synopsis ➜ the aftermath of robin’s “how are the babes at emerson?” question. because she had already known the answer
june 1989 — hawkins, indiana
Nancy’s door clicked shut with the gentlest, most guilty sound in the world. Like even the latch of the door knew it was keeping a secret.
Her room looked almost exactly the way it always had. The same pale, soft, wallpaper, the same dresser with the things she’d left when she left for Boston, the same desk that still carried the faint indentation of countless notebooks from too many late-night study sessions or trying to piece clues together. The same window that faced the quiet cul-de-sac, the same faint glow from the street lights cutting a warm edge across the carpet.
But everything felt different.
Because Robin Buckley was in it.
Not downstairs. Not at the dinner table or perched on the edge of the couch, acting like a guest in a house that wasn’t hers.
Up here, behind the closed door, Robin looked like she belonged in a way that made Nancy’s heart do something stupid.
Robin stood in the middle of the room for a moment, hands shoved into the pockets of her overalls, she had that look she always wore when she was trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous.
The “babes at Emerson” comment had followed them into the Wheeler home and up the stairs like a mischievous ghost.
Nancy leaned back against the door, arms folded, wearing the kind of expression she saved for people who thought they could get away with something. “So…” she said, drawing the word out, letting it hang between them, “how are the babes at Emerson?”
Robin’s face did something that was almost a grimace, and almost a grin. “I—okay, in my defense,” she waved a hand, as if she could physically push the memory away. “I was, like, trying to make conversation.”
“You were trying to make the boys laugh,” Nancy corrected, eyes narrowing with fond accusation.
“Okay, yes, also that.” Robin exhaled through her nose, then shook her head like her own brain was too much for her. “It was a group setting. There were beverages. I was being Social Robin.”
“Social Robin,” Nancy repeated, voice syrupy.
“Don’t,” Robin warned, but it came out soft. Her cheeks were pink, slightly, the way they always were when she was embarrassed and trying not to show it. She looked at Nancy’s bed, at the neatly folded quilt, at the pillows arranged with Nancy’s own careful touch, and then back at Nancy like she was asking permission without saying it.
Nancy pushed herself off the dresser and crossed the room in a few steps. “You can sit,” she said gently, as if Robin needed reminding that up here, at least, she didn’t have to hover like she was ready to bolt.
Robin sat on the edge of the bed, careful, like it might collapse under the weight of this. She pulled her knees up, sitting criss-cross, and the motion made her look younger than she was. Like a girl pretending she wasn’t waiting for the world to decide what kind of person she was allowed to be.
Nancy sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. It was nothing, really. Just sitting close.
Downstairs, the house hummed with life. The clink of forks and laughter that sounded like Dustin mixed with Max’s bright, surprised, laugh. The soft murmur of Karen Wheeler’s voice trying to keep everyone as civilized as possible. And down in the basement, Holly and her friends were probably arguing over dice rolls and campaign plotlines.
It was everything Nancy had wanted for so long. No more monsters. No more gates bleeding into their world. Just a house that smelled like home-cooked meals and the sound of conversation and laughter from Mike and his friends.
And Robin, sitting beside her like the most impossible kind of normal.
Nancy turned her head, looking at Robin’s profile. The line of her nose. The way her mouth pinched when she was thinking too hard. Robin’s hair had grown, curled a little now, soft at the ends, and it made her look like someone who belonged in college brochures. Bright-eyed, wind-touched, alive.
Nancy’s throat tightened with something warm and painful.
“So…” Nancy said again, quieter this time, and she let her shoulder press more deliberately against Robin’s. “How are the babes at Smith, Robin?”
Robin’s head turned toward her quick. “Oh my God…”
Nancy’s smile widened. “I mean, I’m sure Northampton is crawling with them.”
Robin made a strangled sound that might’ve been a laugh if she wasn’t also clearly dying inside “No—okay, first of all, no. Second of all, you can’t—“ She pointed at Nancy in her laid position. “You can’t do that.”
“You did it to me,” Nancy said, voice sweetly triumphant.
“That was different.”
“Is it?”
Nancy almost laughed as she said it, but she didn’t, not exactly. She reached out, slow and careful, and placed her hand on Robin’s knee.
It was a simple touch.
Robin still froze the tiniest bit, as if her body had to decide whether it was safe to fully relax. Then she exhaled, letting herself lean into it, just a little, like Nancy’s hand was an anchor.
Nancy’s thumb moved once, a small stroke over the denim of Robin’s overalls.
Robin’s gaze dropped to Nancy’s hand, and something in her face softened, something unguarded and sweet. “You,” she said, like she was pointing out an unfair advantage, “are not allowed to weaponize sincerity during an argument.”
Nancy’s lips curved. “And you’re not allowed to act like you didn’t start this.”
Robin’s lips quirked, reluctant, and then she sighed dramatically, flopping back onto Nancy’s pillows like a martyr. Her hair fanned out, her hands going to her face. “Fine. Okay. I accept my fate. I will be teased to death by Nancy Wheeler in her childhood bedroom.”
Nancy shifted, leaning over her a little, bracing one hand near Robin’s shoulder. She could feel the warmth of Robin’s skin that showed open around her collarbones. She could smell Robin’s shampoo, something citrusy, and underneath that, the faint trace of the air outside, the late spring and asphalt and car rides and a slight trace of beer.
“You deserve it,” Nancy said, hovering close.
Robin’s eyes darted to Nancy’s face, and for a moment, the joking fell away. Her gaze held, steady and intense, like she was memorizing Nancy. Like she still couldn’t believe this was all real.
Nancy’s stomach fluttered and she lifted her other hand, hesitated for the briefest moment, and then gently cupped Robin’s cheek.
Robin went utterly still. Not stiff, just reverent. Like Nancy’s hand was something sacred.
Nancy’s thumb brushed the edge of Robin’s cheekbone. “You know,” Nancy murmured, “when you said that… about the babes at Emerson…”
Robin groaned, closing her eyes. “Oh my God, no, please—”
“I wanted to laugh,” Nancy continued, ignoring her. “Because it was ridiculous. And because you were trying so hard to make it sound normal. For me.”
Robin opened one eye, suspicious. “It was normal. I’m very normal. Extremely normal.”
Nancy smiled, and it was soft, not teasing. “But I also wanted to pull you aside and say…” She hesitated, because the words still felt dangerous, even up here. Even with the door shut. Even with the house full of people who loved them and had no idea what was happening in the room above them.
Robin watched her, breath held.
Nancy leaned closer, voice dropping to the kind of hush that belonged to confessionals. “I wanted to say, you know you don’t have to ask me that like it’s a joke anymore.”
Robin’s throat bobbed. Her eyes went glossy for a second, like tears were an old reflex.
Nancy’s hand slid from Robin’s cheek to the back of her neck, fingers threading into the soft hair there. “Because I’m not at Emerson,” Nancy said, almost smiling. “And you know why.”
Robin’s lips parted. She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “Because you’re at the Herald,” she managed, voice thin.
“Yes,” Nancy said, and then, quietly, “And because I’m with you.”
Robin’s eyes fluttered shut like she couldn’t take the weight of that sentence, in that moment, looking at her.
Nancy leaned in and pressed a kiss to Robin’s temple. It was gentle, lingering, like she was sealing the words into place. Robin shuddered, a tiny exhale escaping her as if she’d been holding her breath for months.
“Nancy,” Robin whispered, and her voice broke on the name.
Nancy pulled back just enough to look at her. “What?”
Robin’s hands came up slowly, tentative at first, and then she held Nancy’s wrists, like she needed to make sure Nancy didn’t disappear. “You can’t just say things like that,” Robin murmured. “You can’t just—” She swallowed, eyes shining. “You make it sound so… easy.”
Nancy’s chest tightened. “You know it’s not easy.”
Robin’s laugh was wet and small. “Okay, no, yeah, fair, the whole ‘secretly dating in a world that almost ate us alive’ thing isn’t exactly… simple.”
Nancy’s mouth twitched. “And yet.”
“And yet,” Robin echoed, softer.
Nancy slid her hands down, letting her fingers lace with Robin’s. Their hands fit together in a way that felt absurdly right. Robin’s palm was warm, her fingers slightly calloused, guitar strings, maybe, or the restless habit of fidgeting.
Downstairs, someone called for more drinks, Dustin’s voice, unmistakable even muffled, followed by Will’s quieter reply. A chair scraped. Plates clinked. The normal world continued, oblivious.
Robin exhaled slowly, her breath warm through Nancy’s shirt. “It’s weird,” she murmured. “That this is happening.” Robin’s voice was soft, like she was afraid to scare the moment away. “That we’re just… up here. And everyone’s down there. And nobody knows.”
Nancy’s throat tightened. “Yeah?”
Robin’s fingers traced idle patterns against Nancy’s hand, like she needed something to do with the feeling. “When I first got to Smith,” she said quietly, “I thought—I thought maybe it would be… different. Like maybe the world would be more… roomy, you know? Like there’d be space to breathe… after it all.”
Nancy tipped her head slightly, listening.
“But I’m still…” Robin laughed softly, bitterly. “I’m still me. I still look over my shoulder. I still hear my mom’s voice in my head, telling me what’s ‘appropriate.’ I still—” She hesitated. “I still feel like if I want something too much, something bad will happen again.”
Nancy swallowed hard. “Robin…”
Robin lifted her head, looking at Nancy now. “And then you…” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it. “You show up. You—Nancy Wheeler, who used to look like she had the whole world planned out, shows up and you… you look at me like you’re not afraid.”
Nancy’s eyes stung.
Robin’s gaze was intense, almost pleading. “And it makes me feel brave,” she whispered. “And then it makes me feel stupid, because what if bravery is just… temporary? What if it goes away the second someone knocks on the door?”
Nancy’s heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat.
She reached up and tucked a piece of Robin’s hair behind her ear, slow. “Bravery isn’t a switch,” Nancy said softly. “It’s… practice. It’s a thing you do even when you’re terrified.”
Robin blinked, tears gathering but not falling.
Nancy leaned forward, resting her forehead against Robin’s. “And I am afraid,” Nancy admitted. “All the time. I’m afraid of my parents finding out. I’m afraid of Boston chewing me up and spitting me out. I’m afraid of hurting… you.”
Robin’s breath hitched.
Nancy’s voice dropped even lower. “But when I’m with you, it’s like… there’s a part of me that can finally stop apologizing for existing.”
Robin’s eyes squeezed shut, one tear finally slipping down her cheek.
Nancy kissed it away without thinking—just a soft press of her lips to Robin’s skin, like she could erase the sadness with tenderness.
Robin’s hands came up and held Nancy’s face, palms warm, thumbs trembling at Nancy’s jaw. “You’re going to ruin me,” Robin whispered, voice half-laughing, half-crying.
Nancy’s lips curved, soft. “Good.”
Robin let out a shaky breath that turned into a laugh, and for a moment she looked like herself again, wry and brilliant and overwhelmed. “That is so—” She huffed. “That’s so aggressive, even for you, Nancy Wheeler.”
Nancy’s eyes flickered with playful defiance. “You don’t know everything about me.”
Robin’s grin was watery. “I know a lot.”
Nancy tilted her head, challenging. “Do you?”
Robin’s eyes sparkled with renewed mischief, like the teasing had circled back around into safety. “Oh, I knew you dropped out of Emerson and became a trainee at the Boston Herald because you can’t stand being told to sit down and shut up before everyone else did.” She ticked it off on her fingers. “I know that sometimes, you drink your coffee too fast and then regret it immediately. I know you pretend you don’t care what people think, but you do, because you care about everyone even when you’re mad at them. I know you still keep a spare pen and notebook in your bag like you’re going to be ambushed by a story at any moment.”
Nancy’s mouth twitched. “Okay, stalker.”
Robin gasped. “Excuse you, I am your secret girlfriend. It is literally my job to notice your tiny, weird habits.”
Nancy’s heart did a small, stupid flip at the phrase ‘secret girlfriend’ being said out loud, even in a joke.
Nancy’s smile softened. “What else do you know?”
Robin’s gaze dropped to Nancy’s lips for a second, and her voice lowered. “I know you do this thing,” she murmured, “where you get very still right before you kiss me, like you’re—like you’re making sure you’re allowed to.”
Nancy’s breath caught.
Robin’s thumbs brushed lightly along Nancy’s jaw. “And I know you don’t have to ask,” Robin whispered. “Not with me.”
Nancy’s throat tightened with emotion so sharp it almost hurt. She stayed still anyway, because Robin was right, she did get still, every time. Like her body was waiting for permission the world hadn’t given her.
Robin leaned in first, slowly. Giving Nancy time to pull away if she needed to.
But Nancy didn’t pull away.
Their kiss was gentle. Soft pressure, warm and careful, like they were both handling something fragile and precious. Robin’s hands cupped Nancy’s face like she was afraid Nancy might vanish. One of Nancy’s hands slid to Robin’s waist, steadying her, grounding them both.
The house noise blurred into a distant wash, like a radio in another room.
When they parted, Robin kept her forehead resting against Nancy’s, eyes closed, breathing shallow. “Okay,” she whispered.
Robin’s eyes opened, and there was something bright and determined in them. “Okay,” she repeated, voice steadier now. “I’m—” She swallowed. “I’m here. Right now. In Hawkins. In your room. With you. And nobody is knocking on the door. And even if they do, I can—” She tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “I can probably climb out the window. I’m surprisingly nimble. Like a raccoon.”
Nancy snorted, the sound bursting out of her in spite of the emotion. “A raccoon?”
Robin nodded solemnly. “A beautiful, elegant raccoon.”
Nancy shook her head, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. She leaned in and kissed Robin again, this time with a little more confidence, a little more certainty.
Robin made a soft sound against her lips, something like relief.
Nancy pulled back just enough to look at her. “You don’t have to climb out the window,” she murmured.
Robin raised an eyebrow. “Bold claim.”
Nancy’s smile faded into something sincere. “I mean it,” she said. “Not tonight. Not here. Not like we’re doing something wrong.”
Robin’s eyes shimmered again. “Nancy…”
Nancy tucked Robin closer, guiding her gently down onto the bed again, not in a rushed way, just easing them into comfort. Robin followed, curling against Nancy’s side, her head resting on Nancy’s shoulder now, their hands still intertwined on the quilt.
Nancy stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the house breathe.
Downstairs, someone called her name, Karen probably, asking if they wanted some food. Nancy didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her chest tightened with the familiar instinct to be the responsible one, to go downstairs, to be apart of all the craziness.
Robin’s fingers squeezed hers gently, a silent question.
Nancy swallowed, then called back, voice steady, normal. “We’ll be down in a minute!”
The lie slid easily into place, because it was half-true. They would go down. Eventually. They would smile and eat pie and pretend.
But right now, they had this minute.
Robin turned her face into Nancy’s shoulder and laughed softly, like she couldn’t believe Nancy had said it so easily. “God,” she whispered. “You’re good at that.”
Nancy’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Robin’s voice was quiet, gentle. “You don’t have to practice with me.”
Nancy closed her eyes, letting the words sink in like warm water.
Her hand lifted, fingers brushing through Robin’s hair slowly, feeling the softness, the slight wave. Robin melted into the touch, her whole body loosening like a knot untied.
“Nance?” Robin’s voice was small, almost hesitant.
“Mm?”
Robin shifted, turning slightly so she could look at Nancy’s face. Her eyes were bright, serious. “When you said… you were afraid of hurting me,” she said softly, “what did you mean?”
Nancy’s breath hitched. She stared at Robin for a moment, seeing too much in her, seeing the way Robin carried old wounds, the way she tried to joke her way out of fear, the way she looked at Nancy like Nancy was proof that something good could happen without punishment.
Nancy swallowed. “I mean…” Her voice was careful. “I mean I’m afraid that… my life is too messy. That my family is… complicated. That my job is going to take everything out of me. That Boston’s going to change me.”
Robin watched her, still.
“And I’m afraid,” Nancy continued, quieter, “that you’ll… love me anyway and it will cost you.”
Robin’s face softened into something achingly tender. “Nancy,” she whispered, like Nancy was being ridiculous.
Nancy shook her head slightly. “It’s not ridiculous,” she insisted. “It’s real. People—” She swallowed. “People like us don’t get to…just exist without consequences.”
Robin’s eyes flickered with pain and understanding.
Nancy’s voice dropped, fierce and honest. “And I’m tired of consequences,” she said. “I’m tired of losing things. I’m tired of… being punished for wanting something.”
Robin’s hand lifted, fingertips brushing Nancy’s cheek. “Then don’t let it punish you,” Robin murmured.
Nancy laughed softly, incredulous. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Robin’s mouth quirked. “I didn’t say it was easy. I said… don’t let it.” She swallowed, eyes shining. “Let it be yours.”
Nancy stared at her.
Robin’s voice shook, but she kept going. “I mean, I tell you a lot, Smith is—” She hesitated, searching. “It’s… good. It’s different. There are professors who talk about women like we’re… real. There are girls who don’t apologize for being them. There are—” She cut herself off, breath catching. “There are moments where I almost forget to be scared.”
Nancy’s heart ached.
Robin’s thumb brushed Nancy’s cheekbone, gentle. “And then I think about you,” she whispered. “And I remember that there’s a place in this world where you exist. Where you’re doing what you want. Where you’re… you.”
Nancy’s eyes stung.
Robin gave a small, shaky smile. “So maybe Boston changes you,” Robin said softly. “Maybe the Herald chews you up a little. Maybe your mom looks at me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Maybe your dad is cold.”
Nancy’s breath caught.
“But you’re still you,” Robin finished, voice steady now. “And I’m still me. And we’re still… this.” She squeezed Nancy’s hand, like that was the proof. “And that matters. Even if we have to be careful.”
Nancy’s throat worked. She nodded once, because if she tried to speak she’d fall apart.
Robin leaned forward and kissed her again, slow, grounding, like she was stitching Nancy back together.
When they pulled apart, Nancy let her forehead rest against Robin’s, eyes closed, breathing in the steadiness.
Downstairs, someone laughed again. A chair scraped. The world continued to spin.
In the basement, Holly shouted something triumphant, and a chorus of kids protested dramatically.
Robin’s voice was barely a whisper. “So,” she said, and Nancy could hear the smile in it even before she saw it. “Boston Herald trainee?”
Nancy’s eyes opened, and she looked at Robin’s face, at the admiration there, the teasing, the love.
Nancy’s mouth curved. “Yeah?”
Robin’s grin widened. “Do the babes at the Boston Herald know what they’re dealing with?”
Nancy’s laugh burst out, bright and startled, and she shoved Robin lightly with her shoulder. “Oh my God.”
Robin cackled softly, delighted with herself.
Nancy shook her head, smiling so hard it hurt. “You’re impossible.”
Robin’s eyes softened. “You like it.”
Nancy stared at her for a beat too long, because the truth was so big and tender it felt like it might swallow her whole.
“I do,” Nancy admitted quietly. “I really do.”
Robin’s expression went still, emotional, like she was absorbing every syllable as if she needed it to survive.
Then Robin scooted closer, tucking herself into Nancy’s side again, and Nancy wrapped an arm around her without hesitation, holding her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They stayed like that, listening to the house, letting the normal sounds wrap around them like a blanket.
For this minute, they were just two girls in a bedroom, safe and warm, with lasagna smells in the air and laughter downstairs and a whole world outside the window that didn’t get to touch them yet.
And for the first time in a long time, Nancy let herself believe, just for a minute, that she could have something soft.
That she could have Robin.
That she could hold onto it.
Robin’s voice drifted up, sleepy and content. “We should probably go downstairs before your mom sends a search party.”
Nancy smiled into Robin’s hair. “Probably.”
Robin didn’t move.
Nancy didn’t either.
Another minute passed.
Then another.
Because sometimes, when the world finally gives you peace, you don’t rush to hand it back.
authors note: been awhile since I wrote some good angst, my apologies for the suffering I cause (I'll post an alt happy end!)
authors note 2: and I'm late with a post again 😅 whoopsie
summary: Natasha and Wanda lose their girlfriend on a mission, and in her grief Wandas powers bring her back. But is she really back or is Wanda just refusing to face reality while Natasha loses herself in it?
warnings: violence & blood(fatal injury on a mission), angst(Reader death, super depressed WandaNat, Readers resurrection gone wrong, depressed yet hopeful Wanda, depressed and angry Nat), no happy end
Natasha watches with baited breath as you fall, and as soon as you hit the ground everything changes. The sound of the battle fades away, replaced by the sound of her pounding heart as her focus moves to you and you alone. Finally her brain and feet catch up to reality and as she races to get to your side.
"Y/n!" she shouts as she falls to her knees beside you, ignoring the pain that radiates from this action.
Her eyes quickly look you over and once she sees the dark red patch growing on your uniform she wastes no time in pressing her hand against that spot. You let out a choked sob and your hand clutches at her wrist, not trying to remove it but simply lamenting in how badly that hurt
"I know Detka(baby), I know" she coos to you before her other hand presses her comms, "I need immediate medical evac! Y/n has been hit!"
"Roger that Agent Romanoff. Medics en route" a SHIELD agent back at headquarters replies
You open your mouth to say something, to assure her that it's not as bad as it looks or just that you're okay, but instead a raspy choking sound leaves you, and blood trickles down your lower lip. Natasha's heart hammers even harder at the sight, and she quickly moves the zipper of your uniform down, intent on getting a good look at the injury to try and do what she could in the meantime. But what she finds has a lump of pure dread building in her throat, because there's a gunshot wound to your chest, and its obvious you're loosing a lot of blood
"Oh god" she mutters, quickly bringing you into her lap and pressing her hand against the wound once more, making you flinch again
Shes no stranger to the warmth and wetness of blood, more than she wants to remember has been on her hands over the years, but the feeling of yours seeping against her palm has her feeling nauseous. Sure this isn't the first time shes felt it, you've been injured before in training and on missions, leaving Wanda and her to patch you up. But this time, your injury was much worse.
When you look up at her through your teary eyes and you're distinctly aware that you've never seen her look so scared before. Not even when she had a nightmare of the Red Room. That fact alone is enough to make you realize that this is bad. And obviously getting shot is always bad, but this was real bad
"Hey, talk to me" she whispers, her voice almost drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears
"It hurts…" you croak out, your voice sounding rough and raw
She nods her head and tries to blink back her tears, "I know it does, but evac is on the way, okay? They'll give you some pain meds and get you stable"
"Okay" you reply, letting out a breath that rattles your chest.
The blood loss is starting to get to you now, and you can feel your mind getting hazy and your body growing weaker. Natasha must feel it too because she suddenly presses more firmly against your wound.
"You're going to be okay" she says adamantly, and you're not sure if shes trying to assure herself or you
You do your best to nod but it ends up being just a jerky movement that makes your head spin. You try to put up a strong front for her sake though, "Wandas gonna be so overprotective now"
Natasha smiles softly, making a few of her built-up tears roll down her cheeks, "And what makes you think I won't be?"
"You're already overprotective"
She lets out a small huff of acknowledgment, unable to argue with you. But the small humorous moment isn't enough to make her oblivious to you. She can see the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the way your skin has paled, how your eyes are struggling to focus, how your grip on her wrist has loosened, and how your bleeding has only slowed but not stopped.
"Tasha" you call out lightly, pulling her attention away from her near spiraling thoughts, "I'm cold"
Those simple words make her go from feeling extreme worry to pure terror and her hand immediately shoots up to her comms again, "I need an ETA on that evac"
The same agent from before replies, "ETA is twenty minutes"
She swallows roughly and desperately tries to ignore the nagging voice at the back of her head that tells her you don't have that long, you need help now. Her hold tightens on you and her tears start to fall freely, "I need you to hang on a little longer, okay?"
The way her voice shakes has a knot forming in your stomach. You knew you weren't doing great, but getting the confirmation in the sound of your girlfriends voice as she pleads for you to fight, well that hits harder than you anticipated. Tears streak down your cheeks then too and you try to swallow away the lump of unease in your throat
You use what little strength you have left to raise your free hand to her face. You gently trace the ridge of her nose with your finger, then the curve of her lip with your thumb before you cup her cheek. She takes a shuddering breath and leans into you touch, and she brings the hand not holding pressure on your wound up to your hand on her cheek
"I love you- "
"Don't" she interrupts, her voice cracking, "Don't act like this is the last time you'll say that. Don't act like this is the last time I'll hold you. Don't"
You can feel the way her body starts to tremble as she tries to hold in her emotions, and though you want to assure her that you'll be okay the reality is that you know you won't be. You can feel that much.
"Tasha" you whisper, shakily rubbing your thumb against her cheek
She shakes her head gently, "Don't"
"I love you" you tell her, "I love you Natasha"
"I love you too. I love you so much Y/n" she chokes out, her lip trembling as she speaks, "You mean so much to me, and to Wanda"
The thought of your other girlfriend being her tears at Natasha heart. This wasn't fair. She shouldn't be having to prepare her goodbyes to you, and she shouldn't have to be doing it alone. If it had to be this way, then Wanda should at least get the same chance shes getting. But life is cruel
"I know I do. And you both mean the world to me" you admit softly, your vision starting to blurry around the edges, "Please tell her I love her, please Tasha. She has to know"
"She already knows detka(baby)" Nat assures you, pressing your hand more firmly against her cheek, "But I promise, I'll tell her"
Your breathing becomes even more ragged and you start to struggle to talk, "Don't….don't let her….see this…she'll want…want to know….but….don't"
Natasha shakes her head, agreeing that this sight isn't something the Sokovian needs to see. Natasha herself wishes she wasn't seeing it, wishes it wasn't real, wishes it was a cruel trick. But she knows it isn't. And she also knows she won't look away from you. She loves you too much to let you suffer alone, even if this is killing her
"Please stay with me" she whimpers, pulling you closer, "Please"
Your chest rattles again as you take another breath and you start to cough. Your whole body shakes with the force of them and blood starts to spill past your lips. Your unfocused eyes widen as you gasp and choke on your own blood
"Shh" Natasha coos through her sobs as she lets go of your hand on her cheek in order to softly rub your head, letting her fingers work through your tangled hair, "I've got you, just breathe detka(baby)"
Your body trembles in her hold and your mouth opens as if you're going to say something, but then suddenly, your body goes completely slack in her hold. Natasha breath catches in her throat and her eyes desperately scan you for any sign of life. But she finds none
"Y/n?" she calls out desperately as her hand cups your face, "Hey, come on. Don't you do this. Wake up"
But you don't. You continue to lay limp in her hold, your eyes wide open and yet seeing nothing. A violent sob tears out of her throat and she finally lets go of your wound in order to wrap both her arms around you. She holds you tightly in her shaking grasp and nuzzles her cheek against the top of your head
"No no no, please" she begs through her sobs, "please don't go, please"
You of course don't answer, and this only makes her break further. And eventually, after an uncertain amount of time, she hears the Shield agent tell her that evac has arrived. It's almost enough to make her spiral.
