sabrina carpenter as maya hart in girl meets world s2ep1-10
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pairing: vi x fem!reader
word count: 9.2k
summary: when you and vi form an alliance during the 74th annual hunger games, the line between survival and love blurs.
warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + death + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; post-injury sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing); 18+ ! also ANGST (sorry y'all 💔)
a/n: HAPPY HUNGER GAMES RENAISSANCE! been revisiting + thinking about this series recently n what it tells us about politics, injustice, revolution, love, etc. n that sorta all manifested into this. i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i do have a part two planned (catching fire inspired ofc) but the heated rivalry obsession has taken over and i fear i will abandon my other wips in favour of a hockey player!vi x hockey player!reader rivals to lovers au
♪: "glory and gore" by lorde; "the archer" by taylor swift; "mirrored heart" by fka twigs
“you here to finish me off, princess?”
you had lost track of how many days, exactly, you’d been in the arena. it might as well have been a lifetime, and this was the first time your path had crossed with violet. when you’d made eye contact with her during the countdown, you had hoped it would be the last.
her ice blue eyes pierce through you now, dangerous and familiar; her skin is practically translucent under the moonlight, littered with fresh bruises and scars; her pink hair, glowing like a halo against the white snow, is a shock of color in contrast.
so is the pool of blood oozing from her side.
“do me a favour, and make it quick,” she adds, teeth clattering from the cold. “the fiery depths of hell seem very appealing right now.”
“pretty sure we’re already there, twelve,” you mumble, kneeling down next to her to inspect her wound.
your throat is still hoarse from crying. the scream that tore from rell canwell, the other half of your district pairing, when your spear hit her a moment too late, a millisecond after she’d managed to shoot an arrow through isha’s heart, still rings in your ears. there is still dirt beneath your nails from when you moved isha’s body and laid her to rest amongst flowers. and, no matter how many times you scrub them, blood still stains your hands.
it felt eerily poetic, how quickly spring rolled into winter after the hovercraft took isha away. amongst the chaos, amongst the violence, she had brought warmth and light, a youthful innocence that many of the tributes, yourself included, had long since grown out of.
there is nothing poetic about it, though. the gamemakers take pleasure in playing god: they can manipulate the weather on a whim, send in genetically engineered nightmares just to get the audience’s heart racing, and change the rules whenever they get bored.
eleven tributes are still alive.
as of a few hours ago, the remaining two tributes will be crowned victors.
violet coughs, a fresh bout of crimson splattering against the snow. you swipe a thumb underneath her lip to clean stray drops of blood. her skin is now flushed, almost burning underneath your palm.
“at least be gentle with me, beautiful,” violet slurs, eyelids fluttering closed. the blood loss isn’t fatal, at least not yet, but you can’t imagine she has the tightest grip on reality right now. “it’s my first time.”
despite the new scars on your body, the ache in your bones, and the cold air burrowing underneath your skin, you can’t help but laugh at her innuendo.
“somehow, i doubt that,” you quip, adding fuel to the fire.
“slut-shaming a dying woman,” she half-groans, half-laughs. “you’re ruthless, l/n.”
you pretend that violet’s comment, though teasing and lighthearted in tone, doesn’t pierce through your chest like a rusty arrow.
as soon as your name was called at the reaping, all you could think about was the path to victory. this was your chance to show your mother that you are not the same girl with the bleeding heart she banished to district two all those years ago.
your initial strategy in the arena was to be ruthless — because, as your mother would try to instill in you, a wolf has no mercy. you planned on foregoing any sort of allyship, and instead hunting down every other tribute, and killing them without hesitation. you’d win the game, receive all the glory and riches, and, most importantly, prove your mother wrong.
you could be a wolf; you could be a warrior.
then, isha, only twelve years old and the youngest tribute this year, looked to you for protection. and none of that seemed to matter anymore.
the truth is, everything’s dark and cold and unpredictable and —
and, well. it would be nice to not have to face it all alone, and violet’s the closest person to a friend you have.
you help violet to her feet. instantly, she slumps her weight against your body and you wrap a strong arm against her waist to keep her upright.
“what’re you waitin’ for?” her breath is hot against your neck, making you shiver in more ways than one. “just get it over with ‘n kill me here.”
“if i wanted to kill you, warwick,” you say. “you’d already be dead.” you take a few more steps and pick up her fallen bow and arrow.
“just leave me, then. if i don’t bleed to death, one of the other tributes will get me.”
“i’m not leaving you,” you grit through your teeth, taking a few steps forward despite the exhaustion wearing down your muscles.
this close to her, you can smell firewood and pine needles underneath the sharp, coppery scent of blood. her heart beats erratically, thumping against your own ribcage.
“seriously, princess. i’ll just get in your way.”
“no. you won’t.”
“it’s too late for me —”
“don’t say that —”
“why do you even care —”
you kiss vi before she can even finish the question; before you can even think about the consequences, about what it might mean for the audience, for the sponsors, for the game.
she hesitates at first, then seems reinvigorated, chasing your lips as soon as you move away to take a breath. your knees start to grow weak, so you brace yourself with a hand on her abdomen, right next to her wound. she groans into your mouth, deepens the kiss, and you swallow it all down eagerly.
it’s a kiss unlike any you’d had before: rushed, desperate, tasting like copper and melting away to something undeniably sweet the more vi licks into your mouth. you can’t help but whine, and vi chuckles, a deep rumble that echoes from her body to yours and burrows somewhere deep inside you, like a knife to the gut. if vi were to pull away, you’d surely bleed out.
it wouldn’t be the most glorious death, but at least you’d die happy.
how many warriors could claim that?
you find shelter from the storm, in a damp little cave tucked away behind the trees. you managed to stop the bleeding, cauterized the wound with one hand while clasping one of vi’s in the other. she didn’t scream or cry, just squeezed so hard you were worried a bone or two might crack.
vi starts running a fever, floating in and out of consciousness as you try to figure out ways to keep both of you, to keep her, alive.
while she’s no less than a breath away from death’s door, vi dreams of her family. her mother, coming home from the mines, smelling like axle grease, humming songs about hope and rebellion. her father, taking her outside the fence so they could hunt and forage and scrape together something good for dinner, like deer and katniss root soup that kept them warm even in the coldest winter days. vander, teaching her how to throw a punch, laughing at their kitchen table, holding her and powder in his arms to protect them from the fire and smoke and limp bodies of their parents after a failed uprising. ekko, gifting her a firelight ring he’d made before she got on the train towards the capitol, the two of them holding back tears. and powder, tinkering with scrap metal at all hours of the day, looking up to her with stars in her eyes, screaming and crying when vi volunteered to take her place in the games.
vi dreams of home. the area beyond her house where flowers bloom through rubble and ash; the people who barter with her at the hob, tough but fair and deep down, truly kind; the firelights that illuminate an otherwise hopeless, void-like sky.
vi dreams of you, too, and the first time you met.
it was about seven years ago. vi, only sixteen years old, was restless and angry — at the system, at the so-called peacekeepers who upheld it, but mostly at herself.
mylo and claggor, friends from childhood — her brothers, really — had died in the hunger games a few months prior. they had put up a good fight, just like she taught them to, but it wasn’t enough to bring them back home.
the current of restlessness that always ran through her only became more intense as she grew up and lost more loved ones — all while knowing that some people never had to scavenge for scraps or deal with the cruelty of a system that never wanted them to survive.
vi knew her place in the world, but she refused to accept it. sometimes, that meant stealing from peacekeepers to help pay for dinner. usually, she wouldn’t get caught, but when she did….
well, vi refused to go down without a fight, even if it meant going up against three military-trained and well-armed officers.
when you first intervened, vi assumed you were one of them. you were around her age, and though you weren’t wearing a peacekeeper’s uniform, you had on metallic clothing that shimmered and protected you like armour and a dagger strapped to your belt. you spoke with such calculated indifference towards her that suggested you were from one of the upper districts, maybe even the capitol.
but after you sent the peacekeepers away — arguing that your mother would not be too happy with them wasting time and energy on nothing more than an insolent child — you stayed.
vi was still on the ground, assessing her own injuries — slightly bruised ribs, possibly twisted ankle, cut cheek, hands still bound by plastic handcuffs — when you sat down next to her and asked:
“are you okay?”
and vi almost had to add whiplash to her list because you sounded so sincere.
“you expecting a thank you?” vi countered, still not trusting you.
you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “no, warwick.”
“how do you know who i am?”
“violet warwick, age 16. noted troublemaker: general disdain for authority that manifests in petty crimes and violent outbursts,” you recited like you’d memorised from a textbook. then, you cleared your throat. “war department keeps files on people with, uh, rebel tendencies.”
vi had only heard whispers, but the capitol had sent one of their best generals to extinguish sparks of rebellion, as is routine every few years. this general, apparently, had brought her daughter this time.
a daughter who had been trained in lethal combat and military techniques since she was 11 years old, in hopes that she’d continue her mother’s legacy. you were essentially capitol royalty, and yet —
“you just interfered with peacekeepers,” vi pointed out. “pretty sure that would fall under rebel tendencies, princess. maybe they should start a file on you.”
you hummed and the corner of your mouth quirked up. “you’re assuming they don’t already have one.”
vi clicked her tongue, impressed, eyeing you with newfound curiosity.
“so, you’re a bit of a troublemaker yourself.”
“technically, i’m meant to be reforming my childish ways.” you mimicked air quotes for those last two words, punctuating the gesture with an indignant eyeroll.
“well…” vi shuffled closer and nudged your shoulder gently in an act of solidarity. “once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker.”
you unsheathed your dagger, then, and on instinct vi flinched, figuring she had said something out of line.
instead, you raised your hands up in surrender.
“i’m not gonna hurt you,” you promised, gesturing towards the plastic restraints around vi’s wrists. “i just noticed your hands. figured you’d wanna get rid of those.”
“oh. right.” she was just gonna ask ekko to cut them off, but if you were offering…
vi nodded, and you got to work, your blade slicing through the material like butter.
“don’t worry — i’m not expecting a thank you or anything,” you quipped, and vi laughed, just as blood started dripping from your nose. “shit,” you groaned, playfulness fading away. you tilted your chin up in an attempt to quell the bleeding.
“you’re hurt,” vi realized.
“it’s fine. i’m fine. took a pretty nasty punch to the face earlier during training. i should’ve dodged it,” you huffed as though recounting the story of a child misbehaving. “and here i am now, making a mess. i’m sorry.”
vi blinked at you, a pang of sympathy ringing through her chest.
“you’re apologizing for….bleeding?”
you didn’t respond; you just angled your head down so you were staring at the concrete beneath your feet, seemingly weighed down by a sudden cloud of shame.
“isn’t there a doctor or something at that fancy training facility of yours?”
“i, uh.” you swallowed thickly. “didn’t want my mother finding out.”
vi frowned. maybe she was too used to people throughout district twelve walking around with injuries, from fights or accidents in the mines or run-ins with peacekeepers. sometimes there were tears, maybe some angry rants, but never a sense of needing to be ashamed. and, there’s would always be someone there to patch them up with whatever’s around and offer some comfort for the pain, whether it be a swig of whiskey or a sympathetic ear.
before she could think better of it, vi reached out to you. you flinched away just as her fingers brushed your skin, and bared your teeth slightly like a wounded animal.
“i’ll be gentle,” vi assured.
she waited until you softened, offering her a firm nod before trying again. you exhaled softly when she wiped away the blood with her thumb, and vi felt the warmth of your breath on her palm.
“thank you,” you whispered once she pulled away. “it’s getting late; i should probably head back.”
“okay. it was nice, um, meeting you. despite, you know, the circumstances.”
“yeah. you too.”
when you were just about to leave, vi realized that the dagger was still on the ground next to her.
“wait —” vi got up and extended the dagger to you. “don’t forget this.”
“oh.” you looked down at the empty sheath attached to your belt, then back at vi. “keep it.”
“really?”
you shrugged. “i’ll just make another one.”
“you made this?”
“mhm. it’s made from imperial gold. probably worth something on the black market.”
vi hadn’t gotten a good look at it before, but the dagger was just as much a work of art as it was a weapon. the hilt was golden, the blade itself steel, and when tilted just right, the light illuminated an engraving of a rose.
it would be worth something at the hob. like, feed her family for at least three months worth something.
“are you sure?”
you smiled wistfully before planting a goodbye kiss on her cheekbone, right where vi had been cut. when you pulled away, you licked your lips.
“i’m sure.”
as she watched you disappear into the sunset, you turned back to give vi one last wave.
vi held your dagger tight in her hand, her heart aching in a way she was too afraid to name.
if vi hadn’t been gravely ill, she would have probably killed you for going to the cornucopia. the gamemakers had set up a ‘feast,’ providing what every remaining tribute needed as a way to lure them in and ensure bloodshed.
you promised not to go, but your plan changed when vi got much, much worse, mumbling nonsense in her sleep and running a dangerously high fever.
so, you waited until she fell asleep again, did what you had to do, and returned with a silver giftbox labelled twelve and a fresh gash across your cheek, just as she woke up.
the medicine works fast — it’s one of those cure-anything salves that could probably save lives, if the capitol weren’t so intent on keeping it from the districts. vi insists on swiping some over your new cut, but not before she presses her lips to the area to soothe the sting.
when vi kisses you after, her lips are still warm and taste like metal.
it had been a dangerously quiet few days. snow has melted, giving way to another spring, and any sense of time you had is now unbelievably warped.
you didn’t realize, not until you were sent a silver parachute with a full picnic basket and complete set of fine cutlery, and vi made some sarcastic comment about how romantic it was, that the audience was probably having quite a time following your blossoming relationship with vi.
you can almost picture viewers swooning when vi picks fresh flowers for you (violets, of course. “for the record, black roses are my favourite,” you tease, just so you can kiss away her pout. “but i have to admit violets are growing on me.”); viewers clutching their racing hearts when you’re both washing up in the recently thawed river (“like what you see?” vi teases, chest still wrapped in gauze but the plains of her abdomen shining in the sunlight. you bite your lip and turn away before doing something that would most certainly violate the show’s pg-13 rating); viewers holding back tears when you braid vi’s hair, passing the time by imagining better futures (“maybe one day, we’ll be able to spend time together without one of us bleeding,” vi muses.)
ultimately, though, the gamemakers are cruel. they’ll give you time together, give you peace, with the looming threat that it’ll be ripped away in the blink of an eye.
there are only four tributes left. the arena has been growing scarce, so the only ‘food’ you and vi had managed to find were nightlock berries, which she informed you were poisonous. you stuffed some in your pocket as a contingency, long forgotten once you and vi were indulging in the fresh rolls, goat cheese, and fruit that had been sent. though by your estimation, it would be mid afternoon, the sun was already setting, casting everything in an eerie yet romantic golden light.
you realize that these moments are only fabricated for viewer entertainment — to give them something to root for, as mel said — but sometimes you catch yourself forgetting that none of it is real. you’re too mesmerized by violet’s powder blue eyes as they shift darker at night and almost sparkle in the morning; the heart-shaped curves of her lips that meld perfectly into yours; the deep, soothing timber of her voice when she hums without realizing.
gods. you aren’t here to fall in love. and people did not watch the hunger games for romance — at least, not exclusively.
night falls unnaturally quick, and that’s when the barking starts. in the distance, at first, followed by a piercing scream, then the boom of a cannon.
you and vi are already armed — you with a spear, her with a bow and quiver — and jump up to your feet, to prepare for what horrors are inevitably coming your way. her eyes meet yours; panicked, heartbroken, and terrified all at once, masked with a determined sort of courage.
you’ve reached the finale.
the next thing you know, you’re sprinting through the forest with vi keeping pace next to you as a chaos of barks and growls trails closer and closer. you reach the clearing and, opting for higher ground, you head towards the cornucopia.
“you first,” you demand once the two of you reach the structure.
“but —”
“now, vi!”
she doesn’t put up any more fight, and climbs onto the structure as you use your spear to keep the creatures away from her, but there are just so many. as you soon as vi has reached the top safely, you start to climb and one of the creatures jumps after you. vi shoots it down with an arrow, but not before its teeth manage to sink into the meat of your thigh.
you snarl just as the animal falls back with a whine and you pull the rest of your weight up, your body sending a dull thud through the metal when you collapse onto the structure. you realize that in all the chaos, you’d lost your spear.
“fuck, you’re hurt,” vi worries, helping you to your feet.
“it’s fine. i’m fine,” you insist, though adrenaline leaks from the fresh bite, and you do everything in your power to keep yourself in the fight. you don’t have time to worry about the thick, crimson puddle forming at your feet, not when there are horribly mutated monsters jumping and clawing at you and vi.
wolves. not like any you’d ever seen before, but their eyes are terribly human and vaguely familiar.
“that one….that one looks like….” vi chokes on the rest of her sentence. she points to a wolf, slimmer than the rest, with dark blonde fur and blue eyes so pale they look like glass. it’s uncanny how the creature resembles deckard, the other tribute from vi’s district.
uncanny and horrifically deliberate.
you swallow down fear as best you can, looking at the scene below and digging your nails into your palms as everything shifts into sharper focus.
each wolf, it seems, has been designed to resemble a fallen tribute.
one has deep brown eyes, a scar on its upper lip, and two silver hoops pierced through its ear. gert from eleven. she had just spared your life the other day, killing steb from district one at the feast before he could kill you. she was one of the final four, so it must have been her scream in the forest earlier. was this wolf late to join the pack? how on earth could the gamemakers create such monstrosities so quickly?
another wolf has amber eyes, no doubt modelled after isha. once upon a time, those eyes, now devoid of their characteristic warmth, looked to you for comfort, for safety, and now…..
it had been the one who bit you, evident by the pieces of fabric hanging from its bloody teeth and one of vi’s arrows embedded in its neck. your stomach twists, wondering if the gamemakers have programmed each wolf to carry memories of its corresponding tribute and twisted their emotions in the process; if wolf-isha is angry at you because all she can remember is that you did not save her.
you count twenty-one wolves in total. three tributes left. you, vi, and —
maddie nolen from district one lunges at vi, who screams and drops to her knees when maddie’s sword slashes across her abdomen. maddie rears up for another attack, but you tackle her before she gets the chance. she stabs you underneath your ribcage before you can disarm her; the sword releases from her grasp and you kick it out of reach. you land a few good punches, but maddie digs her fingers into your fresh wound. you cry out in agony, though it comes out garbled due to the strong chokehold she quickly locks you in. had you been at your strongest, you would’ve been able to wriggle out of her hold, but you can’t fathom how much blood you’ve lost.
meanwhile, vi regains her footing, picking up her bow and instantly threatening maddie with an arrow pointed directly at the centre of her forehead.
“shoot me now, twelve, and we both go down,” maddie growls. “at the end of the day, all they want is a good show, right? and there’s nothing people love more than a plot twist. show them that a poor little girl from district twelve can play their game and beat the odds. let that arrow fly, and you’ll be the winner.”
you’re starting to feel dizzy, your vision going fuzzy at the edges, and all you can focus on is vi. though she’s undoubtedly in pain from maddie’s initial attack, vi stands her ground.
she could just let that arrow fly, and maddie would fall back, descend into that pack of wolves vying for their next meal.
guilt twists in your chest, knowing that the only reason she hasn’t is because you’re in the way, and would fall to your death with maddie.
maddie tightens her chokehold on you, and a strategy emerges in your mind. hazy at best, but perhaps your only hope now.
the clock is ticking.
you tap on the hand that’s strangling you, and you pray that vi gets the message.
it takes a second, but soon vi widens her eyes ever so slightly, and you know — you know — that she’s figured it out.
“i’m sick of playing this game,” vi finally declares.
“aren’t we all?” maddie laughs humourlessly, tightening the chokehold she has you in. “but that’s just the way it always goes: someone has to win, and someone has to lose.”
“you’re right.”
in a flash, vi repositions her bow and lets the arrow fly.
maddie howls as it pierces through her hand, and instantly she releases you. taking the opportunity, you slam your elbow into her, hard, and send her tumbling down into the wolves. she screams and cries until vi walks to the edge of the cornucopia where you’re standing, and sends another arrow out of mercy. maddie falls silent.
the last cannon booms throughout the arena; the wolves calm down and disappear into the woods just as the sun starts to rise.
“it’s over,” vi exhales, dropping her bow. she brings you into her arms, holding you tight to your chest while careful to avoid any injuries. your leg is still bleeding, as is your side, but for a moment, everything melts away, except for the thump of her heart against your chest, how it eases now that the games are over.
except….it’s quiet. suspiciously quiet.
“why haven’t they announced it?” you vocalize your concern. you untangle yourself from vi to pick up maddie’s sword, anticipating more wolves, or something worse, on the horizon.
vi shakes her head in disbelief.
“no, it’s over,” she insists. “it has to be over. we’re safe, now. maybe the gamemakers are just —”
“greetings, tributes.” allira salo’s voice echoes through the arena. “the previous rule change allowing for two victors has been overturned. there can now only be one winner. best of luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour.”
neither of you say anything for a moment. you just stand there: bleeding, bruised, exhausted, having reached the finish line only for the gamemakers to introduce another impossible, cruel plot twist.
“finding new ways to fuck us over,” you finish vi’s sentence, bitterness hardening your chest. you glance over at vi.
she doesn’t react. she doesn’t move. just stares at the sunrise in the distance.
for a second, you can picture it.
just one more kill, and it’s over. you’d have it: the victory, the glory. your mother would apologize for underestimating you. she might even be proud, perhaps welcome you back home (a home that never felt like yours), and you’d reclaim the legacy she’d carved for you (a legacy you never really wanted: drenched in blood and painted over with gold).
all you have to do is stab this sword through vi’s already wounded body.
the thought causes bile to rise to your throat.
when vi turns to look at you, her cheeks are flushed with anger.
“what do they want — for us to fight each other to the death? after everything we’ve already been through?”
you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying, so hard that you taste blood.
“seems like it,” you manage, gripping the sword even tighter as you try to steady your frenzied heartbeat.
“well, i’m not fighting you.” vi turns up to the sky. “i’m not fighting her! and i’m not letting one of your mutts get me, either.”
and that’s when vi picks up her bow again, breaks it, and throws it down to the ground along with her quiver, arrows spilling across the bloodied grass.
before you can register the weight of her words, vi crashes her lips to yours.
you release the sword and it lands on the cornucopia with a clatter. you almost lose yourself in the kiss, in her, then you feel something slip onto your ring finger.
you jolt away.
“what are you —”
“i kept your dagger,” vi tells you while catching her breath. “it’s beautiful, you know? always reminded me of you.”
nostalgia crashes into, recalling the first time you met. neither of you had really spoken about it. not in a way that mattered; not like this.
you can’t believe she remembered.
your heart aches. “vi….”
“so i want you to have this. it’s from my district,” she explains, while catching her breath. she holds your hand, swipes her thumb over the metal ring. “if you get a chance to visit, tell my family that i love them, and that….that i’m sorry.”
you look down at where your hands connect, dirty with blood and grime and gods know what. your throat tightens seeing how the silver ring, shaped like a firelight, glows against your skin.
it’s beautiful. she’s beautiful, watching you with those gentle but fierce eyes, now rimmed with tears.
“you have nothing to be sorry about,” you mumble, unsure what else to say. you’re stalling for time, at this point, trying to figure out how to keep vi alive.
“i’m bleeding, y/n.” she gestures to her stab wound.
“i’m bleeding, too!” you hiss. “so, what? why do you get to be the one to make the sacrifice play?”
vi gives you a sad, regretful smile. she places her hands on your cheeks, steadying you. “because you’re the one who should be crowned victor. the odds were never in my favour.”
“since when do you give a fuck about any of that?” you meant to sound commanding, but your voice wavers. you rip away from her grasp, and almost stumble, but vi catches your wrist before you fall.
“just — let me do this for you, okay?” vi soothes, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. “you’re the reason i’m still here, anyways.”
“vi —”
“look, say what you will about maddie nolen, but she was right. they want a good show —”
“we’ve already given them a good show.”
“ — someone has to lose, and someone has to win; that’s just the way it always goes,” she exhales, moving her hand to the wound on your thigh and pressing down in an attempt to slow down the bleeding. “you’re running out of time. so, take that sword, finish me off, and win the game, like you were supposed to.”
like you were supposed to.
in a better, kinder world, none of this was supposed to happen.
you think about isha, too young and too gentle, yet still forced into the arena. you think about vi, feverish, bleeding out in the snow and on the brink of death, while sponsors surely already had the money to send medicine that could have saved her so much pain. hell — you even think about maddie, the wild desperation in her eyes and the bitterness laced through her words, because no matter how much blood she spilled, in the end, she was nothing more than a pawn.
that’s just the way it always goes.
no.
you’d rather die than accept that.
“i don’t care about winning their game,” you whisper. with a deep breath, you reach into your pocket and present the nightlock berries to her.
vi blinks at the berries, then at you, skeptically at first, but you don’t falter.
“you’re serious?”
“yes,” you declare. “fuck their odds. fuck their rules. either they’re getting two victors….”
“or none at all,” vi finishes.
she takes a second to consider before muttering a soft yet determined okay. your heart beats anxiously against your chest as you divide the berries between you, trying to keep your hand from trembling.
“it was nice being with you,” you whisper, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall. “you know….despite the circumstances.”
“you too, princess. you too.”
she kisses you again, gently on your cheek. vi pulls away for the last time, licking her cracked, bloody lips.
“on the count of three?” she asks.
you nod. “one….”
“two….”
