• This is a multifandom shitposting blog. I post pretty much anything I like or want to read. Always open to talking and making friends with people.
• Proud nerd 🤓
• Chronic good boy 🐕
• Roleplays currently open ( advanced lit./novella style writing only )
• Wanda Maximoff supremacy
• Chronically ill
• Introverted and mostly reclusive 😅
Likes & Hobbies: listening to music (mostly rock/pop), reading classic literature/fanfiction/poetry, Journaling/planning, video games (i.e minecraft/animal crossing), coloring, legos, watching youtube videos, napping, being a home body, chicken nugget enthusiast, roleplay, horror, cooking, big fan of marvel women, Wanda supremacy page, collecting trinkets, sharing memes.
Author’s Note: Lila and Jen in this, are the kind of characters that are not good, but not evil either, so keep that in mind when reading.
Prologue of The Stones Will Remember
The stones will remember Spotify playlist
Halloween Dinner Party - Part Two
It took some time for you to breathe again.
Everyone had already sat at the table, food dished up, the smell of rosemary and thyme coating the air—you saw the food, your eyes widened with hunger, creamy chicken pasta for most people, but Fauna had something different, it was salmon, new potaoes with rosemary, thyme and garlic, with broccoli stems.
That was your favourite meal, one Wanda made you countless times. It was a meal that felt like home.
Then you saw the three empty chairs all beside each other, directly opposite Agatha, Rio and Betsy.
Shit.
Right in the middle too
On the side of Agatha and Rio, there also sat Peggy, and Angie—on the other side, where the empty chairs sat, Pepper positioned herself happily next to Fauna, and on the other side of the empty seats, was Lila and Jen.
It was warm.
Your face was flushed.
The chatter was loud.
But right now, loud was okay. You could deal with loud.
“Sweetheart?” Wanda’s fingers gently twisted in yours “sit in the middle of us okay? I’ll plate up your food.” A breath. “Now, do you want a drink?” Her soft voice was the calm after the storm, the smell of grass after rain, and after what he said, what his words meant—Wanda’s touch was the very thing that grounded you.
You nodded in response, “Appletiser.” Your tired eyes looked up quickly “if it’s no trouble, of course.” Your words tumbled out from between your lips like that of a loosely coiled spring.
Wanda pressed one hand to your lower back, pushing, her other hand tightly in yours—pushing you gently forward.
When Wanda’s fingers left your hand, you could feel the air curl around them, there was an emptiness you hadn’t expected. It felt like a yearning for her touch, for her breath, for her. It wasn’t just a want anymore. It was a need.
Yet you still couldn’t fully admit the truth to yourself.
You were in love with both Wanda and Nat.
You stepped forward, pulse thumping against your throat, fairy wings still intact, seating yourself down on a particularly unusual comfy kitchen chair, one that was made of oak, flat, not lumpy like the old ones they had.
Your gaze stayed in the kitchen, watching Wanda and Nat move together like a poem from the 18th Century.
Beautiful, Unique, and never a step out of time.
Nat poured your drink, the bubbles drifting through the liquid, afraid that if you looked up, she’d catch the longing written all over your face. Your eyes lingered on her hand—beautiful, soft—you wanted them wrapped around you like a soft blanket that would always keep you safe. She was watching you, nd you weren’t sure if she had always been looking or if she’d only just begun, but the smile on her lips, the kindess in her face made the heat flush right your cheeks—in front of everyone.
Was it actually warm in this room? Or was it just from the attention of two very specific and attractive women?
Natasha walked over, now with three drinks in hand, your appletiser, the only person at the table not drinking alcohol and for the first time in your life, not one person questioned it, or tried to force you to drink something you didn’t want to.
It was a weird feeling.
Of safety.
Contentment.
And family.
The people that you chose and who have chosen you.
She also carried two glasses of wine, one for herself, one for Wanda.
Natasha set them down carefully on the table, the clicking of the glass echoing against the wood sliding your glass towards you, the other two in front of the free place settings, but her eyes never left yours for a a single second—it was almost intense. That feeling you still couldn’t admit to yourself, not fully. This was more than friendship, more than care and more than just new friends.
You knew the truth—in reality, this was love. You were just too fearful to admit the fact of the situation and your feelings, especially whilst you were still with Christopher.
The was a whole other complication—one of which you did not know how you’d find your way out of this side of the century.
Your brain was spinning, until Nat’s hand covered yours on the table “Breathe, your safe detka.” She had noticed your chest moving faster, and your eyes glazed over, zoning out from the speed of your racing thoughts—her ouch, her voice, her scent bought you back to reality.
Detka? You frowned at the word.
But some how you did exactly what she said, you let out a small breath which you could tell made her happy with the smile that stretched into her cheeks. Nat stood back up, turning herself towards the kitchen to collect her own plate on the side.
Wanda began walking towards the table, two plates in her hand one, balanced like a professional waitress on her wrist and between her finger and thumb. On one, was salmon, which you assumed was for yourself, the other was the chicken pasta. Wanda placed the salmon in front of you, the smell of lemon and garlic wafting up your nostrils and you swore you were about to have a foodgasm right there and then.
Wanda set her own plate down on her place setting followed closely by Nat doing the same with her own food.
The two of them slid into their seats on either side of you. A gentle grin forming on both of their faces, the flush in your cheeks brightning up the whole room.
Like rudolph’s nose.
“Eat, Ladybug, can’t have you evaporating on us, now can we?” Wanda pressed your fork into your hand, your fingers gripped the cold metal, turning your knuckles white and Wanda’s thumb stroked over your fingers.
It was a reminder for you to relax.
To breathe.
That you were safe.
Wanda could always see how nervous you were, your face red—burning, your fingers holding tight to the edge of the table or your own knee, which was usually bouncing to a rhythm faster than could be played.
Tonight was no different.
You always struggled eating in front of others, but somehow here, with them on either side of you—for the first time, you weren’t actually fearful…you weren’t even really thinking about it.
The salmon melted on your tongue, as you took your first bite, the beautiful taste of the lemon and dill combined with the garlic was perfect. This was a five star restaurant delicacy. Nothing was ver powering, or weirdly textured. Every ingredient balanced the other out flawlessly.
The best thing of all though, no one watched you as you ate, they all focussed on their own food, drinks and conversation. You sighed happily, in heaven as you looked around at these people you barely knew, but whom made you feel more at home than your own fault ever had—finally you relaxed into the evening at hand.
“So,” Rio began, looking towards Wanda—but the playful smile crossing her lips was directed at you “Agatha tells me you have set of books coming into the shop?”
“Mmmm, that’s right, we had a request for them a few months ago, and I figured I would get more on the topic anyway. I do teach the subject after all.” Wanda twirled her pasta around her fork with such precision, and perfection, before slipping the fork between her wet lips.
You were almost at the end of your salmon, when your ears perked up at the sound of conversation about books.
You had a love for books, to fall into a world that you could escape to, to make friends with those characters, it gave you such an exhilaration of excitement, you truly could not put words on how safe books made you feel.
How they always gave you a longing for something you didn’t know you wanted or needed, until your eyes graced words on the pages of the books.
“What books?” you ask shly, cheeks blanching as you found yourself asking the question in the middle of the already going on conversation.
Wanda heard you as clear as the blue sky on a hot summers day. She turned to you, slipping her hand on to your knee causing a quiet squeak to escape from the back of your throat, attempting to swallowed down your embarassment.
Did anyone hear that mouse like squeak?
You knew the chances of both Wanda and Nat having heard were certain, they never missed a single thing when it came to you—and you were pretty sure Agatha, Rio and possibly Betsy heard the noise as well.
Fuck.
Shit.
Jesus H Roosevelt Christ.
This was not your day.
If only the ground would swallow you whole right about now, if only a black fucking hole would open up in the middle of the dinning table, and pull you right in, then you’d never have to think about the embarrassing squeak ever again.
“Well, sweetheart, did you ever hear about the witches of Orkney?” a soft half smile graced Wanda’s lips, pausing before taking a large bite of her pasta.
You nodded, eyes wide, listening closely, intrigued, needing to know every intricate detail of this conversation.
Four months ago you had requested book on a very specific woman from the Orkney Islands, a woman who was executed as a witch in Scotland. Your own ancestor. The book it self was based on very real events but there was also a lot of folklore tied into it. That was of intrigue to you, seeing them both overlap in the book—you’d requested it from the Scarlet Witch cafe, from Agatha herself, so you were a bit confused, actually a lot confused as to why Rio was asking Wanda about it.
It made zero sense.
Your eyes lingered on Rio, as she took conversation with your—with Wanda, eyebrows furrowing with you attempting to make sense of it—
“OH MY GOD!” You squealed making everyone jump out of their skin as the realisation hit you like a freight train in the night.
Everyone was now staring at you. All eyes watching the shy squeaky girl sitting between the most intimidating women you knew.
Luckily you didn’t seem to notice their eyes on you, because all you could focus on was Wanda, and the shocker of a fact that she was the woman you had spoken about with Agatha. “YOU OWN THE SCARLET WITCH CAFÉ?!” You voice came out in a high pitched ring.
Wanda chuckled behind her wine, holding the glass against her lips, her fingers still on your knee and she squeezed gently. Nat on the other hand was very much being entertained by this discussion and your excitement, like she was watching a rom-com.
“Ah, so the secret is out, my sweet curious Bug.” The corners of wanda’s lips curved upwards, like this was the best thing she had witnessed all damn week.
“You didn’t know?” Betsy perked up, her eyes shinning with intrest.
Although who wouldn’t be at least a little bit curious at you finding out what seemed to be the biggest piece of information going this side of Atlantic.
You began blushing furiously, cheeks burning hot—flushing red, matching the color of Nats wine. Your hands shot up coving your face, trying to hide the utter shambles you were causing yourself and your embarrassment for not knowing the truth until now. You mumbled through your fingers “you could have told me!”
Wanda licked her lips a little, tracing her tongue along the wetness, tilting her head in your direction “but then I’d have missed this utterly adorable reaction, my little darling.”
God how were you even going to survive this night. Not when you had Wanda talking to you like you were her favourite person in the entire world, subtly teasing you for how adorable both she and Nat found you—your heart clung to them both like a raft to water—you honestly don’t know how you lived a single day without them in your life.
But you did.
That was survival.
This was living.
You found happiness, an emotion, a feeling, you’d never really experienced in the entirety of you life, yet here you were sat between them both and your stomach was in a continuous stretch of somersaults in the pit of your stomach when either them so much as breathed in your direction.
Nats hand slipped onto your other knee, your breath caught like a fire in the back of your throat as her fingers pressed in gently, warmth flooding through every part of your body.
You swore to whatever god, goddess or fucking diety that was listening, if anything else like this happened tonight, you would combust into glitter. You were barely holding it together as it was, and now they both had their hands on your knees, whilst your face was close to the colour of a red hot chilli pepper.
You could feel the continuing flush in your cheeks, spiking hot, travelling down to your neck as you finished of the last of the salmon, followed by a gulp of your appletiser in an attempt to distract yourself from the two hands wrapped around both your knees. Your pulse heavy in your throat, your grip tight around the fork.
Breathe.
Just fucking breathe Y/N.
Everyone around the table had subtle smirks painted on their lips, despite most of them going back to individual conversations—all except Pepper, Agatha, Rio and Betsy who all had their eyes on you.
That did not help how flustered you were right now and how much worse it was going to become if they kept staring at you like this—like this was a show and you were the main attraction.
Wanda leaned towards you. Her own cheeks pink from the alcohol now in her system, her breath warm against the side of your cheek as her finger traced gently over the edge of your ear, eliciting a soft giggle from your throat. “breathe for me darling, don't want to face plant the potatoes.”
Nat couldn’t help the chortle that escaped her mouth and nose at the same time, spluttering on her drink, but quickly swallowing down the liquid. “My god,” she said breathlessly “leave the poor girl alone Wands, you’ll break her.” Nat snickered, trying to hold a full laugh down as she twirled another piece of pasta around her fork—which in comparison to Wanda who was eating like the Queen of England, shovelled it in her mouth like she’d not eaten all week.
The feeling in your very soul was that of need, of desperation, of desire—even when you pretended otherwise—that this was what everyone felt for the friends sisters.
God.
Even you knew trying to convince yourself of that was completely diabolical.
It was an ache that you had for them both, the kind that say in your ribs, never letting you breathe, to allow air into your lungs. But feeling like this for both of them? Was that even a possibility? Could it really happen?
No.
Bug stop it.
You’re delusional if you think a single thing could happen, or if you thought they even felt the tiniest bit the same for you as you did for them.
Besides, they were married—to each other, where would you even fit in?
You couldn’t let your brain go there—couldn’t, wouldn't, shouldn’t. Especially not whilst you were still in a realationship. Okay, so may Christopher was utterly horrific and a fucking man child, but he still…wanted you.
That had to be enough for now.
So you spoke to Wanda about the book shop, finding out about why she started it in the first place considering she’s already a university lecturer. You asked her and Nat about thee joint class they host at the University. The most popular class there is, which in it self intrigued you.
Speaking also to Fauna and Betsy, with them both being the only ones your age in this particular circle, unlike your usual struggles of getting to know people your own age, they were easy to talk to. Kind, and interested in you as you were in them.
For the first time ever, there was no worries or anxiety.
It was exactly how it should be.
You could breathe and enjoy your time with other people—special people that made your heart sing.
Angie was about to make her leave but before she did, she bought over the pudding. Your eyes widened at what was placed in the middle of the table. Apple and Rhubarb crumble with oat cream. One of your absoloute favourites, and Wanda and Nat had—
“You…you remembered?” Your heart stopped, gaze flickering to Wanda, lump in your throat as you tried not let your stupid fucking emotions cascade you like a storm out at sea.
Wanda laughed, “of course sweet girl,” her fingers came up to your cheek “little lady bug, we meant it, nothing is too much for us, not when it comes to you.”
God.
It was as if the air had been swept right out from under you, gasping for your final breath in the middle of a desert, crawling to the last drop of water, especially in that whisper-soft voice that made your knees buckle.
Thank fuck you were already seated.
Was she trying to make you flutter into an actual fairy mess?
Because it was working.
You were a puddle, a fairy puddle.
“Here,” Nat slid a napkin towards you “don’t cry into the crumble detka, we know you don't like soggy food.”
You shook your head, laughing in the back of your throat picking up your spoon and digging in to your food.
Taking a small breath again as you ate, and then Rio began to ask you about your degree, and then a question came from Betsy that made the whole room freeze.
It was like watching a dear in headlights when the words fell from between her lips and landed with a thud on the table in front of her.
Then everyone laughed.
You weren’t sure which was more confusing.
“So…Y/N, dom or sub?” Betsy asked as she shovelled her food into her mouth, as if it was going out of fashion.
You really didn't see a problem with the question, but that was because you didn’t completely understand it.
Your face puzzled, slipping the spoon between your lips, trying to understand the question at hand.
You felt Wanda’s hand on your knee freeze, her thumb had been tracing small circles until Betsy spoke—and the way Nat looked towards you with a devilish smirk, she was genuinely curious, inquisitive, like she wasn’t sure what your answer would be, but she certainly was intrigued—like she was collecting data for how they would proceed with you.
“I- I’m not a fan of subway, so dominos I guess, I’m even fussy with my pizza to be honest, so—” you stopped when you saw the smirks, and sniggers around the table, and your heart began to beat in the pit of your stomach from the sheer panic that you’d said something utterly stupid.
Utterly wrong.
Utterly…pathetic and idiotic.
Betsy laughed.
Rio and Agatha smirked.
Nat ran her fingers across your knuckles, in a slow, gentle motion, that made every nerve in your body light up like electricity sparking.
Wanda just smiled softly, gazing at you as if you had hung the moon and the stars themselves, as was Nat, it was a little unnerving…not uncomfortable, just, you felt a shift in how they were around you from all previous times you’d spent with them. Something had changed heavily between you and the two of them. It was stronger, like the connection was growing, like flowers that bloom in spring.
“DOMINOS! SHE SAID DOMINIOS!” Betsy wheezed, hitting her palm on the table, making the cutlery clatter from the sudden thump “next she’ll say BDSM stands for Burgers, Dips, Snacks and Milkshakes.”
Fuck.
You felt so dumb, especially as that is probably what you would have said if she’d of asked you. But now you were wondering what BDSM really did stand for.
Maybe something to ask Wanda and Nat later, if it wasn’t answered in this conversation.
You saw Nat give Rio a look, like a nod that something wasn’t quite as okay as she would like it to be, but you weren’t entirely sure. Your heart was still exploding—sitting between your two favorite people who you wouldn’t admit that they cared for you as more than a friend.
You couldn’t see it.
You were oblivious, especially when something was staring you blank point in the face.
“BURGERS! AND! AND! MILKSHAKES!” Betsy couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard, and then—she hit her first on the table from laughing so hard making the table shake much harder than before—which made you unexpectedly flinch.
Rio moved quickly. Her fingers suddenly around Betsy’s jaw, forcing eye contact, not caring who was watching as long as she had her full, undivided attention “Sweetheart. That. Is. Enough.” Her fingers pressed in just a little, waiting until Betsy nodded before removing her fingers from the girls face “good girl.”
Your brows furrowed watching the scene unfold.
What on earth had you just witnessed? And why was your answer so comedic to her?
“Nat?” You whisper, leaning closer towards her body, your lips at the side of her head and your hand cupping her ear “what’s a domme?”
Nat spluttered, choking on her wine, gulping for air before staring daggers in Betsy’s direction. Like what the fuck was she playing at? Now they had to have this conversation with you, and so much sooner than she and Wanda could have ever expected.