When the evac receives no word from Natasha, Clint is called over comms to help. When he finds her holding you, cradling your body as she cries, he knows it's too late. And his heart breaks for his best friend
"Nat?" he calls out softly, not wanting to startle her while in such a vulnerable state
She only lets out a whimper in response and he quickly approaches, kneeling down next to her and rubbing her shoulder. She practically throws herself and you into his arms
"Oh honey." he whispers, not knowing what he could possibly say
She lets out a choked sob and presses her head against his shoulder, "Shes gone….I couldn't….I couldn't stop the bleeding"
He looks down and can tell by the amount of blood on the ground, on Natasha and on you that the injury was somewhere vital enough that she never stood a chance in doing so. Not without medical equipment
"You did everything you could Nat" he assures her
"But it wasn't enough" she whimpers, "I lost her"
"I'm so sorry Natasha." He sighs, but a large boom in the distance brings him back to the present. The rest of the team is still busy fighting, and he had to get Natasha out of potential danger, "Come on, we need to get you two to the evac quinjet"
At first Natasha doesn't see the point, you're already gone and there's nothing they can do about that. But she knows she has to get you back home, back to Wanda. Even if the thought of facing your other girlfriend without you by her side and telling her that your smile, laugh or touch would never brighten their days again has her already nauseous stomach lurching. She keeps your body cradled in her arms, close against her chest as she rises to her feet and almost stoicly starts walking to to quinjet. Clint obviously knows its a front, shock and numbness shielding her from the harsh reality. So he follows close beside her, keeping his hand on the small of her back to help support her as she carries the weight of your loss the entire way to the jet
As they walk up the ramp she does her best to ignore the pity filled stares of the medics and walks your limp body over to the stretcher they had prepared for you. She hesitates for a moment, not quite ready to let you go yet, but Clints hand on her shoulder prompts her to set you down. She gently situates you in a position that you would've felt comfortable in before stepping away and taking a seat directly across from you. She knows you're gone, knows you won't call out for her, but she refuses to be far from you.
Her hands shake as she fumbles to buckle herself in, and despite the tears streaming down her cheeks she manages to hold herself together. Clint sits down beside her as the medics and crew get ready for takeoff. One of the medics, just wanting to be thorough, comes over to you and checks for a pulse. And Natasha knows he wont find one, she felt your last breath leave you, had felt you go limp. She knows he won't find anything. But when the medic drops his head with a sigh and walks away from you, she can't contain the soul crushing grief
The sound that escapes her is unlike anything Clint has ever heard her make. And while that's absolutely understandable, it also shakes him to his core. He does his best to comfort her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close, but he knows there's nothing he can truly offer. There's no comfort to be had when going through a loss like this
The flight home feels almost endless for Natasha. For nearly an hour she has fluctuated through multiple emotions. Dread of facing Wanda alone, anger at the universe and of course Hydra for taking you from her, and of course deep sadness at your loss. She has cried more than she ever thought possible, to the point that her throat is sore and her eyes are red. Shes experiences grief before, but nothing this profound.
As the quinjet approaches the tower she does her best to pull herself together. Not because shes afraid of being seen as weak by being emotional, but because she knows that right now she has to be strong for Wanda. They can both break down later, together in the solace of their room. But Wanda will need a rock right now when she learns of your fate, and she intends to be that rock
At the tower, Wanda nervously awaits the arrival of the quinjet. When the evac call went out for you she had been notified immediately, and was understandably worried about your condition. The radio silence since then has only made her anxiety grow, and her mind has been swimming with multiple possible scenarios as to what's happened. And even now, with everything still unknown, she can't help but feel some relief at the sight of the quinjet landing. Because no matter what, at least you and Natasha are home
But as soon as the ramp opens and Natasha walks out, eyes rimmed red, a sadness unlike anything shes seen before etched onto her features, and mission gear covered in blood, she knows. She just doesn't want to accept it. Tears build in her eyes as she rushes forward, desperate to hear something hopeful come out of the redheads mouth
"Wheres Y/n?" she asks, her voice trembling as her girlfriend descends the ramp
Natasha shoulders slump and her lower lip wobbles, "Wans, she….shes gone"
The defeat in her girlfriends voice has Wandas tears falling, but she still refuses to believe it, "No, no she can't be"
Nats gaze falls to the ground between them, as if shes ashamed to admit her next words and can't look Wanda in the eyes while she says them, "I did everything I could. I'm sorry Wans, but she is gone. Y/n died"
"No" Wanda contends, her chest rising and falling rapidly as panic sets in.
She attempts to rush forward past Natasha but the Russian manages to grab her. She doesn't want Wanda to see you like she has. Pale, lifeless and covered in blood.
"Let go Natasha, I have to see her" Wanda begs, almost sobbing now
"That's not how you want to see her. When you close your eyes and think of her, you don't want to remember her that way."
But Wanda is stubborn and she refuses to believe the harsh reality that you're really gone until she sees it. She struggles in her girlfriends grasp and looks at her pleadingly. But Natasha doesn't have to respond, because the medics have started to pring your body out. Wanda freezes as she sees the stretcher, a bloodstained white sheet covering a body. A body she knows is you. Not just because of what your other girlfriend has told her, but because in their haste to cover you, they missed one of your hands. Her resolve finally breaks
"No…no no no" she whimpers, clutching onto Natashas bloodstained hands, "Tasha…"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" the Russian chokes out
As the medics wheel you past Wanda feels her world come crashing around her. Her knees buckle and she brings Natasha to the ground with her as a sound that's a mix between a sob and a scream tears its way out of her as her body trembles. Natasha had thought she was prepared, she expected this much as she had reacted the same way. But what she wasn't prepared for was the large wave of red energy that lashes out of Wanda and into almost all the surroundings
In retrospect, she should have expected it. The same thing had happened when Pietro had died. Only unlike in Sokovia the energy doesn't do any harm to anyone. It simply passes through Natasha and the medics and rattles your stretcher
Clint had walked out in time to witness that and quickly rushes over to where both women are knelt on the ground. He lays a gentle hand on each of their shoulders, as he tries to offer them some guidance
"Come on, lets get you both to your room. You need time to be alone together to process this" he tells them before looking at Nat, "And you need to get cleaned up"
Natasha looks down at herself, and upon seeing the front of her gear stained with a massive amount of your blood her upset stomach has finally had enough. Bile rises in her throat and she lurches to the side to avoid being sick on Wanda, who is sobbing almost hysterically at this point
"Okay, its okay" he coos, as he rubs Nats back with one hand and pulls Wanda against him with the other. He can feel his own eyes water as he watches them fall apart and he knows he'll need help getting them to their room
Thankfully Bucky hadn't been on the mission and he was nearby enough to have heard the commotion. In his rush to help he had passed by the medics and stretcher, and had realized the team had lost someone. He just didn't know who until he saw the two women in such a state. Wanda was only ever quiet and kind. And Natasha was always stoic and sarcastic. To see them like this, he knew it was their girlfriend under that bloody sheet
"How can I help?" he asks the archer, sadness lacing his tone
Clint looks at the women and then back at him, "Can you help Wanda to their room? I'll get Nat."
"Of course" he agrees, bending down to help her to her feet
He quickly realizes though that shes in no mindset to walk so her scoops her up into her arms instead. As soon as shes emptied the contents of her stomach, Clint does the same with Nat. Both men are very solemn as they walk, not knowing what to say to each other of the women they carry. So they resign themselves to being a more physical comfort. They hold your girlfriends close until they reach your shared room.
Clint quickly puts the code in to unlock the door and Bucky follows him inside. They set both women down on the bed, and Bucky instinctively takes a step back. He'd never been in here before, he never had reason to be as he wasn't particularly close with any of the three of you, so he feels a bit like an outsider overstepping right now.
Clint must sense this, because he turns to address him then, "Thank you. I need to stay here with them right now, could you handle informing the team of what happened and how the girls will need some space to deal with this alone before getting their support"
"Yeah, of course" he tell him before he makes his way to the door. He turns around before leaving, "I'm very sorry for your loss"
Clint was no stranger to helping Natasha shower. Since meeting her he's helped her multiple times when she was struggling with her PTSD or an injury she didn't want to admit to having. So helping her to the bathroom while shes almost unresponsive is nothing new. He sets her down on the closed toilet and starts to run the water, trying to get it the right temperature for her
He reaches out and brushes some of her hair out of her face, "I'll be right back. I need to tend to Wanda"
Nat doesn't respond so he quickly goes to Wanda, who is still sitting on the edge of the bed, trembling and crying. Clint pulls back the covers, helps her out of her shoes, lays her back and tucks her in. Its not perfect and shes likely not entirely comfortable, but its all he can do for the moment. He then heads back in with Nat and checks on the water. Satisfied with the temperature he leans over in front of her
"We're gonna do this like old times" he tells her, "I'm going to help you out of your suit, and then stand right outside the bathroom door while you finish getting undressed and hop in the shower, okay?"
But he receives no answer, just a blank stare. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "Nat honey, I understand this is incredibly hard, but I need your help here, okay? Please?"
She blinks and finally looks at him and her answer comes out so softly that he almost misses it, "Okay"
He nods then does exactly what he said. He helps her out of her belt and holsters, then her boots, then her suit. He makes sure she can stand on her own and support herself before her leaves, closing the door softly behind him. He took her gear with him, not wanting it to sit on the floor and remind her or Wanda of what had occurred. He'll get her guns and gear cleaned up, and Stark can make her a new suit. This one will never see the light of day again
After he leaves Natasha stands there for a moment, looking at herself in the mirror. She takes note of your smeared blood on her cheek where you had touched her and on her stomach where it had soaked through your clothes and hers. The sight has tears running down her cheeks again and she quickly rids herself of her bra and underwear and gets in the shower.
She lets the hot water run down her face and front for a few minutes, wanting to be rid of all the evidence of the violence that had occurred to you. She watches the water turn pink as it swirls the drain and can't contain the sob that slips out. This isn't the first time shes washed away blood, but it is the first time that she feels like shes washing away evidence of you. Of your existence. And that just adds to the pain shes already feeling.
Eventually she pulls herself out of the shower, turns it off, dries off and changes into her pajamas that had been left in there this morning. Shes not sure how she managed to do all of that and honestly Clint isn't either when she opens the door. Regardless he helps her over and into bed too. As soon as shes there Wanda tuns to her and buries her face against her chest. Nat doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around her girlfriend, pulling her close to offer what little comfort she can
"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call or tell FRIDAY you need me" he tells them before taking his leave
The medics take you to SHIELDS morgue that's in the tower, and you're quickly brought out from under the sheet and placed on a metal table. The mortician sees no need to rush so he takes his time in getting your gear off. But as soon as your top is off he hears a metallic clank and looks down to find the bullet on the table. His brows furrow in confusion, there'd been no evidence in your gear that the bullet had gone all the way through you, and there shouldn't have been a way for it to come back out the entrance wound.
He rolls your body to the side to double check your back and sure enough, there's no hole. He places you back down and prods though the bloody mess of your stomach, attempting to figure out what's going on but instead he just winds up more confused because he finds no entry wound. He gets his supplies ready and just as he goes to turn the water on your eyes open and you take in a gasp. He screams and runs out of the room, leaving you to feel the cold table beneath you and stare up at the gray ceiling. You make no effort to move.
As soon as Clint is told the news he goes to check for himself. There's no in hell he's telling your girlfriends anything until he's absolutely certain. And when he first sees you, he almost is. You're sitting up, breathing, clearly alive as the doctors clean you up. But when he walks in to see you sitting there, letting the doctors clean you up while poking and prodding with a blank expression on your face and not offering a word, he has his doubts
"She hasn't spoken yet?"
The one doctor looks at him, "Not a word. Won't answer any questions and didn't ask any herself"
His brows furrow, "She didn't even ask for Natasha and Wanda?"
"No."
Clint sighs but figures you might be just as traumatized as Natasha is and besides there's a more important question right now, "How is it possible that shes….."
"Alive and seemingly unharmed?" the doctor finishes, "I have no idea. There's no medical explanation I can give you for that"
Once they've gotten you cleaned up and settled he knows he has no choice. He heads back up to your room where he lets himself in, and finds your girlfriends just how he'd left them. Cuddled together and crying. He has no clue how to tell them, if he just outright said it they'd likely think him cruel or malicious.
"I…I need you both to come with me"
Wanda doesn't move but Nat sits up enough to look at him, knowing from his voice that something serious is happening, "Why?"
"Something happened. Something with Y/n"
Wanda sits up then too and lets out a broken, "What do you mean? Did someone…"
"No, no one did anything to her body" he clarifies, "She…she got up"
Both their hearts jump at that but for entirely different reasons. While Wanda is full of hope while Natashas is full of trepidation.
Wanda hurries to get out of bed, "Shes alive?!"
"Yes" Clint nods
But Natasha shakes her head, her heart guarded by disbelief, "That's not possible"
"Natasha, we have to go see her!" Wanda exclaims, not understanding why the Russian is not beside her
She slowly gets out of bed, "I held her as she died Clint. I don't want it to be true, but I know I lost her."
"I know, believe me I know" he says, "But I wouldn't have come here saying this if it wasn't true. She opened her eyes and took in a breath, scared the shit out of the mortician. Shes with doctors right now, there's not a mark on her"
Both women practically race past him and out the door, eager to see you for themselves. He has to run to catch up so he can properly lead them to where you currently are. As soon as Wanda sees you she races to your side, but Natasha chooses to linger in the doorway. As happy as she is to see you sitting there, something in her gut tells her this isn't right
Tears stream down Wandas cheeks as she cups yours, her thumbs brush over your cheeks softly, "Oh my god, Malysh(baby)"
But you don't say anything, you don't even give any indication that you heard her. She doesn't seem bothered by this though, at least not currently. She's too busy looking you over. She lets her hands trail over your chest to feel the breaths you take before she runs them across your abdomen feeling for a wound that isn't there
"How is this possible"" she asks, more to herself than anyone else
"The doctors are sure there's no medical explanation" Clint tells her
"That's because there isn't one" Nat affirms, taking a tentative step into the room, "I think…I think this was Wanda"
The brunette turns to face her girlfriend, "Me?"
"Your powers, they surged when the medics brought her body…..when they brought her past us"
"I just lost control of them with my grief" she explains, "I didn't…I didn't think…."
"Its alright" Clint assures, "I don't really think the how or why is important. What matters is shes here, shes alive"
Wanda nods and cups your face once more, "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"
But you're still silent, almost eerily so. Her brows furrow and her stomach twists. But she pushes away any negative feelings and turns to Clint for guidance
"She hasn't said anything yet" he explains, "Doctors couldn't get her to answer any questions"
Wanda swallows thickly but refuses to let go of her joy, "I'm sure she just needs some time. I cant imagine what shes been through"
But Natasha isn't so sure. She tentatively steps closer to the bed, "Y/n?"
You still don't respond, your eyes don't even glance in her direction. And she feels like shes been plunged into ice cold water. Because those might be your eyes, but they're lacking everything that made them distinctly you. There's no brightness in them, no emotion. It makes her feel ill all over again. But she doesn't say anything about it, because she honestly hopes shes wrong. She hopes more than anything that you'll snap out of this funk, so she'll at least give you time
It's been a little over a week since you woke up. Your behavior hasn't improved. You don't engage in conversation or answer questions, you don't even acknowledge that you're being spoken to. There's no contagious laughter or gentle touches. No corny jokes or soft flirtatious remarks. No hand holding or forehead kisses. No hugs or cuddles. No bright eyes or warm smiles. You just sit and stare.
Wanda, ever the optimistic one, is refusing to let your uncharacteristic silence get to her. Shes just happy you came back, even if you aren't yourself yet. Shes willing to give you the time you need to recover. She helps you get dressed, tend to your hair, eat, and shower. And she talks to you almost constantly despite your lack of reaction. If your behavior bothers her, she isn't letting it show
Natasha on the other hand refuses to say you came back to them, because truly, you haven't. You're just an empty shell of the woman she loves. You're her girlfriends body, but not her. All individuality and heart, they're gone. You aren't going to get better. And shes starting to resent the fact that Wanda is refusing to see it
"There we go, all settled" Wanda says with a soft smile as she gets you settled into bed
Natasha stands at the foot of the bed, her heart aching at the scene. It was right, but it wasn't. Because that wasn't you, not anymore. She blinks back her tears and looks away from you
"Wans, can we talk?"
She looks up at the redhead, "What is it Tasha?"
"I'm gonna go sleep on the couch in Clints room" she says, gesturing to the door of the shared quarters
Wandas brows furrow, "What? Why?"
"Because I can't….I can't be in bed with her" she admits, "I can't keep sleeping beside her pretending everything is fine"
"Natasha!" she scolds, "Its not Y/ns fault shes having trouble coming back to herself"
"You're right. Its yours" she says under her breath, hoping the younger woman doesn't catch it
But she did, and her expression twists into one of sadness and guilt, "She needs support, Tasha. And ever since she woke up, you haven't been giving her any. You hardly look at her or touch her, I'm doing everything. And now…now you just want to leave us at night?"
"Because it isn't her!" she snaps, clenching her fists when she sees the hurt expression on the younger woman's face, "At first I wanted to have some hope, even if I knew it was impossible. But I can't keep going on like this when shes….like that"
"Its only been a few days" Wanda stresses, practically begging
"It's been nearly two weeks, Wans" Nat sighs, "She doesn't recognize us, she doesn't care about us. She just sits and stares because that's all she can do"
"That's not true!" Wanda shouts, clutching your hand even though you don't return the gesture, "She loves us! You know she does"
"Y/n loved us. But that's not her, not anymore." She says, a few tears falling down her cheeks, "And I can't pretend like you can"
And with that she turns and walks out the door, leaving Wanda alone with you. The woman wipes her own tears away before she looks at you, "It's okay, Tashas just…shes struggling. I lost you too, but she watched it, felt it. So having you back when you aren't yourself yet, it's difficult for her."
A few days have passed since your girlfriends disagreement, and while Natasha did come back to the room at times throughout the day, she still kept her distance with you. This only managed to upset Wanda further, and now the tension between them was palpable.
"How is she?" the redhead asks, breaking the tension filled silence. She hated that a part of her still held onto hope despite everything
"Oh, so now you care?" Wanda scoffs, still hurt by the older woman's words and actions, "Unbelievable"
"Of course I care, Wanda. I loved her too." Natasha answers softly, as if shes trying not to fight
"Love" Wanda corrects, her tone harsher than she intended, "Shes right here Natasha, so you love her."
The older woman sighs, frustrated that Wanda won't just let go and accept the circumstances, "Has she improved?"
"No" Wanda answers, averting her gaze because she knows Nat won't like the answer, "She still lets me help her with basic tasks, but she still wont talk or do things on her own"
"Then shes not right here, is she?" Natasha asks bitterly
Wanda has to blink back tears as her brows furrow, "She is. Shes right here. I talk to her every day. I hold her every night. Shes right here Natasha! Why cant you see that?!"
"Because that's not our girlfriend!" she shouts, frustration boiling in her blood. Because why does she refuse to see what's in front of her, "That's just the empty shell of who she used to be!"
"Stop saying that!" she shouts as she starts to cry
Natasha's hit her breaking point now and decides to ask the one thing she knows Wanda will have the answer to, "Are there even any thoughts going on in her head?"
"I…I don't know" the brunette mumbles as her fingers toy with the hem of her shirt
"You haven't looked?" Natasha asks exasperatedly, not understanding why that wasn't the first thing she did, "Why the hell not?!"
"Because that's very invasive and I don't have her consent. Shes been through enough trauma" she weekly excuses. In reality she hasn't done it because shes absolutely terrified that Natasha is right
"Bullshit!" Nat exclaims, "You don't want to look because you're afraid of what you'll find"
"Maybe I am afraid, is that really so wrong?" she asks, looking at Natasha almost pleadingly
"It's not wrong" the redhead sighs, her frustration momentarily softening, "I understand your hesitancy, but we have to know what's going on in there Wans. I need to know."
Wanda swallows thickly and nods her head. She knows her girlfriend is right, she knows this has to be done, but it still fills her with a sense of unease, "Okay. You're right, we need to know so we can help her"
Natasha lets out a breath of relief at that. It finally seems like Wanda was starting to come to her senses. She watches Wanda lift a hand to your temple and close her eyes. The brunette concentrates, focusing her powers on reaching inside your mind. For a moment Wanda thinks something must be blocking her out of your mind. But then she realizes the cold silence shes feeling is your mind. The dread she feels is immeasurable. Her eyes fly open with a gasp, and she covers her mouth with her hands as a sob escapes her.
That coupled with the broken expression on her face tells Natasha everything she needs to know. She tears her gaze away from you then, unable to look at you any longer. She knew that wasn't really you, but God did she hate being right. An almost overwhelming anger fills her. How dare the universe make her lose you not once but twice. She knew life was unfair but this, this was downright cruel. But, she reminds herself, this wouldn't have happened if Wanda hadn't interfered
"What the hell did you do, Wanda?" she seethes, saying the words before she realizes. But she can't take them back now
The younger woman turns to her with tear filled eyes and agony written on her features, "Natasha, no….I….I didn't mean to. This….it just happened…"
"And it shouldn't have." she retorts, her green eyes blazing.
She can't do this, she can't stay knowing that's not you, knowing you'll never really come back to them. And intentional or not, this was Wandas doing. The anger she feels at her girlfriend may be unfair, but right now she doesn't see it that way. In her eyes, Wanda made them both needlessly suffer and then refused to even see it, let alone own up to it
"You did this, so you can figure out what to do now" she says pointedly, causing Wandas chest to tighten, "I'm done, and so are we"
"Natasha, wait" Wanda cries out, reaching out for her. But its too late
Shes already turned and walked towards the door. She doesn't even look back at either of them before closing the door with a slam. The finality of it causes Wandas heart to shatter. Shes just lost both her girlfriends, and there's nothing she can do to fix it.
SUMMARY: One night, you’re cuddled up to Natasha in bed, the world feeling just right. The next morning, Natasha is gone without so much as a note or a text. Months later, she comes back, heart aching with regret.
PROMPT: Fearless Prompt List — That’s When: They left without warning, but now they’re back, asking if there’s still a chance.
NAVIGATION | MCU MASTERLIST | KO-FI
Natasha is standing at your door.
Two months. That’s how long it’s been since she vanished. Not a word, not a message, not a trace. Just silence, sudden and absolute, like someone tearing a chapter from the middle of your life. One night you made dinner and she didn't say much, just looked tired and distracted, then the next morning you woke up alone. No note. No call. Her things gone, drawer empty, air thinner than it had been in years.
Now she’s here, and you can’t bring yourself to open the door.
You stand there, just on the other side, barely breathing. Her shadow moves slightly against the frosted glass. Then her voice, quiet, tentative, threaded with something brittle.
“Please.”
You close your eyes. Try to convince yourself you’re still dreaming. That this is some kind of grief-ghost your heart conjured in the middle of another sleepless night. But then you hear it again, your name, this time. Soft. Careful.
You open the door.
She looks smaller than you remember. Not physically, Natasha’s never been anything less than steel and edge and fire, but right now she looks like something weathered down, burnt at the edges. Her shoulders are hunched, her eyes sunken with exhaustion. There’s a faint, healing scar on her cheek you’ve never seen before.
For a long moment, she just stands there. You wonder if she’s waiting for you to slam the door in her face. You don’t.
She exhales like she’s been holding that breath for weeks. You step aside, and she walks in.
It’s silent. Awkward, heavy. She doesn’t touch anything. Doesn’t sit. Just stands there in the entryway like she doesn’t know how to be here anymore.
You watch her as she takes it all in, the new throw pillow you bought in a panic one night just to fill the space, the mug on the counter she left behind. You didn’t wash it for weeks.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” she says finally, voice low.
You don’t respond. You’re still trying to figure out whether this is real.
“I thought maybe you would’ve moved,” she adds, quieter. “Left.”
She glances at you. You don’t look away.
“I didn’t,” you say. “Because I wasn’t the one who ran.”
There’s a pause. She nods, jaw tight. “I deserve that.”
You cross your arms. There’s so much you want to ask, but all of it sits behind a wall in your throat.
“I shouldn’t have left like that.” Her voice sounds more cracked now, like the words are cutting her on the way out. “I thought it would be easier if I didn’t say anything. Like pulling a Band-Aid off.”
You laugh, short and bitter. “You didn’t pull a Band-Aid, Natasha. You left a hole.”
Her eyes close for a second, and she nods like she’s expecting every hit. Like she wants them. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” she says. “But I was wrong. I should’ve called. I should’ve—” She breaks off. Her voice is thinner now. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” you say quietly, “I didn’t.”
She looks at you again, and this time there’s no mask. No shield. Just bare, aching honesty.
