at once, pieces of the night start to come back.
Not all of it. Not clearly. But enough.
The party.
The music.
The drinks.
Calling her.
Your stomach tightens.
Fragments flicker through your mind â her voice through the phone, low and steady, saying your name. The way you leaned against the wall, trying to focus on something that wouldnât spin. The warmth of her hand on your face when she found you. The way youâd said, âYou came.â
God.
Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, like you can physically push the memory away. But it doesnât go anywhere. It lingers, pressing at the edges of your thoughts.
You remember the walk, vaguely â the cold air, her arm around you, keeping you upright. You remember her voice telling you to drink water. You remember sitting on her couch, complaining about the taste. You remember her helping youâ
Your eyes snap open again.
Youâre not wearing your clothes.
Your heart skips, not in panic, but in something sharp and disorienting. The shirt you have on is too big, the fabric soft against your skin, smelling faintly like her detergent, like her house. Your cheeks warm instantly, your thoughts tangling.
She helped you change.
The memory is fuzzy, but the fact of it isnât.
You swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how close she is. Of the fact that youâre in her bed. Of the fact that she stayed.
Your gaze flicks back to her, searching her face like it might give you answers you donât know how to ask for.
Why did she stay?
The question sits heavy in your chest, louder than the pounding in your head.
You shift slightly, just enough to test the space between you, and the movement feels too loud in the quiet room. Wanda stirs almost immediately, her brows knitting faintly as she inhales, her body adjusting without fully waking.
You freeze.
For a second, you consider closing your eyes and pretending youâre still asleep, like you can avoid whatever conversation is waiting for you on the other side of this moment. But itâs too late.
Her eyes open.
They find you almost instantly.
Thereâs a flicker of something there â surprise, maybe, or just the brief disorientation of waking up â before it settles into something softer, something more controlled.
âHey,â she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.
Your throat feels tight. âHey.â
The word hangs awkwardly between you, too small for everything sitting underneath it.
For a moment, neither of you moves. Neither of you says anything else. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy. Full.
Wanda pushes herself up slightly, leaning back against the headboard, one hand coming up to rub at her face. You notice the way she avoids looking at you directly for a second, like sheâs gathering herself, pulling those familiar walls back into place.
âHow are you feeling?â she asks finally, glancing over at you.
âLike I got hit by a bus,â you admit, your voice quieter than usual.
That earns a small, almost amused huff from her. âThat sounds about right.â
Another pause.
You sit up slowly, the blanket slipping slightly as you do, and you tug it back up without thinking, suddenly hyper-aware of everything â the space, the clothes, her presence.
âDid IâŚ?â You hesitate, unsure how to even phrase it. âDid I do anything⌠stupid?â
Wandaâs gaze lingers on you for just a second too long before she looks away, her expression smoothing out. âYou were drunk,â she says simply. âThatâs about it.â
Thatâs not an answer.
You can tell itâs not an answer.
But you donât push.
âDid I call you?â you ask instead, even though you already know the answer.
âYes.â
You nod slowly, pressing your lips together. âRight.â
Silence settles again, thicker this time.
You want to ask about the kiss.
You want to ask why she stayed.
You want to ask why your chest feels like this â tight and warm and completely out of your control.
But the words donât come.
Wanda shifts beside you, her hand brushing briefly against yours as she reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table. The contact is accidental, fleeting, but it sends a small, sharp jolt through you anyway.
âDrink,â she says, holding the glass out.
You take it, your fingers brushing hers for just a second longer than necessary. Neither of you comments on it.
You sip slowly, the water grounding you a little, giving you something to focus on that isnât her.
âI should probably go home,â you say after a moment, even though the idea of leaving feels heavier than it should.
Wanda doesnât respond immediately. When you glance at her, sheâs watching you â really watching you â like sheâs trying to figure something out.
âYeah,â she says eventually, her voice even. âProbably.â
But she doesnât move to get up. Doesnât rush you. Doesnât push.
You set the glass down, your fingers lingering on it, unsure of what to do next. Everything feels⌠unfinished. Like thereâs something sitting right there between you, waiting to be acknowledged, but neither of you are brave enough to touch it.
âThank you,â you murmur, because itâs the only safe thing you can say.
âFor what?â
âFor⌠coming to get me. Last night.â You glance down at your hands. âYou didnât have to.â
Wandaâs expression softens, just slightly. âYeah,â she says quietly. âI did.â
Thatâs the problem.
She always does.
And you donât know what that means anymore.
The silence that follows isnât empty. Itâs full of everything youâre both not saying, everything thatâs changed without either of you admitting it out loud.
You shift on the bed, your shoulder brushing hers for just a second before you pull back, like even that small contact feels too loaded now.
Nothing about this feels simple anymore.
And neither of you knows how to make it be.
âŻÂ¸.â˘Â´*¨`*â˘âż âżâ˘*`¨*`â˘.¸âŻ
A/N: itâs been almost 5 months since my last upload to this đŤŁ, kind of lost inspiration but started to write this again like last night.
The compound at night always feels different. During the day it is loud in that chaotic, comfortable way that comes with too many strong personalities sharing the same building. Someone is always sparring in the training room, someone is always arguing in the kitchen, and Tonyâs lab is always humming like the walls themselves are alive. But when the night settles in, the noise disappears until the place feels cavernous and hollow, long corridors lit only by dim strips of light along the floor and the quiet ventilation system whispering through the walls.
At the end of one of those corridors, a thin line of light slips beneath a bedroom door that should have been dark hours ago. Inside the room, Wanda sits curled slightly forward on the edge of her bed, her laptop balanced on her thighs and casting a pale glow over her face. Her hair is messy, falling around her shoulders in dark waves, and she hasnât noticed how long sheâs been sitting there. The video on the screen reflects in her eyes while she watches with a stillness that borders on unnatural focus, the kind of attention someone gives when they are afraid to blink and miss something.
On the screen, itâs you.
The footage is clearly recorded from a distance, the frame slightly shaky like the phone had been held carefully but not perfectly steady. Youâre in the training room, standing in front of the heavy punching bag with your hair pulled back and your shirt damp with sweat from a long session. Every strike you throw makes the chain above the bag creak softly, and the force of your hits sends the bag swinging away before snapping back toward you again. Your breathing is heavy but controlled, shoulders tense with effort as you reset your stance and throw another punch.
Wanda doesnât move.
Her eyes track every movement you make, every shift of your body, every small habit you probably donât even realize you have. The way you roll your shoulders when your muscles tighten. The way you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist instead of stopping to grab a towel. The way your jaw tightens slightly when you get frustrated with yourself.
She has watched this exact video so many times she could probably recreate every frame from memory.
Still, she drags the cursor back to the beginning and presses play again.
Your first punch lands again with the same dull thud, and Wanda leans slightly closer to the screen without even noticing sheâs doing it. Her fingers rest lightly against the laptop near the edge of the frame, almost close enough to touch the image of you frozen in motion when she pauses it for a moment. Her lips part just slightly while she studies your face on the screen, her eyes moving slowly across the shape of it like sheâs committing it to memory again even though she already knows it better than she should.
âYou look even better angry,â she murmurs quietly to herself, her voice soft and almost breathless in the empty room. The words arenât ashamed or hesitant, just thoughtful in the way someone might admire a painting theyâve seen a hundred times but still canât stop looking at. Her fingers tap lightly against the trackpad before the video begins moving again, and her gaze sharpens with the same intensity it always does whenever youâre on the screen.
Her laptop is full of these videos.
Not just one or two.
Dozens.
Clips she recorded without you ever noticing. Moments she caught when no one else was paying attention. Little fragments of your life inside the compound that she collected slowly over weeks until the folder filled itself without her even realizing how much she had gathered.
Thereâs one of you asleep on the couch in the common room during movie night, your head tipped back slightly and your arm hanging lazily over the edge while everyone else argued about what film to watch next. Thereâs another where youâre sitting at the kitchen island early in the morning, half-awake while you drink coffee and stare blankly at nothing like your brain hasnât fully started working yet. Thereâs a clip from a mission where youâre shouting instructions over the chaos while civilians run behind you, your voice calm and steady in the middle of absolute disaster.
Wanda opens that one next.
The street in the video is loud and messy with dust and smoke curling through the air, distant sirens wailing somewhere behind the buildings. The camera angle is high up from a rooftop where she had been standing earlier that day, far enough away that no one noticed she had pulled her phone out for a moment. She watches the footage with the same quiet intensity while your figure runs into frame below, your boots splashing through a shallow puddle as you move toward the fight with your weapon in hand.
âYou didnât even hesitate,â she says softly, almost admiringly, as the video continues playing in front of her. Her thumb traces lightly along the edge of the screen while she watches you crouch behind a car and shout something toward Steve across the street. Your expression is sharp and focused, your attention completely locked on the mission like the chaos around you barely even registers.
That was the moment she started recording you more often.
Because she realized something then.
She realized she could watch you whenever she wanted.
All she had to do was keep the moments.
Her laptop shifts slightly when she moves it closer, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark room while she scrolls through the folder again. Each file name is meaningless and random, but she knows exactly what each one contains without needing to check. Her memory for anything related to you is perfect in a way that almost surprises her sometimes.
She clicks another video.
The common room appears this time, warm lighting filling the space while the team relaxes after a long day. Sam is sprawled across the floor with snacks scattered around him, Clint is half-asleep in an armchair, and someone is talking loudly near the kitchen entrance about something that clearly isnât important.
But Wanda barely notices any of them.
Because youâre sitting on the couch.
And next to you is Natasha.
Wandaâs gaze sharpens immediately, her attention locking onto the screen with an intensity that makes her shoulders tense slightly. The video had been recorded casually like the others, her phone angled from the hallway where she had been standing unnoticed while everyone relaxed inside the room.
Youâre laughing at something Natasha says, leaning back against the couch cushions while you shove her shoulder lightly in playful protest. Natasha smiles in that small knowing way she has, her body turning slightly toward you as the conversation continues.
Wandaâs fingers tighten against the laptop.
She watches carefully.
Every second.
Every small shift of your posture.
Natasha leans closer to say something quieter.
And then you kiss her.
Itâs quick. Soft. Casual in a way that makes it clear it wasnât the first time.
But itâs enough.
The moment it happens, Wanda goes completely still.
Her breathing stops.
Her eyes lock onto the screen like the image might change if she stares hard enough.
The video keeps playing, but she isnât hearing the voices anymore. The only thing she can see is the way Natasha smiles against your lips before you pull away, the two of you continuing to talk like the kiss meant nothing at all.
Wandaâs chest tightens in a sharp, sudden way that makes something inside her snap.
The laptop slams shut.
The sound echoes sharply through the room.
For a single second the silence hangs heavy in the air.
Then the room erupts.
Scarlet energy bursts from Wanda in a violent wave that rattles the walls, the desk across the room lifting into the air before smashing sideways into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood. Papers scatter everywhere as the lamp shatters against the floor, glass exploding across the carpet in glittering shards.
Her breathing becomes uneven as another pulse of power ripples through the room, sending a chair flying into the door with a
heavy metallic bang that dents the surface.
âShe doesnât get to touch you,â Wanda says under her breath, her voice low and shaking with something darker than anger. The red glow around her hands flickers violently while the mirror above her dresser cracks straight down the center, splintering outward into jagged lines.
âYou donât even look at me,â she mutters, almost like sheâs thinking the words out loud rather than saying them intentionally. Her gaze drifts toward the fallen laptop on the floor across the room, her chest rising and falling sharply while the faint scarlet glow around her fingers continues pulsing with restless energy.
Another surge of power rattles the walls again before finally beginning to fade, the red light slowly dimming until the room falls back into silence. The destruction left behind is scattered everywhere, broken furniture and glass littering the floor while Wanda kneels in the middle of the wreckage with her hands resting loosely against her thighs.
Her eyes stay fixed on the laptop.
Because it still has the video on it.
The moment with you.
The moment that should have been hers.
And thenâ
Thereâs a knock on the door.
The sound freezes her instantly.
ââŚWanda?â your voice calls gently from the other side, muffled through the metal but unmistakable.
Her heart slams violently against her ribs.
âI heard something crash,â you continue, concern threading through your voice as your hand touches the handle. âAre you okay in there?â
Wanda doesnât move.
Her gaze drifts slowly toward the door.
Because youâre standing right outside it.
And suddenly the distance that had always existed between youâthe safety of watching from hallways, from rooftops, from the glow of a laptop screenâis gone.
Now youâre here.
Only a door between you.
And Wanda has been watching you for far too long to pretend she doesnât want it opened.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Masterlist
A/N: My favourite song rn is Hysteria, and I just thought about Emo Wanda having that obsession over something she canât have, and I also thought that emo Wanda would love Muse in general (Her best era fr)
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Summary: After two hours on a stressful business call, CEO Wanda Maximoff finally hangs up â only to find her very patient puppy still waiting quietly under her desk.
(Men and minors DNI)
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Wanda had been on the phone for nearly two hours.
The call had started as a simple complaint from one of her companyâs biggest clients, but it had quickly spiraled into something far more delicate. A misunderstanding with one of her employees had nearly cost them the entire contract, and Wanda had spent the last hour and fifty-three minutes calmly untangling the situation.
Her voice had stayed perfectly composed the entire time.
Smooth. Confident. Persuasive.
The kind of voice that built empires.
Anyone listening wouldâve assumed her full attention was on the client.
But that wasnât entirely true.
Because under the desk, curled up on the plush dog bed she had bought specifically for you, you had been there the whole time.
Your chin rested gently on Wandaâs knee, warm and familiar against her through the fabric of her trousers.
Every once in a while you shifted slightly, adjusting where you sat. Once you let out a quiet sigh of boredom. At one point your fingers lightly traced the seam of her pant leg, absentmindedly playing with the fabric.
Wanda noticed everything.
She always did.
But she couldnât reach down. Not during a call like this. So she finished the negotiation.
Finally, the conversation came to an end.
âWonderful,â Wanda said smoothly into the phone. âIâm glad we could resolve everything. Youâll have the revised report by tomorrow morning.â
A pause.
âOf course. Have a good evening.â
The line clicked off.
The office fell quiet.
Wanda leaned back slowly in her chair, rolling her shoulders after being so still for so long. She let out a quiet breath, rubbing the bridge of her nose for a moment.
Then her gaze dropped beneath the desk.
There you were.
Still sitting exactly where you had been the entire time.
Curled slightly on the fluffy bed, your chin resting on her knee like it belonged there. Your eyes looked half-sleepy now, blinking up at her through the dim space under the desk.
Wandaâs lips curved into a soft smile.
âDetkaâŚâ
Her hand slipped beneath the desk, fingers finding the back of your neck. Her thumb gently rubbed slow circles against your skin.
You perked up immediately.
Your head lifted, eyes brightening slightly as you looked up at her.
âThere you are,â Wanda murmured warmly.
You let out a small huff.
âYou were talking forever,â you mumbled quietly.
Wanda chuckled softly. âI know, moya lyubov,â she said. âBig important business things.â
Your nose scrunched slightly. âBoring business things.â
âThat too,â Wanda admitted.
Her other hand tapped her lap gently. âCâmere, puppy⌠let mommy look at her pretty girl.â
You shifted carefully, crawling out from under the desk. Your legs stretched slightly after sitting in the same spot for so long, and Wanda instinctively slid her chair back to give you space.