“Later sweet girl, later.” Nats voice, soft, calm, and steady as she began to clear the table, collecting the dishes and turning the conversation to Peggy Carter and Fauna. “Peggy? You and Fauna staying?”
“But—” you tried, but Wanda’s fingers squeezed around your knee, and you immediately stopped trying to get them to explain, you would honestly do anything she told you to in the moment. “we’ll talk to you about it later bug, I promise.”
You were finally led away from table, taken in hand by Rio through to the living room. Her fingers gently clasping your palm, whilst Wanda and Nat cleared the table and tidied up th kitchen.
Usually they would have waited till after everyone had gone, but you were sure they were going to take this time to discuss you and some of the conversations that had happened and would need to happen.
You followed Rio, not wanting to leave Wanda and Nat, but with some insistance, with Wanda telling you they’d be quick, and to trust Rio, you allowed yourself to be taken you away by the woman with face paint, that made her look like death—well a skeleton.
You sat yourself on the soft couch next to her and Lila Calderu—an older woman, a bit cooky but otherwise harmless, palms sweating from the nerves of sitting with new people without Wanda or Nat beside you—it was unnerving and a little anxiety inducing.
But something just felt—off. You couldn’t really put your finger on it.
They were kind.
You were naive.
That was the problem in most spaces for you—this was no different.
And you couldn't never really understand the difference between when someone genuinely wanted to be your friend and when they were being manipulative assholes. You never had been able to see the truth of that in people.
“Well, well, well, so you’re the famous Bug we’ve heard so much about?” Lila smiled, on the surface it was innocent enough, but something felt like it lay behind her eyes that you couldn’t see. She tucked a loose strand of your hair behind you ear.
Was she just being friendly? Perhaps? Or maybe she had an agenda that you weren’t quite sure of.
Ontheotherhand, maybe you were just over reacting, through your own personal history, people hadn’t shown you honesty when it came to their intentions. At this point, you were just used to expecting the worst.
“It’s Y/N if you don’t mind.” You didn’t really feel comfortable with strangers calling you Bug. It had become something that only Wanda and Nat had taken to calling you. But still telling other people they couldn’t? That was scary. Putting in boundaries? Even scarier.
Your voice cracked as you said the words. You weren’t exactly sure where you got the nerve, but no way were you going to let someone you hadn’t even had a conversation with yet, call you ladybug—not until you knew her better and knew she wasn’t going to be trouble. You automatically shifted closer to Rio , she felt the nearest safe person right now.
“Oh? Do I not get the privilege of that name? and for such a pretty little thing like you?” she shifted closer.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know you.” You muttered “no offence, just I know Wanda, Nat, Agatha, Rio and I have gotten to know Betsy, but…look it’s nothing against you, it’s just, I’m not comfortable with you yet,” you paused taking a awkward sip of your drink, eyes darting towards the kitchen hoping Wanda and Nat wouldn’t be much longer, because you were certain that you would crumble before they appeared.
“hmm, maybe not, but,” Lila touched the fabric of your sweater pulling at the sleeve “pretty, sweet little thing aren’t you,” Lila chuckled—then from across the room, you noticed Jen, the way her lips curved upwards into a mischievous smile that made you uneasy, her dark red nails matching that of her wine and lips.
“So adorably innocent.” Jen quirked an eyebrow, taking another sip of her wine, and now, something told you that Wanda and Nat didn’t just dislike them for being late, maybe it was something more than what you could see or understand.
“Lila. Stop. This isn’t the time or place for your games.” Unlike the Rio that had spoken to your warmly, her voice came through like a crack in the glass.
“It’s just a bit of fun, what’s the big deal. She’s not even theirs.” Lila growled. Leaning back against the sofa in a huff.
None of you heard the heels that walked in from the kitchen.
Sharp, deliberate, echoing across wood.
You stiffened, eyes shut, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening.
Lila’s hand came up to your cheek, your body went still as she pinched your cheek “no harm in it, is there sweetie pie?”
Suddenly, you smelt the vanilla that was Wanda’s perfume, her hand snapped around Lila’s wrist in such determined hatred—something you had never seen from her before. “Hands. Off.” Wanda’s fingers squeezed tighter around her wrist “You do not fucking touch without consent. You know that, this has always been the rule, and you’re in mine and Nat’s home, and she,” Wanda kept her eyes locked on Lila “is off limits.”
The air in the room began to crackle from her anger, her possessiveness, her protectiveness over you.
“Wands…” Nats voice came through with an echo, concern for her wife as Wanda did not move. Her green eyes crackling with fury “WANDA!” Nat finally snapped, pulling Wanda away with her words.
“Lila. Time to go. And you Jen.” Nat stood in the corner, arms folded, tea towel draped over her shoulder, watching with careful eyes.
You were their priority. Your comfort. Your safety. The was the most important thing right now.
“Oh don't be a spoiled sport—” Jen tried to lighten the mood but it fell on deaf ears.
Silence.
You were sat practically on top of Rio at this point, Wanda stood full body in front of you in a protective stance.
Nat scowled at Jen, daring her to say another word or for Lila to do or say something else—you weren’t sure if she’d done it intentionally or not.
But right now that didn’t matter.
Not to you.
Not to Rio.
And certainly not to Wanda and Nat.
“She’s drunk. You both are. Now go home.”
Agatha found herself on her feet “it’s okay, I’ve got it. I’ll take these two idiots home.” She leaned in, kissing Rio gently on the lips and grabbed her goat. “Come on dumb and dumber. My car. Now.”
Lila and Jen were both dragged out the house like misbehaving school children, growling about how it was just a joke and people shouldn’t take it so seriously and Agatha snapping as the door closed “will you two shut up and get in the damn car.”
Once you all heard the door shut with a click, you found yourself letting out a breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding tight in your lungs.
Wanda turned to you, unclenching both her jaw and fists.
Slowly her lungs expanded, she bent her knees, crouching down in front of you, one hand sliding on top of your bouncing knee, the other hand gently slipping under your chin and pulling your gaze towards her. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I should have asked them to leave when they first arrived, they, we, they always push too far, and I’m sorry. You did so good. Myself and Nat are so fucking proud of you."
“We really are.” Nat agreed, stepping closer to the two of you “We’re so very proud of you ladybug!” Her cat bell still jingling like a cat about to make her entrance.
“I,” the words were on the tip of her your tongue, squirming and ready to tumble out, but being held back back by a rope to your lungs
The sweat on your skin, covered both your hands and behind your knees, your stomach was continuously pulling, twisting into knots like you were dangling of the verge of the cliff with the rope on its last thread about to snap, “I’ve never seen you angry before. That was…fire.” And you meant it.
There was a rage bubbling like lava beneath Wanda.
Her feelings towards Lila and Jen.
Her eyes glowing green with a kind of magic you had not seen before, you were certain that she would destroy the world before anyone even looked at you or touched you like that again.
The way Wanda had reacted, grabbing Lila’s wrist so firmly, it wasn’t something that had scared you, quite the opposite. It had intrigued you as to why, or how she could be so protective over… you.
You weren't special. You were just you.
Wanda couldn’t help but laugh, her hands cupping your warm cheeks “Of course my fire burns for you sweetheart, you are a very special girl.”
And your breath caught, the moment she said it.
Was there really more to her feelings than you had ever realised?
Did Nat feel the same?
The beat of your heart was pulsing in your ears. Things were coming together, linking, words being said, and you beginning to understand what they really meant. But still, you weren’t ready to acknowledge or take it on board, not fully, not yet.
But very, very soon.
Wanda nodded, her thumb stroking your cheek before taking your glass to refill it.
Nat followed needing to talk to her wife about what had just happened, out of ear shot of you.
“Wanda?” Nat gripped Wanda’s elbow as she poured the new bottle of appletiser “what was that?”
“What?” Wanda grit her teeth, knuckles whitening around the glass.
“Detka.” Nat turned her wife to face her as soon as she’d finished pouring the bubbly liquid, her fingers wrapping over her wifes wrists, and throwing the tea towel to the side “Not only did you almost take Lila’s wrist out it’s socket, but you almost,” Nat checked over her shoulder to ensure the door was still shut and know one, especially you, could not hear what she was about to say. In a hushed toned, Nat continued “you almost, your magic Wanda, you almost lost control of it.”
“I know Nat!” Wanda snapped, slamming the class down of the table, her voice trembling, realising, knowing how much she came close to loosing control of her magic, for the first time in years.
A knock sounded, interrupting their conversation and Rio’s head poked round “Sorry to interrupt.”
“You’re fine.” Wanda said, masking her frustration “everything okay?”
“Y/N has fallen asleep, she’s curled up on the couch, and we weren’t sure if we should wake her up.”
“No, don’t wake her.” Nat smiled, “but you and the rest get off now, we’ve got out bug.”
Nat hadn’t even realised she’d said it.
Rio quirked an eyebrow in her direction, before nodding and leaving.
“Our bug, huh?” Wanda grinned, like they were both finally admitting the truth about how they felt for you.
You were fast asleep on the couch, wings still on, cardigan removed and on the floor. Your head on the pillows that Rio had put there to ensure you didn’t get a creak in your neck.
Wanda and Nat came back through, eyes falling on you the second the stepped into the living room. Wanda pressed her hand to her chest, clutching her invisible pearls.
“Nat…” Wanda said just under her breath so as to not to wake you from your sleeping slumber. She knelt down at the side of the couch near your head, and Nat followed in unison.
“She’s sucking her thumb.” Nat whispered.
“God she’s adorable.”
“She’s too precious.”
The two of them continued to watch, seeing you so peaceful did something to her—if you thought she was protective before, you had seen nothing yet.
Wanda ran her fingers across your cheek, whilst Nat pressed her hand against your calf, her thumb gently stroking, and Wanda moved her fingers from your cheek, to slowly tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“Let’s get her up to bed.” Nat stood, pressing a hand onto Wanda’s shoulder, the bed in her room is all made up anyway.”
I feel like more disabled doms should talk about dominance and service as a way to come to terms with taking care of ourselves.
I was trained my entire life as a disabled child and now a disabled woman to always make myself and my disability smaller. I needed to take up less space, downplay my symptoms, go without the rest I need, and I most definitely learned to never complain or demand attention, never to be too exhausted for too long, or else I’d get on people’s nerves.
Having a service pup has been such a game changer though. So many submissives DESPERATELY WANT to make our lives easier as dominants, to care for us, to be useful in a really tangible way. So… I let my submissive do it. I let him be my service dog.
My service pup reminds me to rest when I need it and offers to get up and get things for me so I don’t use my sore legs. My service pup reminds me to drink water multiple times a day because he knows I get dizzy when I don’t. My service pup reminds me to take up space and demand respect from those around me and threatens to bite those who won’t give it. My service dog is strong and I know he’s being serious when he says he’d carry me in his arms up every set of stairs in every building that doesn’t have an elevator.
If you’re a disabled dom and your service submissive acts as a disability aid I’d love to hear more of you talk about it!! And if you’re a disabled dom and you’ve been scared to let someone in to such a vulnerable part of you, I really recommend asking a sub you trust to learn some tasks for you :p
Summary: Aftercare always makes you a little softer...
word count: 549
Warnings: post-sex scene, aftercare, chronic pain, hip pain, disability/chronic illness discussion, emotional vulnerability, references to past relationship neglect, relationship anxiety, intimacy, touch, affectionate teasing
Authors note: Here you go guys I have so much on these two this probably takes place before Baran, but months into their situationship. So Trin is an R2 in this closer to season 2
Afterward the room was quiet except for both of you breathing slowly evening out.
The soft yellow light from your bedside lamp cast long shadows across the blankets while rain tapped faintly against the windows outside.
Trinity lay flat on her back beneath you, hair messy against the pillow, skin still warm and flushed. You could see the sweat droplets on her skin.
You shifted carefully on top of her with a small tired sound before settling your head against her chest. Trinity’s hands moved instinctively over your back. Soft and grounding.
“For aftercare,” you mumbled against her skin, voice rough with exhaustion, “can you rub my back?”
“Mmhm.” Her fingers immediately started tracing slow circles on your heated skin. “You okay?”
“My left hip’s hurting.”
Trinity’s hands paused briefly.
“Why didn’t you tell me, baby?”
You let out a sleepy hum.
“Didn’t feel it in the moment.”
Which was true. Adrenaline and pleasure and endorphins. Sometimes your body let you forget itself for a little while before demanding repayment afterward.
Trinity’s touch softened instantly. One hand slid lower, carefully rubbing near your hip while the other continued up your spine. A soft moan coming out of you, not a sexual one, but certainly one of pleasure.
“You push through too much,” she murmured quietly.
You cracked one eye open slightly.
“Says the emergency medicine R2.”
“That’s different.” She tries to counter.
“It literally isn’t.”
Trinity snorted softly. You melted further against her while she kept rubbing your back in slow steady motions. Her fingers working over the knot of muscles by your hip, gripping her a little tighter.
Honestly this part scared you more than the sex sometimes. The softness afterward. The staying. Your ex used to leave bed immediately after intimacy near the end. Like closeness itself became exhausting, but Trinity always touched you afterward. Absent-mindedly. Naturally. Like she couldn’t help it and honestly she probably couldn’t help it. A long time ago when she was just an intern you had noticed how much she wanted to reach people, but never could.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Trinity murmured suddenly.
You lifted your head slightly to look at her.
“How do you know that?”
“You get this wrinkle right here.” She brushed lightly between your brows. “And then you go all quiet.”
You stared at her for a second.
Then deadpanned “That’s rude and deeply invasive..”
“You gave me apartment access.” She shrugs with a smirk.
“That was clearly my first mistake.” Trinity laughed softly beneath you before her hand returned to your hip again. This time she was more gentle, fingers working over your muscles carefully.
“Tell me if I hit a bad spot,” she murmured.
Something uncomfortable and warm twisted low in your chest at the automatic concern in her voice.
So naturally…you deflected.
“Santos.”
“Yeah?”
“If you keep acting tender after sex I’m gonna have to start charging you by the hour for emotional recovery services.”
Her laugh vibrated beneath your cheek.
“Too late, psych menace.” Her fingers slid slowly through your hair now. “I fear I’m already attached.”
Your stomach flipped unpleasantly hard at that. Dangerous. Very dangerous.
So you hid your face back against her chest before she could see how much those words affected you.
Summary: Ever since your ex-wife left you because you became "too much" you've kept everyone at a distance so why is this R2 you're keeping things casual with getting under your skin?
word count: 12.7K
Warnings: chronic pain flare, mobility aid use, medical setting, ED/hospital stress, psych hold, stimulant-induced psychosis, paranoia/hallucinations, agitated patient, brief ableist comment, emotional insecurity, past relationship trauma, ex-wife emotional neglect, fear of being a burden, missed medication, pain flare care, crying/emotional breakdown, hurt/comfort, relationship labels angst, love confession
Authors note: This is a long one, but this...this was probably the most important part of their relationship.
By two in the afternoon, your patience was hanging by a thread. Which honestly wasn’t that unusual for the ED.
Your shoulders ached from hunching over charts all morning, your wrists burned every time you typed, and somewhere around noon your right hip had started throbbing hard enough you’d finally caved and switched from your cane to your chair.
The psych hold rooms were full. A nurse got screamed at by a patient high on meth. Mateo nearly got punched and Robby kept trying to page psych for things that were very obviously not psych consults.
So yes. Your patience was gone.
“You cannot diagnose someone with borderline personality disorder because she cried during an argument with her husband,” you deadpanned, staring at Ogilvie in front of you.
The poor guy blinked.
“Well when you say it like that-”
“Because that’s what happened.”
Behind you, someone snorted. You didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. Cassie leaned against the counter beside your workstation with entirely too much amusement on her face.
“You’re being mean again.”
“I’m being correct.”
“Mm.” Cassie sipped her coffee. “You know HR usually prefers the first one.”
“HR can fight me.”
That dragged a laugh out of her. You turned back toward your laptop, already rubbing absently at the ache building in your wrist when suddenly, a familiar voice floated down the hallway.
“Excuse me, is psych consult always this terrifying or is today special?”
Your head snapped up immediately and there she was. Trinity stood near the nurses station in jeans and one of your hoodies, sunglasses perched on top of her head, keeping her hair from falling in her face. She had a takeout bag in one hand and a drink tray balanced in the other.
Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip instantly. Cassie noticed immediately.
“Oh my god,” she whispered dramatically. “You got heart eyes.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
Trinity spotted you then and grinned immediately. There it was. That stupid warm expression she only got around you. Your entire body softened before you could stop it.
“Hi baby,” Trinity said casually as she walked over.
Cassie made a choking noise beside you. You ignored her with great dignity.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying for calm and failing slightly because Trinity leaned down to kiss your cheek like she belonged there. Which unfortunately, she kind of did.
“It’s my day off,” Trinity said like this explained everything. “And Mateo texted me that you threatened to throw a stapler at someone.”
“He exaggerated.”
“You asked if the stapler would improve their critical thinking skills.” Dana ended up pointing out from the nurses station.
“In my defense, it might.”
Trinity laughed softly and set the food down beside your laptop. The smell hit you immediately. Your favorite sandwich from the deli down the street. The soup you liked on bad pain days, and one of those electrolyte drinks Trinity was constantly trying to force into your system. You stared at it. Then at her.
“You brought me lunch?”
“You left without having breakfast.”
“I had a monster...”
“That’s not food.”
Cassie looked deeply emotional witnessing this.
“You two are disgusting,” she informed both of you.
“Jealousy is ugly on you,” Trinity shot back immediately.
Cassie pointed at the takeout bag accusingly. “She never brings me soup.”
“You don’t deserve soup.”
“Wow.”
Meanwhile you were still staring at Trinity a little too quietly.