“....three.”
you each bring the berries to your mouth; you can already taste the bitter, acidic poison, when —
“wait! wait!” it’s allira salo again, voice undeniably panicked. he clears his throat. “may i present the winners of the 74th hunger games. from district two, y/n l/n. and from district twelve, violet warwick.”
when you wake up in the tribute centre, your first thought is that it was all a terrible dream.
the air smells like anti-sceptic, and the only sounds are soft beeps from the hospital monitor you’re hooked up to. it’s dark outside, and there’s no one in the room with you.
your thigh is wrapped in thick gauze; underneath your clothes there are bandages on various parts of your body, and an iv in your arm. when you try to take a deep breath, sharp pain emanates from underneath your ribs. though you have no idea how long you’ve been sleeping, exhaustion has settled deep into your bones.
vi’s firelight ring is still on your finger, and another thought takes over:
you need to find her.
tentatively, you get out of bed and detach the cords from your body. the tile floor is cold underneath your feet; you wince at the slight pain in your side as you shuffle towards the door to check if there’s anyone in the hallway. it’s empty, save for an armed guard outside your door who’d fallen asleep. as quietly as you can, you slip out of your room and carefully swipe their key card before rushing over to the elevator. you scan the card and press the button for floor twelve — the penthouse.
you’re lucky that the guards on this floor have the tv on, so they can’t hear you. they’re watching the finale, of all things. the wolves barking, vi’s scream, maddie’s monologue — it all sends a shiver down your spine as you shuffle past the living room, in search of the room vi must have been confined to.
the first door you open leads to a bathroom.
the next, an unoccupied bedroom.
and the third…..
you find her tangled in silk sheets and snoring softly. you close the door behind you and tiptoe to the edge of the bed. the moonlight illuminates every one of her freckles, softens the cut of her jawline. she has a bandage on her nosebridge and the scar on her upper lip twitches every time she exhales.
it’s almost overwhelming, watching her sleep so peacefully. you can’t help but reach out and touch her cheek to make sure that she’s real —
just as your fingers brush against her cheek, vi jolts awake and before you know it, you’re locked underneath her body.
“it’s just me,” you soothe, though your voice is sandpaper rough, your throat sore. her knee digs into your side, but you bite back your pain, instead keeping quiet and still as to not further alarm her, or alert the guards that something is awry.
vi blinks at you slowly, like she might still be dreaming. “it’s….you?”
“yeah. it’s me.”
you watch as the fight leaves her body, her survival instincts fading away. she loosens her grip, shuffles back on her knees so you can sit up before she wordlessly engulfs you in her arms.
seconds pass, though it could be minutes. maybe hours. time moves around you like you’re frozen in amber. all you care about is the butterfly-wing rhythm of her heart against your chest, grounding you in the reality that you’ve both made it out alive.
“i was so worried,” vi finally mumbles into your shoulder. her breath warms your skin. “sevika told me that the doctors didn’t even know if you’d ever wake up —”
“i’m awake.” you bury your face in the crook of her neck, and inhale her scent. roses, from the standard issue body wash in the tribute center, but underneath something more personal, more her. pine trees and firewood and burnt sugar.
“you’re awake,” vi echoes. she pulls away, hands firm on your shoulders as she gazes at you, still a bit dazed. “i’m awake, too, right? this isn’t some nightmare where i start to kiss you, then you turn into a killer wolf who wants to devour me?”
you lean in and press a tentative kiss to her lips, then pull away just as quick. her eyelids had fluttered closed, and vi takes a deep breath before opening them again.
“see? still me,” you say, hoping to reassure her. you reach a hand up to caress her cheek, brushing your thumb over her tattoo. her eyes shine brighter than the full moon and every single star in the sky, her pupils blown wide with possibility at your delicate touch.
for the first time, you’re both alone. no cameras, no audience, no games.
just….the two of you.
the realization awakens a desire in your gut, clawing at you for release.
“as for the part where i want to devour you…..” you continue, trailing your hand down until you reach the waistband of her pants. you tease your fingers underneath, and vi lets out something of a whimper when you brush against her flushed skin. “well…..maybe if you ask nicely.”
you watch as her eyes darken to the shade of midnight’s sky and she leans in so she’s no more than a breath away.
“i’d rather taste you, first,” she murmurs, voice deep and low, the words vibrating against your lips and igniting every nerve in your body.
she kisses you before you can respond — tender and slow and sweet, honey drizzled into a warm cup of tea. you groan when her tongue slips into your mouth, wandering over every corner and crevice as she tries to savour every part of you. vi presses forward slowly, until your back rests against the mattress, her body once again hovering over yours. one of vi’s calloused hands wanders underneath your medical gown; you inhale sharply when she reaches your thigh, the sudden pain knocking you out of your reverie. vi freezes, brows furrowed and eyes searching yours.
“baby,” vi whispers. the nickname makes your stomach tighten. “we don’t have to, if you’re not up to it —”
“i’m not made of porcelain,” you can’t help but scoff, ignoring the twinge in your thigh. “i can handle it.”
a soft chuckle slips from vi’s lips, and your skin grows warm. “i know. it’s just — if you prefer to wait until you’re better, we can. there’s no rush now. it’s over. we’re safe and soon enough, we’ll heal. we have all the time in the world.”
suddenly, you feel untethered. you think about what she's said, so impossibly loving and unbelievably tender.
could she be right?
you certainly hope she is, but you aren’t so optimistic.
it’s over.
we’re safe.
you’ve heard her say that before, not too long ago. though you’ve both made it out alive, you fear that you might not be so lucky a second time.
vi calls your name, and the sound of her voice grounds you back to reality. you focus on the present, on her, and everything else fades away. she brushes her thumb over your lips and you graze your tongue over the digit. vi tries to bite back a groan, but you catch it. you can feel her above you, muscles tensing as she waits patiently for you to respond.
“i don’t wanna wait,” you finally say, swallowing down your last bit of dread.
“hm, okay.” she smiles slyly, presses her lips underneath your ear and promises: “i’ll be gentle.”
and gods, it makes your heart ache, how gentle she is with you: undressing you with such reverence, paying attention to every scar and injury, every birthmark and bruise like she wants to commit your body to memory. the room is cold, but warmth blooms wherever she touches you, whether it be with her lips or hands or tongue. occasionally, she’ll tease a bit, lean a bit rougher, and lightly nip at your skin or suck a bruise of her own or flick her tongue over your perked nipple; you whimper in pleasure, tangle your fingers into her hair, and tug so that she meets your eyes. vi winks at you before continuing, like she wants you to know that, as gentle as she can be, there’s another side to her that you’ll one day discover.
eventually, she reaches the heat between your legs, wide-eyed and on her knees like she’s found her own personal altar.
“you’re so fucking unreal,” she murmurs, wet lips against your uninjured inner thigh.
“f-fuck, vi,” your breath hitches when she finally runs her tongue through your folds. she’s eager, but patient; she takes her time, sucks your clit into her mouth, and groans against you when you pull at her hair, the vibrations making you dizzy.
she nuzzles in impossibly closer, licking into you with such hunger and devotion, that you feel yourself melting into the soft, silk sheets. you gnaw on your bottom lip, hoping to keep your moans from slipping past your lips, but it’s just too much. just as you start to taste blood, vi presses her tongue into you, and you can’t help the groan that rumbles through you.
“sweetheart,” vi warns delicately. you almost sob as she pulls her mouth away, though she makes up for it by plunging two fingers into your cunt. she times it perfectly so that she catches your moan with her own lush, honey-coated lips. you moan again as you taste yourself on her tongue, sweet musk mixed with the tang of copper from your bitten lips. “you’re gonna have to be quieter for me.”
“it just —” vi’s digits reach that gummy spot deep within you, and you suck in air, canines puncturing your bottom lip. vi brings a hand up to your jaw, prompting you to meet her gaze, dark and lustful, as you let out a shaky breath. “y-you just feel so fuckin’ good, vi.”
“i know, baby. i know,” she coos, sympathetic even though she continues thrusting her fingers inside you. “but they can’t know that you’re here, okay? i don’t want us to get into any more trouble,” vi adds with a wink.
you laugh, a sound that evaporates into a sigh of pleasure when vi starts to lick down your neck, sucks a hickey onto your collarbone. you reach for something to ground yourself, wanting to feel her bare skin underneath your nails, and that’s when you realize that vi is very much still clothed. you tug at her shirt impatiently, and she gets the message, pausing to remove all her clothes and reveal her body in all its glory. she’s about to get back to it, but you reach out your hand to stop her. you need a second to drink in the sight of her: all her gorgeous curves and muscles that must’ve been carved by the gods themselves; the piercings in her nipples that sparkle like two fallen stars; the pink curls that frame her cunt perfectly, already wet with her arousal, her folds glistening under the moonlight; and the tattoos that have been so beautifully etched in her skin, begging for your tongue to trace them over. there are scars from your time in the arena, of course, and a bandage underneath her left ribs, mirroring your own.
“you’re so beautiful,” you whisper, more to yourself than her, but her cheeks bloom red nonetheless. you kiss her on the lips once before flipping your positions, slotting your leg between hers so that your cunts brush against each other.
“this okay?” you ask, rolling your hips forward experimentally.
“yeah, fuck.”
vi throws her head back against the pillow, groaning when you bite at the gear tattoo on her neck. her skin is salty-sweet, and you want more, so you reach down to collect some wetness from between her legs. you run your fingers over her lips, glazing them with her own arousal, before vi takes it a step further, sucking your digits into her mouth.
“fuck,” you groan, watching as her tongue swirls and laps everything up, and she looks back at you with dark, eyes. a string of spit follows as you remove your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you savour it — her spit, her sweat, her arousal — mixed with everything of yours she’d tasted. the combination is so intoxicating, it might just be deadly enough to send you over the edge.
vi grabs hold of your hips, grinds up to match your slow, deliberate thrusts. fever or not, vi’s always run warm, but her cunt is particularly molten, and it’s electric, the way her clit catches on yours. all it takes is a few more seconds until you reach your peak, and vi’s right there with you.
exhausted and lust-drunk, the only way you can think to reassure her that you are real is to keep kissing her, to keep fucking her, even though your bones ache and your muscles burn. she moans into your mouth, whispers sweet nothings, begs you to continue; you swallow each sound down as eagerly as the last, and imagine violets blooming between your ribs.
the rising sun wakes you the next morning, and you feel more rested than you have in years.
you and vi had showered before sleeping — though, admittedly not all of your time was spent showering — but either way, your skin is nice and soft, smelling like roses.
more importantly, smelling like her.
vi is next to you, on her stomach, displaying her back tattoo in all its glory. her hair is a mess, covering most of her face, and you can spot evidence from last night: delicate bruises on her neck, bitemarks down her torso, etc. etc.
you shift slightly and feel a dull ache between your legs, so you'd call it even.
a quick glance at the clock prompts you to get up, search for some clothing to throw on before sneaking away.
as you get dressed, vi's eyes flutter open, ever so slightly.
"don’t leave,” she groans, still half-asleep. “i wanted to have you for breakfast."
you laugh, heat pooling in your belly. “you mean you wanted to make me breakfast?”
a lazy smile blooms across vi’s face. “i said what i said.”
you walk back over to the bed, press your hand to her shoulder blade as she tries to get up; there’s barely any pressure, but in her daze, it's enough to keep her between the sheets. vi moves to her side, facing you. you bring your hand up to brush some hair away from her eyes, as her icy blue orbs greet you.
"i should get back to my room. i don’t want us to get into any more trouble," you recall her sarcastic words from last night.
the corners of her mouth curl upwards.
"you're such a troublemaker," she mumbles.
you lean forward, plant a kiss underneath vi’s chin. “once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker,” you quip.
“damn right.” she reaches up to return the favour, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “i’ll see you later?”
you nod, giving her another quick peck before heading to the door. you glance back at her one more time, the sun casting her skin in a golden light, and she smiles at you, pure sunlight and sugar.
you carry that warmth with you as you sneak across the apartment, only for someone to clear their voice. you’ve been caught — but not by one of the guards.
“vi still sleeping?” sevika asks from her place at the dining table.
“yeah….” you gesture towards the elevator. “i was just gonna —”
“sit,” sevika orders, already lighting her cigar. “i already called mel. should be here any minute.”
the two of you sit in silence. you watch as she smokes as if she has no care in the world, drumming her metal fingers on the table, a prosthetic replacing her arm after her own games. she’d won the last quarter quell and she’s the mentor for district twelve, though that responsibility will be bestowed onto vi, now.
you suppose you’ll be a mentor now for district two, the mantle passed down from mel, who walks into the room with her usual grace.
“told ya she’d be here, sweetheart,” sevika drawls, sending a flirty wink towards mel. “when’re you gonna accept that i’m always right?”
“when hell freezes over,” mel deadpans. she sits down on the chair across from you, next to sevika. “they’re furious with you.”
frankly, mel does not look too happy with you, either, so of course, she jumps right to the point. no pleasantries, just politics.
“well, i think we have more than enough reasons to be furious with them, too —”
“it’s not just the berries,” mel continues, ignoring your comment. “they don’t like it — you and violet together.”
“what?” you scoff. “don’t people want to root for the star-crossed lovers?”
“maybe, in theory,” sevika explains, taking a puff of her cigar, smoke billowing from her mouth as she speaks. “but, let’s put it this way: we’re not supposed to break their rules, for anything, or anyone. and, if a former capitol princess is willing to risk it all for a coal miner’s daughter….” sevika clicks her tongue, pointing to vi’s bedroom and back to you, then imitating an explosion with her hands. “then the system that has been so carefully maintained is starting to crumble. on national television, no less.”
“must be a pretty fragile system if it can be brought down by a handful of berries,” you grumble.
sevika barks out a laugh. “let’s hope so.”
“this is serious,” mel seethes.
“the romance between me and vi — that was part of your strategy,” you can’t help but point out the irony, which mel certainly does not appreciate.
“i still expected you to play by the rules of the game.”
“the rules were changing every two seconds,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “part of that was your doing, wasn’t it? so, are you mad because i didn’t kill her, or because she didn’t kill me?”
mel falters, amber eyes softening ever so slightly before she composes herself again.
“i didn’t plan for it to unfold that way,” mel admits. “or, for you to actually commit to the strategy.”
“if anything, i committed to her,” you confess, the words slipping past before you can stop them.
mel and sevika exchange a look you’d place somewhere between pity and empathy. you feel too exposed, and it makes your stomach twist.
“it was your strategy, mel,” is all you can think to say to fill the vulnerable silence.
“i was wrong, then. is that what you want me to admit? i was wrong,” mel snaps, pushing up from the table, her voice echoing throughout the apartment. “it was my strategy that got all of us into this mess, and i have no idea how to get us out of it,” she sighs, bone-deep, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen your sister look so….so defeated.
regret bubbles in your stomach. you want to take it back, to tell mel that she’s wrong, but for a different reason — that it really wasn’t her, or any, strategy that dictated your actions in the arena; that if this mess is anyone’s fault, it’s yours — but, to your surprise, sevika steps in.
she takes mel’s hand, tugs it gently so she’ll sit back down. their hands stay intertwined, and mel relaxes while sevika turns to you.
“why don’t you go check on vi?” sevika suggests. “we’ll talk to you both in a little bit, get our story straight before the victor’s ceremony tonight.”
you nod, barely registering their whispers as you walk away.
when you get back to the bedroom, vi is awake and the dread you’re feeling evaporates as soon as you see her. she’s fully clothed, sitting on the edge of the bed, which has been hastily made up.
“so, i think our mentors are secretly fucking,” you quip, sitting down next to her. you expect her to laugh, or at least express surprise, but instead she just hums, refusing to meet your eyes. “what’s wrong — did you have a nightmare?”
vi flinches away when you try to touch her shoulder.
“so this was all a strategy,” vi clips, emotionless, and gets up from the bed to distance herself from you.
“shit,” you sigh, running a hand down your face. “how much of that did you hear?”
“enough.”
“look, vi, baby —”
“don’t,” vi scoffs. she begins pacing the floor. “they got a good show; you got your victory and a good fuck. it’s over, now.”
“gods, would you just —” you stand up and grab her wrist to stop her, and she snatches it away just as quickly. “let me explain. don’t we owe each other that much?”
vi crosses her arms over her chest. “fine.”
so, you explain.
it came about after that incident, first day of training. you had gotten into a bit of an argument with maddie that quickly escalated, and of course it was vi, of all people, who decided to step in, though you were perfectly capable of handling it yourself. after that rumours spread like wildfire: that you and a certain tribute from district twelve had a particularly close connection.
from there, mel’s strategy clicked into place. something cliched and saccharine: star-crossed lovers fighting against impossible odds.
you refused to play along.
“don’t be so stubborn.”
“i’m not stubborn,” you huffed, and mel rolled her eyes.
“mother’s way might work out in the districts, but the capitol is different,” mel pointed out, voice edged with frustration. “the games are different. people want something to root for. the more audience support you get, the more appealing you are to sponsors —”
“i won’t pretend to be in love with her,” you snapped.
mel tightened her jaw, and she looked at you so sharply that you had to turn away.
“fine, then,” she clipped after a beat of silence. “it’ll be your funeral.”
“guess that’s why we’re still alive,” vi deadpans now. “thanks for pretending to be in love with me.”
“i’m not pretending,” you insist, and it’s the closest i love you you’ve ever said to anyone.
“would you be able to tell the difference?” vi counters. “between what was part of the game, and what was real?”
you’re about to reply with a definitive yes, but you bite your tongue.
you think back to that one second in the arena, right after the rule changed to declare there would only be one victor.
that one sickening second, when you thought about vi as the last kill on your path to victory, rather than the woman you fell in love with.
“i don’t know,” you finally admit.
“it doesn’t matter, anyways,” vi says, her voice hollow. she opens the door, and the voices of your mentors pour into the room. before she exits, vi turns back to you. “something tells me the games aren’t over for us.”
Piltover Academy has a way of separating people long before they ever speak. By money. By legacy. By the neighborhoods they come from. By the expectations placed on their shoulders like birthrights or burdens.
Vi learned early that survival meant momentum. Keep moving, keep winning, keep people at arm’s length. At Piltover, she’s a scholarship athlete from Zaun with a reputation built on bruises, broken rules, and brief connections that never last long enough to hurt. She’s known as the heartbreaker—the girl who leaves before she can be left.
Elodie Moreau lives in a different kind of pressure. Old Piltover money. A last name carved into buildings. A life so carefully curated that most people never think to ask who she is beneath it. She studies psychology, understands people too well, and keeps herself just out of reach. Only a few know the truth she guards closely. Fewer still know how lonely it makes her.
They meet by accident—introduced through friends, through sports, through spaces neither of them fully belongs in. The tension between them is quiet but immediate. Not flirtation exactly. Something sharper. Something observant. Vi doesn’t know what to do with a girl who doesn’t chase her. Elodie doesn’t know what to do with a girl who feels like a bad idea she can’t stop thinking about.
Around them, Piltover thrives on appearances. Parties glow with excess. Friendships blur into alliances. Zaun kids learn to keep their heads down while Piltover kids learn how to take up space. Vi and Elodie circle each other in this world—through late nights, shared silences, and conversations that say more in what’s left unsaid.
Then one night changes the rhythm entirely. A party. Too much noise. Too many lights. Elodie sees something she wasn’t prepared for, and Vi remains unaware that anything has shifted at all. What was once possibility becomes distance. What was unspoken becomes heavy.
As tension grows, truths surface slowly and painfully. About class. About expectations. About desire. Vi is forced to confront the parts of herself she’s never questioned—assumptions she didn’t know she was making, feelings she never let herself name. Elodie must decide whether protecting herself means walking away, or finally allowing herself to want something openly.
This is not a story about love at first sight. It’s about misread signals, fragile trust, and the quiet terror of being seen. About two girls from opposite sides of the city learning that some divides aren’t bridged by effort alone—but by honesty, risk, and the willingness to stay.
And sometimes, the most dangerous thing isn’t heartbreak.
It’s hope.
MOODBOARDS; FOR ALL
VI Lanes {miss heartbreaker}
ELODIE Moreau {miss overthinker}
CAITLYN Kiramman {miss ambitious}
JAYCE Talis {mr sensitive}
MEL Medarda {miss impulsive}
JINX Lanes {miss unpredictable}
EKKO Reyes {mr self sacrificing}
VIKTOR Kocávs {mr observant}
CHAPTERS;
chapter I : "Built on Uneven Ground"
Piltover Academy is introduced as both opportunity and obstacle. Vi’s life as a Zaun scholarship athlete is defined by discipline and defiance, while Elodie Moreau moves through campus with inherited confidence she never asked for. Their worlds exist in parallel—close enough to notice each other, far enough to remain untouched.
chapter II : "The Heartbreaker of Piltover Academy"
Vi’s reputation precedes her. She’s magnetic, reckless, and emotionally unavailable by design. Elodie watches from a distance, intrigued not by Vi’s charm, but by the way she never seems to stay anywhere long enough to be known.
chapter III : "Legacy Names and Bloodied Hands"
After a brutal game, Jayce introduces them properly. The contrast is immediate—Elodie’s composed observation against Vi’s sharp defensiveness. Their first conversation is clipped, careful, and charged with something neither of them names.
chapter IV : "Proximity Is a Dangerous Thing"
Group hangouts blur lines. Shared spaces make avoidance impossible. Vi grows frustrated by Elodie’s refusal to flirt. Elodie grows unsettled by how deeply Vi’s attention—when she gives it—cuts.
chapter V : "Piltover After Dark"
A party exposes the excess and imbalance of Piltover life. Music, lights, and alcohol soften edges until something fractures. Elodie sees Vi with someone else and realizes too late that detachment doesn’t protect her the way she thought it did.
chapter VI : "Distance, Carefully Maintained"
Elodie pulls away without explanation. Vi senses the shift but doesn’t understand it. Tension replaces ease, and every interaction feels like a question neither of them is brave enough to ask.
chapter VII : "The Things We Assume"
Conversations turn sharper. Boundaries surface. A truth Elodie has carried quietly is revealed, and in its wake, Vi is forced to confront how little she’s examined herself—and how much she’s taken for granted.
chapter VIII : "Zaun Girls Don’t Get Soft Landings"
Vi opens up about Zaun, about Jinx, about surviving without the luxury of certainty. The walls she’s built begin to crack, and Elodie starts to understand the weight Vi carries beneath the bravado.
chapter IX : "Controlled Burns"
Jealousy, fear, and want collide. Both girls struggle between self-protection and honesty. The cost of staying distant becomes as heavy as the risk of reaching out.
chapter X : "Choosing the Risk"
Vi breaks her pattern. Elodie demands clarity. In a city built on hierarchy and expectation, they choose something unscripted—something real, fragile, and deliberately theirs.
summary # you're a semi-famous model who gets her drive from vyvanse and caffeine and is definitely not getting paid enough. vi is a drug dealer, gets hers from cash and shimmer, and is also not getting paid enough. what happens when you both team up to fuel your mutual drug and money addictions?
watch out # masterlist, masc!motorcyclist!vi, fem!reader, kind of black cat!reader, angst, fluff, smut, series, happy ending, requested, fanart @maniacrow aka maniacrow iris, very mildly inspired by Like a taxi (Oh Well) by Cece Natalie.
disclaimer # all original characters, including but not limited to the reader, belong to hereticalism. all arcane (league of legends) and league of legends characters belong to their respective creators and parent companies.
january 17
chapter one. I get my drive from a vyvanse and caffeine
january 24
chapter two. backseat, you turn me into something
january 31
chapter three. girl you look good I would risk everything
february 7
chapter four. went from henny to sippin' on bourbon
february 14
chapter five. rammin' the whip through the store door
february 20
chapter six. all over the net
february 27
chapter seven. I don't I don't trust these bitches
pairing: thunderbolt!yelena belova x f!reader
summary: when yelena shows up at your apartment at 2 am, bleeding and sarcastic as ever, it’s not the first time... and probably won’t be the last. you’re just a civilian with a quiet life and no medical training, but somehow, you’ve become her nurse and the place she escapes to. tonight, the injuries are worse. the banter is softer. and maybe, just maybe, something’s shifting between you.
word count: 7k
warning(s): thunderbolts* mentioned, WLW, some angst, fluff, injury and blood, medical terms, mild language, mutual pining
a/n: i am aware that canonically, yelena is meant to be ace. this is just a fun little story! i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please feel free to like, comment, or reblog! <3 also, requests are open!
love me - elvis presley
it was around 2 am when you heard a knock at your apartment door. you crawled out of bed, twisting the door handle open. you already knew who it was.
yelena stood before you, scratched up, bleeding, holding her side.
"well, you look like shit." you uttered, moving to let her inside.
"that's no way to greet a guest." she answered as she entered, her accent thick.
your relationship was strange. you were just a normal civilian with a quiet life, stable job, and a boring apartment. yelena was a trained russian assassin and a new avenger. on paper, you didn't exactly have much in common.
you’ve known her for a few months now and while you wouldn’t call her a friend, she appears at your door a few times a week: hungry, sarcastic, full of cryptic jokes. she once admitted to you that your place felt like an escape… from the thunderbolts, her job, her past. it was the only place she felt halfway normal.
ironically, the way you had met was far from normal. yelena was bleeding then too. she had kicked open your door, thinking it belonged to a criminal. instead, you stood before her: a stunned civilian holding a spatula.
her voice was smooth like honey, and her accent caught you off-guard. "this isn't 3B is it?"
"uhm, no… it's 3D." you had laughed nervously in response, which earned a chuckle out of her. you both felt weirdly at ease for a moment.
that's when you noticed the stab wound in her thigh. after recognizing her as a thunderbolt, you invited her in and patched her up with your cheap first-aid kit... the one you hadn't looked at since you moved in. and from then on, you became her медсестра (nurse), as she liked to call you.
you would never admit it, but you liked when she called you that. you liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.
she would come to you when she had so much as a scrape. you weren't exactly qualified or an expert, so you always scolded her about going to a hospital instead. she never listened. she never seemed to care about your lack of expertise. that wasn't the reason she came to see you.
now, you find yourself closing your door, turning to the girl in question, "lena, it's 2 in the morning."