“I didn’t know if I was coming back,” she says. “And I thought… if I didn’t make it, it would be better for you. To hate me.”
You stare at her. Your hands are cold. “So you made that decision for me.”
“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward. “I know. And I’m not here to justify it. I’m just… I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know how to be in your life and still be me.”
She looks down. Her voice is quieter now, trembling. “But I wanted to come back. I just didn’t know if I’d still be… welcome.”
Your mouth feels dry. She’s standing there, hands at her sides, not reaching for you. Not assuming anything. Just waiting.
“I missed you,” she says.
You don’t say it back. You move to the kitchen without a word, turning on the kettle. The silence stretches between you, long and almost unbearable. But she stays. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fill the space with excuses or soft lies.
You hand her a mug without looking. She takes it, fingers brushing yours, a little too long, a little too warm.
She sits at the table while you lean against the counter. You sip your tea. It’s too hot. It burns a little going down. Somehow, you prefer it that way.
“I’ve had to do a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says after a long silence. “But this… leaving you like that… it’s at the top of the list.”
You stare at her. You remember the way her laugh used to sound in the morning, raspy and low. The way she’d steal your socks and forget to give them back. The way she’d look at you like you were a map she’d finally learned how to read.
Now she looks lost again.
“I kept waiting to stop being angry,” you say, and your voice shakes in a way that surprises you. “But I never did. I just got tired. Of missing you. Of waking up and checking the door. Of wondering what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, eyes wide, almost desperate. “This was never about you not being enough. It was about me not knowing how to deserve you.”
You feel your chest twist. You shake your head. “You don’t get to come back and say things like that.”
“I know,” she whispers.
You’re both quiet for a long time. Then, softly, you murmur, “Why now?”
Natasha exhales, long and slow. “Because I realised something. After everything that’s happened with the Accords, the team, the fugitive status, after all of it, the only thing I regret is leaving you.”
Her hands tremble slightly as she sets the mug down. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect anything. I just had to see you again. I had to know if there was still a chance.”
You look at her, really look, and it’s like staring into the storm that tore you apart and the calm that once made you believe in peace, all at once.
“I don’t know,” you say, honestly. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
Her eyes glisten. But she doesn’t cry. “I’ll wait,” she says. “As long as it takes.”
You nod. You don’t reach for her. But you don’t ask her to leave, either. She stays.
Later, when the moonlight filters through the blinds and she falls asleep on the far edge of the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself, you watch her chest rise and fall. You remember how it felt to fall asleep next to her, warm and safe and so stupidly in love.
You wonder if it's possible to fall in love again with someone who already shattered you.
My request is a bit too specific, I hope you don't mind.
Carol Denvers x Fem Reader where she gave the reader a modified Pager to be used "only in emergencies", but which she occasionally uses only to call Captain Marvel in order to ask for kisses, some time together and such? Something very fluffy.
Emergencies Only
Warnings: implied smut, fluff, angst with a happy ending, drinking, noncon (not with Carol), sick fic
Word Count: 1.2K
The object felt heavy and clunky in your hand. It was gifted to you by your girlfriend three months into your relationship. At first, you laughed, making a joke about showing her age. Then she explained. No matter where she was - on Earth or in a galaxy far away - the signal would reach her. If you need her, she will come. Rationally, you knew it was for emergencies only. But you missed her. You were needy and wanted your superhero girlfriend, wasn’t that an emergency?
She was in space for two weeks, and the 5-minute phone call wasn’t enough to help the ache in your chest. Without thinking, you pressed the green button and waited. At first, nothing happened. The words appeared on the small screen, ‘Transmission Sent.’ Not even seconds passed before a bright light appeared at the foot of your bed. Once it died down, there she was. Your girlfriend was wearing a cropped white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. She looked great, and the ache only grew. Carol smirked at you, holding a pager that mirrored your own. “I thought this would be used for emergencies only.”
In no time, you jumped out of bed and closed the distance between you and her. “I missed you,” you captured her lips in a bruising kiss. A surprised noise turned into a groan, and her arms wrapped around your waist. Too distracted by the feeling of her lips on yours, the bed hitting the back of your knees startled you. You bounced on the mattress and looked at Carol.
“I don’t have a lot of time.” In one swift motion, she took off her shirt and climbed back over you.
“It won’t take long,” you mumbled against her lips as she pushed your shorts down your legs. “I need you.”
It was quick, messy, and frantic, but you were grateful for that pager.
The second time you used it. There was a serious problem - you made way too many cookies. With your hands covered in flour, you pressed the button. This time, Carol was at the compound in Upstate, having a debriefing on some of the intel that had been gathered. A meeting could only get better with some homemade cookies. “You are trouble,” Carol appeared in your kitchen on time. The cookies were packaged, and your hands were cleaned. The mess on the counter could be tackled after she left. Gasping, you walked over to her with the box in your hand.
“That is no way to thank the person who slaved over a hot oven,” you said, pushing the box into her hands. Say hi to the team for me.” Carol chuckled and bent down to kiss you softly.
“Had some chocolate on your lips,” she mumbled. “Taste good.” You rolled your eyes.
The third time was an accident—truly. You weren’t coherent enough to register that you hit it. A cold ran rampant through your body, leaving you bedridden for the better part of the day. You must have hit it during the night. The sudden shift in weight on the bed startled you awake. “Sh, baby, it’s just me.”
“Carol,” you mumbled, eyes barely open. “What are you doing here?”
“You called,” the back of her hand rested on your forehead. “God, baby, you are burning up. How long have you been feeling like this?” You shrugged, pushing your face back into the pillow.
“Since this morning,” you finally answered. “It’s fine,” you waved at her. “I just need to sleep it off.”
When you woke up the next morning, your body ached, and your head was pounding. You flopped onto your back and blinked at seeing your girlfriend lying next to you. She smiled. “What are you doing here?” You asked.
“You hit the pager,” she checked your temperature with her hand.
“Oh, I don’t remember,” Carol chuckled and handed you a water bottle.
“Probably because of all the cold medicine you took.” Vaguely, you remembered the nightmare that forced you awake. The nightmare was of a mission going wrong, and Carol was killed. In a panic, you must have pressed the button but fell back asleep.
“Oh,” you muttered. “Sorry.” Carol shook her head.
“Never apologize,” she kissed your forehead. “It’s why I gave it to you. Whenever you need me, you call, and I will be there.”
It was rare that you went out. You were a homebody through and through, but your friends from college begged for you to come out. You gave in. As much as you hated bars or clubs, you loved hanging out with them. Since they enjoyed it, you could also do it for one night. Besides, once you got a few drinks in, nothing mattered.
As the clock struck 1 a.m., you were ready for bed. Luckily, you were at a bar close to your apartment. You said goodbye to your friends, promised them to do this again, and pushed your way to the front door. The cool air sent shivers down your arms, but you welcomed the difference in temperature. It was hot in the bar.
On your walk home, you found yourself looking up at the stars. Every time Carol was away, you looked at the sky and wondered where she was or what she was up to. You hoped she was safe and taking care of herself. You knew Carol well, and she liked to prioritize the mission over herself.
Sighing, you stretched your arms above your head and hummed a tune to a song you heard on the radio. Sometimes, you wonder what life would be like if Carol stepped away from the Avengers. Would she want to move out of the city and back to Louisiana? You knew she had fond memories of Maria and Monica. You would go wherever she wanted. As long as she was by your side, you were happy.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm and dragged you into a nearby alley. Your back slammed against the brick wall. Before you could scream, a hand covered your mouth. “Sh, sh,” he whispered. His face was so close to yours that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “The more you fight, the rougher I’ll be.” All the flight left your body. The man chuckled. “Good girl.” You whimpered against his hand.
His lips started traveling down your neck and to the low top you wore. His free hand began to fiddle with the belt of his pants, but the alcohol made his coordination off. While he was distracted, you reached into your pocket and pressed the pager button. “I know you are going to feel so good around me.” It could have been minutes, maybe hours, or only a few seconds, but the man’s body was ripped off of you. The sickening sound of a fist colliding with the man’s face made your stomach flip. Then, gently, hands forced your eyes away from his still form. You flinched from the unexpected touch. “Hey, it’s me,” Carol said. Your eyes focused on your girlfriend’s face. Soot was on her face, and dressed in her Captain Marvel uniform.
“C-Carol.”
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here, baby,” you slumped against her. Your nose pressed against the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. She smelled gunfire, smoke, and sweat, but the smell helped your body stop shaking.
“You came,” you mumbled.
“You called.” She kissed your temple. “I will always come when you call.” You nodded and allowed her to guide you out of the alley and towards your apartment.
Summary: The apocalypse has come, and my girlfriends are… zombies. Natasha and Wanda should have been gone. But when they return, they don’t attack — they watch. Day by day, I survive with them, learning to communicate, learning they still remember me, and maybe… still love me. Then I hear about a cure. A chance to bring them back. But it won’t be instant. It won’t be easy. And it might change everything. Love, survival, and hope in a world that’s ended.
Men and Minors DNI
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
DAY ZERO
I didn’t think coming back here would feel like this.
The Avengers Tower used to hum with life — laughter echoing through corridors, coffee machines sputtering in the early hours, Steve yelling at Tony to stop messing with the thermostat. Now, it’s just wind through broken windows and the smell of dust and death.
We came here for equipment — some of Stark’s old biotech, anything we could use to help find a cure. There’s a group of us: me, Brad, Coulson, that medic from Jersey, and two kids we picked up along the way. We’re all desperate enough to try anything.
I wasn’t ready to see what I saw inside.
Wanda and Natasha.
My girlfriends. My girls. The two people I used to come home to every night, now… monsters. They were among the first infected, right after the virus spread through the East Coast. I thought they’d died quickly, that maybe it was painless. I prayed for that.
But when I saw them — moving, hunting, aware — I knew this wasn’t death. This was something crueler.
The others screamed. Tried to fight. There was no point. You can’t fight them. They moved like they used to — coordinated, sharp, unstoppable. Natasha took out Brad before he could even raise his gun. Wanda pinned Coulson to the wall and… god.
The rest of the group fled. I didn’t. I couldn’t.
When Wanda’s red-glowing eyes met mine, she froze. Natasha too. They didn’t attack. They just stared, heads tilted slightly — that same silent communication they used to have between them. Then Wanda reached for me. Not fast, not violent. Just… slow. Like she was asking permission.
I didn’t run.
They pulled me deeper into the tower, away from the exits. The door slammed behind us, metal twisting under Wanda’s power. Everyone else got away. I didn’t even call after them.
Now, it’s just me. And them.
⸻
DAY ONE
I found an old Stark tablet. Still works. Figured I’d start documenting… whatever this is.
It’s day one of being stuck inside Avengers Tower with my undead ex-girlfriends.
They haven’t eaten me yet, which is an improvement on most relationships I’ve had.
Natasha paces a lot. Same silent grace, same cold calculation in her eyes, but it’s… off. Her movements are jerky sometimes, like she’s remembering how to be human but her body forgot. Wanda lingers. She watches me.
There’s something in her stare that feels almost familiar. Like she’s still in there, behind the hunger.
I sleep in one of the safer rooms — or what I think is safe. I can hear them outside at night, slow footsteps, soft growls. But they never come in.
Not once.
⸻
DAY THREE
I left the room this morning.
Natasha was sitting in the lounge area, head tilted up towards the cracked skylight, light falling across her face. She looked… peaceful. Like she was remembering what sunlight felt like. Wanda was sitting on the floor nearby, tracing something in the dust with her finger.
When I got closer, I realised it was my name.
They both looked up when I made a sound, but didn’t attack. Wanda stood first, her head twitching slightly, lips parting like she was trying to speak but couldn’t form the words. Then she stepped toward me — slow, deliberate — and touched my arm.
Cold skin. But gentle.
It’s like they remember me.
⸻
DAY FIVE
They follow me around now.
Wherever I go, they’re not far behind. Wanda tends to keep closer; Natasha circles the perimeter like she’s on guard duty. I think they’re protecting me. From what, I’m not sure. Maybe from themselves.
I’ve started talking to them. Out loud. It feels stupid, but it helps.
“Do you remember?” I asked Wanda today. “Do you know who I am?”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. Then she pointed at her chest, then at me. Over and over again.
Her mouth opened, a soft rasp escaping — like my name caught somewhere in her throat.
I don’t think they’re gone. Not completely.
⸻
DAY SEVEN
I’m teaching them sign language.
I used to know a little, back before everything went to hell — we all learned it for missions where silence mattered. Simple stuff: yes, no, danger, safe, food. They watch my hands carefully. Wanda’s quicker at picking it up; her movements are smoother, more deliberate. Natasha takes longer, but her eyes never leave my fingers.
When Wanda signed you safe today, I nearly cried.
Later, I saw Natasha glaring out of a shattered window at the city below. There were walkers in the streets. She turned back, made a small hand motion I hadn’t taught her — two fingers tapping her temple, then pointing at me.
I think it meant stay here.
They’re not just acting on instinct. They’re thinking.
⸻
DAY TEN
They don’t let me hurt myself.
Not that I was trying to — but when I nicked my arm on some broken glass, they both panicked. Wanda shoved me back against the wall, her hands glowing faintly red, sealing the cut before I could even flinch. Natasha growled lowly, pacing, eyes darting to the blood.
But she didn’t attack. She left the room instead.
When she came back, she had a rag — torn from her old uniform — and tied it around my arm.
Her fingers brushed mine, and for a second, I swear she smiled. Not a full smile. Just a flicker.
I whispered her name. “Natasha…”
She blinked. Once. Then looked away.
⸻
DAY FIFTEEN
I dreamt about before — the three of us in bed, Wanda’s laughter filling the room, Natasha pretending to be annoyed at our morning cuddles. I woke up crying, and before I could stop myself, I called out for them.
They came running.
Wanda crouched beside me, her cold hand on my cheek, trying to wipe away the tears she couldn’t understand. Natasha knelt behind her, head bowed slightly, her breath ragged.
I don’t think they sleep. But they stay near me while I do. Like they’re guarding me from nightmares.
⸻
DAY TWENTY
There’s no cure. Not yet. Not that I could find.
But maybe this is the cure — or the closest thing to it. Proof that the virus doesn’t erase who they were. That love, somehow, can survive even this.
They’re not monsters. They’re echoes.
Wanda sits beside me as I type this. Natasha’s sharpening an old knife, though she doesn’t need it — it’s just habit. Something her body remembers doing.
I taught them one more sign today: love.
They both repeated it back to me.
And for a moment — just a flicker — their eyes softened.
⸻
DAY TWENTY-THREE
I caught Wanda trying to braid my hair this morning.
I woke up to cold fingers brushing the back of my neck, and when I turned around, she just blinked at me and tilted her head like I’d interrupted her. Then she backed off, hands twitching like she didn’t understand why she’d done it.
I don’t know what’s more terrifying — that she’s remembering things, or that I’m starting to get used to it.
⸻
DAY TWENTY-SEVEN
It’s weird what you start to miss.
Coffee. Music. Actual human conversation that isn’t just me talking to the dead.
So, I decided to play music today — found an old portable speaker in one of Tony’s offices that miraculously still works. I played Crimson and Clover because Natasha used to hum it in the shower.
Wanda froze as soon as it started playing. Natasha turned her head like she recognised the sound. And then, slowly, Wanda moved toward me — swaying slightly. Like she was dancing.
She reached out her hand.
And I swear, for a second, I saw something like love behind those pale, dying eyes.
⸻
DAY THIRTY-ONE
Blog update: Natasha walked into a wall today.
Like, full-force. No hesitation. Straight into it.
I don’t know what she was doing — maybe she saw something, or maybe she just… forgot walls exist? Either way, she glared at the wall like it insulted her entire bloodline.
Then Wanda made this weird noise — a low sound that, if she were alive, would’ve been a laugh. I started laughing too. And Natasha just stared at both of us like we were the problem.
It was the best five minutes I’ve had in months.
⸻
DAY THIRTY-EIGHT
They talk to each other.
I noticed it last night when I couldn’t sleep. Their voices were low, guttural, almost like growls and clicks — but rhythmic. There was… structure. Communication.
I couldn’t make out words, but the tone felt familiar. Like the way Natasha used to mumble in Russian when she thought no one was listening.
Wanda would respond with soft, breathy sounds — little hums and broken syllables. They’d pause, look at me, then continue.
I think they’re aware I can hear them.
⸻
DAY FOURTY
I caught Natasha holding Wanda’s hand.
They were sitting in the wrecked common room, near what used to be the bar. Wanda was staring at the sky through a hole in the ceiling, and Natasha just… reached out. Fingers brushing hers like a reflex.
It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t instinct. It was love.
I had to walk away before they noticed me crying.
⸻
DAY FOURTY-NINE
Okay, I know I said they don’t sleep, but — I think they rest.
I woke up at 3AM and found them sitting on the floor by the bed. Not watching me this time — just still. Wanda’s head leaned on Natasha’s shoulder. Both motionless, eyes dim, breathing slow.
It was peaceful. Almost human.
So, I whispered, “Goodnight.”
Wanda’s eyes flicked open, just slightly. Her lips moved.
One word.
“Stay.”
It was quiet, cracked, almost a sigh — but it was there.
I didn’t sleep after that.
⸻
DAY FIFTY-SIX
I’m starting to understand them.
Not the sounds — not exactly. It’s more… intuition. Like I can feel what they’re trying to say. When Wanda hums low, it means “safe.” When Natasha grunts sharply, it means “stop.”
Sometimes I respond out loud. Sometimes they seem to get it.
Wanda pointed at me today, then signed family.
I didn’t correct her.
⸻
DAY SIXTY
I tried making them food.
Not that they eat it — but I wanted to see what they’d do. I found a can of soup that somehow didn’t smell like death and heated it over a small fire. When I set it in front of them, they just… stared.
Then Wanda picked up the spoon. Slowly. Delicately. She lifted it to her lips, didn’t even flinch at the heat, then placed it back down.
And smiled.
It was small, broken, but real.
Natasha tapped her finger twice against the table — her old way of saying good job.
I nearly lost it.
⸻
DAY SIXTY-FOUR
They’re changing. Or maybe I am.
I don’t flinch when they move anymore. I don’t feel scared when Wanda touches me, or when Natasha brushes past me. I’ve stopped seeing them as monsters.
We’ve settled into this strange rhythm.
Natasha stands guard at the door when I sleep. Wanda hums to herself while I write. Sometimes they even follow my routines — cleaning, pacing, pretending we’re still alive.
Maybe this is what survival looks like now.
Not living. Just remembering how.
⸻
DAY SEVENTY-FIVE
The tablet’s nearly dead. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this going.
But if anyone finds this — if anyone ever makes it back here — you need to know something.
Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff aren’t gone.
They remember. They protect. They feel. They talk to each other, even if it’s not in words we understand. And sometimes — just sometimes — I think they even laugh.
Today, Wanda tried to braid my hair again. Natasha pretended not to care, but signed pretty when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I signed back love.
They both repeated it. Perfectly.
For a moment, their eyes softened — a flicker of the women I used to know.
Maybe this is the cure. Not medicine. Not science. Just… connection.
I’m not leaving the tower. Not yet. Not ever, probably.
Because for the first time since the world ended, I’m not alone.
And maybe neither are they.
⸻
DAY 94
I can’t remember what month it is anymore.
The tower looks different in summer — or what I think is summer. The light hits the glass at just the right angle in the mornings, flooding everything with gold. Wanda likes it. She sits by the windows, eyes half-closed, soaking in warmth she can’t feel.
Natasha doesn’t. She stays in the shade, still wrapped in that torn jacket like she’s cold. I think the light reminds her she’s not human anymore.
I talk more now. Not to anyone alive — just to them. Sometimes I ramble about nothing, just to hear my own voice. Sometimes I tell them stories from before: missions, movie nights, the time Wanda got drunk on Asgardian wine and tried to arm-wrestle Thor.
Natasha always tilts her head when I talk about that one. Like she’s trying to picture it.
⸻
DAY 102
I decided to try giving them both showers today.
You’d think that’s the weirdest thing to attempt in the apocalypse, but honestly, the smell was getting unbearable.
Wanda went first — surprisingly cooperative. She just stood there under the freezing water, blinking up at me while I scrubbed dried blood from her hair. It ran pink down the drain.
She made this tiny noise when I worked shampoo through her curls — a hum, maybe pleasure, maybe confusion. When I was done, she signed pretty? and I said, “Always.”
Natasha… took more convincing. I think she remembered that showers meant vulnerability. She stood there fully clothed for ten minutes until I sighed and just hosed her down like a stubborn cat.
Halfway through, she made this sharp clicking sound — annoyance, definitely annoyance — and shoved my shoulder. I almost fell over laughing.
Wanda laughed too, this choked, rasping sound that wasn’t quite human but close enough to make my chest ache.
They smell marginally less like corpses now. Progress.
⸻
DAY 118
Routine has become religion.
Wake up. Check the windows. Feed the fire. Talk to the girls. Write something down so I don’t forget I can write.
Sometimes we play games. I taught Wanda how to play noughts and crosses with chalk on the wall. She cheats constantly, using her powers to shift the marks when she thinks I’m not looking.
Natasha pretends not to care, but the moment Wanda wins, she scratches out the grid and signs again.
I could live like this forever, I think. It’s horrible — peaceful and horrible.
⸻
DAY 131
I found one of Tony’s old cameras today.
Wanda let me take her picture. She tilted her head at the sound of the shutter, eyes glowing faintly red. When the photo printed, she stared at it for a long time, then pointed at it and signed alive.
I didn’t know what to say.
Natasha looked at the photo too, then touched Wanda’s shoulder. Her fingers lingered — a memory of tenderness, maybe.
Sometimes I think they’re remembering more than I realise.
⸻
DAY 145
It rained today — proper rain, heavy and clean.
We stood on the balcony and just watched it. Wanda reached her hand out to feel the drops, smiling faintly. Natasha stayed back, arms crossed, eyes darting to me.
Then, slowly, she stepped out too. She raised her face toward the sky, let the rain soak her hair. For a second she looked like herself again.
I almost told her she was beautiful. Then I remembered she already knows.
⸻
DAY 163
I’ve started talking to the city.
When I’m on the balcony, I whisper into the streets below. “Hello?” “Anyone out there?” Just to pretend the world can hear me.
Yesterday, Wanda started whispering too. Not words — just sounds, echoes of mine. She mimicked my tone perfectly.
Natasha didn’t say anything, but later that night, I found her sitting beside the old comms console, tapping random buttons.
Maybe she misses the noise.
⸻
DAY 176
Static.
It took me a moment to realise where it came from — the comms console. I thought it was dead, but there it was: faint crackling, a voice half-buried inside.
“…north perimeter secure… supplies low… repeat, survivors en route…”
I froze.
Wanda jerked upright, head snapping toward the sound. Natasha was in the doorway before I even moved, eyes sharp, posture tense.
I whispered, “It’s people.”
The static hissed back like the tower itself was breathing.
⸻
DAY 179
The signal fades in and out, but I’ve started to catch pieces of it.
“…testing stage… serum still unstable…”
“…need live hosts—non-aggressive preferable…”
“…possible breakthrough…”
That last phrase nearly stopped my heart.
Wanda heard it too. She stared at the speaker, fingers twitching. Natasha touched her arm, signing something fast — too quick for me to catch. They looked frightened.
I haven’t told them what the words meant. Not yet.
⸻
DAY 186
I’ve started answering the voices.
It feels like talking to ghosts. They can’t hear me — I don’t think so, anyway — but I still press the button and speak.
“My name’s Y/N. If anyone can hear this… I’m alive. I’m in the tower.”
Wanda watches every time. Natasha doesn’t stop me, but she stands between me and the window, eyes on the skyline like she’s guarding me from something she can’t see.
⸻
DAY 192
The voices changed today.
They were clearer, closer. Someone mentioned the tower by name. Then I heard my own — Y/N.
I nearly dropped the transmitter.
“Say again,” I shouted into the mic. “Say that again!”
There was a pause. Then:
“Y/N? You’re— you’re alive? Where the hell have you been?”
Maria Hill. I’d know that voice anywhere.
I couldn’t speak for a second. Then I said, “Here. With them.”
Silence.
“You mean—”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Wanda. Natasha. They’re not gone.”
⸻
DAY 200
They want to come here. They think they have a cure.
They said they need a controlled subject — one of the ‘less aggressive infected.’ I laughed when she said it, this hollow, hysterical sound.
“I’ve got two,” I told her. “And they’re family.”
Wanda’s pacing now. She doesn’t like the word cure. Natasha hasn’t left her side, eyes darting between us like she’s already preparing for a fight.
I signed help? to Wanda. She hesitated, then signed back danger.
Natasha nodded.
I think they understand what’s coming.
⸻
DAY 209
They’re still talking over the radio — arrangements, safety protocols, scientific nonsense I half-understand.
Wanda spends most of her time near the window again, staring at the city. Natasha sharpens a knife she doesn’t need. Neither of them sleep.
Sometimes Wanda signs hope. Sometimes no. I don’t know which one to believe.
⸻
DAY 213
I couldn’t sleep. I sat up and watched them sitting together by the fire — Wanda tracing invisible shapes in the air, Natasha pretending not to notice.
Then Wanda turned to her and signed something. I couldn’t catch it, but it made Natasha laugh. Laugh. A short, sharp sound that was more human than anything I’ve heard in months.
I cried quietly so they wouldn’t see.
⸻
DAY 220
The team’s coming in three days.
I told Maria I’d stay here through the trial. She didn’t argue.
When I turned off the radio, Wanda signed choice?
I nodded. “Yes.”
Natasha stood up slowly, stepped toward me, and whispered — voice low, cracked, the second word I’ve heard her speak since all this began:
“Soon.”
⸻
DAY 222
The sun’s setting. The air smells like rain.
They’re both quiet tonight. Wanda’s resting her head on Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha’s watching the window like she’s waiting for something.