Because this, this still got to you sometimes. The consistency of it. The way she noticed things; remembered things. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to.
Trinity caught your expression immediately.
“What?” she asked softer now.
You shook your head once.
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly like she knew you were lying, but she let you have the escape route.Instead she bumped her hip lightly against your chair.
“You eaten at all today?”
“…Maybe.”
“Y/N.”
You looked away immediately.
Cassie burst out laughing beside you.
“Oh she’s in TROUBLE trouble.”
“I am not.”
Trinity crossed her arms. “Baby.”
That word still hit like a truck every single time. Especially at work. Especially when she said it so naturally. You cleared your throat roughly.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Mhm.” Trinity slid the sandwich closer to you anyway. “Eat before you get meaner.”
“You like when I’m mean.”
“That’s different.”
Cassie physically gagged this time.
“Okay I’m leaving before one of you starts making out at the nurses station.”
“We’re at work,” you said flatly.
Trinity glanced at you innocently. “Coward.”
You choked on absolutely nothing while Cassie HOWLED laughing and walked away immediately yelling:
“MATEO YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS THEY’RE FLIRTING AGAIN.”
Your face burned, but Trinity looked delighted.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m never flustered.”
“Baby, you literally stopped functioning because I brought you soup.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again.
Because unfortunately that was a little true. Trinity’s expression softened after a second. Then quieter, gentler:
“You looked tired this morning.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. There it was again. That impossible softness. Not pity or obligation. Care, it was as simple as breathing. You swallowed hard and looked down at the food in front of you before muttering quietly,
“Thank you for lunch.”
Trinity smiled immediately. Warm enough to undo you a little.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Always.”
You pat your lap. "Come here, I'll wheel us to the breakroom."
Trinity’s eyebrows lifted immediately.
“In the chair?” she asked, already grinning.
You looked at her flatly. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You literally just invited me onto your lap at work.”
“You brought me soup. This is your reward.”
“That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
You rolled your eyes, but your hand stayed resting against your thigh expectantly.
“C’mere before I change my mind.”
Trinity looked entirely too pleased with herself as she stepped closer. Around you, the ED continued buzzing with noise. Phones ringing. Monitor alarms. Someone yelled for transport down the hallway and somehow Trinity still managed to make it feel like the two of you existed in your own little bubble inside the chaos.
“You know,” she murmured while carefully settling sideways onto your lap, “this is definitely gonna make people talk.”
“They already talk.”
“True.”
You tried very hard not to focus on the warmth of her pressed against you or the fact that she fit there disturbingly well or the way her arm immediately looped loosely around your shoulders like it belonged there. Dangerous. All of it.
Your hands settled automatically at her waist before you pushed the chair into motion toward the breakroom. From somewhere behind you, Mateo immediately shouted
“OH MY GOD TRINITY IS IN HER LAP!.”
You closed your eyes briefly.
“I’m revoking his rights.”
Trinity was shaking with laughter against your shoulder now.
“You can’t say that after giving me princess treatment in the hallway.”
“This is not princess treatment.”
“You’re literally chauffeuring me.”
“You have functioning legs.”
“And yet here I am.”
Unfortunately…she was. You caught sight of several nurses openly grinning as you rolled past.
You heard Princess whisper to Perlah “finally” under her breath.
Your soul briefly left your body.
“This is humiliating.” you said, slightly regretting this decision.
Trinity tilted her head to look at you, still smiling softly.
“No,” she said quietly enough only you could hear. “It’s sweet.”
That hit harder than it should have. Because there was a time not that long ago where something like this would’ve terrified you. Being seen caring openly. Being seen as soft, but Trinity made it feel strangely easy.
Even now, sitting sideways in your lap stealing fries out of the takeout bag before you’d even made it to the breakroom.
“Hey.”
“Those are mine.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“You literally brought this here for me.”
“And yet I’m still unconvinced.”
You snorted softly despite yourself, steering the chair carefully through the breakroom doorway. The second the door swung shut behind you, the noise of the ED dulled significantly. Trinity relaxed further against you immediately.
“This was so worth coming in on my day off,” she murmured.
You looked at her for a second too long. At the softness in her expression. At how naturally she occupied your space now. At how your body had stopped bracing against care every second she offered it.
Then you sighed quietly through your nose and leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss to her temple. Trinity froze slightly in surprise. Because you still didn’t initiate affection first very often. Not like this. When you pulled back, she was staring at you with that same warm look that always made your chest ache.
“What?” you muttered immediately.
“Nothing,” she said softly.
You and Trinity managed exactly five uninterrupted minutes. Five. Which, honestly, might’ve been a hospital record. Trinity was still half curled into your lap in the breakroom chair, stealing your fries despite having her own food sitting untouched beside her.
“You know,” she mused thoughtfully while chewing, “I think you only keep me around because I’m charming.”
“I keep you around because you keep bringing me soup.”
“That’s basically a marriage proposal in healthcare.” You snorted softly and reached for your drink.
For once, your pain had dulled to something manageable beneath the warmth of food and Trinity’s weight against you. The breakroom lights were dimmer than the ED outside. Rain tapped softly against the windows. Comfortable, Dangerously comfortable. Then the breakroom door swung open. Baran stepped inside, already holding a tablet in one hand. Her eyes landed on the two of you immediately. Then dropped to the fact Trinity was fully sitting in your lap. One eyebrow lifted.
“You know,” Baran said calmly, “most people use chairs traditionally.”
Trinity grinned without shame. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You sighed. “Please ignore her.”
“Unfortunately I can’t.” Baran glanced at the tablet again. “Because I need you. Which means she needs to get off you.”
The shift in your posture was immediate. Work mode. Trinity felt it happen beneath her instantly.
“What’ve we got?” you asked.
Baran’s expression flattened slightly in that specific way it always did when she was professionally irritated.
“Twenty-four-year-old male brought in by EMS. Neighbors called after he started screaming that people were inside his walls.” She handed you the tablet. “Possible stimulant use but he’s paranoid, agitated, and tried to climb out of the ambulance.”
You scanned the notes quickly. Heart rate elevated. Sleep deprivation. Visual hallucinations. Combative with EMS.
“Any psych history?”
“Unknown currently.” Baran crossed her arms loosely. “He’s escalating already.” You sighed quietly through your nose.
“Alright.”
The second you shifted like you were going to stand, Trinity was already moving automatically off your lap. Careful. Instinctive. You noticed and so did Baran. Neither of you commented on it.
“You okay to take this?” Baran asked then, quieter now. There it was.Not questioning your competence. Just checking. You appreciated that about her. Your hip was still throbbing. Wrists aching. Exhaustion heavy behind your eyes. But psych patients in crisis didn’t stop existing because your body hurt.
“Yeah,” you answered simply.
Trinity frowned slightly beside you though. She knew that particular tone. The one where you’d already decided to push through no matter what your pain level actually was.
“You sure?” she asked softly.
Your eyes flicked toward her automatically. And for just half a second, your expression softened.
“Yeah baby,” you murmured quietly. “I’m sure.”
That word still visibly affected Trinity every time. Baran absolutely noticed that too judging by the tiny smirk threatening at the corner of her mouth. Then she cleared her throat professionally.
“The patient’s in Hold Three. Security’s nearby in case he escalates further.” You nodded once and reached for the wheels of your chair.
Immediately Trinity grabbed your drink before it could spill. Then your sandwich. Then your phone. Like she’d been doing this forever. The tiny domesticity of it hit you right in the chest.
“You didn’t finish eating,” Trinity pointed out quietly while walking beside your chair toward the door.
“I’ll survive.”
“That’s not what I said.” You glanced up at her.
At the concern she was trying not to make obvious. She still hovered just slightly whenever your pain was bad. Once upon a time that would’ve made you defensive immediately. Now it just made something warm settle low beneath your ribs.
“I’ll eat after the consult,” you promised softly. Trinity narrowed her eyes slightly like she didn’t entirely believe you. Which was fair. Then she leaned down quickly before you reached the hallway and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. Your entire brain short-circuited for a second. Because she’d done it without thinking. Like caring about you had become instinct now. Baran looked deeply entertained.
“You two are nauseating.”
“You love us,” Trinity shot back immediately.
Baran sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”
But as you rolled back into the noise and chaos of the ED, Trinity falling into step beside your chair without hesitation, you caught yourself thinking something dangerous again. Home. Her beside you. That feeling. By the time you reached Psych Hold Three, the hallway already felt tense. Security stood outside the room. One nurse looked two seconds away from quitting and somewhere inside, someone was yelling loud enough to echo down the corridor.
“I KNOW YOU PUT THEM IN THE VENTS!”
Something slammed violently against the wall. Beside your chair, Baran handed you the tablet while walking. You skimmed the notes rapidly again, a double check you always did. Paranoia. Sleep deprivation. Visual hallucinations. Escalating agitation. Your jaw tightened slightly.
“Vitals?”
“Tachycardic. BP’s elevated.” Baran glanced toward the room.
You nodded once.
“Still nothing for psych history?”
“Nothing confirmed yet.” As you approached the doorway, Cassie appeared carrying meds and immediately slowed beside you.
“You good?” she asked quietly.
There it was again. That careful check-in people at work had learned to do without making it weird. Your hip was throbbing from sitting too long already. Your wrists burned from pushing your chair across the department. Fatigue sat heavy behind your eyes, but the patient came first.
“Yeah,” you answered simply.
Cassie narrowed her eyes slightly like she didn’t fully believe you.
Also fair.
Inside the room, the patient paced frantically near the bed, hospital gown half hanging off one shoulder. Sweat dampened his hairline. His eyes darted wildly toward the ceiling vents before snapping toward the doorway the second security opened it.
“There!” he shouted immediately. “More of them!”
Security stiffened. You lifted a hand calmly without looking away from the patient.
“Easy.”
Your voice shifted automatically into work mode. Grounded. Controlled. Steady. The patient’s gaze locked onto you instantly. You stayed near the doorway at first, chair angled sideways instead of directly facing him. Less confrontational.
“My name’s Y/N,” you said evenly. “I’m psych. What’s your name?”
“They already know my fucking name!” His breathing sped up again. You nodded once.
“That sounds exhausting.”
The patient blinked in surprise because you weren’t arguing with him.
“They won’t stop talking,” he muttered rapidly. “Through the walls. Through the vents. They keep saying my name.”
“Have you slept recently?”
“No because THEY WON’T LET ME.” He shouted the last part loud enough that Cassie visibly tensed near the wall.
You noticed the tremor in his hands. Skin picking along his fingers. Rapid speech. Likely stimulant-induced psychosis layered over severe sleep deprivation.
“You know what I think?” you asked calmly. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“What?”
“I think your brain’s overwhelmed right now.”
He laughed once sharply. “You think I’m crazy.”
“No.” Your voice stayed even. “I think you’re scared.”
That landed. The patient’s pacing slowed slightly. Not safe yet, but reachable. The patient scrubbed both hands over his face suddenly.
“They won’t leave me alone.”
“You’ve probably been running on adrenaline for days,” you said gently. “No sleep. No real rest. That can make your brain do some terrifying things.” His eyes flicked toward your chair suddenly. Then lingered.
“You a doctor?”
“Psychiatrist. So yes I am. I just don't deal with physical sickness.”
“You’re in a wheelchair.” Blunt. Not cruel.
You nodded once. “Sometimes.” The patient stared another second.
Then unexpectedly, “And they still let you work here?”
Cassie immediately looked like she wanted to fight someone on your behalf despite the patient clearly not meaning harm. You stayed calm.
“Yep.” A strange quiet settled over the room after that.
Because suddenly the patient looked at you differently.
“You look tired too,” he muttered.
A snort escaped Cassie before she could stop it. You shot her a flat look over your shoulder. Cassie immediately held both hands up. “Sorry.”
The patient actually cracked the faintest confused smile at that. Good, human moments mattered during de-escalation. You leaned forward slightly despite the protest from your spine.
“Can you do me a favor?”
His shoulders tensed warily again. “What?”
“Sit down for thirty seconds while we talk.” Silence. Then finally, slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed. The room visibly relaxed. Security loosened slightly near the door. Cassie exhaled softly. You kept your voice steady.
“Thank you.”
The patient rubbed hard at his eyes again suddenly, exhaustion finally beginning to crack through the paranoia.
“I just want it to stop.”
And there it was underneath everything else. Fear. Your expression softened despite yourself.
“We’re gonna help with that,” you promised quietly. From beside the wall, Cassie glanced toward you briefly. That look people got sometimes after watching you work. Respect. Pride. A little awe. You still never quite knew what to do with it. The patient stared at you hard after that. Like he was trying to decide whether you were lying to him. Paranoia still buzzed visibly beneath his skin. His knee bounced rapidly where he sat on the edge of the bed, fingers picking harshly at the skin around his thumb. You kept your posture relaxed despite the ache beginning to burn hotter through your back.
“I’ve got some medicine that’ll help with feeling scared,” you said gently.
His eyes flicked immediately toward Cassie where she stood quietly near the wall holding the meds. Suspicion flashed across his face.
“You trying to knock me out?”
“No.” Your tone stayed even. “I’m trying to help your brain slow down enough that you can breathe again.” The patient swallowed hard. You softened your voice just slightly more.
“Are you willing to work with me here and try it?” you asked. “See, you’d think medicine would be an exact science, but…” You lifted one shoulder lightly. “Humans are weird.” That got the faintest confused huff out of him. Good.
“So this might help,” you continued carefully, “or maybe it doesn’t help enough and we try something else, okay?” His breathing had slowed some now. Still anxious. Still frightened, but listening.
“Won’t make it worse?” he asked wearily. Something in your chest tightened at that question. Because fear like this always came from somewhere. Bad experiences. Mistrust. People forcing things instead of explaining them.
“No,” you answered immediately, firmly enough that he looked back up at you again. “Definitely not that. I promise.” You held his gaze steadily. “I’m here to help.” Silence settled over the room for a second. Then finally; a tiny nod. Cassie visibly relaxed beside the wall.
“There we go,” you murmured softly. “Thank you.” The patient rubbed at his face again, exhaustion dragging at him harder now that the adrenaline spike was beginning to ebb. Cassie approached slowly after you gave her a small nod. No sudden movements. No crowding. You watched carefully while she explained the medication again in simpler terms, letting him see everything before he took it. Control mattered. Especially when someone felt like they’d lost all of it already. The patient hesitated only briefly before taking the cup with shaky hands.
“There you go,” Cassie said gently. You caught the way her voice softened during psych holds sometimes despite how guarded she usually acted in the ED. People underestimated how deeply she cared. The patient swallowed the meds and leaned back against the bed afterward looking utterly exhausted. The fight was draining out of him now. Good. You stayed where you were for another minute instead of immediately pushing further. No interrogation. No overwhelming questions. Just presence. Eventually the patient looked back toward you again.
“You really think this’ll stop?” You tilted your head slightly.
“I think you haven’t slept properly in days,” you answered honestly. “And I think your brain deserves a chance to rest before we decide anything else.” He looked at you for a long moment. Then quietly:
“You talk different than the other doctors.” Before you could answer, Cassie snorted softly.
“That’s because she’s terrifyingly good at this.”
You shot her a flat look immediately. Cassie only shrugged innocently. The patient looked between the two of you, confusion slowly giving way to something calmer now that the panic wasn’t swallowing him whole anymore.
Then unexpectedly: “You guys friends?” The question caught both of you slightly off guard. Cassie recovered first.
“Unfortunately.”
You sighed. “I’m surrounded by comedians.” That finally pulled a weak tired laugh from the patient, and just like that, The room softened completely. The patient sat there breathing hard through his nose, the medication not fully kicking in yet but enough that the frantic edge had started dulling around the corners. His shoulders weren’t up around his ears anymore. His eyes tracked the room less frantically. Still scared. But reachable now. You shifted slightly in your chair, ignoring the sharp protest from your hip.
“Okay,” you said gently. “I have two options for you.” The patient blinked at that.
“You have to pick one though, okay?” After a second, he nodded once.
“Okay good.” Your voice stayed warm and even. “Option one: I stay here for a bit and we talk.” His expression tightened slightly. You shook your head immediately.
“Doesn’t have to be about this,” you reassured him. “Could be literally anything. Favorite movie. Music. Worst fast food experiences. Whatever.” That got the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Beside the wall, Cassie looked deeply entertained watching you casually therapize someone with Taco Bell conversations.
“Option two,” you continued, “we leave you alone and let you try to sleep for a little while.” The patient looked down at his hands for a long moment. You didn’t rush him. That was the thing most people got wrong during psych crises. They rushed. Filled silence. Demanded regulation from someone whose brain physically couldn’t do it yet. Eventually he looked back up.
“You’d stay?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t got other patients?” Cassie snorted softly under her breath.
You ignored her.
“I do,” you admitted honestly. “But right now I’m with you.” The patient stared at you again with that same strange almost suspicious confusion people sometimes got when they weren’t expecting kindness.
“You don’t gotta babysit me.”
“There’s that word again,” you said softly. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.
“Babysit.”
You leaned back slightly in your chair.
“I’m not here because I have to keep you under control,” you explained gently. “I’m here because you’re having a rough time and people deserve help when they’re scared.” The room went very quiet after that. Even Cassie’s expression softened slightly near the wall. The patient scrubbed a hand hard over his face.
“I’m tired,” he admitted finally. There it was. Not paranoia.
Not yelling. Just exhaustion. Your expression softened instinctively.
“Then I think maybe your brain’s telling us what it needs.” He looked at the bed uncertainly.
“You really think I can sleep?”
“I think your body’s been running a marathon for days.” You gave him a small shrug. “Might not be perfect sleep. But I think rest would help.” The patient nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he mumbled.
“Okay which one?” A tiny pause.
“Nap.”