"медсестра (nurse), i need some patching up here." she faked a pout, sitting on your couch in a laidback manner.
you could never deny her. not when she spoke in that teasing tone, or sat back in that maddeningly hot pose.
you groaned, noticing the trail of blood she had left, "you're leaking all over my ikea rug, again. i just steam cleaned that."
"you own a steam cleaner?"
you rolled your eyes, gesturing for her to take a seat at your kitchen table while you retrieved your first-aid kit.
she obliged, sitting back in it comfortably, like she had done so many times before.
you kneeled before her, instructing her to raise her shirt a bit so you could see the wound on her side. you grimaced at the sight of it, noticing it was deeper than her usual wounds. "lena, you should really go to a hospital for this one."
she shook her head, "i don't trust them. you know that, глупый (silly)."
another nickname. you never complained.
you scoffed, grabbing the antiseptic. you began to clean the wound gently. you felt her wince slightly as it hit her skin, but she covered it quickly. she watched you work in silence for a few moments, the air seeming to buzz around you.
"hold still," you muttered, focused, as you carefully cleaned closer to the wound.
"you are very bossy." she smirked, her accent still thick as ever.
you just scoffed in response, leaning back on your heels to survey the wound again.
“this one’s gonna need stitches,” you murmured, shaking your head. “i can’t do those. not properly.”
“i trust you,” yelena said, too fast. too confidently.
you froze for a second, then looked up. she was already watching you, eyes more serious than before. guarded, but open just enough.
did she know what she was doing to you?
“you shouldn’t,” you said, laughing softly, trying to hide how flustered she was making you.
“but i do.” she said again, more firm this time.
she had to know. she had to know what she was doing to you. she had to be aware that she was torturing you.
you didn’t respond. instead, you reached for the superglue and bandages, trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking just slightly. trying not to think about the way she was looking at you.
you did the best you could when it came to closing the wound. you dressed it in gauze and bandages carefully, standing up with a sigh of contentment when you finished.
"you wanna stay the night again?" you asked casually, as you began cleaning up.
she nodded slowly, "if it's not too much."
yelena had stayed over a few times now. you always offered her your bed, but she never accepted. she would usually just stay on your couch.
you hummed, "it's not. you can take the bed." you offered it to her as you always did, expecting her to decline.
"only if you're in it too, властная девушка (bossy girl)."
your breath caught. you couldn't tell if she was joking. neither could she.
this was the answer you had always wished for, but you never expected it.
then she stood up. slowly, carefully, like she was testing something. then she stepped in front of you.
“come to bed. i know you're tired,” she said, not teasing. just asking.
you blinked. “you’re bleeding.”
“then stay close. make sure I don’t die.”
you scoffed out a laugh, giving her a tired look, “that's not funny... but alright. fine.”
she didn’t smile… not exactly. but something eased in her shoulders. you followed her into the bedroom, flipping the light off on your way. the quiet felt heavy, but not uncomfortable.
she lied back in the bed carefully, wincing just a little as she adjusted.
you grabbed an extra blanket and went to hand it to her, but she caught your wrist instead.
“stay,” she looked up at you, this time softer. not a tease. a plea.
you hesitated for just a second, staring down at her fingers wrapped around your wrist. it felt like your heart had stopped.
then, slowly, you nodded. “okay.”
yelena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. you lied down beside her under the sheets, facing her with your head on your pillow. it was quiet for a few moments as you looked at one another.
then she smiled. god, her smile was beautiful.
“this is nice,” she mumbled.
you huffed a quiet laugh. “bleeding on my sheets is nice?”
she shrugged lightly, smirking. “you make it nice.”
your heart fluttered at that.
hoping she couldn't see the blush creeping up on your cheeks in the darkness, you let out a light scoff. “you gonna get all sentimental on me now, belova?”
yelena smirked, her eyelids getting heavy, “never.”
a second of silence, filled only with both of your breathing. then she whispered...
“…maybe a little.” her eyes were fully closed now.
“goodnight, lena,” you whispered back, closing your own eyes.
her voice was barely audible. “goodnight, моя любовь (my love).”
amab!vi x fem!reader || just pure fluff about moments with their daughter (5 y.o) || part i here! (nsfw)
the morning sun spills through the curtains, catching on the shimmer of dust in the air and the tangle of pink ribbons in vi’s lap.
"she moved again," vi mutters with a crooked grin, carefully threading a tie through your daughter’s wild curls. "hey, c'mon, sweetheart. if you keep wigglin’, you’re gonna make me mess up again."
“but it tickles!” your daughter squeals, kicking her socked feet on the edge of the couch. “mama, it tickles when you pull!”
vi chuckles, low and easy. she’s sitting cross-legged on the rug, wearing a pair of grey sweats and your oversized "property of vi" tank top—one she stole, altered to fit her broader chest and shoulders, and now wears with shameless pride. her arms flex with the gentleness of someone who could break necks but chooses to braid ribbon instead.
you lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching vi fumble with the final loop of the second pigtail. her tongue peeks out in concentration. there’s a smear of toothpaste on her jaw from when your daughter ambushed her earlier, and her knuckles are still bandaged from last week’s sparring match, but the way she’s kneeling here now, patient and proud, feels like everything.
"okay. done." she grins and lifts the little girl into her arms. “whaddya think, huh? cute enough to take over piltover?”
"only if she learns how to punch like you," you say, walking over, ruffling your daughter’s hair (despite the pigtails). “you gonna teach her that next?”
vi smirks and taps your daughter’s nose. “what’d i say about using your fists, baby?”
your daughter parrots: “only if someone deserves it!”
vi beams. “that’s my girl.”
you arch a brow. “remind me again which parent was supposed to be the responsible one?”
she shrugs, one arm still full of giggling child. “you. i’m the cool one. i do pigtails and justice.”
you kiss her anyway. her mouth is toothpaste-minty, warm, familiar. her free hand catches the back of your head like she’s afraid you might float away if she doesn’t anchor you.
when you pull back, she whispers, “you gave me everything. i mean it.”
her eyes flick to the girl in her arms, then back to you.
"i didn’t know i could be this kind of happy, y’know?"
you rest your forehead against hers. “yeah,” you whisper. “me neither.”
it starts the same way it always does.
the bell rings. kids pour out like a flood — sneakers slapping the pavement, backpacks bouncing. parents wait in tidy little groups, chatting politely under sunshades, sipping iced coffee from compostable cups.
and then there's vi.
leaning against the hood of your beat-up car, arms crossed, biker jacket unzipped just enough to show a sliver of ink on her chest. aviator sunglasses. combat boots. one foot resting on the bumper like she owns the whole damn parking lot.
she doesn’t even try to blend in.
some of the other moms whisper. that’s her?
one of the dads nods toward her like she’s an urban legend. the one with the tattoos?
vi doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care. she’s too busy scanning the crowd of kids for one tiny, familiar face. and when she spots her, all that tough-guy posturing melts like sugar in coffee.
“there’s my girl,” she murmurs.
your daughter sees her at the same time — and breaks into a sprint.
“mamaaa!”
vi crouches instinctively, arms open wide. she catches her mid-run, lifts her clean off the ground, spins her once.
“heyyy, there she is! you run faster every day, i swear.” she presses a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head, still smelling faintly of strawberry shampoo. “good day?”
“i got a gold star on my picture!” your daughter beams, digging into her backpack. “it was us in the park. with the ducks. i made your hair pink, like you used to have!”
vi laughs, genuinely. “gorgeous taste, clearly.”
she holds the crayon drawing like it’s a priceless artifact. her fingers — bruised from last night’s training — handle it with ridiculous care.
as they head toward the car, vi lifts her daughter onto her hip, one hand casually carrying the tiny purple backpack that definitely has sparkles on it. she doesn’t even flinch when glitter transfers onto her jacket.
from the sidewalk, another parent stares.
“is that your… uh… partner?” they ask you, hesitantly.
you follow their gaze to vi, who is now crouching beside your kid, fixing the velcro on her shoes like it’s an olympic sport.
you grin. “yeah. that’s my partner.”
they nod slowly, clearly stunned. “she looks… intense.”
you shrug. “she does. until you see her braid a unicorn into our daughter’s hair and cry at bedtime stories.”
the rain starts around noon.
not the loud kind — just a lazy, steady patter against the windows. the kind that makes the world feel smaller, cozier. like the apartment is its own little island and everything beyond the glass can wait.
vi had been up early. real early. something about a supply run for you, or fixing the busted heater in the hallway, or “beating claggor’s pull-up record, for pride, babe.” you’d rolled your eyes, but she kissed your shoulder and went anyway.
by the time lunch rolls around, she’s back. hoodie on. hair damp. and somehow still full of energy — until she isn’t.
you come out of the kitchen with a warm cup of tea and stop cold in the doorway.
vi’s passed out on the couch.
arms spread. head tilted slightly back. one leg kicked halfway off the cushions like she lost a wrestling match with a pillow.
your daughter’s curled up right on top of her. tucked perfectly in the space between vi’s chest and shoulder, little face smooshed into the soft curve of vi’s tank top. her hand — tiny, chubby-fingered — is clutching vi’s hoodie string like it’s a lifeline. she’s drooling. just a little.
vi hasn’t moved.
except—now she does. in her sleep, her arm shifts protectively over the girl on her chest. just enough to pull her in. her brow furrows like even unconscious, she knows who she’s holding.
you smile. quiet. warm.
you set the tea down. pull the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over both of them. vi doesn’t wake. her breathing is slow, steady. her kid’s even slower.
you sit beside them — careful not to shift the weight — and just… watch.
vi, with her scarred knuckles, her fighter’s arms, her tough shell… soft as melted chocolate now. snoring faintly. totally unaware that her daughter’s drool is soaking into her shirt.
and still, you’ve never loved her more than in this moment.
later, when she wakes up…
vi (groggy): “hey. did we—ugh, is she drooling again?”
dom!vi x sub!fem!reader || partly nsfw ;; age gap ;; possessive!vi ;; petnames ;; mommy kink ;; praise and degradation ;; orgasm control ;; overstimulation ;; power play ;; oral sex ;; strap-on sex ;; office sex ;; marking ;; dirty talk.
she picks you up in a custom hextech car that purrs louder than most beasts in zaun.
you were late. you always are. but vi waits. leaning against the side of her glistening vehicle, pinstripe slacks tailored to perfection, a gold cufflink catching the piltover sun. when you rush out in your little dress, flustered and breathless, she smirks and opens the door for you. "about time, sweetheart. i was starting to think you'd stand up your sugar mama."
vi pays in full, every time.
whether it’s dinner at a council-owned skydeck restaurant or a stupidly overpriced bottle of perfume you offhandedly mentioned once, vi handles it. no questions. no limits. “you like it? then it’s yours,” she says, voice low, like it’s nothing.
it always makes your chest warm. and your thighs press together.
she calls you her “pretty little thing” when you act out.
especially when you’re bratty. when you pout and challenge her authority, she just tilts her head, amusement glinting in those sharp, older eyes. "careful," she purrs, fingers curling under your chin. "you’re cute when you’re mouthy. but cuter when you’re begging."
she’s always got a hand on you.
possessive in the quiet ways — a palm on your lower back when she guides you through high society events. fingers brushing your bare thigh under the table at boring galas. gripping the back of your neck when you talk too sweetly to someone else. she doesn’t need to say a word. you know who you belong to.
vi spoils you, but she also puts you in your place.
soft velvet and hard hands — she’ll buy you diamond-studded lingerie and make you wear it to a dinner where you have to pretend nothing’s going on. afterwards? you’re bent over her penthouse window, seeing stars as she says, “next time you tease me in public, i won’t be this nice.”
she knows how to handle your youth.
she doesn't mock you when you're emotional, or insecure, or messy. she just sighs and pulls you into her lap, lets you rant and cry and spill. “life’s a mess, baby,” she murmurs into your hair. “lucky for you, you’ve got me.”
she doesn’t do dates — she does experiences.
vi flies you across the sea in a private airship just to show you a sunrise from the noxian cliffs. buys out an entire opera house for a “private show.” you once told her you liked stargazing, so she built a rooftop observatory for you. you told her she was being “insane.”
she just said, “you’re worth it.”
vi is protective to a violent degree.
some creep at the bar touches you once and suddenly they’re being dragged outside by vi, sleeves rolled up, knuckles cracking. you cling to her arm while she lights a cigar, blood still fresh on her ring. “no one gets to touch what’s mine,” she growls. you don’t even try to argue.
she calls you "kid" sometimes. just to piss you off.
“you’re cute when you’re mad,” she’ll say with a lazy smirk when you scowl and stomp your foot. “such a baby. should i get you a pacifier next?”
you hate her. you love her. you want to strangle her. you want her to ruin you.
she makes you call her “miss” sometimes.
especially when you’ve been bad. especially when she’s got you all dressed up and trembling under her gaze. “what’s my name, baby?” she purrs, hand sliding between your legs. and you whimper, flushed and breathless: “miss vi…”
she has the most god-tier post-sex aftercare ever.
she runs your bath. oils your skin. brushes your hair back. kisses every inch of you while whispering, “you did so well, baby. my good girl.” the soft glow of her penthouse lights turns everything gold. you fall asleep in silk sheets, tucked into her arms.
vi’s jealousy is terrifyingly hot.
if anyone dares flirt with you? she goes quiet. deadly. you know what’s coming. later, she pins you to the wall with one hand and murmurs, “you like making me jealous, huh?” you try to sass back — but she shuts you up with her mouth and her hands and the sound of your own moaning.
she funds your dreams without a second thought.
vi doesn’t just spoil you with gifts — she invests in you. you wanna open a café? she buys you the space. you’re passionate about art? she gets you a studio. she brags about you to everyone: “that’s my girl. look at her go.”
it makes you feel unstoppable.
vi’s tattoos peek out of expensive suits and it drives you insane.
the way her shirt slips just enough to show a sliver of ink on her collarbone… or the stretch of her back when she rolls her sleeves up to reveal a glimpse of that full arm piece… you’re obsessed. you’ve begged to trace every line with your tongue. she lets you. slowly.
no matter how filthy she fucks you — she always kisses your forehead after.
she can have you crying, shaking, marked up and blissed out… and she’ll still wipe your tears gently and kiss your forehead like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “you alright, baby?” she asks. “need anything? water? chocolate? another round?”
you laugh. you melt. you’d die for her.
smut
she lives to overstimulate you.
one orgasm? cute. two? still warming up. three? now we’re talking.
she’s got you spread out on silk sheets, wrists bound with her tie, whimpering her name again and again, voice cracked and high. “you can give me one more, baby,” she coos, lips brushing your ear. “be good for miss.”
she fucks you like she owns you — slow, deliberate, mean.
the kind of strokes that leave you crying from how deep they go. she doesn’t even rush — she likes watching you squirm. “what’s the matter, baby?” she murmurs, rolling her hips into yours with lazy, punishing control. “can’t take it? thought you wanted to act grown.”
she makes you earn your orgasms.
oh, you want to cum? you better say please. better say thank you. better call her miss vi with tears in your eyes and her name falling off your tongue like a prayer.
"you're so cute when you're desperate,” she laughs. “but i want to hear it sweeter, sugar. beg me like you mean it.”
she makes you ride her thigh in her office.
expensive tailored slacks? ruined. she keeps working — reading reports, flipping through files — while you grind against her muscled thigh, moaning softly and clutching at her arm. “don’t stop moving, sweetheart,” she says, not even looking at you. “i’ll finish this page, then i’ll ruin you.”
she has a drawer full of custom toys she only uses on you.
heat-sensitive, pressure-reactive hextech toys. remote-controlled. custom built with you in mind.
she’ll slip one inside you before a gala and whisper, “be a good girl, or i’ll turn it up in front of the council.” you don’t last ten minutes.
she eats you out like it’s her fucking job.
face buried between your thighs, hair messy, eyes dark. hands locking your legs in place while her tongue works slow and deep. she moans against you, addicted to how you taste. “that’s it, baby,” she murmurs, lips slick. “give it to me. be good for mama.”
she’s a mean tease when she’s in the mood.
you’ll be naked, panting, begging, and she’ll just smirk and whisper, “not yet.”
she’ll kiss down your stomach… stop right before your clit. blow cool air over it. laugh when your hips buck. "so greedy. haven’t even said thank you for the last one."
she marks you. everywhere.
hickeys under your collarbones. finger-shaped bruises on your thighs. lipstick smudged between your legs.
she wants people to see. she wants them to know who fucks you this good. who you belong to. “smile pretty at dinner tonight,” she whispers while zipping up your dress. “let 'em wonder why your legs are shaking.”
she loves when you cry.
not sad tears — the pretty, overwhelmed ones. the “i can’t take it but i don’t want you to stop” kind.
that’s when she kisses your wet cheeks, fucks you even deeper, murmurs filth right into your ear. “crying already, sweetheart? we’re just getting started.”
her favorite position? you on your knees — wearing diamonds and nothing else.
you look up at her with wide, glossy eyes, mouth open, waiting. and she just grins. “look at you. my good little thing,” she murmurs, voice husky. “so fucking pretty like this.”
and when she’s done? she scoops you up like nothing, carries you to bed, and kisses you softly. “you did so good for me, baby.”
the genius, billionaire, playboy, philantropist's niece
Summary: Being Tony Stark’s niece, you often found yourself hanging out with the Avengers and had developed a bit of a crush on Natasha when you were a teenager. The two of you joke about it now, but Yelena doesn’t seem to find it all that funny.
Notes: Yes, I gave Tony a brother as a plot device. Canon is merely a suggestion.
Having come from a family of geniuses and engineers, people were surprised to find out that you instead decided to pursue a path in social work. Your father had taken the news so badly, in fact, that he sent you into the city to live with your uncle Tony when you were only fifteen years old. “Come back when you develop more than two brain cells to rub together,” he’d scoffed, convinced that your uncle’s wild, unstable lifestyle would scare you back to the suburbs within the year.
Despite that, not only had you stayed in the city for the rest of the year, you continued through high school, graduating with a diploma from New York City Public Schools just to spite your previous, pretentious, private school upbringing.
But you gained more than just a different high school experience. Living with your uncle was exciting, if a bit unconventional. Sure, he had turned over a new, superheroic leaf, but those first few years that you spent with him before Iron Man, before the Avengers Initiative, they left an impression on you. You enjoyed sneaking out of your room in Stark Tower and going upstairs to witness the parties that Tony loved to throw. Sometimes, you would be able to sneak a fruity cocktail from an unsuspecting bartender. Sometimes you would meet some really cool people.
You had met Natalie Rushman, now Natasha Romanoff, at one of those events. Oh, she was drop-dead gorgeous, older than you, and you were in the midst of your gay awakening as a freshly seventeen-year-old girl with Stark as your last name. Although you had taken on your uncle’s playboy-ish ways with the girls at school, you had dropped everything and everyone else when you met her. You were smitten at first sight.
Of course, Natasha only ever saw you as a kid and tolerated you as any undercover agent would do in her position. However, that didn’t deter you. You followed your uncle, and in effect, Natasha, around wherever they went. You sat in front of Tony’s office, with an overpriced cup of coffee to hand to Natasha any morning that you didn’t have to go to school. Coffee that she would accept and immediately hand over to your uncle (it was his credit card that paid for it, so you weren’t too mad about it). You would volunteer to be a waiter at his extravagant parties and spend all night catering to the older woman’s every whim, not that she asked you to do anything except bring her more flutes of champagne. The polite smiles she gave you afterwards lingered with you for weeks at a time.
Tony found it hilarious, especially so when you were told that Natalie, the PA that you were so enamored with, was actually an ex-KGB, could-kill-a-man-with-her-thighs (and not in the fun way), bona fide super spy.
“Sorry,” you had asked, clearing your throat, “was that supposed to make me less attracted to you?” Nat had only rolled her eyes and handed you a stuffed toy rabbit that she had picked up on her most recent mission to god-knows-where.
“A reminder that you are a child and much too vulnerable to be playing with the predators of the world.”
“Aw, Natty,” you had cooed, “giving me gifts now, are ya? I always knew you loved me, deep down.”
Natasha never told you, but you knew that she had, indeed, come to love you. But only platonically. She had made that very clear through the years.
“If you try one more pick-up line on me, baby Stark, I will throw you out this window.”
“You called me baby! And I’ll happily fall for you, babe.”
Then you had gone off to college, and while you thought your heart had been broken, having left New York City without getting together with the Black Widow, you quickly realized that maybe leaving the city was for the best. Eventually, you realized that you were just young and impressionable, that Natasha Romanoff was too hot to ignore, and that was okay. You dated a lot in college, nothing too serious, and finished undergrad with a better understanding of yourself and your sexuality.
Now you were in your second year of grad school. The Avengers had made up after their civil war-sized disagreement, and everything seemed to be smooth sailing right along.
You were studying your notes in the Avenger Compound’s common room when you heard footsteps shuffling in the adjoining hallway. Picking your head up, you noticed the cluster of bodies that approached you: Tony, Steve, Nat, and–
“Hey, kid,” your uncle greeted you, “didn’t know you’d be here this weekend. You get to be one of the first to meet our new stray!” Immediately, this earned an elbow to his ribs, and Tony grunted in pain.
“I am no stray, tin man,” said an unfamiliar, scowling, young woman. She had a conspicuous Eastern European accent and was dressed very fashionably in green courduroy. Stray wisps of her blonde hair fell out of the edges of a fishtail braid. Ah, you thought, another attractive Russian. You were in trouble.
You gave the new arrival a warm smile and introduced yourself.
“Nice to meet you. My name is Yelena,” the woman said, holding out a hand for you to shake. You took it, surprised to feel the countless callouses in her firm grip.
“She’s Natasha’s sister,” chimed Tony. Your head snapped over to the older woman.
“Sister?”
Natasha smirked, obviously amused at your dumbstruck expression, “What, is Clint the only one allowed to have a secret, hidden family?” You looked between the two women, not seeing a physical resemblance, yet found an uncanny likeness in their stances, their air of confidence and–
“You are still holding my hand, dorogoy.”
You blushed and hastily released the other woman’s hand, mumbling an apology.
“No need to apologize, kotenok, I never said I did not enjoy holding the hand of a pretty girl.”
In the coming weeks, you grew ever more enamored with Yelena, much to the rest of the team’s amusement. Even Natasha joined in the ribbing.
“You seem to have a type, baby Stark,” she joked during a quiet moment between the two of you in the kitchen.
“Aw, are you jealous, Natty? Don’t worry, babe, you’ll always have a special place in my heart,” you teased as you rested your chin on her shoulder, wrapping her in a tight hug from behind.
At the sound of a throat being cleared, you flinched and let the redhead go. Yelena was standing in the doorway, holding your phone in her hand.
“Uh, I do not want to interrupt, but your phone keeps beeping and I would like it to stop,” she said, keeping her gaze on her older sister as she spoke to you. Her eyebrows were scrunched adorably, and you thanked her as you checked the class group chat you were in. It was blowing up, and you frowned.
“Shit, our professor just moved up the due date of our paper,” you mumbled, “I hate to skip movie night, but I haven’t even started the draft yet….” The three of you were the only ones in the compound this weekend as the boys and Wanda were all off on a mission.
“It’s alright,” Natasha reassured, “Yelena and I have been needing some catch-up time anyway.”
You looked at the younger sister, and she nodded, seemingly reluctantly.
“Okay, thanks for understanding,” you said as you ran to grab your coat and bag. “I’ll let you pick the movie next time, Nat! Love ya, bye!” In your rush and panic about your impending assignment being due, you missed seeing Yelena’s scowl deepen. Was there something going on between you and her sister?
Due to your overwhelming and deepening crush on the newest Avenger, you took it upon yourself to be responsible for once and keep your distance. You would just be friends, you insisted to yourself. You made sure to never be alone with Yelena if you could help it, and stuck to Natasha’s side whenever it was just the three of you.
While your infatuation with Natasha had long since faded, you were still a Stark and Natasha was still fun to flirt with. Over the years, it had become an inside joke between the two of you, and the other Avengers had grown used to you testing your best one-liners on the assassin.
After a truly awful line you had voiced at a team dinner, Thor had laughed heartily, “I liked that one, little Stark!” He patted your shoulder as he went to serve himself more food, “You are much more charming than your uncle.”
“See,” you pouted, “Thor thinks I’m charming, Nat. Are you charmed?”
Tony scoffed, “Thor’s opinions are dubious at best.”
Natasha shot you a deadpan look, “So charmed, I’m nauseous from your presence.”
“I think that’s just Wanda’s cooking, actually,” you quipped.
Wanda glared at you, “I am a great chef and you know it.” She moved to take your plate away, “If it’s so bad, then starve.”
You clung to your plate and whined, “Nooo I’m sorry, your cooking is great, darling.”
A screeching sound of a fork scraping across a plate had everyone’s head turning to look at the blonde-haired source of the noise. Yelena looked up and scowled at the eyes on her, daring someone to say something. You cocked your head, getting her attention.
‘You okay?’ you mouthed at her. She looked away and huffed out of her nose, chomping down on a forkful of potatoes.
A few weeks later, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself alone with Yelena in the kitchen. The others had left on last-minute official Avenger duties, and Yelena, despite having joined the team months ago, had yet to be introduced to the public as an Avenger. As a result, she wasn’t invited.
You were making yourself a snack in what you thought was comfortable silence when Yelena spoke up.
“Why do you never flirt with me?”
The knife in your hand slipped and embedded itself in the grain of the cutting board, narrowly missing your thumb. You stared wide-eyed at the apple slices in your hand before confusedly turning to the other woman in the room.
“Do….do you want me to flirt with you?” you asked tentatively. Hope was rising in your chest, suffocating you despite your best efforts to tamp it down.
Yelena looked away, glaring at the apples behind you, “Depends. Do you want to flirt with me?”