The moment you stepped closer, her hand guided you forward by the back of your neck.
âUp,â she encouraged.
You climbed into her lap, settling sideways across her thighs. Wandaâs arms wrapped around you immediately, steady and warm.
One hand settled around your waist while the other cupped your cheek, turning your face toward her.
Her eyes softened instantly.
âOh, look at you,â she murmured.
Your hair was a little messy, flattened where it had rested against her knee for so long. Wanda brushed the strands back gently, tucking them behind your ear.
âDid you get sleepy down there?â
âA little,â you admitted, leaning into her touch. âBut I didnât move. I stayed.â
Wandaâs smile grew. âI know you did.â Her thumb brushed across your cheek. âMy good girl.â
Your shoulders relaxed visibly at the praise. You tucked your face slightly against her shoulder, your arms loosely wrapping around her.
âThought you forgot about me,â you muttered softly.
Wanda huffed a quiet laugh.
âImpossible.â
Her fingers slid into your hair, scratching lightly along your scalp in the way she knew you liked.
âI felt you the whole time,â she said. âMy puppyâs little chin pressing into my knee.â
You shifted slightly in her lap.
âI was bored.â
âI noticed,â Wanda said knowingly.
She tilted your chin up with gentle fingers so you had to look at her again.
âAnd yet you stayed so quiet.â
You nodded slightly.
âDidnât wanna interrupt.â
Wandaâs expression softened even more at that.
âOh, detka.â
She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
âYouâre very well behaved.â
Your voice came out quieter now.
âYou like when Iâm good?â
Wandaâs eyes warmed.
âVery much.â
Her hand moved to scratch gently behind your ear, making you instinctively lean toward the touch.
âYou know⌠while I was on that call,â she said thoughtfully, âI kept thinking about reaching down and petting you.â
Your eyes lit up.
âReally?â
âMm,â Wanda hummed. âVery distracting.â
You grinned slightly. âShouldâve done it.â
âDuring a million-pound negotiation? Wanda teased.
You shrugged. âThey wouldnât see.â
Wanda laughed softly.
âPerhaps not.â
She pulled you a little closer, letting your head rest comfortably against her chest now.
For a moment she simply rocked the chair gently, her fingers running slowly through your hair.
Your voice came out muffled against her.
âYou done working now?â
âYes,â Wanda said.
âPromise?â
Wanda tilted her head down, pressing another kiss to your hair.
âI promise.â
You lifted your head again, eyes hopeful.
âSo⌠we can go home?â
Wanda smiled.
âYes, puppy. We can go home.â
Your grin spread immediately.
âBut first,â Wanda added gently.
Her hand slid back to the nape of your neck, rubbing comforting circles there.
âI think someone deserves a reward.â
You blinked up at her.
âFor what?â
Wanda raised an eyebrow.
âFor being such a patient, well-behaved little puppy.â
Your voice turned a little playful.
âWhat kinda reward?â
Wanda hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider it.
Summary: You divorced Natasha Romanoff three years ago. Now you co-parent two kids, attend school events together, and pretend the life you almost had doesnât linger between you. Then one night she stays for dinner. And suddenly everything feels dangerously close to the way it used to be.
(Men and Minors DNI)
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Five Years Ago
The kitchen lights hum softly overhead, casting a warm yellow glow across the countertops and the small figure sitting in a highchair beside you. Katya Romanoffâyour daughter, Natashaâs daughterâis barely a year old and already somehow full of chaos. A small plastic bowl of macaroni and cheese sits in front of her, though âin front of herâ is generous at this point. The pasta is everywhere. Some of it is smeared across the tray of the highchair, several pieces are clinging stubbornly to her tiny fingers, and a streak of bright orange cheese sauce runs across her cheek like war paint. One noodle has somehow ended up tangled in her wispy reddish-blonde hair. She babbles happily to herself, kicking her little feet against the chair as she squishes another handful of macaroni between her fingers with delighted concentration.
You lean your elbows against the kitchen counter beside her, one hand loosely curled around your phone, your eyes flicking every few seconds to the time glowing on the screen. The numbers havenât changed nearly as much as youâd like them to.
9:02 PM.
Natasha had said sheâd be home by eight.
Your gaze drifts toward the door that leads into the hallway, like maybe sheâll appear if you look at it long enough. The apartment is quiet in that strange, stretched way that happens when youâre waiting for someone. Every tiny noise seems louder than it should beâthe hum of the fridge, the faint clink of Katyaâs spoon hitting the tray, the soft cartoon theme song playing from the television in the living room that you turned on earlier for background noise.
Katya squeals suddenly, jerking your attention back to her.
She holds up her fist triumphantly, a single macaroni clutched between her fingers like sheâs just discovered gold.
âIs that so?â you murmur, your voice soft, tired but fond. âVery impressive.â
She grins at you with four tiny teeth and then promptly drops the macaroni onto the floor.
You sigh through your nose, rubbing your face briefly before grabbing a napkin to wipe the cheese sauce from her cheek. She protests with an indignant little whine, twisting away from you with surprising strength for someone so small.
âHey, hey,â you murmur, trying not to laugh despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones. âYour mama would say you look like you wrestled a bowl of pasta and lost.â
At the mention of Natasha, your chest tightens faintly.
Your eyes drift back to the phone.
9:17 PM.
Still nothing.
You tell yourself itâs normal. Missions run late. Debriefs run longer. Sometimes the team goes out afterâTony insists on celebrating anything remotely successful with drinks and obnoxious music. Youâve heard the excuses before. Youâve accepted them before.
But tonight feels heavier.
Maybe itâs the way Katya keeps glancing toward the hallway every time the elevator down the corridor dings. Maybe itâs the way she babbles out half-formed sounds that almost resemble âMama.â Maybe itâs the fact that Natasha promised sheâd be home tonight.
Katya slaps both hands into the macaroni again, sending a small splatter of cheese across the tray.
You exhale a quiet laugh despite yourself.
âAlright, alright,â you murmur, scooping another spoonful and holding it toward her. âEat the food, gremlin. Donât redecorate with it.â
She opens her mouth immediately, accepting the spoon with exaggerated enthusiasm. Most of the macaroni makes it inside, though some still ends up smeared along her chin. She kicks her legs again, clearly pleased with herself.
You check the phone again.
9:31 PM.
Your jaw tightens.
Thirty minutes late.
Your gaze flickers back toward the hallway door again, but the apartment remains stubbornly quiet.
Katya starts fussing softly, her earlier energy beginning to fade. Her eyelids droop slightly as she leans forward in the highchair, smearing her cheek against the tray without even realizing sheâs doing it.
âYeah,â you murmur quietly, brushing a thumb across her soft hair. âYouâre getting tired, huh?â
Another glance at the phone.
Still nothing from Natasha.
A slow breath leaves your chest.
âOkay,â you say gently, sliding the bowl away from Katyaâs reach. âI think weâre done with dinner.â
She whines in protest, little hands reaching clumsily toward the bowl as you wipe them clean with a damp cloth.
âI know, I know,â you soothe softly. âBut if I let you keep going, weâre going to have macaroni on the ceiling.â
Katya huffs, but she doesnât fight when you lift her from the highchair and settle her against your hip. Her small body immediately curls against you, one sticky hand clutching weakly at your shirt.
The kitchen suddenly feels too quiet.
You glance at the clock again before turning toward the living room.
âCome on,â you murmur to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. âLetâs go watch cartoons while we wait for Mama.â
The living room glows with the flickering colors of whatever cartoon is playing on the televisionâbright animals bouncing across the screen, cheerful music chiming in the background. You settle onto the couch with Katya tucked into your arms, grabbing a small blanket from the armrest and draping it loosely over her legs.
She watches the screen with wide eyes for about three minutes.
Then her head slowly droops against your chest.
You shift slightly so sheâs more comfortable, absently rubbing small circles against her back as the cartoon characters chatter away in the background. The warmth of her little body sinks into you, heavy and trusting.
Your eyes drift toward the hallway again.
Still no Natasha.
The clock creeps forward.
10:08 PM.
10:47 PM.
11:15 PM.
At some point Katyaâs small fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your shirt, her breathing evening out into the slow rhythm of sleep. Her face presses into your collarbone, warm and soft and peaceful.
Your chest aches.
âShe said sheâd be home tonight,â you whisper quietly, more to yourself than to her.
Katya doesnât stir.
Eventually you push yourself up from the couch, careful not to wake her. The apartment feels even quieter now as you carry her down the hallway toward her room, the cartoon still playing faintly behind you.
The bedtime routine feels strangely lonely without Natasha there.
You change Katya into her pajamas, her sleepy little protests barely more than quiet whimpers as you wipe the last traces of macaroni from her face and hands. You brush her hair gently, humming under your breath while she clings to your shoulder.
âShh,â you murmur softly as you lower her into the crib. âItâs okay.â
She squirms, small hands reaching toward you immediately.
Your heart twists.
âHey,â you whisper, resting a hand against her tiny chest. âMama will be home soon.â
The words taste hollow even as you say them.
After a moment her eyes finally close again, exhaustion winning over curiosity. Her breathing steadies.
You stay there longer than necessary, watching her sleep.
Then you quietly leave the room.
The apartment is silent again when you return to the living room.
The cartoon is still playing.
You turn the television off.
And you wait.
Midnight comes quietly.
The sound of the front door unlocking makes your head snap up immediately.
The door creaks open, and Natasha steps inside.
Your wife looks mostly fineâno visible injuries, no blood, no limpingâbut thereâs something in the way she moves that makes your stomach twist. Slightly slower than usual. Slightly looser.
And when she steps fully into the apartment, the faint smell of alcohol follows her.
Not strong.
But unmistakable.
Her green eyes land on you almost immediately, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.
âYouâre still awake?â
The words are casual.
Too casual.
Something sharp twists in your chest.
âI was waiting for you.â
Natasha pauses mid-step, shrugging her jacket off slowly.
âYou didnât have to do that.â
Your jaw tightens.
âI know.â
Silence stretches between you for a moment.
Then you ask quietly, âWhere were you?â
Natasha hangs her jacket on the hook by the door, clearly buying herself time before answering.
âDebrief ran late,â she says. âThen Tony wanted drinks.â
You stare at her.
âDrinks.â
She glances back at you, clearly noticing the tone.
âYes.â
A hollow laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
âRight.â
Natashaâs brows draw together slightly.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
You stand from the couch slowly, arms folding across your chest.
âIt means,â you say, your voice tight, âyou told me youâd be home by eight.â
âMission ran long.â
âAnd the drinks?â
Her jaw tightens.
âItâs not a crime to go out with the team.â
âNo,â you say sharply. âBut it is when your wife and kid are sitting here waiting for you.â
Her expression shifts slightly, irritation flickering behind her eyes.
âYou didnât have to wait up.â
âYouâre missing the point, Natasha.â
She exhales slowly, running a hand through her red hair.
âI just got back from a mission. Can we not do this right now?â
âNo,â you say immediately, your voice rising before you can stop it. âBecause we never do it.â
Natasha freezes slightly.
âWhat?â
âYouâre never here anymore,â you continue, the words spilling out faster now. âYou leave before she wakes up, you come home after sheâs asleep. Tonight she kept looking at the door every time the elevator dinged because she thought it might be you.â
Natashaâs face hardens.
âSheâs one year old.â
âAnd she still notices!â
Your voice cracks slightly, frustration finally breaking through the exhaustion.
âYou promised youâd be home tonight.â
Natasha rubs her temples.
âI said Iâd try.â
âNo,â you snap. âYou said you would.â
Silence falls heavy between you.
The tension thickens.
âYou think I want to be gone?â Natasha finally says, her voice quieter but edged with frustration. âYou think I enjoy risking my life every week?â
âThatâs not what Iâm saying.â
âThen what are you saying?â
âIâm saying,â you breathe, âthat weâre supposed to be a family. And right now it feels like Katya and I are just⌠something you come back to when itâs convenient.â
Natasha flinches slightly.
The reaction is subtle.
But you see it.
A long silence stretches between you again.
Then Natasha exhales slowly.
ââŚIâm sorry.â
The words are quiet. Genuine.
Your anger falters slightly.
âI shouldâve come home,â she continues, voice softer now. âTony kept pushing drinks and I didnât think about the time.â
You stare at her.
âShe waited,â you say quietly. âShe kept looking at the door.â
Natashaâs gaze drops toward the floor.
Guilt flickers across her face.
ââŚIs she asleep?â
âYes.â
Another quiet pause.
Then Natasha finally looks back up at you, the sharp edges of her earlier defensiveness gone.
âIâll do better,â she says quietly.
You want to believe her.
God, you want to.
Your shoulders sag slightly as the exhaustion finally settles in.
âCome on,â you murmur tiredly. âLetâs just go to bed.â
Natasha nods softly.
The argument dissolves into silence as the two of you move down the hallway together, the apartment dim and quiet around you.
In Katyaâs room, the baby monitor glows faintly.
And in your bedroom, the bed feels just a little too big as you both climb into itâtired, tense, but trying to believe tomorrow will be better.
⸝
Four Years Ago
The apartment feels strangely quiet when you step out into the hallway, the absence of tiny footsteps and babbling voices almost eerie compared to the usual chaos that comes with a toddler. Katya had clung to your leg for a moment when you first introduced her to the babysitterâsome college-aged girl Tony had sworn was âphenomenal with kids, absolutely top tier, five starsââbut after ten minutes of animated cartoons and a brightly colored toy box, your daughter had mostly forgotten you were even leaving. Still, as you follow Natasha down toward the waiting car, your chest holds that familiar, low hum of guilt that always comes from leaving your child with someone else.
Natasha notices.
She always notices things like that.
Her hand settles lightly at the small of your back as she guides you toward the car Tony had sentâbecause of course Tony Stark would send a car, because apparently showing up anywhere without excessive flair is physically impossible for him.
âSheâll be fine,â Natasha murmurs quietly.
You glance sideways at her.
âI know,â you say, though your voice holds a trace of hesitation. âItâs just⌠the first time weâve left her with someone we donât know.â
Natasha opens the car door for you, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.
âTonyâs terrified of Pepper,â she says dryly. âIf the babysitter was bad with kids, Pepper wouldâve had her blacklisted from the city.â
You snort softly despite yourself and slide into the seat.
The ride to the restaurant is calm. Quiet. The kind of quiet that used to feel normal between you and Natasha, but now feels⌠unfamiliar somehow. Not uncomfortable exactly, just different. Conversations between the two of you these days tend to revolve around schedulesâwhen sheâs leaving for missions, when youâre taking Katya to playgroups, when sheâll hopefully be home.
Still, tonight feels almost like old times.
Natashaâs hand rests loosely over yours for most of the drive.
The restaurant Tony chose is predictably extravagant. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline, warm lights glowing across polished marble floors and pristine white tablecloths. When you arrive, the rest of the group is already seated around a long table near the windowsâSteve and Sharon, Sam with a woman you vaguely remember meeting once before, Bruce nervously adjusting his glasses beside Helen Cho, and of course Tony and Pepper sitting at the head of the table like they own the entire building.
Which⌠they might.
Tony spots Natasha first.
âAh!â he announces loudly, spreading his arms dramatically. âThe Widow arrives. Fashionably late, as always.â
Natasha rolls her eyes.
