a/n: got this idea thanks to 💫 anon sending me some art a few months ago 🙂↕️ EDIT: started writing this in december of last year and only now finished it. oh well
divider by @olenvasynyt
summary: cowgirl!natasha, stable girl!reader, age gap, smut save a horse, ride a cowgirl
warnings: smut (oral r receiving, fingering r receiving), legal age gap (r is in her early 20s, n in her mid 30s), power imbalance, alcohol
word count: 11.6k
It's not fair. When going home for the summer, you had parties in mind, swimming with friends, not caring about exams and essays for a while. Instead, you got a summer job you did not apply for.
There was no warning, either. You got home one day and they broke the news on the other. You'd barely arrived, with your suitcase still packed and shoved under your bed, when they told you. They handed you a newspaper cutout. Someone wrote an entire piece on that old ranch.
You immediately knew what ranch it was. Right on the edge of a neighboring town, where sane people don't set foot. There's nothing to see there, after all. No nightlife, no bars, not even a diner. Just endless fields and the prospect of a heatstroke.
You never thought you'd have to go and confirm all of that yourself. Turns out you were wrong.
It's hot outside, but even inside the car, it's sweltering. Sweat is beading at the back of your neck, the radio is on too loud, and your parents are talking too much. You zone out until they start repeating your name.
"What?", you ask, snapping out of it.
"Honey, this is such a great opportunity for you." Your mother turns around. "Young people need to experience things like this. I'm telling you, you're being all crabby now, but one day you'll thank us."
"If that day ever comes, you have the permission to shoot me."
"Y/N", your father cuts in. "Your mother is right, this will do you some good. Maybe you'll learn some responsibility for once. This year was a fucking disaster."
"James, don't curse."
"Sweetheart, she maxed out her credit card three times."
You roll your eyes and lean back again. Outside, you can see the side of Wyoming you never got to know. Golden fields, barns with peeling paint, wooden fences and dirt roads. A couple horses here and there. Not at all what you wanted.
You've been called spoiled before. By your grandma, your aunt, even your parents. This must be payback. Maybe some twisted way to correct your behavior.
The car pulls out onto one of the dirt roads you keep seeing. You drive past trees and old houses, until the landscape gets sparser. Somewhere in the distance, you see the ranch you saw in the newspaper. There's a pasture right nearby.
A river, winding its way through trees and tall grass, glistens in the morning sunlight. From all the way over here, you can see the mountain range. You turn your head away.
At first, the ranch seems abandoned. Not a human, not even a horse, in sight. You hold the handle of your suitcase tighter and finally look at your parents.
"Is this a joke?", you ask. "Because if it is, well done. You taught me a lesson. Can I go now?"
"It's not a joke until you've got the money to replace your car", your dad says. He rubs his forehead. "Maybe we should go knock on the door."
"Don't knock."
All three of you turn around at the same time. For a moment that lasts way too long, all you can do is stare — this is not who you imagined owning the ranch. What popped into your mind had been an old man, with weathered skin and white hair. Someone grumpy, mean, who'd barely say a word to you.
You did not think it'd be a woman, and definitely not one this attractive.
You take her all in, from head to toe. Cowboy hat pulled low, red hair in a braid, worn boots and straight jeans. Sweat on her brows, her hands still dirty from whatever she was doing before you arrived.
"And don't stare, either", she suddenly adds, throwing you a sharp glance. Maybe you weren't wrong about the 'mean' part after all. "Who's that?"
"That's Y/N."
"Bullshit. This is a summer job for high school students."
Your head whips around. "High school? I have a bachelor's!"
Both of your parents start sputtering excuses and explanations at once. You're not willing to listen to either of them, and neither is the woman with the cowboy hat. What she expected was a high schooler, maybe someone who just graduated. It said so in the advert, too. She lets out a sigh, kicks at a pebble and then interrupts them.
"Cut it out", she says. "I don't have time for this. Is she fit for the job or no?"
She's doing her best not to look at you. God knows what made you think it'd be appropriate to show up in shorts and a tiny top.
"Do I look like I am?", you immediately fire.
"She is", your father says, anyway. "She'll be useful. Besides, she owes me a ton of money, so..."
"I don't need your backstory", she says, finally looking at you. She raises her eyebrows. "I'm Natasha. And if you're someone who'll complain all day, I don't want you here."
Complaining is an art you mastered over the years. It's as innate as breathing. But who said you couldn't tone it down for a month or two?
Part of you knows: for her, you could. You shoot her a smile and reach out your hand, which she gives a long stare before shaking it. You feel her calloused fingers rub against your smooth ones.
"No complaining", you promise, batting your eyes at her. "Now, what's the sleeping arrangement?"
. . .
You're not sure what you were expecting. All you know is that your expectations were low, and despite that, it still managed to disappoint you.
The mattress is thin. The window barely closes. There's dust everywhere. Worst of all, you get confronted with the nightmare that is a shared bathroom. Not a space to yourself, but one that the other workers on the ranch will intrude on whenever they please.
You tiptoe back into your room, a towel wrapped around your body now. Water drips from your hair and skin, leaving a trail from the bathroom door to your dresser. You grab your hairbrush and startle when someone knocks on the door.
"All settled in?"
"Give me a minute", you say, rolling your eyes. Another knock, this time more impatient. "Jesus, what do you want?"
"I have work for you, so chop chop! Enough spa time."
You almost hesitate. She's your boss, technically. Then again, she's asking for it. You whip around and rip open the door, making her falter right in front of your eyes.
The towel is clinging to your damp skin. Your thighs are plush underneath. A water drop rolls down your collarbone. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair damp, and you can see the exact moment she loses her train of thought — before snapping out of it.
"Get dressed", she barks. "And then come outside."
Natasha leaves the bunkhouse. The wooden door slams shut behind her, rusty hinges squeaking and walls shaking. You smile and turn around to grab your suitcase. Surely she'd appreciate you wearing a more appropriate outfit for work.
By the time you get to the paddock, Natasha's distracted herself with the task of refilling the water and letting the horses back out of their cages. You stop next to the barn and peek inside. She's putting a bridle on a black horse. You can barely see a flash of red hair over the open stall door.
Liho says the nameplate on the stall. It's the only hand painted one. You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe, idly watching her. She gets up, pats the Friesian's neck and turns around.
There's something about her that intrigues you. You wouldn't fuck her, probably — she seems too uptight for that. But she also seems so disciplined, so in control, that you wonder whether you could make her drop that persona for even a second.
She grabs a lead and turns back around. The sleeves of her Henley are rolled up, and dried mud is clinging to her boots. She seems distracted enough to give you the illusion of being undetected still. It's exactly why you flinch when she speaks up.
"Go into the hayloft and make some space."
You blink. "What?"
"Hayloft", she repeats. "Make space. I'm getting more hay bales tomorrow, I need the loft door to be free."
"Sounds like a shit ton of work."
"That's because it is."
Natasha leads Liho out of the stall and through the barn door. You quickly step aside. The horse is huge.
"You're not going to show me how it's done?", you ask, giving her a doe eyed look. "I could use some guidance."
She barely reacts. Hell, barely even looks at you — you're in a ribbed top, with a new pair of shorts. It's inappropriate, but she's always been someone to notice bodies, whether she likes it or not. The issue is that you're younger, and that the unspoken rule of ranchers not getting personal with staff keeps lingering in her mind.
"They're hay bales", she says sharply. "I think you can handle that. When you're done, grab a bag of feed and get it outside."
"And those are...?"
"Feed room."
You open your mouth. Natasha takes one glance at your lips, silently halts every thought that was about to spill, and cuts you off.
"You'll figure it out. Now go."
Slightly miffed but nevertheless amused, you shut your mouth. You're getting her closer and closer to snapping. Natasha turns back around, her hold on Liho's lead a little too tight.
Ten minutes later, all kinds of amusement you felt earlier are gone. What's left is sweat, sweat everywhere, on your thighs and arms and brows. You take a deep, annoyed breath before picking up the next hay bale. It nearly slips from your damp fingers.
"How's it going?"
You almost drop the hay bale. Natasha, sensing you'd have your troubles with this task, decided to leave Liho in the paddock and see how you're doing. Apparently, not even your extremely low expectations were met.
"Great", you mutter, tightening your grip. "Don't you have work to do?"
She eyes the dampness sticking to your skin. "Warm up here, huh?"
You clench your jaw. It's not 'warm' — it's like being boiled alive. Summers in rural Wyoming are hot, but being trapped in a loft with a ton of hay and little to no ventilation? Doing physical labor you are not used to?
You haul the hay bale to the other side of the loft, where you've been stacking them. The loft door is almost free, aside from one or two hay bales you still have to move.
"Finish up here", she says, tapping her knuckles against the wall before starting to go down the ladder again, "then get me that feed bag."
Half an hour later, once the horses are in the paddock and having their second feed, you drop into the grass by the fence. Not just the grass is cold, but the air is cooling down as well, which is much welcomed. You're not used to hauling things around, so doing it for an hour straight managed to suck all energy from you.
Natasha isn't impressed. Your complaints fell on deaf ears, but that doesn't mean they haven't been ticking her off. You're trying, she can see that, but you're also exactly what she's always refused to hire — a girl from the city, someone who's had their every wish come true since the day they were born, who rejects any kind of effort. Sweet, yes, maybe a little naive in a sense, but bratty and mouthy as well.
"Get up", she says, closing the fence. "I have work for you."
You stare at the grass, absently smoothing down your baby hairs. The heat made them stick up like little antennas.
"What?", you finally ask, looking at her.
"Work", she repeats. "No rest for the weak. I got some water troughs that need to be scrubbed before I get the horses back into their stalls."
You shake your head. "You're joking. I haven't even had lunch yet!"
She raises her eyebrows. There go the complaints again, she thinks. Her eyes flit to the grass stains on your thighs.
"That's why you pack lunch", she says. "You'll survive. Now go."
You exhale. Your hand absently rips out a few blades of grass. "No", you say, defying her for the first time that afternoon.
Natasha stares at you. Part of her is surprised it took that long to hear that word come out of your mouth. When she saw you for the first time, just hours earlier, she feared it'd happen much sooner.
"No?", she repeats.
"No", you say. "No, I'm not scrubbing your stupid troughs. I'm covered in sweat, I'm hungry, and those hay bales killed my arms. So no."
A few seconds pass. You expect the worst — pack your stuff, call your parents, get the hell out of here. You're not in the position to be demanding things. You're here to work, give it your all, even if you're about to pass out.
Or so you thought. Natasha crosses her arms and nods at the bunkhouse.
"There's stuff in the fridge", she says. For some reason, she's pleased you didn't fold. "What?"
You're staring. Unmoving. "You're joking", you repeat, this time for a different reason.
"Get your ass into the kitchen", she says. "What, I thought you were hungry?"
"I am."
"So?" She nods at the bunkhouse again. "Go on, I don't have all night."
You give her another wary look. When she doesn't react — not a word, nor look — you push up from the ground and wipe your hands on your shorts.
Ten minutes later, you're back in the barn. You and Natasha work next to each other, scrubbing in silence, and for the first time that day, you don't seem to mind being there that much.
. . .
Early morning. You weren't supposed to get up before 7am — but the stupid chickens are loud, and even after a week of being on the ranch you still aren't used to them, so you slipped into the shower an hour before your alarm would've gone off.
Natasha's been up for a bit longer than you. Work doesn't allow her to sleep in, after all, and she likes to get her morning chores done as quickly as possible. Feed the horses, check the water troughs, clean the stalls. Only once the horses are outside, she lets herself grab her bowl of oatmeal.
Summer mornings are when she's most alive. Out here on her ranch, they're special. Cold air, golden light. It's like the whole ranch gets to exhale for once. Of course she had to hire the one person that could ruin them for her.
"Up and about already?", you call, shutting the door to the bunkhouse after you. "You wake up this early every day?"
Natasha doesn't look up. "Some people have work."
"I'm working too, aren't I?"
"I suppose."
She can't hear your footsteps in the soft grass, but she can tell you're coming closer. She's right — moments later, the fence moves ever so slightly as you climb onto it.
Her eyes move on their own accord. They find a pair of cowboy boots, bare legs straddling the fence, a pair of smooth hands holding on tight. She looks at your face and raises her eyebrows.
"Can't tell me you don't get lonely out here", you tease. "Where's the rest of the crew?"
"Taking care of stuff", she says vaguely. "You're in a good mood. I don't like it."
You shoot her a grin, the sun hitting all of you. Natasha turns her head away again. You're a disruption, but somehow, you fit into this a little too well. Now that you're not sweaty and pissed off about having to haul around heavy hay bales, you almost seem to like it.
The horses seem to like you, too. Natasha watches Liho come closer, her head bobbing slightly in your direction, ears forward. You reach out your hand without thinking, and the Friesian sniffs it before nuzzling your palm.
"Huh", Natasha mutters. "At least someone's warming up to you."
Liho doesn't like most people. Natasha knows better than to tell you that, though. You'd never let her forget, she's sure.
Your fingers brush along the horses face, up to the top of her head.
"What shampoo does she use?"
Natasha tilts her head, and you nod at Liho.
"She's very soft", you add. You pause, eyes twinkling. "Hey, when do I get to saddle up and ride one of these?"
Her reaction is immediate and blunt. She slides off the fence with a scoff, empty bowl in hand, and steers Liho away from you. Not just anyone gets to touch her horses, let alone ride them. Letting Liho come so close in the first place is something she didn't expect from herself.
"You've got work to do", she dismisses. "I left some tack in the barn. It needs cleaning."
You roll your eyes, swinging your leg off the fence. "Like I know how to do that."
"Sponge", Natasha immediately fires. "Soap. Condition the leather when you're done. Can't be that hard."
Somehow, her snippy response doesn't stun you in the slightest. Your lips curl a little instead — you expected her to snap out of it sooner or later. She's got a reputation to keep, after all. Can't let herself soften up even a little. Especially can't let herself get softened up by the spoiled city girl.
She watches you head to the barn, one hand pressed to Liho's crest. Out of sight, out of mind, but you never stay out of sight for long.
She's caught herself thinking about you more than once. They're non work related thoughts, too, some curious, others dismissive. She's trying to convince herself you're not all that. You're bratty, so mouthy she wants to slap you sometimes.
Work is what distracts her best, so that's what she gets started on. She pats Liho's warm neck before leaving the paddock. She's got a new cow coming in around 9am, so she'll have to prep a pen and get some paperwork filled out. One of her horses is injured, and she'll take a look at the injury to decide whether a vet is necessary.
Her plan pans out. Over the next few hours, she doesn't even catch a glimpse of you. You have your list of chores now, ranging from sweeping barn aisles to checking the chicken coop for eggs. Mistrust has started to turn into something more secure.
The sun begins rising, the air starts heating up. Early morning shifts into noon. Natasha's used to how it makes the ranch change within just hours. Everything is sweaty and repressed, too hot to endure. This is when the accidental sunburns happen, when she starts snapping at people. You included.
You're lucky enough not to run into her, though. She gets the horses into the barn so they don't overheat and leaves again.
It's lunchtime. She eats a bowl of rice and beans, leans back against the wall of the shed, and then dozes off. You round the corner to find her with one arm slung over her eyes and her feet crossed at the ankles.
You can't help yourself. Your eyes trail over her bare arms, tan and sweaty from the heat. Her breathing is slow and even. You're not sure how long she's been asleep, but your footsteps didn't wake her up, so work really must've knocked her out.
You sink down next to her without thinking too much. Grass rustles, and Natasha lets out a quiet breath. It only takes minutes for her to wake up — she's not used to longer naps.
Your head tilts when her arm moves off her face. Drowsy eyes meet yours, and your lips twitch into a smile. She sighs and covers her face again, cheeks flushed from the heat and your proximity.
Her nap was short. She had some sort of dream, anyway, and though the details disappeared the moment she saw you sitting next to her, she distinctly remembers seeing your face.
"Got nothing else to do?"
"Thought you could use some company." You glance at her red cheeks. "You'll burn to a crisp out here."
"I'm fine", she mumbles. She peeks at your face. "Done with work?"
"All done."
"I don't believe you."
You roll your eyes, shifting until you're sitting cross legged. Natasha looks again, finding the grass stains on your thighs and the sweat soaking into your top before she can look for either.
"Alright", she says. "Let's find something else for you to do."
You scoff, watching her get up like it's nothing. You're not used to the chickens, and you're definitely not used to the heat and how it affects everything you do.
"Now?", you complain. "It's sweltering."
"Mhm", she hums. She nods at you. "Get off your ass."
You furrow your eyebrows. "No way."
"No?"
You shake your head. You expect some sort of reaction — snapping, getting impatient, anything. Natasha shrugs and walks around the shed instead, disappearing from your sight. When she doesn't return, you hum happily and plop into the grass. The second you stretch out, cold water shoots straight at your legs.
You jolt up with a gasp, trying to pull away, but the stream of the hose moves up to your chest. You roll over and scramble up, Natasha laughing behind you.
"Wasn't that hard", she says, turning the water off. You glare at her.
"You're a fucking asshole, you know."
"Asking you nicely wasn't working", she shoots back. "Come on. The horses need grooming."
You stay rooted in place, your soaked clothes clinging to your body. Natasha nods at you and starts walking. You have no choice but to follow.
. . .
At sunset, everything burns orange.
The animals are fed, the ranch is quiet. Most of the horses are back inside the stable, and the workers are finishing up for the day. So are you — you did the last water check of the day, collected the tools left in the field and then made your way into the kitchen.
You're outside now, getting closer to the pasture. The heat has mellowed, but the grass brushing your ankles is still a little warm. You pause by the fence when you see Liho.
Natasha takes all her horses for rides, but Liho gets special treatment. You lean against the fence and watch her.
From the other side of the fence, it looks easy. The reins in her hand are slack, her body less tense than when she's doing stuff around the ranch. There's that cowboy hat on her head, too, pulled low enough to hide some of her face.
Dust gets kicked up, and Liho speeds up a little. Hooves hit the ground, a galloping steady rhythm you'd remember for a while.
Natasha isn't doing much steering. Instead, Liho is in control. They're partners, you realize, and maybe that's why it looks so easy. Like you could do it too.
Natasha seems more at ease out here. You were mostly staring at the horse at first — the rhythm of her gait, and the sunlight hitting her black fur — but then, your eyes trail back up. A cowboy hat, a red braid down her back, and her top darkened at the spine.
It's hot. She's hot. She's older, competent, her thighs gripping the saddle in a way that makes you think about your own thighs gripping her. You still wouldn't fuck her, but you let your thoughts drift a bit, only enough to get a taste.
Natasha still hasn't spotted you. She's put quite some distance between herself and the ranch, as she tends to do when she takes Liho out for rides. She doesn't always go far, though, so she clicks her tongue and makes Liho turn back around.
They slow as they approach the fence, and you abandon your daydreams the moment she notices you.
Her eyebrows rise in silent question. You shift, almost leaning your full body weight against the fence, and tilt your head up.
"That was good."
"That's it?", she asks. "Good?"
"Very good", you drawl, a smile forming on your face. Natasha scoffs, bringing Liho to a stop right in front of the fence.
"Why are you out here?", she inquires. "You're done with work?"
You roll your eyes and lean backwards, hands gripping the fence. "Christ. All I hear from you is work, work, work. You should lighten up a little. Maybe get high sometime."
At the mention of drugs, her face turns disapproving. She grabs the saddle horn and swings herself off Liho's back, landing on her feet. You don't make a move to help her open the gate.
"You're sure you won't let me ride?", you ask, walking back to the ranch with her.
Natasha glances at you. "You know how to ride?"
"You're doubting me?"
"Thought that was obvious."
You slip into the stable together. Natasha takes the reins off Liho, puts the saddle aside. She's trying to be subtle, but she knows you can tell she's thinking about it. The thought of you on a horse doesn't sit right with her — you may think you know everything, but you don't, and testing that luck on the back of a horse sounds plain stupid.
She turns around to you leaning against one of the stalls, your hand stretched out to let the horse inside sniff it. She sighs and feels herself cave.
"You'll do what I say", she says.
You look at her. "What?"
"I'll teach you how to ride", she says, waving her hand dismissively. "But you'll do what I say."
It's a bad idea — she can tell by looking at your face. But Natasha's not someone to back out, so it's too late now.
. . .
The heat isn't the only reason your top is soaked.
It's early afternoon. Though it's still hot, you've passed the peak heat threshold. You were adamant about getting this done today, and since Natasha has plans for the night, you were forced to ditch your usual nap.
You expected this to be easier. You're on the back of a horse, your body rigid. The stallion is only walking, but all his back muscles are moving from side to side, almost like a boat rocking on water.
Natasha furrows her eyebrows — she keeps giving you instructions, but you keep bouncing anyway. She doesn't want to imagine what a trot would look like.
"You good up there?"
You curse, sweat running down the back of your neck. "Fuck. You make it look easy."
"That's the point", she says. "Hey, sit deeper. Heels down, balance on the stirrups. You're starting to bounce again."
Natasha smirks. She chose her easiest horse for you — a Tennessee walker, chestnut brown, thirteen years old and calm enough to deal with someone inexperienced. She loves Rocket almost as much as she loves Liho. He's the gentlest of the bunch.
Yet, you're managing to irritate the stallion like no other has before. He slows down when you tug at the reigns. The movement is far from gentle, and he comes to a full halt with his ears pinned and his tail swishing. Natasha stares at you, her arms crossed.
"What?", you finally ask, all out of breath. You still manage to sound defiant.
"You were bouncing", she clarifies. "A lot. Liho would've sent you flying to the other side of the ranch."
You narrow your eyes, the reigns feeling slippery in your sweating hands. "I think I was doing more than okay."
Rocket stomps, sending dust flying. He doesn't seem to agree with you. Natasha glances at him, then steps to your side. Her hand cups your knee.
"Don't grip", she says, repositioning it. "Relax a little, alright? We'll go slow and steady."
A warm palm pressed right against your knee. You feel it through your jeans, heartbeat thudding as it slides up to your thigh. Natasha looks up, and you meet her eyes.
Neither of you says anything. She doesn't move her hand, either. It stays on your thigh, feeling the heat radiate from beneath worn denim.
"Scoot a little."
You kink your eyebrows at her words. She's let go of your thigh to grab the cantle of the saddle, her eyes still locked with yours. You do as she says, making space behind you, and she climbs up.
Her heat is the first thing you notice. It's different than regular summer heat — it's alive, moving, suddenly all over you when her arms reach around your middle. She grabs the reins, but you barely notice them slipping out of your hands.
Then, her scent. You're not sure what cologne she uses, but it's all over you too. Her breath hits your shoulder and she tightens the reins.
"Don't be so tense", she mumbles, getting Rocket to walk again. "Feel how I'm sitting?"
You let out a breathy laugh. "Oh, I feel it."
"Ease into it", she encourages. "Don't lean forward so much."
You rarely listen, but this time, you do. You lean backwards, right against her chest, and Natasha's eyebrows furrow. This is what she wanted, isn't it? It feels wrong, anyway. If anyone catches her all snuggled up with the stable girl, she'll become the talk of the town in no time.
To her frustration, it feels nice as well. Your back is snug against her front, and the fact you're not moving shows you're starting to trust the whole process. When you're not rambling and complaining all the time, you're a delight to be around.
She does it without telling you first. You only realize when Rocket starts speeding up and you go back to bouncing in your seat.
"Are you crazy?", you protest, teeth chattering. "Slow down!"
"Move with the horse", she replies. "You're all bouncy again."
You want to talk back to her, but Rocket keeps speeding up and forcing your attention on him. The wind is a furious blast at this point, too dry and hot to feel nice. Your eyes are tearing up, your thighs are burning with the effort of gripping the saddle, and the only reason you haven't been sent flying backwards off the horse is Natasha.
She tries to bite back a smirk. Making you suffer has become a fun pastime by this point. She can feel your heart slamming against your ribs where her arm is pressed against your side, panicked as a rabbit, and decides to have mercy.
It only lasted a minute, but it felt like forever. Rocket slows down until he's back to walking comfortably, and you sit there with your mouth shut and your hands locked around the saddle horn.
"Wasn't that bad", Natasha argues, adjusting her hat. "You're still too tense, though."
"Fuck off", you mutter. You glance at her when she dismounts, her eyes full of amusement. "My ass hurts."
"Mhm", she hums. "Try walking."
You don't get it at first, but once your legs hit the ground, you understand — your thighs are sore, your legs jelly. Natasha can't help but think about all the little foals she's watched take their first steps.
"Right in time for the summer fest", she says, closing the gate to the paddock. "You're joining?"
You give her a look. "Me?"
"You", she nods. "Take the night off. Why not?"
Part of her hopes you'll say no. The night will be easier to navigate without you there. Alcohol, loud music, dancing, guys hitting on girls. She'd spend the entire time making sure you don't get into trouble.
You grin and reach over, almost snatching the hat off her head. She swats your hand away.
"Sure", you say.
Natasha exhales, her hand holding onto the brim of her hat. Of course.
. . .
Just like that, all of a sudden, you fit in. It's unlike any party you've ever been to, but you're not out of place — on the contrary. No one batted an eye when you walked in. No one but Natasha.
It's one of the ranch hands that helped you. She walked past as you were trying on some of the clothes you brought, not that there were a lot, and suggested you borrow some of hers. A sundress and a pair of cowboy boots later, you're stepping into what has to be a repurposed old barn.
You don't see Natasha in the herd of people crammed into the large space. They're moving, constantly, alcohol in their hands and loud music drowning out most of their voices. A man squeezes by, then reverses, his hand stretching out.
"Dance?", he asks. You glance at the sweat forming on his upper lip.
"I'm good."
"No worries", he says loudly, moving along. You turn around and start making your way through the crowd.
Country music is playing. It's a cover of an artist you somewhat know, performed by a local band. Fairy lights are strung across the ceiling, wrapped around wooden beams. It's a warm night, but all the dancing bodies are trapping heat and making it unbearable.
You step over a puddle of beer to reach the small bar they set up. Natasha, sitting on the other side of the room, keeps a close eye on you. You're young, full of dumb decisions. If she isn't careful you'll end up too hungover to work tomorrow.
She's watching you, and she knows others are watching her doing that. Word spread fast. It took one neighbor spotting the two of you on a horse together, and now, the entire town knows. Nobody is sure what exactly they know, but they're talking about it, anyway.
"That's Romanoff's new girl", a woman says. "Sweet thing."