You were confused, “I don’t understand, Yelena. Do you…. Are you feeling left out because the team left you behind? Because I promise you those Avenger meetings are really boring and–”
The blonde groaned in exasperation and stood up, marching over to where you were standing. You gulped, mouth going dry, as Yelena came closer. She aggressively and repeatedly poked your chest.
“You ignore me. You never look me in the eye. Yet you cling to my sister like a lost puppy. You call the witch ‘darling’. You video chat with your college friends and laugh with strangers you just met,” Yelena swallowed, her hand coming to a rest on your sternum, “What did I do to make you hate me, instead?”
You let out a staggered sigh, heart beating so hard that you were sure that Yelena could feel its contractions under her palm. “I don’t hate you, Yelena.”
She looked at you, eyes heartbreakingly glazed and threatening to spill over in frustration, “Don’t lie to me, dorogoy. You can hate me, Y/N, but do not dare lie to me.”
You shook your head, reaching up and grasping her hand with both of yours, your heart thump-thump-thumping underneath your entwined fingers. “I don’t hate you, Yelena. I don’t know how to hate you. I wouldn’t want to ever hate you. I ignore you because I don’t know how to act around you. I’ve never flirted with you because you deserve better than that. You deserve something real and wholesome and someone that can treat their partner better than my past situationships would suggest I ever could. I would never lie to you, and I am sorry I ever made you feel lesser than the most absolutely beautiful, deserving person that I’ve come to know.”
You finally closed your eyes and wrapped Yelena in a hug. She stiffened at first, but before you could release her, she swung her arms around your neck and pulled you in tightly.
When you two finally pulled away, you let out a wet laugh. Yelena tried to discreetly wipe her eyes on your shoulder before letting go.
“You’re wrong, you know.”
You cocked your head, “About what?”
Yelena took your hand in hers, the callouses you were first introduced to all those months ago tracing patterns on your wrist, “That I deserve better than you.” She leaned in and your eyes fluttered as her sweet breath and sweeter words warmed you to your core, “I am messy too, Y/N. And it is I who does not deserve you.”
Your breathing hitched as you started to correct her, but she gently bumped her nose into yours before a word could leave your lips.
“But I am a selfish woman, Y/N,” she whispered, caressing your cheek with the hand that was not holding yours, “and I do not care.”
She stole the stuttered breath that left your lips before kissing you, finally. You would spend forever proving her wrong if you had to, you promised yourself. If she lets you.
And she let you.
---
And scene! Poor Wanda "then starve" Maximoff catching strays lmao. Might give her a fic in the future to make up for it 👀
Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader(Past)
Summary: You find Yelena after Natasha, your ex-lover, has passed and you feel like it's your duty to keep Yelena close. What happens though when feelings rise up for the blonde Russian?
Word Count: 3.2K
Warnings: Lots of angst and hurt
A/N: So This idea had come to me after rewatching Endgame, Black Widow, and Hawkeye so here you go.
The first time you met Yelena Belova wasn't until after her sister and your ex-lover, Natasha Romanoff, died. Natasha had always talked about Yelena and how much she loved her. You cried when you first laid eyes on Yelena. The two looked nothing alike, and you were thankful for that because you don't think you could look at her if she did.
When you told Yelena who you were to Natasha, she cried, wishing for a million different scenarios in which her sister was still here with them, and all you could do was hug Yelena, which earned you a handful of punches. You learned quickly that Yelena could be a very violent person when dealing with certain emotions. The first time it happened, you let it. You let her get her aggression out.
"It's not fair! You had so much time with her! You got to be happy with her! Me? I got a mission that almost got us killed after 20 years of silence!" She yelled, and you just held her tighter. "I'm sorry, Yelena," You whispered over and over and over.
In those moments, as her fists collided with your body, you could feel the pain in her words. It wasn't just about Natasha's death; it was about the years lost, the missions that tore them apart, and the void left by the silence between them. You understood Yelena's anger, even if it was directed at you. It wasn’t as if she could direct it at the person she wanted to.
As the punches subsided, she finally collapsed into your arms, exhausted from the emotional storm that had consumed her. You sat there in silence for a while, the weight of Natasha's absence hanging heavily between the two of you. The room felt colder, emptier, and you couldn't shake the guilt that gnawed at you.
"I wish she had more time with you too, Yelena," You said softly, your words barely audible. Yelena didn't respond, but her grip on you tightened, seeking solace in your shared grief.
In the aftermath of that turbulent encounter, the two of you began a journey of healing together. You were bound by the love you had both lost, and as the two of you navigated the tangled web of emotions, a new connection formed. A connection born out of pain, but one that held the promise of understanding and, perhaps, even redemption in the face of the losses you both endured in the wake of the Snap and beyond.
You ended up taking Yelena home with you, offering her a permanent place by your side. She continued going on missions, which you had expected. The first time she left without telling you, and there was no note. You thought you'd lost her forever, sitting on the back porch in the summer evening air, your Y/H/C hair whipping around you as silent tears fell.
You didn't hear her come in, not until she was next to you did you notice her presence. "Why are you crying?" Her accent, thick and familiar, filled your ears as you grabbed her, pulling her in tightly, close, your heart hammering in your chest. "I thought I'd lost you too... don't... don't fucking do that again, Yelena!" You yelled at her, your voice trembling as tears flowed freely.
Yelena's expression softened as she held you, understanding the fear that gripped you during her absence. "I had to go. It was a last-minute mission, and I didn't want to wake you," she explained, her words a mix of apology and reassurance.
"It doesn't matter. Just... just tell me next time, please," You pleaded, your grip on her not loosening. The relief of having her back overwhelmed the anger that had fueled your outburst.
Yelena nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "I promise. I'm sorry for making you worry," she said, her voice soothing. The two of you stayed there, entwined on the porch, the summer breeze carrying away the tension that had momentarily fractured your newfound connection.
From that day forward, Yelena kept her promise. She would leave for her missions, but not without a word or a note, ensuring that you wouldn't have to endure the heart-wrenching uncertainty of her absence again. In the quiet moments between her departures and returns, your bond deepened, and the scars of your shared losses began to heal, one mission at a time.
You decided to form a company a little over a year after Natasha died, the weight of her absence still heavy in your heart. Standing at her grave, you whispered into the wind, "I'm going to start a company. I don't want to be an Avenger anymore. Not without you, but I can help others. I know I can." The breeze felt like Natasha's touch, a comforting caress that seemed to echo her approval.
"Yelena and I have been living together for six months now, Tasha. She's exactly as you described. A spitfire and a brat at times. I don't know if you can forgive me or not when I say this, but I could see myself with her. She's my type, a power bottom with a bratty side." You chuckled as the wind picked up. "Okay okay... I understand, only if she moves first," You whispered, as if seeking Natasha's consent in the elements around you.
Your company started up with few hiccups. You planned on making a business out of seeking out people with powers and talents that could be considered Avengers, teaming them up with a manager. Eventually, you aimed to expand to other countries, each with its own headquarters. The goal was to create a network of skilled individuals, ready to defend against threats on a global scale.
You envisioned a world where those of you left in America could stay here unless faced with a Thanos-level threat, something you fervently hoped would never happen again. The legacy of the Avengers would live on through this new venture, a tribute to Natasha and a commitment to protecting a world that had lost so much but still held the potential for hope and resilience.
You come home to find Yelena sitting on the couch with a pot of mac & cheese covered in hot sauce, using a too-big spoon. "Y/N! I made mac & cheese! Would you like some?" she asks, and you’re too exhausted to yell at her. You sit next to her, taking the spoon and eating some. "How was your day?" she inquires.
"Stressful, Lena. More and more people are learning about my company, and we're getting more and more applications," You reply, leaning your head back against the couch, closing your eyes. You hear her set the pot down on the coffee table before she curls up against your side. "Anything I can do?" she asks.
You remind yourself of the promise you made to Natasha. "Whatever you think sounds good. You've known me for over a year now, Lena. What is it that you think I want? What will make me feel better?" You don't open your eyes or look at her. you’re testing her, and she knows it.
You feel her shift off the couch, and you clench your fists. She's never going to make the first move as you fiddle with the band on your ring finger—the one you haven't taken off since Natasha gave it to you.
Yelena returns with a blanket, draping it over both of you. "How about a movie night? We can just relax and take a break from all the chaos," she suggests, her voice soft. It's a simple gesture, but the warmth of her presence and the consideration behind her words start to ease the tension within you.
You nod, finally opening your eyes to meet hers. "Yeah, that sounds good, Lena," you admit, a small smile playing on your lips. Maybe in that moment, amidst the mac & cheese, the too-big spoon, and the movie night proposal, you found a way to let go, even if just for a little while.
Yelena picks the movie while you change into pajamas, a tank top and shorts. You notice her eyes on your body, but choose to ignore it for the time being as you make popcorn and pour us some vodka sprites. Carrying the drinks and popcorn over, Yelena has picked out John Wick. You can’t help but chuckle at the choice as you settle back into the couch. Yelena moves closer, fitting into you like a puzzle piece as she takes your left arm and wrap it around her shoulders. You simply smile at the gesture, sipping on your drink and eating popcorn as the movie plays out.
About halfway through the movie, you feel Yelena absent-mindedly playing with the band Natasha had given you. She's engrossed in the movie, and you watch her, finding her reactions more enthralling than the movie at this point. It's a subtle touch, her fingers tracing the contours of the ring on your finger, and you can't help but be drawn to the way she navigates the emotions tied to Natasha's memory.
As the scenes of John Wick unfold on the screen, you lean your head against Yelena's, savoring the comfort of the moment. Her actions speak louder than any words, and in the quiet intimacy of that movie night, you start to understand that healing doesn't always come from grand gestures or elaborate plans. Sometimes, it's found in the simplicity of sharing a movie, a drink, and the touch of someone who cares. And in those stolen glances and unspoken connections, you find a new layer of solace, a fragile bridge between the past and the potential for a future where happiness is not just a memory but a living, breathing reality.
You whisper in Yelena's ear, "Tasha gave me the ring." Yelena is pulled from the movie, looking down at your hand that she's been playing with. "It was a promise ring. She got it for me in Budapest. Saying when things settled down, she'd do the whole down on one knee, and we'd have this beautiful wedding where she'd wear a black dress instead of a white one. Everyone would be there, and we'd go back to Budapest for our honeymoon. When we'd come back, we'd ask for a safe house where we could just live quietly between missions..."
You don't realize you’re crying until Yelena is wiping the tears from your face. "I'm sorry... I didn't... I'm ruining movie night, aren't I?" You choke on your own sobs, but Yelena just pulls you against her, hugging you tightly. "No, you haven't ruined anything, Y/N. It's okay."
You hold onto her, shifting slightly until she's in your lap, once again feeling like a puzzle piece as we bury our faces into each other's necks. "If you had gotten married, I hope she would have come found me to be her maid of honor... though I don't know how good I'd be at that," Yelena admits.
In that vulnerable moment, amidst the shared pain and unspoken understanding, Yelena's admission brings a bittersweet smile to your face. The weight of Natasha's absence still lingers, but in Yelena's presence, you find a different kind of strength—a strength born out of shared grief, compassion, and the subtle promise of moving forward, even if it's one tear-streaked movie night at a time.
Yelena wakes you up, gently calling your name and crawling onto your bed. "Y/N... Y/N..." She speaks softly, shaking your arm lightly. In your half-awake form, you turn to face her, pulling her into a tight embrace, her face against your chest. You can smell her shampoo, pomegranates, and make a noise of content. "Y/N, I have to go," Yelena whispers.
"No," You refuse, not letting her go. In fact, you hold her a little tighter. "Yes, I must. The widows need me," she insists.
"I really don't want you to go... I worry so much every time you go out that door. I know you're the world's greatest assassin, but so was Natasha before you," You confess. Yelena cups your cheeks. "I'll come back. I promise."
Natasha said those exact words too. You feel the tears in your eyes, spilling over before I have a chance to stop them. They're down your cheeks and running over her fingers. "I know words mean very little. I know Nat said similar words. I'm not leaving, though. I'll come back. It's just freeing more widows that have been found. That's all. It's safe. I promise. None of them come close to my skills."
Yelena wipes your tears and assures you that she'll come back. You know you have to let her go. "Please just come back safe, Lena. Please," You lean your forehead against hers. "I can't do this without you," You finally confess.
"I'll come back. I'll always come back. You can't get rid of me, not anymore. You're too deep into this," Yelena tells you, and you look at her, searching her face. "Lena..." Gods, you want to kiss her so badly just to show her how much you need her, but you promised Tasha...
Yelena leans in, kissing your cheek, almost reaching your lips. It's the first time she's ever kissed you in any way. "I'll be back. A few days, that's all," she reassures, placing another kiss on your cheek before she leaves. She looks at you one last time with a smile before heading out, leaving you there, curled up into a ball and crying. Now, you definitely couldn’t lose her.
The weight of her absence already looms large, and the brief touch of her lips on your cheek lingers like a promise in the air. As you try to gather yourself, the echoes of Yelena's words and the warmth of her fleeting kiss become the anchor in the storm of your fears. You know you must trust her, just as Natasha had asked you to trust her own choices.
In the solitude of your room, you cling to the hope that Yelena will return, that the few days she's away won't stretch into an eternity. The scent of pomegranates still lingers in the air, a reminder of her presence, and you find solace in the belief that your connection, however fragile, will endure the challenges that lie ahead.
"Please tell me you'll count that as the first move, Tasha?" You ask, directing your words to the air as you look at the ring on your finger. There's a moment of silent contemplation, a silent conversation with a memory.
Then, you get up and get dressed, facing the day with a mix of vulnerability and determination. The echoes of Yelena's departure still resonate in your mind, but as you glance at the ring, you find a subtle strength. The journey ahead may be uncertain, but in that quiet acknowledgment, you feel the weight of a promise made, a connection forged, and a future that holds the potential for healing and new beginnings.
"Yelena kissed my cheek; she almost kissed my lips, actually," You run your fingers across your cheek and the corner of your lip. "She had to go on a mission, and she told me the same words you did before you left me forever. I broke down. I seem to do that quite a bit with her now." You’re looking at Natasha's grave. It has been two years now since she left. "Tasha, I know we had our plans, and I will never forget them, but I want to move on... I need to, and in order to do that..." You pull the ring off your finger, twisting it between your fingers. "I need to give this back to you, darling." You’re trying not to choke on your tears as they flow freely down your face. You wrap it up in a little cloth, a red one, and bury it just a little ways down. "Please be happy for me, darling. You know she'll always treat me right." You are full-blown crying as you kiss her gravestone and head back home, hoping Yelena is finally home.
As you walk away, the weight of the past feels a bit lighter, as if the act of returning the ring is a step towards embracing the future. The pain is still there, the memories still vivid, but in the tears and the quiet goodbye, there's a sense of release and a tentative hope for what lies ahead. You head back home, your heart heavy but with a flicker of anticipation, hoping Yelena's absence will soon be replaced by her comforting presence.
When Yelena comes back home, she finds you crying on the floor. She picks you up into her arms and holds you as you sob. When you finally come to from your crying session and register that she's back, you cup her cheeks and slam your lips against hers a little rougher than you intend. You soften up a bit when you realize how rough you truly were.
"You're back..." you whisper against her lips.
"I told you I'd be back," she whispers back, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you back in. The two of you kiss, hungry and passionate, as if she's been waiting all her life for this moment. In the embrace of her arms, the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future momentarily fade away. There's only the warmth of the present and the promise of a new chapter, where healing and love can coexist, a testament to the resilience of the heart after weathering the storms of loss.
"Yelena..." You pull back, leaning your forehead on hers.
"I've been waiting forever for that," Yelena admits.
"I know you were grieving, so I just wanted to be here for you, and I was never sure if I should act on my feelings," Yelena tells you, and you give her a soft, quick kiss this time.
"I talked with Tasha about it and promised I wouldn't make the first move," Yelena laughs. "When was this?" she questions.
"A year ago at her grave. You were on a mission, and I went to visit her just before starting up the Avengers company. I told her about how I was falling for you and to not hate me for it. The wind whipped around me, and so I promised I wouldn't make the first move. When you kissed my cheek before leaving, I took that as you making the first move. I visited Natasha yesterday and told her about it and gave back her ring. I left it with her so that I could move forward," You explain, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and relief.
Yelena brushes her thumbs against your tear-stained cheeks and listens to your words. "I promise I'll live up to your expectations. I'll do everything I can to do right by you, Y/F/N," she says, and you chuckle at the use of your full name.
"I know you will, and so does Natasha. I don't think I could be in better hands than yours, Lena," You say, feeling a sense of acceptance and hope for the future. The weight of grief begins to lift, replaced by the promise of a new chapter, and the knowledge that love, even after loss, has the power to mend and rebuild.
Notes: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, fluff, FULL THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, Happy Ending, mentions of torture, Hydra, cannon typical violence, possible ooc, (Tell me if I miss something I'll add it)
Summary: Your relationship with Yelena has been littered with challenges, but there isn't anything that you can't face together.
An: The summary is shit but I don't want to give too much away. So I implore you to trust me because I swear this delivers. Also its my civic duty to notify the masses that Ao3 is down rn.
Masterlist | Masterlist 2
Yelena had always been the optimist of your relationship. She was a beacon of light that was ever glowing. No matter the trauma she suffered, she held her chin high and kept a smile on her face.
She had pulled you out of the darkness more times than you could remember. Every time you began drowning in your past, she was there to remind you of the present. You were no longer alone, you’d never be alone again, because you had her.
You weren’t prepared for the day when her light was snuffed out. Life had already been so unnecessarily cruel to her, but you had never seen her broken like this. The universe put Natasha in her path for a tenth of a second. It gave her the family that she spent years chasing and then snatched it so ruthlessly.
When the blip happened, you were with her. One minute you were sitting on the counter watching her wash her face and the next she was gone. You were hysterical. The panic was instant, it felt like someone had a death grip on your heart.
The first thing you did was call Natasha. You rambled on the phone, incoherent to most, but Natasha had known why you were calling. How could she not, when she was watching the same thing happen to the people on the battlefield?
She got to you as quickly as she could. You weren’t in good shape when she got to you. In your mind you were ready. You needed to get justice, revenge, something that would fill the hole left by Yelena’s absence.
When what was left of the Avengers killed Thanos, you were there. You had felt how empty the act was. How meaningless it all felt. With your beacon of light gone nothing felt worth it anymore.
You wanted to go off on your own. Maybe just walk into the ocean never to be seen again, but Natasha wouldn’t allow it. She kept you close to her though for a long time you were useless, empty without Yelena in your life. You ached for her. You saw her everywhere you looked. She was on the couch with a bowl of mac and cheese, she was on the counter playing with her knife, she was in bed with her arms open for you to climb into. Then you’d blink and she’d be gone just as quick.
Your past became more haunting without her. You started to think about all of the sins you committed while you were brainwashed by Hydra. They had kidnapped you somewhere in the early 2000’s injecting you with their version of the super soldier serum. You did unthinkable things. Some you could never forgive yourself for. Yelena was the one to free you of the mind control. You’d stuck with her ever since then. She was the only person capable of making you feel like you weren’t a monster. Now she was gone. All your mind did was bounce between memories of her and your brainwashed past. It was a torturous loop that you couldn’t escape.
Natasha let you grieve. She didn’t pressure you to help her with hero work. She didn’t force you to come out of your room to socialize. All she wanted from you was to see you eat at least twice a day. She’d talk and you’d listen, not saying much back.
One day when you came down for dinner you saw her at the table with her head in her hands, a bottle of Russian vodka perched by her elbows. It was nearly half empty.
You sat across from her silently. She lifted her head up to look at you. Her eyes were bloodshot, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the tears.
“You two are so alike sometimes that it scares me.”
You can see Natasha morphing into her younger sister right before your eyes. There wasn’t a problem that vodka couldn’t outrun. At least that’s what Yelena said on her worst days.
“I miss her too, you know? I had- I just got her back,” more tears well in her eyes. “I found a family with the Avengers and now I have nothing left to show of it. Then right after I found the closest thing to blood relatives I have it gets stolen from me. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not missing someone.”
You try to find some words of comfort, “I was never good at this, but your sister was. This hopeful glow that you couldn’t help but follow. She’d probably say something about not giving up so easily, it’d be a half-joke. Then she’d probably say something like the world will always need heroes like you. People that continuously sacrifice for the sake of humanity.”
“And are you a hero?”
Natasha shoots the question at you.
You reach for the bottle of vodka, taking a large swig, “I was whatever she needed me to be. Sometimes a hero, sometimes less than that, but never evil.”
“Malicious?”
You shrug, “On occasion.”
She laughs through her tears, “I’m glad she had you when I wasn’t around.”
You shake your head, “It’s the other way around. She taught me how to stay afloat. I leaned on her for support for so many things. Without her, I just feel myself falling into the void. How can anything I do be worth it, if she’s not here?”
She places her hand on top of yours, “I’m not going to give up until she’s back, until they’re all back.”
Natasha meant it. You could tell she believed with her entire being. She had never been an optimist, often grounded in unobjectionable truths. You couldn’t tell if it was desperation or just another way she had become like her sister.
You started being useful that day.
Rather than letting Natasha carry all of the weight and responsibility, you let her give some of it to you. You started thinking like her. You had to see Yelena again, you’d do whatever it took just to see her one more time.
When the opportunity to rewrite history came about, you were vexed that it appeared in the form of Scott Lang. He was annoying, but without him there wasn’t a chance the remaining Avengers would’ve reformed. Natasha had called upon them many times, but they’d only seemed to care about the big one.
“Natasha.”
You have this pit in your stomach that won’t go away. You aren’t fond of this plan, of everyone splitting up. Maybe you’d feel better if you were going with Natasha and Clint, but you weren’t.
“Y/n, I know-"
You don’t let her finish her sentence. You wrap your arms around her. You’re squeezing her tightly with your eyes shut.
“Be safe,” is what you say initially as you let go of her.
“I love you too, kid. If something happens…”
You shake your head, “No. You’re going to come back here, for Yelena.”
Natasha’s smile is bittersweet, “I will do what I can.”
You shake your head once again, “Not good enough. Promise me, promise me you’ll come back. We’re going to do this together. Nat, she has to come home to the both of us.”
She pulls you into her embrace again, she kisses the crown of your head, “I promise.”
She lied.
“Where is she?”
Clint couldn’t look you in the eye. He tossed the stone to Tony and tried to walk away. You grabbed him by the shoulder, so he was face to face with you.
“Clint,” your voice was stern.
You could see the tears welling in his eyes even though he avoided your gaze, “You have to trade a soul for the stone. I tried- I tried, but she was always better than me.”
Your grip on his shoulder only tightened as you felt your knees buckle. You refused to believe him, “She promised.”
Clint tried to hug you, but you shoved him away, “None of you would even be here without her. You all gave up, turned your back on the world. You took your ball and went home and now you’re here and she’s not. This is bullshit. You already owed her so much and she gave her life up for you pieces of shit.”
Bruce threw a bench, “We cared about her too.”
“Funny way of showing it,” you countered him.
The Hulk got in your face, the team tried to step between you two, “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”
“I thought you were always angry,” you shot back at him.
“Now is not the time for this,” Steve interjected.
You scoffed, “Fuck off Steve. Yelena got blipped right in front of me. I thought I lost everything, but I still had Natasha. Now I don’t have either of them because of this stupid fucking team. I’m alone all over again.”
“We’re going to get Yelena back,” Tony chimed in.
You chuckled bitterly, tears now streaming down your face, “Fantastic, and the first thing I have to tell her is that her sister is gone forever. They had just found each other. Fuck.”
Your legs gave out from underneath you. Any arguments that you had stopped as sobs violently struck you. Your body folded in on itself.
The men stared at you, but Clint was the first one to move again. He wrapped his arms around you, but you didn’t shove him off this time. You allowed him to hold you. The only thing you managed to say was ‘she promised' over and over again.
When you couldn’t cry anymore, his grip didn’t falter.
“She told me that you have to be strong for Yelena like you were strong for her. She couldn’t have done this without you.”
“How can I do this without her?”
He was slow to stand, his hand stretched out, “You do it for her instead. Don’t let her sacrifice be for nothing.”
You took his hand.
In the midst of battle, sweat dripping down your dirt-stained face, you couldn’t help, but wonder if you’d die here. If you’d go out a hero, fighting against a mad titan’s army.
Somewhere between the 9th and 13th enemy you take down, you realize you can’t die. Yelena would come back to no one. Well she’d have Alexei, but would he be able to save her from herself?
When the portals opened, you felt a little relieved. Any help was welcomed in your mind. The people who disappeared were back, and you wondered if she was too.
It was somber when it was all said and done, but you didn’t need to stick around for a reunion.
“I can get you to her,” Stephen Strange offered.
You didn’t ask any questions, instead you gave him a curt nod. He opened a portal and you stepped right through.
The last time you were in this apartment, Natasha was basically dragging you out of it. Your protests fell on deaf ears as you tried to stay here. It wouldn’t have been good for you, surrounded by things that reminded you of Yelena.
You hear the rummaging around before you see her. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you curse your legs for not being able to move.
When she comes charging down the hallway. Your breath catches. Five long years, you’ve waited for this moment.
She almost doesn’t recognize you, pulling out her weapon. When she gets closer, she begins to analyze you.
Older, eyes more tired, new lines across your forehead, different hair. It was hard to tell with all the dirt and debris of battle all over you.
“Yelena.”
She can hear how broken you are. So she doesn’t stop you when you surge forward, holding onto her like she would vanish out of thin air.
You shake in her arms whispering against her skin, the same thing over and over, “I’m sorry.”
She backs away only enough to hold your face in her hands, “What happened?”
You attempt to take a deep breath, but wince. Yelena finds a cut on the side of your suit. Gently she presses it and you groan.
“Tell me after I patch you up.”
She drags you along, trying to pull you into the restroom. You stop outside and shake your head, “Bedroom.”