“Excellent choice,” you said immediately, like he’d won something. That earned another weak almost-laugh out of him. You nodded toward the bed gently.
“Why don’t you get comfortable for me then?” He hesitated only briefly before pulling his legs up onto the bed fully this time. Not curled defensively anymore. Just tired. Cassie quietly stepped forward to dim the lights slightly while security relaxed near the doorway. You noticed the patient watching all of it carefully. Watching how nobody grabbed him. Nobody barked orders. Nobody treated him like a threat now that he’d calmed. Control returned in tiny pieces. Important pieces. You rolled your chair back slightly toward the door once he settled against the pillow.
“I’m gonna check back in a little bit, okay?” The patient looked toward you again.
Then quieter now:
“...Thanks.”
You nodded once.
“You’re welcome.”
And as the door shut quietly behind you, Cassie looked over at you with that same expression people always got after watching you work.
“You know,” she muttered while the two of you headed back toward the nurses station, “it’s actually really annoying how good you are at that.” You snorted softly.
“Jealous?”
“Deeply.” Cassie glanced sideways at you. “Your girlfriend’s gonna hear about this by the way.” Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip immediately.
“She already thinks I hung the moon.”
Cassie grinned. “And you’re pretending you don’t love it?” You rolled your eyes at Cassie’s comment automatically.
“She already thinks I hung the moon.”
Cassie grinned immediately. “And you’re pretending you don’t love it?”
“Goodbye, Cass.”
“Oh my god you do love it.” You pushed your chair forward before she could say anything else. Cassie’s laughter followed you halfway down the hallway. Normally you would’ve let it roll off you. Normally you were better at compartmentalizing. But the word stuck. Girlfriend. Your hands tightened slightly against the wheels of your chair as you turned back toward the breakroom. Girlfriend.
The fluorescent hallway lights buzzed overhead while nurses moved around you in organized chaos. Somewhere nearby someone called for respiratory. Phones rang endlessly at the nurses station, but your brain snagged hard on that one stupid word. Because technically, technically Trinity wasn’t your girlfriend. Neither of you had actually said that. There’d been no conversation. No defining things. No moment. This had started casual. Just sex. Then staying over. Then movie nights. Then Trinity memorizing your favorite energy drinks and bringing you soup on bad pain days and somehow leaving hoodies all over your apartment like she belonged there. Somewhere along the line, the lines blurred completely and apparently everyone else noticed before you did. You slowed near the hallway corner. Then stopped entirely. A nurse squeezed past you with a muttered apology you barely registered. Girlfriend. The thought should’ve made you panic. Honestly, a few months ago it probably would have. You remembered the beginning too clearly still.
Trinity showing up cocky and exhausted after brutal shifts. Too pretty. Too loud. Too young. An R2 with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove. You’d pegged her immediately as dangerous. Not because she was reckless. Because she cared too easily.
You remembered how sharp you’d been with her in those early mornings after hookups.
How quickly you’d shoved distance back between you every time she softened. No coffee. No staying too long. No accidental intimacy. You’d thought if you controlled the pace carefully enough, you could keep this from becoming something capable of hurting you. Then Trinity ruined everything by staying. Not dramatically. Just consistently. Showing up after shifts. Remembering your flare patterns. Learning how to hand you things without making you feel helpless. Texting you dumb memes at 2 a.m. Curling around you in bed like your body wasn’t something difficult to navigate.
And worst of all…she never treated care like debt accumulating. Your ex-wife used to sigh eventually. Withdraw eventually. Keep score eventually.
Trinity just…loved loudly, openly, without strategy. The realization settled heavily in your chest as you sat there in the middle of the ED hallway. Because somewhere along the way, you’d stopped bracing for her to leave every second. Your apartment smelled like her shampoo half the week now. She knew the code to your door. You automatically looked for her after rough consults and apparently your coworkers casually referred to her as your girlfriend because to everyone else this was obvious. Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You looked down at your hands resting against the wheels of your chair. At the slight tremor in your fingers from pain and exhaustion. Then quietly muttered to yourself:
“Jesus Christ.” Because somehow without meaning to you’d let someone all the way in. And terrifyingly enough? You didn’t want her back out. By the time you made it back to the breakroom, your brain still hadn’t shut up. Girlfriend. The word echoed around your skull obnoxiously while you pushed through the door. Inside, Trinity sat sideways in one of the chairs scrolling on her phone with your untouched soup beside her. The second she looked up and saw you, her entire face lit up. Instantly. Like seeing you again after twenty minutes apart genuinely improved her day.
Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.
“There she is,” Trinity said warmly, locking her phone immediately. “How’d it go?” You rolled further into the room slowly.
“Stimulant-induced psychosis most likely,” you answered, parking beside the table. “Severe sleep deprivation. Paranoia. Hallucinations.” Trinity’s expression softened into immediate focus while you talked. Listening. Actually listening.
“He ended up agreeing to meds,” you continued, reaching automatically for your drink. “Finally got him to sit down long enough to breathe.”
“That’s good.” Trinity leaned her chin into her hand while watching you carefully. “You de-escalated him?” You snorted softly.
“No, I challenged him to a fistfight.”
“That’s my girl.” The words slipped out casually. Unthinking. Your stomach flipped stupidly fast. Trinity didn’t seem to notice she’d said it or maybe she did. Hard to tell with her sometimes.
“He just needed someone to stop treating him like a threat for five minutes,” you muttered after a second quieter now. “Guy was terrified.” Trinity’s expression changed again then. That look. The one she always got after hearing you talk about psych patients. Soft. Proud. A little wrecked by you.
“You’re really good at this,” she said quietly. Your eyes dropped immediately to the table.
Deflection rose automatically to your tongue, then stalled. Because suddenly you were too aware of everything. Her sitting here on her day off waiting for you. The soup she brought. Cassie’s stupid comment. The fact that Trinity’s face still brightened every time you walked into a room. Dangerous. You cleared your throat roughly instead.
“Cassie laughed at me.”
“That’s because Cassie’s in love with workplace drama.”
“No, she laughed because the patient told me I looked tired.”
Trinity burst into immediate laughter.
“Oh my god.”
“You’re both awful.”
“You do look tired.”
“I’m leaving you here.”
“You’d miss me.” Unfortunately… Yeah. You would. The realization hit again sharp and unavoidable. Trinity tilted her head slightly while studying your face.
“You okay?” Too perceptive. Always too perceptive.
“Fine.”
“Hm.” She didn’t sound convinced. Before she could push further though, the breakroom door opened again and Cassie McKay wandered in carrying a chart.
“There you are,” Cassie said casually before looking between the two of you with entirely too much amusement. “Your girlfriend’s been hoarding your soup.” Your stomach dropped instantly. You went still and beside the table Trinity laughed softly and shook her head.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” The words landed like a slap you absolutely did not expect. Not because they were wrong. Technically they weren’t, but something in your chest still twisted painfully hard anyway. You looked down immediately before your face could give anything away. Across the room, Cassie visibly froze too like she realized she’d accidentally stepped into something awkward.
“Oh,” Cassie muttered. “I just assumed…”
“We’re keeping it casual,” Trinity said easily, completely unaware of the sudden roaring in your ears. Casual. That’s what this was supposed to be. You were the one who wanted that. The one who built those boundaries. The one who shoved her away every time things got too soft too real too dangerous. So why did hearing Trinity say it now make you feel vaguely sick? You forced your expression flat before either of them could notice anything.
“Well,” you muttered lightly, reaching for your soup finally, “glad we cleared up the workplace rumors.” Trinity grinned at you easily from across the table. Somehow that almost made it worse. You forced yourself to smile anyway. You were the one who insisted on this. The one who kept shoving labels away every time they got too close.
So you swallowed the weird ache in your throat and leaned forward just enough to press a quick kiss against Trinity’s cheek. Soft. Brief. Professional enough for work.
“You should probably get out of here before Robby sees you and ropes you into a surgery,” you joked lightly.
Trinity laughed immediately.
“Oh my god, don’t even manifest that.”
“I’m serious. He can smell free labor.”
“Rude.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No,” Trinity admitted while standing. “That man cornered me in an elevator once.”
You snorted softly despite yourself.
Trinity grabbed her bag off the floor then looked back toward you again automatically.
That same warm look.
Like leaving you behind for the rest of her day genuinely sucked a little.
“I’ll text you later?” she asked.
Not assuming.
Still asking.
Something about that made the tightness in your chest worse.
“Yeah,” you answered quietly.
Trinity smiled softly.
Then without hesitation she leaned down and kissed the top of your head quickly before heading toward the door.
Your entire brain short-circuited for half a second.
“Bye baby.”
“Bye, Trin.”
And then she was gone.
The breakroom door swung shut behind her.
Silence lasted approximately two seconds.
Then suddenly—
Hands slammed dramatically onto the armrests of your chair from behind.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
You physically jumped.
“Jesus Christ!”
Cassie McKay looked personally betrayed standing behind your chair.
“You’re IN LOVE.”
You stared at her flatly.
“I’m actually calling security.”
Cassie ignored you completely and spun your chair slightly toward her with scandalized energy.
“You let her kiss your forehead at work.”
“It was the top of my head.”
“THAT’S WORSE.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose immediately.
“Cassie—”
“No no no.” She pointed aggressively at you now. “Do you know how emotionally intimate that is?”
“She brought me soup.”
“She called you baby like six times.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Cassie looked at you like she’d just witnessed a car accident.
“You looked devastated when she said you weren’t dating.”
Your stomach dropped instantly.
Because apparently your face had betrayed you more than you thought.
You looked away immediately.
Cassie’s expression shifted almost comically fast from chaos to realization.
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t.”
“You want her to be your girlfriend.”
You rubbed hard at your forehead.
“Cassie.”
“You absolute disaster.”
“She literally just said we’re casual.”
Cassie stared at you for a long moment.
Then very slowly:
“Did you ever ask for anything else?”
Silence.
Annoying.
Awful.
Insightful silence.
Because no.
You hadn’t.
You were the one who drew the lines originally.
The one who insisted on casual.
The one who panicked every time Trinity got too soft, too close, too caring.
Cassie watched the realization hit you in real time.
Then sighed dramatically.
“Oh this is painful.”
“Why are you still here?”
“Because unfortunately I care about you.” Cassie leaned against the table now, crossing her arms. “Also because watching emotionally unavailable people realize they accidentally developed feelings is my favorite hobby.”
You glared at her weakly.
Cassie only grinned wider.
“You know what the funniest part is?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“She definitely loves you too.”
Your chest tightened violently.
You scoffed immediately on instinct.
“She literally just said-”
“She said she’s not your girlfriend.” Cassie cut you off. “That’s not the same thing.”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it again.
Because suddenly your brain was replaying every moment from the last few months:
Trinity bringing you lunch on her day off.
Learning your medication schedule.
Sleeping curled around you carefully during flares.
Showing up.
Staying.
Caring without hesitation.
Casual people didn’t do that.
Did they?
Cassie watched your expression carefully before softening slightly.
“You know,” she said quieter now, “you’re allowed to want something real.”
The words hit harder than you expected. Because somewhere deep down, part of you still believed wanting things from people was dangerous. That eventually they’d resent you for it. You looked toward the closed breakroom door where Trinity disappeared a few minutes ago. Then quietly muttered:
“Well that’s deeply unfortunate timing.”
Cassie kept staring at you with that deeply irritating expression. Like she’d solved a puzzle. You hated that expression.
“You know,” she mused, leaning against the table beside your chair, “this explains a lot.”
“Oh my god.”
“You were never this weird about anyone else.”
“I’m not weird.”
Cassie barked out a laugh loud enough that someone outside the breakroom glanced in briefly.
“You looked like someone shot your dog when she said you weren’t dating.”
You rubbed both hands over your face tiredly.
Your joints ached.
Your shift wasn’t even close to over.
And somehow your emotional crisis had become Cassie’s entertainment for the day.
“This conversation is ending now.”
“No it absolutely is not.”
You sighed dramatically toward the ceiling before finally looking back at her.
“You. Me. After work.”
Cassie blinked once.
“I’d say a bar but…”
“It can be a bar.” Cassie shrugged immediately. “I’m sober, not abstinent. I can drink soda.”
You nodded once.
“Okay. Bar after work and I’ll explain it.”
Cassie immediately straightened like she’d just been handed classified government information.
“Oh my god there’s a backstory.”
“But,” you cut in sharply, “you tell no one.”
Cassie opened her mouth.
You pointed directly at her.
“No seriously. If you tell this to anyone in this hospital,” Your voice dropped lower, calmer, more dangerous somehow. “I mean anyone. I will do psychological torture on you in such a subtle and horrifying way you won’t realize it’s happening until it’s far too late.”
Silence. Cassie stared at you. Not joking. Actually staring. Because your tone had changed completely. Still dry. Still controlled. But serious enough that it clearly caught her off guard.
“Okay,” she said slowly, hands lifting slightly in surrender. “Okay. Jesus.”
You held her gaze another second longer before finally leaning back slightly in your chair.
“I’m serious.”
Cassie studied your face carefully now.
The humor faded from her expression little by little, replaced by something quieter.
More understanding.
“You’re really scared about this, huh?”
The question landed harder than you expected.
By the time your shift finally ended, you felt half dead.
Your wrists ached from charting.
Your hip was screaming from a twelve-hour day in the chair.
And emotionally?
Emotionally you felt like someone had cracked your ribs open and left all your nerves exposed.
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹
Which was exactly how you ended up at a bar with Cassie at 9pm drinking soda instead of going home and pretending you weren’t having a crisis about your maybe-girlfriend.
The place was mostly quiet this late.
Dim lighting.
Low music.
A few exhausted healthcare workers scattered around nursing drinks like they’d all collectively survived battle.
You sat in a booth near the back with your cane leaned against the table now that you were out of the chair. Your joints protested every small movement after long shifts like this.
Cassie slid a basket of fries toward you.
“Eat.”
“I hate that all of you are bossy.”
“You attract bossy women somehow.”
You snorted softly and stole one of the fries anyway.
Cassie watched you over the rim of her soda cup for a second before speaking.
“So.”
You immediately pointed at her.
“If you say ‘your girlfriend’ I’m leaving.”
Cassie grinned.
“Interesting that you didn’t say she isn’t your girlfriend.”
You groaned quietly and leaned your head back against the booth.
“You’re exhausting.”
“And yet here you are voluntarily spending time with me after work.”
“Temporary lapse in judgment.”
“Mhm.”
Silence settled for a minute after that.
Not uncomfortable exactly.
Just…waiting.
Eventually Cassie nudged your foot lightly beneath the table.
“Okay seriously.” Her voice softened slightly. “What’s going on in that giant scary psychiatrist brain?”
You stared down at your drink for a long moment before answering.
“She said it so easily.”
Cassie frowned slightly. “What?”
“That we’re casual.” You laughed once softly without humor. “Like it didn’t even make her hesitate.”
Cassie watched your face carefully.
“You think she doesn’t want more.”
“I think she’s respecting what I asked for.”
That shut Cassie up briefly.
Because there it was.
The actual problem.
You rubbed your thumb slowly against the condensation on your glass.
“When this started…” You exhaled quietly. “I didn’t want serious. I couldn’t.”
Cassie nodded slightly but didn’t interrupt.
“She was just supposed to be…” You gestured vaguely. “Fun. Easy. No expectations.”
Despite yourself, you laughed softly into your drink.
Then sighed.
“She got under my skin,” you admitted quietly. “And I didn’t even notice it happening until suddenly she had a code to my apartment and knew my medication schedule.”
Cassie’s expression softened.
“She sees me,” you said after another pause. “Like really sees me. And instead of running she just…” Your throat tightened slightly. “Stays.”
The word sat heavy between you.
Cassie leaned back against the booth slowly.
“So what’s the problem?”
You looked at her like she’d asked something ridiculous.
“The problem,” you said flatly, “is that people don’t stay forever.”
There it was.
The thing underneath everything else.
Cassie’s face changed slightly then.
Not teasing anymore.
Just listening.
You stared out toward the dim neon lights behind the bar instead of at her.
“My ex-wife used to look at me like Trinity does.”
The words came quieter now.
Careful.
Cassie didn’t speak.
“At first she was amazing,” you continued softly. “Appointments. Meds. Bad nights. She handled all of it.”
Your jaw tightened slightly.
“Until eventually she didn’t.”
The bar noise faded strangely around the edges while you spoke.
“She got tired,” you admitted. “Not all at once. Slowly.” You laughed once under your breath. “I think that was worse honestly.”
Cassie stayed quiet.
Giving you room.
“By the end…” You swallowed hard. “Every flare felt like I was ruining her life.”
Something angry flickered across Cassie’s expression immediately.
“She actually made you feel like that?”
“She didn’t have to say it directly.” Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “You can tell when someone starts loving you like an obligation instead of a person.”
Silence.
Then quieter:
“And now Trinity does one nice thing and your brain immediately starts waiting for the expiration date.”
You looked up sharply.
Cassie only shrugged slightly.
“I know addiction,” she said softly. “And I know what it looks like when someone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
You looked back down at the table.
“She deserves someone easier.”
Cassie immediately looked annoyed again.
“Okay first of all, if you say that one more time I’m throwing this soda at you.”
You snorted quietly.
“I’m serious.” Cassie leaned forward now. “You don’t get to decide what’s too hard for her.”
You opened your mouth.
She pointed at you immediately.
“Nope. Listen.” Her voice softened slightly. “That girl adores you.”
Your throat tightened again.
“And honestly?” Cassie added, leaning back again. “I think it scares the shit out of you that someone finally loves you in a way that feels safe.”
The words hit hard enough you couldn’t immediately answer.