âWeâre five minutes late.â
âThatâs practically an hour in Stark time.â
You slip into the seat beside Natasha as Pepper smiles warmly at you from across the table.
âIâm glad you could make it,â she says. âItâs been a while since weâve seen you.â
âThatâs because someone keeps stealing my wife for missions,â you reply lightly, nudging Natashaâs arm.
Tony raises his glass.
âSaving the world isnât exactly a nine-to-five gig.â
Natasha shoots him a look.
âNeither is building killer robots.â
Tony pauses.
ââŚThat was one time.â
Dinner passes easily.
The conversation flows between stories from recent missions, Tonyâs latest ridiculous inventions, and Pepper politely reminding him not to turn the penthouse into a testing facility again. Natasha actually relaxes a little as the evening goes on, her shoulders lowering slightly as she leans back in her chair, occasionally brushing her thumb against the back of your hand under the table.
For a little while, things feel⌠normal.
Almost like they used to be.
By the time the main course plates are cleared away, the table has settled into that comfortable, lazy stage of dinner where everyone is full and relaxed, glasses half-finished and conversations drifting in multiple directions.
Pepper glances at you from across the table.
And then she tilts her head slightly.
âYou look glowing tonight,â she says thoughtfully.
You blink.
ââŚGlowing?â
Pepper smiles gently.
âYes. You have that look.â
Tony raises an eyebrow.
âWhat look?â
Pepper doesnât even glance at him.
âThe one where someone might be expecting.â
The table quiets slightly.
Your stomach flips.
Pepper looks between you and Natasha with a curious smile.
âIs there possibly a baby number two on the way?â
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head quickly.
âNo, nothing like that.â
Natasha chuckles beside you.
âTrust me,â she says lightly, lifting her glass. âIf we were having another kid, I would know.â
A few people laugh softly and the conversation moves on almost immediately, but the comment lingers in your mind longer than you expect.
You and Natasha barely see each other these days.
Between her missions and your days revolving around Katya, your lives have slowly begun orbiting around different schedules. Passing each other in the kitchen, exchanging quick kisses before she disappears again.
The idea of another baby seems almost⌠unrealistic.
Still.
The thought lingers quietly in the back of your mind for the rest of the evening.
By the time you and Natasha arrive home, the apartment is dim and peaceful.
The babysitter greets you quietly from the couch, whispering that Katya had fallen asleep about an hour ago. After paying herâand listening to a brief rundown of how âshe was seriously the easiest toddler everââyou walk her to the door while Natasha disappears down the hallway to check on Katya.
Your daughter is still asleep when you peek into her room a moment later, curled up under her small blanket with one stuffed animal clutched in her arms.
Natasha watches her for a moment from the doorway.
âShe didnât even wake up,â she murmurs quietly.
âSheâs been exhausted lately,â you say.
Natasha nods faintly.
The two of you step back into the hallway, closing Katyaâs door carefully.
And for some reason, Pepperâs comment comes rushing back into your mind.
You hesitate.
Then quietly say, âIâll be right back.â
Natasha glances at you curiously but doesnât question it.
You disappear into the bathroom.
The pregnancy test sits in your hand for a long moment before you even open it. Itâs one you bought weeks ago after a late-night pharmacy run for cold medicine, tossed into the cabinet and forgotten about.
Youâre not even sure why youâre doing this.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe something else.
The test takes only a few minutes.
But those minutes feel longer than they should.
When the result finally appears, your stomach sinks.
Negative.
A strange, sharp disappointment floods your chest so suddenly it almost catches you off guard.
Your eyes sting.
You hadnât even realized you were hoping.
The bathroom door creaks open behind you.
Natashaâs voice is soft.
ââŚWhat are you doing?â
You quickly wipe at your face, but the tears have already gathered.
Natasha steps closer, confusion flickering across her features when she sees the test in your hand.
âWait⌠are youââ
She pauses.
ââŚItâs negative.â
You nod weakly, staring down at it.
For a moment Natasha just looks⌠confused.
âI donât understand,â she admits quietly. âWhy are you upset?â
Your chest tightens.
âBecauseâŚâ Your voice falters slightly before you force the words out. âBecause maybe I was hoping it wasnât.â
Natashaâs brows draw together.
âWhy?â
The answer slips out before you can stop it.
âBecause maybe it would bring you back.â
Silence fills the room.
Natasha goes very still.
You swallow thickly.
âYouâre never here anymore,â you whisper. âI thought⌠maybe if we had another baby, youâd want to be.â
The words hang in the air.
Natasha stares at you for a long moment, something complicated flickering behind her green eyes.
Then she exhales slowly.
ââŚI actually kind of want another kid.â
Your head snaps up.
âWhat?â
Natasha rubs the back of her neck.
âKatyaâs getting older,â she says quietly. âShe should have a sibling. Someone to grow up with.â
Your heart stutters slightly.
âYou mean that?â
Natasha shrugs faintly.
ââŚYeah.â
The tension in the room softens just a little.
You look down at the test again.
Then back at her.
âSo⌠we try?â
Natashaâs lips curve faintly.
âUnofficially.â
⸝
The pregnancy happens faster than either of you expected.
Within two months, youâre staring down at another test.
This time itâs positive.
And Natasha changes almost overnight.
She becomes the woman you fell in love with againâattentive, warm, constantly hovering nearby like sheâs terrified you might vanish if she looks away for too long. She starts coming home earlier, sometimes even beating you back to the apartment with groceries already unpacked and dinner halfway finished.
The first time you wake up at one in the morning craving strawberry ice cream, Natasha doesnât hesitate.
She grabs her jacket and disappears out the door.
The only open store is twenty minutes away.
She comes back forty-five minutes later with three different brands.
âYou didnât tell me which one,â she says simply.
Your heart nearly bursts.
For nine months she stays like thatâdoting, attentive, present.
When your son is born, Natasha cries the moment she holds him.
âA boy,â she murmurs softly, brushing her thumb over his tiny cheek.
You smile weakly from the hospital bed.
âWhat do you think about Elliot?â
Natasha looks down at him.
ââŚElliot Romanoff.â
She nods.
âI like it.â
For a while, things feel perfect.
Katya adores her baby brother. Natasha carries Elliot around constantly like heâs made of glass. The apartment fills with the warm chaos of family life again.
But slowlyâŚ
Old habits creep back in.
A mission here.
A late debrief there.
A night out with the team that turns into three drinks too many.
Phone calls that donât come.
Arguments that grow sharper with every passing week.
And somewhere between midnight arrivals and slammed doors, the warmth that came with Elliotâs birth begins fading into the same quiet tension that once filled the apartment before.
Like history repeating itself.
⸝
Three Years Ago
The clock on the microwave reads 9:48 PM, the glowing green numbers reflecting faintly off the dark kitchen tiles. The apartment has that same quiet, stretched feeling it always seems to get when Natasha isnât home yetâthe kind where every little sound seems louder than it should be. The distant hum of the refrigerator. The soft chatter of the cartoon playing in the living room. The occasional creak of the floorboards when one of the kids shifts their weight.
Youâre standing at the edge of the living room now, leaning your shoulder against the wall as you watch Katya and Elliot on the couch.
Katya is three now.
Three years old and already convinced sheâs much more capable than she actually is.
She sits cross-legged on the couch beside her baby brother, carefully holding one of his small stuffed dinosaurs in front of him like sheâs personally responsible for his entertainment. Elliot, meanwhile, is completely oblivious to the effort sheâs putting in. Heâs sprawled back against the cushions, one tiny sock half slipping off his foot while his heavy-lidded eyes stare at the brightly colored cartoon characters bouncing across the television screen.
The flickering light paints both their faces in soft blues and yellows.
You glance down at your phone.
No messages.
Not that you expected any.
You stopped expecting Natasha to be home on time a long time ago.
But that tiny, stubborn piece of hope in your chest never really went away.
Every night thereâs still that quiet thought in the back of your mindâmaybe tonight will be different.
Maybe tonight sheâll come through the door at a normal hour.
Maybe tonight sheâll actually be here to say goodnight to her kids.
Your eyes drift back toward the door.
The hallway beyond it is silent.
Katya suddenly leans toward Elliot, pressing the stuffed dinosaur against his arm.
âLook, Eli,â she says proudly, her voice slightly too loud for the sleepy quiet of the room. âDino!â
Elliot barely reacts.
His head droops slightly forward, his eyelids slowly beginning to slide shut as the cartoon music continues chirping happily in the background.
You push yourself off the wall and walk over to the couch, gently brushing your fingers through Elliotâs soft hair.
âWell,â you murmur quietly. âLooks like someoneâs ready for bed.â
Katya looks up immediately.
âI help!â
You smile faintly.
âOf course you do.â
You lift Elliot carefully from the couch, his small body going limp against your shoulder almost instantly. He lets out a soft, sleepy whine before settling again, one tiny hand curling loosely against your shirt.
Katya jumps down from the couch and hurries after you as you walk down the hallway toward Elliotâs room.
âI help,â she repeats, much more seriously this time.
Her version of helping mostly involves standing directly in the middle of wherever you need to walk.
But you donât say that.
Because if she wasnât there, the hallway would feel a lot emptier.
And right now, youâre not sure you want to feel that.
âOkay,â you say gently as you push Elliotâs bedroom door open with your shoulder. âYou can help.â
Katya beams like youâve just given her the most important job in the world.
Elliot whines softly as you lay him down on the changing table, his sleepy eyes blinking slowly as you switch him into his pajamas. Katya stands beside you the entire time, carefully holding a small diaper like itâs a sacred object.
âHere,â she announces proudly, handing it to you.
âThank you,â you say warmly.
She grins.
It takes twice as long to get Elliot ready for bed with her âhelping,â but you donât mind. Eventually heâs tucked into his crib, his stuffed bear resting beside him while his breathing slowly evens out.
Katya leans against the crib railing, peeking at him.
âHe sleepy,â she whispers.
âYeah,â you murmur softly.
You brush a kiss across Elliotâs forehead before guiding Katya back into the hallway.
âYour turn.â
Katya doesnât argue.
She rarely does when it comes to bedtime.
Her routine is simple nowâpajamas, brushing her teeth, one short story, then her favorite blanket tucked around her shoulders. The same process every night, steady and predictable in a way the rest of your life hasnât been in a long time.
Tonight is no different.
By the time you finish reading the story, Katyaâs eyelids are already drooping.
âNight, Mama,â she murmurs sleepily.
âGoodnight, bug,â you whisper, brushing her hair back from her face.
You close her door softly behind you.
And then the apartment falls quiet again.
The waiting game begins.
You sit on the couch with the television muted, the soft glow from the screen casting dim light across the room. Your phone rests in your hand, though youâre not really looking at it.
Time passes slowly.
11:04 PM.
11:52 PM.
12:38 AM.
At some point you stop checking.
You just sit there.
Waiting.
The sound of the front door unlocking finally breaks the silence.
Your head lifts immediately.
The door opens.
Natasha steps inside.
Itâs 2:03 AM.
Your wife pauses slightly when she sees you sitting there, like she wasnât expecting you to still be awake.
âYouâre up late,â she says casually as she shuts the door behind her.
The familiar scent of alcohol drifts faintly through the air.
But thereâs something else, too.
Something softer.
Sweeter.
Floral.
Your stomach twists.
Natasha doesnât wear floral perfume.
She never has.
Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.
ââŚWhere were you?â
Natasha shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it over the chair by the door.
âOut.â
âWith who?â
She hesitates just slightly.
âSome people from the team.â
You stand slowly from the couch.
The scent becomes stronger as she walks closer.
That perfume again.
It clings to her clothes.
Her hair.
âNatasha,â you say carefully. âWho were you with?â
Her jaw tightens faintly.
ââŚSomeone.â
A hollow feeling spreads through your chest.
âWere you sleeping with her?â
The question hangs heavily in the air.
Natasha freezes.
For a long moment she doesnât say anything.
Then she exhales slowly.
âNo.â
Your eyes narrow.
âNo?â
âI wasnât sleeping with her.â
âThatâs a very specific answer.â
Silence.
Your stomach drops further.
ââŚNatasha.â
She runs a hand through her hair, clearly realizing thereâs no point dodging the truth.
âWe were drinking,â she admits quietly.
âAnd?â
Her eyes flick up to meet yours.
ââŚWe kissed.â
The room goes completely still.
Your chest feels strangely empty.
Like the air has been pulled straight out of it.
âNothing else happened,â she adds quickly. âI stopped it.â
But the words barely register.
All you can think about is the perfume clinging to her shirt.
The late nights.
The missed dinners.
The broken promises.
The way your kids fall asleep every night without seeing their mother.
Your voice comes out hollow.
ââŚRight.â
Natasha takes a step toward you.
âIt didnât mean anything.â
You laugh softly.
But thereâs no humor in it.
âThatâs almost worse.â
She doesnât argue.
Because she knows youâre right.
The silence stretches between you again.
Heavy.
Final.
Somewhere down the hallway, Elliot stirs faintly in his crib before settling again.
You close your eyes for a moment.
When you open them again, your voice is quiet.
âI think weâre done.â
Natasha doesnât protest.
She doesnât argue.
She just looks tired.
Like sheâs been expecting those words for a long time.
⸝
A week later, you place the divorce papers on the kitchen counter.
Natasha stares at them for a long moment.
Then she nods.
ââŚOkay.â
No shouting.
No begging.
Just quiet acceptance.
The process moves quickly after that.
The lawyers handle most of it, the paperwork sliding through the legal system with almost mechanical efficiency. Natasha never fights it. Never tries to delay it.
The custody agreement settles at 50/50.
Fair.
Simple.
Katya and Elliot will split their time between the two of you.
And just like thatâ
The life you built together ends. Not with a dramatic explosion. But with quiet signatures on a stack of papers.
⸝
Present Day
The house had felt too big the first night you slept in it.
Not in a bad wayâjust unfamiliar. The kind of quiet that comes from space instead of loneliness. After years of apartments and shared hallways and elevators that hummed through the walls, the simple fact that your front door opened directly to your own driveway had felt strange.
But the kids had loved it immediately.
Katya especially.
She had run through the empty rooms when you first got the keys, her small voice echoing off bare walls while Elliot toddled after her, barely steady on his feet at the time. The yard had sealed the deal for both of themâan actual patch of grass big enough to run across without bumping into anything.
Now, years later, that same yard is full of noise.
Bright balloons tied to the fence bounce in the warm breeze while a giant inflatable bouncy castle dominates the center of the lawn, packed with shrieking six-year-olds who seem physically incapable of staying still for more than half a second.
Katyaâs sixth birthday party is in full chaos.
Exactly how she wanted it.
Kids from her entire class run back and forth across the grass, their shoes kicking up little clouds of dirt as they chase each other between the garden chairs and the inflatable castle. Someoneâs brought a bubble machine thatâs sending shimmering bubbles drifting lazily through the air, popping softly whenever one of the kids jumps too close.
You stand near the patio doors, leaning against the frame while you watch it all unfold.
And, as alwaysâ
Elliot is glued to your side.
Your four-year-old clings to your leg with the stubborn determination of someone who has decided this is simply where he belongs. His small arms wrap around your thigh while he peers cautiously at the chaos happening across the garden.