Yelena furrows her brows, but she grabs the first aid out of the bathroom, before following you to the bedroom.
The cut on your side is nastier than you would’ve thought. It takes her a while to tend to the wound. When she finished the cut is in a better state, but you aren’t. All you can do is stare at her.
She asks you to tell her again. You finally pull your eyes away from her’s, instead focusing on your hands. You tell her everything, from the moment she disappeared until now.
“My sister,” everything else seems of little importance to Yelena.
You can’t look at her, “I’m so sorry.”
She takes your hand, intertwining your fingers, “It’s not your fault.”
Your lip begins to quiver, “Stop.”
“Y/n, look at me.”
“I have to be strong,” you say it more to yourself than her.
“Detka, please,” Yelena pleads with you.
Your teary eyes meet her’s. It breaks you to see her like this. You open your arms, and she leans into your hold. She doesn’t care about the remnants of war all over you.
“We are stronger together.”
Your hands are on her stomach. She places her hands on top of yours, keeping you in place.
There are a million more things that you want to say to her. You want to tell her you missed her, that life without her was dull, that you were sorry you couldn’t save her sister, but you don’t. Instead your lips kiss the top of her head, lingering as you hold her. You hope it translates to something.
When she raises your conjoined hands to her lips to press a delicate kiss to the back of your hand, you know it does.
“I love you,” she says it first.
“I love you too.”
Neither of you attend Tony’s funeral. Instead you find yourselves in a small suburban town. You wish you could say that it was where they grew up, but you knew it wasn’t.
You both stare at her grave. Yelena gets close to the tombstone putting her head against it. She mutters something in Russian. You don’t fully understand it but you pick up a few key words.
She raises her volume for you to hear, “This is where we became sisters.”
“She was always thinking of you. I think it’s half of the reason she took me in when you were gone. The other half was because she was a good person. I think she kept some blonde in her hair for you. Being with her saved my life because sometimes when I looked at her I saw small pieces of you. I hope… I hope that sometimes she felt the same when she looked at me. It was a comfort I think we both needed. I didn’t know how similar you were until I found her nursing a bottle of vodka trying to drink away the pain, just like you do.”
She catches your gaze, locked as tears fall down your face, “I’m sure she did, because you are the best part of me.”
You disagree with her, “ You saved me.”
She stands to cup your face in her hands. You still have a few scrapes from the battle with Thanos. Her hands are cold against the skin of your face. She searches your eyes for something, she doesn’t find it. Her forehead rests against yours. Her breath mingles with yours and for a moment all the tears are forgotten.
“Why can’t you see that you saved me too?”
She kisses you, almost like it would break you. You relax into her, relishing in the way her lips feel against yours. It’s like breathing.
You waited 5 years to experience this again. This is your first kiss since returning. You both were in fragile states. You’d never rush Yelena into anything she didn’t want to do. In truth you could’ve kissed her the second you saw her, but you had too much to tell her then.
Your eyes stay closed even when your lips are no longer touching her’s.
“Sorry to interrupt such a touching moment.”
Your moment is over just like that. Yelena has an unimpressed look on her face as she turns her attention to the woman.
“What do you want Valentina?” Yelena’s voice is gruff as she speaks.
“I have a job for you. The both of you if you’re interested,” she flashes a Hollywood smile as she speaks.
Yelena’s jaw clenches, “How many times do I have to tell you that she doesn’t do this?”
You sigh, “What’s the job?”
Your girlfriend looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, “No.”
“If you think you’re going on your own, you’re mistaken,” you tell her.
She runs a hand through her hair, looking between you and Valentina. The sigh that leaves her lips is heavier than the one that had left yours, “You heard what she said.”
Valentina’s smile stretches even wider than it already was, “Wonderful, a couple of shadow agents.”
That's how you started working for Valentina.
There wasn’t any chance that you’d be letting Yelena out of your sight. Not with everything so fresh. You knew the kind of person she was.
She would throw herself into this work to numb herself from the pain. You couldn’t stop all of the hurt, but you could feel it with her. She’d do the same for you.
“Lena,” you call her name through the hotel you’re currently stationed at. “It took me a few stores, but I’ve got the boxed mac n cheese.”
There’s no answer. You feel a little panic start to set into your bones. You call her a few more times but you don’t get a response. Just when you’re about to start investigating every inch of the apartment, you find her.
She’s leaned against the bathtub, sitting on the floor. Her head hangs down letting you know she’s unconscious. The bottle of vodka in her hand is nearly half empty. There’s another one on the side of her that’s completely gone.
You crouch down to look at her. Your hand reaches to move some of her hair out of her face. She had cut it short since you reunited. You liked it, but that wasn’t surprising. There were minimal things you didn't like about her.
When you attempt to take the bottle from her hand Yelena wakes up. She goes on the offensive immediately trying to trap you against the wall. You slip from her grasp on your shoulders, slinking around her back, so that you can hug her from behind. She thrashes a little until you whisper in her ear.
“Lena, baby.”
She stops her movements. She nearly leans into you until something stops her. She rips herself out of your hold. She doesn’t look at you. The grip on the bottle tightens, “Sorry.”
She starts to march out of the room, but you don’t allow it. Instead of reaching for her, you set your sights on the bottle. She tries to fight you for it, but your grip is unrelenting.
“Let go.”
You take stern tone with her, “You don’t need it.”
“How are you going to tell me what I need?”
“Because I know you Yelena. Now give me the bottle,” you try to yank it from her hands.
“NO!”
She screams at you and throws the bottle in the corner of the bathroom. Glass shatters all over the white tile. Liquid spreads around the floor. Your eyes are wide, as you look at the scene. You look back to Yelena to find similar shock on her face.
She starts running and you chase after her. She books it out of the hotel. You follow her down the steps and out of the front. You can feel your heart pound in your ears as your feet slap against the concrete. You watch as she tries to loose you in the crowd.
Your eyes follow the trail she takes, but your legs carry you a different way. You’re going to cut her off. You push yourself, knowing that the blonde is faster than you.
When you round the corner her body collides with yours. She’s looking back to see if you’re behind her.
Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath. She doesn’t look at you, the anxiety clear on her face. You take her hand into yours, she flinches, but allows it.
You pull her away from the crowded street, into a private alleyway.
“I love you,” you start. “And nothing is going to change that. Not a thousands shards of glass on the floor and not a river of vodka.”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she still refuses to look at you.
You nod, your lips briefly folding into your mouth, “You shouldn’t have, but I know you won’t do it again.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Like I said, I know you. That and… I think we both could benefit from going dry.”
She frowns, “Just because I can’t control myself, doesn’t mean you have to suffer too.”
“Lena you act like you haven’t found me in that same position a thousand times. If not with a bottle, then with a pipe. I know how you feel because I feel it too, but you’re not alone.”
She meets your eyes with a childlike hope burning though them. You can tell you’re getting through to her.
“I’m here. I will always be here,” you hold her gaze.
She crumples into your arms. You support her weight as she clutches onto your top. You can feel the dampness of her tears seeping through your shirt.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers into the fabric of your clothing.
“I love you so much Yelena,” you rub soothing circles on her back.
She straightens up a little sniffing and wiping her eyes, “Ok, ok, I feel better now.”
You smile at her, “Good, because we have to go back to the hotel. I have boxed macaroni ready to be cooked.”
“With hot sauce?”
You kiss the side of her temple, “Of course I got the sauce.”
When you get back to the hotel the blonde wordlessly cleans up the mess she made in the bathroom. While she does that you cook the macaroni. By the time she’s done, so are you.
You make dumb jokes as you eat together. Lightening the mood exponentially. It’s something that’s bound to happen when the two of you are together. She’s your light and you’re finally beginning to understand you’re her’s too.
As much as you pressure Valentina to only send jobs that both of you can do, there are times where the woman doesn’t concede. Yelena was sent off to Malaysia, something about a lab. It wasn’t your mission so you didn’t know all of the details.
All you knew was that you had some anxieties about being apart. Things were better now, but there were still hard days.
Recently you could tell that something was bothering Yelena. She was keeping something from you. It only spiked your anxiety about her going on this mission alone. She wasn’t pulling away like she would’ve in the past, but she wasn’t letting you in.
It was a weird place to be in your relationship.
You check the time again, wondering when she would be home. You knew it would be late, but you predicted something earlier than this. It had been a few hours of you sitting on the couch of your home and waiting for her to walk through the door.
You had your fill of television and doom scrolling on the phone. All you want to do is cuddle in bed next to your girlfriend.
When she finally comes through the door, she leans her back against it while it’s closed. She stays there taking a few deep breaths, grounding herself. You watch her curiously, but let her have the moment.
When she opens her eyes, they land on you on the couch.
She smiles at you, “You didn’t have to wait for me dorogoy.”
You nod a few times, “I missed you, wanted to know you were safe.”
You walk over to her, she pulls you in for a chaste kiss, “I missed you too.”
The two of you make your way to the bedroom. You get in the bed while the Russian undresses.
“I thought you'd be home a while ago,” you say to her with no malice.
She freezes up a little, but doesn’t stop changing, “I made a little pit stop before coming home.”
You raise your eyebrow, “A pit stop?”
“You know a little errand before coming home,” she explains, climbing into bed.
“I know what a pit stop is Lena. Where’d you go?”
She mumbles an answer, but you don’t hear her.
“Yelena Fyodorovna Belova.”
She gasps, “Do not call me that.”
You scoff, “It’s your name, isn’t it?”
She squints her eyes, “I told you my middle name in confidence. Not so you could use it as ammunition.”
“Well, if you stop mumbling then I won’t resort to using it,” you counter.
She lets out an exasperated sigh, “Fine. I went to see Alexei.”
“Oh.”
She shakes her head, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“All I said was oh,” you defend.
“Because you hate my dad,” Yelena says it like it’s a fact.
“I don’t hate your dad.”
She sits up in the bed, crossing her arms, “You don’t?”
“No, I just hate how emotionally constipated and fixated on the past he is."
She throws her hands in the air, “So his whole personality?”
You change the subject, “How was seeing him?”
“I think you’re supposed to ask how he is doing first. If you are so keen about changing the topic.”
You let out a huff of annoyance, “How is he?”
She laughs, pulling you closer to her. Your head lies in her lap. Her fingers get tangled in your hair.
“He’s miserable, he misses being a hero.”
“Shocker,” you mutter under your breath.
“Now who is doing the mumbling?”
You smile up at her, “Sorry. Why’d you go see him anyway? It’s been like a year, hasn’t it?”
You see something in her demeanor change. She looks back down at you, “I was thinking of quitting.”
“Oh.”
She chuckles, “There you go with the ‘oh’ again. What does that even mean?”
You shrug, “Unexpected. I’m assuming he talked you out of it.”
“I asked Valentina for a more front facing role.”
“Oh.”
Yelena groans, “Can you please stop saying that?”
“Front facing like Natasha,” you ask, reaching up to cup her face.
“Yes.”
You trace the line of her jaw with your finger, “I’m proud of you.”
Yelena grabs your hand, placing a kiss on your palm, “Maybe you could join me.”
“Do I need to start powdering my nose? Do people still do that?” You joke.
Yelena rolls her eyes, “Your jokes remind me of my dad. Please stop.”
You pout, “My jokes are better than his.”
She kisses your wrist, “I’m serious though, would you do this with me?”
You move from your lying position to straddle the blonde’s waist. Your arms loosely hang on her shoulders. Her hands are planted on your hips.
You play with the hairs on the base of her neck, “I’d do anything with you, Lena. If you wanted to pull the stars from the sky, then I’d find a way to help you.”
“If I asked you to do that, you need to have me committed. I would be unwell to ask you such a thing.”
You stare at her blankly, “I’m trying to be romantic here.”
Yelena smirks at you, “Skill issue.”
You gasp, feigning offense, “You’ve never complained about my skill level before.”
Her faces scrunches up, “Get your head out of the gutter.”
You wiggle your eyebrows, “Trying to get my head between your-”
You don’t get to finish the sentence as Yelena attempts to toss you to your side of the bed. She doesn’t calculate it quite right and you end up on the floor.
You groan, “Ouch.”
She giggles at you looking over the edge of the bed, “It was an accident.”
You give her a sideways glance, “Sure it was. I can tell by the boisterous laughter.”
She offers you her hand, helping you get back in the bed. Once you’re in, she lays her head on your chest. You sling an arm around her.
“Do you think she'd be proud of me?”
She’s already drifting when she asks.
“More than you'd be able to comprehend,” you say, closing your eyes to follow in her footsteps.
You’re already awake when there’s a harsh banging on your front door. You’re waiting for Yelena to come back from her latest assignment. It was something with a vault and that was as much as you knew.
The banging startles you as it is unstopping. You pull your knife out immediately as you make your way to the door. You check the peephole and let out and irritated sigh. Yanking the door open, you stare at Alexei unimpressed.
He's wearing the red guardian costume.
“Hello Alexei.”
“Yelena is in danger.”
Those four words are all it takes for you to get into his raggedy limo.
You have your gear on, leg bouncing as you wish you would’ve opted on taking your car instead. The limo is big and flashy, easily noticeable. It’s also slow as shit.
Alexei fills you in about what he heard while driving Valentina. Your hands twitch as you picture yourself strangling the women.
“Why didn’t she send me too?”
Alexei’s incessant rambling almost stops in its track. His tone sobers up a bit, “She didn’t think you’d be a problem. If anything happened to Lena, she said you wouldn’t forgive yourself.”
You clench your fist together, “She’s right, but I’d kill her if anything happened to Yelena.”
Alexei lets out a laugh, “I knew I liked you when we first met.”
You roll your eyes, “Less laughing, more driving.”
He straightens up his posture, “We will find her.”
You’re trapped with the man for hours. The night shifts into day as worry starts to take over your system. He has just as much energy as when he was banging on your door.
It takes a minute, but you can notice that there is genuine concern under all of his semantics.
“Why did you come get me first? You could’ve left without me?”
He shook his head, “You are family. You care about her. I would not keep all of this glory for myself, when I know you want to save her as much as I do. That and I think she will be less mad if you are with me.”
His explanation makes you laugh to yourself, “Look who’s learning about their emotions.”
He keeps his attention on the road, “For her, I try.”
Once you’re far into the desert Alexei stops the car without warning. He gets out and starts screaming like a psycho before you even have the chance to stop him.
You hop out of the limo, pushing him in the chest, “Are you trying to let the entire world know that we’re here? What if there are enemies around?”
“Then we fight them. We are super soldiers, we can take them.”
You glare up at him, “Do not call me a super soldier.”
“You have serum in you, you are soldier. I don’t make rules,” he shrugs.
You shove him in the chest, “I’m serious. If you call me that again, I’ll drop you where you stand.”
He laughs in your face, “I like to see you try. I am red guardian, protector of-”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you sweep his leg. He tumbles onto the ground with a heavy thud. You stand over him with a twinkle in your eyes.
“Fine, you’re not soldier. Happy now?”
You give him a tight-lipped smile, “Elated.”
You scan your surroundings, when you see three figures headed towards you. Reluctantly you help Alexei to his feet.
“See, you need to have faith in my plans,” he claps you on the back.
He begins to jog over, but you stop him, “I’ll jog. You bring the car.”
You waste no time sprinting in the direction of the figures. As they come more into focus, you pick up your speed.
When you’re in front of the three of them. You disregard the other two going straight for Yelena. You grab her by the face and start looking over her for injuries.
“Are you hurt? I’ll kill her, if you’re hurt.”
She grabs your arms, “I’m fine. How are you here right now?”
“Alexei brought me. He was driving Valentina and overheard her plan.”
You pull her into your embrace, squeezing her tightly. She senses the anxiety in the hug. Even though she would rather not let the other’s see, she keeps holding onto the hug.
“I’m right here,” she whispers so that only you can hear.
“I thought I lost you,” you tell her, freeing her from your hold.
She scoffs, “And leave you with Alexei? Absolutely not.”
“Y/n?”
“You have to be kidding me,” You say turning your attention to the man who called your name.
“Do you know her?” The woman with the Bristish accent asks the white man.
He nods, “All of us super-”
Yelena butts in, “She is not a super soldier. Do not call her that.”
He blinks at her, “Right, right, except she totally is. Winter Soldier level, super soldier created by Hydra. She might even be better than the Winter Soldier.”
“Shut up Walker, before I throw that shield through your head,” you feel your blood boiling.
“If this how you treat all your partners then I feel sorry for your girlfriend.”
You’re about to punch him, when Alexei honks his horn, signaling you all to get in his deathtrap of a limo. Ava drags Walker over first to create space between the two of you.
“You partnered with him?” Yelena asks before you get in.
“Valentina set us up on a few jobs together. That’s all.”
Yelena eyes go wide, “This is the egotistical maniac that you were talking about.”
You get in the limo, “Yep.”
“That makes a lot of sense.”
While you’re in the limo they fill you in about what happened at the vault. When they’re done Alexei fills them in on what he heard Valentina talking about. It’s a lot of information for everyone to process.
“So did Bob die or?”
“We don’t know,” Ava answers honestly.
You frown, “Poor guy.”
Yelena goes to comment, but that’s when she notices the trucks following behind you.
“We have company.”
The group springs into action trying to take out the vehicle, but it’s proving to be damn near indestructible. The back window of the limo gets shot out. Ava is shooting out of the window, but John quickly pulls her in once the fire begins to get too much.
“Doesn’t this thing go any faster?”
“I’m on it,” Alexei calls out, he steps on the gas, but you’re barely up to 55.
It’s then that the cars begin to get disarmed, one by one You’re not entirely relieved when you see who’s responsible for it, but at least Valentina’s guys are off of you.
“It’s Bucky!” John on the other hand is more enthusiastic.
The group starts cheering thinking they evaded, danger, but you know better. Bucky is a complex individual. You’re proven right when he shoots something at the limo causing the back to explode as you all tip up into the air and then crash onto the floor.
You find yourselves tied up on a plane, with the former Winter Soldier turned congressman looking over you. You all try to explain to him what happened, but he doesn’t believe you.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
John drops the pretense, “It means you know me Bucky, so cut the shit and listen to what we’re trying to tell you.”
“Yeah, I know you John, and you made your choices. I know it’s been hard since Olivia left you and took your kid, but it’s still on you.”
John shuts up after that, but you don’t.
“That’s rich coming from you, Bucky. What happened to Steve again? Talk about people leaving, not only did he abandon his team when they needed him the most. He gets to live his happy ending while we all suffer. He gets to relive his glory days while we get relieve our nightmares.”
Your words shake him and you know it, but he just pushes past them.
“You’re all evidence in Valentina’s trial.”
You let out an annoyed groan, “From hydra agent to government puppet, what a change.”
He steps over to you calmly, “And what have you done since being free besides follow her around like a lost dog? Maybe she should collar you and call you Fanny.”
You stand, breaking the restraints he tied you in, “ I was being a goddamn hero. I’m one of the people that helped saved half of the universe. I’ve repented for what I’ve done and I’ve earned the right to my happy ending.”
“Did you earn it or did Natasha hand it to you?”
You push him. Hard.
His back slams against the wall of the plane. The sound echoed in the space. You feel yourself, losing control.
“And who scrubbed your ledger clean Winter Soldier?”
There’s an indent from where his metal arm braced for impact against the plane. He sucks his teeth, “You want to do this?”
“Do you?” You challenge him.
“Let’s go super soldier.”
He charges at you, but you side step his attack.
“Is now really the time for this?” Ava asks the rest of the group.
Walker shrugs, “Don’t know, but I’m rooting for Y/n.”
“Me too,” Alexei nods.
Ava shares a pleading look with Yelena. The blonde huffs in annoyance, “He shouldn’t have brought up my sister.”
“If they break the plane, we will die,” Ava deadpans.
Bucky takes your arm, and twists it behind your back. You throw your head back knocking him square in the nose. He releases the hold and you quickly turn to throw a fury of strikes his way. He dodges most of the punches but when you send a hard kick to his chest he stumbles backwards.
He holds his abdomen and you smirk at him. As he goes for the next attack his phone rings. You let him answer it. You all hear the person on the phone basically reiterate what you were saying.
“Bob?”
“BOB,” you all say in unison.
He looks at you, and then the rest. Before hanging up the phone. He starts with Ava’s restraints. You take initiative and break Yelena’s.
“How come you could break out of yours, I was pulling these with everything I had,” Walker comments when he’s freed.
You shrug, “Ask Hydra.”
Alexei chimes in, “Must be difference between real deal and knock off.”
Bucky rallies the team the best he can, not like they have much of a choice. You aren’t necessarily thrilled, but you do want to get your hands on Valentina. Yelena seems very keen on saving Bob. So that’s the plan. When you’re on the ground, you’re loaded into a van.
Alexei takes shotgun with Bucky, while the rest of you were loaded into the back. It’s quiet for a few minutes before Yelena starts talking about her weapons. Ava pulls out hers next, and then Walker. He asks about his helmet and it gets you to chuckle.
“What about you Y/n?”
“I have widow bites like Lena. Hunter blade, 9inch dagger, throwing knives, retractable knuckle blade,” you show off some of your knives.
“No gun?” Ava comments.
You shake your head, “Don’t need it.”
“And if you did?” Walker questions.
Yelena answers for you, “Then I have an extra for her, but I can guarantee you that she doesn’t need one.”
“Well aren’t you two adorable,” Ava gushes.
You grow bashful at her words.
“How long have you been together?” Walker questions.
You tilt your head to the side a bit, “We met at the tail end of 2016. Got together like beginning of February 2017. Then we’re together until Thanos happens. Lena got blipped. I obviously wasn’t moving on but I can’t say we were together. Then from when the blip was over until now, we’ve been together. So 5 years, but also like 10 years.”
“And no ring?” Ava teases and it makes you blush even harder.
“I- we’ve been busy.”
Yelena takes over, “We've never really talked about marriage. The whole shadow operative thing kind of gets in the way of that.”
John looks at you both incredulously, “Have you ever heard of eloping? What kind of couple is together for 5 years and hasn’t talked about marriage.”
“I knew from the moment we got together, that I’d spend the rest of my life with her. There was nothing to talk about. I’ve never questioned it,” you answer him honestly.
Her hand slides into yours, “Me too. Marriage or no marriage, she is stuck with me.”
John pretends to barf, “Disgustingly cute.”
You lean your head against her shoulder, “She’s my everything.”
Yelena doesn’t shy from the PDA, she kisses the crown of your head. You relishes in the moments, knowing that in just a few short minutes it would be over.
It’s sudden when you feel the van crash into a building. As soon as you hop out, you begin fighting. The group goes to work almost resembling a team as you fight the people in the lobby.
When Valentina’s voice rings out from the intercom the fighting comes to a halt. You all pile into an elevator up to her office. When it dings you are in a very open room. Valentina stands alone, like she had been waiting for you.
Bucky takes the lead. He tells her that it's all over that she has lost. With all of her loose ends in this room, she’d be going away for a long time. Yelena asks her about Bob, but Valentina ignores her.
“Are you still ready for your close up, Yelena?”
“Eat shit Valentina,” she responds unamused.
Bucky gets in her space as she sets her drink down. He goes to grab her, but something stops him.
“I’m not alone,” you can hear the smile in her voice.
Aa blonde man emerges from the stairs. He’s wearing a golden suit with a big ‘S’ on the waist line. A blue cape flows behind him as he makes his descent.
“Hey guys,” he says it casually.
“Bob what happened to you?” Yelena sounds utterly crushed.
Valentina answers for him. She calls him the Sentry and explains that he will be disposing of your little rag tag group. She calls him Earth’s Mightiest hero.
“I’m not going to let you erase them from history,” you step forward.
The Sentry blocks your path, “I don’t want to fight you guys. How about you just turn yourselves in.”
Valentina scoffs, “The Avengers aren’t coming back Y/n. Natasha isn’t coming back. It’s time for you to move on.”
“Enough talking, let’s fight,” Alexei charges the Sentry.
The fight begins. Everyone springs on their own individual attacks on the blonde man, but it doesn’t last. He disarms Ava and Walker first. Then he throws Alexei out of the window before dragging the man back in just to toss him aside.
Meanwhile Yelena is trying to keep the peace. You hold back listening to her pleas. She looks at you, turmoil on her face.
“I’m with you,” you tell her.
She nods before going for Sentry. She gets on his shoulders trying to choke him out. She pleads with him from the position, “Bob, stop.”
He slings her off. You’re going to attack him right then but Bucky puts a hand on your chest. He stares at the blonde, before taking one of his shirts off.
He goes for Bob, activating the part of him that he can’t forget. That same demon that lives inside of you.
Sentry blocks every attempt of contact, eventually grabbing hold of Bucky’s metal arm. While he has his grip on Bucky you move in throwing your strongest punch at his chest.
The force has the Sentry sliding back, taking Bucky’s arm with him. It’s not terribly far back, but it’s something. You don’t get a chance to follow it up, before you feel a vibranium arm knock you across the face. You go sliding with the others.
He tosses Bucky’s arm to the floor. Ava scrambles to grab it an you all pile back into the elevator, retreat the only thing on your minds.
When they get out of the building the arguing starts immediately. There’s a bunch of accusations and finger pointing going around.
All you can focus on is the look on Yelena’s face you reach for her, but she pulls away from you.
“Oh my god stop. There is no us. There is no we. Bob changed into that thing and there’s nothing any of you can do about it.”
Ava goes against her, “And what did you do exactly? I seem to remember you getting your ass beat way more than mine.”
“Yeah, yeah I suck. I’m terrible. We’re all terrible. Ava you’re not a hero, you’re not even a good person,” her arms are moving wildly as she speaks.
“Bitch,” Ava relents.
Alexei intervenes, “Slow down amishka.”
Yelena cuts him off, “Alexei, I am not your amishka. I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a year.”
John tries to de-escalate the situation, “Go easy on him.”
She whips her head around to him, “Oh so you're nice now?”
“It’s my turn?”