Because sitting there in the dim light of the bar with your soda and aching joints and Trinity still lingering in your chest like warmth, you realized Cassie might be right.
Cassie watched you quietly for a long moment after that.
The noise of the bar hummed softly around you both. Low music. Glasses clinking somewhere near the counter. A tired group of nurses laughing too loudly three booths over.
You kept your eyes fixed on your soda.
“Look,” Cassie said finally, voice quieter now, “I’m not a psychiatrist like you, Y/N… but I know people.”
You huffed softly through your nose. “Debatable.”
Cassie ignored that.
“When you and your ex wife first got together…” She tilted her head slightly. “Your body wasn’t like it is now, was it?”
The question settled heavily in your chest.
You looked down at the table for a second before answering.
“No.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around one of the fries.
“Pain in my knees started when I was a teenager,” you admitted quietly. “Right before high school.”
Cassie listened without interrupting.
“She was there for that part.” You gave a tiny shrug. “But it wasn’t bad back then. Just a brace on my left knee. Physical therapy.” A humorless little laugh escaped you. “It helped for a while.”
Your throat tightened slightly.
“We didn’t know what it was yet.” Your gaze drifted somewhere distant past the bar lights. “Thought it was one thing, then suddenly it became more than my knees.”
Fatigue.
Joint instability.
Pain spreading slowly through your body year after year.
You still remembered every stage of it.
The cane.
The first mobility aid.
The first time a doctor mentioned the possibility of needing a chair eventually.
You remembered your ex-wife’s face every single time.
Cassie’s expression softened carefully.
“She married the version of you from high school,” she said quietly. “And when you slowly stopped being able to be that person…” Her jaw tightened slightly. “She left anyway.”
Your chest ached sharply at how simple she made it sound.
Because underneath all the medical terminology and complicated history—
Yeah.
That was what it felt like.
Like you’d failed at remaining someone lovable.
“I know that kills trust faster than almost anything,” Cassie continued. “But you wanna know the difference between her and Trinity?”
You gave a small shrug, poking absentmindedly at one fry with another.
Cassie leaned forward slightly across the table.
“Trinity knows exactly who you are, Y/N.”
Your eyes lifted automatically.
“All of it,” Cassie said firmly. “The good, the bad, the ugly.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
“She’s seen your pain flares. She’s seen you exhausted and mean and emotionally constipated.” Cassie snorted softly. “She’s seen you shut down and push people away and panic every time someone gets too close.”
You rolled your eyes weakly. “You make me sound delightful.”
“You’re missing the point.”
Cassie’s voice softened further.
“She’s seen all of that,” she repeated, “and she still loves you.”
The words hit hard enough you physically stilled.
Love.
Cassie said it so casually.
Like it was obvious.
Like maybe everyone could already see it except you.
“She looks at you like you hung the moon,” Cassie murmured. “And not because you’re easy.”
Your eyes burned unexpectedly.
Cassie kept going anyway.
“She doesn’t care that you’re older than her.” A shrug. “She doesn’t care that you use your chair or your cane or your rollator.”
Your grip tightened slightly around the fry in your hand.
“She doesn’t care if she has to help sort your meds one day,” Cassie continued softly. “Or help you shower because your pain’s too bad.”
Your breath caught slightly.
Because your ex-wife used to sigh during those moments near the end. Quietly. Like exhaustion she couldn’t hide anymore.
Cassie’s gaze stayed steady on yours.
“Trinity loves every part of you.”
Silence swallowed the booth afterward. You looked away first because suddenly your eyes stung too much. The neon lights blurred slightly around the edges.
“You don’t know that,” you said quietly.
Cassie snorted immediately.
“Please. That girl would fistfight God for you.”
Despite yourself, a startled laugh escaped you.
Cassie smiled faintly at the sound.
Then softer:
“And honestly? I think you love her too.”
Your chest tightened so painfully it almost stole your breath.
Because sitting there in the dim light with your aching joints and half-finished soda and Trinity still lingering in every soft place inside you…
You realized the terrifying thing wasn’t that Cassie might be wrong. It was that she was probably right. The tears slipped out before you could stop them. Quiet. Hot against your skin. You looked away immediately, scrubbing hard at your face with the heel of your hand before Cassie could say anything about it.
“Don’t,” you muttered roughly.
Cassie, to her credit, didn’t make a joke. She just sat there quietly across from you while the noise of the bar blurred softly around the edges. Your phone buzzed against the table. You almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then the screen lit up.
Trin <3 : you coming home? [Picture]
Your breath caught.
You opened it automatically.
And there she was.
Spread out across your couch in one of her tank tops with a blanket tangled around her legs. Hair messy. Pouting dramatically at the camera like she’d been waiting long enough to become personally offended about it.
Your couch. Your apartment. Home.
Something in your chest folded in on itself painfully soft. Cassie watched your entire expression change in real time.
“Oh my god,” she whispered dramatically. “You are gone.”
You barely heard her. Because suddenly all you could focus on was Trinity laying there in your space like she belonged in it. Like she belonged with you. Another text came through immediately after.
Trin <3 : i stole one of your hoodies btw
Trin <3 : and before you ask no im not giving it back
A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Cassie looked deeply vindicated.
“There she is,” she said softly.
You shook your head weakly, staring down at the photo again.
Your chest hurt.
Not in the frightening way anymore.
In the overwhelming way.
The I don’t know what to do with being loved this gently way.
Cassie nudged your foot lightly beneath the table.
“You should go home.”
Home.
The word hit differently now. Not the apartment. Not the building. Her there waiting for you. You swallowed hard around the emotion climbing your throat.
“She asked if I was coming home,” you murmured quietly, almost to yourself.
Cassie’s expression softened instantly.
“Yeah,” she said gently. “Because that’s what it is to her.”
Your eyes burned again.
You looked back down at the picture.
At Trinity’s sleepy pout. The blanket wrapped around her. The way she looked completely comfortable in your space. No hesitation. No resentment. No exhaustion.Just waiting for you.
And suddenly all you could think was:
Your ex-wife used to stop texting eventually.
The realization hit like grief and healing all at once.
Because Trinity never made you feel like returning to you was a chore.
You grabbed your cane slowly beside the booth.
Cassie watched you carefully while you stood, joints protesting immediately after sitting too long.
“You okay?”
You exhaled shakily through your nose.
“No,” you admitted honestly.
Then after a beat, softer:
“But I think maybe I want to be.”
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹
By the time you made it upstairs, your body was screaming.
Every step with the cane sent sharp pain through your hips and knees. Your shoulder ached from compensating. The exhaustion from shift plus the emotional drain from the conversation with Cassie McKay sat heavy behind your eyes.
And somewhere along the way, you forgot your meds. Which your body was now punishing you for aggressively. Your hand shook badly while trying to punch in the code to your apartment.
“Come on,” you muttered under your breath as you missed another number.
Pain fogged your thoughts thick and sluggish now. Your fingertips tingled unpleasantly. Your joints felt hot under your skin. The lock finally beeped. You barely managed to push the door open before warmth crossed the apartment toward you immediately.
“There you are.”
Trinity appeared almost instantly, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders from the couch. The second she reached you, one hand settled automatically at your waist while she pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Welcome home, baby.” Her voice was sleepy and warm. “Late night?”
Your chest tightened painfully at the greeting.
Home.
You leaned heavier against the cane without meaning to.
“I went with Cassie to the bar,” you mumbled tiredly.
Trinity’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Oh?”
“Mmm.” Your bag slid awkwardly down your shoulder while you tried kicking the door shut behind you. “She wanted to talk. Needed some guidance.”
Technically not a lie. Trinity hummed softly but you could already feel her attention shifting fully onto you now. Because she noticed things. Always. The shaking. The way your eyes struggled to focus. How heavily you leaned into the cane. The slight delay in your responses.
“Baby,” she said gently, hands coming up to help slide your bag off your shoulder before it fell completely. “Did you take your meds?”
You blinked slowly at her.
Your brain felt thick.
Slow.
“Yes?” you answered uncertainly.
Then immediately:
“No…wait…”
You squeezed your eyes shut hard, trying to remember through the fog.
Your meds were supposed to be…before the bar? After shift? Before…?
“Oh,” you whispered tiredly. “No no I didn’t.” Your face twisted slightly. “Forgot cause of bar.”
Trinity’s expression shifted instantly. Not annoyance or frustration. Concern. Real immediate concern. Because she could tell how bad it was already.
The tremor in your hands had worsened noticeably. Your breathing was shallow in that specific way it got when pain climbed too high. Even standing upright looked like effort now.
“Oh honey,” she murmured softly.
The sympathy in her voice nearly undid you right there in the doorway. Because your ex-wife used to sigh when things got like this. Tired. Frustrated.Trinity just moved closer.
“Okay.” Her hands settled carefully on your arms, grounding. “Can you stand for another minute if I help?”
You nodded weakly.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
Trinity immediately shifted herself under your arm slightly, taking some of your weight without making a production out of it. Like helping you was the most natural thing in the world.
“Couch first,” she said gently. “Then meds.”
You hated how much relief flooded your body at someone else taking over for a second. Your pride still flinched instinctively at needing help like this, but the pain was too loud now to fight her much. By the time she got you to the couch, your hands were shaking hard enough the cane nearly slipped from your grip. Trinity caught it before it hit the floor.
“There we go,” she murmured softly while helping lower you carefully onto the cushions.
The second you sat down, you let out a quiet involuntary sound of relief mixed with pain.
Trinity’s face tightened slightly at the sound.
“You’re hurting bad.”
You leaned your head back against the couch and closed your eyes.
“M’sorry.”
The apology slipped out automatically. Years of conditioning. Trinity immediately crouched in front of you.
“Hey.” Her voice softened further. “No apologizing.”
You swallowed hard.
Brain fog made it harder to keep your walls standing properly. Everything felt too raw emotionally after the conversation with Cassie already.
“I forgot,” you muttered weakly. “I usually don’t forget.”
“I know.”
No irritation.
No blame.
Just understanding.
God.
Trinity brushed her thumb gently beneath your eye before standing again.
“I’m getting your meds and water,” she said softly. “Stay put for me.”
You snorted faintly without opening your eyes.
“Where exactly would I go?”
That earned a quiet laugh from her somewhere near the kitchen.
As you listened to Trinity moving around your apartment like she belonged there, getting your meds without needing to ask where they were, filling your water bottle, coming back to you immediately
You realized something terrifying.
This didn’t feel temporary anymore.
When Trinity came back, she had your meds already sorted in one hand and your water bottle in the other.
No hesitation.No asking where things were. Like she’d learned your routines by heart somewhere along the way. You sat slumped against the couch cushions watching her through heavy-lidded eyes while pain fogged everything soft around the edges.
“There we go,” Trinity murmured gently as she knelt in front of you again. “Can you sit up a little for me?”
You tried.
Your body protested immediately.
A quiet hiss escaped you before you could stop it.
Trinity’s face tightened slightly.
“Easy, baby.”
God.
That word felt dangerous tonight.
You leaned forward enough for her to press the pills carefully into your palm. Your fingers shook so badly she hesitated for half a second before steadying your hand lightly beneath hers.
No judgment. No pity. Just help.
“You with me?” she asked softly.
“Mhm.”
“You sure?”
“Trin,” you mumbled tiredly. “If you ask me that again I’m legally allowed to bite you.”
A quiet laugh escaped her.
“You say that like it’s a threat and not something I actively want.”
You swallowed the meds with shaking hands while Trinity rubbed slow circles against your back the entire time.
Warm.
Grounding.
Easy.
The second you finished the water bottle, exhaustion crashed over you even harder. The adrenaline from the shift was gone now. Leaving only pain behind.
Trinity noticed immediately.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Bedroom.”
You closed your eyes briefly.
“Think my joints are filing complaints.”
“I’ll tell them HR is unavailable.”
A weak laugh escaped you.
Trinity smiled softly at the sound before standing and holding her hands out toward you.
“C’mon.”
Normally you would’ve fought harder against this much help. Normally the vulnerability of it all would’ve made you defensive, but tonight your body hurt too badly and your heart felt too cracked open already from everything Cassie said at the bar.
So you let Trinity help.
Slowly.
Carefully.
One arm wrapped around her shoulders while she helped you stand with your cane in the other hand. Your knees nearly buckled immediately from stiffness after sitting too long.
Trinity tightened her grip instinctively.
“I got you.”
Three simple words.
Your chest ached harder than your joints suddenly.
The walk to the bedroom was painfully slow. By the time you reached the bed, sweat dampened the back of your neck from pain alone.
“Okay,” Trinity murmured. “Sit.”
You obeyed, too exhausted to argue anymore.
The mattress dipped beside you immediately while Trinity crouched down in front of your legs.
“Can I help get these off?” she asked softly, fingers brushing lightly against your scrub pants.
The fact she still asked permission every single time nearly undid you.
You nodded once.
“Please.”
Something warm flickered across her expression at the word please.
Then carefully…so carefully. She helped you out of your scrubs. Like your body wasn’t inconvenient. Like your pain didn’t frustrate her. Like taking care of you was something tender instead of burdensome. You watched her through the haze of exhaustion while she folded your scrubs absentmindedly onto the chair instead of leaving them crumpled on the floor.
Domestic.
The thought hit you again sharp and terrifying.
Trinity grabbed one of your oversized sleep shirts from the dresser before coming back over.
“Arms up for me, baby.”
You obeyed sluggishly while she helped pull the soft fabric over your head.
Her hands skimmed gently over your sides while adjusting the shirt down properly afterward. No rushing. No irritation. Just patience. By the time you were finally settled in bed, your entire body felt heavy and overheated from the flare.
Trinity moved around the room quietly afterward in the kind of rhythm that told you she’d already memorized this routine too.
Heating pad plugged in. Extra pillows positioned beneath your knees and lower back. Fan switched on immediately because both of you ran too warm once the heating pad got going. Then an electrolyte drink appeared in your hands before you even asked.
“You’re magic,” you mumbled weakly.
Trinity snorted softly while climbing into bed beside you.
“No, you’re just terrible at taking care of yourself.”
“Rude.”
“Mhm.”
The mattress shifted while she settled carefully beside you, already instinctively avoiding the worst pain points without needing direction anymore.
You watched her quietly for a long moment.
At the softness in her face.
The familiarity in the way she moved around your room.
How naturally she occupied your life now.
Then quietly, before you could stop yourself:
“You make this feel less scary.”
Trinity froze slightly beside you.
Your chest tightened immediately afterward because shit…that had been honest.
Really honest.
You almost tried taking it back.
Then Trinity turned toward you fully in the dim bedroom light, expression impossibly soft now.
“Oh baby.”
Her hand slid gently into your hair.
And for the first time in years being cared for didn’t feel humiliating. It felt safe. You melted into her touch before you could stop yourself.
The heating pad hummed warmly beneath your back while the fan pushed cool air softly through the dark room. Your pain had dulled from unbearable to manageable now that the meds were finally kicking in, leaving you exhausted and emotionally raw instead.
Trinity’s fingers moved slowly through your hair.
Gentle and patient. The kind of softness you still weren’t entirely sure what to do with and maybe because you were tired. Maybe because the walls in your chest felt thinner tonight after everything Cassie said.
You finally spoke.
“It hurt earlier.”
Trinity hummed softly beside you.
“I’m sure it’s hurt all day,” she teased lightly, thumb brushing along your temple.
A weak breath of laughter escaped you.
“No,” you whispered. “I mean…”
Your throat tightened suddenly.
God.
Why was this harder than psych consults?
You swallowed hard and forced yourself to keep going.
“Earlier in the breakroom,” you said quietly. “When you said…”
The words stopped there.
Because suddenly tears burned hot behind your eyes again and you hated it. Hated how vulnerable this felt. Hated how badly you wanted this woman.
Trinity went very still beside you.
Then softer:
“Oh.”
You stared down at the blanket between you both.
“Baby,” she murmured carefully, “I said that because…that’s what this has been.” Her hand slid gently against your cheek, guiding your eyes back toward hers. “It’s what you wanted originally.”
“I know.”
Your voice cracked embarrassingly hard.
You laughed once weakly and scrubbed at your face.
“And I feel so stupid for how much it hurt anyway.”
Immediately Trinity’s expression softened into something almost achingly tender.
“Hey.” Her thumb brushed beneath your eye carefully. “It’s okay that you have feelings.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because somewhere deep down, part of you still treated your emotions like liabilities.
Things to suppress before they ruined everything.
You looked at her quietly in the dim room.
At the woman who learned your medication schedule.
Who brought you soup at work.
Who held you through pain flares without making you feel difficult.
“I’ve just…” Your throat tightened again. “I’ve been hurt a lot.”
Trinity’s face crumpled slightly at that.
“I know.”
“No I mean…” You took a shaky breath. “I know you’re different though.”
And god you meant it. That was the terrifying part. You trusted her now in ways you hadn’t trusted anyone in years. Enough that losing her suddenly felt catastrophic. Your fingers twisted weakly in the blanket before you forced yourself to keep going.
“So…” You inhaled shakily. “I’d like to ask officially…”
Your heart hammered painfully hard in your chest.
Trinity stared at you so intently now it almost made you lose your nerve.
Then quietly:
“Would you be my girlfriend?”
Silence.
For one horrible heartbeat your brain immediately prepared for rejection anyway. Old instincts. Old fears. Then Trinity made the softest strangled sound you’d ever heard in your life.
“Oh my god.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“I know this is probably the least smooth way anyone’s ever-”
Before you could finish, Trinity grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you.
Hard. Not rushed. Not casual. Overwhelmed. You made a startled noise against her mouth immediately while she laughed softly through the kiss.
“Yes,” she breathed against your lips. “Jesus Christ yes.”
Relief hit you so hard it almost hurt. Your eyes burned instantly again. Trinity noticed immediately because of course she did.