Several kids from his daycare are running around with the older ones, but Elliot has shown absolutely zero interest in joining them.
He presses his cheek against your leg instead.
âEli,â you murmur gently, glancing down at him. âYour friends are here.â
He shakes his head immediately.
âNo.â
You huff a quiet laugh.
Heâs always been like this.
From the moment he could walk, Elliot had attached himself firmly to you. Katya had been independent almost to a fault as a toddlerârunning ahead, climbing things she probably shouldnât, exploring every corner she could find.
Elliot is the opposite: Your shadow. Your little mamaâs boy.
He shifts slightly now, attempting to climb up your leg in a slow, determined effort that would almost be impressive if it wasnât so inconvenient while youâre trying to carry plates out to the patio table.
âBuddy,â you say patiently, steadying the stack of napkins in your hands. âI need my leg.â
âNo,â he repeats, tightening his grip.
You sigh softly.
From across the yard, your mother laughs quietly.
âHeâs just like Katya used to be,â she says warmly.
You glance over toward the garden table where several adults have gatheredâyour parents, a few of the other kidsâ parents, and even Natashaâs family.
Her parents sit near the edge of the patio, her mother watching the children with the quiet attentiveness of someone who has spent decades observing people carefully. Natashaâs sister stands nearby talking with one of Katyaâs friendâs moms while sipping from a plastic cup of lemonade.
They all showed up on time.
Natasha didnât.
Your eyes flick briefly toward the driveway.
Still empty.
Not surprising.
You stopped expecting punctuality from Natasha a long time ago.
But, like always, thereâs still that tiny, stubborn part of you that hopes sheâll show up anyway.
The party continues without her.
Katya bounces on the castle with three of her friends, her wild red hair flying around her face as she laughs loudly enough for the entire garden to hear. Someone starts a game of tag that quickly devolves into half the kids sprinting in random directions while the other half collapse into giggles on the grass.
Elliot remains firmly attached to your leg the entire time.
Eventually you manage to peel him off just long enough to set up the grill near the edge of the patio. The charcoal crackles softly as you arrange the burgers and hotdogs nearby, preparing to start cooking for the growing crowd of hungry children.
Thatâs when a car pulls into the driveway.
You glance up automatically.
Natashaâs car.
It takes her a moment to get out.
But when she does, she looks⌠mostly the same as always. Dark jacket, boots, red hair tied loosely back. Thereâs a faint tension in her posture like she came straight from somewhere else.
Your eyes flick to the time on your phone.
Sheâs about an hour late.
Which, honestly, by Natashaâs standards, is practically early.
You donât say anything.
You donât need to.
Because the moment Natasha steps through the gate into the yard, her mother turns and gives her a look that could slice through steel.
Natasha pauses slightly under that gaze.
ââŚHi, Mama.â
The look only deepens.
You almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
Before anyone can say anything else, Katya spots her.
âMAMA!â
Your daughter launches herself off the bouncy castle with reckless enthusiasm and sprints across the yard, grass flying behind her as she barrels straight into Natashaâs legs.
Natasha barely has time to brace before Katya wraps her arms around her.
Natashaâs entire posture softens instantly.
âHey, ПаНонŃкаŃ,â she murmurs, crouching slightly to hug her.
Katya squeezes her tightlyâ
Then immediately releases her and runs straight back toward the bouncy castle like the interaction never even happened.
Natasha watches her go with a faint smile. Meanwhile, Elliot doesnât even look. Heâs far too busy trying to climb up your leg again like a determined little koala.
Natasha notices. Her gaze flicks toward the two of you. Elliot completely ignores her presence. You sigh softly.
âElliot,â you murmur, gently prying one of his hands off your jeans.
He whines quietly. Across the yard, Natasha approaches slowly.
Youâre just reaching for the lighter to start the grill when she steps beside you and calmly takes it from your hand.
âIâve got it,â she says.
You glance at her. Natasha flicks the lighter beneath the charcoal with practiced ease.
âLeast I can do.â
You donât argue.
The grill crackles to life as smoke begins curling upward into the warm afternoon air.
For a few minutes, the two of you stand there in that familiar, slightly awkward quiet that comes from years of history and the strange calm that followed your divorce.
Eventually Natasha breaks the silence.
âI went on a couple dates recently.â
Your eyebrow lifts slightly.
âOh?â
She shrugs faintly, flipping one of the burgers.
âNothing serious.â
You nod slowly.
âThatâs good.â
It isnât jealousy you feel. Not really. More like distant curiosity.
Your attention drifts back toward the yard where Katya is attempting to organize a chaotic game involving a beach ball and three kids who clearly donât understand the rules.
âOh,â you say casually. âKatya has her ballet recital next week.â
Natashaâs head turns immediately.
âWhen?â
âThursday evening.â
She nods slowly.
âIâll be there.â
You look at her seriously.
âYou cannot miss this one.â
Natasha meets your gaze.
âI wonât.â
Something in her tone makes you believe her.
The grill pops softly between you. Soon enough, the burgers and hotdogs are ready.
Kids swarm the patio table like tiny vultures while parents laugh and try to organize plates and drinks. Elliot finally detaches from your leg long enough to sit beside you while eating a hotdog thatâs almost bigger than his hands.
The birthday cake comes out shortly after. Six candles glow brightly on top. Everyone gathers around as Katya beams proudly in front of the table.
âReady?â you ask. She nods excitedly.
And soon the entire garden fills with the loud, slightly off-key chorus of Happy Birthday. Katya squeezes her eyes shut before blowing out the candles in one determined puff.
The party slowly winds down after that. Parents gather their kids, balloons are untied, leftover cake is packed into small containers. One by one, cars pull out of the driveway until the garden finally begins to quiet again.
Your parents leave. Natashaâs family leaves shortly after. Eventually itâs just you and the kids.
Katya runs one last lap across the grass before collapsing dramatically into one of the lawn chairs.
Elliot climbs straight back into your lap. The sun is beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting long golden shadows across the yard. And for the first time all day, everything is finally quiet again.
⸝
Rain had been falling since sunrise. Not the light, misty kind that drifts through the air and disappears as quickly as it comesâbut the heavy, steady kind that seems determined to drown the entire day in gray. It drums against the roof, streaks down the windows in long uneven trails, and turns the street outside into a blurred reflection of headlights and puddles.
By the time morning rolled around, the sky had already settled into that deep slate color that promised the rain wasnât going anywhere anytime soon.
Youâd gotten the kids ready for school anyway.
Katya had been practically vibrating with excitement, even while pulling on her little rain boots. Her ballet recital had been all she talked about for the past week, bouncing around the kitchen in her socks while explainingâagainâhow she was definitely the best twirler in her class.
Elliot had been quieter. He always was in the mornings.
Still half-asleep while he clung to your side, his small hand gripping the sleeve of your jacket as you walked them both across the parking lot toward the school entrance. The rain had soaked the edges of your coat before you even made it through the doors.
Katya ran ahead toward the elementary classrooms. Elliot stuck to your leg. As always.
The preschool wing sat just off the main building, bright with colorful posters and tiny cubbies that held miniature backpacks and rain boots. Elliot had reluctantly let go of your hand once his teacher knelt down to greet him, though he still glanced back at you twice before disappearing inside with the other kids.
That had been this morning. Now the rain hasnât let up once. You glance out the window again as you grab your keys from the counter. Still pouring.
The recital isnât until an hour after school ends, but the school had sent a message earlier offering to keep the participating kidsâand their siblingsâinside the building during that time so parents wouldnât have to drive back and forth in the storm.
Which meant you could head there a little early. And you absolutely planned to. Katya had talked about wanting you in the front row for weeks. You slip your jacket on, grabbing your bag as you head out the door.
The rain hits immediately.
Cold droplets splatter across your shoulders as you hurry across the driveway and climb into the driverâs seat, shaking water from your sleeves before sliding the key into the ignition.
You twist it. Nothing happens. The engine doesnât even attempt to turn over. You frown slightly and try again. The key turns. Silence. Not even the faintest click.
ââŚSeriously?â
You try once more.
Still nothing.
The windshield wipers squeak faintly as the rain continues pouring down outside, the steady rhythm almost mocking the situation.
You grab your phone, already pulling up the nearest garage. Every single one is closed. The weather had apparently shut down half the local businesses for the day. You lean back in the seat, staring at the useless dashboard. The recital starts in less than an hour. Your fingers hover over your phone for a moment. Then you sigh. Thereâs really only one option.
You tap Natashaâs name. The phone rings twice before she answers.
âHey.â
Her voice is calm. You rub your forehead lightly.
âMy car wonât start.â
Thereâs a brief pause on the other end.
ââŚOkay.â
âI need a ride to the school.â
Another small pause. Thenâ
âIâll be there in ten minutes.â
The call ends.
You exhale slowly and lean your head back against the seat while the rain continues drumming against the roof.
Ten minutes later, headlights cut through the gray haze of rain outside your driveway. Natashaâs car pulls up.
You grab your bag and hurry across the wet pavement, climbing into the passenger seat as the door shuts with a dull thud.
âThanks,â you say, brushing rain from your jacket. Natasha nods once.
âNo problem.â
The car pulls away from the curb, windshield wipers sweeping steadily across the glass as you merge onto the rain-soaked street.
The drive to the school is mostly quiet at first.
Then the conversation begins filling the space the way it always does these daysâcasual, neutral topics that circle comfortably around anything deeper.
âHow are the kids doing in school?â Natasha asks.
âKatyaâs teacher says sheâs doing great in reading,â you reply. âApparently she keeps trying to read books to the other kids.â
Natasha smiles faintly.
âThat sounds like her.â
You nod.
âElliotâs still shy in class.â
âYeah?â
âHe mostly just sits near the teacher.â
Natasha glances at you briefly.
ââŚStill glued to you at home?â
You snort softly.
âLike a barnacle.â
The conversation drifts from there. Your promotion at work comes up next. Natasha listens quietly while you explain the new responsibilities, nodding occasionally while keeping her eyes on the road.
Itâs simple conversation. Easy. The kind of neutral ground the two of you have learned to exist on since the divorce. By the time you reach the school parking lot, the rain has only gotten heavier. But youâre early. Very early.
You check the time as you step out of the car. Forty minutes before the recital. Perfect.
Inside, the gymnasium lights glow brightly against the gray afternoon outside. Rows of folding chairs have already been set up facing the small stage area where a curtain hangs loosely across the back wall.
Only a few parents have arrived so far. Natasha steps in behind you. And almost immediately looks⌠uncomfortable. You glance sideways at her. She stands near the entrance for a moment like sheâs unsure what to do with herself.
For someone who can handle international assassins and covert missions without blinkingâ Apparently arriving early to a childrenâs recital is far more intimidating.
You canât help the quiet smile that slips onto your face. âCome on,â you say.
You walk toward the front row. Three seats sit open directly in the center. You claim them immediately.
One on the left. One on the right. And the middle seat left open.
âFor Elliot,â you explain casually.
Natasha nods.
She sits down beside you, though she still looks faintly out of place surrounded by folding chairs and colorful decorations taped to the walls.
The room slowly begins filling with parents. Soft chatter echoes through the gym as more people arrive, umbrellas dripping near the entrance.
Eventually, a side door opens. A group of children spills into the room. Katya and Elliot among them. Both kids immediately spot you. And Natasha. They stop dead in their tracks. Their little faces freeze with identical expressions of shock.
Natasha is early.
For a moment, both kids just stand there with their arms hovering awkwardly in the air like they donât quite know how to process this unexpected development.
Then Elliot runs first. Straight toward you. He climbs into the empty seat between you and Natasha before immediately leaning his head against your shoulder. One of his hands reaches for yours. The other grabs Natashaâs.
Katya hurries over next, her ballet bag clutched tightly against her chest.
âYouâre both here!â she says breathlessly.
Natasha smiles softly.
âWouldnât miss it.â
Katya beamsâ
Then quickly remembers something important.
âOh!â she gasps. âI gotta go backstage!â
And just like that, she spins around and runs back toward the stage area with the other dancers.
Elliot stays exactly where he is. Curled between the two of you. His small fingers wrapped around both of your hands.
The gym lights dim slightly. Soft music begins playing through the speakers. And the recital finally starts.
The recital lasts a little over an hour.
Which is honestly impressive considering the performers are a group of six-year-olds whose understanding of ballet seems to exist somewhere between enthusiastic spinning and aggressively enthusiastic hopping.
The stage lights glow warmly against the small wooden platform while the soft instrumental music plays through slightly crackling speakers. One by one, small groups of children shuffle onto the stage in pastel tutus and slightly crooked ballet slippers.
The performance is⌠chaotic.
Adorable.
But chaotic.
Half the kids are clearly trying very hard to remember the routine they practiced. The other half appear to have decided that improvisation is just as valid as choreography.
At one point a girl spins in the wrong direction and bumps into another dancer.
Someone else forgets an entire section and simply stands there smiling proudly until the next move starts.
Katya, howeverâ
Katya throws herself into the performance like her life depends on it.
From the moment she steps onto the stage, sheâs moving with fierce concentration, her little arms stretching dramatically into the air as she attempts a turn that ends slightly off balance but quickly recovers into something that almost looks intentional.
You clap after every routine.
Elliot does too.
Mostly because everyone else is.
But occasionally he glances up at you with wide eyes as if checking whether the clapping is still required.
Natasha sits quietly beside you the entire time.
But you notice the way her attention never leaves the stage when Katya is dancing.
When the recital finally ends, the entire room erupts into applause that echoes loudly through the small gymnasium. The kids flood off the stage moments later, running straight toward their families with flushed faces and excited chatter.
Katya finds you instantly.
âI did so good!â she declares proudly.
âYou were amazing,â you tell her honestly.
Natasha nods beside you.
âVery impressive.â
Katya beams like sheâs just been personally awarded an Olympic medal.
Elliot clings to your hand as the four of you eventually make your way back outside into the still-pouring rain.
The drive home is loud.
The kids talk almost nonstop.
Katya launches into a detailed explanation of every single move she performed, occasionally demonstrating from her seat in the back despite the limited space.
âI did the spin like this!â she insists, twisting her arms dramatically.
Elliot contributes occasional commentary between attempts to wiggle out of his car seat so he can climb into your lap instead.
âEli, sit back,â you say for what must be the fifth time.
âNo,â he replies stubbornly, halfway through another escape attempt.
Natasha chuckles quietly from the driverâs seat.
The windshield wipers sweep steadily across the glass as the rain continues pouring down outside.
Eventually the car pulls into your driveway.
Natasha parks.
And immediatelyâ
âMommy!â Katya blurts from the back seat.
You glance over your shoulder.
âYes?â
âCan Mama come inside for dinner?â
You blink.
ââŚWhat?â
Katya leans forward eagerly.
âPleeeease?â
Elliot finally manages to squirm halfway out of his seatbelt and immediately starts climbing toward you from the back.
âYes,â he adds helpfully.
You sigh.
You gaze flicks briefly toward Natasha.
She looks just as surprised as you feel.
ââŚOnly if itâs okay,â she says quietly.
The kids are both staring at you now with identical hopeful expressions.
You rub your forehead lightly.
ââŚFine.â
Two small cheers erupt from the back seat.
Natasha glances at you again.
ââŚThanks.â
You shrug faintly.