"Whiskey in a tea cup", her friend replies. "They're all the same, ain't they?"
Natasha doesn't look up. You're leaning against the bar, arms crossed atop it. You're on your tiptoes, rocking up and down and smiling at the bartender. He slides over a glass of bourbon.
You turn around and spot her. She's sitting on a wooden stool, her legs spread and her sleeveless top exposing the firm outlines of her arms. You pause for a second, the whiskey glass lifted to your lips, before taking a couple steps towards her.
She gives a thin lipped smile and holds up her beer. "You made it."
"Barely", you say, sliding into the seat next to her. A small round table separates you. "The directions you gave me were faulty."
"I'm sure."
"Be glad I didn't get lost", you tease. "You'd miss me on the ranch. Don't deny it."
She doesn't. She leans back and looks at you, her eyebrows raised, before nodding at the party happening around you. "What do you think?"
Your eyes sweep across the room. They've started to line dance now — at least a handful have. Kids are running around, disrupting the flow of the dance, and the music has become even louder.
"Very tame", you grin, looking at her again. "Could turn it up a notch. But it ain't bad."
"Ain't?", she repeats.
"You pick stuff up."
Natasha laughs and nods, bringing the beer back up to her lips. She hasn't had a lot of beer yet — only half a bottle — but she has a feeling she'll need more.
The party keeps moving at a breezy pace. Alcohol flows, people chat. Men ask women for dances. Natasha stops talking after a while, her eyes absently scanning the crowd. She only snaps out of it when a man comes up to you.
She anticipated it. She sees the stares, and to be blunt, she understands the stares. The sundress you're wearing is short, barely reaching your knees. Then, the cowboy boots. The face topping it all off.
He grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet. Before Natasha can deflate in her seat, you reach for her and tug her along.
"Can you dance?", you ask. She bumps into someone and curses. It's too loud.
"What?"
"Teach me!", you yell.
You end up in the crossfire of the crowd, bodies colliding, her wrist in your hand. You spin around and get closer. Natasha, who's starting to believe she may have never had a choice in the first place, puts one hand on your waist and grabs yours with the other.
It's a simple two step. Easy enough, she's hoping. She's done it countless times before.
"Like this", she tells you. "Look at my feet. Quick, quick, slow, slow."
You nod, pressing closer and following her movement. Quick, quick, slow, slow, and you step on her foot.
"Dang it!"
"Don't cuss", she says. "Come on. It's easy."
You find your way back to her, getting closer until your front is almost flush with hers. Cowboy boots stomp and scrape the wooden floors. You feel her breath and watch her face get more flushed.
Your fingers tighten around hers. She lets go of your waist to spin you around and pull you closer again. It's not quite how you two-step, but she thinks she can make an exception here.
"Again", she says. "Two quick, two slow. Don't look at me, look at your feet."
"I am", you lie. You're staring right at her.
It's the alcohol, probably. Granted, she had less than a bottle, and it was just some beer. She still needs an explanation for this. Why else would her voice soften?
"Doing good", Natasha mumbles, slightly out of breath. "One more."
The song ends way too quickly. You're halfway into a spin when it stops, and you both come to a stuttering halt. You stay glued together for a moment, until it starts becoming obvious to both you and the people around you, and then she pulls away.
You watch her return to her seat. Her attitude flipped, and it's apparent. She's back to being exactly how she was the day you first met her.
You stand there and stare for a second, breath heaving and brain running on full speed. Do you approach her? Not now, probably. Doesn't sound smart.
You turn around and go back to the bar for a second drink. Tennessee whiskey, the bartender recommends. He slides over a tumbler full of it before proceeding to ask whether you're free tonight. You shake your head and dip.
The whiskey is a little lighter than the bourbon was. It's a punch of vanilla and spice, hitting your throat and your blood alcohol levels right away. You linger next to the wall and finish the tumbler in small sips.
You're not looking at Natasha. You're not even sure where she went — her seat was empty when you looked at it again, and now, you can't find her. It's for the better, probably. Maybe you pushed it too far. She's still your boss, after all.
The people around you start dancing again. It's a slow two step this time, and it's mostly lovers dancing to the song now. You watch them for a moment, shake your head at the same guy trying to pull you in for a dance, and then set your tumbler aside. You slip out through the door and into the chilly summer night.
They set up a tent next to the barn. There's people out here as well, barbecuing and drinking beer out of coolers. Your eyes sweep across the tables, but when you don't find what you're looking for, you turn around.
You saw the river the day you got here. You didn't think it'd be close to the ranch, but you found it when walking to the summer fest. You find your way back to it now.
You hear the water before you see it. Moonlight reflects off the moving surface, the water glittering in the darkness. It smells clean, a little earthy, and you sit down on the piece of timber next to it.
It's calm out here, quiet. Your thoughts go back to Natasha, to the dance and everything surrounding it. You didn't do anything wrong, you're sure. She could've said no and returned back to her seat. She didn't have to get so close.
You don't know how long you sit there before you start to hear footsteps. You turn around when gravel crunches, only to look straight at Natasha. She's got her hat pulled low, her face almost covered.
When she noticed you were gone, she freaked out a little. You had alcohol, after all. The area is considered safe, and locals don't see an issue with being out late at night; but you're not from this town, and for some reason, she thought you'd actually get lost this time.
"Christ", she mutters, stopping a few feet away from you. "What the fuck are you doing?"
You shrug. "Wanted to escape the noise."
"Could've told me you'd leave", she snaps.
"Didn't seem like you cared", you shoot back. "You disappeared first."
Her shoulders slump a little. She swore to herself she wouldn't, but she feels guilty. Now that she's looking at your face, she does. There wasn't anything else she could've done, though. That dance tested every boundary she set up for herself.
She kicks at some gravel, then walks up to you.
"I went outside", she clarifies. "I needed some space. Took me two minutes until I came back."
You give her a defiant look, but the embarrassment sits deep in your chest. Maybe you overreacted. You shouldn't have wandered off.
"How was I supposed to know?"
"You weren't", she admits. "But don't do that again."
"You sound concerned", you tease, straightening up. She lifts her eyebrows. "Why's that?"
Gone is the embarrassment. Natasha stares at you, her jaw twitching. She can't explain herself, but lord knows you'll come up with something. Whether that'll end up being true is a question she won't answer.
"I think it's time for bed", she says. "You sound drunk. How much did you have?"
"Not nearly as much as I'm used to", you dismiss and get up. "Now answer my question."
You're face to face now, the distance between you becoming smaller. Natasha feels her body go rigid when it shrinks to inches, you suddenly all up in her space, smelling of whiskey and a perfume you managed to bring.
Heat all over her skin. She exhales, trying not to panic. Everything is still under control. It's late, you're both tipsy, your hormones are acting up. Then, your hands settle on her waist, and her head dips instinctively.
Her lips hover in front of yours. She can almost taste the whiskey she's smelling, and that's when you let out a breathy laugh.
She freezes, her eyes searching your face. You're way too close, yet you're not backing away. You're smiling, daring her, and she refuses to play along and give you the satisfaction.
"Party's over", she says quietly. She takes a step back. "We're going home."
"Tired already?", you say, hands slipping. "I could go all night."
"I'm sure you could", she mutters. You make your way back to the trail that leads to the ranch.
It's silent between you now. You're walking next to each other, side by side, the moon only providing enough light for you to vaguely discern your surroundings. Natasha's wide awake and confused, slightly irritated by her own behavior as well.
She walks you back to the bunkhouse with her hands in her pockets. You look at her when you stop in front of the door, and she takes a breath.
"I'm giving you the day off", she finally says. "Tomorrow."
"What?" You frown. "No. No, that-"
"You're taking the day off", she says, interrupting you. "Go for a walk. Visit your family. Whatever. Just..."
You raise your eyebrows. You thought Natasha would get sick of you. You didn't think it'd happen like this, though.
"I get it", you say. She licks her lips and nods, glancing at the door. "I'll stay out of your way."
The door creaks open. You disappear inside, no more words exchanged, and Natasha tries pushing down the feeling of regret bubbling up. Before she can change her mind and follow you into the bunkhouse, she turns around.
. . .
Without you, the stable feels empty. A dozen horses, grunting and blowing and chugging water, don't fill the silence. Natasha sets the broom aside and pauses, her mind drifting.
You were serious when you said you'd stay out of her way. Instead of joining her on the fence by the paddock for breakfast, as you've been doing the past week, you just...didn't show up. Maybe you were in the bunkhouse, still asleep, or maybe you left the ranch for the day. She doesn't know.
It's hot outside. She's done with work for now, which means she should take a break and get some lunch in. She's been thinking too much though, so she grabs a saddle and some tacks and enters Liho's paddock.
She hopes it'll be easier to distract herself when seated on a horse's back. She'll have to focus, both on the horse and their surroundings, and on herself as well. Maybe she'll stop regretting what she did last night.
Liho can sense the agitation inside her. She sidesteps, flicks her ears at Natasha's fumbling with the cinch. When she jerks the bridle, Liho tosses her head.
"Sorry, sorry", Natasha mumbles. "All good?"
All she gets in response is a long huff. Natasha bites her lip — now they're both irritated.
She mounts up, anyway. She's sure Liho will feel better after a long ride as well, and though that's true, part of her also knows she's telling herself that to feel better about dragging her out into the early afternoon sun.
At this hour of the day, the fields are empty and endless. People are inside eating lunch and avoiding the heat. They get enough sun around here as it is. No need to soak it up.
Natasha pulls her cowboy hat lower to shield her eyes from the sun. She presses her heels into Liho's sides to coax her into a trot, the vast landscape next to them starting to move by at a quicker pace.
She has no real direction, and neither does Liho. All she knows is that they're getting further away from the town. If she knew, she may have turned around.
The soft lapping of water is what she hears first. Cottonwoods block most of her view, but once they've gotten past those, she spots the river.
You don't see her, but she sees you. You're wading through the water, only in white underwear and with your hair soaking wet. Water drops glisten on smooth skin, the sun lights up each inch of your body, and Natasha loses her train of thought.
That's where you went. Instead of going into the city or visiting your parents, you took a picnic trip to the river. There's a checkered blanket spread out next to it, with an empty plate and a bottle of water, and your clothes tossed onto a piece of wood.
Her eyes quickly find you again. Your bra is sheer from the water, and so are your briefs. She shifts on the horse, trying her best to keep riding before you notice her — but then you look up and it's too late.
Your eyes meet. Neither of you do anything about this. Water splashes against your thighs, you shoot her a smile, and that's when she tugs at the reins and makes Liho turn around.
Within seconds, they're gone. You stay in the water for another minute, then get out and dry yourself off with an old shirt. The way back to the ranch feels much shorter, but maybe that's because you're in a rush.
Natasha hears the gate creak from all the way in the stable. She pauses alongside Liho, whose ears perk up at the noise. She only gets to wonder about it for a few seconds, and then, the door opens.
You slip in, now in a dress and with your face glowy from the water. Natasha stops and stares. Maybe she got a heatstroke during those ten minutes she spent outside.
But no. You're real. You make a beeline for her, and when you're in proximity, she lets out a quiet noise.
"Why'd you leave?", you demand. Natasha exhales in a shudder. "I saw how you looked at me. So why'd you leave?"
She shakes her head, not saying anything. You furrow your eyebrows.
"Natasha", you empathize. "Say something. There's no way you have nothing to say to me."
"I don't", she snaps. "You're making this up."
Your breath is heavy. You step closer, until you're so close that she can smell the river water clinging to your skin and clothes. She swallows, her hands balling into fists.
"Liar", you whisper. She stares, her heart pounding, and then she closes that last bit of space left between you.
Lips, hot and plush and searching, press against yours. Her hands find your waist. You get closer, wrapping your arms around her neck, and part your lips to deepen the kiss. There you go, stumbling into something that might be the biggest mistake you could've possibly made, but neither of you consider it enough to care.
It's like the horses all shut up the moment you kissed. Natasha walks you backwards, her hands squeezing and groping at your now clothed hips. You end up against the wall in the small room that leads up to the hayloft.
You don't stop. She nods her head to deepen the kiss, and you drum your fingers down her chest until you find the zipper of her jeans. She's got a very specific picture of you in her head — almost fully naked, only covered by small pieces of drenched fabric — and she's desperate to see it again.
"Wait", she pants, fumbling with your dress. "Can I?"
You nod frantically. The dress falls to the floor and Natasha's eyes dart lower. You let her stare for a moment, her hands keeping a tight hold on your hips, before you tip up her head. Her lips find yours again.
"Let's go upstairs", you tell her between kisses. She nods.
The ground is covered in hay. You end up on your back, with Natasha on top of you. The first time you were in the hayloft, you hated her guts. Things have taken a turn for the better.
You've both been holding back for days, maybe weeks, and it shows. Her lips collide with yours, time after time again, before she starts moving her mouth down your jaw. Your fingers tangle in her red hair and you lift your head enough to watch her mouth drag across your chest.
She watches you take off your bra, her thumbs hooking into the sides of your briefs. You lift your hips enough to let them slide off.
"You're so flushed", you say, smiling at the pink color dusting her cheeks. "It's cute."
"Shush", she mutters. She buries her face in against your stomach, her hands smoothing down your thighs. Spit slick lips start making their way south and you gasp, your hips bucking.
It's frantic and dizzying. She gropes your thighs, her lips pressing against them and sucking marks into the supple skin. You're aching and soaked, each kiss making you more impatient.
"Natasha", you whine, reaching down to grab a fistful of hair. "There."
You guide her between your legs. She lets out a moan as her tongue presses against your cunt. Your back arches at the much needed sensation, and she only grinds her face deeper when she tastes you.
She's messy, you notice through heady arousal. Her kisses are sloppy, slick with spit and your own wetness. Her fingers are curled into your thighs with such force that you're sure they'll leave marks.
Your stomach tenses at her tongue pushes in deep. One hand is buried in her hair, the other uselessly scratching at the wooden floor you're on. Your hips twitch upwards when she buries her entire face against you.
You'll come way too soon. She's eager, unrelenting, shoving you towards an orgasm you already know will knock all air out of you. You clench around her tongue, your chest heaving and sweaty, and let out another loud moan.
Natasha does hope no one will waltz into the stable while you're up there. Most of her workers stay out unless she asks them to do something, but she can never be sure. It's not enough to make her stop, though — especially not now that you're so close.
Heat floods you. She's eating you out like she's trying to fit all of you into her mouth at once. Energy has coiled deep in your belly, you can't think anymore, and when the coil snaps, it all floods outwards in one overwhelming burst.
Your back arches and your head falls backwards. Muscle spasms all throughout your body, and when they begin to slow down, Natasha lifts her head. You give a lazy glance at her face.
"Fuck", you mumble, still out of breath. Her face is a mess.
"That bad, huh?"
You grin and reach out for her. She crawls up and kisses your mouth, her fingers brushing your hair aside. The afterglow is hitting you hard, with your muscles limp and your brain on timeout, so Natasha rolls over and pulls you onto her chest.
It's silent at first. Then, the noises of your surroundings break through the little bubble you created for yourself, and you start to hear the horses downstairs and cows outside. A truck drives past the ranch, the wind howls, and you nuzzle her neck.
"You could give me more days off, you know."
She lets out a weary laugh. "No shot. You'll be up 7am sharp tomorrow. I need you around here."
"Mhm?" You lift your head, eyebrows raised. "You do?"
"Just enough not to kick you out", she mumbles, pressing a kiss to your temple. "So don't tempt me."
You roll your eyes and slump into her chest again. You're not sure how long you stay like this — naked, curled up between stacks of hay, skin hot and heads fuzzy. The only thing you know is that something changed.
. . .
The animals can sense it before anyone else. The horses are restless, hind legs shifting and ears pinned, their tails swishing. The ranch dogs are pacing, following you around, and the chickens haven't left the coop since early morning.
You're still clueless. You're crouched next to the stable, a water trough in front of you. It's the third trough of the morning you're scrubbing. You're starting to get sick of it.
"How's it going?", Natasha calls. You look up and see her leading the horses outside.
"I'll punch you."
"Yeah, yeah." She grins, walking towards the paddock. Liho stops and stomps, blowing air out through her nostrils. "Hey, come on. What's the matter with you?"
You frown at the Friesian. Liho is calm, usually — at least with Natasha she is. You've never seen her resist the paddock, either.
"Is she alright?"
"She's fine", Natasha dismisses. It's a sunny day, with a clear sky and a light breeze. It's not as hot as it's been the past weeks. "It might rain later. She's a little nervous, but she'll be better once we get her into the paddock."
You nod, reaching for the brush again. Your arms are starting to hurt, but it's the last trough you need to get cleaned, so you're pushing through it.
Over the next few hours, the weather changes. Dark clouds start crowding the sky, drowning out the sun. The temperature drops, and the light breeze turns into a wind that's gaining in intensity.
You're sitting on the porch of Natasha's house, bowls of potato soup in your hands. She keeps forgetting to eat — not because she isn't hungry, but because she's watching the horses and the rapidly changing weather like a hawk. She's wary of storms.
"You okay?", you ask, licking the spoon clean. She glances at you.
"Huh?"
"You seem distracted."
"Oh", she says. "It's okay. Just trying to gauge the situation."
You nod, the spoon clinking when you drop it into your empty bowl. You get up, lean over to kiss her cheek, and then make your way into the kitchen. Natasha watches you leave before shifting her focus back to the animals.
By 5pm, the sky has turned a dark gray. It's raining. Thunder rumbles in the far distance. Natasha's in the living room with you when she hears a noise outside.
Not just any noise — it's the horses, outside in the paddock, panicking. High pitched whinnies and sharp squeals, loud enough to travel from the paddock to the open window of her living room.
You lift your head, a frown on your face. "What was that?"
Natasha gives you a fleeting look. Outside, the thunder is getting louder. So are the horses. She gets up and reaches for jacket, her red hair loose for once.
"The horses", she says, already slipping out through the door with a flashlight in her hand. "I have to go get them inside."
You trail after her. You're not sure whether you'll be of any help — she doesn't let you handle the horses by yourself, and she especially won't let today be the first time she does. You don't get far, anyway.
Natasha whips around. You stop right in front of the porch, feeling the rain start to soak into your clothes and hair.
"What do you think you're doing?", she asks sharply. "Go back inside."
"I can't let you do this alone", you protest. You can see the paddock from her house. The horses are freaking out, and the storm that's started to roll in is only making it worse. "There's twelve of them, Nat!"
"Y/N, go inside", she repeats. "I'll be fine. Now go."
Truth is, she could use a helping hand. The issue is that you'd be absolutely useless. The horses weigh anywhere from a thousand to two thousand pounds. They've done damage without meaning to before, and now that they're under this kind of stress, she can't let someone who has no experience go near them.
You stand there, staring and doubting her. She's right, though. If you get injured, she'll have far bigger problems than a couple panicked horses.
You don't have a choice. You stay back on the porch and watch her hurry towards the paddock, her body becoming less visible the further she progresses.
It's a huge storm, the biggest of the summer so far. The rain is lashing at her face, the sky briefly gets lit up by lightning. She tries to quickly count the horses — and the result is sobering. She counts twice, and both times, she only gets to eleven.
On the other side of the paddock, she spots parts of the fence torn to the ground. Max is gone.
She hears footsteps behind her. She whips around, expecting you to have rebelled against her orders and followed her outside, but it's Steve. She wouldn't trust most of the people working on the ranch with a situation like this, but she trusts him.
"Get them inside", she barks, already running towards Liho. "I need to find Max."
"On it!"
Natasha attaches the reins to her halter, then she swings herself onto Liho's bare back. No time, no saddle.
It's not ideal, but she knew that. The storm is getting worse by the second. Liho's coat is slick beneath her jeans, and paired with her sharp movements, not falling off becomes a challenge.
There aren't many horses she'd trust in a storm like this, though. When it comes down to it, Liho is the one she can count on.
She charges through mud, her head slightly lowered. Natasha's soaked through at this point, from head to toe, despite the jacket and thick boots. Her heart pounds as she scans the area around them, but Max is nowhere to be found.
Her best bet are the woods nearby. She remembers when another horse escaped once — her mother's, an old mare that passed a few years ago. It'd been storming as well. They ended up finding her seeking shelter in that same wooded area.
"Easy, girl", she pants, guiding her with her knees. They take a sharp turn, and Natasha nearly slides right off. "There we go."
Her hooves are thundering not unlike the storm raging around them. Natasha pans her flashlight between the trees, her eyes narrowed. Trees, trees, nothing but trees. She almost gives up, but she moves the flashlight to the left one more time and finds an all too familiar Appaloosa.
Natasha exhales. Now comes the hardest part.
You're still on the porch, waiting, cold rain soaking you to the bone. It's been half an hour, maybe. You're not sure. You refuse to check. Your worry has grown rapidly, becoming almost unbearable. Each time you hear movement, you pause. Each time, it isn't Natasha.
Until it is. She's out of breath, her red hair dripping and her white top sheer. Her clothes are clinging to her skin. She looks up and quickly figures out you never left the porch.
"You're fucking insane", she breathes, hurrying up the stairs. "You're shivering!"
Her arms wrap around you. She leans in, her lips as cold as yours when she kisses you. You grab her face, the relief that she made it back safe suddenly the sweetest thing in the world.
"I'm fine", you dismiss. Her forehead leans against yours. "Did you find him?"
"He was in the woods", she says. "I went there with Liho. Getting them both back was a struggle, but we made it."
You make a noise at the revelation, but before you can voice the concerns flooding your head, she grabs you and steers you inside. Warmth hits you, and you only now realize how fucking cold you were.
She leads you all the way to her bedroom. You watch her grab a large towel and put it over your shoulders.
"I'm okay", you insist. She mutters a curse and begins drying you off. "Hey. Nat."
No shot. When she doesn't reply, you cup her face and pull her into a kiss. Sweat, rain, saliva mix between you, but neither of you care. The towel drops to the floor, her hands replacing it, and you press closer and closer as the adrenaline keeps rushing through your bodies.
Her palms are hot as they rub down your sides. You slide your own hands down her chest, pushing gently until she ends up seated on the bed with you in her lap.
"I'm okay, I'm okay", you whisper, placing frantic kisses along her jaw. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
"You're still cold", she mumbles. Her hands find the front of your shorts. "Fucking idiot. You could've frozen to death."
"True", you hum against her skin. "Warm me up."
Heat shoots through her own body at your words. She opens your shorts and pulls them off, her hands smoothing up your thighs. You let go of her to tug off your top, and when she's met with the view of your bare chest, she lets out a quiet noise and leans in.
Your nipple is pebbled against her tongue. She sucks on it, gently scrapes it with her teeth. Your back arches and pushes more of the soft tissue into her mouth. One of her hands slips between your legs.
You're soaked in more than one way, it turns out. She moans, pumping her fingers into you and feeling how tight you are. You sigh at the stretch and slowly lower your hips to push more of her into you.
The rain hasn't stopped — it's only gotten worse. It's whipping against the windows, the wind howling and the storm raging. But you're inside, safe and warm, her fingers nestled between your legs, and whatever is going on outside is none of your concern.
You roll your hips down against her fingers, then lift them again. Natasha opens her eyes to look up at you. It's a view she could get used to.
Her thumb presses against your clit. You let out a shuddering exhale, starting to ride her fingers faster.
Each thrust makes you more desperate. You're sweaty, hot all over, chasing the discomfort you felt earlier away. She curls her fingers without warning, making you moan.
"Not cold anymore?", she mumbles. You shake your head. "Thought so."
You slump against her, hips still moving. Her hand moves with your hips now, fingers thrusting upward each time you sink down on them, and you feel them hit something that sends shock waves through you.
A deep thrust is all it takes, and you come around her fingers. The orgasm hits you hard enough to make you go still, but Natasha keeps pumping her fingers until you let out a quiet groan.
You end up in her bed together, bodies naked and covers pulled up high. Her head is on your chest, your fingers running through her damp hair. For the first time in hours, the storm outside begins to mellow.
. . .
"I could stay on the ranch", you suggest, watching her wipe the counter. She pauses.
"Bullshit. You've got school."
"I graduated."
"What about your master's?"
You shrug. She sighs and reaches for an apple, which she chops into uneven pieces. You grab a chunk and pop it into your mouth.
You've been having this conversation for days. You haven't managed to come to a conclusion yet. You don't want to leave, Natasha doesn't want you to leave, but she's right — you applied for a master's program at DU and got accepted. Backing out seems like a dumb idea.
You've only been here two months, after all. Your parents would kill you if you threw this opportunity away for a woman you, at least in their mind, hardly know.
"What?", you ask. "Don't think it'd be worth it?"
Natasha glances at you. "I don't know", she admits.
"I think it would be."
She grimaces. You lean over and peck the frown off her face, then slide off the counter. You go outside, both of you, into the midday sun you've gotten so used to.
The fence has been fixed. Liho walks up to it and you feed her an apple chunk. You stay there for a while — you eat apple chunks, watch the horses. You end up climbing on the fence and balancing on it.
"We've got work", Natasha reminds you. She's standing in front of you.
"What?" You sigh. "Spare me. I've got two days left with you!"
"Work still needs to get done", she says. "That's the number one rule here."
You stare at her, not making a move to get off the fence. It doesn't take long for her to get fed up with you, and once she does, she wraps her arms around your thighs to get you back down.
"Hey!", you protest.
"Feed bags", she huffs, setting you down on your feet. "Now. You know where they are."
You give her a look that makes her hesitate. Then she leans in and kisses your mouth, quick enough to make it an apology, but not long enough to make her cave. Lord knows she'd rather be in bed with you than work.
The day flies by. You meet up a few times — after she repairs the barn roof, before you groom Rocket. You end up in the hayloft, behind the barn. She kisses you, her lips parting and your tongues meeting. You're both sweaty and tired from the heat, but neither of you care.
Time passes no matter how much you try to stretch those last days you have. The thought of leaving doesn't become easier. You were fighting tooth and nail when your parents said you'd work here over the summer, but now, you'd rather summer never ends.
Packing your suitcase feels more like a chore than ranch work does now. Natasha leans against the doorframe, watching you, until you slam the suitcase shut. She hesitates for a moment, then makes her way over to you.
"Got everything?", she asks, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.
"Pretty sure I do."
It's quiet inside the bunkhouse. Everyone else left for the day — Natasha shooed them into town to grab a few things and to leave the two of undisturbed. She's not sure wants them to see her watching you leave.