“No, you know you’re a piece of trash Walker. So does your family.”
He doesn’t have a comeback, “Jesus.”
She throws her hands up, “We’re all losers and we lost.”
She starts to walk off. The rest of them look at you, expecting you to say something. All you do is sigh, and start to walk after your girl.
Alexei follows after you, “Let me try.”
Against your better judgement, you let him go ahead of you. You keep a steady pace as he runs to catch up with Yelena.
“Oh my god stop. If you cared you would’ve called. I would’ve heard from you.”
He stares at her, with sorrow in his eyes.
Her eyes water and her voice breaks, “I lost my sister again, but forever. And you disappeared.”
“I’m sorry. I don't know how to do this. I’m not good at it,” he steps towards her.
“Papa it’s all just too heavy. All I do is sit and scroll on my phone and think about all of the terrible things that I’ve done. Even with an attentive partner I just feel like a burden. She works like this because I work like this. I can’t handle my drinks, so she doesn't drink. All I do is take up space.”
Alexei looks back at you.
“I didn’t think you needed me,” he answered.
“I did.”
He nods, “I see that. I’m late but I'm here now.”
You walk past Alexei, right up to Yelena. You take both her hands in yours. She doesn’t pull away like she did before.
“I don’t care about the work. I don’t care about the drinking. Yelena the only thing I care about is you. If you feel empty, baby I’ll do whatever it takes, for however long it takes, to make you feel something more. It’ll never be a burden to me because I love you. My love for you is the only thing in my entire life that has never felt like a burden. Not when you were sad, not when you were drunk, not even when you were gone. It keeps me strong, you keep me strong. I like it when you take up space because it means you feel comfortable and I always want that for you.”
You don’t break eye contact. You need her to feel what you’re saying, to believe it.
“Lena, I’m here always.”
That’s all it takes for her to pull you into a kiss. It feels like understanding. The way her lips fit with yours, makes you hopeful that you got through to her. Her forehead rests against yours when it’s over, “I love you.”
You smile, “I love you too.”
Alexei breaks up the moment by engulfing the two of you in a hug.
“Perfect family dynamic. Very healthy and happy,” he boasts.
It’s then that you notice people around you looking into the sky. You step from under the terrace, to see what they’re seeing. There’s a dark shadow floating in the sky. It sort of resembles…
“Bob,” it comes off of her lips as a whisper.
You look around, and people are vanishing out of thin air. The citizens begin to panic, you all spring into action.
Rubble falls from the buildings above when Sentry flings a plane into one. You move to punch through it before it lands on anyone.
Alexei and Yelena are working together to move others out of harms way.
It’s like you’re fighting Thanos again, but this time the field is full of civilians.
You help free a man from his car after the rubble blocks him in. You’re constantly surveying the area looking for to get people off of the streets.
You see Walker struggling to hold the weight of a massive piece of rubble. Your makeshift group attempting to help him. Part of you wants to laugh at their struggles, three super soldiers vs big concrete.
You’re quick to join them, taking a spot next to Yelena. You put one hand on the rubble and give it a little shove. It almost instantly topples over. They all look at you and you fight the urge to flex in front of the crowd.
The citizens around you start to clap. It’s unlike anything you ever experienced. It puts warmth in your chest.
The celebration doesn’t last long as Alexei uses his body to protect a little girl from falling debris. As he checks in with her to tell her she’s safe she vanishes right in front of him.
You don’t hold back your gasps. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you don’t have time to panic. The people need to be evacuated from the streets. You can feel the impending horror as you watch more and more people vanish. You’re helping herd people into a building when you realize Yelena is not with you.
Alexei calls out to her, “Yelena!”
That’s when you see her at the edge of the shadows, talking to the Sentry. If she’s heard him you can’t tell. Your legs start carrying you towards her.
“YELENA!” Your voice booms in the empty streets.
She looks back briefly. Her eyes meet yours. It feels like an eternity yet, she takes a step into the void.
You scream, you scream like your heart has been pulled from your chest.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” you start to blink rapidly, hoping that what you saw was a vision.
There are tears streaming down your face. You could feel people trying to hold you back, when all you want to do is run head first into the darkness.
“I can’t, not again. I can’t,” you’re hysterical, but your feet are planted.
You can’t move back. Last time she disappeared you couldn’t do anything about it. You’d lost 5 years, but this time was different. You could step into that void and chase after her.
“Y/n come on,” Bucky tries but you shrug him off.
You push them all away, “I am not losing her again!”
You stare up at the dark mass floating in the sky. He looks down at you curiously.
“I can make it all go away. All of your pain, all of your suffering.”
“You can’t and I don’t want you to,” you take step closer to the dark edge. “I will save Yelena, but I’m going to save you too Bob.”
You step into the darkness.
“We will continue until you break through the stone.”
You freeze at the voice.
“I can’t it’s too hard,” you recognize your own voice, begging.
“I didn’t ask what you could do. I said you will keep punching until you can break through the stone. Now punch.”
They had pulled you off the streets about a month ago, injected you with the serum. You were around 11. The fact that the serum alone didn’t kill you made it a success.
You knew what would happen next. The younger version of you punched the block of concrete over and over and over again. Even after you broke your hand, the cement barely gave.
When you hear the bones in your hands break, you try to intervene. You place your hand between the younger version of yourself and the target.
“Enough,” you mutter staring at yourself.
“It doesn’t work like that here,” the child's eyes are blank.
She sweeps your leg to take you down and begins to climb on top of you, punching you repeatedly. The broken hand doesn’t stop her.
You grab it and it’s as if the scene resets. You’re on your back watching the younger version of yourself punch the concrete again.
You stand, looking for a way out of the room. You see a metal door bolted shut. Without hesitation you begin slamming your shoulder against it.
The timing begins to line up with the sound of your younger self punch the concrete. You don’t take any solace in knowing that eventually the concrete does break.
With that thought at the front of your mind the steel door falls off its hinges and rush into what you believe to be an open hall.
It’s only when you’re fully inside that you realize it’s not a hallway. It’s a bathroom.
You can tell by the cracks in the porcelain sink that it is the day after Yelena was blipped. Shards of the mirror are scattered inside of it. The younger version of yourself has one hand gripping the sink and another on a gun.
Her head is down and her body is tense.
That day you had slammed your hand against the mirror and instantly felt stupid. You held the sink so hard it cracked. It had been less than 24 hours without her and you were falling apart. You remember the feeling of gun against your skull.
You pulled the trigger, but it wasn’t loaded. You kept pulling it, wishing you could leave all of this behind.
The illusion of you begins to sob as the gun falls from her hand. She crumples onto the floor, head in her hands.
You walk over to pick up the gun. Your hand rests on top of her head, stroking the hair calmly.
“She will come back to us,” you say as you aim the gun at the ceiling.
You shoot and the room moves, allowing you to crawl through the opening.
“Where is she?”
Clint couldn’t look you in the eye. He tossed the stone to Tony and tried to walk away. You grabbed him by the shoulder, so he was face to face with you.
“Clint,” your voice was stern.
You walked past the scene. This is moment in life when you thought you’d never have anything worth loving again. Yelena was gone, Natasha was gone, all you had was your past. All the wrongs you did, all the mistakes you made, all the people you’d kill. You felt hopeless.
That isn’t the case anymore. Yelena is here, you won this war. You got her back not only for yourself, but for Natasha.
You will find Yelena, there is not a doubt in your mind. You are certain, hopeful even. No matter how many traumas you have to go through, seeing her at the end makes it all worth it.
In the glass window of the building, you can see what looks like an old attic. It’s not something from your memories, but you know it doesn’t belong here.
You put your hand into the window first, watching it disappear, then your body follows it. There’s chaos around as furniture flies at you. You are able to dodge the stray pillows that are coming right for your head.
Then it all stops. The rest of the team has found their way here as well. It fills you with relief to know that you don’t have to do this alone.
“What did you see? Are you ok?”
Walker answers first, “Oh I’m fine.
Then Bucky, “I have a great past.”
Then Ava, “Totally fine.”
Yelena turns her attention to you. She’s waiting for you to say something.
“That fucking sucked,” you let out a broken laugh at the end of it.
“Well at least we’re all together now,” Ava finds the silver lining.
“Thanks guys,” Bob says.
You can’t help but size him up a little. He’s different than when you saw him in Valentina’s office. He seems a little shy, buy there’s a kindness that’s clearly on his face. You know that he essentially sacrificed himself to help these strangers escape. He probably saved your girlfriend’s life.
This isn’t the guy in the gold suit with dyed blonde hair, it’s not the dark ominous cloud terrorizing New York, this is Bob. A real man with intense emotions that can sometimes overtake him. He deserves to be saved.
So that’s what you do. You fight through Bob’s most painful memories. From his abusive parents to his drug induced psychosis, all the up to the moment the Void was created.
The Void pins everyone down except for Bob. You’re against the floor with a table pushing down on to your legs. You watch as Bob goes up against the physical embodiment of his darkness. For a moment you think he’s winning, until you see the shadow climb up his pant leg.
“Bob, this is what it wants you have to stop,” you call out to him.
It falls on deaf ears as he throws punch after punch to the Void.
You glance over at Yelena, who is trapped against a door next to Alexei. You use all of the strength that you have to get the table off your legs. Your steps are making dents in floor as you walk over to them.
Alexei tries to create enough space for Yelena to slip out. You extend your hand towards her and she grabs it.
“Trust me,” she says.
You nod, “Always.”
She signals for you to fling her across the room. You do it with no hesitation. You’re not too far behind her, though you feel the Void trying to create distance between Bob and the rest of the team.
Yelena gets to him first, wrapping her arms around the man. You are on the other side of him, squeezing him with all that you have. Soon the rest break free from their confines and join in to make Bob feel less alone.
Then suddenly it’s all over.
You’re back in New York, sprawled out on the floor. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.
You kept close to Bob, partially enjoying the comfort. Yelena’s gets up first, extending her hand towards you. You allow her to pull you up.
She doesn’t get to say anything before you’re kissing her. You hold her face in your hands as your lips move against hers delicately. It’s a fragile kiss, something like the one you first shared.
“I thought I lost you again.”
Her lips touch yours once more, “I will always be here.”
“We still have one last thing to deal with guys,” Bucky says as he gets his eyes on Valentina.
You can’t stop yourself from throwing a small knife in her direction. You miss, but it's on purpose.
“We get to kill her right?” Alexei comments as you all zero in on the woman.
“Alright guys, I know we’re going through a lot of feelings right now. Just give me half second,” Valentina holds her hands up as she backs away.
“Oh I'd like to kill her,” Ava says gleefully.
Bucky shakes his head, “We’re taking her in.”
You see Bob hanging behind a bit. You place your hand on his shoulder, “Come on.”
“Me too?”
You flash him a small smile, “From now on we stick together.”
He returns the gesture, “That’s nice.”
The two of you are the last to walk through the curtain. There’s press everywhere. Cameras flash pictures of all you standing behind Valentina.
Bob stands off to the side with Valentina’s assistant while you stand next to Yelena.
You lean over to whisper in her ear, “What the fuck is she doing?”
“Saving her own ass.”
Valentina turns to look at the group with her arms wide, “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, meet the new Avengers.”
There are alarms going off in your head as she says that. The press’s cameras flash more frequently, as soon as she makes that announcement.
“Is this real?”
Walker claps a hand down on your shoulder, “Feels pretty real to me."
Your eyes cut over to Yelena, who says something to Valentina before taking a step back. You move to stand next to her.
“Front facing looks good on you,” you smirk at her.
She gives you a once over, “I could say the same about you.”
“So what now?” Ava asks the team.
Bucky speaks up, “You guys like shawarma?”
Alexei laughs happily, “I love shawarma."
“I could eat,” Walker replies.
Bob agrees, “Me too. Kind of starving actually.”
You sling your arm around Yelena’s waist, “I guess we’re getting shawarma then.”
You keep her close as you walk away from the press. The team follows Bucky’s lead and you end up back in a van.
Yelena’s head rests against your shoulder during the car ride. The rest of your companions chatter, filling the silence.
“Do you want to elope?” Yelena say so that only you can hear.
“Your last name is cooler than mine, so I guess it only makes sense,” you reply.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
You roll your eyes, “It’s just a creative way of saying yes. Is fun no longer allowed, because we’re Avengers?”
“You have a weird idea of fun.”
You kiss her forehead, “Yet you still asked me to marry you, checkmate.”
“Whatever,” she buries her head further into your neck.
“I love you,” you say as you begin to rest your eyes, exhaustion finally taking over.
You groaned, rolling over in the bed to hide from the light seeping in through the windows.
"Five more minutes..." You mumbled, and Yelena chuckled at your grumpy state, finding you absolutely adorable.
"You said that ten minutes ago moya lyubov'." She laughs out, and uses her immense strength to flip you over and straddle your lap.
"Oh my God! It burns!!!" You shriek, as you dramatically move to block out the sun, and she falls against you in a fit of laughter.
———
You wrap your arms around her, and smile, more than happy to have been able to brighten your girlfriends mood as she's been rather down in the dumps as of late.
"I love you..." She whispers, an air of vulnerability visible in her features as she now hovers her face above yours.
You move your hands up to her neck, scratching ever so lightly, then pull her face down to yours for a sweet kiss and she sighs against your lips.
"I love you too, my darling girl..." You mumble as her lips eventually release yours.
"I'm going to miss you." She whimpers out, as she finally situates her body atop of yours comfortably, nuzzling her face into your neck.
"Are you sure you can't come with? I'd really love for you to finally meet my family."
"I've got some business to handle, but maybe I can still make it, just depends on how difficult this job ends up being."
"What business? I still have yet to see where you work."
"Freelancing darling, I do whatever I'm offered within my acquired skillset." She quips, winking down at you, then jumps up out of the bed before you can push the issue.
"Yeah, yeah..." You grumble, as she laughs at your irritation.
She then peaks her head back out of the bathroom, as she smirks mischievously your way.
"How about one last shower for the road?" She quips, as she not so subtly drops her towel from her body, and you leap out of the bed, nearly tripping on the blankets on your way to her.
Your girlfriends secretive nature should bother you, but you've spent your life immersed in secrets, so you let it roll off your back with relative ease.
It's not like you don't have secrets too...
—
Your mom had you young, and the man she created you with was gone as fast as he came...
Due to the nature of your mother, and eventual fathers line of work, your whole history is a jumbled up, fabricated mess. As far as single mothers go, you were blessed with the kind that coveted your existence, no resentment was ever present. Once she'd settled down with Clint, you were about eight years old, and much to her shock you were rather accepting of the man. It didn’t take long for him to take you under his wing, and show you the ropes of archery. He'd eventually entered the Avengers initiative, and your mom retired once the two of them started having kids of their own, Fury was able to help hiding them much better than your mom did you.
You grew up in SHIELD, so really, you are nothing but a vessel of overheard secrets.
Yelena and you had originally planned to spend the next few days together before you headed home, and she got to work. However, your father—well, the man you call dad, had called you to ask you to take your younger siblings home. He'd run into some trouble in the city, and desperately needed them gone. You weren't due home for another week—when it's appropriate to return for the holidays, but you'd be damned if you'd let your younger siblings get caught up in the mess that follows him around.
—
Lila and Nate were blessed with soundproof earphones in the back, you sadly had to be exposed to the radio your brother controlled by way of aux cord.
"Coop, so help me God, if you play another Green Day song, I will make you walk the next fifty miles home. Maybe then you’ll discover your boulevard of broken dreams, yeah?." You groan out, not entirely thrilled with your brother's newfound Pop Punk phase.
He lightly smirked, as you caught it from your peripherals, then changed over to Linkin Park, you fought the urge to wrench the wheel of the car to pull off onto the shoulder, but you'd decided to plot his demise somehow else.
Once you pulled up, your mom ran out to greet you all, then once the kids went indoors you'd seen the unintentional scowl take over her features.
"I'm sure dad will make it home for Christmas mama, don't you worry." You attempt to quell her obvious thoughts, and then pull her into your arms.
"I'm so grateful to you, you're my rock, and that's just not fair." She sighs against your chest, as you're slightly taller than her, and you move to place a comforting kiss to her temple.
"It's always been you and me mama, I don't mind being your rock."
"I'm supposed to be yours..."
"You are! We're each others." You relay, as you hold her that much tighter, before heading inside with her.
—
As the lonely days drug on, you'd become painfully aware of the unfolding mess your father found himself in. His actions during the blip seemingly catching up to him, and you can't help but feel saddened for him all over again. He'd gone through five years with no hope of ever seeing his family again, then at the first sign of it, he had lost his best friend in the most brutal way.
Blipping was such a weird concept for you...
You'd been on the phone with your girlfriend of a month at the time, while sitting in your bedroom from your teen years back at the farm. Freelancing had taken your newfound lover across the world, so you decided visiting back home would be a great idea. One second Yelena's telling you about this 'really cool' food she'd just tried, while your dad was showing Lila how to use his trusty bow; then the next second you're coughing harshly as a layer of dust clouds your room, and your greeted with deafening silence.
You'd looked to your phone, finding it beyond dead, so you had plugged it in then raced downstairs in search of clarity. Your moms glossy gaze locked on yours, then yours dropped to the TV hers looked up from.
"All Those Blipped, Suddenly Re-emerging on the Streets After Five Long Years."
Even though you'd only been together for a month, your mind went straight to your girlfriend. You raced up the stairs, sending off a slurry of texts to her, then your dad, then your favorite human—Natasha.
After hours of waiting, your beaten down father had made an appearance at the front door. He was covered in dirt, and blood, and his eyes were swimming with despair. Once he'd gained a semblance of his current reality, he broke down in your mothers arms. His broken sobs were hard to decipher, but you heard 'she's gone' loud and clear.
Finding out that your 'Auntie' Nat, had sacrificed her life for the world broke your heart in two. The same world that did nothing to deserve her sacrifice. The both of you were only six years apart in age, so the bond had always been a bit stronger than with your younger siblings, she was truly your best friend.
Yelena had called you the following day, in tears of her own, and you jumped at the possibility of seeing her. The reunion was intense, and you could tell she'd clearly lost someone in this mess as well. Vulnerability wasn't something you expected from her so early on, as her walls were so clearly built up when you'd met, so you just chose to hold her incredibly close.
Two years later and you two are happier than ever, and she's all but moved into your apartment in New Jersey.
—
They always tried to leave you out of their messes, but you were always at the ready to help in anyway you could. So when you heard your mom mention that along with his onslaught of enemies past, that Natasha's younger sister is also after your father you couldn't seem to pinpoint why.
When Clint called the next time, you'd tapped into the call, with the skills Natasha had lended to you. He muttered out two words that stopped your heart, your beautiful girlfriend, the absolute love of your life, the one you'd planned to bring home this week, was the same Widow trying to kill your father.
Your mind went into a full blown spiral…
You were dating a 'former' Widow?
Natasha's little sister nonetheless?
God.. If she were alive she'd probably kill you... or her…
Freelancing?!...
Freelancing to her essentially equated to assassinating, and in the grand scheme of things that honestly makes sense because of where she came from. Natasha had told you all about her little sister back in Ohio, the beautiful little blonde girl full of hope, and promise. She also told you their heart wrenching story, and she'd even called you to tell you all about how she was able to find her again. The thing is, she'd never given her full name, only ever speaking in Russian pet names, and a simple mumbling of 'Lena,' so the revealing all comes crashing down on you in the moment.
The only solution, you fear, is for you to find her, and hope that outing yourself as his honorary daughter, and Natasha's best friend, doesn't cost you the love of your life. So, in the middle of the night you'd slipped out of the farmhouse, and set off on your way to NYC, as your mom watched from her bedroom window in absolute horror.
She wasn't stupid, she'd put the puzzle pieces together ages ago on who you were dating, and then she heard your breath hitch on the phone earlier, so she's highly aware of where you're headed. Part of her knows you're right to go, but she just hopes it's not at the cost of your life and or your happiness.
—
The whole drive to NY, you'd been reliving moments with Yelena over the last two years that could make it all make sense. She'd even talked about Natasha, after finally relinquishing information on the loss she'd dealt with, and you'd never put it together. In retrospect, it all adds up now. Her older sister, the one full of spunk, with a fierce need to protect, and a massive heart.
Your calls to her went straight to voicemail, same to be said with your dad. So, after a little bit of hacking, once again taught to you by Nat, you'd been able to reach his protege—stalker—who was able to fill you in on the plan.
The gala wasn't something you'd prepared for, but you'd used your trusty credit card, and purchased a gorgeous green suit, and just beneath it you wore Natasha's old mission suit. Once you entered, you felt every hair on your body stick up, just knowing deep down you were surrounded by a crap ton of dangerous criminals. Kate had told you everything—that girl really does talk a lot—you chuckle at the thought that your dad's probably turned his hearing aid off when she gets carried away.
So, you definitely knew that though Yelena's to be expected, she's not even their focus. Everything moved rather quickly, and the fight was absolutely brutal. Once the onslaught of arrows had slowed, you got closer, and that's when you saw Yelena fighting with your father.
She'd looked incredible, with her tightly fitting mission suit, and her hair in a tight braided bun. The streetlights had caught her face just right, and your heart absolutely melted. Then you heard your father grunt, and got pulled back to reality, as you saw her punt kick the man across the ice.
"Baby, don't kill him!" You shout, but you can tell she doesn't hear you, or she just doesn't want to, you're not entirely sure.
You carefully ran across the ice, trying to not slip, but that didn't matter as Yelena—without even looking up, had shot off her widow bites.
You couldn't tell if it was the insane amount of electricity coursing through your body, or the slamming of your body into the ice that hurt more, but either way, your body was in an overwhelming amount of pain.
Clint had sparingly glanced up, and his face contorted into obvious angered shock at the sight of your seemingly unconscious body.
"Y/N! What the hell are you doing here?" He shouts through the pain, as he clutched at his obviously broken ribs, and ignores the gun Yelena has pointed at his head to crawl over to you.
The sound of your name threw her off, so she'd looked up to see you laid out cold on the ice. Her pistol holding hand stuttered, as she swiftly holstered it to run over to you.
"Y/N? Detka?! Why are you here? Please say something..."
Clint's eyes widened in shock, but he said nothing, as he realized now that you had some sort of plan. He’d been more concerned by your seemingly unconscious state, seeing as how you have a heart condition that you’re on beta-blockers for.
The pain was debilitating, your heart was fluttering rapidly, but her warm, soft hands on your face, and the vulnerability in her voice was enough motivation to coax you through it.
"Lena... Why are you trying to kill my dad?" You groan out, and her hands still, you slowly open your eyes to see her sullen face.
It hurts when you can clearly see the sheer feelings of betrayal flash across her face, but you expected it. You go to sit up, but the both of them push you back down by your shoulders.
"Stay down Y/N, this fight doesn't concern you." Yelena says, and her gaze slightly hardens.
"No, it doesn't..." Clint seems to agree.
"Please stop, both of you! This is the last thing Natty would ever want." You shout, then groan as a residual shockwave runs through your body.
"Natty?" Yelena questions in bewilderment.
"Yeah, a little birdie told me you're my best friend's sister.."
"I thought Barton was her best friend."
"That's what we let him think, but really it was me." You chuckle out, and your dad playfully nods in agreement.
"You know, she'd talked about you all the time, but she used nicknames so I hadn't put it all together." You groan out, as you move to sit up, and your father scoots behind you to cushion you.
You send him back a grateful smile, that drops in an instant as she lifts her pistol once more.
"Yelena, baby, don't. Just listen to me."
"No! You don't get to call me that, you've been the enemies child all along. He killed her! My sister is dead because of him!"
Her words cut right through you, and you’re not sure if your heart skipping was because of the previous electrical shock, your heart condition, or her sudden anger towards you. Truth be told, it was probably all three, but regardless, you’re going to clean this mess up.
"Okay, fine, Yelena it is." You sigh out dejectedly.
"So… I'm an honorary Barton, that's why I'm assuming your look into my past that you clearly must've made led you nowhere significant. My lineage is fabricated to a deceased elderly couple in Minnesota. I didn't lie to you though, I told you all about my living parents, and I'd had every intention of bringing you home to meet them this week..."
Her hardened gaze didn’t waver, nor did the nausea in your stomach, or the fluttering in your chest.
"Now, Yelena, I guess this is the part where I have to inform you that you got it all wrong. Whoever your source is lied to you, the manipulative bastards used your own loss and pain against you. My father here had no part in killing Nat, she regretfully gave her life of her own free will. It was the only way she could bring back all that was lost. My dad here tried desperately to stop her, he dangled over the side of a cliff, clinging to his hold on her but she never relented. She's stubborn like that, and I know you know I'm right. Natasha was only moving to ensure that the people she loved got to live on, that they got to return... I'm sorry..."
"No! She never would've left me behind... Not again..."
Your metaphorical heart breaks along with your physical at the broken tone, and emergence of tears on her face.
"Lena... Sweet angel, Tasha didn't leave you behind, she's smarter than that, she knew you had someone on your side. Whether that had been Melina, or the widows you saved along the way, hell, maybe she even knew about us. I doubt it though, because she would've scolded both of us if she had." You lightly chuckle out the last bit, imagining the consistent fire behind her gaze whenever she'd been worried for you, being set on you instead for once.
"Either way, Clint here is innocent." You continue.
Your father was looking at you with a quirked brow, not exactly believing your words, and Yelena scoffed venomously. Neither of the two had noticed your physical changes, both rather distracted by their own heightened emotions.
"Innocent?! You call what he's done free of charge?"