The four of you step out of the car and hurry through the rain toward the front door.
Inside, the house immediately fills with the familiar sounds of the kids talking over each other.
Katya drops her ballet bag near the door before launching into another enthusiastic retelling of the recital.
âIâm gonna be the best ballet dancer ever,â she announces confidently while kicking off her shoes.
âEver?â
âYep.â
Elliot bunny-hop walks beside you down the hallway, bouncing awkwardly with every step like heâs forgotten how normal walking works.
Natasha lingers slightly behind the three of you.
Her eyes move slowly around the house. The living room. The kitchen. The family photos along the hallway wall.
Sheâs been inside this house maybe three times total.
Katyaâs birthday last week.
And once about a year ago when Elliot accidentally left his favorite plush rabbit behind after a custody switch â Even then she never stepped further than the hallway while you grabbed it.
Now sheâs standing fully inside your home. Your space.
The kids settle onto the couch almost immediately, pulling out toys and beginning some elaborate game that involves plastic dinosaurs and a toy train.
Natasha hovers awkwardly near the kitchen entrance.
You notice her glancing between the kids and the counter where youâve started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
She clearly canât decide what sheâs supposed to do.
Join the kids?
Help you?
Eventually she chooses the second option. She steps quietly into the kitchen.
âNeed help?â
You glance at her briefly.
ââŚSure.â
Dinner is simple.
Pasta. Tomato sauce. Garlic bread.
The kind of meal thatâs easy enough to make without much effort after a long day.
Natasha tries to help.
Tries being the key word.
She stands beside you at the counter, attempting to stir the sauce while occasionally getting in the way of whatever youâre reaching for.
Which suddenly explains a lot about Katyaâs helpful tendencies.
At one point the sauce bubbles too aggressively and splashes up onto Natashaâs shirt.
She jerks back slightly.
You snort.
She looks down at the red stain spreading across the fabric.
ââŚGreat.â
You grab a towel and hand it to her, tryingâand failingânot to laugh.
âItâs not funny.â
âItâs a little funny.â
She huffs quietly but thereâs a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
For a moment, the kitchen feels⌠strangely light. Comfortable, even.
You move toward the oven just as Natasha steps sideways to grab a plate.
Your shoulders bump.
The movement throws both of you slightly off balance.
Natashaâs hands immediately grab your waist to steady you.
Your breath catches slightly. Her hands stay there for a second longer than necessary.
Your faces are suddenly very close.
For a momentâ
Itâs impossible to tell whoâs leaning in. Maybe both of you. Maybe neither. But just as the space between you begins to shrinkâ
BEEP.
The oven timer blares loudly through the kitchen.
Both of you jump slightly.
ââŚGarlic bread,â you mutter.
Natasha steps back.
The moment evaporates instantly.
You pull the tray from the oven while Natasha clears her throat quietly.
Together you start plating the food. Then you pause when you reach Elliotâs bowl.
âOh,â you say, grabbing a small sieve from the drawer.
Natasha watches curiously.
âWhat are you doing?â
You hold the strainer over Elliotâs bowl as you pour the sauce through it, catching the small chunks of tomato and herbs.
âHe doesnât like the bits.â
Natasha blinks.
ââŚThe bits?â
âYep.â
You slide the smooth sauce toward Elliotâs plate.
âAnd it has to go in a separate bowl so it doesnât touch anything he didnât approve.â
Natasha stares at the carefully separated pasta components.
ââŚHeâs four.â
You shrug.
âHeâs particular.â
Dinner eventually gets carried to the table. Katya talks almost nonstop while eating. Elliot carefully dips each piece of pasta into his perfectly filtered sauce.
You sit across from Natasha.
For a while, the conversation stays focused on the kids.
School. Friends. Katyaâs ballet class. Normal things.
And somewhere during the meal, Natasha realizes something. Thisâ
This feels normal.
Sitting at the dinner table. The kids talking. Plates clinking softly. Rain still falling outside the windows.
It feels so perfectly normal that it almost hurts. Like this could have been their life every single night. Before she even fully processes the thought, her hand moves under the table.
Her fingers reach carefully across the small space and wrap gently around yours. For a split second she braces herself. Expecting you to pull away.
But you donât.
Your hand stays there. Warm in hers. And Natashaâs chest tightens quietly as she keeps holding it.
After dinner, Katya had been the one to decide the next plan.
âWe should watch a movie,â she had announced with the confidence of someone who knew her decision would absolutely not be challenged.
So thatâs how you all ended up on the couch.
The big grey blanket that usually stayed folded over the armrest had been dragged out and thrown across everyone, turning the couch into one big warm pile of limbs and fabric.
Elliot had climbed directly into your lap the second the opening credits began. He curled against you like a little koala, his warm weight settling comfortably as he leaned back against your chest.
Across from you, Katya had claimed Natashaâs lap without hesitation, her legs tucked under the blanket while she leaned comfortably into her motherâs side.
A large bowl of popcorn sat between you and Natasha on the couch cushion. It had started full. It definitely wasnât anymore.
Natashaâs arm rested along the back of the couch. Behind your shoulders. Like it had always belonged there. Like it hadnât been missing for years.
At some point during the movie, without really thinking about it, you found yourself leaning slightly into her side.
The movement was small.
Subtle.
But Natasha noticed.
Her arm shifted just enough for her hand to settle more firmly against your shoulder, fingers resting there lightly like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
The blanket stayed draped over all four of you, trapping warmth beneath it while the movie played on.
Elliotâs small hand kept sneaking into the popcorn bowl.
Katya occasionally whispered comments about the movie to Natasha, who responded quietly back.
Somewhere around halfway through the film, Elliotâs movements slowed.
His little fingers stopped reaching for popcorn.
His head tipped back slightly against your chest.
By the time the final scene played, he was completely asleep in your lap.
Katya lasted a little longer.
But even she was starting to blink slower by the time the credits rolled.
âIs it over?â she murmured sleepily.
âYeah, bug,â you said gently.
Elliot groaned dramatically in his sleep as you shifted slightly.
âNoooo,â he mumbled.
Natasha let out a quiet laugh under her breath.
âBedtime,â she said.
Both kids protested immediately. Which was expected. Still, it didnât take long before the routine started.
You lifted Elliot carefully from your lap, his arms automatically wrapping around your neck even while half asleep. Natasha followed behind you down the hallway as you carried him toward the bathroom.
The light flicked on, making Elliot squint.
âAlright, champ,â you murmured, setting him on the little stool by the sink. âTeeth.â
He groaned like brushing his teeth was the most exhausting task known to mankind.
Natasha leaned against the doorway, watching the two of you with quiet amusement.
You squeezed toothpaste onto his tiny dinosaur toothbrush and handed it to him.
He brushed with exaggerated seriousness, foam building around the corners of his mouth as he scrubbed his teeth.
âTop teeth too,â you reminded.
âI am,â he mumbled through the toothpaste.
Natasha snorted softly.
Once he finished, you helped him rinse and wipe his face before guiding him back to his room.
His dinosaur underwear came off next.
âHey,â Elliot protested sleepily.
âNighttime pull-up,â you reminded gently.
âI donât need it.â
âYou say that now,â Natasha said from behind you, her voice calm but teasing.
Elliot huffed but didnât argue any further.
You helped him step into the pull-up before pulling on a clean pair of pajamasâthis time the blue ones covered in tiny rockets.
Then you lifted him into his small toddler bed.
He immediately reached for his stuffed triceratops.
Natasha stepped closer while you pulled the blanket up around him.
You grabbed the little picture book resting on his nightstand and opened it.
Without discussion, the two of you settled into the familiar positions beside the bed.
You read.
Natasha occasionally pointed to the pictures while Elliot followed along with heavy eyelids.
By the last page, he was already asleep.
You quietly closed the book.
âNight, buddy.â
A sleepy mumble was the only response.
You both slipped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open.
Katya was already in the bathroom brushing her teeth when you reached the hallway again.
Unlike her brother, she handled bedtime like a professional.
She rinsed the sink when she finished and hopped down from the stool.
âPajamas?â she asked.
Natasha grabbed the pair waiting neatly on Katyaâs bed.
The routine repeated again.
Minus the pull-up this time.
Katya changed quickly before climbing into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
You reached for her storybook.
Natasha sat beside her, gently tucking a loose strand of Katyaâs hair behind her ear.
The story was shorter.
Quieter.
Katyaâs eyes stayed open a little longer, but they were already drooping by the final page.
You leaned down and kissed her forehead.
âGoodnight, Kat.â
She smiled sleepily.
âThat was the best recital ever.â
Natasha kissed her forehead next.
âNight, Đ´ĐľŃка.â
Katya curled deeper into her blankets. Within minutes, she was asleep too. You quietly turned off the light. Then stepped back into the hallway with Natasha. For a moment, neither of you moved.
The house had gone still now.
Just the two of you standing there in the dim hallway, the soft quiet of the night settling around you.
Natasha lingered by the front door longer than necessary.
Her coat was already on. Her car keys sat loosely in her hand. One more step and sheâd be outside, walking back to her car, driving back to the quiet apartment that never really felt like home.
The house behind her was dim and warm. The hallway light glowed softly. Somewhere upstairs, the faint creak of the floorboards settled as the house cooled for the night.
She glanced back once toward the living room.
Toward you.
You were standing near the couch, arms loosely folded, watching her the same way she was watching you.
Something in your chest tightened.
âNat?â
She paused mid-step.
Her hand stopped on the doorknob as she turned back toward you.
You hesitated.
The words hovered there for a moment, like if you said them out loud they might change something.
âDo you⌠want to stay a little longer?â
For a split second, Natasha looked almost stunned. Then something softer slipped across her face. Relief. Actual relief.
âYeah,â she said quietly.
You nodded once and stepped away from the doorway.
âIâll make tea.â
A few minutes later the two of you were back on the couch. Just the two of you this time. No blanket fort. No kids wedged between you. Just quiet.
Two mugs of tea steamed gently in your hands, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow over the living room.
For a while the conversation stayed simple.
Easy.
You talked about Katyaâs recital again.
Natasha admitted she nearly laughed out loud when three of the girls spun the wrong direction during one of the routines.
You told her Elliot had been practicing a âballet jumpâ in the kitchen earlier that morning and nearly knocked over a chair.
Natasha laughed softly into her mug.
âSounds about right.â
The conversation moved easily after that.
School updates.
Daycare antics.
Time slipped by without either of you noticing.
The tea went cold. And eventuallyâŚ
The moment from the kitchen came back.
Neither of you said it at first. But it lingered between you anyway. Natasha was the one who finally broke the silence.
âEarlier,â she said quietly.
Your eyes lifted to hers.
âIn the kitchen.â
You didnât pretend not to know what she meant. ââŚYeah.â
She rubbed the back of her neck. âI almost kissed you.â There it was. Just⌠said. Plain and honest. Your breath left slowly. âI noticed.â
Natasha huffed out a quiet laugh. âGood to know Iâm not subtle.â
There was a pause. You stared down into your mug. âI wanted you to.â
Natasha froze. âWhat?â
âI wanted you to kiss me.â
The words came out quieter than you expected. But once they were out there, they stayed.
Natasha stared at you for a long moment, like she was trying to process that information. Then she leaned back against the couch slightly. âI never stopped loving you.â
The confession came out so calmly it almost didnât register at first. Your chest tightened. Her eyes stayed on you.
âThat stupid kiss⌠all those years ago,â she continued quietly. âThat was the biggest mistake of my life.â
Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug. âI threw everything away because I was careless. Because I thought I had time to fix it.â
You didnât interrupt. Natasha looked around the living room slowly. Your house. The photos on the wall. The toys half tucked under the coffee table.
âI sat here tonight,â she murmured, âwatching a movie with you and the kids⌠eating dinner at that tableâŚâ Her voice softened. âAnd it felt normal.â She looked back at you. âToo normal.â
Her gaze didnât waver. âThe only thing Iâve ever really wantedâŚâ A small pause. ââŚwas you.â
The room felt very quiet.
âI was an idiot for letting you walk away.â
You swallowed slowly. Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Then Natasha shifted slightly toward you.
âIs thereâŚâ she hesitated for the first time all night. âAny chance we could try again?â
Your heart gave a quiet, complicated pull. You didnât answer right away.
âI donât know,â you admitted. Natasha nodded slightly, like she expected that.
âYou hurt me,â you continued honestly. âNot just with the cheating.â Her shoulders stiffened slightly.
âThe late nights. The missions. Showing up late to everything.â Your voice stayed calm, but firm. âI donât want to be the one sitting at home every night wondering if youâll show up again.â
Natasha leaned forward immediately. âI will.â You raised an eyebrow.
âI mean it,â she insisted. Her voice was steady. Serious.
âIâll cut back on missions. Iâll change assignments. Iâll do whatever it takes.â She pressed a hand to her chest lightly. âI swear.â Her eyes locked onto yours. âJust give me a chance to prove it.â
The silence stretched between you. You studied her face. The determination there. The vulnerability. Finally, you exhaled slowly. ââŚMaybe.â
Natasha blinked. âMaybe?â
âIâm not promising anything yet,â you clarified. âButâŚâ You hesitated. ââŚwe can try.â
The smile that spread across Natashaâs face was small, but real. âThank you.â
You stood up slowly. âWellâŚâ You rubbed the back of your neck. âItâs pretty late.â
Natasha nodded and stood as well. âI should probably headââ
âYou could stay.â The words slipped out before you overthought them. Natasha blinked again.
âYou can take the couch,â you added quickly. Then after a secondâ ââŚor the bed.â
Her brain clearly short-circuited for a moment. âThe bed,â she blurted out immediately. You both froze. Natasha stared at the floor.
ââŚI meantââ
You laughed softly. âItâs fine.â
A few minutes later you were both upstairs.
Natasha borrowed a pair of your old pajamasâslightly loose on her but comfortable enough.
The normal nighttime routine followed. Teeth brushed. Lights dimmed. Quiet footsteps across the hallway. Then finally into bed. The mattress dipped slightly as Natasha climbed in beside you. For a moment both of you just lay there. Unsure. Then instinct took over. You shifted closer. Natashaâs arm wrapped gently around you, pulling you against her chest like it was the most natural movement in the world. You tucked into her side easily. The familiar warmth of her arms around you felt almost unreal. Natashaâs hand rested softly against your back. Her thumb tracing slow circles.
After a moment she tilted her head slightly.
And pressed the softest kiss to your lips. Just one. Warm. Gentle.
Full of years worth of things left unsaid.
When she pulled back, your forehead rested against hers. Neither of you said anything. You didnât need to. Wrapped in each otherâs arms, the two of you slowly drifted off to sleep together.
Morning crept into the room slowly.
Soft grey light filtered through the curtains, the kind that came before the sun had properly decided to show itself. The house was quiet in that fragile early-morning way, where everything still felt sleepy and calm.
Natasha woke first. For a moment she didnât move. Her arm was still wrapped around you, your back pressed warm against her chest, your hair slightly tangled across the pillow between you both. The steady rhythm of your breathing brushed softly against her collarbone.
It took her a second to remember where she was. Then the memories from the night before settled back into place. The recital. Dinner. The movie. The conversation. And finally⌠falling asleep with you in her arms for the first time in years. A small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at her lips. She shifted just slightly, careful not to wake you.