She leans in to kiss you. It's tame at first, only a press of lips, but you quickly become more frantic. You grab the front of her top and clash her lips back against yours, a moan escaping you.
You don't have enough time, you both realize, but you end up against the wall anyway. Right as you push her hand between your legs, a car honks outside. You part with a sigh.
"That's it, huh", she mumbles, her cheeks a little more pink than usual.
"I could tell them to leave", you plead. She shakes her head. "It's not like it's their decision."
"It's not", she agrees, then hesitates. "Come on. I'll get your stuff."
Ten minutes later, you've shoved everything into your parents' car. You poke your head out of the window, absently biting your lip. There isn't much left to say now.
Natasha leans against the fence. Her lips pull into a small smile. She feels her heart in her throat.
"This time, next summer?"
"You know it."
You feel the car start when your father turns the ignition key. It begins to roll, slowly but never slow enough, and you let out a shaky exhale. Natasha tips her cowboy hat, watching you leave until the car is out of sight.
I don't remember if i used this gif already, but there's not enough Nat gifs out there.
Summary: You're the new rookie to the avengers. Shy? Definitely not you. Sarcastic? Yes. But around a certain redhead, shy is all that you are
Warnings: Just you being a shy mess around her
------
You noticed it the second week you moved into the Tower.
Not the crush. God, no. You’d noticed that the first time Natasha Romanoff leaned against the briefing table and gave you a lazy little “you keeping up, rookie?” with one eyebrow raised.
No, the thing you noticed in week two was worse.
You physically could not act normal around her.
Everyone else? Easy.
You sparred with Steve without flinching. You stole fries off Sam’s plate. You sat cross-legged on Bruce’s lab counter while he rambled science at you for an hour straight. You even let Tony drag you into one of his chaotic workshop arguments.
But Natasha?
Natasha walked into a room and suddenly you forgot how chairs worked.
It was humiliating.
“Pass the salt.”
You nearly dropped the entire container into your soup.
Natasha blinked at you from across the dinner table.
“…You okay?”
“Yep,” you answered too quickly.
Sam snorted into his drink.
You kicked him under the table without looking.
Natasha took the salt from your hand carefully, fingers brushing yours for maybe half a second.
You stopped breathing.
Actually stopped.
She frowned a little. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Mhm.”
Your voice cracked.
Clint outright choked laughing.
—
Natasha, somehow, did not get it.
Which made absolutely no sense because she was literally one of the best spies in the world.
She could tell when people lied before they even opened their mouths. She noticed tiny shifts in posture, changes in breathing, microexpressions.
But apparently your painfully obvious crush existed in a blind spot.
Or maybe—
Maybe she noticed and just didn’t care.
That possibility haunted you most.
So you avoided her.
Not dramatically. You weren’t hiding behind walls or sprinting in the opposite direction.
You just… strategically disappeared.
If Natasha entered the kitchen, suddenly you remembered you had laundry.
If she sat beside you during movie night, you’d excuse yourself for water you didn’t need.
If she tried talking to you one-on-one for too long, your brain melted into static.
It got so bad that one morning Steve found you fully climbing back out of the common room window.
“…Why are you using the fire escape?”
You glanced past him.
Natasha was inside making coffee.
“…Fresh air.”
Steve looked unconvinced.
“You live on the thirty-eighth floor.”
“Cardio?”
—
The thing was, Natasha made it impossible.
She wasn’t even trying.
She’d casually sling an arm around your shoulder after missions.
She’d smirk at you from across the training room.
She’d praise you in that low, rough voice like it was nothing.
“Nice shot.”
“Good work.”
“You’re improving.”
And every single time, your brain replayed it for the next six business days.
The worst part?
Natasha liked being around you.
A lot.
She liked your dry sarcasm. She liked how you got protective over the team despite being newer and younger. She liked how your hair curled slightly at the nape of your neck after training.
She especially liked making you flustered.
Not maliciously.
It was just… cute.
You’d get all stiff and avoid eye contact while trying so hard to act normal.
And Natasha, despite decades of emotional repression and spy instincts, had somehow mistaken your crush for intimidation.
Which honestly offended her a little.
One night after a mission, she cornered Clint in the kitchen while he dug through the fridge.
“She’s scared of me.”
Clint stared at her.
Then he started laughing.
Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “You seriously don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Clint.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then realization slowly crossed his face.
“Oh my God,” he said again, quieter this time. “You like her too.”
Natasha scoffed immediately. “I do not.”
“Nat.”
“I don’t.”
“You look at her like she personally invented sunlight.”
Natasha opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“…That dramatic?”
“Worse.”
—
After that conversation, Natasha started paying attention.
And suddenly everything clicked into place.
The nervous fidgeting.
The avoiding.
The staring when you thought she wasn’t looking.
The way you’d go completely silent whenever she sat too close.
Oh.
Oh.
The realization hit her so hard she nearly walked into a glass door.
You had a crush on her.
A big one.
And somehow, impossibly—
Natasha felt warmth bloom low in her chest at the thought.
—
The next few days were torture for both of you.
Because now Natasha noticed everything.
Like how your ears turned red when she touched your arm.
Or how you always looked for her first after missions.
Or how your entire face softened whenever you thought no one was watching.
It was unbearably endearing.
Which became a problem when Natasha started getting shy too.
Not externally, obviously.
Natasha Romanoff didn’t really do externally shy.
But internally?
Disaster.
You smiled at her in the elevator one morning and she forgot what floor she needed.
You complimented her fighting stance during training (something which you had taken a whole of 30 minutes to muster up the courage for) and she spent the next hour punching the bag hard enough to split seams.
It was deeply inconvenient.
—
The breaking point came during movie night.
You were curled into the far corner of the couch, hoodie sleeves shoved over your hands, trying very hard to focus on the screen.
Natasha arrived late carrying popcorn.
Your heart immediately started acting traitorous.
There was exactly one open spot left.
Beside you.
Of course.
You contemplated death briefly.
Natasha sat down close enough that your shoulders touched.
You froze.
Completely.
She noticed instantly.
And this time, instead of pretending not to, Natasha tilted her head slightly.
“You always this nervous around me?”
Your eyes widened.
“…No?”
“Liar.”
The fondness in her voice made your stomach flip.
You stared determinedly at the TV.
“I’m not nervous.”
Natasha hummed softly. “So if I did this—”
Her fingers slipped carefully around your wrist where it rested against your knee.
Gentle.
Warm.
You nearly short-circuited. Luckily no one noticed, at least, they pretended not to
“Shut up,” you muttered weakly, still staring straight ahead.
Natasha’s thumb brushed against your pulse.
Way too aware. She was way too aware of how fast your heartbeat got.
Her expression softened.
“You know,” she murmured quietly enough just for you, “for someone so confident around everyone else…”
You finally looked at her.
Big mistake.
Natasha was already watching you with this small, impossibly soft smile.
Not smug.
Not teasing.
Just… warm.
Your face burned.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Probably.”
But she still didn’t let go of your wrist.
Actually, her fingers slid down slowly until they tangled with yours.
Your brain stopped functioning entirely.
Natasha squeezed your hand once.
Then, very casually, she leaned her head against your shoulder.
You looked at her like she’d personally rewritten reality.
Natasha didn’t look up from the movie.
But you caught the tiny smile tugging at her mouth when your fingers squeezed hers back.
A near-death experience in the cold and the snow causes revelations about you to burn through Natasha's mind…
W.C: 3k
TW: swearing and near death experiences!
Natasha rarely failed at a mission, and when she did, it was always salvageable in some way or another. The consequences rarely affected her directly, and if they did, she’d still get through.
This time, however, she could feel the said consequences in the chill creeping up her spine, in the damp seeping into her feet and numbing every extremity. She didn’t have long left. Her energy was waning, and it was becoming difficult to move. Soon, frostbite would take its hold, sacrificing a limb at a time until the blood froze in her veins and her heart stopped pumping.
She’d racked her brains for every ounce of training, mentally replaying each lesson and experience, but found her preparation for this situation sorely lacking. Natasha had done everything she could. She’d done well to even last this long.
And as her internal organs started to shut down, her brain falling into a freezing fog and quelling down the sense of panic at the prospect of death, she would refuse to admit this was a failure. Natasha had lived longer than she’d expected. During her time at the Red Room, every day felt like her last. Following graduation, each mission risked a swift and merciless end. Her recent role as an Avenger only heightened this possibility. No. Natasha hadn’t failed…
Her eyes had been screwed shut for longer than she could remember, and the snow pelting her face had long since lost its effect. As she huddled, knees to her chest to preserve any remaining body heat, the crude attempt at a shelter collapsing all around her, she realised she felt suddenly warm. Burning up. This was it, the final stage of freezing to death. Yet, she ignored all her mind told her to do, remaining as still as the icicles forming all around her.
And then.
“Natasha!”
A voice on the breeze. A hallucination, surely. Some kind of religious relief beckoning her to the afterlife, hopefully.
“Nat!”
It was familiar to her, but her muddled mind couldn’t quite place why. All sense told her not to move, though curiosity peeked through her survival instincts. Natasha cracked open an eye, feeling like it was defrosting despite the cold air now brushing its surface.
A figure moving towards her. Black against the white snow. A blur of motion. But most importantly, real.
The figure approached her at an urgent pace, snow sent flying all around them as they trudged through the knee-high white blanket. The figure crouched down in front of her, hands reaching out to touch her shoulders, imploring her to move. The touch filled her with life, not warmth, but a cold shake that reminded her she was still alive.
Both her eyes were open now, blinking away the doziness.
“Nat, please. Say something. Do something. Anything.”
The figure was out of breath, fear filling their eyes as they regarded her. God, she must’ve looked rough. She wished colour would return to her cheeks so that they would not be so concerned. Willing her lips to move sent sparks of pain scattering across the surface of her skin, but something deep inside her chest told her she had to reply. Had to soothe your worry.
“I…” Her lips numb, her voice cracking.
You stared at her pleadingly, caringly. Natasha wished she could remember the details lingering just out of her periphery. Deep down, she knew who you were, why you were here, but her brain wasn’t functioning properly.
“Thank you.” Was all she managed instead, watching tears pool in the corner of your eyes and hoping the liquid wouldn’t freeze there.
“Come on.” You moved abruptly, further than she had dared to venture.
She was jealous of how easily movement came to you. Her limbs were stiff, forcing her to be still and save energy. But she trusted you, noticing the care with which you laced your arm under her own, hauled her up from the cold, soft ground, and into the harsh beating of the wind. In the distance, a helicopter, its propellers spinning in a blur of grey, whipping the snow into a frenzy. Finally, her instincts kicked in as she lunged towards it.
“One step at a time.” You chided beside her, rushing forward for support. Without you, she would have fallen straight to the ground. If she did, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get up again.
Each slow step forward was painfully cold, each muscle aching from the endless shivering. You were practically holding her up.
“God, I don’t know how you survived this long…” You murmured. “But not long now, not much further.”
And you were right. A few more stumbling steps that felt like a lifetime, and she was crashing against the vehicle, fingers tense against the cool metal surface. You lifted her up, guided her from hands and knees to collapse against a seat- warm and soft. There was a slam that made her jump as you tugged the door shut, and then, a gentle whirring sound as the helicopter kicked into life.
“How the fuck is she alive?” Another voice, a man’s from the pilot’s cockpit, barely audible.
Natasha was unwilling to grace him with an answer, even if she was mildly offended at the disbelief in his voice. It hadn’t been that long, had it? There was a brush against her ears as she realised you were tugging a pair of headphones over her ears, protecting her from the deafening roar as you took off. She wanted to thank you again, but the heat circulating inside stung her, silenced her.
“Just get us out of here!” was your eventual response, shrill through the microphone, laced with frustration.
“Alright. It’s about a half an hour journey back to base.”
True to his word, the ground was growing further away out the window, transforming into a white blur below. Her sanctuary for the last day was disappearing from view, and Natasha found herself suddenly unmoored. Flashes of memories filtered back into her consciousness, each one a new form of nightmare. The HYDRA base they had been investigating out in the wilderness turned out to be a trap. Natasha’s partners on the mission hadn’t gotten away in time, and she had no choice but to flee, pursued by HYDRA agents further and further into the vast wintry desert. There hadn’t been time to note the direction or distance of travel.
Lost soon became an understatement... But now, the scream of the helicopter’s engine rang in her ears, a stark reflection of the other agent’s final moments. It had been hellish. Her chest hung low with a sense of failure.
Yet, one memory brought back a sense of safety: you. Natasha remembered being endlessly grateful that you hadn’t been selected for this mission. She had a bad feeling about it from the start, proven correct in her instincts. Now, sitting beside her, your gaze was fixed on the window, but she could see you chewing your lip anxiously.
Natasha was tired, but most importantly, she was safe. As sleep began to take its hold, she felt herself leaning into your side. You jolted at first, then, feeling her relax against you, encircled an arm around her waist and held her there tightly.
~~~
The crackling of the fireplace was mesmerising, a warmth reflected in the amber of Natasha’s drink, equally as warming when she tossed back another mouthful. Stark had insisted that escaping near death was drink worthy, even if her eyes were threatening to close with every blink. Snow continued to fall outside the large windows, visible now even long after the sun had set.
Being on the inside looking out was a lot more pleasant than freezing to death, she mused.
While conducting a search party for Natasha, SHIELD had taken over a local ski resort. It was a big empty place, and yet it wasn’t cavernous or cold. The wooden structure perpetuated a homely feel, and the marble floors adorned with large Persian rugs suggested it was usually a retreat for the wealthy. A selection of worn leather armchairs and tattered sofas- the kind you simply melted into- were all arranged around the grand fireplace. There was a reception desk in her periphery, marking it as the foyer.
She had been directed to her private room earlier, normally a suite for some ungrateful millionaire. The bed there was much fancier than the freezing cold ground, the large quilted duvet more appealing than the blanket of snow she had suffered the last few days. She would’ve been perfectly content to collapse and recuperate in there. Alas, the entire Avengers team had opted to pause whatever they were doing and join SHIELD in searching for her. Natasha reluctantly admitted she was touched by the thought.
The SHIELD brigade had since packed up following her return to civilisation, efficient as always. Thus, the building was as drained of life as Natasha felt, leaving only herself, Tony, Bruce, Clint and Y/N to make use of the fireplace. Conversation had dwindled a few minutes ago, melting into a comforting exhaustion. The sensation of sitting down after a long day, knowing that you wouldn’t have to get up again... Except it hadn’t just been a long day. It had been ten days. Natasha had lost all pretence of time out there in the wilderness.
A thorough examination by the top SHIELD medics showed the toll it had taken on her body, and she set herself the task of not dwelling on it, so that her mind would not follow suit.
That exclamation of, “How the fuck is she alive?” was beginning to make a lot more sense.
Reminded of the journey back, Natasha glanced to her left. You were sharing the same sofa, leaning on the far-left side, closer to the fire. Your gaze was determinedly fixed on the fireplace, an attempt to seem nonchalant, but Natasha could see how this was merely an act. Your brow was furrowed, hands were clasped so tightly around a glass that she could see the strained outline of your knuckles poking through your skin.
Apparently, having noticed her staring, you cleared your throat.
“I think I’m going to head to bed.” You started gathering yourself together, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
“Alright...” Bruce was the first to answer.
The rest all watched you stand in a pensive silence. You were often the first to join and the last to leave, basking in the rare time you all got sat together. You were usually chatty, reserved, but funny. Tonight you had been mute.
“Night, guys. Don’t stay up too late.” You appeared to sweep across the room with an easy smile, bidding everyone goodnight, but again you remained unfocused. Your smile was forced.
There was a general murmured response, and then you were gone. Footsteps echoed through the main lobby, and somewhere in the distance, the gentle click of a door shutting. The air besides Natasha was cooler now. She shivered, shuffling closer to the fire, feeling the warmth of where you had been sitting.
“You know…” Clint began, then trailed off, a sheepish expression about him. “Y/N was the last one looking for you.” He confessed suddenly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he continued watching the fire dance and crackle.
Natasha’s lips drew into a taut line as she considered his words, the implication behind them.
Tony nodded, prompting Clint to continue.
“Long after we all thought you were dead. You should’ve been dead.” Clint ranted, assuaging his own guilt more than anything. “I mean, all the experts SHIELD brought in were telling us to presume you were dead. The odds of surviving out there… in those conditions… Well, one in a million…” He fell quiet again.
“Point is,” Tony leaned forward in his seat, catching Natasha’s full attention. “Y/N never stopped looking for you. We were all starting to pack up, and meanwhile, she was bribing a SHIELD pilot to fly her out for one more day. I mean, that’s probably why she’s so exhausted now… When have we known Y/N to be the first one to go to bed?”
Despite everything, Natasha smiled at this.
Being rescued was a hazy memory already, filed away into the part of her brain under lock and key- not to be touched unless absolutely necessary. But in the field of static white, she remembered you. The full black tactical suit a stark contrast against the snow. She ached then with the cold, and now at the concern in your expression. To have caused you such fear, that was Natasha’s greatest failure. Not the mission. Not the near-death experience. But the thought of harming you. The regret that she might’ve died without…
Her brain ground to a halt. She wouldn’t let herself get swept away in such imaginings.
The group had fallen silent again, but now, the pressure of several weighted gazes was resting upon her. She knew what realisation they were trying to push her towards. For all Clint’s hints, for Tony’s teasing and Bruce’s confused stares, none of them were subtle people. Surely, for them to not only notice how Natasha felt about you, but also to push her towards some bigger picture meant you must feel the same?
Natasha found herself sweating. The fire was too hot, the sofa beneath her too soft, and her friend’s persistence too much to handle.
“Well, it’s just as hard being the rescued as it is the rescuer.” She joked. No one reacted.
“I’m going to bed, too.” Natasha stood up, her bones aching from the recent strain. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
If anyone bid her goodnight, she didn’t hear it.
Apart from Tony settling back into the armchair with a sigh, and a murmured, “go get ‘em, tiger.”
At first, Natasha truly did mean to head to her bedroom, but her legs didn’t seem to carry her that way. The gentle sound of a door clicking was a subtle cue, but sufficient to make a gamble as to which room you were staying in. She paced down the corridor, purposefully neglecting to switch on any lights until she saw it: a gentle golden glow emanating from the crack beneath one of the doors. Your bedroom.
She halted in front of it. Gulped and tapped her knuckles against the wood. Two sharp, distinct knocks. Her mind hadn’t quite caught up with her actions yet, but it was too late for change, and too early for regret. All she wanted, all she needed, was you.
A second later, and the door creaked open, your face peeking through the gap. Illuminated by the warm bedside lamp, your face was glowing with a frustration that immediately melted to concern upon realising it was Natasha on the other side.
“Are you okay?” You swung the door open the rest of the way, allowing Natasha to notice that you had changed into pyjamas. Her heart involuntarily skipped a beat, and she found herself unable to answer. Her mouth was dry as she traced over the comfortable, informal clothing. It was a glimpse of you she rarely saw. “Nat?” You called, frown lines deepening.
“Uh, yeah.” Natasha shook her head and clasped her hands together in front of her. You observed every moment closely, as a trained agent should, to look for any sign of weakness. Or in this case, any pain that she might show to justify your concern. “I just didn’t want to be alone.” Natasha’s voice was low, her head bowed slightly.
Nerves weren’t something Natasha gave into often. Even on death’s door, she had felt largely calm. But now, with you standing before her, open and warm, it took everything in her not to shake. The air in the corridor was cold, and snow still fell outside.
“Of course,” you jolted into action, stepping aside, “come in.”
Entering your room was easy, one foot over the threshold at a time. Though it did nothing to lessen her nerves. If anything, they were heightened by your proximity. Liking someone wasn’t a sensation Natasha had ever experienced, let alone given in to. It was all unfamiliar territory. Yet, with you, warm familiarity bloomed throughout her body, soothed the aches in her muscles and the chill from her bones.
“Sit down.” You inclined your head towards your bed.
Natasha’s mouth was dry as she followed the instructions, perched tense on the far end. You sat next to her, slowly, softly. Natasha’s eyes darted up to you, oh so close, and if her gaze lingered on your lips for a beat too long, you didn’t mention it.
“I would ask if you’re alright, but I think I know the answer.” You muttered, unwilling to tear your eyes away from Natasha’s.
She smiled. “I’m better now.”
You mirrored the expression, then lowered your hands to the bed and scooted closer to her. Warmth always radiated from human contact, but yours was special.
You seemed to read her mind, your smile widening. “Warm enough?” You asked.
Natasha nodded. “Definitely…” More silence, and then, a gentle confession wormed its way from Natasha’s heart to the very tip of her tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, but the smile didn’t drop from your lips. “That’s alright. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
You raised a hand, and Natasha noted how you trembled, barely dared to breathe as it drew closer to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in, seeking more of that addictive heat you always radiated. Cold air was replaced by your lips, warm against her own. You huffed out a breath through your nose, a sigh of warm air fanning across her face. She brought her own hand to grasp your waist, fingers running along a sliver of warm skin there. Her stomach was twisting, burning in just the right way as the kiss deepened.
And there, surrounded by your heat, Natasha wondered how she had ever felt cold.
things I won’t let ai take away from human writers
em dash
“not x, not y, but z”
short sentence stacking as a stylistic choice
none of these belong to ai. these are all what human writers have been writing since day one, way before ai was invented. ai was trained to mimic how human writers write — so em dash, not x not y but z and short sentence stacking would never have been used by ai at all if ai hadn’t learned and mimicked them from human writers.
no, you are not “fighting against ai” by accusing every work that has em dash, not x not y but z or short sentence stacking in it as ai-generated, you are helping ai harm the writing community by engaging in witch hunt and scaring human writers away from creating/sharing their works for fear of being wrongly accused of using ai.
speculations, accusations and ai witch hunt harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
what it feels like when everyone your age is in relationships and doing god knows what while you’re just a marvel nerd maladaptively daydreaming about a character all day (who is also way too old for you):
Trapped in a malfunctioning elevator and convinced you are about to fall to your death, panic is all you have left. That was until a rather pretty firefighter forced her way in.
Warning : brief injury, mention of panic attack (Nat makes it feel better)...
⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑
The elevator had been making that, somewhat weird, noise all week.
You had first noticed it on Tuesday, an ugly metallic groan between floors, like something inside it was grinding itself to pieces. It echoed in your bones and made you clench your teeth together in a reaction you could not quite shake nor hide. By Wednesday, you noticed that the lights flickered faintly every time the lift passed the eighteenth floor.
You had meant to report it.
You really had.
Now you were very aware that you had, in fact, not.
The elevator jolted violently somewhere between what you thought were the twenty-first and twenty-second floors, and then it stopped completely.
Not a gentle stop, no, that would have been too nice. A brutal fucking lurch, mind you.
The kind that happened so abruptly it completely stole the air from your lungs and made your body lose its axis. You gasped, grabbing blindly for the handrail in the confined space, a cry of pain escaping your lips as your ankle twisted beneath you at the same moment the lights went out...
Pain shot up your leg.
"Shit-"
Stupid, stupid heels, stupid job. And most of all, fucking stupid elevator.
For half-second, there was only silence in the box you were trapped in. Heavy silence and the blood rushing in your ears before it raced south to warm up your ankle.
Then the cables screamed. The entire lift dipped a terrifying inch, maybe more - metal screeching against metal, and your body slammed into the mirrored wall behind you, the impact knocking a strangled cry from your throat.
"Oh my God," you whispered, widening eyes darting around in the dark. "Oh my God, oh my God-"
The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the small space in a sickly red glow.
Your hands were already shaking. You sucked in a deep breath before lunging for the control panel, hitting the red button in clouded panic. Door open. A soft, broken whimper slipped out as heat bloomed around your ankle, sharp and throbbing.
You exhaled hard, eyes narrowing as you hit the alarm button. Alarm, alarm, alarm again. You pressed it so hard your fingertip hurt.
Nothing.
The alarm gave a weak, frankly pathetic buzz that died almost instantly.
"Hello?" Your voice cracked as you leaned toward the speaker anyway. "Hello?! Can anybody hear me? I-I’m stuck, I-"
The elevator answered with another grinding groan before it slowly - so slowly it felt like moving in slow-motion - shifted again. Lower, just a tiny, insignificant fraction, but it was enough. Enough for your brain to supply the images: snapping cables, freefall, the box crumpling like a soda can when it hit the bottom.
With you inside it.
All because you refused to come to work early to climb up twenty-five flights of stairs.
Your knees gave out before you even realized it was happening, you slid down the mirrored wall, your back dragging against the cold surface until you hit the floor. You brought your injured ankle closer, only now realizing just how much it was burning. You were probably not going to be able to walk out of there - if the doors accepted to open again one day, that was.
Oh, God.
You did not like small spaces.
You did not like not being in control.
You definitely did not like the sound of metal giving up.
"It’s fine," you muttered to yourself, breath coming too fast. "It’s fine. Elevators don’t just-"
The car dropped another inch.
You screamed, hoping if you were loud enough whatever Gods there were out there would come and get you out of here themselves.
⧗
Natasha Romanoff had been halfway through her second coffee at their usual café when the call came in.
Elevator malfunction in a building downtown with presumably one occupant trapped. Structural concerns.
She was already on her feet before the dispatcher finished.
"Alright, let’s move," Clint muttered, tossing his cup in the trash and dragging a hand through his hair. "Too early for this kind of bullshit."
The engine roared to life, their sirens cutting through the late afternoon traffic as they cut across the streets.
Natasha stood in the back of the truck, one hand braced against the rail, the other clenched tight at her side. Her jaw was set hard enough to ache. Elevator calls were unpredictable, they could go either way - minor inconvenience or catastrophic failure. She sure hoped it was not the latest. However, the words structural concerns made something cold coil in her stomach.
They pulled up in under seven minutes, fortunately they were not far from the building when they received the call.
Natasha was out of the truck before it had fully stopped.
A small crowd had gathered outside the building, tension thick in the air. She scanned them once, before zeroing in on the man pacing near the entrance.
The building manager looked pale, sweating through his shirt.
"It’s stuck between floors," he rushed out as she approached. "We think twenty-one and twenty-two. We tried resetting the system, but it’s not responding. And we h-heard-" His voice wavered. "Someone said they heard it drop."
Natasha’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes went sharper - dangerously so - as she recognized the situation for what it was.
"How many people are inside?"
"One. I-I think."
"You think?" Natasha scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Name?"