One of them has to go first.
I don’t know if I’m saving them, or killing them.
⸻
DAY 223
They’re here.
I woke up to the sound of engines — real, living engines — breaking through the silence that’s swallowed this city for months.
Wanda felt it before I did. She was standing at the window, red eyes glowing faintly, hands twitching with energy that made the glass hum. Natasha was already armed, knife in one hand, the other pressed against Wanda’s wrist as if to say wait.
When the first voice echoed from below — “This is Commander Hill of the S.H.I.E.L.D. survivor team! We’re coming in peacefully!” — Wanda’s eyes went redder.
She didn’t hear peace. She heard threat.
I ran to the window. “Wanda! They’re friends—”
But it was too late. The air crackled.
⸻
The doors blew open ten minutes later.
Maria led four people inside — hazmat suits, rifles, steady but terrified. They were expecting a lab. Instead, they got gods turned monsters.
Wanda came first, a blur of scarlet, teeth bared, a sound like static pouring from her throat. The team fired without thinking — bullets sparking uselessly against her shield.
Natasha hit them from the side, moving faster than a corpse ever should. The first man screamed; the second barely managed to reload.
“STOP!” I shouted. “Stop, please! They won’t hurt me—”
Maria’s voice cut through the chaos: “Y/N, move!”
“No! They’re— they’re still in there!”
Wanda froze at the sound of my voice. Then, slowly, she turned.
Her expression — if you could call it that — shifted. Her jaw unclenched. Her eyes softened by degrees.
Natasha hesitated too. Her knife lowered an inch.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then I stepped forward, between the two worlds. “They won’t attack if you don’t.”
Maria lowered her gun first. The others followed.
The tension cracked, thin as glass.
⸻
DAY 224
The lab smells like bleach and rust. I’d forgotten what medicine smelled like.
They set up everything in what used to be Tony’s research bay — the machines still mostly intact, blinking faintly as if relieved to be touched again.
Natasha hates the smell. She paces along the glass walls like a caged wolf. Wanda hasn’t stopped watching the scientists.
Every time someone approaches me, Natasha’s head snaps up. She signs danger so many times I’ve lost count.
Maria tried speaking to her earlier — gentle, careful, like talking to a wild animal. Wanda tilted her head, said nothing, then turned away.
The plan is simple, they say: inject one of them with the prototype serum. The antibodies should react, isolate the viral cells, and start rebuilding neural pathways. But the process takes time. They’ll have to keep the subject in cryostasis for at least a week to control the fever.
They asked me who should go first.
I haven’t answered yet.
⸻
DAY 225
We decided on Natasha.
Wanda didn’t like it — the moment Maria approached with the syringe, she stepped in front of Natasha, hands glowing, mouth open in a voiceless snarl.
“Wanda,” I said softly. “Please. Let them.”
She turned to me, expression fractured between rage and fear. Then she slowly stepped aside.
Natasha looked at me. No words, just that same silent question in her eyes: trust?
I nodded. “Always.”
The injection went in clean. Her body jerked once, muscles locking tight, veins flaring black and then red beneath the skin. I almost screamed.
Maria barked orders, the team restraining her as she convulsed, her back arching against the metal table.
Wanda lunged. I grabbed her arm, shouting her name until her powers fizzled into smoke.
When it was over, Natasha was barely breathing.
“Get her in,” Maria ordered.
They wheeled her to the cryochamber — a sleek, frost-bitten coffin, humming with cold blue light.
The door hissed shut. Steam curled up like breath.
⸻
DAY 228
It’s been three days.
The serum is working — maybe. The readings shift constantly. Maria says her heart rate is stabilising, but the infection’s fighting back hard.
Wanda hasn’t left the lab once. She sits by the glass, palm pressed to the chamber, watching Natasha float in that frozen mist.
She hums sometimes — that low, eerie sound that used to mean she was thinking. Now it’s something else. A prayer, maybe.
I sleep on the floor beside her. I dream of thawing ice and red eyes turning green again.
⸻
DAY 232
The fever spiked.
Maria said it might happen — that the serum and the virus would clash before the healing starts. But it’s worse than they expected. The cryochamber’s ice is melting from the inside.
Wanda’s powers react every time Natasha twitches. The lights flicker. The machines stutter.
I begged her to stop, to trust the process. She just looked at me and signed hurt.
I didn’t know if she meant Natasha, or herself.
⸻
DAY 235
She’s stabilising.
The black veins have faded. There’s colour in her face again — faint, but real. Maria ran a scan earlier and said the virus is retreating from the neural tissue. The brainwaves look… human.
When she said it, Wanda smiled. Just for a second, but I saw it.
She pressed her forehead to the glass. Natasha twitched in response — not violently this time, but softly, like she recognised the touch.
Maria whispered, “It’s working.”
I almost don’t believe her.
⸻
DAY 239
The lab feels alive again.
Machines beep in rhythm. The air’s warm from the generators. Wanda’s calmer — she even helped once, her powers steadying the failing circuits when a fuse blew. The scientists stared at her like they were watching God fix their mistakes.
I’ve stopped counting the hours. I just sit there with her, watching frost cling to the cryochamber glass, and I think — maybe this isn’t the end.
⸻
DAY 243
She woke up.
Barely. Just for a second.
Her eyes fluttered open — not red. Not glowing. Just… green. Faint, fragile, human.
She looked right at me through the glass. Her lips moved. I couldn’t hear what she said, but Wanda could.
She gasped.
Then the chamber hissed, the frost sealing her back under. Maria said she needed more time, that they had to lower her core temperature again to prevent relapse.
Wanda hasn’t moved since.
⸻
DAY 250
Seven days.
Maria says they can attempt the thaw tomorrow. That Natasha’s body has accepted the antibodies and the infection’s dormant.
Wanda keeps signing tomorrow over and over again, like if she stops, the world might forget.
I keep thinking about what happens if it works. About what comes after.
Because if Natasha wakes up human, what does that make Wanda?
⸻
DAY 251
They’re bringing her out now.
The cryochamber hisses open, fog spilling across the floor.
Wanda stands at my side, her hand brushing mine. The scientists step back, waiting.
I don’t breathe.
And then — a cough.
A weak, raspy sound that makes my knees give out.
Natasha’s eyes open, slow and heavy.
Green.
Alive.
“Y/N,” she whispers. Her voice is cracked but real.
Wanda falls to her knees beside her, hands trembling, face breaking open with something that almost looks like joy.
I can’t move. I just stare, shaking, crying, laughing all at once.
Maria lowers her weapon, whispering, “Oh my god…”
For the first time since the world ended, I believe in something again.
⸻
DAY 252
She’s really here.
Natasha Romanoff — alive. Human.
I keep saying it in my head like it’ll stop feeling like a dream. She’s still pale, still covered in scars that might never fade, but her eyes are clear again. Her breath fogs in the cold air. Her pulse beats steady under my fingers.
The scientists hover nearby, whispering data. I ignore them.
She looks at me like she’s seeing the sun for the first time.
“Y/N,” she croaks. “You look terrible.”
I laugh — it comes out half a sob. “You died, and that’s your first comment?”
Her mouth twitches — almost a smile.
Then Wanda moves, and everything stops.
⸻
Wanda’s crouched by the door, red eyes bright in the sterile light. She doesn’t move closer, doesn’t speak. Just watches.
Natasha notices her. For a moment, neither of them blink.
Something passes between them — something I can’t read. A memory, maybe.
Natasha’s lips part, but the words die there.
“Wanda,” I whisper, motioning her closer. “She’s okay. She’s— she’s cured.”
Wanda tilts her head. Her eyes flick to Natasha, then to me, then to the cryochamber still hissing faintly behind her.
She signs one word. Different.
I shake my head. “No. Not different. She’s herself.”
Wanda’s face twists, something between confusion and heartbreak. Then she signs gone.
“No. You’re wrong.”
She looks at Natasha again — who, to her credit, holds her gaze, even though she looks exhausted and fragile and so very human.
Finally, Wanda turns and leaves the room.
⸻
DAY 253
Wanda hasn’t come back inside.
I found her on the roof this morning, sitting where the wind hits hardest, watching the ruined city. She looks smaller now.
I sat beside her. She didn’t look at me.
“You’re angry,” I said.
She signed scared.
“Of what?”
She pointed down — to the tower, the people, the machines. Then she pointed to her own chest.
I nodded. “I know. But it worked, Wanda. You saw her.”
She shook her head, slowly. Not me.
I wanted to tell her that wasn’t true — that she was still here, still my Wanda, still the woman who hummed under the rain and laughed when Natasha walked into a wall. But she wouldn’t look at me.
When I reached for her hand, she pulled away.
⸻
DAY 254
Natasha’s recovering faster than anyone expected.
She can walk now — shakily, but still. Maria says her neural scans are almost normal. It’s incredible, really. The cure worked.
But she’s not the same. None of us are.
She doesn’t remember everything. Bits and pieces come through — flashes of the infection, of wandering the tower, of me. When she talks about it, she goes quiet, her voice soft and low.
“I could see you,” she said today. “I couldn’t reach you. But I could see you.”
That was the first time she cried.
Wanda was in the doorway, watching. She turned and left again before Natasha could see her.
⸻
DAY 256
The tower feels too big now.
Natasha and I sleep in one of the old guest rooms. Wanda still haunts the lab, refusing to let anyone near her.
The scientists want to test her — take samples, run scans — but I told them no. She’s not a specimen. She’s her.
Natasha agreed.
But last night, I caught her looking at the cryochamber. That quiet, tactical stare she always had before a mission.
When she saw me, she said, “She won’t come back to us until she chooses to.”
I asked, “And if she doesn’t?”
Natasha didn’t answer.
⸻
DAY 260
Wanda’s getting worse.
The infection’s flaring again — the red in her eyes burns brighter every day, and the hum of her powers shakes the walls when she’s upset.
Maria’s team is scared of her. They stay out of the lab entirely now.
I visit her anyway. I sit near the doorway and talk while she pretends not to listen. I tell her about Natasha’s recovery, about how we found an old garden on the terrace with actual green growing through the cracks.
She never responds, but sometimes, when I turn to leave, I hear her whisper something too quiet to catch.
I think it’s my name.
⸻
DAY 264
Natasha insisted on seeing her.
I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. “She needs to hear me,” she said.
So we went.
Wanda was curled against the wall, knees to her chest, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
The moment Natasha stepped inside, the air went still.
Wanda’s powers flared, just enough to make the floor vibrate — not an attack, more like a reflex. Natasha didn’t flinch.
Natasha took a slow step closer. “If you want to.”
The air crackled red and white around them, power against heartbeat. For a second, I thought Wanda would lash out. Instead, she sank to her knees.
I caught the words before they slipped away — her voice breaking through the static: “Don’t leave.”
Natasha fell to her knees too. “Then come with me.”
⸻
DAY 267
Wanda’s letting them prepare the chamber.
It’s quiet in the lab — no humming, no red mist, just the sound of machinery and breath. She stands beside the cryotank, eyes dull but calm, watching the frost coil inside.
I asked her if she’s sure.
She nodded, signing home.
When Maria slid the needle into her arm, she didn’t even flinch.
Natasha stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. I stayed in front, trying to keep my smile steady.
The serum went in — bright, blue, merciless. Wanda’s body shuddered once, then twice, her powers flashing weakly before fading.
She looked at me.
Her lips moved. “Love.”
Then she went still.
The chamber sealed shut.
⸻
DAY 268
The frost is thick now, curling over the glass like fog on a winter morning.
Natasha sits beside it, hand pressed to the glass. I sleep nearby again, though I don’t really sleep at all.
Maria says if the cure works the same way, we’ll know within a week.
The days feel endless. The city outside is quiet again.
I keep writing, because if I stop, it’ll feel like waiting for a funeral.
But it’s not, I tell myself. Not this time.
This time, it’s a beginning.
⸻
DAY 275
Her eyes opened this morning.
They weren’t red.
They were green — the soft, human kind that used to look at me like I was the only person left in the universe.
She looked around slowly, confused, then saw Natasha, then me.
When she smiled, it was small but real.
I reached out, and she whispered, “Home.”
⸻
DAY 280
She’s awake.
She’s awake.
Wanda’s lying in the same cryochamber Natasha was in weeks ago, wrapped in a blanket too big for her, hair still damp with frost. Her eyes are the soft green I’d forgotten I missed.
The first thing she did when she saw me was reach out, touch my face, and whisper, “Warm.”
I nearly collapsed.
Natasha was standing behind me, her hand trembling on my shoulder. She smiled — not that sharp, confident smile she used to wear on missions, but something small and quiet, the kind that says, it’s finally over.
Maria cried too. None of us pretended not to.
⸻
DAY 282
The tower feels different.
It doesn’t hum anymore. It breathes.
Wanda spends most of her time on the balcony now, letting sunlight hit her face. She’s weak — it’ll take weeks before she’s strong again — but she smiles easily, and her laugh sounds like wind through the glass.
Natasha’s still protective, hovering nearby like a shadow. Every time Wanda coughs, Natasha’s eyes flick to the lab door like she’s ready for war.
I get it. I keep expecting it to all vanish too.
⸻
DAY 286
We started cleaning the tower today.
It sounds small, but it feels monumental. We swept up the ashes from the lab floor, scrubbed the walls where the infection once burned through wiring. Wanda used her powers to light the rooms again — little flickers of red, gentle now, more human than before.
Natasha found an old radio, fixed the static, and turned it on.
Music. Real music. I didn’t even realise how much I’d missed it until I heard the faint crackle of some ancient pop song drifting through the hallways.
We danced, all three of us — awkward, slow, clumsy, but alive.
For a few minutes, the world felt almost normal.
⸻
DAY 290
Maria and the others are leaving tomorrow.
They want to find more survivors, rebuild somewhere safe. They’ve asked us to come with them, but none of us said yes.
This tower — our home, our prison, our grave — it’s the only place that ever felt ours.
Natasha says she’ll help them remotely, use what’s left of Stark’s tech to keep contact. Wanda just said, “Too many ghosts outside.”
I think she’s right.
⸻
DAY 293
The others left at sunrise.
It’s just us now. The city below looks endless — quiet and broken but still standing.
We planted herbs on the balcony today, in old metal pots. Basil, thyme, rosemary. Wanda said the smell makes her remember dinners in the compound kitchen, when everything still made sense.
Natasha leaned against the railing and said, “This might be the closest thing to peace we’ll ever get.”
I said, “Then let’s not waste it.”
⸻
DAY 298
I found my old journal — the one from before all of this, before the apocalypse, before the infection.
The last line reads: Dinner with Wanda and Nat tonight. Don’t forget wine.
I read it out loud and laughed until I cried.
Wanda took it gently from me and signed new start.
Natasha nodded. “New rules, too.”
I asked what she meant.
She smirked. “You’re cooking this time.”
⸻
DAY 305
Wanda’s hands are steadier now. She can control her powers again — small things first: levitating a mug, warming her own tea, fixing broken glass.
She said it feels different, like something’s changed deep inside. “Quieter,” she said. “Like I can think again.”
Natasha still has scars that light doesn’t quite touch. She says she doesn’t want them gone. “They remind me I made it back.”
Sometimes at night, when the wind rattles the windows, they both reach for me — one on either side — and for the first time since the world fell apart, I don’t feel afraid.
⸻
DAY 312
We’ve started sleeping in the living quarters again. The old Avengers logo above the entrance has rusted, half fallen, but it still feels like home.
I found an old whiteboard in Tony’s office and started using it to keep track of small things — water, food, weather, moods. Wanda added doodles: hearts, suns, little stick figures of us.
Natasha added “Training at 0700.” Some things never change.
⸻
DAY 320
Wanda had a nightmare last night.
She woke up screaming, power flaring bright red. The lights blew out instantly.
I grabbed her hands, trying to calm her, but she was shaking so violently I thought she might tear the whole tower down.
Natasha wrapped her arms around her from behind, whispering, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re home.”
After a while, the light dimmed.
Wanda cried into her shoulder and whispered, “I didn’t want to forget you.”
Natasha kissed the top of her head. “You didn’t.”
⸻
DAY 330
The herbs are growing. Real green in a grey world.
I’ve started cooking again — actual food, not just tins and scraps. Wanda says my pasta still tastes like glue, but she eats it anyway. Natasha pretends not to agree.
We sit on the balcony every night, watching the sun fall behind the broken skyline. The city hums faintly — generators from far away, maybe, or just the sound of the earth trying to live again.
Sometimes I think about everyone we lost. Sometimes I think about who we’ve become.
And sometimes, I just listen to them breathe beside me and think that, against every law of life and death, we got our ending.
⸻
DAY 333
I don’t know how long this peace will last. Maybe weeks, maybe years. Maybe the world will never be what it was, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.
Natasha says we’ll rebuild. Wanda says she wants to paint again.
I said I’ll keep writing.
This isn’t survival anymore. It’s living. Strange, imperfect, fragile living.
And somehow, that’s enough.
⸻
FINAL ENTRY
If anyone ever finds this — the journals, the recordings, the fragments of what we were — know this:
Love doesn’t die. It just waits.
Even through infection. Even through the end of the world.
The dead remember.
And sometimes, if you’re lucky, they come home.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
Masterlist
A/N: I’ve never seen any fanfics like this out there on either tumblr, wattpad or AO3, so I thought I’d give it a go. I also tried to go for a first person blog style too, which I’ve also never done so lmk if you guys liked it! Or if anyone wants maybe a small part two based later on/showing how life completely changes back to normal, or maybe even a plot twist! But as always hope everyone enjoyed this ❤️❤️
non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc
Summary: Wanda receive a call from the hospital, and all she can think is the day she received the notice that Vision died.
Word Counter: 12k+
Warnings: angst, fluff, grief.
Main Masterlist
---
Wanda's POV
I fell for Y/N in college.
I don’t think she ever knew—not really. She thought she was the one chasing, always teasing me, always waiting, always saying “I’ll be here if you change your mind.” But the truth was, I already wanted her.
It was her laugh, her persistence, the way she looked at me like I was the only person in the room. And when things got hard—when life chipped away at me—it was always Y/N who stayed.
But I was a coward.
Because wanting her meant risking her. If we tried and it didn’t work, if she left… I wouldn’t survive it. So I chose Vision. He was safe. He was steady. He was kind. And yes, I loved him. Maybe not in the same wild, consuming way I loved Y/N—but I loved him. Enough to build a life with him.
When he died, everything I’d built collapsed. My parents were gone, my brother was gone, my grandmother gone—faces in photographs that I could no longer call to the table. The house felt like a mausoleum. I could still hear my brother’s laugh in the hallway, still see my mother’s hands folding laundry in my mind, still feel my grandmother’s soft scold about staying up too late. Then Vision—Vision who had been a promise of ordinary tomorrows—was taken, and the ordinary was gone forever.
Grief didn’t arrive like a wave and leave. It settled like dust into everything. It sat on the silverware, on the frames holding laughing faces, on the side of the bed where someone used to read until two in the morning. It turned songs into eulogies and sunlight into interrogation. Some nights I would wake from a dream so vivid I could swear I’d heard my brother’s voice call my name, and for a breathless second I believed the world could be stitched back together. Then the silence would gouge a new scar.
The worst part was the arithmetic of loss. Names, memories, roles—gone. I kept asking myself what had been taken because I had been foolish, or because fate had been hungry, or because I had never been entitled to stability in the first place. Guilt wrapped itself around my ribs: for loving, for choosing wrong, for surviving. And all the while the small, stubborn part of me that had always belonged to Y/N watched and waited. She was the single bright thing left—someone who had seen me before the cracks and decided to stay despite them.
With her, I survived. With her, I breathed again.
She became my anchor in ways I hadn’t known I needed. Her hand on my back when my knees buckled. The soft way she smoothed my hair away from my face when I flinched at a memory. The ridiculous, mundane jokes she told at three in the morning to make me laugh until I couldn’t remember why I’d been crying. She learned the architecture of my grief—where it ached, where it lay thin—and she did not recoil. She held space for my sorrow without trying to fix it, and that steadiness was its own kind of love.
And slowly, we became more. A kiss in the dark. Her hand brushing mine and not letting go. My head on her chest, listening to the heartbeat that had always been there for me. She told me she loved me, over and over, until it became a rhythm in my life as steady as breathing.
I never said it back. Not because I didn’t feel it. God, I did. I’d felt it for years. But because the fear was still there. The thought that if I admitted it—if I gave it voice—I might lose her for real.
Two years together, and she never pressed me for the words. She just… loved me anyway.
The first time we made love felt like the first honest thing I’d done in years. We were tentative at first—fingers learning the map of a body that was not a memory-ghost of another life. I remember the light through the curtains, the way dust motes floated in it like tiny stars, and how every small sound of the apartment—the kettle ticking down, the radiator’s little sigh—suddenly meant something safe. She smelled like laundry detergent and the lemon cleaner she used obsessively, and when she pressed her mouth to mine I felt the taut thread inside me loosen.
It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t performance. It was discovery and permission in the same breath. She looked at me as if she could see all the broken things inside and loved them anyway. Her hands told me she wanted me—not as a replacement, not as consolation, but because she chose me. When she whispered my name, it was not the name of the woman who had been afraid; it was the name of the woman who was willing to be seen.
I had never known tenderness could be so fierce. It was like being unmoored and then being held steady by something stronger than gravity. I let myself fall into it—the warmth, the shuddering quiet that followed, the utter, surprising peace. For the first time since everything went dark, there was pleasure that did not taste of guilt. There was only being with her, entirely and without apology. Afterwards, lying with my cheek against her shoulder, I felt as if some internal wound had finally been bandaged. I had never felt anything like it: not euphoric, not merely physical, but holy in its smallness.
When we walked into the bar that night, I felt light. Nervous, yes—these were my old friends, people who knew me before I lost everything—but Y/N’s hand was warm in mine. And for the first time in a long time, I smiled without forcing it.
Natasha slid in beside me, her presence comforting. She asked how I was, how things were with Y/N, and for once, I didn’t dodge. I let myself smile, let myself talk. And Nat made me laugh.
That’s when I saw it.
Y/N, coming back from the bathroom, stopped by some woman. She leaned too close, touched too much, smiled like she had a right.
I saw Y/N pull back, uncomfortable. I saw her shake her head. I saw her say no. But still, rage burned in my chest, twisting tight with fear. Because if it was that easy for someone else to want her, how easy would it be for her to realize she didn’t need me anymore?
By the time Y/N escaped and came back, my smile was gone. I kept my face neutral, but she knew me too well. She saw it in my eyes—the anger, the jealousy, the fear.
On the way home, I stayed silent. If I opened my mouth, the truth would pour out, raw and ugly. That I loved her. That I had always loved her. That I was terrified of losing her.
But she kept trying, gently at first, then more firmly. She explained about the woman, told me she hadn’t wanted it, that she only wanted me. And still the fear ate me alive. The words that came out were wrong, jagged, poisoned by panic.
“That’s why I’ve never told you I love you,” I snapped. “Because I don’t know when you’ll leave me. Because you’re only here because I’m broken.”
The look on her face made my stomach drop. But I couldn’t stop. I was spiraling, desperate, lashing out before she could hurt me.
And then she asked, her voice cracking, “Am I not enough?”
I should’ve said yes. I should’ve told her she was everything. That she’d always been enough. That I’d loved her for years, long before I admitted it to myself.
But my fear twisted into anger, and anger found the worst words it could.
“You’re just a replacement for Vision. You’re nothing.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Her face—God, her face. Shattered. Devastated. And when she whispered, “I know,” in that weak, broken voice, it felt like something inside me tore in two.
She left.
And I stood frozen, breathing hard, my chest burning, my eyes stinging. Too afraid to run after her, too full of regret to move, too cowardly to undo the damage.
Because this was the moment I’d always feared—the moment I pushed her away so far, I might never get her back.
---
The door clicked shut.
That soft, final sound rang louder than any slammed one could have. Louder than her voice when she shouted, louder than the words she’d thrown like knives.
And suddenly, the house was unbearably quiet.
I stood there, frozen, chest heaving, waiting. Waiting for the sound of her footsteps returning, the rattle of the knob, her voice saying my name. She always came back. She always stayed.
But the silence stretched.
And stretched.
And with each second, the truth sank deeper. She wasn’t coming back. Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.
My knees gave out, and I sank onto the couch, my hands trembling as I pressed them over my mouth. The words I’d said replayed in my head, one after another, each one sharper, crueler, until I could barely breathe.
Replacement.
Nothing.
God, what had I done?
Because none of it was true. Y/N was never nothing. She was everything. She’d always been everything. The one person who had stayed through all of it—my grief, my fear, my cowardice. The one person who had held me up when I couldn’t hold myself. The one person who looked at me like I was worth loving, even when I didn’t believe it myself.
And I’d told her she was nothing.
Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless, dripping off my chin as I curled forward, burying my face in my hands. I wanted to run after her, scream her name into the night, beg her to come back. To tell her the truth I’d been too afraid to say all these years:
That I loved her.
That I had loved her since college.
That the only reason I’d ever gone back to Vision was because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Y/N completely. That choosing him had been easier than risking her. That when he died, I grieved him, yes—but even then, through all of it, my heart still belonged to her.
Always to her.
But now… now I’d driven her away with my own hands.
My sobs broke through the silence, raw and desperate. I clutched the pillow she’d leaned against earlier that night, pressing my face into the lingering warmth, pretending it was her. Pretending I hadn’t just shattered the one good thing I had left.
“Please come back,” I whispered into the empty room, my voice wrecked and broken. “Please don’t leave me.”
But there was no one to hear it.
Just me, my tears, and the echo of a door that might never open again.
---
I don’t know how long I stayed staring at the door, until the silence became unbearable. My hands shook as I picked up my phone from the coffee table.
Her name glowed on the screen. Y/N.
I pressed call.
It rang. Once. Twice. Then the flat tone of voicemail filled my ear.