"No, what he's done isn't free of sin, but it's not like he was out there killing saints. He killed ruthless thugs, though rather brutally, he was grieving the same way you are now. Spilling blood over your grief is never the answer though, and you should clearly understand him as your guns pointed at his head over Natasha. The same person who pulled him away from the monstrosity's and also in the end gave her life for his... Natasha is honorable, truly, and this is the last thing she’d ever want. She loved you with all her heart Yelena, and all she’d ever wanted was for you to live a prosperous life. So, just go on, and do that for her…"
You could feel your body was weakening by the minute, but if this is how you go, then so be it. At least your mom won't be alone, and your precious siblings will still have their father. A rather large cough, followed by a wheeze leaves your body, and your father stiffens beneath you, as he begins to fear the worst. Yelena has no clue about the long QT Syndrome, as you keep that to yourself, so she’s not all too concerned in the moment.
Yelena’s stance readjusts as she seems dead set on shooting him, but then your father takes over for you, and whistles the tune you’d once heard Natasha do.
“How do you know that?” Yelena chokes out, and you calm at the realization that your dad had it in the bag all along.
“Y/N’s not lying… That’s your secret whistle with Nat, she really did talk about you all the time. All she could think about was that you were safe, and that never changed Yelena. She loved you, she always wanted you safe.”
“I loved her so much…” Yelena sobs out, and you feel a tear flow down your cheek at the same time.
“Me too…” Clint mutters, as he drops his gaze to your distant one, and panic instantly floods his system.
“You guys had so much time with her…” She continues to sob out, not registering your fathers sudden fear ridden face.
“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?” He panics, then lowers your body to the ice, and taps at your cheek as Yelena’s just now registering that something is off with you.
“Papa, I don’t feel so good..” You whimper in confusion.
Clint’s heart skips a beat at the utterance, you hadn’t called him that in nearly a decade, and you only ever did it when you were sick.
“Detka, hey, what’s wrong? Please, tell me what’s wrong, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Nothing’s your fault, I’m—please, what’s going on?! I love you so much, I’m so sorry, please…”
“I love you too, it’s okay Lena, you’ll be okay…” You murmur as your eyes flutter closed, and a heart wrenching scream tumbled passed her lips.
Clint nearly vomits at the words flying out of your mouth, as the deja vu nearly topples him over, and he tells the medical services exactly where to find you.
“No!! I most certainly will not be okay! Fanny, and Gus will not be okay! No… I can’t-I won’t lose you too..” She shouts out, slowly moving into a sob as her teary eyed face hits your chest.
Clint leans down to scoop you up, to get you off the ice for the EMT’s, but Yelena pushes him away. She does it herself since he’d ended up with broken ribs, but more so because she refuses to not be touching you.
Once she lays you in the grass, she looks to Clint for clarity, but your body starts to shake. Clint rolls you to your side, but then you go limp under his hold, and he registers that your heart has stopped.
“No… No, absolutely not!” He cries out, while moving to perform CPR, and Yelena crawls backwards, pulling her knees to her chest, and begins to rock herself in an attempt to calm down.
“Baby… Wake up…” She continues to cry out, with her eyes tightly shut, as the sounds of sirens slightly pours into her pounding ears.
summary: after Yelena left for New York, you finally get the peace you wanted, but her letter isn't making it easy for you to enjoy.
warning/s: mentions of brainwashing
author's note: okay, this is the final part! i really hope you guys enjoyed it!! 🥰
one / two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad
Y/N.
The stupid letter was addressed to me. Yelena's handwriting – scrawled, italicised just-about-legible mess of letters that spelt out my name on the front.
I hadn't touched it since she handed it to me a week ago, deciding it was best to try and forget about it – about her – for the betterment of my life. Recovery was my priority right now, that, my dad's legal case and making sure my family were okay.
But that didn't stop my eyes from drifting to the sealed letter on my desk every now and then, wondering what she could have written. Wondering what had actually been real in our relationship versus what she had scripted to play me.
It didn't help that Y/S/N would ask about Yelena constantly, referring to her by her actual name rather than Elena. I figured my parents must have explained the truth to her, but it didn't seem to bother her because she still missed her. Even when I was trying to forget, my family were making it impossible.
It was after a week when I couldn't take it anymore. Both my curiosity and frustration drove me to grabbing the letter off my desk and tearing it open impatiently. It was a few pages long, and as I opened it up, I saw more of Yelena's unkempt handwriting. Did they not teach penmanship as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or something?
Sighing, I reluctantly started with the first page, knowing the only way I could truly move on was to gain closure. At least, that's what I tried to convince myself.
Dear Y/N,
If you're reading this, that means you're giving me a chance to explain myself. That, or you're curious to the truth, which makes more sense. Either way, thank you for hearing me out.
I know that what I did hurt you, and I just want to make things right. You feel lied to, I'm sure, but I need you to believe me when I say that not all of it was lies. It started off as a way of me trying to find out who in your family was working with Hydra because S.H.I.E.L.D. had their suspicions, but it turned into so much more than that when I got to know you. I tried to be as truthful as I could be whilst following my mission brief, which I know isn't what you want to hear, but it's the truth.
So, here it goes. My name is Yelena Belova and I was a Black Widow, a trained assassin in the Red Room. You probably don't know what that is and I don't blame you. It's a long story, but it's essentially a training programme in Russia that took young women like my sister and I, and trained them to be assassins. I'm not a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, I only worked with them for the first time on this mission because I was trying to do things a different way. My sister's way.
Which, by the way, my sister is Natasha Romanoff. You probably know her as the Black Widow from the Avengers. I told you I grew up alone, and that wasn't a lie. I wasn't adopted in Arizona like I said. The earliest parts of my life weren't real. I was raised by two other assassins who 'adopted' Natasha and I and led me to believe I was a regular American kid. Then I was separated from them all and taken to the Red Room–
I stopped reading, putting down the letter with wide eyes. Already, my brain was fried. She hadn't been kidding when she said she'd tell me everything and it definitely wasn't what I expected. An assassin? The Red Room? Sisters with an Avenger?
There was a lot more to Yelena Belova than I'd realised.
———————
The letter explained so much and so little at the same time. I read it all in one sitting, unable to put it down once I was finally gaining an insight to Yelena's life. But it hadn't really sank in until days later, where the words were still floating in my mind at random times.
I've never had someone before. Friend, best friend, girlfriend. I've only ever been by myself until the last year when Natasha saved me. There was never chance for anything more with anyone else because of the brainwashing and the Red Room. You were the first person I had, and I know it was fake at first, but it became real, Y/N. You forced your way in and I didn't mind at all. This isn't me trying to make you feel sorry for me, it's just the truth. An explanation.
You let me be apart of your friendship group, you took me out and we did normal people things like go to the movies or go bowling, and these are things I'd never done before now. That was all true for me, not fake or a lie. You're kind and wonderful, and I know I took advantage of that.
Half of me was angry because I knew she was slowly worming her way back into my heart. I had no doubts that everything she had written was true, but it wasn't fair. She'd lied in the first place. What's to say she wouldn't do it again? Yelena wasn't Elena, not completely.
It might seem like you don't know me, but I was as honest as could be. You know I hate sugar in my coffee, it gets all sweet and gets rid of the bitterness which is my favourite part. But you don't know that I only like the bitterness because I wasn't allowed sweet treats in the Red Room, and the sugar reminds me of that. You know I love the colour green, it's my favourite colour. But you don't know that it's only because somebody once told me as a kid that it made my eyes look beautiful when I wore it, and that was one of the only compliments I ever got that gave me a feeling I can't explain. You know I love macaroni and cheese, especially the packet stuff. But you don't know that's because my mother used to make it me and it's one of the earliest fond memories I have of her.
Okay, her favourite colour was the same, the way she liked her coffee was the same, stuff like that and more that she'd written in her letter... but she was a trained assassin. Very different to a mere master's student at university... right?
It was supposed to be a friendship between us, but it turned into more without either of us realising. If I had known, trust me, I wouldn't have continued. I never wanted to hurt you or your family. You've all only ever been kind to me and let me in with open arms. I couldn't have asked for more.
Only a friendship. Would it have hurt less if she'd played me and no feelings were involved? I wasn't so sure. Even before we'd gotten together, she still had a special place in my heart as a friend. Even thinking about it made my head hurt, and I wasn't so sure what an 'ideal' outcome would have been.
I'm sorry this was so long. I just had to be truthful one more time, so you knew that I was trying so hard not to lie. Every single lie I've told you hurts me because you deserved better. You all did. And you shouldn't settle for anything less, like me.
I don't know exactly what I'm expecting from this. You don't owe me anything. You can throw this out and forget about me, burn it, whatever. I only hope it all makes a little more sense now. As someone who was lied to for a mission as a kid, I know how much it can hurt and I should have known better than to do the same thing.
I'm so sorry, Y/N. Just know, it was all real to me.
— Yelena
The stupid letter. Did she know what she was doing by giving it to me? Did she know how conflicted it was making me? How much harder it was to hate her now?
I wasn't sure. But God, it couldn't leave my mind even if I wanted it to.
————————
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I let out a yawn and naturally reached over to my bedside table to grab my phone. I was still half asleep as I opened one eye to check the time, and that's when I saw I had a notification.
Elena 🧡: I miss you, too
My eyes widened at the message and, out of shock, I dropped my phone and it hit me in the face, making me groan at the impact.
"Fuck," I mumbled, rubbing my head, before struggling to sit up and check my phone properly
Yelena had texted me for some reason, and I hadn't bothered to change her contact since I found out the truth because we hadn't texted since before then. But that was a thought for another time. First... why the hell had she texted me that?
When I opened the messages, I saw she had replied to a message I had sent previously, reading: I miss you.
I furrowed my brows, not remembering sending that at all, but when I checked the time, I'd apparently done so sometime in the middle of the night which was strange. Okay, so I'd been thinking about Yelena more than I should have lately, but I never would have texted her... God, this was embarrassing.
But she'd replied. She missed me, too... was that a good thing? I wasn't sure. Do I reply? Explain that it was an accident? No, that was stupid. But do I reply? What would I even say?
"Oh, God, shut the fuck up, you idiot," I told myself with a shake of my head.
I wasn't even sure why she'd replied. Wouldn't her number have been fake for this whole mission anyway? Why would she still be using a fake phone number?
Convincing myself it didn't matter, I ignored her reply and got out of bed to start my day as normal. Of course, Yelena was beginning to stick around like a bad smell, pissing me off without even realising it. Because a few days passed and all I could think about was her text and how she missed me, too.
I was eating a sandwich in the kitchen when I decided to just text her back without thinking.
Y/N: Y/S/N keeps talking about you
Why that was what I chose to say, I wasn't sure, but it felt better than saying nothing. And whether I cared to admit it or not, I was anticipating her response.
She replied after I'd finished my lunch, and I had never picked up my phone so fast, feeling ashamed at my desperation as soon as I unlocked it.
Yelena: I miss her a lot, I hope she's okay
Pressing my lips together, I leaned on my crutch and sighed through my nose. Why did she have to make this so difficult?
Y/N: Thanks for looking after her and my parents when I couldn't.
Yeah, that made sense. I never did thank her for what she did, though I guess I was too angry to think of anything but her lies.
Yelena: It was the least I could do
It was such an awkward chat and I wasn't sure why I was entertaining it, nor why she was playing along. We both had so much more to say, I knew that, but an awkward chat was much better than anything else I could handle right now.
I looked down to my phone when it vibrated again, realising she'd sent another message.
Yelena: How are you recovering?
Y/N: Slowly, but getting there.
I bit my lip as I saw the three dots in the bubble. It felt like forever when they disappeared and no message came through. Then finally, they appeared again and I felt like an idiot as I waited to see what she'd say.
Yelena: Remember to rest up. Take care of yourself.
Frowning, I locked my phone and didn't know what else to write. But maybe that was enough for now.
————————
Two more days passed when I texted her again. I couldn't help it – between thinking about what she'd written in her letter and who she really was, I couldn't resist. Plus, it was a nice distraction from the fact that my recovery wasn't as easy as I wanted, and my parents were still super stressed.
Y/N: Did you ever celebrate Halloween before this year?
She'd said in her letter that she'd been raised an assassin and was only free as of last year. This Halloween was such a silly one, but she'd been apart of it and I loved it. But I wondered if she'd celebrated before.
I half expected her not to respond, since it was touching on her past, and it was completely out of nowhere. But she did, and all I could think about was how she would have definitely known I'd read her letter now.
Yelena: No, my first one was with you. I didn't know what I was missing out on.
First one was with me... and I'd made her dress up as the Black Widow. Ironic, now that I thought about it.
Y/N: Why don't you live with your fake parents? Alexei and Melina?
It was intrusive, I know, but her letter only left me with more questions. And speaking to Yelena over text was less pressure than talking to her on the phone or in person. This felt easier.
Yelena: They aren't mine to be with. I love them, but it's different now.
Y/N: What about your sister?
Yelena: She moved on from them. But I still have her.
I bit my lip, remembering the chat we'd had about her wishing she had siblings. The whole time, she'd had Natasha. Well, kind of.
Y/N: It must be nice to have someone looking out for you.
Yelena: Yeah, I wish I'd had her all my life.
I cursed inwardly, realising how insensitive that was. She'd literally only got her sister back in the last year.
Y/N: Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.
It wasn't my business, so why was I so interested?
Yelena: No, it's fine. I don't mind talking about it with you, Y/N
Sighing, I leaned back into my chair and looked up with thought. I was interested because I cared. Yelena Belova, whether she was a master's student or trained assassin, still had a place in my heart, and learning about who she was mattered to me a lot more than than I cared to admit.
————————
Sometimes, I'd stare at the top of my staircase in my house, numb to the idea that I could have died there. I wouldn't mean to, but I'd be going about my day and it would cross my mind that I could have died at the hands of Hydra.
Without Yelena's help, I could've died. She'd done wrong, but arguably for the right reasons. However one saw it, the bottom line was that she'd saved my life twice and kept my family as safe as she could. That had to count for something surely. Was I just being stubborn? Everyone else could get past her wrongdoings, so maybe I should, too.
It wasn't easy to forget the pain in my abdomen, where the bullet had gone straight through, or to forget the blood that was everywhere, seeping from the wound. It wasn't easy to forget Yelena, pushing my hands out the way so she could try to stop the bleeding, or to forget the look on her face as she tried to reassure me that I'd be okay.
And sometimes, I'd stare at the top of my staircase in my house and remember all of that, wondering if it would ever go away.
————————
The texting was infrequent and sporadic. I was surprised she kept responding, since it was usually me leaving her on read after I'd built up the courage to ask whatever I wanted to know about her life and she responded.
None of our texts flowed – it was something different every time. No greetings, no goodbyes, just random questions and tidbits that came to mind and she was quick to reply to. With each question I asked, the more I learnt about her and the less she became a stranger, and the less anger I felt towards her.
At one point, within a few weeks of on and off texting, I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said just before passing out. She'd said she loved me. And as of late, I wondered if it was a heat-of-the-moment thing or not.
Y/N: Did you mean it?
Yelena: Mean what?
Y/N: What you said, when you thought I was dying
Again, those three dots in a bubble haunted me as I impatiently awaited her response. I wasn't sure if it would change anything, but I just had to know.
Yelena: Of course I did. I meant it all.
Closing my eyes briefly, I felt my heart skip a beat at her words, unable to control it. I hated to admit it, but she'd squeezed her way past my annoyances and frustration for her, and set herself right in my heart. I wasn't sure if she'd ever really left, but I was beginning to accept that Yelena Belova – the real her – wasn't so bad.
————————
My dad had a really good case, apparently, so on that front, everything was starting to look up. Y/S/N was at school like normal and my injury wasn't so bad anymore. I was still using crutches, but the wound wasn't so grim to look at now.
It was almost like things were fixing themselves, apart from the fact that I couldn't face going back to university just yet. I'd decided to take the rest of the year off, needing the time to figure out things and focus on my family.
So, all that free time was spent on myself, and obviously texting Yelena whenever I felt like it. And ever since accepting that my feelings for her were growing stronger than I could control, it made texting her a lot harder. Because I hadn't seen her face in over a month, nor heard her voice, and with every message she sent, I began to miss her.
She'd appear in my dream sometimes. Her long golden hair, her sparkling green eyes, her perfect, heartwarming smile. Heck, even her Russian accent that once grated my ears was starting to make an appearance, and I missed it. I missed it all. Being in her arms, cuddling, kissing her, even something as simple as being in the same space as her and being able to admire her freely.
All I wanted was her, and at first, it was annoying because all I kept coming back to was the fact that she'd lied. But then I'd remember everything she'd written in her letter, everything she'd told me openly, and I knew she was trying. Trying so hard to make things right. Entertaining my endless questions, sharing personal things that I knew she wouldn't have told anyone else. And I couldn't fault her for that because it was more than she ever had to do.
And then there was the fact that she loved me, too.
Y/N: Do you like working with your sister? Being in New York?
The conversation had died a few days ago when I left her on read yet again, but I was unable to stop thinking about her and couldn't help but wonder what it was like for her in New York.
Yelena: It's not too bad. Different to what I'm used to though.
Breathing out through my nose, I felt that familiar ache in my chest again. Whenever she wrote, it was like my brain knew what I was missing out on. Who I was missing out on.
Y/N: I wish you were here.
I'd written it without thinking, and though I was worried she'd think it was strange since I was the one who'd told her to leave, I also meant it.
Yelena: All you have to do is say it, and I'll come.
My eyebrows raised with surprise as I read her response, a flicker of hope igniting inside. I wasn't sure if she meant it or if it was just something to say. Hesitating, I constructed a message and hovered my thumb above the send button. I couldn't keep texting her like this, not without it going somewhere. Not without me seeing her again. So, I stopped thinking with my head for once and decided to take the leap, sending my message.
Y/N: Then come.
She'd been replying almost instantly to every message I'd sent just now, so when a minute passed and she still hadn't responded, I worried I'd overstepped. But then the cursed three dots appeared and I held my breath for what felt like forever.
Yelena: Okay.
Okay. Okay? What did that mean? Okay she'll come? Okay she'll think about it? I groaned, locking my phone and shaking my head. This was dumb. Texting without thinking was dumb. Why had I done that?
I wasn't so sure what she was going to do, and I definitely wasn't sure what to reply, so I did what I did best, which was leave her on read. How she had the patience to deal with being left on read all the time was beyond me, but that wasn't my problem, so I left her to it until I undoubtedly found something else to text her about in the next few days.
————————
There was only so much I could do during the day to get my mind off the chaos that was my life. Not being at university meant I had a lot more free time on my hands, and my parents wouldn't let me get involved in my dad's case, so it was either looking after Y/S/N or passing time with books, TV or video games.
So, because Y/S/N was at school and my parents were in my dad's study working, I was watching TV in the living room, though unable to focus because, as usual, there were too many thoughts in my head. Then I heard a knock on the front door and was glad for something to do.
Pushing myself off the couch with the help of my crutch, I went to the door and opened it, forgetting how to breathe when I saw who it was.
"Hey," Yelena said quietly, a small smile lifting on her lips.
Okay had meant okay. She was here because I'd asked her to. She'd actually come back to see me. What?
Her lips pursed nervously as she looked between my eyes. I knew I should have spoken, but I was too busy taking it in that she was actually stood before me. What had it been – over a month since I'd seen her last? And she still looked as beautiful as ever, reigniting a flame I wasn't sure had gone out.
"If you've changed your mind–" she began, but I hadn't, and I knew that, so I cut her off by moving forward to hug her.
Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders tightly and didn't let go. She was tense at first, but then she relaxed and I felt her arms lacing around my waist comfortably. Oh, how I had missed this. The warmth of her body pressed to mine, the subtle scent of her perfume on her neck, the shivers up my spine at how close her hands were to my back. But most importantly, how easy it was with her.
"I missed you," I breathed out, pulling back slightly so I could see her face.
Dark green eyes met mine and my heart was fluttering in my chest at the attention.
"I missed you, too," she replied slowly, her breath tickling my skin.
Her eyes maintained contact, every gold fleck imprinting in my head forever, before they began to lower to my lips. As quickly as the thought must have crossed her mind, she looked back up to meet my gaze, and I couldn't handle the reluctance on her end. She was being respectful, but all I wanted was her.
Resting my hand on her cheek tenderly, I swallowed hard before leaning forward to kiss her. Her lips were soft and delicate and perfect against mine, and I could have kissed her forever, but she seemed to realise what was happening and gently pulled away. Worried eyes met mine and she moved my hand from her cheek but kept ahold of it.
"Y/N, I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "I should explain–"
"You've explained enough," I assured her, before hugging her again. "Just... just be here."
My heart was thumping in my chest when she didn't reply straight away, but then she nodded in my shoulder and returned the hug just as tightly. I wasn't sure if things could ever be perfect between us again, but maybe perfect was too good to be true.
can you please do a vi x fem reader who go to an amusement park and ride the slingshot ride and the whole time vi’s acting all tough and stuff, but then they get on and vi’s the one who’s screaming, cussing and holding on for dear life while reader is just laughing her ass off. (i just saw a slingshot vid and thought it’d be funny asf 😂)
Vi pretending to be big and tough at the amusement park
Holy shit I’ve never seen that ride before. I’m not a thrill ride or amusement park person so I’d piss myself lowkey
——
You and Vi are at the amusement park, holding hands as you walk around taking in the sights. You listen to overwhelming but exciting noises of the carnival. The screaming of people on rides, the clattering and rumble of the roller coasters, the music of the stalls, and the joyous laughter coming from the children who run around chasing each other through the crowd.
You stick close to Vi, looping your arms together so as to not get separated. All morning Vi had been hyping up this big scary looking ride called The Slingshot. Despite never being on it, Vi was adamant that this was the coolest, most thrilling, most heart racing ride you would experience in your life.
In the line she kept assuring you that it’s not too late to back out, that it’s okay if you changed your mind, that she wouldn’t judge you if you couldn’t do it. Truth be told, you were slightly nervous, but you stayed in line to prove to her that you’re tougher than she thinks. You’ll do it, if only to spite her smug ass.
As you get closer to having your turn on the Slingshot, you notice Vi staring up at the massive structure. You watch her gulp anxiously before she looks back down to you, obviously smiling through her nerves. Your girlfriend swears she’s scared of nothing, that she has no silly fears of thrill rides. “You can hold onto me if you get too scared.” She says, trying to keep up her tough persona.
You don’t know why, but seeing Vi get so anxious about this ride amuses you slightly. She thought you’d be the one shaking in your boots, yet here she is, clutching your hand with a white knuckled grip as you both get buckled into your seats.
“Last call.” She chuckles to you, putting on a brave face as the operator triple checks all the safety measures. You simply squeeze her hand reassuringly and smile.
You turn to Vi and whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve just been asking constantly in hopes of getting out of this.”
Before she can deny your claim, you both suddenly shoot off the ground.
—
You’ve never heard Vi scream that loud before. She looks so pale you’re honestly surprised she didn’t faint. You laugh as you help your pale, shaking, strong, tough looking masc girlfriend out of the ride and walk her away from the eyes of the people in line.
You give her a moment to catch her breath, her shaking hands still clutching at you, even on solid ground. Her short nails dig slightly into your skin.
“It’s over, Vi.” You chuckle sympathetically, rubbing her back as she leans against a wall, hand on her heart. “You alright?” You ask, knowing the answer already. You can feel how embarrassed she is, how she’s silently begging you not to laugh, not to make fun of her. Vi knows how funny she looks right now, though she’d rather be swallowed up in a sinkhole than admit she was terrified of an amusement park ride.
After a moment of silence, Vi lets out a quiet curse.
“Fuck.” She straightens up and holds a (still slightly shaking) finger at you. “That didn’t happen. You didn’t hear or see anything.”
You take her hand and kiss her knuckles before interweaving your fingers together. “C’mon. I’ll let you show off and win me a stuffed animal. Will that make you feel better?”
You drag Vi around for the rest of the day, letting her show off to you at various carnival games in hopes that it’ll make her feel a little better. She puffs her chest out with pride as she passes you a big bunny toy that she won from hitting some button hard enough with a hammer or something.
You laugh. Not at the silly looking bunny, but at how insistent Vi is about proving her toughness to you. You’ll have to have a talk with her about it soon. Tell her that she doesn’t need to act strong around you, that she’s already tough enough, that it’s okay to show her weaknesses. But just for today, you let her show off.
You wake up in the real world with no memory of the Borderlands — but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.
Or someone.
When you run into Chishiya again at the hospital, neither of you remember the lives you shared before… but something pulls you toward him anyway.
A familiar look.
A familiar phrase.
A heartbeat that matches yours for no reason at all.
Words: 6199
The sound doesn’t register at first.
Just heat.
Just the silence in the air and the way dust lifts from the ground when Chishiya drops.
You don’t even think.
You’re on your knees beside him, fingers already pressing where the blood seeps through his hoodie. The smell of smoke burns your throat. Somewhere behind you, Usagi calls Arisu’s name—sharp, panicked—but it’s distant, like another world.
“Chishiya,” you whisper. “Hey, look at me.”
He opens his eyes slowly. A small exhale. “That was... unfortunate,” he mutters, breath hitching.
You choke out a laugh, wet and broken. “Unfortunate? You’ve been shot, you idiot.”
He tries to smirk but it falters halfway. “You should... run.”
You shake your head, pressing harder against the wound. “Not happening.”
“Y/N—”
“Don’t.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t tell me to leave you. Not now. Not when we’re this close.”
Tears sting behind your eyes. You shake your head. “Don’t. Don’t talk.”
“Bossy,” he murmurs.
“Alive,” you counter. “Stay that way.”
Arisu and Usagi moved in, kneeling beside you. “Chishiya, are you okay?” Usagi’s voice shook.
“Was better once,” he muttered, breath hitching as he clutched his bleeding side with your help.
Arisu’s hands hover helplessly, looking between you and the spreading blood.
“We have to get him out of here—”
“There’s no time,” Usagi cuts in, glancing toward the empty street. “The Queen’s still alive. If we don’t finish this now—”
You shake your head hard. “Go! I’ve got him!”
“Y/N—” Arisu starts, but you cut him off.