"I-I don’t know?"
She shook her head, of course he did not, why would he know anything useful? Natasha was already turning away from him, biting down the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming at him.
"Team’s arriving in ten." Clint said, jogging up to reach her side.
Natasha let out a short breath, pinching the bridge of her nose for half a second as she forced herself to think rationally.
Ten minutes.
Yeah, no.
Her gaze snapped back to the building, already calculating distances, access points, worst-case scenarios.
"That’s too fucking long. I’m not waiting."
Clint exhaled, looking at her as if he already knew the end of the story.
"Nat-"
"I’m going." She cut him off, already heading inside.
⧗
Inside the elevator, you were crying now.
Quiet and panicked tears that refused to stop, slipping endlessly down your cheeks no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing. Your chest hitched in uneven rhythms, every inhale too sharp, every exhale too shallow.
As if it was not bad luck enough already, you had discovered your so-called waterproof mascara was not as waterproof as the bold words on the package made it sound to be. You had dark streaks smudged beneath your eyes, sticky and uneven, making your reflection in the mirrored wall look... ridiculous, or pathetic. Or both.
You looked like an actress trying too hard to win an award for a drama.
And then there was your last straw; your damn phone. Because you had also discovered that you had no service inside this creepy box. Because, of course there was not. You had tried 911 anyway - once, twice or maybe five times - but each attempt failed before it even began, before you could hope. No signal, no lifeline, nothing.
The red emergency light was still on, though. Making everything inside feel smaller, the walls too close, the ceiling too low. And the air hotter, thin, like every ragged breath you took was not quite enough to fill your aching lungs. And just for that, you were grateful for being the only one here. You could not imagine panicking like this in front of someone else. Or even being stuck for God knew how long in here with someone else.
Especially that creepy Dylan guy who could not take a hint to save his life. So, yeah... you supposed the situation could be worse.
Another groan tore through the walls as soon as you finished your thought.
God, you really should learn to hold your tongue.
It was the third in under five minutes, you had been counting.
Your hands flew up to your ears, palms pressing hard as you squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could block it out, as if ignoring it might somehow make it all stop.
"I don’t want to die," you whispered to no one, to yourself, to whatever Gods out there that must have heard you by now but seemingly decided to do nothing about your case. "Please, please, I don’t want to die."
Your voice sounded so small to your own ears, like it did not even matter. And then, there was a sudden metallic clang echoing from above. As if answering you, finally.
Your hands slipped from your ears, hovering uselessly in the air as your brows pulled together, confusion cutting through the panic.
Another clang, louder this time.
And then... voices? Were you hearing voices? If that was true, they were definitely muffled, distant and barely distinguishable. Though you were not quite sure you had not started imagining things. That was what the brain was supposed to do, right? Hallucinate something comforting when reality became too much?
Your head snapped up at another sound, your heart beating with newfound hope.
"Hello!?" You shouted, scrambling to your feet as best as you could, a sharp whimper escaping when your ankle screamed in protest. You clung to the handrail, leaning heavily against the mirrored wall, slowly sinking back into a sitting position. "I-I’m in here! Please! Anyone?"
Something heavy thudded against the top of the elevator.
Then a voice. You were sure of it this time. It was clear and calm and authoritative.
"Fire department! We hear you."
The sob that tore out of you was immediate and uncontrollable. Your hand flew to your mouth, pressing hard as if you could somehow contain the sound, but it shook through your whole body anyway.
"We’re going to get you out," the voice continued. A beacon in the chaos. A lighthouse in the fog. "I need you to step back from the doors."
"I-I am!" Your voice cracked badly, but you stumbled back as much as your ankle allowed, deciding to ignore the new noise coming from the elevator.
Tools met metal then. A harsh, grating sound filled the air as something outside strained against the doors. The entire elevator creaked in protest, a deep and very unsettling groan vibrating through the walls.
You watched, unable to look away, as the doors jerked before you felt the elevator shift under your feet.
The elevator fucking moved beneath your feet.
"No, no, no-" You choked, panic surging back as you slid down the wall again, your body refusing to stay upright.
"Hey!"
The voice was closer now. Right outside. Your head snapped up from where you thought the person was, lips pressed into a tight line.
"Stay with me. What’s your name?"
For a second, you forgot how to speak.
You swallowed hard, whispering it back in a shaky tone.
"I’m Natasha. I need you to look at me when I get this open. Can you do that for me?"
You nodded frantically before realizing she could not see you as she called out your name to make sure you were listening.
"Yes-yes, I can do that." You finally breathed.
A sharp grunt echoed from the other side.
Then suddenly a gloved hand appeared, forcing its way between the doors.
You held your breath as the gap widened, one inch first.
Then two. The metal shrieked in protest like it was alive, like it was fighting her every step of the way.
But then, you saw her.
First, her arm - muscles straining, veins taut beneath sweat-dusted skin, shiny bicep flexing hard as she forced the doors apart manually.
Then her shoulder, the short black sleeve of her shirt covering most of it, stretching tight.
Then her face.
The red emergency light behind you clashed with the brighter hallway lights spilling in from outside, casting her in something almost unreal. The glow caught on the edges of her helmet, creating a halo effect that made her look-
Not real. Not human, at least.
You had been asking for a God all this time when you should have prayed for an angel.
A streak of red hair clung to her cheek, damp with sweat, and her green eyes locked onto yours with sharp, unwavering focus.
"Hey, you’re okay." She said, as if it were fact, her lips offering you a small yet gentle smile.
The doors opened wider, revealing the misalignment - the elevator sitting a good foot below the hallway floor.
Natasha’s gaze assessed the inside in seconds.
"Alright. It’s stable," she called over her shoulder to someone you could not see before nodding at whatever answer she received. Then her gaze softened as it returned to you. "Can you walk?"
You tried, but the second you put weight on your ankle, pain exploded up your leg, sharp enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
You gasped, shaking your head, your hands gripping the bar tighter.
"I-I don’t think so. My ankle, I-"
You expected frustration, maybe impatience. Anything of that range. But Natasha just nodded once, quick and decisive as she shifted closer.
"It’s okay. That’s alright," her voice lowered slightly before she braced one boot against the frame and forced the doors wider with a low, controlled exhale. "We’ll adjust."
Behind her, you could hear someone securing something metal against the frame above. More clanging. More tools. The elevator trembled faintly and you flinched.
Her eyes snapped back to yours instantly.
"Hey," she said, firmer this time. "Stay with me. It’s secured from the top. It’s not going anywhere, alright?"
You searched her face for a lie or at least doubt but did not find any. Just certainty.
Natasha adjusted her footing, one boot planted firmly on the hallway floor, the other testing the edge of the elevator.
"I’m coming in," she warned, her tone turning serious again. "It might shake a little when I transfer my weight. That’s normal, you do not need to panic."
Normal...
You almost wanted to laugh at how fragile that word sounded. But you nodded anyway, your throat tight, your eyes locked on her like she was the only stable thing left in the world.
Your gaze caught on a strange, almost irrelevant detail - the glint of light along her left ear. Multiple piercings, small pieces of metal catching the hallway light. Your brain latched onto that stupid detail even through the panic you could feel rising.
Behind her, you caught a glimpse of movement - her colleague stepping in, rope in hand. He clipped it to her harness with practiced ease, giving her shoulder a firm, reassuring tap.
She did not look back.
The elevator dipped half an inch the moment she slid through the gap with controlled precision. You gasped, hands flying to the wall.
Natasha did not even flinch, she simply moved like she trusted it - like she understood the language of metal and tension and load-bearing structures better than fear ever could. She crouched in front of you immediately, one of her gloved hands finding your arm without hesitation.
Up close, she was even more unfairly breathtaking. A thin sheen of sweat clung to her temple. A faint smudge of grease near her jaw. Her green eyes were sharp, assessing but warm.
Your entire world narrowed to green.
"Hi." She said quietly, her lips twitching into the faintest smirk that made you weak in the knees.
Your brain short-circuited.
Great.
Of all the moments.
Of all the possible moments.
You had to be a gay disaster right now. Of course. And get caught while checking her out.
You let out a shaky, hysterical half-laugh - still reeling from seeing her entering your space so easily.
"Hi."
Before you could utter another word, another distant metallic groan echoed through the shaft, low and threatening.
Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly.
"Alright. We’re going to lift you out," she said, focus snapping back into place. "As you can see the car is about a foot low, so I’ll boost you up to Clint - that guy over there. He’ll grab you, and I’ll be right behind. Got any questions?"
You shook your head quickly, instinctively shifting closer to her as the elevator creaked again, your breath catching.
"We’re not falling," Natasha murmured, her hoarse voice wrapping around your ears. "I’ve got you. All I need is for you to wrap your arms around my shoulders. Can you do that?"
The certainty in her tone did something to your spiraling mind.
You scooted closer and circled your arms around her neck. You tried not to wince too much as she carefully slipped one very muscular arm carefully behind your back and the other under your knees before lifting you effortlessly. Like you weightless nothing at all.
The elevator trembled faintly as she stood, but she adjusted without hesitation, her stance shifting in tiny, precise movements - like balance was something she negotiated with gravity every single day.
You looked at her, suddenly hyper-aware of the proximity. The strength coiled in her arms. The heat of her body through her clothes. The steadiness of her breathing compared to your own chaotic one.
"Oh God-" You choked as the car trembled all around you, your fingertips digging into the fabric of her shirt.
"Shh, it’s okay. I would not be in here with you if it wasn’t secure," she said steadily, her hot breath ghosting your cheek as she turned, bracing her back against one wall and her boot against the other to give herself leverage. "I don’t gamble with old elevators."
You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking nervously around as the walls creaked.
"That probably doesn’t sound as... comforting as you want it to be..."
A soft huff of amusement brushed your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine, the hair at the back of your neck raising in consequence.
"Okay, then I don’t gamble with pretty girls I’m rescuing," she corrected, chuckling faintly at the openly shocked look you gave her. "Alright," she added, like she had not just short-circuited your brain entirely, again. "It might feel like it’s moving like crazy, okay?"
"Okay..." You grumbled weakly, not liking her last words very much.
"Clint!" She called upward, her voice snapping back into command. "I’ve got her, we’re moving."
A man’s face appeared at the gap, giving you both a quick thumbs-up.
"Copy that."
"On three..." She murmured to you, but mostly to herself.
And then she was moving. Natasha bent slightly, grounding her stance - then pushed upward with controlled, explosive strength.
You cried out - not from pain, but from the sudden motion of everything. And then hands grabbed you under the arms.
"You’re good." The man, Clint, reassured you as he hauled you onto the hallway floor.
The second you were clear of the elevator, your body sagged in relief. The carpet felt like heaven beneath your palms.
You twisted immediately, panic snapping back just as fast.
"Natas-"
The elevator shifted again just as she grabbed the frame to pull herself up.
There was a loud, ugly snap from somewhere above. You froze, lips parting. Everything inside you went cold.
Natasha did not panic, she surged upward in one fluid movement, boots scraping harshly against the metal as she hauled herself through the gap.
The elevator dropped five inches the moment her weight cleared it.
A collective gasp rippled from both you and Clint. You stared at the open shaft, your heart pounding violently in your chest.
A second later, Natasha rolled onto her back beside you, her breathing heavier now, not uncontrolled, but very real as she took off her helmet. For the first time, you could actually see the adrenaline in her eyes.
Clint let out a low whistle, patting her shoulder as he helped her out of the harness.
Natasha pushed herself up, completely ignoring him, her eyes already on you.
"You okay?"
You nodded numbly before a sudden, illogical anger spread through your veins.
"You said it wouldn’t do that!" You exclaimed, smacking her arm.
Her eyebrow lifted, surprise flickering briefly across her face - ignoring Clint’s snort behind her as he walked away.
"Actually," Natasha replied, far too calm for your liking. "I said it would not collapse with you in it, not that it would not move at all..." She said, lips threatening to pull into a smirk that she forced herself to contain - like she knew exactly how close she was to getting hit again.
"Oh my God." You groaned into your hands, dragging your hands over your face, fingers pressing hard into your hairline.
But the second you felt your throat closing in again, something in you shattered completely. And then, before you realized it, you were shaking uncontrollably. The adrenaline you had been running on for what felt like hours disappeared from your system all at once, leaving nothing behind to hold you together.
Your hands started shaking, then your arms, then everything.
Natasha was immediately on her knees in front of you, tugging off her gloves as she reached for your forearms.
"Hey-hey. Stay with me."
You could not stop crying.
You tried to speak, you really did, but nothing came out except broken gasps that refused to form words.
Her warm hands closed around your wrists, warm and firm, her thumbs pressing gently but insistently against your pulse points.
"Breathe with me," she instructed gently. "In."
You tried. Failed a few times, but she did not lose patience. She shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of her, close enough that her presence alone started to anchor you, almost close enough to press her forehead lightly to yours.
"Come on, I know you can do it. In," she repeated before taking a slow, deliberate breath - deep enough that you could see it, feel it. "And out."
Your body followed the rhythm instinctively before your mind could catch up.
In.
Out.
In-
Out...
The world slowly stopped spinning quite so violently. The noise faded. The impossible tightness in your chest loosened just enough for air to finally, generously reach your lungs.
And suddenly you were made very aware that you were half in her lap. Very aware that your hands were fisted in the front of her shirt.
"I-I really thought I was going to die..." You whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.
Her thumbs brushed under your eyes, wiping away tears and smeared mascara.
"Well, clearly you didn’t." She said quietly.
Your laugh came out wet and shaky.
"That’s... that’s because you’re apparently made of steel."
One corner of her mouth lifted.
"Sometimes I wish."
You huffed something that might have been a watery chuckle.
Your face crumpled again as the last of the adrenaline drained out of you, leaving you raw and exposed. Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your face into her shoulder, your arms wrapping around her.
You felt Natasha freeze for half a second before her arms came around you as well. Firm and protective.
"It’s alright. I’ve got you." She repeated softly.
You were still trembling, a faint tremor running through your body. If you had not been so close perhaps she would not have even noticed it. But she was close and she did notice.
"It’s over now. You’re safe." She murmured, shifting a little closer on her knees. Slowly, hesitantly, one of her hands came up to rest against the back of your head.
You pulled back once your brain caught up with the realization of just how close you suddenly were, your entire face heating up with embarrassment.
"Sorry-I just, you saved-"
"No, no," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It’s okay. Really. I get it."
There was an awkward pause before you realized her hand was still on you. She seemed to realize it too as she withdrew, clearing her throat slightly.
"I’m... I should probably check your ankle?"
You nodded, wiping at your face in a completely useless attempt to fix or even hide the damage.
"Sorry," you muttered. "I’m not usually this... dramatic?"
A corner of her mouth twitched as she shot you a knowing look.
"You weren’t. But even if you were, you were trapped in a failing elevator. So... I think you’re allowed," she replied, shifting to your extended leg. "I always preferred stairs, you know."
Her hands were surprisingly gentle as she examined your ankle. You hissed when she pressed along the outer bone.
"Yeah," she murmured. "That’s tender."
Her thumb brushed lightly over the area before she leaned back.
"Looks like a sprain. Maybe a mild one. You’re lucky."
Lucky.
You almost laughed in disbelief again.
Natasha glanced toward the stairwell where two more firefighters were coordinating with the building manager.
"Medics are downstairs," Clint called over. "Stairwells all clear."
Natasha looked back at you, assessing as she pursed her lips.
"Alright," she said, decisive again. "You’re not putting weight on that."
You blinked.
"I can hop-"
"Nope."
Before you could argue further, she slid one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees again, lifting you as if you weighed nothing at all just like she previously did.
Another startled sound left you, hands instinctively flying to her shoulders.
"Natasha-"
"Relax..." She said smoothly, adjusting you against her chest.
"You don’t have to carry me all the way," you muttered, acutely aware of how solid she felt under your hands. And how steady she was. Which was a very welcomed thing after the situation you experienced. "I can... hobble... or something."
She snorted softly as she began the descent.
"Well, I think you already had your elevator moment. Let’s not add 'faceplanting down the stairs' to today’s crazy résumé."
Your lips parted in offended disbelief.
"Yeah," she said dryly. "You’ve done enough dramatic for one afternoon."
You actually gasped this time.
"Excuse me-"
"The screaming?"
"I was falling!"
"You dropped an inch."
"An inch is a lot when you think you’re about to die!"
That earned you a low, amused hum, deep enough that you felt it vibrate through her chest where you were pressed against her.
God. This was unfair.
She took the steps steadily, controlled, one at a time. Her grip never faltered, not even slightly - which was also very much unfair. You looked up at her face, catching her eyes flickering over yours before lingering. There was a beat where you hesitated, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the seemingly amused look on her face, your cheeks warming up under the attention.
"...What?" You asked warily, narrowing your eyes slightly.
There was a pause, followed by a flicker of mischief in her green eyes.
"Nothing."
"Natasha."
She exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was actively trying not to laugh.
"You look like a raccoon."
You stared at her, blinking in confusion.
"I-what...?"
She nodded solemnly, tipping her chin toward your face.
"Mascara situation. It’s... everywhere, very feral, very committed."
You stared at her, scandalized.
"I almost died and you’re bullying me?"
"I’m not bullying you," she replied gravely, adjusting you slightly higher in her arms. "I’m appreciating the aesthetic. You fully committed to the smoky eye look."
A choked sound escaped you, half laugh, half disbelief, as you tried to glare at her. Your lips betrayed you first, twitching at the corners despite your best effort.
She caught it instantly.
"There it is..." She murmured.
"I hate you." You muttered, though your voice wobbled with a laugh.
"Kinda doubt that."
You could not help but smile at her, shaking your head before awkwardly wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks.
"Better," she said quietly. "That’s better."
You rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind the action.
"You’re unbelievable."
"Meh, I’ve been called worse."
The stairwell echoed with distant voices and the steady rhythm of boots on concrete, but in the space between you, everything felt... quieter. You bit down your lip, really wishing you were not imagining things.
Now that the panic had ebbed, you found yourself studying her properly.
Freckles scattered beneath a sheen of sweat. A faint cut near her brow. Green eyes that had locked onto yours like you mattered the second those devilish doors opened.
"Am I heavy?" You asked suddenly.
Natasha scoffed, giving your face a clear once over.
"I lift people twice your size in full gear."
"Oh," you said, pretending to consider her words. "So I’m light like... what? A backpack?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if genuinely thinking it through.
"Mhm... More like an angry kitten."
You gasped, smacking her shoulder.
"Raccoon and kitten? Pick a species, Natasha."
"Raccoon aesthetic," she corrected smoothly. "Kitten attitude."
You were fully smiling now.
It felt strange - how easily she could pull you out of that spiral without even really knowing you. Like she had simply decided fear did not get to win today.
She reached the final flight, the soft afternoon light filtering up faintly from the lobby below. Sirens flashing through the glass doors.
You hesitate, talking yourself out of saying what you wanted to, but when will you ever get the chance to if not now?
"Alright, I have to ask... Do I at least look like a cute raccoon?" You asked quietly after a full minute of convincing yourself to finally get the words out.
Natasha did not hesitate, her lips offering you a charming smile.
"Oh, the cutest I’ve ever rescued, for sure."
Your stomach flipped in a way that did not resemble anything you experienced in the elevators.
The lobby doors burst open as you finally stepped out into the open air. The cool breeze hit your face and you inhaled sharply - you had not realized how badly you needed that until your lungs filled with it. It was perhaps the first full breath that did not feel like borrowed oxygen.
Paramedics hurried forward with a stretcher, voices overlapping as they approached. But Natasha did not set you down immediately.
"Possible ankle sprain. No loss of consciousness. Minor shock." She reported, her tone shifting seamlessly back to professional as her eyes flicked to one of the medics who nodded at her.
"We’ll take it from here."
You tightened your grip on Natasha for half a second longer than necessary. She looked down at you again, something unreadable flickering in her expression now that the urgency was over. She crouched, lowering you carefully onto the stretcher, hands lingering at your waist just long enough to make your pulse jump.
The sudden loss of contact felt... noticeable.
She stepped back as the medics started examining your ankle, asking questions.
You answered automatically but your attention never really left her, your eyes neither.
Natasha ran a hand through her slightly disheveled red hair, pushing it back from her face as the wind picked up. The adrenaline was still humming under her skin, you could see it in the way her jaw was set too tight, her fingers almost buzzing with restless energy. But she was already shifting back into that composed, controlled version of herself. She spoke briefly with Clint, answering a question from someone else. And suddenly, the thought of her just... walking away felt unbearable. And unfair.
"Natasha?"
She turned immediately at your voice, brows lifting.
You swallowed, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now.
"Yeah?"
Your throat felt tight again, but not from fear.
"Thank you. Truly," the words were simple, too small compared to what she had done, but you meant them with everything in you. "Thank you for saving my life."
Her teasing edge from earlier left her completely.
For a moment, she did not look like the confident firefighter who had climbed into a failing elevator without hesitation. She just looked like a woman who had been very, very scared of being too late.
"You’re welcome, just... doing my job." She said quietly, smiling at you as she reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Your heart did that stupid thing again.
One of the medics cleared her throat nearby, smiling sheepishly as she interrupted the... moment.
"We’re going to transport her for X-rays."
Natasha nodded absently, not pulling her hand away until she absolutely had to, her eyes staying on yours.
"You’ll be okay?" She asked.
You hesitated, biting down your lips. Then, before you could overthink it-
"...Will you visit the hospital raccoon?"
Her mouth curved slowly, something warm and amused - and dare you say even relief - settling into her expression.
"I’ll make sure to bring waterproof mascara recommendations."
You scoffed, swatting her hand away playfully. She winked at you, watching as the stretcher you were on reached the ambulance doors.
"You’re safe now." She whispered, winking at you.
And the way she had said it, certain like a promise made you unable to not smile back. You believed her completely.
Hope you enjoyed this silly fic!🤭
Actually working on a longer fic right now but I had this idea for a while so here it is!!
See you - hopefully - soon :))
if we post too fast, we get accused of using ai (no, you don't know how fast someone can write. you don't even know if the "too-frequent-to-be-human updates" you see are something that have long been finished and sitting in an author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted, doesn't necessarily always mean it's recently written too. a lot of writers finish the whole thing first before they start posting it chapter by chapter).
if we take "too long to update", we get people pressuring us to "update faster" even though fanfics are our hobbies and we write for ourselves first and foremost.
if our works are grammatically correct, we get accused of using ai (some of us just love correct grammars).
if our works are not grammatically correct, we get insulted/criticized (mind you, not everybody writes in their native language. kudos to writers who write in their second, or third, or fourth language — I'm willing to bet a lot of people who criticize fanfics because of poor grammar can't even speak other languages besides english).
if our paragraphs are "too long and too detailed", we get accused of using ai.
if our paragraphs are "too short", we also get accused of using ai.
if we are autistic and we write in ways some deem "too robotic", we get accused of using ai.
some people just don't use their brains to think "ai was trained on human-made works, it was trained to look human-made. ai writes this way because the way it writes is the way real humans write — real humans whose works it was trained to mimic". instead they somehow disregard this logic and think "hmmm this work looks ai-generated. I will engage in witch hunt, be a bully and harass writers whose works I don't vibe with".
summary: you had always adored damian… till you overheard his complaints to his brothers on your clinginess. so why was it that when you decide to give him what he desires, he is the one trying to close the gap he desperately wanted?
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: hurt-comfort, angst+fluff, hea, grovelling+yearning, desperate damian who bites his own words that make him go through it, reader with boundaries
“She’s clingy.”
Damian’s voice is unmistakable. Cut-throat, swift in its delivering blow. Even with his back turned to you, you could recognise it in a heartbeat.
“C'mon, Dames.” Dick teases. “You enjoy her company.”
A cold, scathing scoff echoes. “Her smothering can barely be considered company. Consuming my entire week—then coming along to the gala just to torment me further? You're mistaken.”
Pressing the gap of the door shut, your numb fingers dig into the wood. His bitter admission parted from his lips so easily. His harshly thrown words didn’t just shatter your heart physically into pieces—no, there isn't a harsher tidal wave crashing over you than the realisation that whatever bond you shared with Damian was a complete, utter lie.
Damian, who was prone to being harsh with his words, but had never gone out of his way to hurt you on purpose. You had even considered it a charm of his, because there had always been something tender laced within his actions, that always spoke louder than his words.
When he quietly swapped his plate with yours, a quiet consideration without ever once looking up, having memorised your allergies without you realising.
When he subtly placed his hand behind your back in galas, chasing off vultures who aimed for your status, with a silent glare that places you under his direct protection.
When he carried you all the way to his bedroom after a bad sprain on your ankle from a bad fall down the stairs in his manor, with biting remarks and a tender caress over your swollen skin as he applied an ice-pack, worry creased into his brow.
Was it all a ruse?
The wound is only inflicting on itself with every memory torn apart and searched for any evidence, any signs for his dislike. You trusted Damian, which is why it hurt so much to hear him talk about you this way. As if those small moments were all mere inconveniences for him, that burdened him. You had assumed he at least reciprocated your friendship, but now… if only he had faced you instead, with an honest willingness to express how uncomfortable he was.
If it was space Damian wanted, he should have communicated it with you. Instead of mouthing it to his brothers behind your back, without allowing for your voice of input to clarify on the boundaries he wanted.
You don’t notice time passing, standing in the corner of the hallway, your heels digging into the soles of your feet—till you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder. You flinch, brushing the sudden grip off only to find Damian in your swarmed vision. Concern flickers in the green flecks of his eyes… or was it annoyance? The ability to read through his mask, it feels as if it’s been an illusion all along.
“Spaced out?” Damian taunts, one brow cocked at your strange behaviour. "I told you not to come."
I told you not to come. You’re not sure what is the appropriate response, not when you feel a clog in the back of your throat. You never had to think twice on your words before, not in front of him.
“Tired.” You admit, because at the very least, that word carried a semblance of truth. You’ve never felt more exhausted in your life, and the culprit was standing in front of you, completely unfazed. “I think I should head home.”
His eyes widen imperceptibly, not expecting you to take his words so literally. You were never one to skip out on a dance before a gala has ended, no matter how boring the event was. Often, you’d drag him by the arm as your partner, only because the look on his face was easily the best memory of the night. At least, it should’ve been.
His lips part, ready to form his signature 'I told you so', but your ghastly expression makes him hesitate. He clears his throat, offering his hand and slotting himself by your side. “Very well. I’ll escort you.”