“Y/N… it’s me,” I whispered, voice already breaking. “Please, I—I didn’t mean it. Just come home, okay? Please.”
I hung up, my thumb trembling over her contact again. Waited a minute, maybe less, I couldn’t tell. My chest hurt with every beat of my heart. Then I pressed call again.
Voicemail.
This time I didn’t even speak. Just listened to the tone until it cut off, then dropped my phone into my lap, covering my face with both hands as another sob tore through me.
I tried again. And again.
Voicemail. Always voicemail.
By the time I looked up, the clock on the wall read 3:07 am. My throat was raw, my cheeks sticky with tears, my body trembling from the hours of crying.
And then my phone buzzed.
Not her name. An unknown number.
For a moment, my heart lifted—maybe she borrowed someone’s phone, maybe—
“Hello?” My voice was wrecked, almost unrecognizable.
“Is this Wanda Maximoff?”
The air in my lungs froze. “Yes—yes, this is she. Who’s calling?”
“This is Memorial General Hospital. Are you a relation to Y/N L/N?”
And just like that, I was back there—years ago—standing in my kitchen with the phone pressed to my ear, listening as a police officer told me Vision was gone. The numbness, the disbelief, the way the floor seemed to vanish beneath me.
But this time… this time it was worse.
Because Y/N wasn’t just my girlfriend. Y/N was everything. The one I had always loved. The one I had already lost a thousand times in my fear, and had just pushed away again with my own hands.
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles ached. “Yes, I’m—yes, I am. Why? What happened?!”
The voice on the other end was calm, professional, detached. That made it unbearable. “Ms. L/N was brought in earlier tonight following a robbery at a corner shop. She sustained multiple gunshot wounds. She’s in surgery now.”
The room tilted violently. My vision blurred. My breath stuttered out of me in a sound that was half sob, half scream.
Gunshot wounds. Surgery.
She’s dying.
“Oh my God…” The words scraped out of me, broken, raw.
“Ma’am, she’s in critical condition, but the surgeons are doing everything they can. We’ll need you to come in as soon as possible.”
“Yes—yes, I’ll—I’ll be there.” My voice was unrecognizable, a jagged rasp through my tears.
I hung up. The phone slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering against the hardwood.
For a moment, I just stood there, the silence pressing in, my body shaking so hard I thought my legs would give out. Then, with a sob tearing from my throat, I grabbed my car keys from the bowl by the door, barely managing to shove my shoes on as I stumbled outside.
The cold night air hit my wet cheeks, but I didn’t feel it. My body was on autopilot, running on pure panic, pure desperation.
I’d thought losing Vision had been the worst pain I could endure. But this—this was a thousand times worse. Because I loved Y/N more than I’d ever let myself admit. Because I’d told her she was nothing, and now she might die believing it.
I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking so violently I dropped them twice before finally forcing them into the ignition. My chest was heaving, sobs breaking free even as I slammed my foot on the accelerator.
“Please, Y/N,” I whispered hoarsely, my voice swallowed by the roar of the engine. “Please hold on. Please don’t leave me. I’ll tell you everything, I swear—I’ll tell you I love you. Just… don’t leave me. Not like this.”
The headlights blurred through my tears as I sped toward the hospital, my heart pounding so violently I thought it might shatter.
Because if I lost her, there wouldn’t be anything left of me.
---
The hospital lights were too bright, too harsh. They glared down on me as if mocking the darkness I felt swallowing me whole.
I nearly crashed into the front desk, breathless, hair sticking to my tear-streaked face. “Y/N L/N—gunshot wounds—they called me—where is she?”
The nurse looked up, startled, then softened when she saw me trembling, barely holding myself together. “She’s in surgery. Please, sit—we’ll update you as soon as we know more.”
I nodded frantically, though the words didn’t register. Surgery. That meant she was still alive. That had to mean something.
My legs carried me to the nearest row of plastic chairs, and then I collapsed into one, my whole body shaking so violently my teeth rattled.
The hallway smelled of antiseptic, clean and cold, but it did nothing to soothe me. My palms pressed together, wringing, clenching, anything to stop them from shaking.
Every sound made me flinch. A gurney rolling by. A phone ringing at the desk. A doctor’s shoes tapping against the tile. None of them brought me the words I needed.
So I prayed—something I hadn’t done in years. Not since I buried my parents, not since I lost Pietro, not since Vision’s car went off the road.
“Please,” I whispered into my trembling hands. “Please let her live. Please let me take it back. I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her every day if you just give me another chance.”
I remembered the way she’d looked at me before leaving. Broken. Shattered. That weak “I know” that had gutted me.
What if that was the last thing she ever said to me?
Hot tears slid down my face again, dripping off my chin. I didn’t even bother wiping them away anymore. My whole body hurt from crying, but I couldn’t stop.
The minutes stretched into hours, each one clawing at me. I couldn’t sit still—pacing, then sitting, then standing again. My fingers curled into my hair, pulling, desperate to wake from this nightmare.
Every time the OR doors swung open, my heart leapt, only to crash when it wasn’t for me.
I thought of all the things I hadn’t said. The way I’d held back the words she’d given me so freely. I love you. She had whispered them into my skin, my hair, my hands a thousand times, and I had stayed silent. Cowardly. Afraid.
Now I’d give anything—anything—to go back and say them once.
“Please, Y/N,” I begged again, my voice raw, barely audible. “Please come back to me. Please don’t make me live without you. I can’t. Not you.”
The clock on the wall ticked on, merciless and slow, while behind those doors the love of my life fought for hers.
And all I could do was wait.
---
After a long time of waiting, the doors finally swung open, and I shot up from the chair so fast it scraped across the floor with a loud screech.
A surgeon stepped out, mask pulled down, eyes weary. My heart lodged in my throat. “Y/N L/N,” I gasped, almost stumbling toward him. “Please—how is she?”
He looked at me with that practiced calm that only made me want to shake him until he gave me the truth. “Ms. L/N sustained three gunshot wounds. Two of them were relatively clean—we were able to remove the bullets and repair the tissue with minimal complications.”
My knees nearly buckled in relief, but then his tone shifted. “The third one was more difficult. It struck a dangerous area. She lost a significant amount of blood before we got her stabilized.”
I felt the air leave my chest, the edges of my vision blurring. “But—you fixed it?”
“We managed to stop the bleeding and close her up,” he said firmly. “But she’s very weak. We had to do a blood transfusion, and her body is still under a lot of stress. The next twenty-four hours will be critical.”
My hands clamped over my mouth as a sob broke through me. My eyes burned, my chest ached with every frantic beat of my heart. She was alive. Barely—but alive.
“She made it through the surgery,” he added, softer now. “That’s a good sign. She’s a fighter.”
My tears came harder at that. Of course she was a fighter. Y/N had always been stronger than me. Strong enough to carry her love for me through years of rejection, strong enough to stay at my side when I broke. Strong enough to survive even this.
“Can I—can I see her?” My voice cracked like a child’s, desperate.
He hesitated, then nodded. “She’ll be in recovery for a while. Only for a few minutes, and you’ll need to keep your distance—she needs absolute rest. But yes.”
I nodded rapidly, swallowing back sobs. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
As he walked me toward the recovery ward, my legs trembled beneath me, each step heavy with both dread and hope.
Because soon, I would see her again.
Soon, I would have a chance to whisper the truth I should have told her long ago.
That she wasn’t nothing. She was everything.
And if she woke up, if she stayed—God, if she stayed—I would never let her doubt it again.
---
The walk down the corridor felt endless. Each fluorescent light overhead hummed, flickering faintly, and with every step my stomach twisted tighter. My palms were damp, clutching one another so hard my knuckles were white.
When the nurse finally stopped outside a room and pushed the door open, my breath hitched.
Y/N lay in the bed, impossibly still. Her skin was pale, almost gray against the sterile white sheets. Tubes and wires snaked from her arms, machines beeping softly in rhythm with the fragile rise and fall of her chest.
I pressed a trembling hand against the doorframe, needing the support to keep myself upright.
God, she looked so breakable. So unlike the steady, laughing, unshakable Y/N I knew.
I moved closer, each step slow, reverent, as if I were approaching something sacred. My eyes blurred with tears, and I blinked furiously, not wanting to miss a second of seeing her alive.
When I reached the bedside, I froze again. My hand hovered over hers, afraid to touch her, terrified that even my presence might hurt her. But the need was too much, overwhelming. I lowered myself into the chair and finally let my fingers graze hers, lightly, gently, as though she were glass.
Her hand was cold.
That broke me all over again.
“Y/N,” I whispered, my throat raw, the sound more like a prayer than a word. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it—I didn’t mean any of it.”
My tears fell freely, dropping onto her hand, rolling down my cheeks unchecked. “You’re not nothing. You’re not a replacement. You’re my everything. You always have been.”
Her chest rose and fell, weak but steady. The machines kept beeping, steady, mercilessly calm while my heart thrashed in my chest.
I leaned closer, my forehead almost touching the back of her hand. “Please fight, baby. Please don’t leave me like this. I love you. I love you so much.”
The words tumbled out, over and over, as if saying them now might weave a tether strong enough to keep her here.
“I should’ve told you years ago. I should’ve told you every single day. But I was scared. I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose you. And now—now I can’t lose you, Y/N. Not like this. Not ever.”
The monitor beeped steadily, indifferent to my desperation.
I pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, my tears wetting her skin. “So please, just wake up. Let me make it right. Let me love you the way I should have all along.”
Her fingers didn’t move, her eyelids didn’t flutter. But she was breathing. And right now, that was enough.
I sat there, holding her hand as though I could will my strength into her, whispering the words I should have never withheld.
I love you.
Again and again, until my voice broke.
---
I don’t know how long I sat there, my hand wrapped around hers like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. Minutes, hours—time stopped meaning anything.
But then, a soft voice broke the fragile bubble I’d wrapped myself in.
“Ms. Maximoff?”
I looked up, blinking through the blur of tears to see the nurse standing at the door. Her expression was kind, gentle, but it didn’t soften the blow of what she was about to say.
“She needs rest now. The doctors want to keep the room quiet and clear while she stabilizes.”
I shook my head instantly. “No. Please. I can stay quiet. I won’t move, I promise.” My voice cracked, desperate. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
The nurse’s gaze softened further, but her tone didn’t waver. “She’s in critical condition. We need to minimize any stimulation. You can come back in the morning. I promise we’ll call if there’s any change.”
Her words hit me like a physical strike. Morning? Leave her? After everything?
I turned back to Y/N, clutching her hand tighter, like the nurse might try to take it away. “She—she’ll wake up and I won’t be here.” My voice was trembling, broken. “What if she thinks I left?”
A pause. Then the nurse stepped closer, placing a hand gently on my shoulder. “She’ll know you were here. Sometimes they feel it even when they can’t respond. And she’ll still be here in the morning.”
I bowed my head, tears slipping hot and relentless down my cheeks. My heart screamed at me to stay, to fight, to refuse. But my rational mind—the part of me that knew Y/N needed this chance to heal—forced my hand.
I lowered my lips to her hand, pressing the softest kiss against her knuckles. “I’ll be back, detka,” I whispered, my voice breaking on the word. “Don’t you dare leave me. Not now. Not ever.”
With the hardest effort of my life, I set her hand back on the sheets, my fingers lingering as if memorizing the feel of her skin. Then I stood, shaky, my legs like lead, and forced myself to walk to the door.
At the threshold, I turned one last time, drinking in the sight of her—still, fragile, fighting. My chest cracked open, my body screaming to run back to her.
Instead, I whispered into the dim room, hoping somehow she could still hear me.
“I love you.”
Then I let the nurse guide me away, each step feeling like betrayal, each breath like punishment.
---
I didn’t leave. I couldn’t.
When the nurse walked me out of the room, I didn’t go home. I sank into one of the stiff plastic chairs in the waiting area, clutching my coat around me like it might hold me together. The fluorescent lights hummed above me, cold and merciless. The antiseptic smell burned my nose. And every second that ticked by without news gnawed a deeper hole in my chest.
I replayed it all, over and over.
The ride home from the bar, my silence, the way her voice cracked when she tried to explain about that woman. My sharp words, my venom—“that’s why I never told you I love you.”
The way her face crumbled when I spat the ugliest truth I could find. You’re just a replacement. You’re nothing.
My own voice echoed inside me, jagged, cruel. I had said it to hurt her, to push her back before she could see how terrified I was of losing her. And I had succeeded.
Her face—the brokenness in her eyes—was the last thing I had of her before she walked out.
And then the phone call.
I buried my face in my hands, choking back a sob that ripped from deep inside me. If she dies… if she leaves me now, those will be the last words she ever heard from me. Not I love you, not thank you for saving me again and again, not you’re my everything. Just poison. Just fear disguised as cruelty.
I couldn’t sit still. I paced the corridor, my boots scuffing against the sterile floor. My palms were raw from wringing them together. Every time the doors swung open, my heart leapt, only to crash back down when it wasn’t news for me.
Hours bled together. Nurses came and went, doctors strode past, but all I heard was the echo of her voice, weak and broken in our living room: Am I not enough?
I had told her no. I had told her she was nothing.
Another sob wracked me, and I clutched the edge of a chair so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Please,” I whispered to no one, to everything. “Please don’t take her from me. Not her. Not Y/N.”
The night stretched on, endless. My body screamed for rest, but my mind wouldn’t stop. Every flicker of memory cut deeper—the way she looked at me in college, all hope and devotion. The way she held me when my grandmother died. The way she smiled at me like I was the only person in the world.
And now she was fighting for her life, and all she had left of me was a wound I’d carved myself.
So I stayed. I didn’t care if they told me to leave again. I’d sleep in this chair, in the hallway, on the floor. I wouldn’t abandon her. Not ever again.
I pressed my forehead against the cold wall, whispering a vow into the empty corridor.
“You can’t leave me. I won’t let you. I’ll make it right… just—just please wake up.”
---
The first night after Y/N’s surgery, I didn’t leave the hospital. The fluorescent lights hummed too loudly, the antiseptic smell burned my nose, and every footstep made my chest tighten as if the sound could shatter me completely. I sat in the stiff chair beside her bed, watching her chest rise and fall, memorizing every shallow breath, clinging to the steady beep of the monitor like it was a lifeline.
When visiting hours ended, I still couldn’t leave. The hallways were empty and cold, echoing my panic and guilt. My car was parked outside, engine off, as I gripped the steering wheel, tears streaming unchecked. Driving home was impossible—I couldn’t face the silence of our apartment, the empty rooms that usually smelled like her, but now smelled like nothing.
But eventually, hunger or exhaustion forced me inside. The apartment was quiet, oppressive. Her coffee mug still sat in the sink from the morning we had returned from the bar. A jacket lay draped over the couch where she had kicked it off in the living room. I sank into it as if wrapping myself in her scent could hold me together.
I kept reliving every second of that fight.
Her face when I yelled. Her trembling voice. That small, broken whisper: “I know.”
And I had let her leave. I had let her go out into the night, alone.
The memory twisted in my chest, a knife with every heartbeat.
On the second day, Nat came by. She didn’t need an explanation to know something was wrong. Her sharp eyes caught the dark circles, the tremor in my hands, the way I couldn’t stop wringing them together.
“Wanda… what happened?” she asked softly, guiding me to the small waiting area.
I couldn’t hold it in. The words spilled, raw and jagged: “We fought. I—” I swallowed hard, tears welling again. “I told her… things I didn’t mean. Things I was too scared to say, and now she—she was shot. She’s in surgery, Nat. I—I can’t even…” My voice broke.
Nat leaned back, taking a moment before she spoke. Her voice was calm, firm, but there was an edge of frustration. “Wanda… why? Why did it come to that? You love her. You’ve told me for years. Why—”
I buried my face in my hands. “I… I was afraid. Afraid if I told her, she’d leave me. Afraid if I admitted it, I’d lose her completely. And I… I lashed out. I said she was nothing, Nat. Nothing!”
Nat’s hand found mine, gripping gently. “Wanda… you’ve always loved her. I told you—break up with Vision and choose her back at college. You were scared, yes, but you never should have pushed her away like that.”
I shook my head, trembling. “You don’t understand. When Vision died… when I grieved him, I had Y/N. She was the only reason I got through it. She’s always been there for me. She’s always been… everything. And now she’s lying in that hospital bed, and I can’t live without her, Nat. I… I need her to be alive. I can’t live without her.”
Nat’s eyes softened, filled with understanding. “Then she’ll fight, Wanda. She’s strong. You know she’s strong. She knows you love her. And when she wakes… she’ll see you’ve been here every single day, holding on.”
I nodded, though it didn’t ease the ache in my chest. The apartment felt empty, and when I returned after brief hours of sleep, the absence of Y/N pressed on me like a physical weight. Every room was a reminder of the fight I shouldn’t have started, the words I shouldn’t have said, the hands I had failed to hold at the exact moment she needed me most.
The next days were a blur. I sat beside her, reading aloud from the books she loved in college, my voice cracking over every word. I held her hand when the nurse allowed it, brushing her hair back with trembling fingers, whispering prayers I hadn’t spoken in years: Please, don’t leave me. Please fight. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll make it right.
Even when I returned home to grab something to eat, the apartment felt like a tomb. I couldn’t stay long. I couldn’t leave her side. The bed we shared felt impossibly empty, the quiet so heavy it pressed against my chest. I replayed the fight over and over, each memory sharpening the guilt.
On the third day, Nat came again. I hadn’t moved from the chair all morning. She brought coffee and a bagel I couldn’t touch, sat silently beside me, giving me space while not letting me completely unravel. She reminded me gently, “She’s still fighting, Wanda. She’s a fighter. You know that. You know she’s strong.”
By the fourth day, there were small signs. A twitch of a finger. A flutter of an eyelid. Each movement sent my heart soaring and breaking all at once. I pressed my lips to her hand, whispering, “Just a little more, detka. Please. I’m here. I’ll never leave again.”
Then, that morning, it happened.
It started as a tiny flicker under my gaze—her lashes trembling. My breath caught in my throat, and I leaned closer, almost afraid to believe it. “Y/N?” My voice cracked, high and desperate, almost a plea.
Her eyelids fluttered again, slower this time, trembling like leaves in a storm. I could feel my chest tighten so sharply it hurt, a mix of hope, fear, and overwhelming relief. “Come on, detka. Just a little more,” I whispered, tears spilling freely down my face, dripping onto her hand as I clutched it like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
Her lashes lifted fractionally, just enough to catch a glimmer of light. My pulse thundered in my ears. “Y/N, please… wake up,” I begged, my lips brushing the back of her hand, my forehead pressing against her wrist. I was shaking, sobbing, completely unhinged with the mixture of terror and joy.
Slowly, agonizingly slow, her eyes began to part. A pale blue blinked at me, drowsy, uncertain, as though she were surfacing from a dreamless abyss. My tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t care. I pressed closer, speaking in broken whispers. “I’m here… don’t you dare leave me. Please, just stay with me.”
Her gaze focused—just barely—on my face. I could see the flicker of recognition, faint but real, in her eyes. The first tiny, uneven breaths escaped her lips. My hands shook so violently I could barely hold hers.
“Y/N… it’s me. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re alive,” I sobbed, my voice breaking over every word. My forehead pressed to hers, tears soaking her hair. “Please… please don’t close your eyes again. I need you, detka. I can’t live without you.”
Her lips moved, barely forming sounds I could barely catch: “W… Wanda…”
That single, fragile word tore through me, and I lost what was left of my composure. My hands cupped her face gently, shaking as I kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her temples, all the while crying, whispering, praying.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? You’re awake, detka, and I’m not letting go. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please… stay with me.”
Her eyes fluttered, drowsy and weak, but they stayed open just long enough for me to see her, truly see her. And in that moment, every second of fear, guilt, and despair melted into one overwhelming, shattering relief.
She was awake. She was alive. And I would never, ever let her doubt how much she meant to me again.
Her lips parted again, dry and trembling, like every sound cost her everything. I leaned closer, desperate to catch whatever came.
“W… wha…” She coughed weakly, her throat rasping from the tube that had been down it. Panic shot through me and I reached for the little cup of water by the bedside, fumbling with shaking hands until I managed to wet the sponge and brush it gently over her lips.
“There, detka… slowly,” I murmured, brushing my knuckles down her cheek. “Don’t push yourself. You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe for me.”
Her eyes, half-lidded and hazy, fought to focus on me. The faintest crease pulled at her brow, like she was trying to piece together the world around her.
I pressed a kiss to her knuckles again, unable to stop my tears. “You scared me so much,” I choked, my voice breaking on every syllable. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. You hear me? I thought—” My throat closed, the words clawing out of me. “I thought I lost you.”
Her gaze softened—weak, tired, but still hers. Her lips moved again, barely audible. “So… rry.”
That single, broken apology shattered me. “No. No, don’t you dare apologize,” I cried, my hand moving to cradle her face. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one… I pushed you away, I made you think—” My sobs stole the words from me, but I forced them out. “I should’ve chosen you long ago. I should’ve never made you doubt. I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.”
Her lashes fluttered, struggling to stay open, but she managed the tiniest ghost of a smile. “Love… you… too.”
The words hit me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. My heart clenched so hard it hurt, and I collapsed forward, laying my forehead gently against hers, my tears sliding onto her skin. “Don’t say another word. Just stay with me. Please… just stay.”
Her eyes closed again, but this time not in that terrifying stillness—this time it was with the faintest squeeze of her hand around mine, the smallest reassurance that she wasn’t leaving.
I kissed her softly, reverently, her hair, her temple, whispering over and over, “I love you, detka. I’m not leaving your side. Not ever again.”
And for the first time in five endless, suffocating days, I let myself breathe.
---
The first few hours after Y/N woke were a blur of monitors beeping, nurses checking vitals, and me refusing to let go of her hand even when they asked. I only loosened my grip enough for them to adjust the IV or change her bandages, then tightened it again as though that alone could keep her tethered to me.
When the room finally quieted, I perched on the edge of her bed. She was half-asleep, drifting, her breathing shallow but steady. Every rise and fall of her chest felt like a miracle. I stroked my thumb along her hand, afraid that if I stopped, she’d slip away again.
Hours later, she stirred, her eyes blinking open slowly.
“Hey, detka,” I whispered, brushing the hair from her forehead. “How do you feel?”
Her voice was raw, cracked, but she managed a whisper: “Like… I lost a fight.”
A broken laugh escaped me, quickly smothered by tears. “You didn’t lose. You’re here. You won.”
She tried to smile, but it twisted into a wince of pain. I instantly leaned forward, fussing over her. “Don’t move too much. You need to heal. Let me get you water—”
Her weak fingers tugged at mine, stopping me. “Stay.”
I froze, my throat tightening as I sank back down beside her. “Always,” I breathed.
The next day, the doctors allowed her a few sips of water. I held the cup carefully, guiding the straw to her lips. She took the smallest sip and coughed, and I nearly panicked, rubbing her back in tiny circles until she calmed. “Easy, love. No rush. I’ll take care of everything. You just focus on resting.”
Her eyes lingered on me, glazed with exhaustion but shining with something deeper. “You… haven’t left?”
I shook my head fiercely. “Not once. I couldn’t. The house was empty without you. I can’t—” My voice broke, and I pressed my forehead to our joined hands. “I can’t be without you, Y/N. Not ever.”
Her lips curved, but not the way they used to when she teased me, or when she found something genuinely funny. It was small, weary, almost… resigned.
The sight of it made my chest seize.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I asked softly, searching her face.
Y/N blinked slowly, her gaze sliding to the ceiling for a moment before settling back on me. “Because… I think I finally understand.”
My pulse stuttered. “Understand what?”
“That you’re not saying all this because you love me.” Her voice was faint, barely stronger than a breath, but each word hit like glass shattering. “You’re saying it because I’m all that’s left. I know you think I’m the only one left. So you are scared I’m gonna leave you. But I’m…” She paused, swallowing with visible effort. “I’m just the replacement you said I was.”
Her words landed like a blow I hadn’t been ready to take. “I know I’m just a replacement for Vision.” — the sentence barely left her mouth before I felt something inside me break cleanly in two.
“No.” The word tore out of me before I could think. I leaned forward so suddenly the headboard creaked, and the room seemed to narrow until it was only the two of us—her pale face, the slow rise of the sheet, my own ragged breath. “No, Y/N. You are not a replacement. You could never be.”
I cupped her face with both hands, fingers careful on the cool skin, and felt how fragile she was. “Listen to me,” I whispered, so fierce it surprised me. “Listen—because I need you to hear it and remember it. I loved you in college. I fell for you—before Vision, before any of it. You were always the one who stayed. You were always the person who held me when everything else collapsed. I chose safety once because I was terrified of losing you—terrified I’d lose you if I risked everything. That was cowardice. It was wrong. But it does not change the fact that my heart… my heart has always been yours.”
My thumbs smudged wet tracks across her cheeks without thinking. “When he died, I grieved him. I loved him. I still do, in a way that is part of my past. But that love doesn’t erase what I feel for you. You are not his shadow. You are not the space he left. You are light. You are the only person I have ever wanted to build a life with. I want you because of you—because of how you laugh, because of how you steadied me through things I couldn’t face, because of how you made me brave enough to be myself.”
My voice broke on the last words and I pressed my forehead to hers, letting my sobs be the thing that filled the silence. “I hurt you,” I said, the shame in that single sentence enough to choke me. “I said monstrous things. I said them because fear turned into poison in my mouth. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I will spend every day making you see the truth of me. I will show you, not just say it. If you wake up and ever doubt me, I will make it right. I swear it on everything I am.”
For a long, trembling moment she closed her eyes. When they opened again there was that fragile, wary look people get when they are testing the ground after a fall. She whispered, voice raw, “How do I know you mean it? How do I know you won’t… back away when I’m not the broken thing you can hold together?”