“Oh baby,” she whispered softly, forehead pressing against yours now. “C’mere.”
You let her pull you closer carefully despite the heating pad and pillows and aching joints.
And for once…you didn’t feel afraid while doing it. Trinity kissed you again slower this time, hands gentle against your face.
“My girlfriend,” she murmured afterward like she was trying the words out.
Your chest tightened painfully soft.
“That sounds fake,” you muttered weakly.
Trinity laughed immediately.
“Nope. Too late.” Another kiss against your mouth. “You’re stuck with me now. I’ve already eaten the receipt.”
Something warm cracked open completely in your chest then.
Not panic this time.
Not fear.
Just love finally being allowed somewhere safe to land.
Trinity’s smile softened immediately at the shift in your voice.
One second she was glowing—still a little breathless from kissing you, forehead pressed against yours beneath the soft whir of the fan.
The next she could feel it.
The fear underneath your ribs.
The vulnerability.
You took a shaky breath, fingers twisting weakly in the blanket between you both.
“I want to tell you what happened to me,” you whispered.
Trinity’s hands stayed gentle against your face.
“Before you.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
“So everything’s on the table.” You swallowed hard. “So you know why I am the way I am.”
For a moment, Trinity didn’t speak.
Didn’t rush to reassure you.
Didn’t interrupt.
She just looked at you with that same impossible softness that always made your chest ache.
Then quietly:
“Okay.”
That was it.
No pressure.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just okay.
Your eyes burned immediately again.
“You don’t have to tell me tonight,” Trinity added gently. “Especially not when you’re exhausted and hurting.”
“I know.” Your voice came out rougher than intended. “But I want to.”
Because suddenly the thought of loving her while still hiding parts of yourself felt unbearable.
Trinity brushed her thumb slowly beneath your eye.
“Alright,” she murmured. “Then I’m listening.”
God.
The way she said it.
Not waiting for her turn to respond.
Not preparing to fix you.
Listening.
You looked away first because the tenderness of it physically hurt to sit inside for too long.
The room stayed quiet except for the fan and the faint hum of the heating pad beneath you.
Then slowly you started talking.
“My ex-wife and I met in high school,” you said quietly.
Trinity’s fingers threaded carefully through yours while you spoke.
“At first…” You laughed softly without humor. “At first it was good. Really good.”
You could still remember it clearly if you let yourself.
Being sixteen.
Your knee brace hidden beneath jeans.
Her helping tape notes into your locker after PT appointments.
The way she used to look at you like your whole future was obvious and bright.
“She was there before things got bad,” you admitted. “Before we understood what was happening to my body.”
Trinity stayed quiet beside you.
Encouraging without pushing.
“The pain started in my knees first.” Your gaze drifted unfocused toward the ceiling. “Doctors kept thinking it was sports injuries or overuse or growing pains.” A tiny shrug. “Then it spread.”
Wrists.
Hips.
Spine.
Fatigue that never fully left.
You felt Trinity’s hand tighten slightly around yours.
“She stayed through med school,” you continued softly. “Through diagnoses. Specialists. Mobility aids.”
Your throat tightened harder now.
“And every time things got worse, she kept saying it was okay.”
Trinity’s expression shifted subtly at that.
You noticed.
“See that’s the thing,” you whispered. “She wasn’t cruel at first.”
That part mattered.
Maybe more than anything.
Because if your ex had been awful immediately, maybe you wouldn’t have spent years questioning yourself afterward.
“She loved me,” you said quietly. “I really think she did.”
Tears burned at your eyes again.
“But eventually…” Your voice cracked. “Eventually my body became the center of everything.”
Cancelled plans.
Missed trips.
Bad flare days.
Exhaustion.
You looked down at your intertwined hands.
“She stopped touching me as much first.”
Trinity’s breath caught softly beside you.
“Then she stopped asking how I felt.” A humorless little laugh escaped you. “Then one day she told me she missed when things were easier.”
The silence afterward felt enormous.
You stared at the blanket because suddenly you couldn’t look at Trinity while saying the next part.
“I spent years trying to become easier to love after that.”
The confession hit the room hard.
You could feel it.
“I stopped asking for help unless I absolutely needed it. I pushed through pain constantly. I apologized for everything.” Your throat tightened painfully. “And when she finally left…”
You shook your head once weakly.
“It felt like proof.”
Trinity’s fingers tightened around yours immediately.
“Baby…”
“No, let me finish.” Your voice trembled slightly. “Because I need you to understand this part.”
You finally looked at her then. Eyes stinging. Walls completely gone now.
“When you take care of me,” you whispered shakily, “part of me is always waiting for the moment you realize it’s too much.”
The pain on Trinity’s face was immediate. Like the thought alone hurt her. You laughed weakly through tears.
“Which is unfair because you’ve never made me feel like that. Not once.”
Trinity moved closer instantly, one hand sliding carefully against your cheek.
“You know what I see when I take care of you?” she asked softly.
You shook your head once.
“My person.”
Your breath caught sharply.
Not a burden. Not an obligation. A person.
Trinity brushed her forehead gently against yours again.
“I don’t love some imaginary easier version of you,” she whispered. “I love you.”
The tears finally slipped free completely after that.
And for the first time in years…you let someone hold you while you cried instead of hiding it. Your tears slowed little by little beneath Trinity’s hands. Not because the hurt disappeared. Because she stayed through it.
Just Trinity curled carefully beside you in the dim light of your bedroom, thumb stroking softly beneath your eye while the heating pad warmed your aching back.
Then quietly,
“I love you.”
Your breath caught instantly.
Trinity’s voice trembled slightly around the edges now too.
“I love every part of you.”
The room went painfully still.
“On the good days and the bad,” she whispered. “I love you through all your flares.”
Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt worse than the pain still lingering in your joints.
Trinity swallowed hard before continuing.
“Since we started this…” A weak little laugh escaped her. “I was hyper aware of your pain in every situation.”
Your eyes flicked toward hers immediately.
“I never wanted to push you,” she admitted softly. “Truthfully there were nights I came over and I could see it all over your face.”
God.
You thought you hid it better than that.
Trinity’s hand slid gently into your hair again.
“I knew you were pushing through it,” she murmured. “So I did everything I could to ease it.” Her mouth twitched sadly. “To make you feel good instead.”
Your throat closed painfully.
Because suddenly memories rearranged themselves in your head differently.
Trinity slowing kisses whenever your breathing changed.
The nights she redirected things toward you instead of asking for anything herself.
The way she’d settle for tracing fingers against your skin for hours afterward without complaint.
You thought she didn’t notice.
Of course she noticed.
“You know…” Trinity’s voice softened even further. “If this hadn’t started as casual…”
She laughed quietly at herself.
“There were nights I wanted to come over and just lay with you.”
Your chest ached.
“Just watch movies,” she continued softly. “Or scroll on my phone while you slept if you were hurting too bad.”
Tears stung at your eyes all over again.
“I just wanted to be here with you.”
The confession shattered something inside you completely.
Because your ex-wife used to leave when things got hard.
Leave emotionally long before physically, but Trinity wanted to stay even when you had nothing to offer except your exhausted hurting self.
You made a small broken sound before covering your face with your hands briefly.
“Hey,” Trinity whispered immediately, gently pulling your hands back down. “No no no. Don’t hide from me.”
Your eyes burned violently now.
“Nobody’s ever said things like this to me before,” you admitted shakily.
“I’m gonna fight everyone who ever made you think love was conditional.”
Despite everything, a startled wet laugh escaped you.
Trinity smiled softly at the sound before leaning forward carefully and kissing you.
Slow.
Warm.
Intentional.
Not lust.
Not distraction.
Love.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours again.
“You know what the craziest part is?” she whispered.
You shook your head weakly.
“You still think taking care of you is some huge sacrifice.” Her thumb brushed your cheek gently. “But loving you is easy.”
Your breath caught painfully.
Because she sounded so sincere.
Like she genuinely couldn’t understand why you struggled believing that.
“I like taking care of you,” Trinity admitted softly. “I like helping when your body hurts.” A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “I like getting your heating pad ready and reminding you about meds and bringing you soup.”
You stared at her.
Completely undone.
“And honestly?” Trinity murmured. “I think you’ve spent so long trying not to be difficult that you forgot people who love you want to show up for you.”
The tears slipped free again immediately. This time you didn’t apologize for them and Trinity held you through every single one. Sometime in the middle of the night, the pain finally loosened its grip enough for sleep to take you. Not the restless half-sleep you usually got during bad flares either. Real sleep.
The kind your body only allowed when it finally felt safe.
The heating pad had long since clicked off automatically beneath your back. The fan still hummed softly across the room, stirring cool air through the dark apartment while rain tapped quietly against the windows outside.
And tangled around you was Trinity.
One of her legs carefully hooked between yours beneath the blankets. Her arm draped warm and possessive across your waist like even asleep she wanted to stay connected to you somehow.
You’d drifted closer to her little by little throughout the night unconsciously.
Years of sleeping curled inward around pain and loneliness slowly giving way beneath the simple steady comfort of another person wanting to hold you.
At some point your cane had ended up forgotten against the wall.
Your meds sat on the nightstand beside matching water glasses.
One of Trinity’s hoodies was tossed over your desk chair like it belonged there permanently now.
Domestic.
But for the first time, the thought didn’t make panic climb your throat.
It made your chest ache softly instead.
Because the walls were finally gone.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
They’d cracked slowly over months:
through soup deliveries and bad movie nights and careful hands helping during flares and Trinity staying every single time you expected her to leave.
And now here she was.
Curled around you in the middle of the night after hearing every ugly frightened part of your past.
Still here.
Still loving you.
Half asleep, you shifted slightly against the pillows, face pressing instinctively into Trinity’s neck.
Immediately her arm tightened around your waist.
A sleepy sound escaped her before she kissed the top of your head without even waking fully.
Your chest tightened painfully soft.
Because no one had ever loved you like this before.
Not cautiously.
Not conditionally.
Not while waiting for things to become easier.
Just fully.
As you were.
The realization settled deep beneath your ribs while sleep tugged at you again.
And for the first time in years…
You stopped bracing for abandonment long enough to simply be held.
feliz pride para todes pero especialmente para mis hermanas latinoamericanas. nadie más que nosotras sabe lo que es cada día levantarse y vivir en lucha, ser invisibilizadas y oprimidas por un sistema machista y esclavizador que nunca tiene en cuenta a las mujeres y mucho menos a aquellas que se atreven a amar con libertad.
vivir, amar y sentir son un acto diario de rebeldía, y en caso de que alguien necesite escuchar esto hoy, el mundo no sería lo mismo si no te tuvieramos a vos acá hoy.
To every single person in the LGBTQIA+ community, I am proud of you, you are amazing and you belong here. Pride is for every single letter, not just one or the other.
Even if you’re not out yet, even if you’re fully out, even if you don’t think you’ll ever be out. You deserve to be here, you are loved and you are welcome and deserve to be proud, right along side everyone else.
Let’s not forget that being out and proud is a privilege.
No matter what, I’m proud of you and who you are are, and you are safe here with me.
Happy pride my loves! 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
Don’t forget, pride is needed because there are still people in our community who think they’re better off dead just because of who they are and existing for loving differently 💛
Summary: The party guests have all arrived and your nerves are beginning to settle with Wanda & Nay by your side. So what happens when someone unexpected shows up uninvited?
Content Warnings: 18+, anxiety, overwhelm, subtle hints at sub/domme dynamics and polyamory relationships, signs of an abusive relationship
Word Count: 5.9k
Reading Time: 29 minutes
Author’s Note: I can not tell you how many damn tile I re-wrote this chapter. I wanted it to be perfect, but perfection is over rated, so I hope this is enough. Because this is my perfect.
Prologue of The Stones Will Remember
The stones will remember Spotify playlist
Halloween Dinner Party - Part One
The house was thick with noise.
You stood at the edge, a safe space next to the altar but close enough to Wanda and Nat to feel their presence. That if you needed them you, or they, could get to you in a heartbeat.
You needed them.
You always do.
And you couldn’t comprehend why.
Drinks being poured, laugher, chatter, glass clinking. All wrapped in the smell of Vanilla, Cinnamon and sandlewood.
It was perfect.
You held your own glass lightly in your hand, your thumb tracing the rim, eyes flicking up to Wanda every few seconds. The moment she caught you looking, a soft smile reached her eyes. Immediately your face turned away, cheeks turning a shade of pink that made Wanda chuckle and your heart beat faster.
Wanda turned back to her guests, some extra people had arrived whom you had not expected—but Wanda and Natasha both grounded you, reassured you and introduced you to each person.
One in particular was a blonde woman, almost white hair—Sue Storm.
You were in awe of her, not in the same way you were with Wanda and Nat—just something about her felt calm, despite her name—Ironic really.
You took a small a sip of your drink, feeling a little self conscious as you stayed in your corner—your eyes suddenly fixated on another woman, younger, closer to your age, but something about her was different—you weten’t sure what exactly, but there was something.
She was continually bouncing on her toes like an uncoiled spring, running up to everyone, with an excited high pitched tone to her voice, acting more as if she was a bunny or a five year old—you hadn’t quite worked out which—rather than the young woman she was.
“Fauna. Stop.” Sue grabbed the young woman by the arm, yanking her still, forcing her to pause her hyper movements, giving the older woman her best pout—like a scolded child who didn’t get her way.
“Fauna…” you whispered under your breath, her name was unusual, a little whimsical maybe, a little chaotic even, but she seemed sweet enough.
Her hair was dark, almost black, but not quite, with pale streaks running through thick strands. Like moonlight against the midnight sky. She was quite the picture in her black kitten outfit. Cute even. She’d arrived with Pepper Potts, your housing advisor—you weren’t entirely sure of their relationship, either they were very close friends, or—but you didn’t want to assume anything.
You laughed under your breath, assuming things, you were good at, especially when it came to your own life.
Fuck.
Your heart began to pound in your chest as you watched the way Nats hand met with Wanda’s lower back, the way she leaned in whispering something—something that made Wanda Maximoff blush and Natasha smirk, like she had just been given diamonds—yet here you were wishing for someone, you brain paused mid sentence, realising the truth, you were wishing for them to make you feel like that, to make you blush in a crowded room, all the while keeping the content of what was said between the three of you.
But then—before your brain could even lock on properly, or for too long to that feeling—you heard another voice, from the only other woman that was your age.
She was louder.
Not in the same way Fauna was.
She was confident.
Her hair was ethreal, pastel purple, put up in a long ponttail that reached the middle of her spine, a small flower crown similar to yours, but less flowers. She wore a small necklace the lay softly against her olive skin. It was silver. A celtic cross.
She didn’t move fom Rio’s side, not once.
If Rio told her to move, she followed…like she had rules she couldn’t break.
Something niggled in the back of your brain, something that you can never escape.
The cross she’s wearing.
You’d know the date of that from anywhere.
“Sixteenth Century Jacobite cross.” You muttered, a hand going to you stomach to hold your self steady—the butterflies you got when it came to anything history—almost as strong as the ones you got whenever you were in the pressence of Wanda and Nat, but not quite.
You didn’t even notice the look from Wanda—the head tilt, like you had just unearthed the Jacobites themselves.
Then…
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
The air shifts, like history pages in the wind, a flutter in your stomach, eyes unable to tear yourself away from the necklace.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
Then, a hand on your arm, warm breath against your skin, the smell of vanilla “Hey Ladybug, you okay sweetheart?” Wanda’s honeyed voice almost making your knees buckle from the warmth of her words.
Fuck.
Wanda.
You swallowed thickly, eyes barely focusing on Wanda, the silver cross still having your attention, but you were scared if you looked at Wanda, she would see right through you.
“I- I’m fine,” you put your glass to your lips again, taking another large gulp, “who is that?” you whispered, nodding towards the girl with the cross, standing beside Rio.
“Ahh,” Wanda smiled, brushing a curled hair back behind your ear “that would be Betsy, she’s Agatha and Rios…well, she’s their friend.” Wanda hummed, she watched the intrigue settle into the creases in your forehead. “You know sweetheart, if the wind changes you’ll stay like that,” Wanda traced her finger across the lines in your forehead “relax for me.”
You felt your whole body begin to loose tension, shoulders unclenching, teeth un gritting, jaw loosening—Wanda’s thumb lingering on your temple for just a few seconds too long. Her smile curving softly as she watched the way you ran your thumb over the rim of your glass again, grounding yourself.
“Betsy? she seems…sweet…” your voice somewhere between loud and quite, an octave only Wanda heard.
“Come on,” her hand gripped your elbow, pulling you gently forward “let me introduce you.”
Wanda’s thumb stayed on the inside of your arm as she guided you towards the group—towards Betsy.
She stood her place beside Rio, who was wearing a dark green satin dress, the sleeves cut into spikes as well as the bottom of the dress which came to the middle of her thighs, and her skin was painted black and white—like—like a skeleton, which confused you. But she looked nice, smelling of earl grey tea and old books.
“Rio, Betsy.” Wanda hummed, her palm moving slowly to the middle of your back “this little fairy here, is Y/N.”
Betsy had eyes the shone like the ocen—sparkling blue—she stood beside Rio like she was made to be there. The corners of her lips quirked upon seeing you, her face softened, as she watched the way you stepped closer into Wanda’s pressence, you hadn’t even noticed yourself doing it.
“Hi Y/N,” She held out her hand, which you took—her grip was tight on your knuckles and she shook and pulled away. “so you’re Wanda and Nat’s girl then?”
The whole room went still.
Silent.
The air itself stopped breathing.
Wanda pauses mid breath, lips twitching like she might correct the woman but changed her mind, eyes firmly back to you.