“No.” It blurts out quick, desperate.
His surprise slips through his impassive expression. His hand still outstretched—freezes, doubt etched into the crease of his mouth.
“You should be with your family.” You reply, straining a smile. “I won’t take up more of your time.”
It was meant to sound considerate, but the quickness of your tongue made it sound like a solemn promise.
His eyes narrow in puzzlement but you’ve already turned, moving out of his reach towards the exit. He doesn’t make an attempt to stop you, and it hurts that maybe, part of you still hoped he would. To prove his statement wrong, that you mattered more than being a nuisance.
You’ll give him what he wants. Space. Maybe you needed it too, to understand the emotions weighing on you. This hurt—betrayal—shock, you needed time to process it. To reevaluate what Damian Wayne really means to you.
Damian hasn’t heard from you in two days. In the past forty-eight hours, he has tracked your location to ensure you weren’t kidnapped, or lost your phone. Both suspicions were refuted, and the only anomaly that remains is your uncharacteristic silence ever since that night at the gala.
His gaze flickers back to the opened message channel, where his text ‘Have you arrived?’ remains unread. Running a hand through his locks, this may be Damian's first—for his conclusions to come up empty. His text was a mere front, an opening to ask about your wellbeing. His confidence in your reply was absolute, and he never once considered ending up in this standstill. Despite being apart from your constant presence, he finds that you’re somehow occupying more of his mental capacity.
He should’ve went after you the moment he saw that strange, desolate expression on your face when he found you, hidden alone in the corner. Your solemn attitude rang caution bells, concern—which is why he offered to bring you back. It was instinctive, natural. He never expected your rejection. The sting caught him off-guard, words of concern trapped in his throat. He didn’t master the skill of comfort as easily as you did, with sweet, honey words easily coming to your forefront.
He’s overthinking the situation, analysing it till the details have gone runny in his hands—blurry aside from the clear vision of your back turned towards him. Still, there was something about your goodbye… that left him strangely unsettled.
"There you go again." He hears your teasing voice, already memorised in his mind—a poke of your finger against his cheek. "Overanalysing the situation. Just ask me, Dami."
He shakes his head, trying to dissuade the many possibilities that ended in zero conclusions. It’s not a big matter. Today was one of the rare occurrences where his biology classes coincided with yours, leaving a lunch break where he could demand for answers. He’s sure that once he sees your usual, brightened expression—the discomfort in his chest will disappear.
Damian waits with strained patience outside your lecture hall. Various eyes are casted onto him—a rare, Gotham Times worthy sight of a lone Wayne waiting for some mysterious figure, but the attention is none of his concern. His eyes are locked on you instead, watching you pack your bag through the open gap of the door, the AC blasting a cold breeze against his nose bridge.
You’re laughing at some unheard joke from this distance, and it should soothe his worries—to see you refreshed compared to your exhaustion two days ago. He understands better than anyone how exhausting those galas are, which is why he tried to dissuade you from attending in the first place. Still, you had insisted on accompanying him, much to his chagrin. He at least hoped you didn't flunk your midterms today by overexerting yourself, despite his previous warnings, or else he really wouldn't be able to restrain himself from saying I told you so.
All fleeting thoughts of teasing you are discarded at the sight of an unknown blond male, chatting you up and making you laugh as hard as you did. His foot taps in a repeating manner, discomfort swarming in his chest the longer he watched, before catching his own fretting and forcing himself to stay still. This unknown variable is not a problem. Once you spot him, you'll come to his side instead—naturally.
This reassurance paces his impatience, waiting for you to notice him as you made it towards the door. His chest rises, anticipation creeping in as your head raises—and meets his gaze.
You smile, like you always do, and it has the same application of a soothing balm over the minor migraine he's formed from over-checking your coordinates. Waiting for you to come to him, his lips part with a ready excuse for why he came to find you instead of meeting at your usual lunch spot.
Only for you to walk right past him.
He blinks, unable to process what just happened. Impossibly in a single moment, he became invisible to your eye. His mind works in overdrive, unable to piece the facts together that you just walked past him. The probabilities calculated don't align with reality, but his body reacts faster. His hand reaches out, grabbing onto your wrist impulsively—right as you made your turn towards the hallway.
You stumble, gaze flickering down to his grip in surprise. “...Damian?” You blink as if stunned, like you hadn’t just walked past him like he was a ghost.
“You haven’t responded to my messages.” He blurts out with almost immediate regret. Now, his position comes off as a confrontation, and that blond is staring at him with vague amusement. Pathetic, he feels shame burn in the back of his throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
You stare at him unblinkingly, before your mouth parts in acknowledgment. “Ah, that. Tim should've updated you, did he not?”
Tim. A heated frustration arises in his chest, but he can’t figure out what exactly is stoking the fire. The realisation that you prioritised Tim's messages over his, or your strange nonchalance to his concern. “You’ve been conversing with Drake?”
“I needed his help with finding a new collection—he’s also a fan of the series.” You shrug. "With the midterms and his constant updates about the shipment from Japan, I must’ve missed yours."
“Your business with Drake isn’t my concern.” He spits out, harsher than intended. An uncomfortable slither of emotions is writhing in his chest, and the thought that you and Tim have been conversing in secret all along these past two days, bonding to something he wasn’t privy to... it was irritating.
Why had you gone to Tim instead? If you had asked him, he could've easily gotten you the collection.
“What is our relationship then?” You implore casually, eyeing his reaction. “If your concern is so situational."
Whatever he was expecting, he didn’t expect that. His lashes flutter, his composure all but ruined as his mind tries and fails to merge the you he knows, and the you in front of him. You don't seem angry. So, why was he beginning to feel a sense of dread?
“Weren’t you the one who always decided the labels for us?” He asks after a moment, his voice rough against the unexpected impact of your question.
Your expression finally flickers, disappointment slipping through the cracks of your smile. His response has displeased you, even he could read into that.
“I’ll let you answer for us this time.” You reply, and it’s distant—cold. Unlike you. “You can choose whichever you deem fit.”
“Wait.” His rushed voice sounds desperate even to his own ears. The sight of your back turned towards him is something he never wanted to see again. His gaze flickers between you and the blond, questioning. “Are we not supposed to have lunch together?”
You turn back, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Your smile reappears, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m having lunch with Lawrence, so it’s okay. You don’t need to accompany me.”
Damian views the world akin to a battlefield. There are allies, enemies, changes in fronts and positions. He has fought hard to feel deserving of every position in his life, whether it had been his grandfather's heir, his father's blood son, or Robin. Right now, he feels as if his position beside you has been ripped out of his hands. Accompany? Is that how you saw it, like some sort of duty imposed on him that you could dismiss him of whenever you pleased?
"See you around, Dami." Even his nickname given by you comes off flat from your tongue. As if you were going through the motions, interacting with him from behind a wall that's suddenly been constructed without his notice.
You weren't completely ignoring him like he suspected, but this distance... feels much worse.
There was something, very obviously wrong.
You aren’t sitting beside him. In the seat reserved for you, that’s meant for you.
It had been set from the very start, maybe initially because the two of you were the only children ever-present during family business dinners... and later, with your constant chattering that the adults found had an amusing effect on him.
He's gotten used to exchanging cuts of his meals with yours, or swapping his glass if his had more ice cubes in them, because you liked your beverages freezing cold. Used to you whispering unrelated stories and jokes into his ear when his father talks business with your father, and he has to resist a quirk up his lips because it would mean that you won in your little game to crack his exterior. Now, it's as if an entire routine has been disrupted, and Damian was a man of routine.
He watches you, eyes like a hawk over your every movement, trying to detect any pause in this unreachable mask of yours. You slice your steak without fault, placing your cut between your lips as you nod along to your father's words, seated at his right hand. You don't blink an eye in his direction, and he's tempted to walk right over and drag you out of that very chair.
To corner you in a space without prying eyes, and... what? He swallows dryly, forcing himself to look back down at his untouched meal. What could he say without sounding like a lunatic?
That he suspects that he's done something wrong merely because you've switched seats today? Or that you've been skipping out on lunches with him. Or all the way back to that cursed gala, when you had refused his hand to escort you back home.
Another troubled ‘Tt’ slips past his gritted teeth, and that finally reaches your ears.
When he meets your curious gaze, a silly gust of hope appears so quickly in his chest at the luck that he's finally caught your attention. He raises a brow, a silent question, gesturing to head to a private room with the tilt of his head. You've always understood his silent words better than anyone else did.
Which is why it shocks him when you merely cast your gaze back to your father, leaving his question unanswered. He wasn't deluding himself in this occasion. You're clearly rejecting his gesture, pretending as if you never saw it.
His grip tightens, crumpling into the table cloth, shame colouring his features. He has to put an end to this. Regardless of your coy act, he knows you. Maybe you had a bet with one of his brothers—who knows what schemes they've configured after their constant interrogations during the gala, successfully running a fuse on his temper.
Or maybe, he’s displeased you with an inadequate response. You had mentioned it before, the term 'labels'. Honestly, he never once considered trapping you in something so jarringly concrete. Bonds, human connections—they were always needlessly complicated.
What you meant to him, it expanded beyond the limitations of languages. You, who saw past his sharp exterior and pushed him beyond his limits, and him, who found himself staying despite every rational thought pleading him not to expose his weakness so easily out in the open.
It was simply natural from the moment he met you, instinctive to remain by your side just as you always found a place to slot beside his. Terrifyingly easy, that he refused to let anyone see the softness you evoked out of him. It was meant for you, and only you. Now, the strike of your absence, despite being only a few feet away from him, is running a deeper cut into his conscience, tracing back to the questions that's been bombarded on him by his siblings.
But—what does she mean to you, Dames?
What would your life look like without her?
In a desperate attempt to brush off questions that aroused a panic he had never felt before, he came up with quick, venom-filled words to dissuade his brothers. Oddly enough, he never wished to reveal what you meant to him, not aloud.
It made it feel too real, too vulnerable. As if the world could swallow you whole if he admitted just how irreplaceable you were, that he couldn't envision a life without you by his side. His grandfather had made it so—that any weaknesses should be removed from its roots.
He did not want to remove you from his life, so you are not his weakness.
He's tempted to curse his brothers to oblivion. If only they hadn't sprung such obnoxious questions, then these thoughts wouldn't be invading him, and the universe wouldn't have punished him for it.
He had already felt the brimming inevitability of something bound to go wrong the moment he was faced with vulnerability. If it had been anyone else, he would have retreated in a similar manner as he always had. To not show weakness, to prove that he was above silly affections and attachments to others—but it's you.
He has to fix this. Whatever it is that's wrong. If only you would look at him, then maybe you'd see his desperation too and let him in.
Damian doesn't receive an opening till the next gala. A cruel twist of fate the universe has decided to play on him, as if openly mocking his distress, to end up right back where the entire fiasco started.
He's barely kept himself sane. In these past two weeks, you've only responded to his messages—horrible attempts of reconnection, with mere one word replies, and visited the manor to hang out with his other siblings. When he had caught you lounging on Tim's bed, ranting about the new series you both were so invested in, he nearly tore the door straight off its hinges.
He craves for your silly rants during lunches. Your presence dipping the corner of his bed as you sketched doodles of his family in their vigilante costumes. Your warm laughter that soothes a long night of patrol.
He misses you... terribly.
It doesn't help that you're a vision tonight, only worsening the trembling ache in his chest. Dressed in your favourite colour that make you so strikingly vivid, already seared into his mind as he stares unblinkingly, he doesn't realise he's been holding his breath till your heels click with an ever-increasing volume towards him. Your nearing approach is what finally snaps him out of his daze, and his hand immediately shifts. Out of mere habit, for you to hold onto his arm as always.
Your hand doesn't lift to meet his, remaining stuck to your side. It pushes him off balance, and he has to force himself to respond when you greet him.
"You...look beautiful." He admits, his voice a weakened imitation of itself. He hates this, and you look—you are beautiful. So much so that it hurts. Even if he tried to reach his hand out for you, he has the suspicions that you’ll only back away from his touch.
"Thank you." You smile politely, and the tone of your voice, practiced and composed, stings.
His lips part, ready to pull you aside and ask what he has done wrong. He is ready to do whatever you ask, to plead for forgiveness so long as that look in your eyes finally fades, anything to get you back. The real you, not hidden behind cruel distance and polite masks.
A familiar, dreadful face cuts in before he can. Damian’s gaze hardens, trained on the blond that's been trailing after you since two weeks ago, who currently has his hand outstretched for you. His scowl falters, panic swarming his instincts—when your own hand reaches out to take the stranger's invitation.
He utters your name, a weak pulse forming a lump in his throat.
You turn back, casting him a quick glance like his existence was an after-thought. "Lawrence offered to dance with me earlier. We'll catch up later, Dami."
His chest seizes completely. He doesn't process the alteration of his own steps, only finding your wrist captured between his fingers, his shoe stepped in between the gap of you and your dancing partner, functioning as an opposing barrier.
“I’m afraid—” His voice cuts in, deadly calm. “—she already has a partner for tonight.”
Your head whips around, unable to hide your shock. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowed at the suitor who's dared to try for your hand. Perhaps it's his building paranoia stemming from your continued absence, but the sight of someone taking you away by your willing hand is truly driving him mad.
It doesn't take long before Lawrence registers the message Damian sends with a single, warning glare. Hands off.
Finally able to breathe once the bastard's been chased off, he turns back to meet your gaze and is surprised to find the barely concealed anger in your eyes. You've never looked at him this way before.
That same discomfort that's plagued him constantly for the past two weeks builds in his chest at the thought that you even entertained the possibility of dancing with Lawrence. Damian had always been your dancing partner, no matter how much he claimed to dislike partaking in galas like these. If anyone was going to deal with sore feet from the accidental missteps of your heels, it will always be him.
“Is that the label you’ve decided on?” You ask, the first words uttered without that strange, distant tone you've used before. “Partners?”
“Does it displease you?” He presses, trying to gauge your reaction. “I will change it to whatever you prefer.”
You purse your lips, conflict arising in your gaze. “I don’t understand you.”
He exhales lowly. “I should say the same for you. You are the one who’s—” His jaw twitches, desperation slipping past his façade. “—drifting away.” From me, why are you acting as if I don’t matter—as if this doesn’t matter?
He shouldn't have drank all that wine from earlier.
Alcohol doesn’t affect him, not with its supposed dizzying sensation and loss of control when recklessly consumed, but it did make him bolder, his tongue sharper. Yet, seeing you trying to evade him—out of his reach, he found himself doing something he sworn to never do—being impulsive.
At the lack of your response, his hand still wrapped around your wrist tugs gently, a quiet plea for you to say something. He feels useless, small—and you're the only thing he desperately needs. To help him make sense of the chaos that's consumed his every waking thought, that's plunged and follow him into his dreams.
Eventually, you sigh. "We should talk."
A small hope reignites at this chance you've given him. It's automatic, already mapped out in his head as he guides you to an empty room on the second floor. You don't rip away from his hold at the very least, but from your strained steps, you're not ecstatic to be with him either.
Shielded from prying eyes once he shuts the door, you're quick to pull your hand out of his hold. His own mask fractures at the loss of your warmth—but when he forces his gaze away from your disconnected hands, he finally sees you shed your own to reveal your honest expression. You look tired, a mirrored reflection of the agony that’s been inflicted on him these past two weeks.
You settle at the loveseat, head resting on your palm as if the very weight of your unreadable thoughts have consumed you, leaving you exhausted. If only he could reach in and unravel them himself, to understand the change in you.
“Drifting away?” Your voice muses at his words, and it lands like a punch. Do you truly not understand what you've done to him? “You’ve seen me the entire week.”
He shakes his head adamantly, coming to stand before you, neck craned down to face your averting gaze. “I won't be easily fooled. You’re avoiding me. Standing in places you’re not supposed to be.”
It sounds childish. God, he was being driven insane the longer you stood there, finally in his sights and he just couldn’t stop drinking you in.
“Opting for the furthest seat. Skipping lunch breaks. Accepting another dance partner. Ignoring my messages. Not being by my side.” It pours out without stopping, even as he feels warmth burn at the back of his neck, reaching his ears. “Your behaviour has changed. Even when you're close, you’re out of reach.”
“And you say I’m the clingy one?” Your expression flickers, a mix of hurt and solemn amusement.
His brow creases. “When have I ever—”
His own voice echoes in his mind, in a taunting afterthought. “She’s clingy.”
The gala. The interrogations. Your sudden change in behaviour. You overheard his callous comment. His reckless mistake.
He calls out your name weakly. The gravity of his mistake—it feels as if the entire universe is collapsing onto him.
You let out a sigh, and the acceptance in it terrifies him. As if you’ve already prepared yourself in these past two weeks, to fully be out of his life.
“I overheard you at the charity gala.” Your admission coincides with his guess, and your unwavering gaze leaves him stripped of all his defenses.
It's dawning on him in quickening alarm, with how each passing day, you must've lost hope in him. That his careless words must've wounded you deeply, leaving you to rightfully pull away. That he is a complete and utter idiot, who has hurt the one person he swore to protect.
"Do you feel less smothered? After all, wasn’t space what you wanted?” You ask, and there is no anger in your voice—only apathy. "It was what I needed."
The admission silences him. His heart is thudding so hard that he hears the rush of blood in his eardrums.
No. It wasn’t what he wanted. Your absence has ruined him, and it wasn’t the faults of his brothers, or revealing his vulnerability. It was all on him.
“Isn’t it better for us both, if we kept our distance?” You propose. “Since we’ve gone past the line of hurting each other. It’ll be convenient for the both of us, and less burdensome for you.”
Your calm demeanour is a bigger slap to his face than you shouting at him, demanding for him to apologise or to make things right. In the face of your acceptance, it’s as if you expected that this was the outcome he wanted.
He has a paralysing realisation, that if he doesn't beg for your forgiveness, you'll never come and seek for his repentance ever again. With every passing second, he feels time running out of his hands as your expression closes at the lack of his response, ready to abandon the room. Abandon him.
Desperation strips Damian bare of his pride when his knees hit the ground, landing harshly before you in the lowest form of begging. He doesn't give you time to process what he’s done before his fingers gently wrap around yours, caressing them with a firm grip.
“Damian!" Your expression warps in shock, meeting the intensity seared in gaze. "What are you doing? Get up—"
“I was wrong.” He admits without hesitation. “All the words I said, not a single one of them holds the truth.”
Your shock dampens, and he sees the barest hurt displayed on your expression. It pushes him to strain past his walls, to keep speaking if it meant not seeing your back turned towards him.
“You asked me to define us once, by labels.” He recalls. “I am not good with words. It has always been—difficult. To understand when to push further and when to fall back. To not act as if every situation is a death sentence if I bared my vulnerabilities out in the open, but—I know that my faults are not an excuse for my actions."
"I have broken your trust and left you feeling unsure of your position in my life, and I must correct it. You are not clingy, or a burden. You are the most important person in my life."
“The lies were nothing more than a cover... my brothers had caught onto my attachment and wouldn't give up on their interrogations.” He admits through the grit of his teeth. “They were always more observant of what I tried to push down, and my behaviour around you—it was obvious that you had an effect on me. It's as if you are the center that I gravitate towards, pulling me in towards your every whim and desire.”
“They tried to help me make sense of it, and I panicked. Selfishly, I wanted to keep my weakness a secret only known to the promises I've made for you in my mind. My fondness for you felt like a curse if I revealed it.” He whispers. “I had always assumed that what you held closest to your heart is what you should guard the most."
“I uttered those foolish words because I had assumed that if only I knew the extent of my devotion towards you, you would be safe. That we could continue as we always had, without declaring a target on your back, so that the world wouldn’t rip you away so easily.”
“I was a coward.” He murmurs, pleading in earnest. “I have mistreated you and taken you for granted. I tried to convince myself that lies were better than revealing the truth, which is that I have always coveted to by your side."
"I am deeply sorry. For ever making you feel that you're anything less than.” He breaks. "That couldn't be further from the extent to which I adore you. To which I need you. I can’t imagine a life without you, so—"
"Please—" He's never been taught to beg, but he can't lose you. Even if it takes him years, decades to regain your trust, it doesn't matter. "—it is selfish of me to beg for your forgiveness, but I will do anything. I will explain the full truth to my family. I will take on any punishment but—I can’t lose you. These past two weeks have been torture, and... I miss you."
Finally, after his chest is heaving with the burn of his confessions and a lack of oxygen, does he quiet. In the face of your coming judgement, he has never been more nervous in his life.
"Damian." You mutter. "I have not forgiven you."
His breath hitches, and despite all he's done to expect this outcome, he couldn't have been more unprepared for the impact of the blow. His hands falter around yours, and his knees have gone weak.
"W—What do you want me to change?" He can barely hear his own voice over his rapturing heartbeat. "Is it something I said? My behaviour, my actions—I can improve. I can fix this."
You give him a look that signals that you're not done. He forces himself to quiet, lips pursed as he slowly—painfully waits.
"In these past two weeks..." You admit. "I really tried to reevaluate what you mean to me."
"I understand you, more than anyone else has because you've let me in." You answer. "But just because I see you—and I know that's a vulnerability you don't easily show to people—doesn't mean that you get an easier way out."
"You did hurt me. I'm acknowledging that, and because I care about you, it hurts even worse." You reveal. "It wasn’t fair that you brought up such harsh words to describe me behind my back, and it’s not going to be something I can brush over easily, no matter the reason. I don't think we can fully go back to how it was before, not without moments where I will feel doubt. That's a trust you have to rebuild, not just with one big apology, but through your words and actions, every single day."
He nods, hanging onto every word you're willing to give him, even as your vocal admission of him hurting you feels like a vicious whip.
"But I am willing to give you that chance—to heal the hurt you've caused me, to prove that you won't pull away when you're scared I'm getting too close." You declare. "I'm giving you a chance to fix your mistake, because I know you, Dami. I know you'll keep your promises, and that you have a heart. One that's willing to change."
He lets out a shaking breath, and he finds your fingers caressing over his in a gentle touch. Not forgiving him completely, but reassuring in its warmth.
"I—" Left bare after pouring his heart out, the adrenaline rush that came from his full vulnerability has finally left his chaos-ensued mind blank.
From the very moment you had entered his life, it was an undeniable fact he had only grown to understand, to not fear—and it was that he loved you. The same distant concept he once viewed through the multiple perspectives of others, now existing right there in his beating heart. Yet, it didn't feel right in this moment. Not when you were giving him this chance to rebuild the trust he has broken. He will wait, for as long as you'll let him, he will cherish anything you'll give him.
"I know." You whisper, silently reading what he’s trying to convey through a single glance. "We'll figure us out together."
He sighs, head falling against your lap, lips brushing over your intertwined fingers—a soft, imperceptible kiss to your knuckles. It's natural, instinctive, everything he could ever want. To rest in your presence that’s finally allowed him to breathe again, surrounded by your warmth and voice.
"I thought you hated dancing." You muse.
"Not when it's with you." He admits quietly. "I haven't trained myself to bear the crushing of your heels, just for someone to take my place."
"I can't believe you called me the clingy one." Your amusement doesn't displease him, not in the slightest.
"Perhaps I shall reinstate our relationship to my brothers then." He murmurs. "I'm sure they'll have a field day once I admit that I'm the one who can't bear to be without you."
Finally, he hears the familiarity of your laugh. He has missed that.
"I'd like to see that."
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
again😭😭I’m sobbing again😭😭 the confession😭😭 the vulnerability😭😭
This kind of writing is why my standards are too high when it comes to dating. I have yet to meet a man who would literally fall to his knees and beg for my forgiveness😔😔 but I can live vicariously through your writing so thank you for your service
hey! i have a request, college student reader on an exchange year in france or something then her sugar mommy girlfriend natasha flies her out on a random tuesday in a private jet cause she misses her and wants to cuddle / eat dinner together 😭 if you think its bad you dont have to do it haha
Might have to explore this AU some more 🤔
“Just say ‘yes’, malyshka. I mean, why wouldn’t you?”
“Because it’s literally a Tuesday, and I have class tomorrow.”
“Your first class tomorrow doesn’t start until two-thirty.”
“So, you want to fly me out right now only to fly me back three hours after landing? All just to have dinner with me?”
“You say that as if that’s not a good enough reason.”
“It’s 18 hours of travel time for three hours of seeing my girlfriend.”
“Am I not worth it?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love with you.”
You sigh, and Natasha can feel your resolve wavering.
“Please? Do it for me?”
Fuck, she knows the exact words to get you to cave.
You’d say that the flight from France to New York was long and tiring and boring, but you’d be lying. Bottomless drinks, a cabin all to yourself, seats you can practically melt into, a gourmet meal that’s hand-delivered, and endless inflight entertainment… luxury is something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.
You never thought you’d step foot on a private jet; you never thought you’d talk to someone who owned a private jet. You’ve always flown economy prior to dating Natasha. Sometimes you didn’t even have free Wi-Fi.
But here you are. Spoiled, pampered, and taken care of.
She makes sure of it—“only the best for you, malyshka”.
You touch down approximately nine and a half hours after takeoff, the plane’s wheels making smooth contact with the runway. There was only a short delay—something about air traffic control—but you know Natasha is going to be unhappy about it.
A flight attendant moves to grab your bag for you, intending on carrying it for you, but you wave them off, slinging it over your shoulder yourself and making your way into the airport toward where you know Natasha is waiting.
It doesn’t take long to spot her. She’s impossible to miss, standing beside a sleek, black vehicle, poised, pristine, and perfect as ever.
You see her before she sees you, and you smile in amusement as you witness her glance at her watch impatiently, her lips pulled into a thin line.
You were originally intimidated by her when you first met—her designer clothes, her expensive jewelry, the authority that she commands simply by entering a room—but now… now she’s just Natasha. Your Natasha. The monthly rent for her penthouse may cost more than your car, but that hardly matters anymore.
It was Natasha who made the first move. You were grabbing dinner with friends to celebrate the end of a semester—you had all saved up to go a restaurant much too fancy and way out of your usual budget together—and she was seated at the bar, a martini glass in hand. She watched you walk through the door from across the restaurant and was immediately captivated at the sight.
And although she’s usually confident and assertive, it took every bit of courage she could find to send a drink over to your table, hoping that it’d make you glance her way, hoping that you’d come over and give her the chance to talk to you.