I let out a laugh that was half-cry. “Because I already tried being safe and I lost you anyway. Because I can’t bear the idea of ever choosing the easy thing over you again.” I touched the hollow of her throat, then the soft place behind her ear, cataloguing her like a pilgrim catalogues holy relics. “Watch me. Let me prove it. Let me be the person who stays when it is not convenient. Let me be the one who believes in us when we’re both scared to. Let me love you without limits.”
Her fingers found mine and squeezed, faint but real. Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay… try me.” The humor in that nearly killed me with gratitude.
---
Even after Y/N squeezed my hand and whispered “Okay… try me,” I could see it—the faint hesitation in her eyes, the shadow of doubt that lingered. She didn’t fully believe me yet, and that thought burned in my chest every moment I stayed by her side at the hospital.
I barely left the room. I slept in the stiff chair beside her bed, skipped meals, ignored texts, ignored the world outside the hospital walls. I needed to be there. Every rise and fall of her chest was a victory, every twitch of her fingers a reminder that she was still here—and that I had been given a second chance.
Then the day came when the doctors finally smiled at us and said she could be discharged. Relief slammed into me in waves, but I also panicked. The hospital was one thing. Home… our home… had been untouched for weeks. Clothes scattered, dishes in the sink, the air stale with absence. I had to fix it before she returned.
I rushed back, keys jingling in my hand, heart pounding as I unlocked the door. The apartment smelled faintly of dust and old air. I set my bag down, rolled up my sleeves, and started tidying. Dishes washed, counters wiped, clothes folded, everything dusted and organized. The apartment felt… alive again, slowly, as though preparing itself for her presence.
When the surfaces were clean and the living room looked welcoming, I finally made my way to the bedroom closet. I pulled out a few of her clothes, thinking about what would be comfortable for her first day back home—soft sweaters, sweatpants, anything that would let her feel safe.
And then my hand froze.
Tucked behind her neatly folded shirts, in Y/N’s side of the closet, was a small black ring box. My heart slammed against my ribs, a jolt of something I couldn’t name rushing through me. I picked it up with trembling hands, turning it over again and again, the weight of the metal and velvet heavier than anything I’d ever held.
It hit me slowly, painfully—Y/N had been planning to propose. She… she was going to ask me to spend the rest of my life with her. My throat constricted, tears spilling down my face uncontrollably. How could I have been so cruel, so stupid, so blind? How could I have said she was just a replacement for Vision, when she had been my person all along?
I sank to the floor, clutching the box to my chest, sobbing like I hadn’t in years. “I—oh, detka,” I whispered, voice breaking, “you were always mine. You’ve always been mine.”
The guilt, the shame, the raw, unbearable love—all collided in one painful knot in my chest. I had hurt her when she had done nothing but love me, waited for me, stayed by me. And now, faced with this quiet, beautiful proof of her devotion, I felt both the agony of my past mistakes and the overwhelming desire to make it right.
I pressed my forehead to the box, whispering through my tears, “I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve you. You’re not a replacement. You’re *my person*, and I’ve been too blind to see it.”
The thought of her coming home, of her smiling even a little, gave me a fragile thread of hope. I tucked the box carefully back into her side of the closet, my fingers lingering on it, vowing silently that I would spend the rest of my life proving to her how much she meant to me—and that I would never, ever doubt her love again.
---
The moment the hospital released her, I felt like the air had been lifted from my lungs and replaced with something unbearably precious. I sat in the car, hands gripping the wheel so tightly I could feel the skin blanch, staring at the passenger seat where she lay bundled in a blanket, fragile and pale but alive.
“Almost home, detka,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Almost home.”
Her eyes flickered open briefly, trying to focus on me. She gave the faintest ghost of a smile. “Home… sounds… good.”
I couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill again. “You’re going to be safe. I’ll make sure of it. Every second,” I said, squeezing her hand gently.
When we arrived, I helped her out of the car, supporting her weight as she took unsteady steps through the doorway. The apartment smelled faintly of the cleaning I’d done, the familiar scent of home laced with lavender from the small diffuser I’d turned on.
I guided her to the bedroom first, helping her sit on the edge of the bed. “Rest here for a minute, detka. I’ll bring you some water and snacks.”
But even as she sank into the pillows, I knew she wasn’t strong enough to do anything herself. Bathing, changing clothes, even sitting up—everything needed me. I undressed her gently, speaking softly all the while.
“Just relax. I’ve got you,” I whispered, brushing damp hair from her forehead. I drew the bath slowly, checking the temperature with care, then helped her in, supporting her back, her shoulders, her head. Every sigh she let out felt like it cut straight through me.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered faintly, voice rough.
I shook my head, pressing my lips briefly to her temple. “I want to. Every little thing. I’m here, detka. You’re not alone.”
For the first time, she let herself sink into the warm water, leaning against me as I washed her hair with careful, deliberate movements, whispering encouragements and soft reassurances. “It’s okay… you’re okay… just breathe… you’re safe.”
After the bath, I wrapped her in a towel and helped her into fresh clothes, the ones I had packed from her side of the closet. Every movement was careful, deliberate—I couldn’t bear to see her uncomfortable or in pain.
We spent the rest of the evening slowly moving through the small routines: water, medicine, helping her sit in the living room, brushing her hair back. I barely left her side, not for a moment. I whispered every time I touched her, every time I tucked a blanket around her, every time I brushed a stray hair from her face: “I’m here. I won’t leave. You’re safe. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
And though she didn’t say the words, her hand in mine, her weak but steady gaze, told me she was beginning—slowly—to believe it.
---
The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt almost sacred after the chaos of the hospital. I helped Y/N settle into the bedroom, propping pillows behind her so she could sit comfortably. Her body was still weak, trembling with fatigue, but the relief in her eyes when she looked around—the smell of lavender, the tidy counters, the familiar softness of the blankets—made my chest ache.
I stayed close, brushing her hair back, helping her sip water, whispering reminders for the medicine. Every touch, every movement, I made sure it was gentle, deliberate. “I’m right here, detka. I’m not leaving you,” I murmured again, as I had countless times over the past days.
When it was finally time for her to rest, I helped her lie down fully, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. She shifted slightly, giving me that faint, weary smile that still carried doubt, still carried the weight of the things I’d said before.
“You’re… sure you don’t need to leave?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Never,” I replied, my forehead resting against hers for a long, quiet moment. “I’ll stay right here. Always.”
As Wanda just lay beside Y/N and brush her hair, Y/N lift her hand and cup Wanda’s cheek.
I froze for a moment, heart clenching at the faint pressure of her hand against my cheek. Her touch was gentle, tentative, but filled with a sincerity that made my chest tighten so painfully I thought I might cry again.
“Thank you for helping me,” she whispered, voice soft and fragile, carrying that faint vulnerability she rarely let anyone see.
I pressed my lips lightly to her palm, tears threatening to spill despite my efforts to stay composed. “You don’t have to thank me, detka. I’m here because I want to be. Because I can’t… I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
Her eyes lingered on me, half-lidded with exhaustion but still shimmering with that quiet, cautious trust. I brushed a strand of hair back from her temple, letting my fingers trail along her jaw, memorizing the softness of her skin.
“You mean it,” she murmured, almost a question, almost afraid to believe it.
“I do,” I whispered fiercely, leaning closer until my forehead rested gently against hers. “Every word. I’ve always meant it. Always. You’re not a replacement for anyone, Y/N. You’re… everything to me. My person.”
She gave a faint squeeze of my hand, pressing her palm against my cheek again for a heartbeat before letting it fall to the blanket. Her gaze softened, a fragile warmth beginning to seep in.
I stayed there, brushing her hair back slowly, humming the soft, low tune I used to sing when she couldn’t sleep, letting the quiet fill the room with a sense of safety. The apartment was still, sacred, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe she was truly back. Truly here with me.
And in that quiet, shared space, I vowed silently to spend every moment proving to her that I would never let her doubt it again.
---
The days stretched slowly, filled with quiet routines that felt sacred in their own way. Y/N’s body was fragile, every movement cautious, every breath measured. And I was there for every single one, just as she had always been there for me.
Even after the doctors removed her stitches, I didn’t let her lift anything heavier than a water glass. I guided her through small tasks, held her while she stretched, helped her sit or stand, and made sure she rested more than she tried to move.
“Detka, let me do that,” I’d say, gently taking her hand away from a towel or a plate. “You don’t need to strain yourself.”
She would smile, faint and appreciative, but there was always a flicker of frustration in her eyes. “I can manage—”
“No,” I interrupted softly but firmly, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “Not yet. I’ve got you. Always.”
I stayed with her every moment I could, reading to her when her energy dipped, brushing her hair, holding her hand while she tried to sit up, making sure she drank water and took her medicine on time. I learned the rhythm of her breathing, the little movements that indicated she needed help, and the moments she simply wanted to be left in quiet with me beside her.
There were nights when she dozed in my arms, and I just lay there, tracing the lines of her face with my fingers, memorizing her all over again. The guilt from the fight, from the words I had said about her being a replacement for Vision, pressed on me like a weight I could not shake. Every time she shifted in her sleep, I whispered apologies I couldn’t say enough: “I’m sorry, detka… I don’t deserve you… I love you.”
And slowly, day by day, she began to regain strength. She could stand a little longer, reach for small things on her own, and even smile more freely. But I never stopped being there, watching over her, protecting her, proving with each quiet gesture that she was my person—not a replacement, not a shadow.
Finally, when she laughed at something silly I said while adjusting her pillows, I let myself relax a fraction, a small, careful smile on my face. She was back—she was safe—and I would never let her feel anything less than loved again.
---
Then one day as Wanda was cooking. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, mingling with the faint lavender from the diffuser in the living room. I was carefully chopping vegetables, glancing occasionally at the pan sizzling on the stove, when I felt her presence behind me.
“Detka, sit—” I started, about to tell her to go rest, but before I could finish, I felt the soft, insistent pressure of her hands on my waist. She pulled me toward her slowly, deliberately, and my knife clattered softly onto the counter.
Her eyes were wide, intense, searching mine with a fire I hadn’t seen since before the accident—bold, unguarded, and utterly hers. My chest tightened.
Then her lips found mine, pressing softly at first, almost shyly. But within moments, she deepened the kiss, tilting her head, parting her lips, and I responded instinctively, my hands cupping her face, pulling her impossibly close. The heat between us built in a rush—her arms winding around my neck, pressing her body flush against mine, her small moans vibrating against my lips.
I could feel her pressing harder, her urgency mixing with a tenderness that made my heart ache. Her fingers dug into my shoulders as she shifted her weight, and then, suddenly, with a quiet grunt of effort, she lifted me slightly onto the edge of the kitchen island.
“I—ugh—” she groaned softly, wincing in pain, and I froze, my hands steadying her. “Y/N… wait, you’re still hurt—”
“I don’t care,” she murmured against my lips, breathing ragged, eyes half-lidded with want and determination.
Her breath ghosted hot across my lips, the stubborn fire in her eyes sparking even through the haze of pain. She kissed me again, deeper this time, as if to prove her point—that nothing, not stitches or scars or bruises, could keep her from me.
My hands trembled where they rested on her shoulders, torn between pulling her closer and pushing her back down to safety. “Y/N…” I whispered, my voice breaking as her mouth claimed mine again. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Then let me,” she whispered into the kiss, her tongue brushing mine, the plea in her voice raw. “Just… let me feel alive again. With you.”
That undid me. Every wall I had built, every ounce of restraint I’d been holding onto since her accident, crumbled. I kissed her back with everything inside me—months of fear, weeks of exhaustion, years of love I’d never spoken spilling into the press of my lips, the way my hands framed her jaw, the way I leaned into her as though she was air and I had been suffocating.
She groaned into me, her hands sliding down my back, pulling me closer, harder. My legs wrapped instinctively around her hips. Her body trembled against mine, every kiss threaded with desperation and pain, but she still held me like I was the only thing tethering her to this world. Her lips broke from mine just long enough to whisper hoarsely, “I love you, Wanda.”
The words burned through me, fierce and raw. Her forehead pressed to mine, breath unsteady. “I don’t care if you ever really love me back. I don’t care if I’m not enough for you. Because I love you. I always have. There’s no other woman for me.”
My heart split open, shattering at the quiet devastation in her voice.
She swallowed hard, her hands shaking as they held me. “These months—seeing you take care of me, holding me, staying even when I was weak—it only proved it. It made me see… there’s no one else I want. It’s only you, Wanda. Always you.”
I froze, her words crashing into me like a wave, drowning me in equal parts love and guilt. My lips trembled as I kissed her again, not to silence her but to hold her words on my tongue, to feel them sear into my skin.
“I don’t deserve that,” I whispered against her mouth, tears sliding down my face. “But God, detka… I want it. I want you.”
Her lips parted on a shaky breath, her eyes glistening as they searched mine. “You don’t get it,” I whispered, my voice breaking as my hands framed her face. “I do love you, Y/N.”
Her body stilled against me, as though she didn’t quite believe she’d heard me right. My tears slipped freely, dripping onto her skin as I pressed my forehead to hers. “I’ve loved you since college,” I confessed, my voice raw, unguarded. “Even when I chose the wrong path, even when I ran back to Vision out of fear—I still loved you. I was terrified of losing you if we didn’t work, and in the end, I almost lost you anyway.”
Her breathing hitched, eyes wide, lips trembling.
I kissed her again—slow, desperate, full of the years I’d wasted holding back. “You were never a replacement. You were always the one. My person. My home.” My hands slid down to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart under my palms. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much it scares me.”
Her tears broke then, spilling as she clung to me like I was salvation. “Say it again,” she begged, her voice shaking.
“I love you,” I breathed against her lips, kissing her through the words. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Every repetition of I love you poured out of me like I’d been holding it back for years, and when her sobs broke, I kissed them away, frantic, desperate.
Our lips crashed together again, harder this time—needy, messy, full of heat. She clung to me like she’d drown without me, and I pressed back with the same desperation. My hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, closer, as though I could press my love into her through sheer force.
Her hands roamed, trembling but insistent, clutching at my shirt, at my back, at anything to keep me tethered. Her moan vibrated into my mouth, a sound that made my knees weak, and before I could stop her, she hooked her arms under me and lifted.
“Y/N—no!” I gasped, pulling back just enough to look at her strained face. “You’re not healed—”
She cut me off with another kiss, groaning into my mouth as though the pain was nothing compared to the need driving her. “I don’t care,” she breathed, her words ragged, eyes dark and blazing. “I need you. I can’t wait anymore, Wanda.”
I tried to protest, my hands pressing to her chest, but she carried me through the apartment anyway, step by step, her breath hitching with every movement. I kissed her, trying to ease the strain, trying to stop her and yet unable to resist her—because I needed her just as badly.
When my back finally hit the mattress, her body hovering above mine, I cupped her face in my hands, my own tears blurring her features. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” I whispered, but my legs were already wrapping around her waist, pulling her down to me.
Her forehead dropped to mine, her breath shuddering. “Then let me hurt, Wanda. Just… let me love you.”
I broke then, completely. My lips found hers again, slow at first, then hungrier, deeper. Clothes fell away in rushed movements, skin pressed to skin, every touch igniting something electric, something I’d buried for years.
She moved with both urgency and reverence, her hands mapping me as if rediscovering sacred ground. I whispered her name over and over, clinging to her, my protests drowned out by the fire consuming us both.
And when she finally slid into me, her face twisted in both pain and relief, I held her close, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I love you,” I gasped, nails digging into her back. “I love you, detka. Don’t ever leave me.”
Her groan was broken, guttural, her lips capturing mine again as we lost ourselves to each other completely—two souls colliding, healing, burning, breaking, and mending all at once.
For the first time since everything shattered, it didn’t feel like grief or guilt.
It felt like home.
---
A Year Later
No one's POV
The church bells tolled again, but this time they weren’t mourning. They were singing.
The courtyard was alive with laughter, the air sweet with roses and jasmine. White ribbons fluttered in the breeze, tied carefully to each pew, and soft sunlight spilled through stained-glass windows, scattering colors across Wanda’s veil.
Y/N stood at the altar, her hands trembling despite the calm smile she tried to wear. Her heart pounded so loudly she swore everyone could hear it. A year ago, she’d carried Wanda, fragile and bruised, to bed, terrified of losing her. Today, she would carry her again—this time across the threshold of a new life together.
The doors opened.
Every breath left Y/N’s body. Wanda stepped forward slowly, her arm linked with Clint’s as he walked her down the aisle. Her dress was simple but perfect, silk that caught the light, a veil that framed her face like something holy. But it wasn’t the dress, or the veil, or the flowers that made Y/N’s eyes sting—it was the look in Wanda’s eyes. Pure love. No fear. No hesitation.
Her lips curved in the smallest, trembling smile, the one she saved only for Y/N.
When she reached the altar, Clint kissed her cheek, whispered something only for her, and placed her hand in Y/N’s. Y/N’s fingers shook as they closed around hers, grounding, needing, reverent.
“You look…” Y/N’s voice cracked. “You look like every dream I’ve ever had.”
Wanda squeezed her hand, tears gathering in her lashes. “And you look like the answer to every prayer I’ve ever whispered.”
The ceremony blurred after that—words spoken, rings exchanged, promises made in front of the world. But when the officiant finally said, “You may kiss your bride,” everything stilled.
Y/N cupped Wanda’s face like she had a thousand times before, but this kiss was different. It wasn’t desperate or afraid. It wasn’t weighted with guilt or grief. It was light, infinite, sacred—sealed with the kind of forever they’d both thought they’d never get.
The crowd erupted in cheers, but Y/N barely heard it. Wanda was in her arms, her lips on hers, her laughter trembling against her mouth, and for the first time in years, both of them believed in happiness again.
---
The reception hall glowed with golden light. Candles flickered on every table, their flames mirrored in glasses of champagne. Fairy lights strung across the ceiling sparkled like stars, and the soft hum of a string quartet filled the air.
Wanda had insisted on keeping it intimate—no grand spectacle, just the people who had become their family. The long tables were crowded with friends, laughter spilling louder with every toast, every clink of glass.
Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off Wanda. Her wife. Even the word made her dizzy. Wanda was radiant, cheeks flushed, veil traded for a crown of wildflowers that Clint had awkwardly, lovingly woven together that morning.
When the music shifted, Y/N rose and offered her hand. “Dance with me, my love?”
Wanda’s eyes sparkled. “Always.”
They moved together to the center of the floor, the world falling quiet as the first notes of their song began. Y/N’s hand found Wanda’s waist, gentle, steady, while Wanda’s arms looped around her neck. They swayed, slow and easy, forehead to forehead. Neither of them cared about the watching eyes; the only thing that mattered was that they had made it here—through war, grief, fire, and blood—to this.
“I thought I’d never get this,” Wanda whispered against her lips.
“You’ll always have me,” Y/N promised, her voice thick with emotion. “Even if the world falls apart again.”
Applause erupted as the song ended, but Y/N only grinned, stealing another kiss that made Wanda laugh into her mouth.
Later came the toasts. Clint stood awkwardly with a glass of whiskey, clearing his throat. “I’m not much for speeches,” he started, earning a ripple of chuckles. His eyes softened as he glanced at Wanda. “But I’ve watched her lose more than anyone ever should. And I’ve watched Y/N love her through it. That kind of love—the stubborn, immovable kind—that’s what saves people. That’s what makes life worth it.” He raised his glass. “To Wanda and Y/N. May you keep saving each other.”
Natasha’s toast followed, dry and teasing, but ending with a smile so rare it brought tears to Wanda’s eyes. Sam cracked jokes, Steve stumbled through something earnest and heartfelt, Wanda was clutching Y/N’s hand to her chest all the way through it.
Dinner flowed into laughter, dancing, clinking glasses. At one point, Wanda stole Y/N away from the crowd, dragging her outside under the string lights. They stood there, away from the noise, hands intertwined, breaths mingling in the cool night air.
“Do you hear that?” Wanda asked softly.
“Hear what?”
“The quiet,” she whispered, resting her head on Y/N’s chest. “For once, it’s just us.”
Y/N held her tighter, kissing her hair. “It’s always just us, detka.”
Inside, the music swelled, calling them back to the party. But for that moment, under the stars and lights, they stood still—two souls who had finally found their way home.
---
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the echoes of laughter, music, and clinking glasses still spilling from the reception hall. For the first time all day, there was quiet. Just the soft hum of the night outside and the heavy thrum of Y/N’s heart.
Wanda leaned back against the door, her cheeks still flushed from dancing, her wildflower crown slightly askew in her mussed hair. The silk of her gown shimmered faintly in the dim light, but what stole Y/N’s breath was the way Wanda looked at her—soft, unwavering, as if she were standing at the edge of something sacred.
Y/N stepped closer, her fingers twitching as if asking permission. “My wife,” she whispered, the word foreign and yet so natural it made her throat tighten.
Wanda’s lips curved, slow and trembling, her eyes glistening. “Say it again.”
Y/N leaned in, her forehead brushing against Wanda’s. “My wife. Mine. Forever.”
Her hands slid to Wanda’s waist, gathering the silk fabric, drawing her closer until there was no space left. Their mouths met in a kiss that was both tender and starving—months and years of fear, grief, and longing burning away into nothing but need. Wanda sighed against her, opening for her as she had that night a year ago, but this time without hesitation, without guilt. Just love.
Wanda whimpered when Y/N’s hands found the zipper of her gown. “Careful,” she teased breathlessly, though her body arched into Y/N’s touch. “It took three people to get me into this dress.”
“Then it’ll only take one to get you out,” Y/N murmured against her lips, earning a laugh that melted into another desperate kiss.
The gown slipped to the floor with a whisper, leaving Wanda in lace and trembling under Y/N’s gaze. “God, Wanda,” Y/N breathed, drinking her in, her chest tightening at the sight of the band of gold glittering on her finger. “You’re… you’re everything.”
Wanda reached for her then, tugging impatiently at the buttons of Y/N’s tux, her voice breaking as her hands slid beneath the fabric to touch bare skin. “And you,” she whispered, urgent, reverent, “you’re mine.”
A groan tore from Y/N’s chest as she swept Wanda up into her arms, carrying her across the room the same way she had a year ago—only this time there was no protest, no fear she might fall apart. Wanda clung to her, her mouth hot and needy against Y/N’s throat, soft moans spilling between kisses until they tumbled onto the bed together.
They made love slowly at first, reverent touches mapping every scar, every curve, every place grief had once hollowed and love had healed. Their rings caught the golden lamplight, glinting each time their hands found one another’s. The night became a symphony of whispered vows and breathless gasps, of Wanda crying Y/N’s name and Y/N whispering hers back like a prayer.
And when at last they stilled, tangled in sheets and sweat and laughter, Wanda pressed her lips to Y/N’s chest, right over her heart.
“My wife,” she murmured, drowsy but certain. “Always.”
Y/N kissed her hair, holding her closer than she ever thought possible. “Always,” she echoed.
For the first time in years, there was no fear clawing at the edges of their joy, no shadows threatening to steal what they had built. There was only love—quiet, steady, unshakable.
The world had taken so much from Wanda, but it had not taken this. Not Y/N. Not them.
And in the soft dark of their wedding night, Y/N and Wanda finally let themselves believe in forever.
SUMMARY: In the midst of her own self-doubt, Natasha says something hurtful to attempt to drive you away from her. She nearly succeeds, but is quick to realise her mistakes. You help her express all of things that she had meant to say.
WARNINGS: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nat is slightly mean to reader for a second, self-doubt/self-hatred from Nat, mentions of arguments.
NAVIGATION | MCU MASTERLIST | KO-FI
There were a hundred ways that the argument could’ve gone. You could’ve walked out. She could’ve followed. One of you could’ve said nothing at all. But that’s never how it worked between you and Natasha.
She’d always been the kind of person who cracked open in silence and stitched herself together in noise.
So, when she said it, when she said the thing that shattered the air between you, it wasn’t even loud. Just sharp. Final.
“Maybe I should’ve left when I had the chance.”
You had been standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing two chipped mugs, lukewarm tea curling down the drain. The window in front of you was open, summer bleeding through the screen in slow, golden waves. You could still hear the ice cream truck four blocks over. The faintest sound of children laughing.
And then she said it. Just like that. And the world stopped turning.
It had been about something small, something dumb. Who had forgotten to close the balcony door. Whether you'd told her about a mission detail or not. It didn’t matter now. Not when her voice still rang in your ears like a final judgment.
You turned to her slowly, eyes unreadable, face composed like she taught you. You didn’t yell. Didn’t even frown. You just nodded once, let the words settle.
“Okay,” you said, almost gently. “Then maybe you should go.”
Natasha’s face twisted instantly, pain blooming behind her eyes like smoke, but you were already brushing past her, stepping over the threshold of whatever you used to be.
The apartment felt too quiet after that.
Natasha stood alone in the kitchen, the faint clink of ceramic echoing in the sink. Her knuckles were white against the counter. She wasn’t even breathing. She hadn’t meant it. God, she hadn’t meant it.
It wasn’t even about you. Not really. It was about her, the parts of her that still believed she wasn’t worth staying for. The way her past still tugged at her in the dead of night, whispering that she could only ever be a weapon, not someone to love.
But that didn’t matter. Because she’d said it. She’d said it like it was something true. And the look on your face wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even betrayal.
It was heartbreak. Quiet. Clean. Like you’d expected it, deep down. And that hurt more than anything else.
You didn’t go far. You never did. You ended up walking aimlessly around the block twice, hands shoved in your jacket, ignoring the way your stomach twisted. The sun had begun to set by the time you found yourself perched on a bench outside the bodega. The one she liked. The one where the cashier knew your names and always snuck you extra packs of gum.
You weren’t crying. Not really. Just blinking too hard. Holding yourself too still.
Maybe it wasn’t about the sentence itself. Maybe it was about how easy it had come out. Like she’d already thought it a thousand times. Like she'd been waiting for the chance to say it aloud.