That lasted about ten seconds. Because suddenlyâ
THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Small feet sprinting down the hallway. The bedroom door flew open without ceremony.
âMommy!â
Katya launched herself onto the bed like a tiny missile, bouncing hard on the mattress as she scrambled toward you. Elliot followed seconds later, a little more clumsy but equally determined, climbing up the side of the bed with sleepy determination. Natasha barely had time to react before both kids piled on top of you. You woke with a startled laugh. âOkayâokayâgentleââ
Katya immediately wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. Elliot flopped across your stomach, half laying on you while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then Katya noticed. She froze mid-sentence. Her gaze slowly slid past you. And landed on Natasha. Her eyes widened. ââŚMama?â
Natasha lifted a hand in a small wave from behind you. âMorning, кОŃŃнОк.â
Katya looked between the two of you rapidly. Then back at Natasha. Then back at you. Her brain was clearly trying to piece together a very big conclusion. Elliot blinked sleepily at Natasha too, clearly still processing the unexpected presence.
Then Katya suddenly gasped. âWAIT.â She scrambled forward on the bed, practically vibrating with excitement. âDoes this mean youâre gonna get married again?!â
The question burst out of her with all the dramatic urgency only a six-year-old could manage.
Natasha blinked. Then she let out a quiet laugh. You groaned softly and covered your face with one hand. âKatyaââ
Natashaâs arm tightened slightly around you from behind as she chuckled. âWellâŚâ she said lightly. Her eyes flicked to you for half a second before returning to Katya. âWeâll see.â
Katya grinned like she had just personally solved world peace. Elliot, still laying across your stomach, simply reached over and grabbed Natashaâs hand with one of his small ones and your hand with the other. Completely content. And for the first time in a long timeâ Everything felt like it might actually work out.
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Masterlist
A/N: so⌠itâs been a while since I last posted, but Iâve been working on this absolute monster of a fic. I think itâs my longest one Iâve ever written, my last longest one I think was 8k? But I donât really write a lot of long stories because I prefer to have a bunch of little ones over one big one. and my phone is literally glitching as I type out this message right now. I think thatâs because of this story. So, thatâs amazing. Anyway, as always I hope you all enjoyed reading this! đ¤
Summary: Wanda canât stop thinking about how wrong it is to want you, not when she practically raised you, but guilt doesnât stop the memories or the way her chest tightens when she sees you half-wasted on your Instagram story. One late-night drunken call later and sheâs dragging herself out of bed to collect you, clean you up, get you home. She tells herself itâs just caretakingâjust worryâbut then you tug her into bed with you and she doesnât even try to leave.
Men and Minors DNI
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Wanda sat on the edge of her couch with the sort of heaviness you get only when the house has been quiet for a long time. The TV was paused on some random cooking show she wasnât really watching, the light from the screen washing pale over the living room. Outside, wind pushed the trees against her windows, that low rustling making the whole evening feel colder than it probably was. It was the kind of night where most people would curl up and unwind.
But she couldnât. Her head wouldnât shut up long enough.
She rubbed her hands over her face and let out a quiet exhale. Work had drained her today â long hours, endless customers, constant noise â but the second she got home, it wasnât relief that settled in her bones. It was that low hum in her chest she tried not to name. The one sheâd been ignoring for years.
It was always you.
Not even in a dramatic, romantic way â at least thatâs what she told herself. It was just⌠sheâd known you practically your whole life. That sort of connection gets tangled. It gets complicated. And she hated that she felt things she wasnât supposed to, things she never asked for. Especially with the memories that kept sneaking into her head, reminding her of a time when youâd been so small, so trusting, so painfully innocent.
That was the part that made her feel guilty. Sheâd watched you grow up. Sheâd looked after you more times than she could count. She saw you become your own person, and instead of stepping back like she should have, she found herself watching you more closely. Noticing you in ways she wasnât sure were fair.
She leaned back into the sofa cushions and stared up at the ceiling, letting one of the oldest memories pull itself forward.
You were five â maybe six â the day youâd shown up on her doorstep crying because youâd fallen off your bike. Not badly, just a scraped knee and wounded pride. Wanda had still been living in her old house at the time, the carpet awful and the hallway narrow and echoey. She remembered opening the door and finding you sniffly and red-cheeked, clutching your helmet like the world had ended.
âIt hurts,â youâd said in that tiny voice, trying so hard not to cry again.
Wanda had scooped you inside without thinking, sat you on the counter, cleaned up your knee, and plastered a sticker-covered plaster on it because you insisted the dinosaur ones âmade it heal faster.â Youâd believed her when she said youâd be okay. You always believed her. And that sort of trust â God, that stuck with her in a way she didnât realise until it was too late.
Another memory followed right behind it, sharper than she wanted. You at ten years old, stomping into her living room during a thunderstorm because you didnât like being alone when thunder hit. You hadnât even knocked â you just let yourself in with the spare key sheâd given you in case of emergencies. Wanda had laughed softly at the time, pretending not to see how tightly you were gripping your sleeves. Sheâd made hot chocolate, handed you a blanket, and pretended the storm didnât bother you.
Youâd fallen asleep on her sofa halfway through the film you insisted you âtotally wouldnât fall asleep to.â Sheâd carried you to the sofaâs corner and tucked the blanket around you, standing there a little too long afterwards without knowing why.
Now those memories werenât cute. They were heavy. They made her feel like sheâd crossed some unspoken line simply by caring too much.
She pressed the heel of her palm to her chest, trying to ease the ache that always came with thinking too hard about you. It didnât help, but she kept doing it out of habit.
The room felt too still. Too quiet. The kind of quiet where you could hear your heartbeat and every thought that came with it. She needed something to distract her before her mind spiralled somewhere she didnât want it to go.
Her eyes drifted to her phone on the coffee table.
Instagram.
Youâd been the one to make her download it years ago â literally sat next to her, grabbed her phone, and installed it yourself because you were tired of sending her memes she ârefused to open.â At first sheâd used it normally. Followed some friends, a few accounts she liked. But somewhere along the line, sheâd started opening it just to check yours.
You posted more as you got older. Outfits, friends, little bits of your life she never got to hear about anymore unless she asked â which she tried not to do too often or too eagerly. She didnât want to hover. Didnât want to seem like she was keeping tabs. Even though she sort of was.
Wanda reached forward, picked up her phone, and unlocked it. The familiar glow lit the room more warmly than the TV ever did. Your profile icon sat right at the top of her feed, bright and new.
Youâd posted a story.
Her stomach tightened before she even tapped it. She told herself not to read into it. She always told herself that.
The story loaded slowly, agonisingly slow, and then your face filled the screen. You were at some party, music blaring in the background, lights shifting behind you. You had a drink in your hand and a flushed, happy smile on your face. Someone beside you leaned into the camera, shouting something she couldnât make out, and you laughed â carefree, loud, a sound she hadnât heard from you in ages.
You looked older. Independent. Out there living your life without her.
Wanda lowered the phone slightly, her eyes still on the screen.
⸝
The music thumped hard enough to rattle the floorboards, the kind of bass you could feel in your teeth. Someone had turned the living room lights down so low everything looked dipped in warm gold and strange shadows, and the air smelled like cheap vodka, perfume, and something definitely not legal. Youâd stopped trying to figure out who brought what; every time you turned around someone was offering you a new cup, a new bottle, a drag of a vape, a joint that you knew you should smoke outside but nobody else was and youâd hate to ruin the mood.
Honestly? You werenât even sure when youâd gotten this gone. You only knew that your head felt light, your chest felt warm, and the whole world had a soft blur around the edges, like someone had smeared the night with their thumb.
A girl from somewhere â a friend of a friend, maybe â dragged you closer to the kitchen where the music was loudest, shoving a drink in your hand without asking. You took it because refusing felt like effort, and effort was something you left back home on your bed. The drink tasted like rubbing alcohol and fruit juice. You winced but kept sipping anyway.
People were dancing. Laughing. Someone was yelling the lyrics to a song nobody knew the words to. You joined in anyway, half shouting nonsense into the air because why not. Everything felt easier like this. Softer. Less sharp. You didnât have to think about Wanda, or the kiss, or the way your stomach twisted whenever her name hit your brain.
Except it still did. Over and over. Like the thought refused to piss off for even one measly night.
You leaned against the counter, breathing a little too heavily, letting your gaze drift across the room. You were good at pretending you were just having fun â you even fooled yourself for a bit. But every time your head cleared for even a moment, she came back.
Wandaâs stupid pretty face.
Wandaâs soft voice in the rain.
Wandaâs hands helping you out of your wet clothes like it was nothing.
And that kiss, gentle and slow and careful in a way that almost made you want to scream.
And then she apologised.
The thought hit you again, harder than the drink did. Why did she apologise? Why did that hurt so damn much? Why did it feel like she wanted it and regretted it all at once? Why did you care?
You lifted the cup to your lips without realising it was already empty. Someone bumped your arm, startled you, and suddenly you were laughing â big, stupid laughter you didnât even understand. The girl next to you handed you something to smoke. You didnât even ask what it was. You took it, breathed in, and the world softened even more.
Your phone vibrated in your pocket.
You fumbled it out, blinking at the screen like it was written in another language. Your story had uploaded. A couple people had replied. Nothing that mattered.
But Wandaâs name hovered in your mind, not on the screen.
You stared at your phone a little longer, thumb drifting over the edge like you werenât controlling it.
You did not plan to call her.
You didnât even think about calling her.
Your thumb just⌠moved. Like some part of you bypassed your brain and hit the one person you shouldnât be contacting while half drunk and floating, but the only person you wanted.
The ringing sounded impossibly loud over the music. Your heart kicked hard, not in a panicked way â more in that reckless, buzzing way that made everything feel more alive.
She answered on the third ring.
âHello?â Her voice was soft, cautious, familiar in a way that made your chest go hot.
You smiled without meaning to. âWanda,â you said, her name rolling off your tongue like honey, looser and warmer than youâd ever dare say it sober.
There was a pause. âAre you⌠alright?â
You laughed â a breathless, tipsy sound that wasnât quite steady. âYeah. Iâmâ Iâm good. Iâm at a party. Can you hear the music?â You held the phone slightly away from your ear before remembering that was stupid and pulling it back.
âI can hear⌠something,â she said, a tiny wry smile hidden under her tone. âSounds loud.â
âItâs loud. Everythingâs loud. Except you.â You leaned heavier onto the counter. âYouâre always⌠quieter. In my head, I mean. Even when youâre not there.â
Another pause. A heartbeat. You didnât notice the tension in it.
âHave you been drinking?â she asked gently.
âMaybe.â You grinned at the floor, feeling stupidly warm. âMaybe a lot. Maybe Iâm⌠I donât know. Floaty.â
She exhaled, a soft breath that floated through the speaker like a hand brushing your cheek. âSweetheartâŚâ
Something in your stomach flipped.
âYou didnât mean that kiss, did you?â you blurted â not sad, not hurt, just honest in a way only intoxication could pull out of you. âOr you did, and then you freaked out. I canât tell. And itâs annoying.â
Silence again. The kind you didnât register as heavy â just there.
âI shouldnât have called you,â you giggled, running a hand through your hair. âBut I wanted to. You feel good to talk to. Always have.â
âWhere are you?â she asked â steady, careful, far too grounded compared to you.
âAt a house,â you said unhelpfully. âWith people. With too much everything.â You looked at the spinning lights. âYou ever think too much when youâre trying not to think? âCause Iâm doing that.â
She breathed again â slow, measured. âYeah,â she said softly. âI do.â
You licked your lips, leaning your head against the cabinet. âWanda?â
âYes?â
âYou make my head complicated.â
That was the last thing you said before someone shouted your name from across the room, pulling your attention away for just a second â long enough for the call to wobble between you and the noise of the party, hanging open in the air.
⸝
Wanda stared at her phone long after the line went dead, the flat beep-beep-beep of the disconnected call sinking into the quiet of her living room. She didnât move at first. She didnât breathe properly, either. Her thumb hovered over the screen like the warmth of your voice was still pressed into it.
Drunk.
Not tipsy.
Not a little loose.
Drunk.
The kind of drunk where your words fell out without barriers, where you didnât know you were being vulnerable until it was too late. The kind of drunk that made you say things youâd never dare say while sober â like you were floating, like she made your head complicated, like her kiss lived rent-free inside you.
She swallowed hard, pulse thudding against the base of her throat. It was ridiculous how fast her mind was moving â worry, guilt, fondness, something heavier that she didnât want to name.
And then there was the other thing.
The selfish thing.
The part of her that replayed every slurred sentence.
Youâre always quieter in my head.
You wanted the kiss but you freaked out.
You feel good to talk to.
You make my head complicated.
God. She shouldnât have liked hearing those as much as she did.
Wanda pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and paced once across her bedroom rug. âSheâs drunk,â she muttered under her breath, though the words didnât make her annoyance at herself loosen at all. You were drunk, and she was sitting here glowing because you said her name like it tasted sweet.
That was wrong.
That was exactly the problem.
That was why sheâd apologised in the first place.
She wiped her palms over her thighs, trying to settle the restless ache low in her stomach. She didnât know where you were â youâd given her absolutely nothing useful. âA house with people.â You could be anywhere within miles. Loud music didnât narrow anything down. You didnât even realise what you were doing, didnât hear the way your voice wavered, didnât understand how unsteady you sounded.
And all Wanda could think was: You shouldnât be alone like that.
You shouldnât be stumbling around a house full of strangers.
You shouldnât be out there without someone who actually cared enough to look after you.
You shouldnât be this soft and honest for anyone but her.
The last thought hit her hard enough that she sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees. Where the hell had that come from? She rubbed her forehead again, frustration curling through her chest.
You werenât hers.
You couldnât be hers.
Youâd grown up with her in your house, her best friendâs daughter, a kid she used to tuck into blankets when you fell asleep on the sofa during movie nights. She used to press kisses to your forehead when you were small enough to fit under her chin â now you were grown and beautiful and looking at her like you didnât know what to do with the way your stomach flipped.
And she didnât know what to do with it either.
Not morally.
Not safely.
Not cleanly.
But the protective instinct won every time. It came from somewhere low, somewhere deep, somewhere sheâd rather not examine too closely.
She stood abruptly â like stillness was making everything worse â and walked across the room, grabbing her keys off the dresser. She stared at them in her hand for a long moment. This was a line. Another one she probably shouldnât cross.
If your mom ever found outâŚ
Wanda shut her eyes briefly. Your mom trusted her. That fact alone twisted something sharp in her. Your family believed she was safe, dependable, harmless. And once upon a time, she was. She remembered braiding your hair on the porch, teaching you how to bake cookies, carrying your half-asleep body to the car when you were too small to keep your eyes open.
Those memories softened her â and made everything about tonight feel wrong.
She put her keys back on the dresser.
Then picked them up again.
Another breath. A deeper one. She wasnât going to forgive herself if she stayed here and something happened to you. Not when you had called her â not a friend, not someone your own age â her.
That meant something. Even if you wouldnât remember why tomorrow.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, vibrating against her palm with a new Instagram notification from your account. Another blurry picture from the same party, lights streaking, someoneâs drink spilling in the corner.
Wandaâs jaw tightened.
That was enough.