You did, and her captivation only grew. You were everything she wasn’t, everything the people she associated with weren’t, nothing like she was used to. And it was so incredibly refreshing. You were untouched by the world of money and opulence and glitz and glamor, not cut from the rich and snobby cloth that most of the people she interacts with were.
Everything about you was intoxicating.
It still is.
When Natasha’s eyes finally meet yours from across the street, her face breaks out into a wide smile, and then she’s striding your way, heels clicking on the asphalt.
“You made it,” she breathes out before an ‘oof’ leaves her when you throw yourself at her, looping your arms around the back of her neck, your bodies colliding. You’re absolutely rumpling her recently pressed blazer, but she doesn’t mind, and her hands come up to gently settle on you, thumbs rubbing softly along your waist.
You don’t respond right away, instead pulling back and electing to press a kiss to her lips first. You can’t help it. It’s been weeks since you last saw or heard her through anything but a screen or a microphone. You need to kiss her.
Your lips still brush hers when you finally reply. “Safe and sound,” you confirm.
“Good, because I did tell the pilot that he was carrying precious cargo.”
“You probably threatened his job as well,” you tease playfully, rolling your eyes.
“Only a little.”
Natasha’s driver takes you back to her home, the elevator ride to the top floor passing quickly, her door opening to reveal the lavish interior of the penthouse that you’ve come to be familiar with, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of Manhattan that cannot be beat.
Dinner has already been prepared—your favorite, of course—and it’s waiting on the dining table when you walk in, its plating having been perfectly timed with your arrival.
You kick off your shoes by the door, shoulder off your bag and throw it onto the plush sofa, and make your way to the table.
Natasha smiles softly at the clutter that comes with you. You’re always making her ever immaculate space messier. Whether it’s dirt lightly tracked in from your shoes on the marble or schoolwork scattered across the entirety of her desk, your jacket hastily thrown onto the back of a chair or your coffee cup left in the sink from when you had to stay up late to study, mess follows you. And she’s come to love it. It’s a sign that you’re nearby.
She follows and takes the seat beside you instead of the seat opposite, wanting to be constantly touching after so much time apart. Her knee gently bumps against yours under the table as she picks up her utensils delicately. You’re already taking your first bite and humming in satisfaction.
“Good?” Natasha asks.
You nod emphatically, shoveling another bite into your mouth.
Someone comes out of the kitchen with a glass of wine, showing the label to Natasha to get her approval on the bottle. When she nods, he begins to pour you each a glass. Your nose scrunches up as he does.
“You know I don’t like wine enough for you to open one of your fancy bottles,” you say.
“Well, you’re here,” she responds smoothly, “It’s a special occasion.”
You shake your head but take a sip, face neutral as you consider the taste.
“So? What’s the verdict?” Natasha questions, swirling her own glass slowly before taking a drink after you.
“I think it tastes like the $20 stuff I get from the grocery store,” you reply.
The redhead scoffs at your answer. “Then you still have no appreciation for luxury.”
“Clearly not. I’m used to boxed wine and well alcohol.”
“And I’ve been trying to break you out of that.”
“Maybe you need to try it with me instead.”
“Maybe you need to be cultured.”
“Maybe you need to stop being so prissy,”
“You say ‘prissy’; I say ‘sophisticated’.”
“Semantics.”
“Semantics are the difference between classy and trashy, malyshka.”
Warnings: Angst, Rejection, Passing Out, Mentions of Blood, Arguments, Feeling of Not Belonging, Happy Ending.
Request: Yes.
Summary: In the world where one's soulmate's name is written into their skin, you have a hard time finding yours despite your time-traveling powers. Until you come across them in 2015, just to realize that destined doesn't mean likeable.
Italics: Character’s thoughts.
You felt lost.
Alone.
There was nothing for you—no one.
The name carved into your wrist would disagree as you traced the letters. It was still here. How could it? You had searched everywhere to no avail.
The universe had to be mocking you, playing a time game and laughing in your face. But you had time. Nobody could take that from you.
“Excuse me, Ms.” You lazily looked up, smacking your lips in the process as you knew what was coming. “Would you mind company?” The man flashed you a smirk, his body leaning against the bar.
You hated this. It started becoming harder with each time not to just roll your eyes at every single walking suit that tried to shoot his shot—by buying you one.
You’d thought the 1940s would have been better than earlier times. Well, you were quite disappointed.
Spreading your lips in a thin smile, you squinted your eyes at him. “Sure.” His eyebrow twitched, a small breath was sucked in through his teeth like he expected this reply. “As long as the company is your friend from over there.”
You grabbed your drink, raising it to your lips and nursing on it after pointing to a brunette woman with wavy hair. Her red lips wrapped around a straw as she sipped on her cocktail.
You hid a cocky smile behind the glass when the man’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion, staring at the woman.
“I—Well—” He stuttered, a breathy chuckle escaped his mouth as he looked down at the bartop, anxiously drumming his fingers against it.
You almost wanted to laugh at how he started sweating from the realization that you played for the same team as him.
You had no interest in men. Yet, in every time period you had visited—which was all of them—they’d never let you be.
Your clothing did not seem to give them enough of a hint either. There was nothing about dresses and skirts that could entice you to wear them.
It had caused you to be blatant from the get-go. As much as you could manipulate time however you wanted, you did not want to lose it on pointless conversations.
“Good talk.” You tapped his shoulder while getting up, taking steps toward where his companion was sitting.
His baffled face followed after you as he stood frozen in his place.
She looked gorgeous.
You had seen multiple pretty women in your life. Different time periods, different countries and cultures, different types of beauty.
But this one caught your attention for longer than just a passing glance.
The hope sparked in your chest at the possibility.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Sliding into the chair next to her, you flashed her a confident smile as she moved her eyes to you.
And were they beautiful.
Your heart skipped a beat at the sight, completely missing the eyebrow that quirked at you.
“Attempting to be a hypewoman.” She answered, her fingers delicately held the straw as she mixed her drink with it. “Unsuccessfully, as it seems.”
Her eyes wandered over her shoulder and to the man you had left alone at the bar. Her hand waved at him slightly before she moved her gaze back to you with a pointed look.
Her personality was pulling you in more and more, making you yearn to find out every little detail about who she was.
Your laugh spread around the table, making the corner of her mouth twitch up as she took a sip again. Her eyes glued to you as a deep breath left your mouth.
“Apologies, my dear—”
“Peggy.” She quickly corrected you, casually introducing herself. Her back leaning on the chair. “I’m not your dear yet.”
Your head tilted in intrigue at the choice of her words. It was going the good way as it seemed—good for you.
“Peggy.” You repeated, bowing your head and raising your hands in a defensive manner. “I just happen to have eyes for—more feminine figures.” The way your gaze dropped lower her chin only added to your words as sparks started igniting in them.
Her brown irises turned almost black from how her pupils dilated. They skimmed over your body, making you feel like there was little to no clothing covering it.
It was exciting.
Very different from the way your life had been through most of it.
“Is that so?” Her voice turned sultry as she turned her body, crossing her legs, and leaning more toward you. You nodded in confirmation, making the woman place her finger under your chin as she ran her tongue over her upper teeth. “In that case.” Her face inched closer to yours, lips ghosting over each other. “I’d love you to take a look at mine .”
A wide smirk appeared on your face at the words.
You could not wait to see where this would take you.
It had taken you farther than you thought. But not as far as you would’ve liked to.
It had been the greatest three years of your life with Peggy. Everything had been perfect, from the way things seemed simpler with her around to how you could easily understand each other without words.
You’d never thought it would’ve been possible to love someone that was not destined to be yours. Neither had she. Somehow, you’d found a half in a different shape, but one that fit quite well.
Unfortunately, it’d had to end. The excitement, joy, love—it all had been there. But you both had felt the unavoidable void.
It’d hurt. She knew you like nobody else. Every detail of your life. You had even confided in her about your powers.
Still, the time to go your separate ways had come when she’d confessed her soulmate mark had glowed upon the new recruits’ arrival.
It hadn't been the reason for your breakup, however. You both had been aware of the huge elephant in the room that neither of you had wanted to talk about.
It’d been so good, so comfortable, so content.
As much as the love you’d shared had been great and unconditional, it’d been very hard to get rid of the feeling that something had been missing.
So, you had ended it on good terms and had promised to visit her in whatever time period you would’ve gone to next.
You’d seen her as a married mother in the 1960s, coming to find out that her soulmate had died quickly after you’d left.
Your heart had shattered at the news. She hadn’t gotten to live with the unbreakable bond for longer than two years. But her attitude had seemed to be good about it.
She’d shown you the organisation she’d built with a few other people. SHIELD was the name of it.
Or rather an acronym you had proposed upon hearing the long name you almost had gotten a headache from.
You’d been proud and impressed—and she’d taken it as an invitation to make you into an agent.
According to her, you’d already had the skills and the time-manipulating power would’ve come in handy. You couldn’t resist when she had looked at you with those doe eyes.
She even had given you a bracelet with the logo—her initials with yours embraced in a heart had been engraved on the inside, melting your heart at the sight.
You’d also found out she had married a fellow agent from SHIELD and had had a family and her happy ending. Her only regret had been not having more time with you—at least as a friend.
But she’d understood why you couldn’t have stayed. She herself had chosen to follow the bond when her wrist had glowed all those years ago.
She couldn’t have been mad at you for trying to find the same.
But you’d stayed with her for a few years, not being able to refuse your first ever love just as she couldn’t have let hers go easily.
Next time you’d seen her had been in the 1980s. She’d been an older widow at that point and you had gotten to meet her niece, Sharon.
That’d been before you ended up here.
Year 2015.
You slowly adjusted.
It’d been a couple of weeks now, getting the hang of most things. There were challenges, but nothing you could not handle.
The drastic change in technology was the only thing that had kept you back for a bit, but eventually, you’d managed to figure it out as well.
Otherwise, your life was going pretty well.
It would be even better if you could finally find your soulmate. The name on your wrist was bugging you every day. The doubts of the person’s existence had started settling in your mind a bit ago.
There was a possibility she was dead. You were not sure how it would affect you or the bond—if the name would disappear or simply haunt you for the rest of your life.
It was torture to live with this uncertainty.
The hope of finding the woman started fizzling the longer you’d been in New York. All those years of traveling seemed pointless now. You hadn’t found her and it wasn’t looking like you would.
You tried not to let it get to you.
You had found out Peggy was still alive and you were coming back from visiting her, getting off the plane at the airport. You were in better spirits after talking to the woman.
There was not much left of her memory, but she had remembered you. She had remembered everything you two had had.
Taking planes and taxi rides gave you a sense of normalcy, but sometimes, you would speed up the time when you did not want to wait for too long.
During your walks, you’d slowed it down, however. People-watching became one thing that did not make you bored. There was always something interesting happening.
”Ladies and Gentlemen, flight DL3026 from New York to Los Angeles is delayed due to maintenance work.” The speaker said, voice booming loudly, but the words could be barely understood. “We apologize and thank you for your patience.”
Your eyes rolled at the poor souls who would have to wait. As much as your powers were a constant reminder of your goose chase after your soulmate, you were happy when they came in handy in situations like this.
The floor beneath you rumbled, causing you to stop while looking down. Everyone around seemed to be just as confused and concerned, staring at others like somebody would have an explanation.
They got it soon after when a giant piece of metal flew through the glass wall, crashing it to pieces.
Your eyes widened in horror, seeing the object flying right at you. Like in a puff, you found yourself away from it in a second, using your powers.
Time manipulation was more than just speeding up and slowing down time. After years of practice, you had found out teleportation had been one of the possibilities.
It came in handy, just like now.
Everyone around you erupted in screams, running to the escalators and stairs, trying to get to the exit.
The airport turned into chaos within a millisecond. People were pushing others, grabbing the hands of their loved ones to pull them into safety.
You were turning a full circle in shock. Your eyes skimmed over the place before falling on the metal object that had flown inside. It dug a line in the floor from the impact.
“That’s gonna be expensive.” You remarked to yourself, your eyebrow quirking quickly as you stared.
Your instincts kicked in when a screeching sound rang through the place. Your body automatically got into a fighting stance, observing how the object slowly moved a part of itself, then another.
Your head tilted with a confused look.
A robot?
It looked like one. When it finally stood on its feet, a head spun back and forth before sparks flew from it. It locked in place as your mouth hung open, taking it all in.
“Get out of here!” A male voice yelled out from the floor below, guiding people to safety as he tried to get to the escalators.
Your head whipped to him, his blue costume caught your attention as you watched how quickly he was getting through.
A metallic-like groan made you look at the robot again, seeing how it turned around, twisting its head before scanning the place.
His white eyes stopped on you, switching to red instantly. “Elimination in process.”
Huh?
You did not have more questions when its arm raised, aiming at you. A rocket flew out, coming your way and making your eyes go wide.
Teleporting again, you avoided being bombed in the head. Thankfully. This was not how you imagined your day to go.
This was much worse.
“Going in!” Another voice echoed in your ears before a red cloud flew past you, making your head snap in bewilderment.
What the hell was going on?
You would love to know when the man from before ran in, going straight for the robot. He had to be suicidal. That little shield would not help him take down this crazy machine.
Your mind changed quickly when you saw red tendrils wrap around the metal limbs. One by one were overtaken and twisted as you watched in shock.
This was insane. You’d never seen anything like this.
Just as the man was almost at the object, it ripped from the magic that had held it captive. The robot swung his metal arm, taking a step forward and smacking the blue-costumed guy.
His body arched inwards before slamming against a pillar, breaking it and causing it to crumble on him.
“Shit.” You breathed out, a bit terrified.
But it did not last long when you saw the monster fight the red magic again. Looking up, you saw a brunette with a scrunched face. Her arms were extended, red wisps flying all over her fingertips.
The dots finally connected in your head. She had powers. Just like you.
Her yell snapped you out. The robot’s arm turned into a sonic beam as he directed it right at the brunette. Her body fell to the ground, staying still to your horror.
You hoped she was still alive.
But you had no time when the machine took you as its target next. You did what you should’ve done the very second it had come flying in here.
You quickly teleported behind it before slowing down the time. You could take eternity finding the wire panel. But it was easy. Right under the back of his head.
You opened it quickly and pulled all the wires, causing sparks to fly at you as the time went back to its normal pace.
The machine malfunctioned, causing the metal body to convulse before shutting down—to your satisfaction.
Hopefully, it would not come back to life.
You were fast to run up to the woman, kneeling at her side. Her groans made you breathe out in relief. At least, she was alive.
“Are you okay?” Her head whipped to you, fear was swirling in her eyes as she stared at your face full of concern. She did not seem to care about it, however, when she quickly lifted her hand. “Wow!” You let out loudly, getting back on your feet and slowing down the red blast she threw at you.
Her eyes widened at the sight before it scrunched. Another blast came from her other hand, causing you to use your powers to stop it as well.
“We have an enhanced on the floor!” She yelled out hysterically, pushing fingers against her ear.
You looked at her confused. “Hey, I’m just trying to—” Your sentence could not be finished when she threw another blast, quickly getting up as you dodged it. “Damn!”
The attacks only got worse when she stood to her full height. Red tendrils wrapped around different items as she angrily stared at you.
Fuck me.
“In your dreams.” Your head tilted at her in puzzlement when she seethed out.
Two pillars were ripped out of the flooring and ceiling before she pulled them inside, trying to squish you.
She would have to put a bit more effort if extermination were her idea. You vanished from your spot, appearing to her right.
You cockily smiled to yourself upon seeing her eyes jump all over the place in an attempt to find you.
By any means, this was not how you wanted it to go. However, she clearly was not friendly—at least, not to you.
“Ugh!” A yelp sounded through your throat when a body collided with yours, arms going around you in a tight squeeze.
The landing was hard as your head hit the tiled floor, making you groan in pain. There was no time to think about it when the man in a blue suit shifted, straddling you before his fist was going at your face.
His clenched teeth were on display as he delivered a punch—which hurt like a bitch. Your jaw tensed in anger.
He was about to find out to what extent your powers could go.
His fist was coming back before it stopped. His eyes snapped to it in confusion as it began turning in his direction. It connected with his face a second later, knocking him off of you.
The action repeated, over and over again, letting you get up as you checked your face for blood. Fortunately, there was none, even though your nose still hurt.
“Wait!” You said, arms extending with palms facing the brunette whose hands raised at you.
But she did not listen, trying to blast you with magic again. Her eyes were jumping in panic between her hands when red tendrils halted right at her fingertips.
Desperately, she tried to let out more of them, but nothing was coming. Her arms were shaking as it did not stop her from trying.
“Who are you?” Her question made you stand to your full height, finally feeling safe.
“A magician.” You told her jokingly, but quickly switched the approach when her unamused eyes squinted at you. “I don’t mean harm.”
“You could’ve fooled me.” Her irritated eyes went to the man whose fist kept punching him in the face before looking at her hands.
She could not be serious about this.
A scoff left your mouth at the accusation.
“Oh, right, because you didn’t start this.” Her head tilted at you in annoyance, eyes squinting like she wished to punch you in the face.
“How was I—” The continuous groans made her lips press together as she closed her eyes for a second. “Can you stop this?” She gestured to the man in blue, staring at you angrily.
You debated it for a second. They clearly were here together. Who knew how many more they had with them.
But in the end, you would not get anywhere if you did not show cooperation. So, you stopped the loop on the man.
His nose was bloody by now, but a huge sigh of relief escaped his mouth when the self-assault came to an end.
“Thanks.” The brunette woman said, her voice barely appreciative.
“You!” The man limped to you, his anger had his teeth grinding.
You looked at him warily, eyes jumping all over him to see any possible signs of danger. But it went out of the window when your eyes fell on a logo on his uniform.
Your eyes scrunched in puzzlement just as his face took the same expression when he stared at your bracelet.
“Where did you get this?!” You both asked in unison, mouths falling agape before your gazes met.
How could he have it? Could it still exist? Did he know her?
So many questions were running through your head.
“Everything under control.” He said, pressing his fingers against his ear as he suddenly froze in his spot. You heard a voice on the other end, very muffled.
A burning sensation ran on your wrist, causing you to hiss as your eyes snapped to it.
It couldn’t be. The letters. A fade gold was sparkling on them.
But how?
A million thoughts were running through your head. You had to be close. She had to be near. Your gaze started jumping as gears kept turning, but you had no answers.
The voice stopped, but the man just kept staring at you. His chest was rising high from his breathing as you waited to see what he would do.
“Make room for one more.” Your eyebrow arched at him as the brunette’s head snapped in his direction at the words. “We will have company.”
“I asked about your name.” He seethed out angrily, his hands falling heavily on the table as he leaned on them. “Don’t make me ask again!”
The facade he was trying to put up did nothing to you. It’d been a while since this had started. And it was getting nowhere.
It was more than clear that his ego was getting bruised with the way your face stayed emotionless as you boredly switched your gaze from him and to the white table.
Everything in this room was white. You felt like they had brought you to some psychiatric facility. It wouldn’t be the first time someone considered you a freak. Especially, after what you had pulled back at the airport.
You never understood how your powers made others so hostile toward you. You had never used them to hurt anyone—unless in self-defense.
But it wouldn’t make sense for them to be like that. The brunette girl had some kind of magic as well.
“Did you lose your hearing?” The woman in question spoke up, pushing herself off a wall as her arms stayed crossed. “Answer the question.”
Their aggressiveness was not causing the effect they would like. It only made you less inclined to cooperate. Or answer questions in general.
Tilting your head, you huffed out a small laugh, irritating them both further.
“Are you guys new?” Your wrist was lying against the table as your finger pointed at them both. “It’s supposed to be a good cop and a bad cop.” Your eyes squinted as you puffed out a breath before smiling. “You both wanted the bad cop, huh?” Your voice sounded muffled as you spoke through your teeth, the corner of your mouth lifted before sucking in a breath.
“Listen, you—” The blonde man yelled out as he grabbed you by the collar, lifting you off the chair and pushing against the wall.
“Ah, ah.” You let out, wiggling your finger at him. “First of all, this is an abuse of power.” Your smart-ass comment made spit fly out from between his clenched teeth as he seethed at you. “Second of all, if you don’t want the airport flashback to get realistic, I suggest you take your dirty hands off of me.”
Your head lowered as you stared right into his eyes. He was around your height, making it very easy for him to see the shift in your blue irises before they flashed green at him.
His stance faltered, but he quickly fisted your shirt again before letting go and turning away.
“Huffing and puffing will get you nowhere, boy.”
His head whipped quickly to you in fury. “Don’t you call me a boy.” It was fun to taunt him, he was very easy to rile up.
Normally, you would try to be as friendly as possible in this situation, but that had flown out of the window as soon as they had attempted to turn you into a pile of dust.
The blindfolded airplane ride—or whatever that machine was—had not been very hospitable either.
If they wanted to be tough and mysterious, you could play that game with them.
“Hard not to when you’re acting like one.”
You were surprised his jaw was still intact from how much he clenched it upon hearing your words.
“You—” He took a step, his arm swinging behind him, making his intentions clear.
You were ready. He knew very well how it would end.
But before it could escalate, the door slammed open.
“Rogers!” A loud, female voice stopped him immediately, his arm freezing in the air as he stared at you with rage. “Is that how we interrogate?”
You could not help the cocky smirk that spread on your lips as you lazily moved your head, looking right back into his eyes.
“Is it?” You whispered, wanting to see how much he would be willing to break their rules.
You had no idea what they were, but judging by the lady’s words, his methods were not very acceptable.
But he did not move an inch—besides lowering his arm back to his side as he exhaled slowly.
Your eyebrow quirked quickly at the reaction.
“If you need a five—” A blonde lady came into your view when he turned to look at her as she spoke.
But her voice cut off when your eyes connected with her blue ones. Your head tilted as your eyebrows pulled together. Something about her seemed familiar.
The hair, the face.
Like you had seen her before.
“Oh my God.” Her voice wavered as she said. “Riley?” Your confusion only deepened when your name fell out of her mouth.
How did she—
“Sharon?” Your wide eyes went all over her, trying to understand how possible this could be and not some trick they were playing on you.
She exhaled loudly before a grin spread on her face, taking fast steps toward you with open arms.
This could not be. Could it? What were the odds?
But your mouth opened as a happy sigh left it. You spread your arms, going toward her. But any thoughts you had were knocked out of you when your back slammed against the wall harshly.
You grunted in pain, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Maximoff?!” Sharon’s bewildered voice reached your ringing ears before you saw her wide eyes snapping to the brunette in anger.
“She’s dangerous.” The woman replied sternly, her hand directed at you as she gave you a stinky eye.
An unamused, maniac-like laugh passed your lips as you tilted your head back. Everyone’s eyes jumped to you, looking at you like you were crazy.
Maybe you were.
Or maybe you were done with always being the only one labeled as a threat.
Your sigh was exaggerated when you moved your gaze to the brunette.
“That would make two of us, darling.” The cocky smile that spread on your lips made her jaw clench.
It was a second later when her face scrunched in rage, her hands raising as red appeared at their fingertips.
But before the blast could even began flying, she cried out in pain as your eyes turned green. Her hands hung loosely as she stared at them.
Your teeth gritted, feeling a spark of guilt in your chest at what you just did. But her attitude started getting on your nerves.
“What did you?!” She yelled out to you, hints of tears appearing in her eyes as she stared into yours, her fingers burning red like fire.
“Made your little magic go back where it was coming from.” You told her pointedly, face void of emotion. “Without reducing its strength.”
You could manipulate anything. That was how great your powers were. After all, you’d had years and years of practice. Anything that belonged to time belonged also to you.
Her magic existed in time. Therefore, you could mess with it however you wanted to.
In the corner of your eye, you saw Sharon’s shocked face as she stared at you. Your throat tightened, feeling like you just disappointed your own child.
She was the closest thing you had to family besides Peggy. Even though you hadn’t seen each other for years, she was all you had. Maybe all you would ever have.
Your head lowered in shame as you could not bear looking into her puzzled eyes.
“Wanda!” A new female voice sounded through the room, making you look up just to see a redheaded woman run up to the brunette.
Her face was full of concern as she embraced the brunette with one arm, looking over her face.
And you could not look away from the redhead’s. The feeling was enticing. Strong. Electric. Everything in you was buzzing, screaming for touch.
It felt like life was injected in you for the very first time.
“Ah.” Your body squirmed, causing your eyebrows to pull as you breathed in through your teeth, grabbing your wrist that stung you like a hundred heated-up needles would poke it.
But anything you could possibly think of was gone in a split second when you saw your mark glow under the sleeve of your long shirt.
Impossible.
Could it finally be?
Your eyes snapped up to the women who stood together, focusing on the shorter one like on a prey. You could not help yourself. She was pulling you in.
They were too occupied to notice anything as they talked, the features on the redhead’s face slowly changed from concern to anger.
The fire in her eyes burned deeply, making them turn almost red from rage. Your stance faltered when it was directed at you, making your eyes finally blink.
“Lock that bastard right now!” Her finger pointed at you angrily, her jaw almost popping from how hard she was clenching it.
“We’re not locking anybody—”
“She hurt Wanda!” The redhead’s fury switched to Sharon, sparking frustration within you.
“And Wanda hurt her.” But the blonde was handling herself well without your help as she replied pointedly.
A proud smile almost broke out on your face as you watched them interact. Your interference would not bring anything good anyway.
They saw you as a threat. An enemy.
“I’m gonna throw her into Hulk’s cage myself then.” Her lips pressed into a thin line as her angry eyes stared at you again.
But your head dismissed everything she said besides the word Hulk, making your eyebrows scrunch. What the hell was a Hulk?
“You’re gonna do no such thing, Romanoff.” A male voice spoke from the door, making everyone’s gaze snap in that direction.
A tall, black man with an eye patch was slowly making his way in. A long, black coat was covering his body as he threw it back.
All four people became instantly quiet, their gazes lowering in obedience as you gave Sharon a questioning look.
You wished you could know what the hell was going on.
“We don’t throw our teammates into cages.” Well, that seemed to peak everyone’s interest back in as each person, besides Sharon, started arguing.
You could only stare in shock as you tried to figure out what the hell this strange man was saying.
He quickly silenced all of them with one louder word, both women and the blonde man looking at each other in anger, their jaws clenching and teeth gritting.
The man’s eyes—only one really—looked right into yours as the corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk.
“I’m Nicholas Fury.” He decided to introduce himself as his chin raised. You had no idea what was about to hit you. “How would you feel about working for me?”