Or maybe that was just you spiraling. Because if you were honest, you hadn’t been fine lately. Not really. Too many missions. Not enough time. Not enough sleep. You’d been going through the motions, chopping vegetables, folding laundry, kissing her cheek on autopilot, but it had felt like there was a sheet of glass between you both. Something unspoken that neither of you wanted to crack.
Until she cracked it. With one sentence.
You leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching a woman walk her dog down the street. She looked like Natasha, in the way people who don’t look like Natasha sometimes do, when they’re tall, guarded, and walking fast. You stared until they turned the corner, your breath coming out slow.
You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do now. You weren’t even sure if she’d be there when you went back.
But you knew one thing. If she was, she’d have to say it again. Softer this time. And she'd have to mean it.
Natasha didn’t move. She sat on the floor of the kitchen for twenty-four minutes after you left. Not crying, just still. Her thoughts looping back, retracing every word, every look, every second leading up to the moment she ruined everything.
She didn’t remember when she’d started sabotaging good things before they had the chance to leave her. She just knew it was her oldest reflex. Her worst habit. Like an old injury that never healed right.
But you weren’t like the others. You stayed. Again and again and again. You met her quiet with quiet. Her rage with stillness. Her cold with warmth. You didn’t try to fix her, you just kept showing up. Making her tea. Wrapping your arms around her in the dark when she couldn’t sleep. Whispering ‘I’m here’ when she didn’t believe it.
And she said that to you. Natasha ran a hand down her face. “Idiot,” she muttered. And then she got up.
You heard her before you saw her. The telltale sound of soft boots on concrete. Controlled steps. No rush. But no hesitation, either.
You didn’t look up right away. Just watched her approach through your peripheral vision as she slowed near the bench.
She didn’t sit. Not yet. She just stood in front of you, uncertain.
“I didn’t mean it,” she said quietly.
You nodded once. “I know.”
A pause. She shifted her weight, face unreadable in the amber glow of the streetlight. “I said it to hurt you.”
You met her eyes. “You did.”
She winced. “I’m sorry.”
There was another long beat of silence. Finally, you patted the bench beside you. “Sit with me.”
Natasha did. Cautiously. Like she wasn’t sure she deserved it. You were quiet together for a moment, just the sound of traffic humming in the background, the sky darkening above you. You didn’t touch. Not yet. Just breathed.
“I don’t think I ever learned how to be loved,” she admitted after a while. Her voice was low, barely audible. “So when it starts to feel like I am, I sabotage it. Before it can leave.”
You looked at her, and she looked like someone unraveling. Carefully. Deliberately.
“I’ve never wanted to stay anywhere,” she continued. “Not until you.”
You let out a soft breath.
“And I’m terrified,” she said. “Because I don’t know how to do this. How to be this. With someone like you. Who’s patient. Who sees me. Who waits even when I’m saying the wrong thing.”
You didn’t answer right away. You let her words sit. Let her feel the way you weren’t running. Finally, you reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against hers. She took your hand.
“You don’t have to know how to be loved,” you said softly. “You just have to let yourself be.”
Natasha looked like she was going to cry, and for once, she didn’t hide it. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I just don’t want to mess it up.”
“You already did,” you said, and the faintest smile tugged at your lips. “But I’m still here.”
That cracked something open in her. You watched her eyes shift, to sadness, then disbelief, then something like hope.
“You’re still here,” she echoed.
You nodded. “I will be. As long as you meet me halfway.”
She didn’t answer with words. She just leaned into you, forehead against your shoulder, arms winding around your waist. And you held her. You held her like she wasn’t a spy, or a soldier, or a broken thing with too many sharp edges. You held her like a person.
A person who hurt you. A person who regretted it. A person you still loved.
Later, when you both got home, quiet steps echoing through the hallway, you made tea. You didn’t speak. She just watched you pour hers and add honey, like you always did. And when you set the cup down in front of her, she reached out and took your hand again, steady this time.
“I’ll get better at this,” she said.
You smiled. “You already are.”
She looked down at your intertwined fingers, then back up at you. “I don’t want to be the person who says things like that,” she murmured.
“Then don’t,” you said gently. “Say something else next time.”
She hesitated. “Like what?”
You brushed a hand over her cheek, thumb grazing the place her sadness lived. “Say, ‘I’m scared,’” you said. “Say, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’ Say, ‘Please don’t go.’ Just don’t push me away and call it love.”
She swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Okay,” you echoed, softer.
And then she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Please don’t go.”
“I won’t.”
That night, you fell asleep with her arms wrapped tightly around you, like she was anchoring herself to the only thing she trusted not to drift.
She didn’t speak again, not with words, but her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, and her breath evened out only when you reached back to hold her tighter.
She’d said something hurtful. Something sharp and cruel and unfair.
But she came back. And she said something better. And that mattered more.
Writer POV: fighting the urge to start a new series when you know everyone is waiting for updates to all the works that are currently ongoing, but the inspiration is just not there so you end up writing nothing
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
can you write billiexdeliaxwilhemina (love your stories) with reader suffering from bad panic attacks?
Billie Dean Howard x Wilhemina Venable x Cordelia Goode x Reader- Breathe sweetheart
A/N: again I have no idea what happened here. I got carried away by writing about their chemistry and Billie and Mina roasting each other so. Again tried to proofread this a few times but it's too long. I'm sorry for any mistakes
The anticipation had been building up all day, it was Saturday which meant date night. It eventually became your routine, the four of you deciding to clear your schedules to spend the day in the company of each other. This week it was Billie's turn to decide and she had booked a table somewhere, deciding on a nice dinner together. Cordelia was usually the one opting for dinner, whether home cooked meals or going somewhere. Billie often chose fun things like karaoke bars, while Wilhemina and you opted for things inside of the walls of your home, board game nights or movie marathons.
The last few hours you spent planning your outfit, showering, applying just a little but the right amount of makeup. As you perfect little bits of your makeup, you feel a rush of excitement as you look forward to the fun evening ahead. ,,You look beautiful darling'' Delia told you as she brushed past you after you finished in the shower, despite wearing nothing but a towel around your body and head. ,,Exactly my point'' she whispered and you simply chuckled.
,,I like that colour on you little one'' Mina admitted, as she fetched something, slipping into the room and seeing the lilac underwear you chose. As you finish, you make your way down the staircase, eventually finding your three girlfriends in the living room. You take in their features, Billie wearing a silk blouse, skirt, her signature pearl necklace and some heels finishing her look. As you glance at Cordelia, she chose a long flowery dark dress, complimenting her beautiful features. Smiling softly, your eyes at last meet Wilhemina's opting for a lilac set and you couldn't adore her more for how predictable the choice was.
,,You look beautiful sweetheart'' Cordelia tells as she approaches you, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek. Wilhemina can't help but smirk, not being able to focus on your outfit much as the only thing on her mind was the purple underwear and thinking about all the things she was going to do about that later that night. As Billie grabs her keys, complementing your looks, you all groan a little, not pleased the medium was going to drive. ,,You may as well cancel the reservation Howard, driving with you is going to get us all killed before we get there'' Wilhemina remarks and you can't help but burst out laughing. Billie simply rolls her eyes and shoots you a little glance before dragging the three of you out of the house.
It was true, Billie was somewhat a reckless driver, safe of course but the three of you often joked about her driving getting you all injured. Delia was the safest driver you had ever met and so damn slow, as a result you liked driving with Wilhemina, she wasn't exactly calm and knowing to road rage but she always drove safe and carefully, without going under or over the speed limit. Settling into the backseat, Wilhemina taking a seat next to Billie due to her back, you find Delia sitting next to you.
,,How are you feeling baby?'' she whispers into your ear while planting kisses down your face. ,,I'm good, excited'' you squeal a little and for the remainder of the short drive, she holds your hand, enjoying the quiet and little moments with you.
After a little while you make it there and after five attempts Billie finally found a parking spot, refusing to parallel park to the point where Wilhemina was going to make her get out of the car and do it herself and Cordelia even offering to use her magic to help out the medium a little. Delia and you chuckle as you walk towards the entrance, watching Billie and Mina jokingly fight about the redhead driving back home and the medium refusing.
As Billie walks inside, letting the hostess know about the reservation, you take in the setting and atmosphere. It was definitely high end but in a casual way. You liked the artwork on the walls, the chandeliers and the smell definitely clouded your mind for a second. ,,Sweetie, you coming?'' Delia asks, chuckling at you being a little distracted before you quickly follow after her.
After sitting down next to Wilhemina, your other two lovers across from you, the ambiance fills with lively chatter. Billie opts for wine which the three of you agree to. The conversations quiets down for a moment as you all inspect the menu. ,,Found something little one?'' Wilhemina asks gently and you nod and smile, finding her brown eyes meeting yours.
After a little while the aroma of the delicious food hits your taste buds and you can't help but let out a little moan of approval. ,,That good hm?'' Billie teases, causing for your cheeks to grow red a little. As you listen to your three girlfriends talk about the week prior, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. The prospect of spending quality time with your loved ones fills you with warmth and happiness.
You listen intently to the supreme talking about the academy, how well most of the girls are doing, some council things. Billie rambling about her show and some fashion designer launch she was very excited for. Mina was usually more quiet, not sharing things about her work or days unless asked to. But Cordelia knowing this by now, makes sure to include her and you in the conversations.
As the meal progresses, a sense of unease begins to creep in, a gnawing sensation in the pit of your stomach that refused to be ignored. You try to push it down, hiding your trembling hands underneath the table, ignoring the banging of your heart against your chest. Trying hard to push it aside, you try to focus on the conversation and laughter flowing around you, but the feeling only seems to grow stronger with each passing moment.
And then, without warning, it hit you like a fright train, a tidal wave of panic crashing over you with such force that you feel as though you are growing in it's wake. The room starts spinning, your legs shaking and your head keeps telling you ,,You are going to faint''. Your heart continues to race, your breathing coming in short, shallow gasps as you struggle to hold onto reality.
Your gaze lingers on Billie and Cordelia laughing and talking softly, however it doesn't help. ,,Breathe'' you think to yourself, this feeling definitely not being a stranger and trying your best to think back to your methods. However all you wanted to do was run away, get up and run somewhere, escaping the situation and how you are feeling in this moment. Not wanting to spoil dinner, you try to open your mouth to excuse yourself to the bathroom but no words come out. Clutching your hands together, fiddling with your rings, in an attempt to make this go away.
However it was no use and your girlfriends aren't oblivious. Delia, Billie and Mina notice the sudden shift in your demeanour, their expressions shifting from lighthearted to concerned in an instant.
,,Are you okay?'' Delia asks, her voice filled with worry as she reaches out to touch your hands
But you can't bring yourself to answer, the panic gripping you in its vice-like grip, squeezing the air from your lungs and leaving you slightly gasping for your breath. You try to push through it, force yourself to calm down but the harder you fought, the more intense the panic becomes.
Unable to reach your hand, Cordelia meets Wilhemina's gaze sitting next to you and suddenly you feel her hand taking your own, gasping a little bit. ,,Little one, you are trembling'' she states, looking at Billie and Cordelia unsure what to do or say.
Cordelia's mind tries to take her back to anything she had missed, anything she is currently missing and then it dawns on her. You had mentioned this before, your panic attacks years ago before meeting them and how they got better. She connects the dots after seeing your pale and slightly panicked expression, the trembling hands and legs shacking underneath the table. As your chest heaves a little she leans forward ,,Sweetheart breathe'' she instructs and as you meet her gaze she figures you need to get out of this situation.
,,Come on, let's get some fresh air'' she instructs, leaning down to Wilhemina and Billie before whispering ,,It's okay, I think its a panic attack'' she explains, worry overwashing the medium and redheads expressions.
,,Can you walk?'' Cordelia asks softly as you brush past Wilhemina with shaky legs. You simply nod, despite your legs still feeling wobbly. She takes your hand into her own, holding it tightly before leading you outside. As the cold air hits your features you feel calm for a moment as you lean against the wall of the building.
,,Sweetheart, are you okay?'' she asks, moving closer and searching your eyes. As your eyes meet her own it's enough of an explanation for her to know you aren't in fact okay. She takes your hands into her own, guiding you through your breathing. ,,Alright sweetie, breathe with me.. in .. and hold... and ...out'' she instructs over and over again until your breathing calms down, heart beating less angrily against your chest.
As you finally meet her eyes, feeling as if the daze has lifted, you quickly open your mouth, aware of your surroundings and what happened. ,,I'm so sorry'' you apologise, meeting Cordelia's confused expression. ,,Sweetheart, you have no need to be sorry'' she explains softly, her features still laced with concern.
,,Do you want me to take you home?'' she asks but you are quick to shake your head in protest. ,,No I'm good to go back in'' you reassure and her eyes meet yours with a bit of doubt but she agrees, pulling you into a little hug whispering ,,I'm so proud of you'' and guiding you back inside, holding onto your hand.
As you make it back to your table, Billie's and Wilhemina's worried expressions meet you as both of you take your seats again. ,,Are you okay little one?'' Wilhemina asks quietly as she reaches out her hand, noticing your hands aren't trembling nearly as much. ,,Yes I'm okay now, I'm really sorry'' you apologise again.
,,Don't be sorry babydoll'' Billie coos, tilting her head a little as she smiles at you. ,,Do you want me to get the check?'' she asks but you shake your head, noticing they aren't even half way through their meals yet. Cordelia opens her mouth to protest but you take her hand reassuring her it's okay.
As the four of you finish your meals, the three of them a little more aware now, including you in the conversation more and overall checking on your state, you slowly feel the effects the panic attack had on you. Still trembling a little and definitely exhausted you muster your best smile, hating to having ruined the evening already and not wanting to do so any further. Exhaustion creeps up on you a little and you try your best to blink away the sleepiness and push away the thoughts in your head, trying to figure out what caused this, after not having one of these for nearly two years.
,,Either of you want dessert?'' Billie asks after you have all finished your meals and you simply shake your head before Wilhemina takes charge, still noticing your state suggesting it was better to head home. You couldn't argue anymore and so in response you simply carry your tired feet towards Billie's car. Leaning your head against Cordelia's shoulder you are unaware of the words of comfort she whispers into them and the concerned glances exchanged between your girlfriends.
After making it home, you wake from your little slumber as you hear some shuffling in the car. Cordelia was ready to take you into her arms and carry you upstairs. However having regained some strength you didn't want to depend on her further. As Cordelia helps Wilhemina out of the car, steadying herself on her cane, you walk towards the front door, Billie following behind, occasional sniffles being heard as you try to hold back tears of frustration and embarrassment.
As you quickly make your way upstairs, the three of them follow behind, Mina's expression one of concern as she watches over you like a guardian angel. Not knowing where to put your frustration and embarrassment, you quickly make your way to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind you. As you slide against the bathtub, sitting on the floor you can't help yourself as sobs wreck through your tired body.
,,Bad bad bad'' your head keeps repeating, reminding you how you have ruined their night. The sound of your own tears was defeating, a relentless reminder of the turmoil inside you. You don't understand why this was happening again, especially after so long. You bury your face in your hands, unable to face the reality of what happened, the memories and severity of the panic attack, still fresh and replaying in your mind.
Meanwhile Cordelia and Billie make it up the stairs, their footsteps echoing in silence of the house. Wilhemina stands in the bedroom, meeting their gazes. ,,She's in the bathroom'' she softly announces, concern lacing her beautiful features. Delia and Billie exchange a worried glance before the medium walks over to the door ,,Babydoll?'' she tries but the only sound meeting her are your muffled sobs.
,,Darling can you open the door?'' Cordelia tries to call out, her voice soft and soothing. ,,We just want to make sure you are safe'' she adds. There is a moment of silence and understanding as their eyes meet, a silent nod exchanged before Cordelia flicks her wrist and unlocks the door.
As the door swings open, Delia and Billie rush to your side, their eyes drawn to you, sitting on the floor with tears streaming down your face. Without a word, they kneel down beside you, their arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace, as they hold you close. ,,What's the matter sweetie?'' the supreme asks and as you meet her eyes you mumble ,,I'm sorry for ruining the night''. The two of them shake their heads before saying ,,You haven't ruined anything'' almost at the same time.
After a little while they scoop you into their arms, their movements gentle and deliberate as they guide you to bed. Mina follows close behind, her expression concerned. Billie fetches one of her oversized t-shirts before taking your clothes off and sliding it over your tired body. Cordelia returns with a washcloth, gently wiping the makeup off your face. As the two blondes leave momentarily to fetch some water and get changed themselves in order to get into bed with you, Mina sits beside you, her hand reaching for yours as she leans in closer, her voice soft but firm as she addresses the elephant in the room.
,,We need to talk about what happened tonight'' she explains, her tone gentle but serious. The other two return just at the right time, Billie kneeling in front of the bed and Cordelia positioning herself behind you, wrapping her arms around you. ,,Darling?'' Cordelia tries and your gaze meets hers acknowledging her statement. ,,You told me once it's been two years since you've last had a panic attack'' and you simply nod in reply, too tired to talk about your past experiences. ,,I'm worried that there might be something underlying that we aren't addressing babydoll'' Billie gently adds, reaching for your hands.
Delia nods in agreement, her expression grave as she reaches out to brush a stray tear from your cheek. ,,We love you sweetie, we want to help you through this'' she explains her voice filled with compassion. ,,But we need to know what's going on so that we can support you in the best way possible'' she adds.
Billie's eyes flicker with concern as she speaks up, her voice tinged with worry. ,,Is there anything you aren't telling us babydoll? anything bothering you?'' she tries gently.
You hesitate thinking back hard to what might have triggered this tonight but you genuinely can't think of anything, thoughts of worry racing through your mind, scared it would get as bad again as it did years ago, worried this was the trigger for all of this to start again. You shake your head explaining ,,I promise I really don't know and don't understand myself, I have been a bit stressed lately but nothing unusual'' you explain.
Cordelia simply nods, and gestures to the other two you are telling the truth and to drop this for now. ,,Are you feeling sleepy sweetheart?'' she asks and you simply nod, still being in her arms. In response she pulls you back into her embrace, wrapping her arms around you and spooning you.
Wilhemina gets into bed next to you, Billie behind her as the redhead turns to face you, her brown eyes searching yours. She can see a flick of guilt and embarrassment once again. ,,What is it little one?'' she asks and as you whisper ,,I'm sorry for ruining the night, I'm sure you had other plans'' she can't help but smirk a little at your last statement, knowing exactly what you are implying.
,,Oh trust me little one, we got all day tomorrow'' she smirks, taking your lips into hers gently before you lean in closer, Cordelia's soft arms still wrapped around you protectively. Slowly but surely you doze off, the events from the night subsiding, focusing on the gentleness and warmth of the bed, keeping you comfortable and safe as you fall into a soft slumber, little noises escaping you and echoing through the dimly lit bedroom.
----
As you stir from sleep, the warmth of the morning sun casts a golden glow across the room. Before even opening your eyes you feel Wilhemina's presence. Opening your eyes, you notice it's just the two of you and as she gently smiles at you asking how you are feeling, you can't help but notice the little flicker of lust in her eyes.
Despite the evening before passing without an incident, Wilhemina couldn't get the image of your lilac lingerie out of her mind. A silent invitation that begged to be answered. And so, as the morning broke a little while ago, the rest of the house soundly asleep, Cordelia and Billie downstairs already, she finds herself drawn to you, remembering how the fabric hugged your curves in all the right places last night, igniting a fire of desire within the redhead.
As you meet her eyes, her hands gently roam over your skin, her touch gentle, yet hesitant, however as you melt into her touch she is met with a hunger that matches her own. Meeting Mina's gaze your eyes find a look of raw desire, her lips curled into a seductive smile. Without a word, she leans in close, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss that sends sparks flying through your veins.
The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and intense with each passing moment, as if the weight of all your unspoken desire hangs heavy in the air between you, long forgotten about the previous night. As her tongue enters your mouth you try to fight for dominance but it's no use as she quickly dominates you. Her hands roam your body hungrily, her touch setting your skin on fire with need.
You moan into the kiss, your fingers tangling in her hair as you pull her close, unable to get enough of the intoxicating taste of her lips against your own. With practiced skill, she strips you off the oversized t-shirt leaving you in the same lingerie set she had been dying to see you in since the previous night. ,,So beautiful'' she praises as she quickly climbs on top of you, ignoring the aching of her back for the moment.
As she leaves you gasping for air, the redhead takes in your body coated in the colour she loves most. Her eyes are filled with desire, as she trails her fingers down your stomach and to where you needed her the most. ,,Hmm'' you moan as her fingers come into contact with your drenched underwear. ,,So wet for me already'' she teases, a smirk playing on her lips.
Despite the bliss you couldn't help but notice that she was softer today. Dominating like she usually is for sure but somehow she wasn't as rough with you, you aren't sure whether this was due to you simply obeying her lately or if it was due to the events of last night. Your thoughts are interrupted when she slides two fingers into you without a warning. ,,Mina'' you moan into her, trying your best to stay quiet, not wanting to wake the coven or anyone to hear you whimpering for the redhead.
As your soft gasps fill the air, you arch into her touch, a silent plea for more as she begins edging you, her movements slow at times and then ruthless the next second. As she begins to explore the contours of your body, you feel a rush of pleasure course through you, electrifying every nerve ending and leaving you breathless. ,,Please'' you whimper as you melt into her touch, chest heaving and kisses sloppy.
,,Please what?'' she teases as she takes her fingers out, licking them clean of your juices. ,,Please Mina'' you try again, despite knowing she wasn't going to give in that easily. Her eyes sparkle with a fire before meeting yours. ,,Please what little one? use your words'' she instructs, her voice low and commanding. However you can't respond, the pure bliss of the situation, your core aching causing your words to get caught in your throat.
Without a moment's hesitation, Wilhemina's right hand tightens around your throat, a familiar sensation that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. For a split second, your eyes open wide, the same spark of panic from the previous night flashing through them.
But then, just as quickly as it happened, the panic vanishes, replaced by the fierce desire to give yourself over to the pleasure that awaited you. Wilhemina however senses your hesitation, quickly releasing her grip on you, searching your eyes for any discomfort or fear. And yet, despite the fierce flashback of panic, you find yourself craving her touch more than ever, aching for the release that only she could give you right now.
,,It's okay'' you reassure, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean in closer. ,,Please mommy, can you make me cum?'' you ask, giving her exactly what she wanted in the first place. Yet she hesitates, searching your eyes one more time for confirmation and making sure the panic was replaced by desire. ,,Please I want you so badly'' you whimper again.
And at those words she falters, brushing off her concern before entering you again and not stopping. With each passing moment, the intensity of your desire grows, threatening to consume you whole. And as her fingers find their way back to your core, you feel yourself on the edge ,,Please may I-?'' you start, whimpering with each thrust.
,,Go on little one'' she encourages with a knowing smile and with a flick of her wrist, Wilhemina sends you spiralling over the edge, your body tensing as waves of pleasure and your orgasm ripples through you. As you cry out her name, your voice slow and hushed as you surrender yourself to her completely, she simply lets you ride out your orgasm as her forehead meets yours, guiding you through it gently. ,,There you go little one, doing so well for me'' she praises.
As you catch your breath, the lingering echoes of pleasure still thrumming through your veins, the redhead licks her fingers clean with a satisfied smirk. The sight sends a shiver of arousal down your spine, your desire for her increasing by the minute.
However, as you still struggle to catch your breathe, the exhaustion creeps up on you a little. Wilhemina shifts a little, to ease the discomfort of her back, a painful reminder of the physical toll the intimacy had taken on her. As she positions herself next to you, her eyes meet yours as she searches for any signs of panic or discomfort. You meet her gaze with a soft smile, your eyes filled with warmth and affection as well as sleepiness.
,,Are you feeling okay, little one?'' she asks, as she brushes some strand hair from your sweaty face. ,,Perfect Mina'' you mumble into her as you pull yourself closer. ,,Sleepy though'' you continue, your eyes already falling shut, despite trying to blink the sleepiness away. She smiles contently before pulling you a little closer, holding you into her arms and whispering words of comfort and affection into your ears.
As the minutes stretch into nearly an hour, Wilhemina finds herself lost in the comfort of your embrace, the outside world fading away as she allows herself to simply be in the moment with you. Despite knowing she should get up and start her day, the allure of staying close to you too strong to resist, especially on a lazy weekend morning like this.
She wouldn't admit it to anyone but she missed these moments with you. Wilhemina had a feeling that in your relationship, Cordelia was mostly the person giving you comfort, Billie always showering you in gifts and attention. However Wilhemina didn't have a whole lot to offer, at least her insecurities told her that much. She had no idea the comfort and safety she gave to you, a different comfort and safety than Cordelia did. Whenever you find yourself in Cordelia's arms or her lap, you felt safe but it was enough to be in the same room as the redhead to truly feel content and happy.
But eventually, with a reluctant sigh, the redhead knows that she couldn't linger in bed forever. With a gentle kiss to your forehead, she leaves the comfort of your embrace and makes her way towards the shower. Minutes later the warm water washing away the lingering traces of sleep and sweat from her skin. As she finishes her shower and getting dressed a little while later, she is met with an unexpected sight.
Her two blonde girlfriends, standing in the bedroom, their expression a mixture of concern and amusement as you still peacefully sleep in the bed behind them.
,,And how come I wasn't invited to this blissful morning Ms Venable?'' Billie Dean teases, quickly connecting the dots after finding you naked, slightly sweaty and sleeping in the bed.
,,I don't know what you are talking about Ms Howard'' Wilhemina simply mutters, a smirk playing on her lips as she makes her way towards her armchair by the corner.
,,I hope you didn't over do it Mina, especially after last night'' Cordelia scolds, worry evident in her expression as she glances over at Wilhemina, her eyes filled with concern.
,,I did no such thing, she's fine'' Wilhemina reassures, rarely annoyed with Cordelia's antics.