She slipped her shoes on, threw a jacket over her shoulders, and headed for the door with a determined exhale. She didnât know exactly where you were, but she knew the kind of places people your age went. Sheâd find you. She always did.
When she stepped outside, the night greeted her with cold air and the faint smell of damp pavement. Her fingers closed tighter around her keys.
She wasnât doing this because she wanted another kiss.
She wasnât doing this because your voice had made her heart lurch.
She was doing this because you were drunk and alone and she couldnât sit still knowing that.
At least, that was what she told herself as she locked her front door behind her and started walking, the sound of distant music somewhere in the neighbourhood guiding her on.
Wanda found the house by following the noise.
The music thumped through the pavement long before she reached it, the kind of bass that rattled windows and grated into her teeth. A porch light buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. People spilled in and out of the door, laughing too loudly, drinks sloshing over their hands.
She hated it instantly.
She hated it more knowing you were somewhere inside.
The moment she stepped through the doorway, the smell of cheap alcohol and vape clouds hit her like a wall. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, music vibrating through sticky floors, coloured lights flickering in erratic pulses. She scanned the room, heart thudding harder than the beat.
Nothing.
Not you. Not even a flash of your hair.
She moved deeper, ignoring the looks she got. Someone tried to hand her a drink â she shot them a look sharp enough to make their hand freeze mid-air. She pushed past groups, stepped over an abandoned jacket, ignored the girl crying on the stairs.
Then, in the dim light of the hallway, she found you.
You were leaning against the wall near the kitchen doorway, eyes half-focused, lips parted slightly as you tried to steady yourself with one hand. Your phone screen lit up your face faintly â one missed call, two missed calls, three â all from Wanda.
A rush of something fierce and hot shot through her chest.
She said your name softly.
Your head snapped up, breath catching. âWanda?â Your voice came out too loud, too relieved, like youâd been waiting for her and didnât realise it until now.
She reached you in three quick steps.
You smelled like something sugary and alcoholic, with a faint edge of smoke. Her palm went immediately to your cheek, turning your face gently toward hers to check your pupils, your expression, anything that might tell her how far gone you were.
âOh sweetheartâŚâ she whispered, thumb brushing your cheek without thinking. âYouâre a mess.â
You laughed a little, leaning into her touch like it was the only solid thing in the room. âYou came.â
The two words nearly undid her.
âYes,â she said quietly. âOf course I came.â
Someone bumped into you, forcing your body against hers. Wanda stiffened, arm circling your waist instantly to steady you. The way your dress rode up when you shifted made her chest go tight â it was far too short, barely covering the top of your thighs. She didnât let herself look again.
âCome on,â she murmured, voice firm. âWeâre going home.â
You didnât argue. You just nodded, eyes soft and hazy, trusting her more than you should.
She guided you through the crowd, keeping her arm firmly around your waist, not caring what it looked like. She got a few curious glances on the way out, but no one dared say anything. By the time she stepped back into the cold night air with you pressed close to her side, she finally felt like she could breathe again.
The walk back to her house was slow.
You stumbled twice.
Both times she caught you.
At one point, you whispered, âYou smell nice,â and Wanda had to close her eyes for a moment just to keep walking in a straight line.
When she finally got you through her front door, you sagged against the wall like gravity had been waiting for permission.
Wanda locked the door, turned to face you, and exhaled. âSit,â she said gently, nodding toward the sofa.
You dropped onto it with a worn-out sigh.
She brought water first, she thought about juice but decided against it. Then crackers, animal crackers to be specific, the type sheâd always bring to picnics she attended with your mother and you. Then a cool washcloth for your face, nothing fancy, just something to maybe help.
You took a sip of water, made a face, and muttered, âIt tastes boring.â
Wanda huffed a quiet laugh. âThatâs the point.â
You blinked up at her â big, trusting, drunkenly earnest. âYouâre taking care of me.â
The softness in your tone made her chest ache. âSomeone has to.â
She moved to kneel in front of you, hands on your knees, grounding herself before speaking. âSweetheart⌠your dressâ itâs soaked and itâs freezing outside. Letâs get you into something dry, alright?â
You nodded, and she helped you stand, steadying you when you swayed. She guided you to the bathroom and grabbed an old t-shirt and pair of soft shorts from her drawer.
âLift your arms,â she murmured, voice low.
You obeyed without thinking.
She pulled your dress up carefully, averting her eyes with more discipline than she knew she had. She managed it quickly, professionally, like she was trying to erase every implication from the moment.
When she eased the shirt over your head, you whispered, âYou always used to help me get changed after pool days when I was little.â
Wanda paused, hands resting lightly on your shoulders.
âYeah,â she said softly. âI remember.â
Once you were dressed, she guided you to her bed â not the couch, not the guest room. She wasnât letting you sleep somewhere she couldnât keep an eye on you.
You collapsed onto the mattress, exhaling in a relieved sort of way.
Wanda pulled the blanket up over you, tucking the edges with a tenderness she didnât often let herself show. Her hand brushed your hair back from your face.
âTry to sleep,â she murmured.
You grabbed her wrist before she could pull away.
âDonât go.â
âSweetheartâŚâ She tried to keep her voice steady. âIâm right here.â
âNo.â Your fingers tightened around her wrist, eyes glossy with exhaustion. âPlease donât leave. I wonât sleep if you leave.â
Her heart twisted painfully.
She shouldnât.
She absolutely shouldnât.
But you werenât flirting.
You werenât trying anything.
You were scared and drunk and overwhelmed, clinging to the one person you trusted most.
And Wanda had always been weak when it came to you.
She exhaled, slow and quiet, then slipped off her shoes and climbed into bed beside you â not touching, just close enough for you to feel her presence.
Your breathing eased almost instantly.
Wanda lay there staring at the ceiling, battling guilt, longing, fear, affection, and a thousand things she couldnât untangle tonight.
You shifted once, head drifting closer to her shoulder.
Wanda closed her eyes.
Sheâd worry about what this meant tomorrow.
For now, you were safe.
And she wasnât going anywhere.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
A/N: I know itâs been almost a month since my last update to this series, and I appreciate all the love iâm getting on my last few chapters, it really does mean a lot to me, and as always I hope you enjoyed this chapter
Summary: In the quiet isolation of a snow-laden Finnish safe house, the hunger youâve been denying grows too loud to ignore. With your blood supply gone and the instinct clawing at your control, Wanda and Natasha offer what you fear to takeâthemselves. What begins as a desperate attempt to survive spirals into a near tragedy, and youâre left reeling from the monster you nearly became. But even in the aftermath, even through fear and failure, they donât let you go. A story of blood, guilt, and the kind of love that holds onâno matter what you become.
TW: Graphic depictions of blood and feeding, Descriptions of near-feral hunger and loss of control, Brief depiction of self-loathing and guilt, Implied past trauma, Threat of violence (non-sexual, vampire-related), Reader injures a loved one under duress, Recovery from a traumatic incident
(Men and minors dni)
The silence in the Finnish woods was so thick it pressed against the walls of the safe house like snow-laden branches. In the beginning, it had been welcomeâquiet, peaceful, a relief after the chaos of the mission. A safe house nestled in a forgotten stretch of forest, shielded by layers of magic and off-the-books S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols. Youâd spent the first few days in a cocoon of blankets, cocoa, and low murmurs between Wanda and Natasha as the three of you healed. But that calm had curdled now.
It started with the ache behind your eyes. A slow, steady pulse. You told yourself it would passâyou were strong, trained, and disciplined. But strength didnât negate biology. And biology was getting harder to ignore.
By day five, the blood supply you had packed for yourself was gone.
You hadnât said anything at first. You could get by, you told yourself. You could last another few days. But your body disagreed. Hunger started to gnaw at you with sharp, insistent teeth. It made you restless. Pacing the small cabin like a caged thing. Waking in the middle of the night with your fangs extended, breath ragged, jaw clenched so tightly it felt like it might crack. You didnât trust yourselfânot anymore.
And they knew.
Wanda had caught your gaze lingering too long on her neck. Natasha had seen your hands trembling when you reached for the kettle. They werenât stupid. You werenât subtle. So it wasnât a surprise when, on the sixth night, they cornered you in the living room.
You were sat near the fire, knees drawn up to your chest, too tired to pretend you werenât freezing from the inside out. Wanda sat on the rug in front of you, her hand warm where it touched your shin. Natasha stood behind her, arms crossed, expression soft but serious.
âYou need to feed,â Wanda said gently. âWe can see it.â
âIâm fine,â you lied, and the words came out cracked.
Natasha raised an eyebrow. âYouâre not. And you know it.â
You looked away, guilt a stone in your throat. âEven if I needed it⌠Iâm not feeding from either of you. Thatâs not up for discussion.â
Wanda tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. âWhy not?â
âBecause I could hurt you,â you snapped, more harshly than intended. You sighed, running a hand over your face. âYou donât know what itâs like when I lose control. IâIâve never fed from someone I love before. If I take too much, if I donât stop, it couldââ You swallowed hard. âIt could kill you.â
A long pause. Then Natasha stepped forward, kneeling beside Wanda.
âWeâre not afraid of you,â she said. âWeâve faced worse things than a bite.â
âItâs not just a bite,â you said quietly. âItâs instinct. Itâs hunger. Itâsââ You shook your head. âItâs not safe.â
Wanda reached for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours. âItâs not safe for you either. Youâre getting worse. Your pupils are blown, your bodyâs shaking, and you havenât slept. If this goes on another day, youâll snap and hurt someone anyway. Maybe one of us. Maybe yourself.â
You didnât answer. Couldnât.
Natasha leaned in then, her voice low. âIf this was me, and I needed something only you two could give, would you let me suffer out of pride?â
You winced. âThatâs not fair.â
âNo,â she said softly. âBut itâs true.â
You looked between themâyour girls. Your beautiful, brave, infuriating girls. Wanda, whose touch had become your anchor, whose magic warmed the air around her like sunlight. Natasha, whose sharp edges you had somehow learned to hold without bleeding. They were offering something sacred. Trust. Willingness. Love.
Your fangs ached in your mouth. You wanted to say no. You wanted to hold onto the last shreds of restraint. But you were so tired. And they were still there. Still choosing you.
âOkay,â you whispered. âOkay. Natasha first.â
You didnât miss the quick flicker of relief in both of their eyesârelief that youâd finally agreed, that you were still lucid enough to chooseâbut it made your chest ache. They shouldnât have had to offer themselves like this. But they had. For you.
Natashaâs movements were steady as she joined you on the edge of the bed, pushing up the sleeve of her soft black long-sleeve until her forearm was bare. Her skin was pale in the golden light of the oil lamp, marred here and there by fading bruises and healed scarsâeach one a story you already knew by heart. But now she was offering something new. Something sacred.
You stared at the soft, vulnerable place just above her wrist, where the veins pulsed visibly under the skin. Your fangs were already out, no longer able to hide themselves. Your jaw ached from holding back. Hunger roared in your gut like a storm, but your fingers were gentle as they wrapped around her arm.
âI need you to tell me the second itâs too much,â you said. âDonât wait. Donât try to tough it out.â
You lifted her wrist toward your mouth slowly, reverently. You kissed the skin first, a soft brush of your lips, and she shivered under the contact. Then, without letting yourself hesitate, you sank your fangs in.
Her blood hit your tongue like heat and iron and smoke. Rich. Potent. Alive. For a moment, everything else vanished. The cold. The fear. The guilt. It was just her, pouring warmth into your starved body, and you drank with slow, careful pulls. The taste of her curled through you like silk and fire, and you had to close your eyes against the rush of sensation.
Natasha didnât flinch. Her breathing deepened slightly, but she stayed still beneath your mouth, her fingers curling gently into your hair, anchoring you. You let that tether hold you in place, one hand pressed flat to her thigh, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of her. You listenedâto her heartbeat, to her breath, to the way her body respondedâand you stopped the exact moment the rhythm changed. Before her pulse weakened. Before the hunger in you could try to drown the part of you that loved her.
You withdrew slowly, licked the wound closed with care, then pressed your forehead to her wrist, your whole body trembling.
âFuck,â you breathed, the aftertaste of her still burning through your veins. âIâm sorry. That was⌠more intense than I thought itâd be.â
She was pale, but smiling. âItâs alright,â she said, her voice low and steady. âIâm alright. Iâve had worse bites.â
You huffed a laugh, but there was too much emotion behind it. You couldnât meet her eyes as you reached for the clean cloth Wanda offered, dabbing gently at the two tiny punctures before applying a plaster. The bandage was ridiculousâa little cartoon fox from a first-aid kit meant for minor scrapesâbut Natasha grinned when you smoothed it into place.
âFierce predator,â she teased, voice wry. âAbsolutely terrifying.â
You rolled your eyes. âShut up.â
She leaned in and kissed your cheek anyway.
And then Wanda held out her hand.
Her wrist was already bared, slender and trembling slightly, but her gaze was calm. Determined. You stared at her, something primal twisting deep in your gut.
âAre you sure?â you asked, voice strained. âYours is⌠different. I can feel it.â
Wanda nodded. âI want this. I trust you too.â
You hesitated. But only for a moment. Because the truth was, you wanted her too. You needed her.
You took her wrist with both hands, cradling it like something precious. You pressed a kiss there too, reverent as a prayer, then let your fangs pierce her skin.
Her blood hit you like fire.
Itâs not like Natashaâs. Wandaâs blood is chaos and sunlight, grief and power, every emotion sheâs ever swallowed down now pouring into your mouth. You drinkâand the taste drags you under. Itâs too much. She tastes like love. Like your name whispered in the dark. Like the first time she held your face and didnât flinch. You feel her in every inch of youâher magic threads through your veins, golden and wild, binding you to her in ways that make your chest ache.
She gasps. Her head tips back.
And you donât stop.
You canât.
Youâve never tasted anything like thisâsweet and aching and full of memories. Her childhood. Her loneliness. You feel it all, and your hands grip her tighter, anchoring yourself to her like sheâs the only thing holding you together.
Her breathing stutters. Her fingers twitch against your shoulder. But you donât stop.
Her heartbeat falters.
And then Natasha is there.
She yanks you back, hard, her arms around your chest like iron bands as she tears you away from Wanda.
You screamâno words, just soundâand fight her, fangs still bared, hunger still wild. But Natasha holds you. Holds you like sheâs done before. Like she will always do. Her breath is in your ear, fierce and shaking.
âStop. Stop, baby. Sheâs done. Thatâs enough. Youâve got to come back now.â
Your hands are fists in her shirt. Your vision is red at the edges. You can still feel Wandaâs pulse against your lips, her blood singing in your body.
But Natasha is stronger.
She keeps whispering. Keeps anchoring you.
And finallyâfinallyâyou come back to yourself.
Wanda is on the bed, curled in on herself, pale and shivering. But her eyes are open. Sheâs conscious. Sheâs looking at you with something that hurts worse than any woundâtrust.
You drop to your knees at the bedside, trembling. Your fangs are still out, your breath ragged.
âI didnât mean to,â you whisper. âI didnât mean to go that far. Iâm so sorry, Iââ
âShh,â Wanda murmurs, her voice hoarse but gentle. âYou stopped. Thatâs what matters.â
âI didnât,â you choke. âShe stopped me.â
Natasha moves beside you, kneeling, her hand warm against your back. âYou wouldâve,â she says. âYou just needed help. That doesnât make you a monster.â
âI couldâveââ You donât finish the sentence. You canât.