“Go! Please!” Your voice breaks on the word. “I can keep him breathing. You two have to end this.”
They hesitate—just a moment.
Then Usagi nods once, tears cutting clean lines on her face.
She grabs Arisu’s hand. “We’ll come back,” she promises.
“Just go,” you whisper.
Their figures blur in the distance as they run.
And then it’s only you and Chishiya.
You drop your gaze back to him. His breathing’s shallow, uneven.
Your hands won’t stop moving—press, release, check, repeat—as if motion alone can hold him together.
Blood seeps between your fingers. You tear a strip from your sleeve and fold it twice before pressing it against the wound.
“Stay with me,” you whisper. “Just keep breathing, okay?”
He doesn’t answer at first.
Then a soft exhale. “You’re… shaking.”
“So are you.”
“Fair enough.”
You huff a broken laugh. “Don’t try to sound calm—it’s weird.”
He doesn’t smile, but his eyes flicker toward you. “I’m trying not to waste energy.”
“Then stop talking.”
“I’ll… consider it.”
You can still feel the pulse at his throat—faint but there.
You keep your palm there, not to count beats anymore, but to keep him tethered.
Minutes slip by—maybe five, maybe fifty.
The world has narrowed to the rhythm of his breath.
Somewhere, another explosion rolls through the distance.
The sound fades, replaced by the whisper of wind through shattered glass.
You focus on the small things:
his eyelashes clumped with heaviness.
The way his hoodie sticks to his collarbone,
the tiny twitch in his fingers every time you press the cloth tighter.
When you finally speak again, your voice is barely audible.
“You’re going to be fine.”
Chishiya doesn’t argue this time.
He just breathes, slow and shallow, eyes half-open, watching you like he’s memorising every line of your face in case the light takes it away.
You press your forehead to his for one breath, just long enough to feel that he’s still warm.
You sit with him propped against the wall, your hands still pressed to his side.
Each breath he takes shudders a little, but it’s there—steady enough that you match it with your own.
“Still with me?” you whisper.
A faint hum. “For now.”
You give a weak smile. “That’s good enough.”
He studies your face for a long time, eyes half-open but sharp. “If this ends… if we actually get out—what then?”
You glance at him. “Then we live.”
He huffs quietly. “That simple?”
“Doesn’t have to be complicated. Eat something that isn’t canned. Find a real bed. Maybe—” You hesitate, looking down at the blood on your hands. “Maybe see each other again. Somewhere that isn’t falling apart.”
He blinks, slow. “You’d want that?”
You meet his gaze. “Yeah. You?”
He looks away, as if thinking costs him effort. “I’ve never been good at… the after. But—” his lips twitch “—maybe I could try. Once.”
You laugh softly, a sound that breaks halfway through. “You always make survival sound like an experiment.”
“It is,” he murmurs. “Variables. Outcomes. Unknown factors.”
His eyes find yours again. “You’re the unpredictable one.”
“Flattering,” you say. “And here I thought I was your bad influence.”
He almost smiles. “That too.”
The silence stretches, comfortable this time. Somewhere far off, you can hear Arisu and Usagi’s voices, smaller and smaller until they fade completely.
The wind carries only the creak of metal and the faint hiss of dying flames.
You reach out and brush over his cheek. “You should rest.”
“If I sleep now, I might not wake up.”
“Then don’t sleep,” you say. “Just stay.”
He tilts his head, studying you again, like he’s memorising the shape of your voice. “You’d really find me again?”
“I will,” you promise. “Even if you don’t remember.”
Something flickers in his expression—uncertainty, maybe hope. “Then I’ll believe you.”
You lean closer before you can think twice. “Good,” you whisper, and press your mouth to his.
The kiss is careful, almost weightless; the taste of sweetness lingers between you. For a moment, the world around you falls silent. His fingers brush your jaw, weak but deliberate, anchoring you there.
When you pull back, your foreheads stay together. “That’s for when you forget,” you murmur.
He exhales against your skin, the faintest trace of a smile. “I’ll take it.”
You stay like that until the first firework rises somewhere beyond the clouds, lighting the ruins in white and gold.
Then the air hums again, and the voice begins to speak.
Those who wish to remain in this world may stay.
Those who wish to return… may leave.
You feel him squeeze your hand, faint but sure.
He doesn’t need to ask what you’ll choose.
Still, you turn toward the light, raise your free hand, and flip it off, a little higher than necessary.
“Yeah,” you say, voice rough but certain. “I decline.”
A faint chuckle escapes him. “Elegant as ever.”
You look down at him, smiling through the tears. “Let’s go home.”
He nods once. “Home.”
The light swells around you both—warm this time, almost gentle—and then there’s nothing but white.
A steady, rhythmic sound that doesn’t belong to the Borderland.
You blink against the light.
The ceiling above you is white—too white.
Your chest rises and falls without pain. There’s a soft weight of a blanket across you, the smell of antiseptic and cotton.
For a long moment you just stare, waiting for the next explosion, the next siren, the next impossible voice.
None come.
A nurse moves past your bed, murmuring something to another patient.
Outside the window, there’s sunlight.
Not the harsh light of a broken world—real sunlight.
You sit up slowly, the sheet whispering across your skin. Your hand shakes when you lift it; an IV tube trails from your wrist.
Your reflection stares back from the metal rail at the side of the bed: pale, bruised, human.
Human.
Alive.
Someone down the corridor laughs. Another sobs quietly.
The world feels too loud.
When you glance to the left, a pair of beds sit by the window. What happened you asked yourself.
You don’t remember anything. But you should. This is what your mind is telling you. Something you forgot.
You pull the IV line free with care, slide out of the bed, and find your balance on bare feet.
The floor is cool.
You wander down the corridor until you see a vending machine humming at the far end, its light buzzing faintly against the white walls.
Your hands fumble through the pocket of the hospital robe for change that isn’t there.
You laugh under your breath, the sound small and strange in the quiet hall.
“Need help with that?” a voice asks—soft, even, familiar in a way that makes your heartbeat stutter.
You turn.
He’s standing a few feet away. His face pale, lips dry, eyes the same impossible calm shade you remember from somewhere you shouldn’t remember. For a moment, you forget to breathe.
“I—uh—was just…” You gesture weakly at the machine. “Trying to see if it still works.”
He steps closer, glances at the panel, presses a few buttons with his free hand. The machine whirs to life, rattling softly.
A bottle of water drops into the tray.
He crouches a little to grab it and holds it out to you.
“Here.”
You take it slowly, your fingers brushing his. The contact is nothing—a fraction of a second—but it’s enough to light up every nerve in your hand.
“Thank you,” you manage.
He studies you for a moment, head tilted slightly. “You look like someone I’ve seen before.”
Your heart catches. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “You too.”
He gives a small, almost self-conscious smile. “Strange.”
“Déjà vu,” you offer.
“Maybe.” He glances down, then back up.
“I’m Chishiya.”
You glance at him, not meaning to. There’s nothing extraordinary about the way he stands: one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, weight shifted slightly to his good leg. But something in it feels… right. Familiar in the same way a heartbeat is.
He notices you looking. “What?”
You blink. “Nothing. Sorry. You just—uh—you don’t look like you belong in a hospital.”
He tilts his head, faint amusement flickering behind his eyes. “You either.”
You laugh quietly, the sound catching you off guard. It’s the kind of laugh that feels remembered rather than spontaneous. “Maybe we both wandered in by mistake.”
“Maybe,” he agrees, studying you for a moment longer than he probably should.
Neither of you move. The vending machine hums between you like it’s filling the silence so you don’t have to.
Finally, you break it. “You said your name was Chishiya, right?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Y/N.”
He nods slowly, repeating it under his breath—as if testing the sound. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
There’s an ease to the way he says it, a tone that shouldn’t exist between strangers. It’s soft, familiar, a kind of shorthand born from lives you don’t remember sharing.
You smile back. “Nice to meet you too, Chishiya.”
A beat passes. Then another.
You catch yourself before saying something strange—It’s good to see you again. You don’t know why that line sits on your tongue, but it does. You swallow it down and open the bottle instead, the cap cracking softly in the quiet.
He leans a shoulder against the wall, watching you without meaning to stare. “You sure you’re okay walking around like that? You’re supposed to rest.”
You shrug, eyes on the bottle. “Couldn’t sleep. The silence felt… wrong.”
He nods once. “Yeah. Same.”
You look up, surprised. “You too?”
“I keep expecting… noise,” he admits. “Like something’s missing when it’s quiet.”
That strikes something deep inside you—an echo of gunfire, a flash of light—but it passes too quickly to catch.
“Maybe we were at the same place,” you say softly. “When… whatever happened, happened.”
He considers that. “Could be.”
Another pause. Neither of you seem eager to end it.
Finally, you take a small step back. “Well. Thanks for the water.”
He gestures toward the machine. “Anytime.”
You start to walk past him, but your shoulder brushes his, a brief touch that feels too natural. He turns slightly at the same moment you do, and for a second you’re close enough to feel his breath against your cheek.
Neither of you speak. You both just stop, eyes locked, the rest of the world fading into a soft blur.
It’s not recognition. It’s not memory.
It’s something older—an instinct, a gravity.
You step back first, clearing your throat. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be.”
You try to smile, and he mirrors it—small, uncertain, but real.
“I guess I’ll see you around,” you say.
“I hope so,” he replies, quiet enough that it sounds like a secret.
You nod once, then turn down the corridor. The soft squeak of your footsteps follows you, but for a long moment you can still feel his gaze on your back.
When you reach the corner, you look over your shoulder.
He’s still there—hands in his pockets now, expression unreadable—but when your eyes meet again, he gives a tiny nod, like an echo of something you both used to do.
You can’t help it. You smile.
And this time, he smiles back—small, genuine, familiar.
The moment passes.
You disappear around the corner, heart steady but louder than before.
Behind you, the vending machine hums, the fluorescent lights buzz, and Shuntaro Chishiya stands in the quiet hallway wondering why the world suddenly feels less empty.
Every sound feels sharp—the click of nurses’ shoes, the shuffle of blankets from other rooms, the faint hum of machines that refuse to stop.
You lie on your side and watch the pale light from the hallway crawl across the floor.
Every time you close your eyes, you see a flash of white hair.
You see a hand reaching for yours through smoke.
Then it’s gone, like a dream that refuses to stay.
By morning, your body aches with exhaustion, but your mind won’t stop circling that hallway encounter—the way his voice had felt like something familiar, the look in his eyes when you said goodbye.
Later, when the nurses start their rounds, you slip out again.
The corridor is washed in sunlight this time, the windows open just enough to let in the smell of rain from the night before. It’s quieter now, softer. You walk slowly, tracing your fingers along the smooth paint of the wall, letting your thoughts wander.
You find him before you mean to.
He’s sitting at the end of the hall, a paper cup of coffee balanced carefully in his hand, eyes half on the window. He doesn’t notice you at first, lost somewhere else—his expression calm, distant, like someone who’s always a step removed from the world.
You hover for a moment, unsure if you should disturb him.
Then, as if sensing you, he glances up.
“Morning,” he says simply.
You smile, a little shy. “Hey. You’re up early.”
“I could say the same.”
He gestures toward the chair beside him. “Sit.”
You do, the plastic creaking quietly beneath you. For a moment, neither of you talk.
You just watch the rain-soaked city through the glass.
People walking with umbrellas, buses groaning along the street, life moving as if nothing extraordinary ever happened.
“Feels weird,” you say at last.
He tilts his head. “What does?”
“Being alive,” you answer, voice small but honest. “It doesn’t feel like I earned it.”
He considers that. “No one earns it,” he says after a beat. “We just… keep it, if we can.”
You glance at him. “That’s a surprisingly hopeful thing to say.”
“I didn’t mean it to be.”
But the corner of his mouth curves just slightly, and you can’t help smiling back.
A nurse passes by, smiling faintly when she sees you sitting together. “It’s nice to see you two talking,” she says warmly. “Most patients here just stare at the TV all day.”
You exchange a look with him, half amused, half awkward. When she walks away, you both laugh quietly under your breath, and the sound feels natural—like you’ve done it a thousand times before.
You end up sitting together until the nurse insists you both go back to your rooms for lunch.
He stands first, offering you a hand without thinking.
You take it.
Warm skin, steady grip. The moment your fingers touch, that familiar electricity hums through you again—an echo of something your body remembers even if your mind doesn’t.
You both hesitate.
Then you smile, and so does he, faint but real.
“Guess I’ll see you around again,” you say.
He nods. “You make that sound like a certainty.”
“It feels like one.”
He studies you for a moment longer, then lets your hand go.
“Then I’ll hold you to it.”
You walk away first, heart unsteady but lighter somehow.
And somewhere behind you, Shuntaro Chishiya watches you disappear down the corridor, his fingers still tingling from where your hand touched his.
He doesn’t know why that simple contact feels like something he’s been missing his whole life.
That small spark he’d felt when he first touched you is nothing compared to the explosion burning inside him now.
The steady rhythm of your lips against his felt like something remembered, not discovered.
He didn’t understand how it could feel so natural to hold you, to fit you against him as if it had always been this way.
Your body pressed closer, your lips finding his again and again, lost in a need that felt older than either of you could name.
He tilted your head slightly, a quiet urgency in his touch.
The kiss deepened as he guided you back until your shoulders met the wall behind you, the cool surface grounding the warmth spreading through you.
His breath mingled with yours, uneven and heavy.
Your hand moved on its own, fingers threading instinctively through his hair, soft and slightly tangled beneath your touch.
He drew in a sharp breath, as if the simple contact startled him, and for a heartbeat the world stopped around you.
No hospital, no past, no reason—just the rhythm of two people rediscovering something their bodies already knew.
You pulled him closer without thinking, the space between you gone in an instant.
His mouth claimed yours, desperate and unyielding, every kiss pulling you deeper than the last. His breath hitched against your lips, the sound raw and grounding all at once.
You could feel his heartbeat hammering through his chest, matching your own in chaotic rhythm.
Every kiss went on as if time had no meaning, neither of you knowing how to stop. You stayed, pressed between the small hospital cabinet, utterly drawn to each other, and neither of you understood why.
Your hands trembled when they found his face, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw as if trying to memorize it.
He pulled back only a fraction, just enough to look at you, breath ragged, eyes searching yours like he was trying to remember something he’d already forgotten.
Neither of you spoke. The silence between you pulsed with the same rhythm as your hearts, uneven and loud in the stillness of the room.
He leaned in again, slower this time, his forehead brushing yours. The heat between you hadn’t faded, but something softer began to rise beneath it—something that felt terrifyingly familiar.
Your hand slipped down to his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
It steadied gradually, and so did yours.
He stayed close, his breath catching once more before it finally evened out.
“This feels…” he started, voice rough, almost disbelieving, “…like I’ve done this before.”
You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. I was thinking the same.”
The words hung there, fragile and heavy all at once.
He didn’t move away. Neither did you. You just stood there in the quiet hum of the machines, the sterile light painting both of you in pale gold.
For a moment, it didn’t matter that you were strangers.
It had been a few weeks since you’d both left the hospital.
Recovery had been slow—physically, mentally—but life had a way of moving forward whether you were ready or not.
You hadn’t meant to run into him again.
But ever since that day, your mind kept circling back to it—the quiet hallway, the kiss, the strange sense that you were missing a whole lifetime with him.
And maybe that’s why, when you learned he actually worked here now, you didn’t even hesitate before showing up.
A paper bag rustled in your hands as you stepped through the hospital’s main entrance. The faint smell of coffee and something sweet drifted from it.
You’d told yourself it was a simple visit—just a small thank-you, a friendly gesture.
But your heartbeat had other ideas.
The receptionist greeted you warmly when you asked for him.
“Dr. Chishiya?” she said with a smile. “He’s finishing his shift. You can wait for him near the staff lounge.”
You thanked her and made your way down the familiar corridor.
It looked different in daylight, brighter, less haunted—but you still remembered every turn, every sound.
And when you reached the lounge, he was there—coat off, sleeves rolled up, leaning against the counter as he read something on a clipboard.
He didn’t notice you right away.
You stood in the doorway for a few seconds, watching him. The fluorescent light caught in his hair, softer now, and his expression—focused, calm—was the same as always. Yet somehow, just seeing him made the world tilt slightly back into place.
When you finally spoke, your voice came out gentler than you expected.
“Busy saving lives?”
He looked up instantly, and that familiar flicker of recognition crossed his face.
“Depends who’s asking,” he said, setting the clipboard aside.
You lifted the small paper bag between you. “Someone bringing a peace offering.”
His gaze dropped to it, then back to you, one eyebrow raised. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” you said with a small smile, stepping closer. “But I wanted to. I figured even doctors need real food sometimes.”
He accepted the bag, peeking inside. “You remembered what I like.”
You frowned lightly. “You never told me what you liked.”
For a moment, you both just looked at each other.
Something unspoken passed through the air again—soft, warm, familiar.
Then he smiled, faint but genuine. “Guess you guessed right, then.”
You sat down on the edge of the nearby bench as he opened the bag, pulling out the small pastry you’d brought.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a pause between heartbeats.
“So,” you said finally, “how’s work?”
He shrugged, breaking a piece of the pastry and offering half to you. “Same as always. People come in broken, we try to fix them.”
You took it, smiling softly. “And how’s that working out?”
He looked at you then—really looked, eyes calm but bright. “Depends who walks through the door.”
Your heart tripped over itself at the simplicity of it.
He wasn’t flirting; he wasn’t teasing. It was something quieter—honest in a way that made your chest ache.
You broke eye contact first, focusing on the pastry in your hand. “You always say things like that?”
“Only when they’re true.”
You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Still not sure if you’re a doctor or a poet.”
“Both are about observation,” he said, and you couldn’t help smiling wider.
The conversation lingered there—light, easy, threaded with something that neither of you could name but both could feel.
When you finally stood to leave, you turned toward him one last time.
“Same time next week?” you asked, half-joking.
He gave you that small, quiet smile again. “I’ll be here.”
Every few days, you found yourself walking the same corridor—past the same vending machine, the same window with the crooked blinds, the same faint hum of hospital air-conditioning.
Each time you told yourself it was the last. Each time you came back anyway.
Sometimes you brought coffee.
Sometimes pastries.
Sometimes nothing at all—just a reasonless pull that told you he should be there, and he always was.
He never seemed surprised to see you.
Just that small, knowing smile, like he’d been waiting.
Today, you leaned against the doorframe to his office, watching as he finished scribbling a note into a patient file.
He glanced up before you could speak. “You’re early.”
You shrugged. “Guess I was bored.”
His lips twitched faintly. “You really shouldn’t make a habit of hanging out in hospitals.”
“Then stop giving me reasons to.”
That made him chuckle under his breath—a rare, quiet sound that still managed to make your chest tighten.
He pushed the file aside and nodded toward the chair across from him. “Sit.”
You did, folding your hands in your lap. For a while, the only sound was the faint ticking of the wall clock.
He finally broke the silence, leaning back slightly. “You keep showing up. I’m starting to think you enjoy my company.”
You smirked. “And if I said I do?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Then I’d say you have questionable taste.”
“Maybe,” you murmured, grinning. “But I always did like a challenge.”
The words slipped out before you could think about them.
And as soon as they did, something in him stilled.
His expression didn’t change much—but the air shifted, almost imperceptibly.
He blinked once, slowly, as if the words had brushed against something buried deep inside him.
“What?” you asked softly. “Did I say something weird?”
He shook his head a little, as if clearing a thought. “No. Just… I think I’ve heard that before.”
You frowned, searching his face. “From who?”
He hesitated, eyes flickering to the side. “I don’t know. Maybe a patient.”
You smiled faintly, though your chest felt strangely tight. “Or maybe I just have very unoriginal lines.”
“Maybe,” he said, but his voice sounded distant now—quiet, thoughtful.
You tilted your head, half teasing. “What are you thinking about?”
He didn’t answer at first. When he did, it was barely above a murmur.
“You’re trying to rush the end again.”
The words stopped you cold.
You blinked, unsure if you’d heard right. “What?”
He looked faintly surprised himself, as if the sentence had slipped free without his permission. “I don’t know where that came from.”
You swallowed, a strange pressure building in your chest. “It sounded like something you’ve said before.”
“Maybe.” He frowned, gaze dropping to his hands. “It just… felt right.”
You tried to smile, but your voice was unsteady when you whispered, “That’s not the same as winning.”
At that, his head lifted sharply. For a moment, neither of you breathed.
Something in his expression flickered—recognition, confusion, ache—and then it was gone.
He looked away, forcing a quiet laugh. “Déjà vu. Must be the coffee.”
You nodded, but the chill stayed with you long after the moment passed.
When it was time to leave, you stood slowly. “See you in a few days?”
He nodded, but his voice was softer than usual when he answered. “Yeah. A few days.”
As you walked away, you didn’t notice that he whispered something to the empty room—words that didn’t feel like his own but slipped from his mouth anyway:
“You really did like a challenge.”
He sat there for a long time after you were gone, staring at his hands as if trying to remember why that sentence felt like a promise.
The next time you visited, something already felt different.
He wasn’t at his desk this time.
Instead, he was standing by the window of the staff lounge, hands in the pockets of his coat, staring out at the afternoon light like he was trying to solve a puzzle only he could see.
He turned the moment you stepped inside.
No smile this time.
Just a steady, unreadable look that made your breath catch.
“You’re early,” he said quietly.
“Couldn’t help it,” you murmured.
He studied you like the words meant more than they should. Then he nodded toward a bench.
“Sit with me for a moment?”
You did.
The room felt too still, too quiet.
Your heartbeat sounded loud in your ears.
He spoke first.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last time.”
You swallowed. “The challenge thing?”
He shook his head. “No. The other part.”
His gaze held yours, unwavering.
“You repeated something I said. Something I’ve never said to you here.”
Your chest tightened.
“I know.”
A long silence.
He didn’t look confused anymore.
He looked… certain.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “Do you remember anything? Even a little?”
You hesitated, fingers twisting together in your lap.
Then you nodded slowly.
“Not clearly,” you whispered. “Just… moments. Feelings.”
You looked down, searching for words.
“It’s like I know you. Like I’ve known you longer than I’ve been alive.”
His breath caught—just slightly, but enough to make your own do the same.
“Me too,” he said.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t a confession.
Just the truth, plain and steady.
You lifted your gaze again.
He was closer now, without you noticing when he’d moved.
“I hear things,” he continued, voice low. “Phrases. Your voice calling my name, but not here. A different place. A different… world, almost.”
He exhaled shakily.
“And it’s always you.”
The room felt too small.
Your heart felt too full.
“Sometimes,” you whispered, “I see flashes. A rooftop. Smoke. Running. Pain. But I’m not afraid.”
Your throat tightened.
“Because you’re always there.”
He didn’t look surprised.
He looked devastated in the softest way possible.
Like someone who had been missing something essential and had just found a piece of it.
“Then we’re not imagining it,” he said.
“No,” you breathed. “We’re not.”
Another silence stretched — warm, electric, trembling around the edges.
You didn’t know who leaned in first this time.
Maybe neither of you did.
Maybe you just met in the middle, drawn by the same invisible thread that had been tugging at you since the moment you opened your eyes in this world.
His forehead touched yours, soft and steady, familiarity blooming through your chest like a memory you couldn’t name.
“It feels like we’ve done this before,” you whispered.
He closed his eyes, his voice barely more than a breath.
“It feels like I’ve been waiting to find you again.”
And in that quiet moment, you leaned in as if you’d done it a thousand times before, pressing your lips gently to his.
The kiss was sweet.
He responded just as slowly, moving with a tenderness that made time seem to soften around the two of you.
The years that followed didn’t feel like years at all.
More like a continuation of something that had started long before either of you could remember.
Your first coffee outside the hospital turned into a habit.
A habit turned into a routine.
A routine turned into a life.
And now—
The early morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen window, warm and golden, brushing over the soft fabric of your robe as you leaned against the counter.
The scent of tea filled the air. Outside, the world was just waking up.
Footsteps padded into the room.
“Morning,” Chishiya said, voice still sleep-rough, hair slightly mussed in a way you’d come to love more than you ever admitted aloud.
You smiled. “You’re awake earlier than usual.”
He shrugged, moving beside you to pour his own tea. “Only because somebody stole all the blankets.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Are you blaming your wife for your temperature issues?”
He considered that with a faintly amused expression. “Yes.”
You nudged him with your shoulder, and he let the corner of his mouth lift. Not a full smile—those were still rare, still treasures—but a soft one reserved only for you.
Your gaze drifted to the simple silver band on his hand, the matching one on yours glinting in the light.
Even now, years later, it still felt unreal.
Not because the marriage was unbelievable—but because the rightness of it still surprised you sometimes.
Chishiya followed your gaze, lifting your joined hands slightly. “You’re staring,” he said quietly.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
You let out a breath, leaning your head against his shoulder.
“About how none of this should make sense… but it does.”
He was silent for a moment.
Then his thumb brushed over your ring, slow and deliberate.
“Maybe it’s not meant to make sense,” he murmured. “Maybe some things just… return to us.”
You closed your eyes. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against your shoulder—it all felt achingly familiar.
Like a memory you couldn’t quite reach but felt in every breath.
“When I first met you,” you whispered, “I felt like I’d lost you and finally found you again.”
“I know.”
He rested his cheek lightly against your temple.
“I felt it too. Like we’d already lived a whole life together before this one.”
You smiled softly. “Maybe we did.”
He didn’t argue.
He never did about that.
Instead, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your fingers—an echo of a thousand other gestures neither of you remembered but somehow knew.
And as the sunlight grew brighter, filling your little kitchen with warmth, he whispered:
“However many lives we get… I’ll find you again.”
You leaned into him fully, your heart settling with a quiet certainty that had followed you both since the beginning.
“Then we’ll keep finding each other,” you murmured.
And in this life—this gentle, ordinary, beautifully real life—