Nat coughing across the room on her wine.
And you?
Your brain was short circuiting, trying to keep up with it self, attempting to restart as you looked wide eyes at the woman.
What did she mean by that?
You felt Wands’s thumb against your wrist, directly over your pulse—she could feel the way your whole heart was speeding up like a damn Duracell battery.
She’d know she was getting you flustered.
She’d know.
She’d know the parts of you that weren’t ready for her to know.
But maybe that would be okay.
Because it was Wanda.
Soft. Gentle. Kinda, Caring. Protective. Wanda.
You laughed softly, choking out a “What, umm, what do you mean?”
“Betsy. Remember what I told you? She’s not part of this, part of us, she’s not Wanda an Nats girl in that sense.” Rio smirked, looking towards you with a hidden meaning behind her dark irises.
What the hell did that mean?
“Rio.” Wanda’s voice dropped into a warning as the whole room seemed to be focussed in on you and this conversation, which you were hoping desperately to jump out off.
Rio shrugged, her lips turning into a not so subtle grin, sipping at her drink and keeping her eye on you—was there extra meaning behind what she said? Or was that you brain overthinking just a normal conversation?
But it wasn’t normal.
There was something there.
Something you couldn’t see. Yet.
“Oh right. Sorry Y/N.” Betsy tilted her head slightly, and you felt her watch you for a just a moment too long—she turned to Rio, whispering something in her ear.
You’re not sure why but you suddenly felt on edge.
Then, Wanda’s thumb which was still against you wrist began to move, slow rhythmic circles against your flushed skin, centring you to this moment, to her and nothing more.
“Mmm, yes I’m sure,” Rio hummed, then she gave you a curious look too. You wanted to tell them you weren’t a zoo animal, but you weren't brave enough, so you let them, and you took another step unconciously towards Wanda—if you got any closer you’d be melded into her skin, “honey , who did your makeup?” Rio asked suddenly.
Wanda’s arm rounded over your shoulders protectively.
“Vidal.” She muttered. Eyes narrowing, fingers gripping your shoulder as if tethering herself to you.
“Come on Maximoff, you know why I’m asking and who it was." Rio arched a brow in her direction, you saw the unspoken words settle between them, with a nod from Wanda.
“I did my makeup actually, my best friend Lizzy, she gave me a step by step guide, helped me to color match—”
You barely got the words out before feeling Wanda’s fingers tighten around your shoulder, probably turning white, her nostrils flaring, green eyes filled with rage.
“Told you.” Rio smirked liked she just won the lottery.
You don’t notice the head tilt from across the room.
The glass being set down.
The frown.
The jingle of a bell.
Natasha Romanoff was never one for sitting idly by, and as soon as she saw the tension shift, she made her way towards you, jaw clenched.
Her scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice wrapping round you like armour, and her eyes darting from Wanda’s grip, to a death glare, to Rio’s grin, to Betsy’s curiosity and then to your confusion—and she just knew what this was about.
“Let’s see, something to do with Iris or Lizzy?” Nat asked.
Firm.
Controlled.
Already knowing.
Rio dips her glass, nodding, “ding, ding, ding.” her voice smooth and controlled.
“Rio.” Natasha’s voice dropped—but it wasn’t a warning it was something else, like a question maybe.
Rio stepped forward, not too close but close enough she was able to gently brush her thumb over your cheek.
Your eyes drifted up to Wanda—cheeks already pink from the attention—not Rios, Wanda and Nat’s. Their protectiveness of you, like you were already there’s in every way that mattered—except the one you wanted. “Eyes up here sweetheart.” Rio murmured.
“Rio, she’s not yours to play with. Stop.” Wanda clenched her jaw as the fire behind her eyes only became stronger.
“Oh don’t worry, I don’t want her, but,” Rio chuckled, keeping her eyes on you “would you mind if I changed your makeup a little? This is just too harsh for your beautiful face.”
Your head tilted up to Wanda.
Why you weren’t sure, maybe to make sure it was okay—not that you needed her permission—it was more approval.
Wanda smiled softly nodding her head.
Despite the conversation, she clearly trusted Rio on some level or another.
“Good.” Rio turned to Betsy. Finger under her chin, tilting. “Don’t move okay? I won’t be long.” Rio paused waiting for a response “answer me.”
“Okay…mama.” Betsy looked as if she was about to fall apart as the words left her mouth, only loud enough for Rio to hear.
“Good girl.” And Rio turned back to you, hand reaching for yours. “Come on. We won’t be long, I promise.” Rio reassured both Wanda and Nat, who didn’t take their eyes off you as you were guided away from them and towards the stairs.
Rio guided you up into the bathroom.
You could feel the anxiety in your chest rising—breathing, lungs inhaling and exhaling with every stupid step.
She sat you on top of the closed toilet seat, picked out the brushes, make-up supplies she needed.
Wanda downstairs was so close to cracking her glass with her bare hands.
“If she mentions it to bug, I’ll kill her.” Wanda gritted her teeth “we have a plan, if she—”
“Wands, even Rio isn’t stupid enough, but she may get the ball rolling before we’re ready, so let’s prepare for the, hmm?” Nat pressed a kiss into Wanda’s warming cheek, guiding her face back to her. “it’ll be okay my love. Just breathe.”
But even with Nat’s reassuring words, Wanda’s knuckles turned white.
A single drop of wine sliding over her finger like blood.
Nat cupped Wanda’s warm cheek against her palm “We’ll handle it if it happens, okay? I promise.”
Back upstairs, your feet were bouncing like tigger on the bathroom floor.
A brush hovering inches from your face, gripped between Rio’s fingers.
“So have they asked you to be their sub yet or are you not interested?” Rio brushed her thumb over your cheek, gentle, soft, until she looked satisfied.
“Uhh—” the air in your lungs stopped flowing, eyes wide, tilting your head in the same way Wanda does “Sub? What’s… what’s a sub?” Your whole body paused looking to Rio, completely perplexed as to what she was talking about. The only sub you knew was in bread form and you were certain that’s not what she meant.
Rio froze mid brush “Oh, I guess not,” and she carried on with sorting the rest of you makeup—just as you began fidgeting a little with the material of your dress, fingers moving over the hem, rubbing it between your thumb and finger to try and calm your racing thoughts.
“Wait, what’s a sub?” You pushed for an answer, which was unlike you, but something in you needed to know.
Rio just quirked an eyebrow at you. “That’s for them to tell you, and I’ve put my foot in it, now,” she placed the brush to the side, picking up another item “why don’t you tell me some fairy facts, Nat says you know quite a few.”
“I, I mean I do but,” there was a tremble to your voice, one which Rio noticed but didn’t mention “What if it’s too weird? Or umm, too much for you?” You felt the liquid on your palms, the sweat dripping down to your wrist.
Rio gently catches your chin with her fingers, applying a small amount of blush to your cheeks, just subtle “You’ll never be too much for the right people—your clearly important to Wanda and Nat, which means what you have to say is important, they wouldn’t keep you around—and they certainly wouldn’t have you meeting their friends from this particular circle if they weren’t planning on keeping you around for a long time to come.” Rio turns your head slightly to the side, and wipes of the lip stick “far too dark for you…”
“Well, umm, did you know some historians think ‘fairy encounters’ were used as socially acceptable explanations for trance states, seizures, or neurodivergent behavior. Which is… so stupid honestly.” You pasued expecting Rio to tell you it was a stupid fact that she didn’t want to hear about, but she was just listening, nodding and smiling as you pulled out a sparkly green lipgoss, one that she said didn’t wash you out.
“Pucker your lips for me,” Rio smiled as she slid the new gloss over your lips, then got you to press them together. “Tell me more?”
“Okay, well, did you know that in the Scottish witch trial records, some of those accused of witchcraft actually claimed that they learned magic from the fae, and that’s partly why fairy lore and witchcraft got so tangled together when it comes to their history...” Rio helped you stand back up, showing you a mirror where you saw your face and realised how much better you looked… you were more you, so why hadn’t Lizzy given you that? Why did she make you look so…you just didn’t understand it.
“That’s better. That’s the you they fell for…beautiful.” Rio packed everything away, make up and brushes all settled back inside Wanda’s bag, and then Rio took your hand again, as you continued to talk about the fairy facts as you walked down stairs.
You could hear Wanda and Nat laughing as you stepped down each step, talking fast about the fairies “The Fairies weren’t originally tiny, actually in early Celtic lore they are seen basically as like nature spirits or fallen gods of goddesses. Which I honestly love. Also, Fairy rings were thought to be portals or ritual spaces, so stepping into one on Samhain was really considered extra dangerous. Like, spiritually reckless.” You stopped speaking, a little breathless as you came back into view of everyone else again—completely missing the meaning behind Wandas’s words to her wife of panic “Nat, no! We can’t have that conversation NOW, she’s still too innocent to even know what a riding crop is”
“A riding crop?” You frown, stepping back up beside them, Rio having walked away and back with her wife and Betsy. Fauna was now back with Peggy and Angie, despite now looking a little red and rubbing her backside, even with Peggy telling her to stop every time she did.
“A riding crop? like for horses?” you asked so innocently, making Wanda smirk as she looked down into her swirling wine, and Nat wheezing into the pumpkin dip she had in her hand.
Nats shoulders shaking, whilst Wanda side eyed her telling her to control herself, as you stood yourself between them “No honey, but let’s table that topic, okay?”
“Okay.” You agreed, taking a cracker from the table and dipping into the pumpkin dip that Nat was holding.
With them you were never scared to be yourself, never anxious—well only a little, but not because they made you uncomfortable, but because your feelings were confusing. Every time you thought about it, you began to spiral, which didn’t help with the fact you saw them multiple times a week, but what else could you do? You wanted to spend time with them, you weren’t going to stop visiting them just because you were confused, that made no logical sense.
“Christopher.” Nats voice broke through your spiraling thoughts.
“What?” You practically jumped out of your skin at the name being mentioned, eyes wide and a burning face, and your breathing faster.
“Bug…hey…I was just saying you have a few…missed calls and messages from Christopher.” Nats eyes looked down to where you had dropped your phone on the table before Rio took you away.
“Did you—did you read them?” You felt a lump catch in your throat as you asked, hoping with everything inside that they had not.
“No, no, never.” Nat responded quickly, palm cupping your face “sweetheart, I’d never do that, not unless someone gives me premission, even with Wanda,” she looked towards her wife, both looking as if their anger for this man child was just about to boil over like hot lava “we don’t look at each others phone unless we tell each other we have to, okay?” Her fingers slowly tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear, and Wanda pressed her hand to to your back.
Your eyes were brimming, and your voice cracked as you let the next set of words leave your mouth “He’s just…he’s mad I came here, and I told him he couldn’t come.”
Wanda’s knuckes were turning white around her glass, her hand on your back began to rub soothing circles, gentle, in comparison to her other hand.
Then there was Nat—her jaw tight, barely restraining her past.
Over the next hour you got to know everyone at the party. Peggy and Angie were a particularly unsal couple with the young girl Fauna, who you found out was also their partner.
Wanda and Nat couldn’t help but laugh at the way you screwed up your nose in confusion at how that worked, but you didn’t pry just yet.
You and Fauna got on really well, and having a love of witches and fairies and folklore made it so that you could talk all night long if everyone let you. Then there was Agatha and Rio, and their partner Betsy. Again you got on well with Betsy, although she did seem a little more skitish than you expected, but lovely all the same. Rio was someone you seemed to get along with, she listented to you…but something lingered in your mind, something she had said, about this is being who they fell for.
What did she even mean by that?
Your fingers seem to burn against the glass itself, you didn’t have alchol, you never did. Just appletiser, but even so, you watched the bubbles, eyes laser focused as they fizzed and popped in the liquid—Rios own words echoing, etching into your brain like they were made to stay—you didn’t even hear the click, click of the heels walk across the room, but the scent of vanilla caught your nose and you lifted your head just as you saw her soft smile reach your eyes, her fingers curling softly around your upper arm.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked softly, taking a slow sip of her wine “food won’t be long, okay?”
“Mmmhh,” you barely covered up the whimper, and you were certain Wanda had heard with the twitch of her lips. You quickly looked back to Fauna and Besty, hoping for some kind of saving—but they didn’t know what was happening in your brain.
How could they save you from something they weren’t even aware off?
You however, where very aware of your pulse beating in your ear, you could feel it, your blood rushing, your palms sweating so much you had to keep changing hands with holding your glass, and Wanda never took her eyes off you which only made you blush harder.
Trying to refocus your brain away from Wanda’s gentle touch or her unenrving green eyes, or the feel of her breath on your skin or the way you never wanted her to leave your sight again, but you needed to move your brain along, so you tried to focus on the party itself—the chatter, the pouring of wine, the soft laughter from Wanda again, and Nat’s bell around her neck—the other people at the party seemed nice enough, Pepper Potts was there which felt a bit odd with her being your housing officer, but you hadn’t really spoken to her much other than when she had first arrived, then there was Lilia Calderu and Jenny Kale, you didn’t know much about them but Wanda looked a bit put out by there arrival.
They were late.
Wanda didn’t like lateness.
She never had.
But for some reason, with these two, there was something underlying, and when they started to laugh with Agatha and Rio, Wanda looked as if she was going to hex them.
“Dinner is served!” Nat announced, standing in the middle of living area, having already set up the dinner table, where there were names set, at each place setting.
But just as you stepped forward with Wanda, the chime from their front door made you pause—no you froze. Wanda and Nat both looked to each with confussion.
“Everyone’s here?” Nat asked, more as confirmation than a question, as everyone else stampeeded past her into the dining room.
But you stayed.
Something told you not to move, not to go forward and sit down, but to wait—to find out with them who was at the door. Wanda stayed with you. Hand on your back and instinctively pulling you closer, which you very much allowed—Nat though, walked forward with purpose, her bell jingling which if it wasn’t so serious would have been amusing.
Nat looked towards you both with a smile that breathed air into your lungs, she turned back, hand to handle and pulled, to be greeted by a man.
Tall.
Handsome.
But a smile than unerved her.
“Can I help you? This is a private dinner party.” Nat asked.
You couldn’t see who it was yet, Nat hadn’t opened the door wide enough, but you felt it, you sensed it, you could smell him. Your whole body tensed, your muscles turning to led—and Wanda felt it, she scraped your hair back from your face.
Then he spoke.
“Hi, is A Miss Y/LN here?” The mans voice wasn’t one you would expect from a guy in his 20’s. It was almost gruff, making hime sound like he was forty. But then he coughed to clear his throat and his voice went back to normal. “I’m Christopher you see—”
“Oh, you’re him are you? Have to say haven’t heard much about you.” Nat responded, foot by the door as your own heart thumped in your chest—what the fuck was he doing here? How dare he come and ruin the one night you’ve been looking forward to for a week.
You had done nothing but speak about this evening to him and you knew that’s what got under his skin, that you would rather spend tonight with not just people who weren’t him, but it was the fact that it was Wanda and Natasha, and a party that only had women there…you hadn’t entirely realised how misogionistic he was.
You had to swallow down any emotions that you felt bubbling to the surface, you couldn’t let Wanda or Nat see that he did get to you, that his words or even just his pressence hurt you—how was it that it took you until this moment to realise that if he loved you, like really loved you, in the ways that he said he did, he would’t have tracked you to their house—and you knew that was a conversation to be had.
“See we had plans,” Christopher shifted, unnerved by Nats cold voice wrapping around him like a snake, she had ended far worse men than him before having Sorbet. “She really should be spending this time with me, I am her boyfreind after all.”
Wanda stepped forward now, she had heard enough of this nonsense, her fingers brushing your arm and motioning for you to stay put. She reached the door, and stood as a united front with Nat, shielding you from this man. The one you call your boyfriend, not that you had mentioned him much since you came into their lives. “Christopher, I think you should leave. I won’t ask you nicely again.”
“I don’t think that’s your choice is it Ma’am.” He snivelled, saying it like he was the one that was in charge, the one that knew you better than them—no he just liked to control you.
His niceness was always what ended up with things getting bad later, the arguments, the control, the you saying sorry for things you hadn’t even done—but you said it to pacify him. It was easier. You sure as hell weren’t going to let Wanda, Nat and their friends get carried into the damn mess of your life.
Your fist clecneched at your side, before you forced yourself to move towards the door, stomach clenching as you pushed your fairy body between them, wings folding and opening as you moved in front of them. Vanilla and cinnamon mixing, lingering beside you. “It’s fine, I’ll talk to you, but I’m not leaving them.”
The look on Christopher told you he wasn’t happy, but he nodded, accepting your words in one way or another.
“Are you sure sweetheart?” Wanda asked, her fingers gently stroking your elbow, lighting up your nerves and pulling you in to them with every touch, further and deeper.
“I-,” you hesitated for just a moment “I’m sure, give me five minutes okay?” You breathed, but you knew there was no way in hell that they would leave you alone with him, not now that they had met him—and realised the situation was far worse than they had originally realised—and it was about to intensify.
“Ahh see, there’s a good girl.” Christopher smirked, his fingers quickly lacing into yours before you could pull away and tugged you forward, making you stumble just slightly. The absolute fire behind both Nat and Wanda’s eyes, you snapped your head round to them, almost shaking your whole body, to ensure they didn’t pounce—not that, that would have honestly been a bad idea.
You walk with Christopher down the end of the path, your not actually sure how your feet were moving—but by some miracle they were. You needed to let him have this conversation before he left, otherwise it would just be worse for you later. You knew that. You always knew. But they didn’t and you needed to keep it that way.
Wanda and Nat saw him for who he was, but you? You knew the ways he was with you wasn’t healthy, but you still didn’t think he was altogether bad—there was just…no connection. Sometimes you wondered if that was because of you? But there was more to it—more that others didn’t see and more than even you refused to acknowledge yourself.