You had been at your new job for a month now. A SHIELD agent. When Fury had told you what organisation he’d been leading, you couldn’t have believed how the universe had brought you back to Peggy—her legacy.
You’d wanted to agree right away upon hearing the name, but it’d been unclear how much had changed since your past lover had stepped down.
Fury had seemed very determined to get you on his team, especially, after he’d found your old files from being teammates with no one else than one of the founders—Sharon had been right behind him, pulling every possible trick to make you stay.
And it’d worked. You’d agreed, gotten your own room, and a badge.
You had come to find out a group called the Avengers had existed a few years ago, but it had been disassembled due to several governments’ doubts about it.
Every member had become a SHIELD agent instead. They even had separate quarters in the facility’s building. Your bedroom was located there—along with all ex-Avengers—as you had been assigned specifically to the ‘special force’ team.
To you, it just sounded like a rebrand of the Avengers—a bit more legal one.
Your qualifications were high enough to be on level 8, but Fury’s precautions had made him put you at level 6. He hadn’t been sure how much he could trust you for now.
But you did not complain.
You only agreed because of Peggy and Sharon.
If you ever went back in time again, you would tell Peggy how much of an asshole her soulmate was. The blonde man, Steve Rogers, was her soulmate.
He had been found frozen in the middle of nowhere after nearly 70 years. You did not like him. If he had been anything like this around Peggy, you were not surprised anymore she hadn’t told you much about him.
But there was also another reason why you joined.
The fact that the person you’d been looking for your whole life was here.
Hating you.
“I’m using this.” The redhead’s small body swiftly turned around as she took a seat at one of the machines at the facility’s gym.
Just as you were seconds away from doing your workout on it.
“I was literally about to—”
“Well, you’re not anymore.” Her eyes squinted at you as she tried to find a comfortable spot.
You stared at her with a clenched jaw before rolling your eyes, sighing. You could only pick up your water bottle and find something else to do as her arms spread and quickly pressed against the pads before she started pulling them inwards.
“I hope you pull a muscle, you asshole.” Your mumble was quiet but loud enough for her to hear.
Her irritated features quickly changed as a smirk appeared on her lips.
“On your settings? I don’t think a squirrel would pull one.”
This would go nowhere, so you decided to go somewhere else. You did not have time to argue with her. Not again.
Her girlfriend—as you had come to find out quickly after joining the institution—had not been much better.
“Excuse me.” The brunette said, pushing you against the kitchen cupboards in the common area.
Her body had no reason to collide that harshly with yours—or at all—since there was plenty of space.
But she wouldn’t have had you spill your coffee on your shirt if she had walked like a normal human.
Your mouth froze slightly open before your entire face tensed in anger. Pressing your lips tightly together, you threw a deadly glare to your right where she stopped to get tea.
Hiding words in your thoughts would be pointless since you had been told she could read minds.
“Are you blind?” The annoyance was clear in your voice.
It increased even more when she took a bite of a sweet bun, looking at you innocently.
“Hm?” Her eyebrow raised at you in fake puzzlement like she didn't know what she just did. Your entire hand was pointing to a huge stain on your white t-shirt that was now clinging to your body. “Oh.” She giggled, covering her mouth. “No, I just don’t like you.” She batted her eyelashes at you with a sweet smile as she tilted her head to the side.
She grabbed another bun before waving at you only with her fingers, turning on her heel, and leaving you with the mess she had caused, making your eyes roll.
“Likewise!” You couldn't see her reaction, but just yelling it out helped your soul.
It didn’t bother you greatly on normal days. Sure, it was annoying, but nothing that could make it too much of an inconvenience to live with.
It became a problem when this behavior continued during meetings, missions, and briefings.
You felt like you were fighting two wars at the same time.
“You were supposed to cover me!” Your loud voice could not be missed as the brunette was standing right next to you.
It was getting out of control. You could look past a lot of things, but this? No.
Her hip was jutted out as she stared at her nails in boredom, eyes rolling at your words.
“And I did.”
Your jaw dropped before you clenched it, your face turning red from rage that started spreading through your body.
“Are you kidding me?!” She had to be. “You left me alone in the building!”
She had been nowhere in sight when enemy forces had come out of nowhere, swarming the hallways.
You’d had to fend for yourself to survive. Fury had forbidden you from using your powers on several missions, wanting you to practice defending yourself in a human way.
So, it had been hell of a time getting out of that place.
“Don’t yell at her because you can barely save your own ass.” Natasha’s voice cut through to you, making your head whip in her direction.
Sometimes, it was hard to listen to her insults. Other times, you simply could not stand her, but your head would not shut up about wanting to be close.
“Oh, if it’s not the troll defender.” Your lips formed into a tight-lipped smile, having had enough for today already.
You did not need both of them to piss you off more. Wanda was doing great on her own.
The redhead’s eyes squinted at you at the name. “Can you mind your words?” She was not asking despite what it might have seemed like.
But you didn’t care.
“Can you mind your business?” You bit back quickly, giving her a raised eyebrow. You already knew the answer and did not bother to wait for her response as you turned around to walk away. “Let’s see how Fury likes to hear about this.”
He hadn’t liked hearing about it. They both had gotten a warning—and a threat of being put on desk duty.
But that had been a month ago. They’d gotten better during missions, but nothing had changed in your day-to-day life.
Besides the fact that the bond had been making you more and more impatient. It had become harder to stay away from the redhead.
You had no idea there would be any side effects to this. Well, you were finding out in real time every time she would give you a death glare, throw an insult at you, or avoid being anywhere near you.
It made you feel like a werewolf who wanted to claim their mate. You just wanted her to be yours—like the universe intended.
Keeping it a secret was eating you alive. You knew she hated you—and frankly, you hated her too for how cruel she was sometimes—but not saying anything was taking a toll on you.
You’d been looking for her your whole life. Now, she was within arm’s reach.
You were tapping your fingers against the table in Tony’s tinkering lab, your eyes focused on a random object.
“You’re gonna lose all teeth from clenching them so hard, kid.” The man with a goatee said, snapping you out of your trance and feeling the tension in your jaw for the first time. “You okay?” His eyebrow raised.
Were you? Of course, not. You felt like shit.
It’d been only two months, but you felt comfortable with him. However, you could not tell him about the soulmate bond. Not now.
Your fingers started tapping harder as your entire body tensed when you came to a decision.
“I gotta go.” You quickly got off the chair and almost ran out of the lab, not giving the man a chance to say anything else.
You’d had enough of this. You couldn’t keep it away from her—and yourself—any longer. Maybe all this stupid rivalry and insults would stop if you told her.
You were not full of hope, knowing the nature of your relationship. But what could happen? She would understand you were not an enemy.
It could take some time to get to a good place, but you were sure that the bond would change her approach. At least a little bit.
At least to the point you could finally start liking her as a human and stop despising yourself for hating your soulmate.
“Natasha.” You called out, seeing her at the kitchen island in the common area going through some papers.
Fortunately, no one was around.
The redhead did not care to even acknowledge you, but you knew she heard your voice.
“Natasha.” You repeated, coming up to her as she flipped a page. “We need to talk.”
Her eyebrow raised as her gaze remained on the document. “I don’t do charity work.” It was so hard not to just walk away and drop it all.
But you were aware that doing it would be equally as hard.
“I’m serious, it’s important.” Her behavior was aggravating. She did not care about what you had to say.
“Yeah?” She chuckled out, sparing you a glance. “What? Are you a fairy now? You have a secret lover you are dying to let me know about—” Her mocking was irritating you as she was laughing in your face.
“You’re my soulmate!” You finally burst, wanting her to shut up.
And that she did. Very quickly. Her wide, green eyes stared at you in bewilderment. She could not believe what she was hearing—and you could not believe that you finally said it.
It was freeing. You could finally breathe with your lungs’ full capacity, not feeling like you were choking on words anymore.
They were out in the world.
But your face dropped when she erupted in laughter again. “That’s a good one, you almost had me.” Her dismissal made your eyebrows pull together.
She went back to the papers as you stood confused. She didn’t care? She thought it was a joke?
“Can you not take anything seriously?” Your face leaned closer to her in irritation. Why did she have to be like this even now?
“Oh, I can.” She said, taking a bite of her snack before turning to you. “Just not you.” Her face scrunched up in a cute way like she did not just slap you with an insult right across the face.
“What’s going on here?” Great, exactly what you needed. One more of them to mock you.
“Riley’s delusions are worsening.” The redhead laughed out to Wanda as the brunette came to a stop at her side.
Her confused eyes squeezed slightly as she spread her lips in an unsure smile.
“You are my soulmate!” You could not hold it in any more and screamed, wanting her to finally hear you.
But it might not have been the best idea when her head whipped to you with rage all over her face.
You could not tell if it was because of your tone or your insistence on the bond.
“Whatever meds you’re taking, you probably should stop.” Her eyes squinted at you as she spoke, crossing her arms over her chest.
You could not believe her ignorance and dismissiveness. All those years of searching just to get this.
Your jaw clenched hard like never before. She would not diminish the bond you two had. She could insult you however much she wanted, but you would not let her take this away from you.
“Then look.” Your sleeve went up your arm as you harshly tugged on it.
The glowing mark was revealed with letters spelling the redhead’s name. Your angry and determined eyes stared at her face as she spared the mark only a short glance.
Her teeth gritted, her features tensed as she looked angry and in disbelief. Wanda, on the other hand, seemed to have her eyes frozen on the glowing letters.
You felt like she was tracing them with her gaze before her eyelids faltered.
“Can’t you see that you are my soulmate?”
“And Wanda is my soulmate!” The redhead screamed out in your face, getting up from her chair. “Not some useless, time-traveling weirdo who is so unwanted—
“Nat.” Wanda breathed out with wide eyes, trying to stop her girlfriend as she finally snapped out of her trance.
But she continued, staring right into your eyes. “—that she has to lie about her mark for someone to pay attention to her.” She took a step closer to you, her head tilting up as she made sure you would not look away. “I bet you scribbled it on there with some fucking highlighter.”
“Natasha!” Wanda’s voice almost yelled out as she stared at the redhead in disbelief.
Her words were laced with malice, pure hatred sipping from them as she directed it solely at you. You physically stopped your mouth from twitching, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you—of getting anything out of you.
It was all in her eyes, clear as day, getting more and more vivid the longer you kept staring.
“I could never be your soulmate.” She seethed out at you.
You were not sure how it was possible, but it felt like her words physically hurt you.
Poking out your tongue, you wet your lips before smacking them. Your head nodded slowly as you stared into her eyes.
“Understood.”
Your heart was breaking as you turned around to take your leave. The ringing in your ears started becoming unbearable. Your head got dizzy as you fought the tears that tried to come out of your eyes, blurring your vision.
That was it.
She hated you. She hated you enough to reject the bond. Because that was what she had just done, right? She refused you.
And you could not help but refuse to believe it.
You had gone out of your way to avoid both women since the conversation—if you could even call it that.
It didn’t seem to bother the redhead. The insults still would be thrown your way whenever you would find yourself in the same room.
But you made sure to leave as quickly as possible.
You could also see others giving each other questioning looks after two weeks of you barely saying a word to Natasha and Wanda.
Lately, you hadn’t felt physically well which was a great excuse. Frequent headaches and dizziness accompanied you almost every day.
They had been getting gradually worse with a few better days here and there. But the intensity could be unbearable at times.
You tried to focus on something else than the pain.
“Do you want to spar?” A ringing noise was traveling through your head like a damn bell as you held it in your hands. “Riley?”
Your head shot up from looking at the floor, mouth agape as you stared at the man in front of you.
“Huh?” Your eyes squinted as you lifted the corners of your mouth. The light seemed to be extra blinding to your eyes today. “Sorry, I didn't hear you.”
Your palms went to your forehead before you slid your fingers over your eyes, trying to get rid of the stinging feeling.
“I asked if you wanted to spar.” Sam’s voice barely reached your ears as you tried to fight the high-pitched sound in your head.
“I uh—” You determined the risk of him completely beating you up due to the state you were in today. “Sure, one round.” And the answer was that it would do you no harm in the end.
Maybe he could get rid of that stupid sound with a good punch.
You quickly got up from the bench and followed him to the mat before getting into a fighting stance.
He seemed a bit blurry, but you blamed it on the sunlight coming through the window.
“You ready?” His cheerful voice made you snort as a smile broke out on your face for the first time in the last few weeks.
Your fists raised lazily as Sam’s body distorted, splitting in two.
“Bring it on, grandpa.” Your fingers made a wave motion as you felt your legs give out.
“Riley!” Sam’s tilted, running form was the last thing you saw before everything went black.
“Ugh.” Your eyes could barely open as multiple groans of displeasure kept leaving your mouth. “Where am I?” Your raspy voice let out while you tried to rub your forehead as cables dangled in front of your face.
Everything was blurry, slowly getting into place the more awake you were getting.
Your head was banging, causing you to hiss when you lifted yourself up the bed. Looking down, you realized it was a hospital bed.
Your gaze started jumping all over the place, noticing the machine on your left that kept beeping and the cupboard with medicine and injections.
“Slow down.” Sam raised from the chair with extended arms as he tried to calm you down. “You are in medical.” He gently grabbed your arm before helping you up to sit more comfortably on the bed. “Doctor Cho said there was nothing wrong in the scans and you can go, but you should come for a check-up in a few weeks.”
Medical?
Scans?
Check-up?
Your eyes squeezed shut before blinking rapidly.
“What happened?” You finally started asking good questions.
It would be good to know what the hell was going on.
“Your ass knocked itself out before I could.” Sam said amusedly, getting a deep chuckle out of you. It quickly turned into a coughing fit that made the man get back up in horror. “You good?”
His concerned voice was completely different from his terrified face which caused you to laugh again.
“I’m fine.” His eyebrow quirked as you laid your head back down and tilted it to him. “I get to see your ugly face again.”
His face dropped at your words as he pouted. He was your closest friend here. You hadn’t known each other for long, but it was safe to say you did not trust anyone else more than him—besides Sharon.
“I will take my leave now, thank you.” His head shook at you in a sassy way before he got up from the chair.
“Don’t be a baby.” You could use some more help. Especially, with reaching your room.
His laugh erupted in the room as his arms hung loosely at his sides. “I’m just gonna get you some clothes for a change. I’ll be right back.” He tapped you on the shoulder before leaving the medbay, making you stay alone with your thoughts.
They did not waste time swarming your head again like hornets.
You had passed out. Maybe those headaches had been more serious than you'd thought. But there was nothing in the scans. You hadn’t suffered any head injury.
It did not make sense.
But one thing was sure, you needed rest. Exhaling loudly, you let your eyes fall closed.
Whatever was happening, it would figure itself out. You had worse problems—one called Natasha.
You had way too much free time at hands. Fury had heard about the gym incident and immediately had put you off any upcoming missions for the next two weeks.
That quickly had changed into a month when you’d tried to argue with him. You’d hoped Sharon would’ve helped you with convincing Nick, but she’d been worse than him, not wanting to even listen to your great ideas and excuses.
Her stance had been clear and firm, no budging possible. As much as it’d made you annoyed, you couldn’t have helped the smile on your face at how much she’d reminded you of Peggy.
You were proud of her. And she was making sure you would stay away from danger while sick.
So, you decided to drink your ‘sickness’ away at the common area’s bar. Tony would have to restock everything since bottle after bottle kept going empty in your hands.
You were not sure why you were doing this to yourself. Alcohol did not have much effect on you. Your powers altered your DNA to the point that things like aging and getting drunk were irrelevant—different.
Maybe it was the taste that made you keep going. Or maybe the tiny spark of hope that—at one point—it would start working.
“Hey.” Your head turned to the voice, ready to greet whoever was coming before you saw the person’s face.
A grunt passed your lips before the bottle connected with them again as you looked straight at the bar, the liquor pouring down your throat when you tilted your head back.
“You might want to slow down.” The brunette chuckled out upon seeing all the empty bottles, but you sensed the nervousness in the tone as she took steps toward you.
Her words were not appreciated, making you give her a side eye before taking another sip.
She quickly cleared her throat as her fingers fiddled anxiously. “I heard that uh—” Her voice cut off as she swallowed. “—you were rushed to the medbay.”
She sounded cautious, unsure, like she did not know what was okay to say and what would make your anger unleash on her.
Your head slowly turned to her, raising an eyebrow as the bottle clinked against the marble bartop.
“I don’t need your pity.” Your eyes squinted at her. “You can go back to not giving a shit for all I care.” Your bored voice was muffled by the glass pressing against your mouth as you took another gulp of alcohol.
She could save herself—and you—time by leaving you alone. You hadn’t needed her company before and did not need it now.
Her stance faltered, gaze dropping to the floor as she pulled on her sleeve. You could see how her mouth dropped open, her tongue pressing against her bottom teeth before she clicked it.
You stopped yourself from reacting, but it surprised you when she slowly took a seat next to you. Her fingers held the sleeves as she put her hands on the bartop.
“Do you have one more?” Her voice sounded small, like she was scared to say anything to you, pointing at the bottle in your hand.
Your eyes studied her for a second as she stared at you. It was different. No usual malice behind them. You sucked in your cheeks before reaching over the bar and grabbing a bottle.
You handed it to her without a word, her hand wrapping around the item gently.
Despite the silence, you did not feel awkward. But frankly, you had enough of feeling out of place for no other reason than somebody disliking you.
“How do you feel—”
“What do you want, Wanda?” You did not have time for whatever game she wanted to play this time.
You were tired, annoyed—and pretty hopeless. Your life had been in shambles for the last few weeks. It was not necessary to add more to it.
As much as you kept repeating that it was Natasha’s choice, it hurt. The pain felt like never before. If you counted all the headaches and whatnots, it’d been quite miserable.
Her finger tapped against the glass as she stared at it. “I want to say I’m sorry.” Her eyes moved to you as her lips formed into a tight-lipped pout. “I was horrible to you and had started all of this—animosity.” Her jaw popped as she clenched it.
It genuinely surprised you. You did not expect her to apologize or take accountability—to do anything really.
The look on her face seemed like she tried to hold herself together while she stared blankly ahead.
“If I hadn’t attacked you at the airport, it could’ve gone differently.” She nodded, but more to herself than you. “What Nat said was unacceptable.”
Your throat tightened before you swallowed harshly. “I don’t really want to—”
“I’m sorry for that.” She quickly cut you off as her voice wavered. You looked at her confused with a tilted head.
“It’s not your apology to make.” The corners of your mouth tugged up before falling as your eyes blinked quickly. “And I don’t care anymore anyway.”
Your dismissal was followed by the bottle of alcohol pressing against your mouth as you took a long swing.
“That’s not true.” Her voice was gentle, but the words ticked you off, making your features switch quickly.
“And how can you know how I feel?” You almost seethed out at her, letting the anger get the best of you.
You could not help it. This topic was not your favorite and continuing it only made you more frustrated.
“Because I don’t know if I would survive if she did that to me.” Her fingers curled around the sleeve before she pulled it up, revealing her mark.
The words were glowing, letters spelling the same name as on your wrist.
You stared in shock. This whole time, you had thought their relationship was of convenience. That Natasha had lied just to get rid of you.
“I—” Your gaping was so intense it could be considered impolite at this point. “But—” You quickly rolled up your sleeve, seeing the same name.
The glow was still there but dimmer than before.
“I don’t know how it’s possible.” The brunette let out, sounding like she tried not to cry. “It’s the only thing I could think about for the last few weeks, but I have no answers.” Her shoulders shrugged as she smiled sadly at you before letting out a dry chuckle.
It did not make any sense. Two people with the same bond, the same person. It went against everything you knew about the soulmate bond—which was not much—but you did not expect this out of all things.
“I want you to know that I am really sorry for everything I’ve said and done.” Her eyes looked sincerely into yours as she spoke softly, her body turning to you on the barstool. “I would like to start over if you’ll have me.” It sounded almost like a whisper as she stared at you warily.
You were not sure what to say. Should you agree? Or was it better to stay away from her?
It was not very smart to have enemies on your team. She also seemed genuinely apologetic.
But what if she wanted a relationship now only because of the marks?
“Is it because of this?” You pointed at your wrist, then hers. It would not surprise you if that was her goal.
You were not sure what to trust anymore.
Her tongue poked out to wet her lips. “I would want to understand what and why it happened.” Ah, of course. “But it’s optional.” Your eyebrow raised in question as she raised her gaze to you. “I want to get to know you.” Her green eyes staring deeply into your blue ones. “Not the person I thought I knew you were.”
To say you were caught off guard was not enough. This entire day had been a surprise.
But this—this whole conversation—it was the biggest one.
You had a choice to make. You had to choose wisely. But you already knew the answer as you let a small smile break on your lips.
“You don’t do friendly fire, do you?” Her laughter erupted around the place as she threw her head back.
You stared at her scrunched up face as she kept smiling, finally feeling good for the first time in weeks as your grin widened.
It had been great three weeks since you had made amends with Wanda. She had been nicer and attentive. Her presence brought a smile to your face instead of anger now.
She would always greet you with a ‘good morning’ and save a gym session to have one with you.
It felt good. It felt better. It finally felt like you did not have to fight for your life every second of every day.
Minus the times you would come across the redhead. You noticed the tension between the two women. It was hard not to. You were positive everyone from the special forces team had noticed it by now.
Their conversations around the team were rare or only a few words would be exchanged. You hadn’t tried to press the topic with Wanda, deciding that she would tell you whenever she was ready and wanted to do so.
“You’re not coming?” The woman in question came up to you with a confused face.
Her eyebrows were scrunched as she loosely gestured to you with her hand.
“Nope.” You replied from your seat, holding a book as you stared up at her. “I’m on house arrest for one more week.” Your eyes widened with your eyebrows raising as your sassy tone made Sam and Bucky snort in the corner of the living area.
It had been a pain in your ass not to be able to go on any missions. You had felt useless, just wandering around the building, trying to get to recruits’ training sessions before Sharon would find you and kick you out.
She had let you help her with paperwork, saying over and over how much trouble she could’ve gotten into if Fury had noticed.
But it was only one more week now. You could do it.
“But—” Wanda struggled to find words—or more like excuses as she pouted. “Your powers would come in really handy on this one.”
“Don’t they always?” Your smirk made her eyes roll before she crossed her arms.
Your eyes slowly averted from her and back to the book when she did the scary head tilt you had come to find out was more serious than you had thought.
“I’ll see you later then.” Her fingers flicked your forehead before she turned around and started walking away.
“No friendly fire!” You shouted after her, reminding her of the conversation at the bar.
You heard her laughter as it slowly faded away in the hallway.
This was torture. Worse than staying at home. You were attacked from every side with blasting guns, but you were not allowed to use your powers.
Doctor Cho had recommended restraining yourself from doing it as much as possible—which to Fury meant no powers at all.
You wanted to bang your head against the nearest tree in frustration as another blast landed next to you.
“You assholes!” You yelled out, dragging out the word and unleashing bullets with clenched teeth like a maniac.
It did not last long when the clicking sound reached your ears, making you realize that the magazine was out.
You tried to quickly change it, but it would not budge, making you anxious as you saw enemy agents running in your direction.
You were in deep shit, making peace with the fact it would be your last seconds on this earth unless you broke Fury’s orders.
But when you saw red cloud surrounding each agent, lifting them up from the ground before they flew miles away from you, you knew there would be no need to break anything.
“Do you have a death wish?” Wanda landed next to you, looking at you like you were crazy.
“I can’t use my powers.” Your head leaned forward as you quickly gestured to yourself, still holding the gun. Your head was shaking as a grumpy look took over your features.
The brunette, however, stared at you blankly, not believing how stupid you sounded.
“Unless in danger, Riley, in danger like five seconds ago.” Her eyes rolled at you as she groaned to herself, but you caught a small smile creeping up on her face.
“Wow, now you work for two?” That was before both of your heads whipped to a familiar voice, causing Wanda’s happy expression to quickly disappear. “I didn’t know you liked to pick up slack.”
The redhead’s words cut through the air as she stared at her girlfriend before glancing at you with a tensed jaw.
Wanda’s body visibly went stiff as she stood straighter, gritting her teeth slightly.
The comment had to hit a nerve, had to be personal, judging by the brunette’s reaction.
“Only for the useless ones I guess.” She bit back, making your lips roll in as she jabbed at the redhead’s words from a few months ago during the argument you and Natasha had had.
You knew she did not mean to insult you. She did not think of you like that.
Wanda’s eyes did not leave the other woman as the brunette started walking, passing the redhead whose eyes were trained on you now.
“So kind.” She mumbled, her tongue poking out as it ran across her bottom lip.
You felt uncomfortable the longer she stared at you like at an animal. But a breath of relief escaped your mouth when she quickly turned around and followed after Wanda.
You just wanted to be back home and rest—far away from the drama.
The redhead’s mood had gotten even worse when you and Wanda had started spending more time together.
Daily walks full of anything-and-everything conversations had been the highlight of your day as you had both laughed more than ever.
Every week, you’d had a movie night together, popcorn and drinks necessary as Wanda threw it at the screen, booing whenever someone would do something dumb.
You’d helped her with cleaning it up after, causing a popcorn fight that would escalate to a pillow one.
It’d been going great.
For the most part.
“Riley!” Your body almost froze in place upon hearing the voice. This was a very bad moment for her to see you. “Where are you going?”
The brunette ran up to you quickly with a smile as you tried not to give away your nervousness.
“To uh—” Your mind was completely blank. There was nothing you could come up with. “I have to talk to Doctor Cho.” You decided to say the truth.
Or some of it.
“Oh.” Her face scrunched up cutely as the gears in her head were visibly turning. “I’ll go with you.”
Well, shit.
“I don’t wanna waste your time—”
“Nonsense.” You did not even have a second to react when she hooked her arm over yours before pulling you to the medbay. “I have all the time in the world with you.”
She laughed at her own joke, making you chuckle anxiously. You sounded stupid, causing you to clear your throat before smiling.
This could go either very well or very badly.
You hoped the first option would work. For your own good.
“Riley, hello.” Doctor Cho’s voice caused your head to turn. “How can I help?”
She gestured for you to sit on one of the beds as she pulled up a chair for herself. You followed the instructions as she put on gloves.
“I just wanted to uh—” Your eyes went to the brunette, causing them to connect with hers as she sent you a warm smile. “—to do the check-up from the last time.” You were choosing your words carefully due to Wanda’s presence.
There was something you did not tell her about. It was not that important—or so you had told yourself.