And as she takes a seat, she can't help but think back to the moment before, worry etching on her features, hoping despite everything she didn't make you feel uncomfortable with her actions.
Her thoughts are interrupted as you stir from sleep, mumbling the words ,,Mina'' as you open your eyes.
,,Well hello there babydoll'' Billie smiles, making her way over to you and leaning on the bed.
,,Seems like you had fun this morning'' she teases as she takes in the sight in front of her.
Your cheeks flush a little with embarrassment as you try and reach for the blanket to cover yourself. ,,No don't hide, I want to see, pretty one'' she whines which you can't help but tilt your head and smile to.
,,Hey sweetie, how are you feeling today?'' Cordelia urges, handing you a glass of water, before you gladly take some slow sips.
,,I'm good Delia, sorry for sleeping in'' you apologise. Her soft features meet yours as she shakes her head. ,,No need to be sorry sweetheart''.
The room fills with comfortable silence for a moment as you look around, Billie still lingering on the bed, Mina sitting in her armchair, glancing at you from time to time and Delia's soft features looking at you, hiding the concern mixed underneath the shadows.
,,What do you feel like baby? maybe a shower, a nice bath, some breakfast?'' Cordelia begins. Thinking about it for a moment, you decide on a shower wanting to freshen up a little.
As Cordelia passes you some towels and some comfortable clothes, Billie's eyes follow yours. ,,How about I join you babydoll?'' she smirks and as you smile shily at the medium, Cordelia simply shakes her head a little, half disapproving, half amused way. ,,Enough Billie Dean'' she scolds before you make your way into the bathroom.
The rest of the weekend was spent in the comfortable embrace of each other. The usual really, breakfast while watching a show, Delia working a little while Billie, Mina and you spent the afternoon in the living room, a bit of reading, knitting, quiet chatter. But most of all cuddles, Billie showered you in them all day, loving to have her babydoll closely. Wilhemina's hand always lingering on you somewhere, soaking in the warmth of your presence. And eventually as the sun started setting, the four of you in the comfortable embraces of each other, falling asleep softly.
----
The following week took you all back to the normality of your lives. Billie working, stuck in meetings most of the day, the same for Wilhemina, and Cordelia attending to the academy, in between teaching classes, taking care of paperwork and her witches she cared about so deeply. You had nothing to do this week however, you decided to take time off this week, not wanting to deal with anyone or anything.
As the day stretches on, you find yourself retreating further into the comfort of your own solitude, seeking solace in the familiarity of your own thoughts and emotions. With each passing hour, the outside world seems to fade away, leaving you alone with your thoughts, the only comfort being your headphones and the soft tunes, they provided as you stay under the covers, pulling them closer, hiding further.
For some reason, your three girlfriends didn't seem to notice at first. They assumed you had been busy, working, ignoring the fact you didn't talk to them in your lunch break or send any text messages, their own responsibilities and work catching up on them. However, as Wilhemina returns home one evening, greeting Billie and Cordelia as they prepared dinner, the weight of the day's responsibilities still heavy on her shoulders, she is surprised to find you in bed, curled up under the covers. As your back faces her, she doesn't realise anything unusual at first, assuming the day at work had simply tired you out.
As she makes her way back into the kitchen, she hesitates for a moment before asking ,,How long has she been home?'' the concern lingering on her features. ,,What do you mean Mina?'' Billie chuckles, laughing at something Cordelia had said seconds ago. She clears her throat before speaking up again ,,Y/N, she's in bed upstairs'' she explains as Billie's smile quickly fades and Cordelia's head snaps into the redheads direction.
The three of them quickly make their way to your shared bedroom, Delia's eyebrows furrow in confusion, her mind racing to connect the dots and unable to believe how she possibly missed this. Billie's eyes widen with realisation as she glances over at you, connecting the dots as she notices that you are still wearing the same clothes as when she left for work this morning.
"Wait a minute," she says, her voice tinged with worry. "She's been here all day?" the medium questions.
Cordelia and Wilhemina exchange a worried glance, the supreme wondering whether the events of this weekend may have anything to do with you hiding away all day, highly unusual as you wouldn't voluntarily spend all day in bed, especially without them.
Billie walks to the other end of the bed, the sound of soft music playing through your headphones, as she reaches for them gently, placing them on your bed side table. ,,Sweetie?'' she whispers, stroking your cheeks slightly. Your eyes flutter open and you smile noticing the presence in front of you. Suddenly it dawns on you, as your phone screen lights up from disconnecting the headphones, as you realise the time, your eyes widen, quickly sitting up.
Glancing around the room, you notice your other two girlfriends standing there, worried written in their features. ,,Shit'' you mutter, realising you spent all day in bed, not helping them with any tasks, despite their busy days. ,,Language little one'' Wilhemina teases, hoping to coax a little smile out of you, and indeed she manages a little smirk, despite your cheeks coated in a dark red as the embarrassment creeps up on you.
,,I'm so sorry'' you explain as anxiety washes over you but Cordelia is quick to step forward. ,,It's okay sweetie, you deserve rest too'' she reassures before the back of her hand makes its way to your forehead, checking for any signs of physical discomfort. ,,Would you like to join us for dinner?'' she asks gently and as you nod eagerly, the concern fades from their features, writing it off as you spending a day in bed and simply being tired.
Wilhemina notices something still on your mind as you hesitate a little. ,,What is it little one?'' she asks and is met with a set of puppy eyes meeting hers. ,,Would it be okay if I take a quick shower? I promise to be quick'' you ask nervously. Her features soften before Cordelia takes your hand into hers ,,Take all the time you need sweetie, we'll wait''.
,,What a shame, was hoping I could join'' Billie smirks and you can't help but chuckle a little before heading to the bathroom, soon after joining them for dinner.
----
As the week continues in it's monotonous path, you find yourself sinking deeper into the comfort of your solitude, retreating to the comfort of bed, the same playlist ringing through your ears on repeat. Despite their initial concern, the three of them brushed it off as figuring you needed a break from work and whenever they checked on you, you seemed fine, still joining them for dinners and your evenings together, which calmed Cordelia, knowing if you retreated completely it would be something to be concerned about.
However as midweek approaches, Billie decides to take matters into her own hands, after texting back and forth with Cordelia about you. Determined to break you out of your self imposed isolation, she decides to bring a spark of joy back into your life. And so, she decides to take the rest of the afternoon off, wanting to spoil her babydoll. As she opens the bedroom door, finding you in the all familiar spot, she finds you laying there, your eyes open but mind clearly occupied by something.
,,Hi there babydoll'' she startles you a little, as you quickly fade back into reality, pulling your headphones off and giving her your best smile.
Panic bubbles inside you, worried you missed an entire day but she quickly reassures ,,It's okay, I have got the afternoon off, get dressed for me baby, I want to take my pretty one out'' she declares, giggling a little with excitement.
,,Shit'' you think to yourself, not remotely feeling ready to leave the house after the events from this weekend and feeling your chest tightening at the thought of actually having to go somewhere. As the walls of the house became a shield against the outside world and all its uncertainties. Despite your best efforts to hide your fear, Billie senses your hesitation as usually you would be jumping around excitedly already by now.
,,If you don't feel like going anywhere, I have got all sorts of other plans, don't you worry'' she teases, quickly replacing your concerned features with a chuckle.
,,How about we finally have that shower hm?'' she teases, licking her lips and you can't help but feel the aching her words leave inside your stomach.
Unable to form any words, you simply nod and as she takes your hand, she gently guides you towards the bathroom. Her eyes sparkle with desire, not having had you all to herself for far too long. ,,How about you help mommy undress, kitten?'' she asks suggestively, leaving you gasping a little.
And of course you comply, helping her out of her heels, unbuttoning her trousers and pulling them off gently. However as you reach her shirt you can't help wanting to rip it off, she stops you though ,,nuh uh babydoll, one of my favourites'' she teases as she unbuttons it herself, making you watch.
You bite your lip, the image of Billie in front of you naked, causing you to squirm a little. Noticing your eagerness, she quickly helps you out of your clothes, before stepping in the shower, turning on the hot water and pulling you inside, pressing your body against the wall as she roams your body.
As the warm water cascades over your bodies, enveloping you in a cocoon of heat and steam, the tension that had been building up between you and Billie for days, reached its breaking point. With each touch, the desire that simmered beneath the surface grew stronger, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you yet again, your worries washing away with each droplet landing on your body and Billie's lips exploring your body.
Without a word, Billie presses you further against the cool tiles of the shower, her lips crashing against yours in a fierce kiss that leaves you breathless. The water droplets mingle with the taste of her skin, creating a heavy mixture that sends shivers of pleasure through your entire body.
,,How about you make mommy feel good, kitten?'' her hot breath on your ear. You simply nod, scanning her features, knowing exactly what she wanted. Switching positions, Billie's back makes contact with the cold tiles, as you kneel in front of her, keeping your eyes on her with each move.
As you finally kneel down to where she wants you the most, she parts her legs, silently begging for the release. Trailing kisses up her thighs, you reach her centre and without warning you take her clit into your mouth, leaving her a moaning mess, as her hands grip to your hair.
,,Right there kitten, doing so well'' she moans, holding onto you as her legs feel like giving out on her any second.
Moments later, still keeping her eyes on the medium you can feel her getting to where you wanted her. Using her closed eyelids to your advantage, you push two fingers inside her without warning. ,,Shit'' she curses under her breath, meeting your gaze still lingering on her.
,,Language Ms Howard'' you tease, causing Billie to smirk.
,,Keep going babydoll'' she pleads and being the good submissive you are, you comply pushing your fingers deeper and deeper, your tongue still exploring her and without warning you feel her release all over your mouth, all sorts of words flying from her mouth.
The water pounds against your skin like a symphony of ecstasy, as you make your way back to the medium, kissing her deeply as she explores her own taste on your tongue. ,,You're such a good girl'' she praises, moaning into you.
With each kiss you get lost in the whirlwind of pleasure, Billie switching you both over again, pushing you into the wall, her fingers quickly reaching your dripping centre. ,,Please'' you whimper as she parts your legs a little, quickly picking up the pace. Now the medium loved teasing you as well, however she could never deny you after doing so well for her before.
As you cling to her, holding on for dear life as your legs feel like giving in, the previous day slowly creeps its way back into your memory, reminding you how lazy you had been, how bad you had been for not leaving the house. However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted when the medium tips you over the edge, letting you ride out your high before she catches you into her arms, your legs feeling weak after the intense orgasm. ,,I've got you babydoll'' she murmurs, as you bury your head in her chest, your own breathing still heavy.
And if it hadn't been for the shower, Billie would have noticed your damp cheeks, water droplets quickly replaced by hot tears as the adrenaline and overwhelming feeling creeped up on you. ,,Let me take care of you'' she whispers as she leans you against the wall again, grabbing some shampoo and conditioner. As her soft acrylics softly rub the shampoo into your scalp you can't help but hum softly, the feeling sending little shivers down your back.
The next few minutes you feel in a daze, not really aware of your surroundings, as Billie softly washes your hair for you, caressing your skin and taking care of her babydoll. And as you open your eyes again the next time, you find yourself in the comfort of Wilhemina's armchair in the bedroom, a set of comfortable pjs hugging your body and a blanket wrapped around you. The sound of the hairdryer causes you to jolt a little but as you feel Billie's hands on your scalp again, drying your hair gently, you smile before closing your eyes contently.
As the evenings descends, casting a soft glow over the cozy dining room, the four of you gathered around the table for dinner, after Billie coaxed you out of your daze before, helping you out of Wilhemina's armchair and guiding you downstairs. Despite the warmth of the room and the comforting aroma of the meal that Cordelia had prepared, there was a sense of unease lingering on your features, the exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders. Mixed with the thoughts of doubt, for having spent another day mostly in bed.
Wilhemina glances over at you, concern etched into her features as she notices the weariness in your eyes. ,,Are you feeling alright, little one?'' she asks, her voice filled with genuine concern as she reaches out to gently squeeze your hand.
You manage a weak smile, though it threatened to falter slightly under the weight of your fatigue. "I'm just a bit tired," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to shake off the exhaustion that clung to you like a heavy cloak, while taking another bite.
Cordelia, ever perceptive, furrows her brow in concern as she studies your expression. "You seem more than just tired," she observes, her voice tinged with worry. "Is everything okay?"
You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to put your feelings into words, as you glance over at the medium, a smirk playing on her features remembering the intimacy from a few hours ago.
Billie, seated across from you, lets out a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leans in closer. "Maybe I shouldn't have worn you out so much earlier," she teases, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her lips.
But before you can respond, Cordelia's angry glare cuts through the air, a disapproving look on her features. ,,What?'' Billie shrugs, not sharing the supremes concern, Wilhemina simply observing, unsure whether the blonde was simply a little overly concerned about the situation.
,,She needs rest Billie, not further tiring out'' the blonde scolds, causing for Billie's expression to soften, a hint of guilt creeping into her features as she glances at you. ,,I'm sorry for tiring you out babydoll'' she apologies sincerely.
The weight of Cordelia's words only seems to add to your exhaustion, the last thing you wanted was them arguing now, sending a wave of anxiety through your veins. As your leg begins bouncing up and down, you take a deep breath, which doesn't go unnoticed by the redhead sitting next to you.
,,Have you finished little one?'' she asks softly before you give her a nod, her words pulling you back into the present. As you simply nod, suddenly your eyes pleading with the redheads. ,,Come on, I'll take you upstairs'' she suggests, before taking your hand and leading you to the safety of your shared bedroom.
"I just wanted to take care of her" Billie mumbles, before reaching for everyones plates, walking over to the dishwasher.
,,I initially wanted to take her out somewhere but she didn't seem to want to leave the house and so one thing led-'' she explains before Cordelia cuts her off. ,,I know love, I'm sorry'' she apologises, feeling bad about her little outburst. As words of apologizes are spoken, the two of them exchange a little moment.
However, Cordelia makes a mental note, finding it unusual that you hesitated to leave the house, usually excited at any opportunity to go anywhere with them, especially Billie adventures. As the two blondes head upstairs, the supreme can't help but slowly connect the dots, your panic attack, taking the week off, not leaving the house or bed much.
----
As the week draws to a close, you find yourself sinking deeper into the abyss of your own despair, the days stretching on in a never-ending cycle of emptiness and solitude. Despite your best efforts to find solace in the safety of your bed, the familiar comfort of its embrace only served to exacerbate the sense of isolation that weighed heavily on your soul.
But Cordelia, ever perceptive and attuned to your needs, slowly senses the depths of your despair, refusing to let you drown in it. With gentle determination, she finds you curled up in bed, your back turned away, the familiar sound of music to be heard. Through her senses she could tell that you aren't asleep, simply wasting away in the comfort of your bed.
"Come on, love," she murmurs her voice soft and coaxing as she gently tugs at your hand, urging you to rise from the depths of your despair. "You can't stay in bed forever. It's time to come back to the world and us again."
But the thought of leaving the safety and familiarity of your bed fills you with a sense of overwhelming dread, the outside world a daunting and unfamiliar landscape that seemed to hold nothing but pain, anxiety and uncertainty.
However, you know Cordelia can't be easily fooled or pleased, the way you had managed with your other two girlfriends. You face an inner battle, not wanting to leave bed but at the same time not wanting to make it harder for your girlfriends, sensing they are starting to catch on.
"I can't," you want to explain as you cling to the safety of your blankets, the weight of your despair pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. "I'm not ready'' your head reminds you.
Cordelia senses your hesitation, however refusing to be deterred, her determination unwavering as she continues to coax you gently, her words a soothing balm against the raw edges of your despair.
,,Okay'' you mumble, feeling a little angry with her as to why she couldn't simply leave you alone.
,,That's my good girl'' she praises, as she takes you to her office, placing a warm cup of tea into your palms.
As you sit on the sofa in her office, she watches your every move, not wanting to press you about the subject too much, glad she can at least be close to you to observe and take care. Fiddling with your hands, you feel nervous under her gaze, unsure what to do with yourself and suddenly feeling incredibly guilty.
,,Can I help you with anything?'' you eventually coax out, your voice quiet and fiddling with the sleeves of your oversized hoodie.
,,No no darling'' she reassures, glancing up from her laptop. There was genuinely nothing the supreme needed help with, as she got everything mostly sorted for the week, leading towards the weekend.
The room fills with silence, the only noises to be heard, the clicking of her keyboard, writing some emails and working on teaching. Feeling a little awkward and useless, you try to make some conversation.
,,Do we have any plans for the weekend?'' you ask her, drawing her attention towards you again with a gentle smile.
,,Other than tomorrow I don't think so sweetheart'' she reassures before the daunting idea of date night consumes your thoughts. The slight mention of it, takes you back to the week prior. Your thoughts race, unsure whose turn it was and whether that meant having to go out anywhere.
,,Wh-what are we gonna do?'' you ask hesitantly, hiding your trembling hands as well as the tremble in your voice.
,,I haven't decided yet sweetheart, anything specific you would like?'' she asks, typing away on her computer.
,,Hide'' the panic voice in your head tells you as you feel the waves of a panic attacks slowly approach.
Silence fills the room, and as Cordelia glances up from her computer, she finds your trembling state, tears threatening to spill from your beautiful eyes.
,,Sweetie?'' she calls out gently, abandoning her work and walking over to you.
,,I- can I go please?'' you call out, suddenly on your feet as you want nothing more than to run away.
Before the supreme can protest you are already out of the room, hysterically running down the hallway, needing to flee unable to be confronted by the blonde about it. Sometimes the worrying, gentleness was too much, especially when she connected the dots before you did, knowing and being able to read you so well at this point.
In your panicked state, you don't know where to go, knowing she would immediately find you in the bedroom, greenhouse or any predictable spots of comfort. ,,Mina'' you remember, her being at her work today, which means her office should be quiet and giving you momentarily some relieve as the panic continues to haunt you, following with each step you took away from the supreme and her office.
Your heart bangs against your chest angrily, and so with trembling hands you burst into your redhead girlfriends office, managing to at least shut the door quietly before retreating to a quiet corner, curling up into a ball and rocking yourself back and forth, leaning against the wall, your kneels pulled to your chest. However, in your panicked state, you are known to be unaware of your surroundings, not realising the time again and how long it actually took for Cordelia to coax you out of bed before, Wilhemina had returned home a little while ago, wanting to finish one last email before joining you and Cordelia.
The redhead sits in shock for a moment, observing your panicked state and the way you entered her office without even realising her presence. Her heart aches, seeing you like this, so vulnerable, alone and sad. ,,Little one?'' she calls out, as she balances on her cane and begins walking over. The sudden noises startles you as your eyes force open, instantly getting up from the floor, the shame of the whole thing consuming you whole. ,,I'm s- sorry Mina, I didn't realise'' you coax out in between cries, hyperventilating as panic washes over you again.
,,Run'' the panic voice tells you before you try to leave, leaving a very confused Wilhemina, following behind you, yet to understand what's going on with her little one. However as you open the door, you run into the supreme, your body hitting against her own as you stumble backwards, the fear and panic finally having the upper-hand and causing you to lose control.
,,Sweetheart'' Cordelia calls out and as you continue to tumble backwards, you suddenly feel your vision blurring before two arms wrap around you from behind.
''Hey, I've got you" Wilhemina's voice cuts through the chaos, her arms a reassuring embrace as she holds you close, her own heart racing with concern for you. But even as she speaks, she could feel the tremors wracking your body, the weight of your despair pressing down on you like a leaden weight.
Cordelia's voice joins hers, her tone filled with love and compassion as she kneels beside you, her hands gentle as they brush away the tears that are beginning to stain your cheeks. "You're safe, breathe sweetheart" she whispers, her voice a soothing melody in the storm of your emotions. "We're here for you, sweetheart. You're not alone."
But despite their comforting words and reassuring touch, you feel as though you are drowning in a sea of despair, the weight of your own thoughts and feelings threatening to drag you under. With each passing moment, the darkness seems to close in around you, suffocating you with its suffocating embrace.
And then, with one last desperate gasp, you lose consciousness, surrendering to the darkness that engulfs you.
,,Shit'' Cordelia curses, taking you into her arms, relieving Wilhemina of the weight as she held you up. The supreme takes gentle yet urgent steps as she takes you to Wilhemina's armchair, in the corner of her office. As she sets you down, she grabs the little lilac stool, resting your tired legs on them. With a flick of her wrist she lights the fireplace, reaching for a blanket and wrapping it around you. Her slightly trembling hands reach for your forehead, your wrists to check your pulse after.
,,What's wrong with her?'' Wilhemina's voice cuts through the quiet room before Cordelia turns to her. ,,It's a panic attack'' the supreme explains before the redheads eyebrows furrow. ,,Again?'' Wilhemina asks, remembering the weekend prior. ,,I'm afraid so'' the blonde replies before her guilty eyes meet the redheads.
,,What is it darling?'' Wilhemina asks, noticing the tears lingering in Cordelia's eyes. ,,It's my fault'' she admits, her gaze averting the redheads and meeting your fragile state. She knows that Cordelia would have never willingly triggered or pushed you, so she simply steps forward, her cane hitting on the floor, before taking her hand. ,,What happened love?'' she asks, much softer now.
,,I dragged her out of bed and made her stay in my office, she asked me about our plans this weekend and I guess that must have triggered it, considering the last weekend. I just had no idea how bad this all was and how much she has been struggling with it'' Cordelia explains now under tears.
,,Hey hey it's okay, you did your best, it's not your fault'' Wilhemina reassures before stroking the blondes shoulder, caressing her cheeks in a gentle way before Cordelia melts into her touch.
After a moment of silence, the door swings open, the sound of heels echoing through the large office. ,,Hey ther-'' Billie starts, excitedly at first but her smile quickly vanishes as she sees your state. ,,Whats wrong?'' she asks, her eyes meeting two sets of brown ones, the concern matching in each set.
,,It's okay Billie, she had a panic attack but she's stable'' Cordelia coos, walking over to the medium and greeting her in a reassuring hug. Billie Dean frowns, hating to see her babydoll in any sign of discomfort. ,,Poor baby'' she coos, kneeling down beside you resting her hands on your knees, rubbing soothing circles to comfort you, despite your sleeping unconscious state.
,,She's afraid to leave the house'' Wilhemina admits, finally understanding the events of the past week.
,,We need to help her, we should take her out tomorrow and try'' Billie suggests but Cordelia quickly shakes her head.
,,We have to do this the right way'' she admits, remembering her own struggles with anxiety especially in her younger years.
,,I see, how about we stay in tomorrow then? cook something nice for her and watch her favourite movie?'' the medium suggests and is quickly met with a compassionate and approving smile from her blonde girlfriend.
,,Would either of you be okay to stay with her for a minute?'' ,,I want to make us some food, so poor darling can eat'' Cordelia asks, before Wilhemina is quick to reply.
,,I'll stay'' meeting the mediums eyes, before she adds ,,I'll help you Delia''. Wilhemina nods thankfully, appreciating the moments where she gets to take care of her little one.
A little while later you stir from your unconscious state, feeling the gentle presence of someone in the room. Opening your eyes, you find yourself still in the armchair where Delia had left you, with Wilhemina sitting beside you, her gaze filled with concern and love.
,,Hey there little one'' Wilhemina coos gently, her hand reaching out to gently brush the hair from your forehead. ,,How are you feeling?'' she asks gently, not wanting to overwhelm you.
You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the events of the day swirling in your mind like a storm. "I'm okay, I think," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to make sense of the jumble of emotions inside you. ,,I'm so sorry for all of that'' you apologise, guilt consuming you for having them see your weakness.
Wilhemina nods understandingly, her eyes full of empathy as she takes your hand in hers. "I know things have been tough lately," she says gently. "But I want you to know that you don't have to go through it alone. I'm here for you, always."
,,And little one?'' she asks, her eyes searching for yours as she tilts her head a little. ,,I never want you to apologise about these sort of things, I don't want you to keep it from us'' she reassures.
Her words warm your heart, a glimmer of hope flickering in the darkness that has clouded your mind for so long. "Thank you," you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek as you lean into her comforting embrace.
After a moment of quiet , Wilhemina speaks again, her voice filled with determination. "How about we go for a walk in the gardens?" she suggests, a hint of excitement in her tone. "It might do us both some good to get some fresh air and stretch our legs."
You hesitate for a moment, the thought of leaving the safety of the house sending a shiver of anxiety down your spine. But Wilhemina's reassuring presence gives you the courage to take that first step, to step out of your comfort zone and face the world once more.
With a nod, you agree, allowing Wilhemina to lead you by the hand as the two of you make your way out into the gardens. And as you walk hand in hand, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of Wilhemina's love, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, knowing that no matter what challenges may lie ahead, you will face them together, hand in hand, heart to heart.
,,Are you feeling okay little one?'' she asks, noticing how tight you are holding onto her hand. ,,Yes, just a little scary'' you admit. She gives you an emphatic but proud smile. ,,I know little one but I have got you, always'' she reassures again.
,,Delia?'' Billie gets her attention, her tone sounding serious as the supreme sees the mediums face, eyes filled with tears. ,,What is it love?'' she asks before Billie points out the window.
Watching from the window, Cordelia and Billie share a bittersweet smile, their hearts filled with love and pride as they witness the strength and resilience of their beloved. And as you and Wilhemina disappear into the garden, their love for you only grows stronger, a beacon of hope in the darkness that has been surrounding you lately.
,,Look at her'' Cordelia murmurs softly, her voice filled with love and adoration. ,,She's so strong'' she adds, tears blinking in her eyes.
,,Yeah'' Billie agrees, on the brim of tears. ,,She's stronger than she knows''
As they continue to watch you, Cordelia and Billie are filled with a sense of hope, knowing that you are not alone in your journey. ,,We will be okay'' Cordelia eventually mumbles as Billie leans her head on the supremes shoulder.