Each step felt longer and heavier than the last, your breath slow as you felt his sticky hands clinging to yours. He was calm. Too calm. Normal breathing compared to your heavier breaths, coming in spurts.
“That’s far enough, thank you.” Nat called out, arms folded leaning against the door frame—she was not letting him take you any further than the gate. You would stay in her line of sight, so she could keep an eye on you both. At least this way you knew that he wouldn’t do his usual shit.
You fingers were in Christophers hand, but not like that of a loving couple. He was in control. His fingers gripped yours. Tight. His eyes darkened, lips curling upwards in a way that made you shiver, and not in a good way.
“I’m not leaving.” You mumble, all the confidence and fire you had just five minutes ago standing in a room of people who who made you feel good, that had disapated.
Christopher laughed “Oh, I know sweetheart, it’s okay.” His fingers touched your cheek, and you flinched. Subtle, but it was there. Enough for Nat to see it.
“Did you just see that?” Wanda frowned, her hand on the low of Natasha’s back, fingers tightening from seeing you so scared and not even being able to admit the truth to them.
“She flinched.” Nat’s jaw tightened, watching on, her hand reaching for Wanda’s to ground her. “This is the last time he ever gets to see her.”
“Nat, that’s not your choice.” Wanda leaned further into her wife’s body, feeling the tension—she felt it too, they wanted to protect you, they were fierce when it came to you, in way that they hadn’t been with any one else before.
You just didn’t realise how much.
Nat saw you. She saw every subtle movement, every flinch that you thought you had kept hidden.
But you hadn’t. Not from her. Never from her or them.
That woman was terrifying in her own way, but she never made you feel uneasy or on edge.
Not once.
Christophers touch wasn’t gentle in the way that Wanda’s was. His was harsh, threatening and always a warning to you.
Behave or you’ll regret it.
He. Fucking. Terrified. You.
“Okay?” You asked, head turning and glancing up to Nat and Wanda.
Nat was still cross armed, bell jingling everytime she moved, her face filled with pure anger about to snap. Wanda though, stood, back stright and head tilted with a small smile directed only for you to see.
“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t leave” Christopher leaned in, making it look to Wanda and Nat as if he was just kissing your cheek, like a loving boyfriend, his fingers moved down to your hips, squeezing tight, thumb pressing in on the bruise he knew was there from when you walked into the cuboard the other day, making you wince. “You will come to mine tommorrow. Do you understand me?”
No words left you mouth. Almost too scared to speak, incase it was wrong, or more frighteningly, incase it was right.
“Oh I know it’s hard sweetheart with people watching, especially with them, but come on, use your big girl words, I know you can do it.” Christopher smirked in that way that made you feel sick to your stomach, your heart was in your damn throat, and if his hand hand’t been on your elbow, yout knees would have buckled.
You swallowed hard, trying to find any part of you that had the strength to say some truth to him, even if it didn’t end particularlly well for you “We’re not going to last much longer if you don’t change Christopher, but fine. As you wish. I will be there.” You never liked confontation, you always struggled standing up for yourself, but here you were just doing that, even if it was with a shake to your voice.
“And when I text or call you, you answer me.” His grip tightened on your hip.
“No.” You murmured “I’m giving my phone to Nat, and she will hold onto it for the night. I’m not doing this tonight, and you can not hurt me in front of them.” your face was flushed with the pure panick from what you had just said, of standing your ground.
You took a deep breath, holding back the anger that would turn to tears behind your eyes, and just as you turned to walk away he grabbed your wrist, squeezing tight—your muscles tightened immediately, and he whispered something under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. “They’ve changed you.”
“No, they just showed me who I was hiding…” Your eyes flicked down to where he was holding your wrist “I would let go before Nat snaps your arm in half though.” Just as your words left your mouth Nats bell was ringing as she walked towards you. Christopher quickly unclasped his fingers and left through the gate, not wanting to have an argument about you—not with them.
One thing for Christopher, he always knew when he would not win in a fight.
Your whole body unclenched as Nat reached your side, bell jingling, her fingers gripping your arm, no words, just a look as she held you still for a moment, and you nodded.
Story Summary: After moving to New York, a collision while cycling sends you flying into the lives of Wanda Maximoff and her wife, Natasha Romanoff. Together, they teach you a new way of belonging and being loved.
Chapter Summary: After a tragic incident, Natasha does what she can to make things better.
Word count: 2.7k
Featuring: slow burn, emerging D/s dynamics, mommy kink, praise kink, copious pet names, reader being incredibly naive, Natasha being a secret softie, Wanda being a menace.
A/N: I'm so excited to finally release another b-side! This one is dedicated to @xenaizogie for being my first supporter on ko-fi. Her kind tip meant I could have a free mocha in the cafe while writing this afternoon! Many thanks for your generosity ♡
Natasha was already awake when she heard the soft padding of your feet, crossing the landing and passing their bedroom door. She put down her book quietly, careful not to rouse Wanda before her Sunday alarm, then tiptoed out of the room to find you.
You had already descended the stairs by the time she closed the door behind her. So she followed slowly, not wanting to startle you at this early hour.
Natasha gave a cursory look around the ground floor, but was unsurprised to only see Mayakovsky, lying by the patio door with his eyes closed and tail lightly flicking. She had fed him already, then slipped back into bed to read. Sundays were her slow days, and while she tried to enjoy them, she wasn’t upset to have been drawn out by another early bird.
Descending again, she reached the basement floor, where she spotted movement in the utility room. There you were: crouching in front of the washing machine and pushing a bundle of sheets into the drum with your one hand. You rocked a little on your tiptoes with the movement, like a little rabbit getting ready to leap.
Natasha carefully drew closer, watching you stand up, close the door, then look in the cupboard. You found a detergent and poured it in the drawer, then replaced it back in the cupboard. Then your fingers hovered, selecting another bottle. You opened the lid and lifted it up to your nose, breathing in the scent. She could see just enough of your profile to spot your lips lifting into a contented smile.
Natasha recognised the fabric conditioner as the one Wanda liked to use on her clothes. The realisation made her heart ache a little, as she watched you pout it in the drawer, return it to its place, then start the cycle.
Then you turned, and Natasha didn’t have to plan the smile she gave you. It just broke out when she saw how you lit up at the sight of her. Your genuine delight to see her tugged at Natasha’s lips and made her return your smile with such warmth that even her own cheeks felt aglow.
Natasha recruited you to help with breakfast, and couldn’t help but continue smiling at the way you listened to her instructions with such avid attention. Something about you seemed extra endearing to her today — though perhaps she was still on the post-sex high. Yes, Natasha thought, as she noticed your tongue sticking out slightly as you focussed on mixing the batter and felt her feelings fizzle, that must be it. She ought to be careful today: careful not to cross any lines — or let Wanda run away with her desires. After three days of barely touching, they had both been a little feral yesterday. It was lucky you hadn’t noticed, lucky you hadn’t put the pieces together.
Or maybe not lucky — maybe it was just your nature.
Pilates and laundry day. What a sweet, naive little girl you truly were.
Natasha caught herself with a frown.
Exactly that, she thought, kicking herself internally. That’s exactly the sort of thought you shouldn’t be having.
Feral was certainly the word. And if Natasha felt like that, then Wanda must surely be feeling even less contained.
It didn’t take long for her theory to be proven true. Wanda walked in while you were mixing, and immediately gravitated to you and wrapped her arm around your back. Natasha could see her wife’s almost dreamlike smile. She was definitely still on a high. No wonder, really, given the orgasms Natasha had pulled out from her yesterday. They hadn’t had sex quite that charged in a while. It had been electric. And it seemed to sizzle still.
Wanda moved away to set the table before Natasha felt obliged to intervene. So she walked over to you and handed over a ladle, entrusting you with the job of making the first blini. You seemed nervous, and she reassured you. That triggered a conversation, with you sharing a memory, then asking about her own.
It surprised Natasha that she didn’t immediately shut down when you asked about her childhood. Usually it was a topic which she avoided at all costs, employing a range of tactics to evade. Wanda was the only person, beyond the people who experienced it with her, who knew. The pain was very private, difficult to explain and share. But somehow, she found that she wanted to answer you, wanted to bestow the same trust and fragility in you, which you so sweetly offered to them.
So she told you a little; how she and Yelena had moved first to the States, then back to their homeland. How young they had been.
Then her throat closed up, and she was glad that you didn’t ask any more, and glad that Wanda stepped in to support you with the blini. It gave Natasha a moment to turn away, a moment to compose herself and bury the memories once more.
She cared about you enough to offer a glimpse. That meant something. Even if she had to close up the shutters and lock them tightly after that brief release.
Natasha took some deep breaths, staring down at the dining table and straightening the utensils to be perfectly parallel.
Then you swept past, and her brain caught up just enough to process the words she had heard in the background before you moved to leave.
She watched you go, trying to interpret the look she had seen on your face as you passed her and accidentally caught her eye. Once you had disappeared down the stairs, Natasha turned to her wife.
“What happened?”
The guilty look on Wanda’s face was enough to cement her suspicions, but she waited for the explanation all the same.
“I’m not sure… I was touching her waist. Nothing inappropriate — she just got flustered, I think.”
“Wanda…”
“I know, I know. I’ll calm it down, my love. I promise.”
“You’d better,” Natasha growled, stepping in and trying not to smile, “or I’ll have to think of a more… effective lesson.”
Wanda’s face flooded with colour and she let out a little moan as Natasha grabbed her by the hips, manoeuvred her around and then pinned her against the kitchen island.
“You’re playing with fire,” Natasha whispered directly into Wanda’s ear.
“I know,” Wanda replied, throwing her head back and allowing her hair to dangle and shine in the morning light. Natasha stared at the pale, enticing skin of Wanda’s neck, and swallowed down the desire to mark it with her teeth.
Instead, she did the only thing which always proved effective in managing her wife’s impulsive behaviour. She stepped away, and smirked when she heard Wanda’s disappointed moan.
“Behave,” Natasha intoned, before turning around and taking over at the stove.
It took a few moments before Wanda’s breathing calmed down behind her; those long shaky breaths were audible to Natasha’s keen ears, even amongst the sounds of the kitchen.. Natasha’s heart was still beating fast too, but she’d trained for years to conceal how she felt inside. It came in handy sometimes. Not that it was in any way worth what the honing of those skills had cost.
She lost herself in making blini after blini for a while, seeking the perfect circle and the most golden colour. A stack gathered on a plate beside the pan, and Natasha lost track of how long it took before you returned. When she heard your shuffling footsteps, it was like Wanda had read her mind; she directed you to sit, just as Natasha had been thinking to instruct. Then Wanda swapped the filled plate for another, giving her wife a quick kiss of greeting. Natasha smirked at the pan, knowing this was Wanda’s attempt to make her forget their little disagreement before. They knew each other so well — too well to get anything past each other.
Breakfast went by with many caring interventions from Wanda, none of which quite crossed the line to deserve a look from her wife. There was plausible deniability for all of it: you truly couldn’t manage to cut your food up with one hand, and it was tricky to reach things on your right side. The help was warranted, certainly. But the comment Natasha heard when she went to get the second plate from the oven… that was pushing it. Even if you couldn’t sense the undertones, Natasha certainly understood what Wanda was insinuating. Messy, indeed.
When Natasha returned to the table, she gave Wanda a single, meaningful look, letting her know that the comment had been heard. Both you and Wanda seemed to avoid each other’s gazes from that point, making Natasha wonder whether you had perhaps noticed something, after all. So she tried to distract from it, talking about the day to come, and enthusiastically adding toppings to her next helping. Slowly, you brightened, and by the time everyone had finished eating, you seemed your usual buoyant self: eagerly helping to clear the table, and smiling happily between them.
Natasha started loading the dishwasher while Wanda took you up the stairs to get changed. She hoped nothing more would happen. Hopefully the threat in the kitchen, and the look at the table, had been enough to quell Wanda’s thrill-seeking.
You seemed lucid enough when you came back downstairs and joined Natasha on the sofa. Wanda poked her head in a few minutes later and bid the two of you goodbye with a mere wave and a smile — far more appropriate. Overall, things seemed to be improving. You seemed more settled, and Wanda was slowly becoming more responsive to reminders about her decorum.
It was all going so well. Natasha played a video game, while you curled up in the opposite corner of the sofa, scrolling on your phone and then tapping away at the screen, seemingly messaging someone. Possibly your new friend?
The washing machine beeped, and you sprang up. Natasha offered to help, but didn’t push when you declined. It was important that you had some freedom and independence. Especially when your injury — and sometimes Wanda’s approach — limited your options in that realm.
In her periphery, Natasha could see you placing down a basket, then crouching down at the washing machine and opening the door. You kept moving as expected, pulling stuff out the machine — when suddenly all movement stopped. Natasha paused her game and turned her head a few degrees, so she could see you more clearly, without staring front on.
You seemed frozen, staring at the basket. Then the freeze began to thaw into a tremble — and Natasha knew that something was wrong, even before you stood up and began to run. Her instincts were so jumbled — should she call after you? Follow? Wait?
She was beginning to notice that your feelings seemed to bring out her own in a terrifying, uncontrolled way. The slightest hint of your panic registered in her chest, like a mirror. And she seemed to lose herself and any sense of what to do when you were like this.
Wanda always knew what to do to help in the moment. But Wanda always lived in the moment, never thinking about consequences. Natasha couldn’t let go of strategising and weighing up odds. It was her automatic nature, and usually felt so easy. But with you? She just couldn’t predict it; she couldn’t see the future with any clarity at all.
It scared her.
At a loss of what to do, she resorted to basics.
When in doubt, assess. Take stock.
She stood up, and walked over to the washing machine. Something there had spooked you, had made you run away. What on earth could it be? A spider? A stain?
Natasha carefully lifted layers of fabric until she felt something strange between her fingers. Something heavy, furry, and soaking wet. She unearthed it and stared at the dark grey, dripping object. It had long floppy ears, glassy black eyes and a black stitched nose and smile. A little rabbit. No doubt this was the cause of your upset: an unexpected stowaway, not meant for the washing machine.
Natasha stood up, still staring at the soft toy. For a few seconds, she felt a flickering in her brain as the memory fought to resurface.
Ohio.
Yelena.
A pink pony.
Natasha’s legs began to wobble, and she slid to the floor before she could fall.
She remembered now, how Yelena had run to grab the toy before they left in such a hurry. Eleven year-old Natasha — older, harder — had grabbed a photo. But little Yela had grasped onto that pink stuffed creature, just as tightly as Natasha clung to her sister, trying to protect her from the world.
What became of that pony? Was she ripped away from Yelena, just as the two of them were ripped apart that day?
Something wet trickled down Natasha’s cheek.
Wanda would tell her that it wasn’t weak to feel.
Feelings hurt, though.
Natasha allowed herself a minute to cry. She timed it, counting out the seconds in her head and keeping note of the four tears which trickled down in that time. Enough.
She stood up, holding the rabbit in one hand as she found a dry towel to swaddle it in. Then she moved back to the sofa, picked her phone up off the coffee table, and began to investigate.
How to dry a stuffed toy after washing.
Of all the things in her search history, this had to be the biggest, oddest outlier.
She read through various pages and discussion threads, absorbing information like a sponge. Then she followed the most reliable instructions: pressing out the water with paper towels, trying not to twist or squeeze too much. She worked on one bit at a time, starting with the ears, which were lined with a pretty blue floral fabric. Then she worked on the head, which seemed terribly fragile, wobbling on the body as if the washing machine had broken its neck. The head took a while to do safely. Then the arms, and the legs, and the squishy tummy and fluffy tail. It took a lot of paper towels, which gathered in a mound of moisture on the table. Then she used the soft hand towel, repeating the same process. After that came the hairdryer, blowing from a few inches away, on the lowest setting.
She wondered, all the while, how you must be feeling upstairs all alone. Were you crying? Sleeping? Curled up in a hopeless ball?
There was no point going up to see you, not until she had resolved it. What comfort could she give if your rabbit was ruined? Just say sorry? Surely that wouldn’t be enough. Would it be appropriate, in that situation, to offer to buy another? Or would that be offensive somehow, suggesting it was replaceable?
No; better that I am here, Natasha thought. This I can do.
Natasha’s capacity for precision and patience paid off at this point; it was a long process. She wouldn’t be doing it for just anyone, or anything. But it was clear how much the rabbit meant to you. And as she dried it, she realised quietly that this must mean that you meant quite a lot to her already too.
“Hello!”
Natasha turned to find Wanda, her smile slowly shifting to confusion and then concern as she took in the scene. Natasha, alone, drying a stuffed toy.
“She put her sheets on to wash this morning,” Natasha explained, “and when she took them out… well, she was very upset. She ran upstairs, and I found this in the basket.”
“Oh dear,” Wanda sighed, her face crumpling. “Poor thing.”
Natasha merely nodded, then turned back to the hairdryer, continuing with her mission.
“Have you been up to see her?” Wanda asked, making Natasha turn back.
“No. I’ve been trying to dry the rabbit.”
Wanda looked a little exasperated, which surprised her.
“What?”
“How long has she been up there, Nat?”
“I’m not sure… maybe an hour or so?” Natasha checked her watch. “Ah. Okay, almost two hours.”
“Oh my god… I love you, my darling — but you are so very Russian sometimes.”
“What is that supposed to…?”
“Never mind. I’ll go up, you carry on resurrecting the rabbit.”
“Right.” Natasha frowned. “Was I supposed to go up?”
Wanda laughed lightly, then approached and gave Natasha a kiss.
“Next time, yes,” she said, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Sympathy, then solutions, my love.”
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think, it will help motivate me to write more 🥹
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