“Of course!” Doctor Cho grabbed your head, putting slight pressure in different spots. “Did you have any headaches or dizziness? Any other symptoms?”
She seemed focused on you. Just like Wanda. Maybe the witch was too focused when you glanced at her just to see her watching you like a hawk.
It made your anxiety spike as you swallowed thickly.
“Um, no?” You wanted to slap yourself for how it came out. Both women’s eyebrows raised in question. “Besides a small thing.” Doctor Cho stopped for a second as she looked into your eyes, waiting for you to continue. “Very tiny, actually.” Your anxious laughter did not make it better. “I had a nosebleed a few months ago.”
Your fast words were not fast enough for Wanda to miss them. You could tell that by the way her eyebrow raised to her hairline as she folded her arms over her chest.
“Huh.” Doctor Cho let out in thought while your eyes fell down just to see Wanda’s hip jut out. “The scans from the last two check-ups were fine.”
You only nodded, your eyes jumping from the brunette who was clearly unhappy with you to anything else in the room.
“Have you met your soulmate?” Doctor Cho suddenly asked, her expression serious.
“I did.” You said with a lowered gaze as you bit your bottom lip. “But I was kind of—dismissed if I can say so.”
“That could be the cause of your sickness.” Your confused face made the woman fix her glasses before folding her hands. “Any type of rejection of the bond can cause physical illness. It’s possible you are experiencing all these symptoms because your bond is weakening.” If that was true, somebody needed to make new rules. “Our bonds are tied to us, their strength determines our health.”
You were sick because somebody did not want you.
It definitely had to be the craziest news you’d ever heard.
You were still in quite a shock after leaving the medbay. You did not even remember getting to the living room area. Maybe because you could barely wrap your head around what you had just been told.
Or maybe because of the silence that surrounded you during the entire walk as Wanda hadn’t said a word to you.
“How could you not tell me?” Until now. “I thought we were friends, that we were good now.” She was pacing in front of you as you were sitting on the couch.
“We are—”
“Are we?” Her voice was laced with hurt as she looked at you upset, stopping her movements.
It made guilt spark in you. But it had happened shortly after the gym incident. You hadn’t been that close back then.
“Come here.” You gestured for her to take a seat next to you as your body tilted inward
Her grumpy expression almost made you chuckle before she took a seat next to you, her arms folding over her chest.
“I’m sorry for not telling you.” Your words were sincere as she sighed out exaggeratedly. “I promise it won’t happen again.” Her eyes connected with yours, jumping between them as her grumpiness started slowly fading away. “I will give you my medical history as a Christmas gift.”
Her scoff quickly changed into laughter as she looked away from you. Your mouth spread into an open-mouthed smile, watching her head being thrown back before turning back to you.
“You are so stupid.” She playfully smacked your arm as you chuckled louder. Pulling her leg up on the couch, she turned her body to you, leaning against the back. Her face turned grim quickly before she put her hand on yours as it rested on your lap. “I’m sorry she’s causing all of this.”
Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion before the realization dawned on you. “Oh.” Your other arm landed on the back of the couch as your head leaned on your palm. “It’s—whatever.” You smiled at her lightly. “A small hiccup.”
Her lips pressed together as she pulled them in, giving your hand a small squeeze. Her green eyes were staring into yours in silence and you noticed how there was a hint of blue in them.
The dim light of the room lit up her face as the darkness was peaking through the windows. It was nice—content. Your lips were shaped into a warm smile as none of you said a word.
Her expression was soft when her lips parted, causing your eyes to drop to them without thinking. Your heartbeat picked up when her fingers curled, scratching your hand lightly.
Her breath shuddered, making you quickly look back up just to see her gaze directed lower than your line of sight.
You were frozen in place, not knowing what to do or what was happening. But it felt good—and wrong at the same time.
You did not even notice your heads had gotten closer until you could feel her breath on your face.
“Um.” You cleared your throat, quickly turning your head to the side as Wanda’s body immediately leaned back with her gaze snapping to the floor. “Do you want anything to drink?”
The seat felt hot, making you get up quickly as you went up to the bar.
“Uh—I—” You heard her stutter. But you were glad, it gave you time to cool down as you breathed quickly to calm down. “Sure, why not.” She finally said, making you grab two cans of soda.
This was wrong. She was with Natasha, her soulmate—your soulmate.
The thoughts started plaguing your mind as you sat back on the couch, putting some space between as you scootched into the corner.
She took the can with a smile, but avoided your eyes as she popped it open.
This time, the silence felt weird until she grabbed a remote and turned on the TV, surfing through the channels and stopping on a random movie.
You did not waste time getting indulged in it. Anything was better than facing what had just happened.
Everything had seemed to be slow, but you were not sure when the things escalated. Was it even a correct word? Did anything escalate?
Maybe it was only in your head. Maybe she had caught your gaze dropping to her lips. It could’ve made her uncomfortable.
It was wrong. You could not have this happen again. You did not want to ruin this friendship.
Not again.
It seemed the brunette wanted to make it even easier for you as she had barely talked to you in the next week or two.
You hadn’t been keeping track of time too much when Fury had started sending you on more missions.
But it’d been impossible not to notice that Wanda had been trying to get out of spending time with you.
You felt horrible. It only proved the voices in your head that you had fucked everything up by the small action.
Your eyes had done it on instinct. The movement had caught your attention. You hadn’t intended to make her uncomfortable.
It was too late for intentions now.
She’d been acting weird, still having small-talks with you, but the change was big enough for you to fall into the spiral of thoughts.
“Hi.” You said quietly, taking a spot next to Wanda as she stood at the countertop next to the dryer. You made sure to be cautious with the distance and movements, not wanting to scare her away.
Her body visibly tensed for a second before relaxing, sparing you a short glance as you put your clothing into the washing machine.
“Hey.” She replied shortly, letting the silence hang around you two as she kept folding her clothes.
The awkwardness could not be worse. You wanted to just leave, but you had to show her your actions were strictly friendly.
You didn’t want her to think you wanted to break up her relationship with Natasha. They had enough problems as it seemed.
“Do you want to grab coffee today?” Your eyes did not dare to go anywhere near the brunette’s face, focusing solely on the clothes before you closed the machine.
She halted her movements, finally looking at you for longer than five seconds. But she stayed quiet for even longer than that, making you suck in your lips as you pressed the buttons.
You should’ve left her alone—
“Sure.” The speed with which your eyes snapped to her in surprise could not be stopped.
You quickly composed yourself, feeling relief and joy at her agreement as she smiled at you warmly.
Maybe not everything was ruined.
After that day, it had gotten better—back to normal.
She was not trying to get away from you like you were a disease anymore.
Which was a huge plus. Your self-esteem had definitely gotten better again.
Now, you were just jamming to songs while sorting out your DVDs with movies in the common area. It had been such a nice and peaceful day.
The first one in a long time.
“Show me your wrist.” Your eyebrows scrunched in complete confusion as you stared at the tall bookshelf in front of you.
Were you hearing voices? What the hell was happening?
“Riley!” A hand connected with your shoulder, causing you to jump in fear.
“Oh, shit!” You let out, breathing heavily as your wide eyes stared at Wanda. “Don’t scare me like that.”
She did not seem to care as she stared at you with a serious face, her features were tensed.
“Show me your wrist.” Her request was puzzling to you.
Your wrist? She had seen your wrist a million times.
“For what?” The question made her nostrils flare as your head tilted.
She was being weird. Not like a few weeks ago, but still weird.
“Just show me.” Her impatience was showing as she stared at your forearm in anticipation.
Whatever was going on, you were not sure if you wanted to know.
“Fine, but why?” You said, rolling up your sleeve and revealing the name on your skin.
There was nothing new. Still the person who wanted to have nothing to do with you. The only difference was how dim the glow had become, barely visible at this point.
Like you would’ve never met your soulmate in the first place.
The brunette gaped at it, her eyes wide as she stood frozen in her spot. She wasn’t saying anything, she wasn’t doing anything—just staring.
“Wanda?” Something had to happen. Her features turned into anxiety as her breathing staggered.
“I gotta go!” And just like that, she turned around and scurried away.
“Wanda!” You called out, but she was gone in a second like a ghost, leaving you alone and confused.
She had been gone for the rest of the day. It was impossible to find her anywhere. Assuming she had probably left the building, you had gone back to your things and training.
You had visited Doctor Cho for one more check-up, stating that the dizziness and headaches had been pretty much gone by now.
There hadn’t been any other accidents as well.
She had cleared you and had assured you she would let Fury know you were now completely healthy and able to use your powers.
You were on the way to your room after receiving the good news, smiling broadly to yourself.
You could finally go back to doing all kinds of missions, not just stake-out ones.
Loud screaming snapped you out of your happy humming, your head raising in concern as you stared down the hall.
The voices were so muffled you had no idea who it could be. But it sounded serious. Your walk resumed, the yelling becoming louder until it was clear to you it was coming from Wanda and Natasha’s room.
“I’m done!” The door whipped open, causing you to stumble back as the redhead came into your view. Your wide eyes met her furious ones when she turned around to leave.
You were genuinely scared and flabbergasted when her features hardened at you, her finger raising and pointing at you angrily.
“You always have to fuck everything up, don’t you?!” Her words were laced with venom before she stormed off.
Your gaze froze in place, trying to understand what the hell just happened. Fuck everything up? What could you have possibly done to her? You’d been avoiding each other like fire for months.
Shaking your head, you took a cautious step forward, your fingers placed on the door as you pushed it to open fully.
“Wanda?” You saw the woman sitting on the bed, her head in her hands.
She jumped up upon hearing your voice, her face looked terrified as she stared wide-eyed at your bewildered face.
The room looked like a mess as your eyes slowly skimmed around it. You were convinced a hurricane had gone through it a couple of times.
When your gaze raised to the brunette, you caught how she quickly pulled on her sleeve, holding it in place, making your eyebrows scrunch even more than before.
“What is going on?” She stood quietly, sniffling to herself. “Come on, Wands, we’ve known each other for over half a year.” You didn’t want her to feel attacked, but you could not help without knowing what was happening.
She fiddled with the material of her clothing, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as anxiety colored her features.
Finally, she grabbed the sleeve before slowly moving it up.
Your eyes widened in shock when you realized what she was showing you. Immediately, you went up to the bed before taking a seat as you felt like your legs would give out at any moment.
You had expected everything but this. How was it possible? It could not be. The universe was messing with you—with your head.
It had to be a mistake.
But you could not stop staring at Wanda’s wrist, your name glowing brightly on it as she stood in front of you with a rolled-up sleeve.
Nothing made sense to you anymore. The soulmate could change? How would that even be possible, it was supposed to be the special bond between people.
Unchangeable, unbreakable.
But you knew better than anyone else now how the ‘unbreakable’ part worked. Your soulmate didn't want you.
“How—” You uttered out in disbelief, your hands pointing at the letters, but nothing else managed to come out of your mouth.
“I don’t know.” The brunette let out in a breath. Her tear-stained cheeks almost broke you when your gaze went up to hers.
She looked distraught, heartbroken, and tired. You could only assume how much of a toll the argument had taken on her. You did not have to guess what it was about.
Now, Natasha’s words made more sense than before. You could not blame her for being angry, but there was nothing you could’ve done to make the mark change.
You had no idea it could be done in the first place.
“Is this why—” Your thoughts went back to the interaction you had with the brunette earlier today. “—why you asked to see my wrist?”
She sniffled, nodding in confirmation. Her eyes were completely focused on her fiddling fingers.
“I thought maybe you had mine.” She said, wiping her nose as she looked up. “I needed an explanation, a reason.” She continued, her voice wavering as she tried to stop tears from coming out. “But when I saw it was the same, I just—” She paused, taking a deeper breath. “I didn’t know what to do.”
She quickly took a seat next to you. Her eyes were red as she covered them with her palms before sliding her hands to her head.
“She broke up with me.” The raspiness of her voice made the words that much sadder as breath caught in your throat in shock.
You felt terrible for Wanda. She was a great friend when she didn’t actively try to make your life miserable. Under all those layers of hatred she’d had for you was a sweet and helpful person.
You hated that this was happening to her.
But you could understand Natasha’s point of view. The amount of betrayal she probably felt right now was unimaginable.
Your arms went around the brunette, her body pressing to your front as she laid her head under your chin.
“Don’t worry.” Your hand rubbed her back as she shook in your arms, the silent cries spilled from her mouth again, making tears flood down her face. “We will figure it out.”
You hadn’t left her side since then. Two months had passed, full of you supporting and entertaining Wanda.
She had been miserable for the first two weeks, only crying into your shirt multiple times a day. Anything that had reminded her of Natasha made tears spill from her eyes like a waterfall.
The redhead had been like a ghost. You had barely seen her around, wondering how possible it would be for a person to be invisible like that.
It had become clearer when Sam had told you she had buried herself in missions, begging Fury to give her the longest ones.
You’d felt sorry for her, but you had noticed that the space Natasha had put between her and Wanda had worked well.
At the three-week mark, the brunette finally started smiling and replying to your jokes. You had almost forgotten how her laughter sounded until she had burst out one night when you’d watched sitcoms.
Her lit up face could not have looked cuter and better than in that moment.
After a month, she had wanted to go for walks again, get ice cream, or a pizza from your favorite place.
She was almost back to normal—or as normal as one could be after a break-up.
She had been more playful, more focused during training sessions, and bolder.
You had helped her the best you could without crossing a line. You wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable or scare her away.
So, you had kept your distance while being as supportive as possible. You knew she still loved Natasha. As much as she had tried to avoid the topic recently, it was clear she still had feelings for her.
She also stopped being anxious, finding peace as she indulged in reading again.
Just like right now.
A romance book was in her hands as she curled up in an armchair. A blanket thrown over her as her eyes skimmed over the words.
You were sitting in the same room, trying to figure out a good way to describe your last mission. Fury needed it for the debrief meeting that would be in two days.
The pen was banging against your head as it stayed empty, being unable to come up with anything good.
You despised this part of your job. It was stupid and useless—to you.
There were only so many ways you could talk about infiltrating enemy’s bases and bad guys attacking you.
Fury had always given you a look whenever the description had sounded too familiar. You would simply use the same one over and over again whenever it applied.
So, he had told you that this one would not be accepted if he saw anything similar to the previous ones.
You glanced at Wanda, hoping she would be finishing her romance story sometime soon and possibly help you with this nonsense.
But when you saw her focused expression, you could only sigh to yourself hopelessly.
The pen pressed against your lips before you started clicking it. There was nothing your brain could make up. Nothing new. The old versions were running through your head like a horse race.
It was the dumbest thing—
“Do you not like me?” Your body jumped in fear when the brunette harshly slammed her book closed.
Your wide eyes snapped to her in horror before you realized there was no danger. Not yet, at least.
“Uh, what?” You asked her, not hearing her words from how much you almost shat your pants at the sudden sound.
“Do you—” She repeated slowly, her eyes looking into yours in determination. “—not like me?”
The question almost made your eyes roll from how much it seemed to melt your brain. There was not a single thought in your head as you fell into a hole of confusion.
“Not like you?” You said again, making Wanda nod, as you hoped to understand her thinking process. “I do, we’re friends.” You spluttered out.
You had no idea whether the answer was correct or not. No matter how many times you repeated her words in your head, you could not understand what was the reason for her question.
Of course, you liked her. You would not spend your time with her if you did not consider her at least a friend.
“Ugh.” She groaned, her legs untangling as she pushed herself up from her seat, the blanket falling on the armchair. “That’s not what I meant.” Her mumble puzzled you even more as she walked to one of the shelves and put her book away.
It wasn’t?
Your eyebrows pulled together as you stared blankly ahead. Snapping out of the trance, you blinked rapidly as your eyes focused on the woman.
“W-well, then.” You got up from your seat. “What did you mean?” You hoped she would just tell you instead of having you figure it out.
You already guessed once and it was incorrect.
“Do you not like me?” Her body whipped around, facing you as you saw signs of frustration on her features. “Like me?”
Like her?
She sounded so confusing and weird.
Why wouldn’t you like—
Oh.
Oh.
“Why do you care if I do or not?” You asked from pure curiosity, your lips turning into an open-mouthed smile. But you were not happy. You were anxious.
The flashback from that moment on the couch came back to you, remembering how she had been acting right after, making you gulp.
“Because!” She groaned, throwing her arms up. “Is it something about me?” Her hand pressed between her breasts as she pointed at herself, making your eyes lower there involuntarily before you swallowed thickly. “Is it because of what I’d done at the beginning?”
You almost got whiplash from how your head shook at the sudden question. “What? No.” The words ran out of your mouth.
“Then what? Am I too ugly for you?” Her voice sounded like she was about to get offended, her eyebrow raising at you in challenge.
“No!”
“Too short? Too skinny?” She kept questioning, trying very hard to find out the reason. “Is it because of my powers?”
“No, Wanda.” You denied again, your palms pressing against your forehead as you rubbed your eyebrows while she kept throwing her arms around.
“Then what?” She took a step forward, her features hardening, but it was only a mask. You could see the uncertainty, the doubt, and the nervousness. “Because you keep saying no, and you keep doing nothing while I’m losing my mind for you—” Your eyes widened. She was what? “—getting your freaking name on my wrist from—” She was gradually getting more frustrated as her voice sounded stern and grounded at the same time. “—all the thoughts about how it would feel to have your lips on mine, but they never—”
You finally managed to shut her up, doing exactly what she wanted. Your lips almost smashed into hers, causing her body to tense for a second before you felt it relax.
Your mouth moved slowly against hers as you lifted your hand to her face. Gently cupping her jaw, you moved her face closer as she fisted the front of your shirt.
It was soft, delicate—perfect. You took your time kissing her and she did not seem to mind when both her hands went to your sides, lightly grasping at your clothing.
Both of your hands held her face as you both kept going, her sighs being swallowed by you as she tilted her head a bit.
You never felt anything like this before. It was strong despite how gentle you both were. You did not want to stop. It was consuming you, your head screaming for more.
You could keep her lips on yours forever.
You loved—
“Sss.” You hissed, causing the kiss to break as your face scrunched in pain. “What the—” Your eyes dropped to your wrist where you felt the sharp stinging.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Wanda's frantic questions were not enough to tear your gaze away as you stared down in shock. “Riley?”
She asked again in confusion before dropping her eyes to your wrist. She became quiet as a gasp escaped her mouth.
Your wrist was glowing brightly like never before, the letters spelling her name where Natasha’s used to be.
“I—” She stuttered out in surprise, but nothing else managed to come out.
Your eyes went up to hers as a smile crept up on your lips.
“I’m a bit late to the party, but still attended.” Your joke made the brunette huff in amusement. “But—” Her happy face changed quickly at the word as you licked your lips. “We need to figure this out.” You looked at her seriously. “With Nat.”
Her mouth formed into a thin line as anxiety took over her again. But she nodded, letting a small smile appear on her face.
“With Nat.”
You and Wanda had decided to take things slow. You didn’t want to jump into it just because your wrists said so. You had no idea how stable the soulmate bonds actually were after witnessing the name-change first-hand.
Flinging it into Natasha’s face also wouldn’t be the nicest thing to do, so you kept everything private. It hadn’t gone further than stealing kisses here and there.
You both were adamant about finding out the cause of what had happened. Wanda’s guilt was making itself more and more known whenever Natasha’s name came up.
The brunette confessed she had feelings for you for a while. She did not want to admit them to herself, but after she had seen the way you’d looked at her lips, she could not help it anymore.
But she could not deny she still loved Natasha. Despite all the arguments and mysteries, she felt the redhead was still her soulmate—just like you.
It was clear to you Wanda was more than a friend to you ever since you had almost kissed her that night, but you hadn't wanted to get in between her and Nat.
But ever since the name on your wrist changed, you could not help but wonder if there still was a chance for the redhead to finally accept you.
You were done with insults, with avoiding each other. You wanted to be civil at least. At best, you hoped it would somehow work out for the three of you.
You finally got a chance to possibly start some progress when you caught the redhead sitting alone at night. She was in the secluded corner of the living room, separated by the wall.
One soft bench was placed against the wall as her face reflected in the window. Her eyes were blankly staring through it, knees up to her chin as she leaned her head on it.
She looked small.
Exhausted.
Lonely.
You debated for a second if disturbing her right now would be a good idea. Your gaze lowered to the ground as you licked your lips.
Letting out a deep breath, you took quiet steps in her direction, hoping with your whole heart she would not behead you.
“Hi.” Your quiet voice made her eyes look at you from their corner. She did not acknowledge you, staring back outside in silence.
But you noticed how her jaw tightened, her shoulders tensed, and her gaze hardened as she made sure not to look at you.
Without a word, you slowly came up to the bench and took a seat next to the redhead. Her arms circled her legs harder as she shifted in her spot.
“What do you want?” Her harsh tone did not make you falter or flinch. You expected that. “Did you come here to laugh in my face?” The bitterness made your lips twitch in sadness.
She still thought the same of you. But how could she not? All she knew about you was that you were her enemy.
“I came to talk.” You said softly.
Her scoff was followed by a dry laugh as she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Cause our talks are so interesting.” Her head was shaking in amusement and irritation as she pressed her tongue against her bottom teeth.
You took a slow breath, trying not to let her negativity get in the way.
“They can be if you give me a chance.” Her eyes didn't budge until she turned her head to you. Her eyes were red, undoubtedly from crying and you felt your chest tighten at the thought. Your eyelids faltered as your mouth opened. “Please.”
She stared deeply into your eyes, her head started shaking as you saw the tremble of her chin. “You took everything from me.” She let out in a whisper. “You took her.” Her voice betraying her as a small cry slipped through.
Sniffling, she blinked quickly as her hands wiped her eyes. She was falling apart right in front of you, trying to hide it unsuccessfully.
The guilt started ripping through your heart as silence embraced both of you. She was right—to some extent—but you could not control someone else’s feelings. You could not control the bond.
Looking down, your eyes went to your covered wrist, calculating how badly it could go if she knew. Or if it would help her understand you were in an unknown territory just like she was.
“She has my name, yes.” The redhead huffed as another whimper attempted to rip through her throat. “But she had yours before.” Your fingers grasped at the sleeve, pulling it up slowly. “Just like I did.” Her face scrunched up in confusion before her gaze fell on your wrist.
She froze in place. Her breathing picked up as her wide eyes kept gaping at the letters on your skin.
She opened her mouth in shock. You could see the million questions running through her face that she wished to ask.
“I have no clue how it is possible.” You admitted to her, making her eyes jump to you. “Wanda and I have feelings for each other.” Her teeth clenched before she sucked in her cheeks as tears glossed over her eyes.
“But she still loves you.” Her mouth twitched. You were not certain if because she thought it was a lie or because she hoped it to be true. “And I’m sure we can find a way as well.” Your confidence was a long time coming. It had to be said. You wanted to believe that there was love for you two as well. That her name used to be engraved in your skin for a reason. “All I am asking is one chance.”
Her green, glossy eyes stared at your face, searching for something that only she knew. But you had nothing to hide, no reason to lie.
All you wanted was the truth. You wanted to show her the real you and for her to stop hiding behind a mask.
The way her facade faltered as she breathed in with a shudder made you look at her hopefully.
Her eyes softened before her chin scrunched as her shoulders shook, letting her tears flow down her cheeks.
She looked at you differently now. Very differently as she stood in front of you, ready to punch you right in the face.
“You’re just gonna stand like a grandma?” Her taunting made the side of your mouth raise for a second.
Your eye twitched before squinting. She really had a way with words.
It’d been an hour of this already. You had enough. You wanted to go eat.
“No.” You replied. “But you’re gonna be lying on the ground like one soon.” The smirk on your face made the redhead’s head tilt before she pounced on you.
Your forearms went up, shielding your body from an incoming hit. She swung her arm, trying to hit from the side, but you quickly blocked it before turning your body and grabbing her other arm.
Turning your back to her, you pulled her front flash against you before throwing her over your shoulder. She tried to slide from under you, but you were faster, blocking her legs while positioning yourself on top of her.
In the end, your strength was too much.
Your breathing was heavy as it finally gave you some rest.
“Seems like I won.” Your cocky tone made her scoff loudly.
Her raised head fell on the mat as you let go of her limbs, letting her arms lie flat above her.
“Whatever.” She tried to get up, but you didn’t let her, putting more of your body weight on her.
“Ah, ah.” You let out, looking at her with raised eyebrows. She was forgetting something. “I think you owe me a thing or two.”
Her eyes rolled at your stupid smile before a grin spread on her lips. You did not wait any longer before leaning down and connecting them with yours.
You would never get enough of this. They always felt so soft, no matter how roughly she kissed you.
Her arms went up to wrap around your neck as she pulled you closer, forcing you to put your hands on each side of her head to keep yourself up.
“Nat.” Your warning was met with a smirking face. “Not here.” Her hips did not stop moving against you, searching for friction.
“I thought you didn’t care where.” Your eyes rolled hard at her mocking tone, using your words from a few weeks ago against you now.
She had done it a lot in the last six months. It had taken time for you to get to a good spot, but once you had gotten there, it could not have been better.
The door to the gym opened with a gasp following immediately after.
“Are you guys trying to play without me?” Your entire head started rolling in exaggeration as the redhead laughed on the floor.
Sometimes, they could be a lot to handle. It did not mean you were unable to do it.
Standing up, you turned around to see offended Wanda as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her raised eyebrow and tilted head caused your playful plans to vanish instantly.
“She is.” You pointed at Natasha, throwing her under the bus faster than she could throw her knives.
A defensive sound came from her as she sat up on the floor, glaring at you playfully. “Count your days.”
“You would have to catch me first.” You looked over your shoulder as you walked to the door, sending her a cheeky smile. “Good luck with those short legs.”
Her gasp was so loud it bounced off the walls as Wanda laughed loudly.
The redhead did not waste time getting up before running at you and jumping on your back. You stumbled forward at the unexpected impact before grabbing her legs.
“Now, you have to carry me for being mean.” She declared, circling your neck with her arms as Wanda took the redhead’s water bottle.
The Sokovian came up to you as you sent her an amused smile that she returned, shaking her head at Natasha.
Your gaze drifted down to your exposed arms as you threw the redhead higher on your back.
A gentle grin spread on your lips as you stared at your wrists, both glowing brightly with the names of the women you had by your side.
Who would’ve known you could have two soulmates? You guessed that was what the second wrist was for. Because you were lucky like that.
All those travels, fights, tears, and struggles to get here.