Wanda reaches for your hand, her grip weak but insistent. âYou didnât,â she says. âIâm still here. And Iâm not afraid of you.â
Her thumb strokes over your knuckles, and your throat tightens.
Natasha presses a kiss to your shoulder. âWeâre not leaving you to carry this alone. Not now, not ever.â
You hold Wandaâs hand like itâs a lifeline, and Natasha wraps herself around both of you, pulling you close until the three of you are tangled together on the floor, heartbeats mismatched but steady.
You lick the bite marks on Wandaâs wrist closed with trembling care, and when you press two plasters over themâmatching ones this time, little cartoon foxesâshe smiles.
But you donât.
Because as the haze lifts, and the rush of blood dulls into something quieter, colder, realerâyou finally see Wanda. Really see her. Her skin is too pale, her body curled small with exhaustion, dark circles under her eyes like bruises. You had done that. You had almostâ
Your stomach twists, still not full, still not satisfied, and thatâs what does it.
That clawing, awful part of you that whispers, More. Just a little more. One more pull, and youâll feel whole again.
You jolt back from her like sheâs on fire. The instinct flares and fizzles, shame rising like bile in your throat.
âI canâtââ you start, voice raw. âI need to go. Just for tonight. IâI need to be away from you.â
Natasha blinks, still crouched beside you. âWhat? Why?â
âIâm not safe,â you say quietly, backing away until your spine hits the wall. âI thought I was. I thought I could handle it. But I couldnât. And I stillââ You stop yourself before admitting just how badly you want to taste Wanda again. âI donât trust myself. And Iâm not putting either of you at risk.â
Wanda pushes herself up onto an elbow, barely steady. âPlease donât do that. You stopped. You came back.â
âI didnât. She did.â You nod toward Natasha. âIf she hadnât been hereââ
âBut I was here,â Natasha says. âAnd I will be. Weâre not going to let you spiral alone.â
âI canât be around her tonight,â you say firmly, staring at your own bloodstained hands. âI still want it. That should terrify you.â
âIt doesnât,â Wanda whispers, but sheâs too tired to fight you on it. And that breaks you more.
You back slowly toward the guest roomâtiny, windowless, just a cot and a bolt on the inside of the door.
âIâll lock myself in,â you say. âJust for tonight. I need to reset. I need to remember Iâm still me.â
They donât stop you, not really. Natasha watches you go with a tight jaw and damp lashes. Wanda leans her head against her knees, fighting the fog of blood loss. Neither of them begs. Neither of them turns away.
They trust you. Even now.
You shut the door. You slide the bolt.
And then you sink to the floor, pressing your back to the wall, fists clenched, fangs still aching behind your lips.
You donât sleep. Not that night.
But you sit in the dark with the guilt, and the hunger, and the terrifying reminder of what you almost became.
You sit with it because itâs yours to carry. Because if youâre ever going to earn the right to touch them again, you have to know that next timeânext timeâyouâll stop yourself.
The light in the safe house was grey and pale when you finally stirred. Morning, maybe. Or just the slow thaw of northern dawn through snow-heavy clouds. You hadnât sleptânot really. Maybe you dozed in fits, but your dreams were sharp and red-edged, and the hunger was still a dull throb in your throat, echoing beneath your skin.
You hadnât moved from the floor. Still curled where youâd collapsed the night before, knees to chest, your back pressed to the wall like you were trying to sink through it and vanish entirely. The cot remained untouched. You hadnât deserved the comfort of it.
You didnât answer at first. But you heard the sound of her settling just on the other side of the door, her back sliding down the wood, mirroring your posture like she knew exactly how you were sitting.
âI know what youâre doing,â she said after a moment. âLocking yourself away like this. Punishing yourself. You think thatâs protecting us.â
You closed your eyes.
âItâs not.â
There was silence for a few seconds, then a second body joined her on the other side. Wandaâs presence was unmistakableâlike warmth easing in through the cracks, her magic brushing softly beneath the door like fingertips reaching for yours.
âIâm alright,â she said gently. âReally. I slept a little. Nat fed me. Iâm just tired.â
You could hear the way she leaned her head against the wood. âBut weâre worried about you.â
You buried your face in your arms.
âI nearly killed you,â you said hoarsely. âYouâre both acting like thatâs nothing.â
âItâs not nothing,â Natasha said. âIt was scary. But it wasnât you. It was your hunger. And you came back.â
âI didnât come back fast enough.â
âYou came back,â Wanda echoed. âYou stopped before it was too late. That means everything.â
You shook your head, even though they couldnât see. âIt doesnât mean Iâm safe. It means Iâm a risk. And Iâm not willing to gamble either of you.â
There was a pause.
Then the doorknob rattled gently. Not trying to force itâjust testing it.
âYou think weâre scared of you?â Natasha asked. âWeâve seen what you are when you lose control. And we still love you. So either let us in, or come out here. Because weâre not going away.â
You hesitated. Everything in you still screamed that you didnât deserve their softness. That you needed to stay in this box youâd made for yourself. But Wandaâs voice broke through your spiralling thoughts like sunlight through ice.
âI kept reaching for you in my sleep,â she whispered. âNatasha had to hold my hand so I wouldnât notice you were gone.â
Your chest caved in around her words.
Your fingers trembled as you reached for the bolt, sliding it back with a quiet metallic click. The door creaked open a fractionâand then warm arms were already around you. Natasha pulled you into her chest without hesitation, her hand cradling the back of your head like sheâd been waiting all night to do it.
Wanda joined you both a second later, wrapping herself around your waist from behind, her face pressing into your spine, her fingers knotting in the fabric of your shirt like she was afraid youâd disappear again.
âI still want to run,â you whispered, raw. âEven now.â
âBut youâre not running,â Natasha murmured. âYou opened the door.â
âYou let us in,â Wanda said, voice thick. âThatâs all we ever needed.â
And you broke.
Right there, in the tiny hallway of a safe house in the woods, you let it all fallâguilt, fear, control. Your girls held you through every ragged breath, every whispered apology, every trembling exhale. They rocked you gently between them, their warmth banishing the cold that had lived in your chest since the night before.
You didnât feed again that morning. You didnât need to. You just let them love you.
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Hey! I love your fics and I was wondering if I could request something? Could you maybe write a fic where the reader is Natashaâs girlfriend and sheâs a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent but just does statistics and stuff? And Natasha has noticed that y/n has avoided being intimate and has started wearing more baggy clothes and eating less, and when she confronts y/n, she finds out y/n feels insecure about being with someone as pretty and athletic as Nat and sheâs too chubby for her, and she begs Nat to help her lose weight, to which Nat declines and comforts y/nâŚ..anyways, yeah, I love your fics! Have a great day.
This Body Is Not a Problem
Natasha Romanoff x chubby fem!reader
Word Count: 2.4k
Summary: You work three floors below the action, crunching numbers that keep heroes alive. When insecurity creeps inâbaggy clothes, skipped meals, quiet distanceâNatasha Romanoff notices. Confronted with the belief that you donât belong beside someone like her, Natasha refuses to let you disappear.
Men and Minors DNI
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
The office floor is quiet, humming with fluorescent lights and the steady click of keyboards. Youâre tucked into your cubicle, eyes glued to spreadsheets, calculating percentages and probabilities that determine whether agents live or die. Itâs safe here. Safe and anonymous.
Until today.
âYouâre,â one of the analystsâsomeone whose smile youâve always tried to ignoreâleans over your shoulder. âNatashaâs girlfriend, right?â
You nod stiffly.
âWell⌠sheâs kind of⌠perfect, isnât she? Athletic, gorgeous⌠and youâŚâ He gestures vaguely at your own body, like youâre background noise, like youâre not supposed to notice. âI mean⌠you donât really look like you belong next to her, if you know what I mean.â
You force a smile, nod, mutter something that sounds like agreement, but inside you feel yourself unravel.
Youâre fine at your desk, crunching numbers all day. Youâre carefulâcareful with your clothes, careful with meals, careful with everythingâbut when someone like him says something, the careful walls crack.
After work, you leave your hoodie a little longer, your jumper a little baggier. You skip lunch, then dinner. You curl in your corner of the couch instead of letting Natasha hold you like you always used to. Itâs easier to vanish than to confront what youâre feeling.
Natasha notices.
She notices the oversized clothes, the avoidance, the weight youâre losingânot enough to be dangerous, yet, but enough that sheâs on alert. She notices you stop letting her fingers brush over yours, stop leaning into her chest, stop letting her see you.
She doesnât say anything at first, letting you retreat into your quiet self. But tonight, sheâs done waiting.
She finds you in the bathroom doorway, tugging at the hem of a hoodie that swallows your hands. The city outside hums softly through the glass.
âHey,â she says gently.
You stiffen.
âCome here.â
You hesitate, like youâre deciding whether to run or break. Natasha waits, arms uncrossed, gaze steady.
âTalk to me,â she whispers.
It all comes tumbling out.
The office comment. The way it lodged itself in your chest, poking at your insecurities. How standing next to her makes you shrink, how sitting across from her makes you feel exposed. How youâve avoided intimacy, meals, mirrors⌠everything, because you feel unworthy.
âI just⌠I donât feel like I belong with someone like you,â you whisper, voice trembling. âYouâre strong, and perfect, and Iâm⌠Iâm soft. Chubby. Iâm⌠not enough.â
Natashaâs chest tightens. Her hands find yours, holding them gently but firmly.
âEnough for what?â she asks softly.
âI donât⌠I donât deserve you,â you choke. âIâm not⌠like you. I donât train. I donât fight. Iâm just⌠me. And you⌠youâre Natasha. Youâre everything.â
Your voice breaks, tears slipping down your cheeks. âPlease⌠help me lose weight. Iâll try harder. Iâll do anything. Just⌠help me.â
Natashaâs reaction is instant and fierce.
âNo,â she says.
You flinch, afraid, ready to back away.
âI will not help you hurt yourself,â she continues, voice low but unyielding. âThis isnât about weight. Itâs about how youâre treating yourself. Skipping meals, hiding⌠asking me to make you disappear.â
You shake your head, trying to explain, but she doesnât let you.
âI love you,â she says. âNot a version of you thatâs smaller. Not one that disappears. You.â
You try to protest, but the tears keep falling.
âYou donât have to change,â she murmurs. âYou donât have to shrink. I want you taking up space. I want you fed. I want you safe. I want you happy in your own skin.â
Her thumbs brush the sides of your face, gentle and grounding.
âAnd if anyone ever made you feel like you had to be less to deserve love?â Her voice drops, dangerous and quiet. âThey were wrong. Dead wrong.â
You cling to her, wrapping your arms around her waist like sheâs your only anchor.
She pulls you into her chest, holding you tightly, rocking slightly, letting you cry into her jacket.
âI will never ask you to change,â she whispers into your hair. âI love every inch of you. All of it. And I want you to see what I see: a body that carries the person I love. A body that deserves kindness, care, and respect.â
Your sobs quiet, and for the first time in weeks, you feel safe. Seen. Loved.
Natasha tilts your chin up, looking you in the eyes. âYouâre mine,â she says. âAll of you. And nothingânobodyâwill ever make me want anything else.â
You rest your forehead against hers, letting the tension drain away. The room is quiet except for the hum of the city, the sound of your heartbeat, and Natashaâs steady, reassuring presence.
Youâre still messy. Still scared. But for the first time, itâs not a burden. Because sheâs holding you, and she sees you.
Natasha doesnât let go of you for a long time.
She doesnât rush the tears, doesnât try to hush them or fix them. She just holds you, one hand firm between your shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head like sheâs anchoring you to her heartbeat.
When your breathing finally evens out, when your hands stop shaking in the fabric of her jacket, she pulls back just enough to look at you.
âStay here,â she says quietly.
She guides you to the couch, easing you down like youâre something fragileânot weak, just worth handling carefully. She tucks a blanket around your shoulders before you can protest.
âIâm not going anywhere,â she adds, already reading the fear on your face.
You nod, throat tight.
From the kitchen, you hear movement. Not frantic. Not forced. Just⌠normal. The sound of cupboards opening, a pan settling onto the stove. Itâs grounding in a way you hadnât realised you needed.
Natasha cooks like she does most thingsâefficient, practiced, but intentional. She doesnât ask what you want. She doesnât make it a big deal. She just makes something warm. Familiar.
When she comes back, she sets the bowl down on the coffee table and sits beside you, close enough that your thighs touch.
âYou donât have to eat everything,â she says gently. âOr fast. Or at all, if itâs too much right now.â
That alone almost breaks you again.
You take the bowl with shaking hands. The smell makes your stomach twistânot with hunger, exactly, but with guilt. Old, heavy, well-worn.
Natasha notices.
She rests her hand over yours, steady and warm.
âYouâre not doing anything wrong,â she murmurs. âEating is not a failure.â
You take a small bite. Then another.
She doesnât watch you like a hawk. She keeps her attention loose, casual, talking about something mundaneâan argument Fury had with accounting, a mission that went sideways for stupid reasonsâletting the moment stay ordinary.
When you finish, even though thereâs still some left, she smiles at you like youâve done something brave.
âGood,â she says softly.
She pulls you into her side then, arm wrapping around your shoulders. You hesitateâold instinct, old shameâbut she tightens her hold just a little, grounding without trapping.
âCan I tell you something?â she asks.
You nod.
âWhen I was younger,â she says slowly, âmy body was never mine. It was measured. Evaluated. Corrected. Punished.â
Her voice stays steady, but you can hear the weight beneath it.
âI was taught that worth was conditional. That love had to be earned by being useful. Beautiful. Dangerous.â
She looks down at you.
âYou donât have to earn me.â
Your chest aches.
âThe way you exist,â she continues, brushing her thumb gently over your arm, âthe way you take up spaceânone of that disqualifies you from being loved. Itâs the reason I love you.â
You swallow hard.
âI still feel⌠wrong,â you admit quietly. âSometimes.â
Natasha nods. âThat doesnât make you broken. It makes you human.â
She shifts, guiding you so youâre curled into her chest, your head tucked beneath her chin. Her heartbeat is steady. Real. Right there.
âWeâll take this one day at a time,â she says. âSome days will be harder. Some days youâll want to hide again.â
She presses a kiss into your hair.
âAnd on those days, Iâll still be here. Reminding you that youâre allowed to be seen.â
The room grows quiet. The city hums outside. Her hand moves in slow, absent patterns along your armânever demanding, never pushing.
Just there.
For the first time in weeks, you donât feel like youâre taking up too much space.
You feel like youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Masterlist
A/N: Iâve had a few requests sitting in my asks, and I am getting to them one at a time. I had a rough weekend since it was my birthday on Saturday (the 17th), so things are a little slow right now.
(đ Possible birthday fic coming soon⌠maybe. No promises.)
Also, probably no one cares, but I got my eyebrow pierced the other day and Iâm obsessed. I was kind of hoping for a black eye so I could look super cool, but apparently a pencil can bruise me and a needle through my eyebrow canât. Make it make sense.
P.S. If youâre struggling with body image or feeling like youâre ânot enough,â youâre not alone. There really is someone for everybody. If you ever need to talk, my DMs and asks are always open đ¤