There’s something particularly satisfying about sitting in the back of an uber, reading all sorts of horny posts on tumblr, while the driver is absolutely blasting worship music
Chapter Summary: Coming face to face with the person you love most brings up emotions you've buried deep inside. The two you walked away from pick up the pieces.
Word Count: 9.8k
Warnings: one mention of physical abuse, angst, hurt/comfort
A/N: not gonna lie, this is a fairly angsty chapter but there's splashes of sweetness. i promise for a fluffier chapter next to make up for it :D
Series Masterlist
—
"… I'm hopeless and awkward and desperate for love."
The voices from the television slowly drift into your ears. Your brain plays the scene that's happening on the screen without even needing to open your eyes. The way your body is positioned begins to map out in your head.
Your legs are pulled up, one of them still upright while the other falls to the side haphazardly. One of your hands rests on something soft but solid at the same time while the other rests on the ankle of your fallen leg.
The weight of the blanket presses down on you just enough to make you feel secure but not trapped. The thick fabric traps your body heat against you, but it's not uncomfortable. Rather, it's just the right temperature. It feels like sitting outside on a warm afternoon, moving as the sun rays move, while a gentle breeze brushes past whenever it gets just a bit too hot.
Your cheek is squished against something solid. The soft scent of jasmine makes you wish you could drift off to sleep all over again, but your brain is already beginning to wake up more with every second that passes. You try to breathe in through your nose, but find it's still mostly blocked, the effort making your congestion worse. You take a heavy breath in through your mouth instead, exhaling slowly in a way that sounds like a long sigh.
It matches how you feel right now, not wanting to move a single muscle. Your shoulders are dropped in the way they only do when you're asleep or when you're completely relaxed. But even then, memories would usually plague your rest, making you jolt awake with your body turning rigid instantly. Relaxed moments were far and few between. The expectations weighing you down always forced your shoulders to hold upright. Because if you ever let them drop, the weight would drag you down, and you weren't sure if you would be able to get back up again.
A light pressure encompasses your hand, making your eyes drift open, albeit begrudgingly. You gaze down lazily, finding Wanda’s hand with its familiar array of rings, resting over yours beneath the thick blanket.
"Are you awake, honey?" Wanda murmurs, her voice low enough that it doesn't startle you.
"Mmm…" you groan tiredly in response, lifting your head off her shoulder and tilting it back and side to side to ease the tension in your neck. You arch your back off the cushion, your vertebrae popping at the motion.
You hear a low, raspy chuckle from your other side. You turn your head toward the sound, your eyelids still drooping slightly as you meet Natasha's amused expression.
"Sounds like you're still half asleep," Natasha teases, her voice tinged with fondness. "You look like it, too."
You huff dramatically, blinking a few times to force yourself to wake up before rolling your eyes lightly. Natasha continues to chuckle, and Wanda’s quiet laughter joins hers a second later.
It's then that you notice that your head didn't hurt when you rolled your eyes. You lift your hand off your ankle, the ache in your muscles from earlier lessened into something that you're aware of, but doesn't hinder your movements. The flashes of sudden heat that had felt like lava boiling under your skin has diminished into a steady warmth that lies right on the cusp of being almost too much. You rub your thumb against your fingertips, finding them alive, your warm blood circulating through them.
It's a weird feeling. Your fingertips are usually cold to the touch, verging on icy. To you, it had always felt fitting. But the heat permeating through your skin right now makes you feel human. Not just a ghost drifting silently through life.
You scan the room, your gaze naturally drifting to the window where sunlight had flooded into the space. Your eyes adjust to the lighting, finding it's much dimmer than when you fell asleep. Vibrant orange and red streaks cross the sky, tinges of pink peaking through. Your eyes widen further and further as the realization slowly sinks in.
"What time is it?" you breathe out, slipping your hand out from the weight of Wanda's and patting around the fuzzy pants and sweatshirt, trying to find your phone. You glance back toward the empty dining room, remembering that you left it sitting face down on the table. You push the blanket off of you, bracing your hands against the cushions to stand up, when Natasha's arm extends across your torso, stopping you in place.
"It's almost six," she says slowly, her eyes scanning your face carefully. "I know you said just for a little, but after everything with Yelena and Kate, along with your fever, we figured you could use the rest."
"Others have been in your position before."
Yelena's words ring in your head over and over again.
You always thought you'd be the one to walk away from them before you could get hurt. Or, they'd grow tired of you, not wiling to waste their energy on someone like you. Your mind had been muddled by the fever and exhaustion, but now the meaning behind what Yelena said pushes itself to the forefront of your brain.
It confirm the thoughts you've always had.
How many people have sat here right between them?
How long did they stay around?
The others must've been brighter than you, so how long will they continue to dote on you before they grow tired?
The warmth seeps out of your fingers. You remember Wanda's words. That you're special because you're you.
But you don't even really know who you are.
Your mother's puppet? Your sister's shield? Your father's disappointment?
Those were all for others, but who are you outside of that? Who are you when you're alone?
"Sweetheart, what are you thinking of?" Wanda asks, craning her head to look at you. "You're face suddenly went blank."
"I…" you start, shame seeping into your bones as the way you acted this morning with the two of them replays in your head. The determination to leave that had been talked out of you by Natasha in the early hours of the morning, returning with force.
"Thank you for letting me stay here last night and for taking care of me but I should go home. I have to study and prepare for work tomorrow." You swallow, the movement of your throat making the muscle there ache from the lingering swelling.
"Work?" Wanda says suddenly. You meet her eyes that are gazing at your worriedly. "Don't you think you should take another day off? You aren't fully recovered, darling."
You shake your head, your body responding quicker than it did before your nap. "I want to work."
I need to work, you correct yourself internally.
You can't allow yourself to get used to this. The moment you leave this house your life will return to the way it was. You won't be having your "job shadow" with them anymore. That ended yesterday. You'll just be a regular intern, like you should've been from the start.
"Why don't you sleep over one more night?" Natasha offers, her voice pitched a bit higher. You turn to her, her expression is bright but her eyes scan you, watching your posture grow more rigid. "It would make us feel better knowing you're resting well and recovering. I'll even make Wanda match fuzzy pants with us," she says with a gentle, raspy laugh.
The proposition make your heart clench, your gaze dropping as your resolve threatens to crack.
But then, the image of Natasha's fist clenched tightly into Yelena's collar flashes vividly in your head. You see Yelena smirking challengingly up at her. You see Kate gripping Natasha's forearm, desperately trying to stop a fight from breaking out. You remember Wanda, forced to choose between intervening or protecting you.
You refuse to be a wedge between Natasha and Yelena, the memory of the text from your sister making the decision easier.
You shake your head again, dragging your eyes back up to meet Natasha's. Her smile slowly fades when she takes in your expression.
"You promised you'd take me back home after my nap," you recount resolutely. You pull your shoulders back, bringing your hand up to smooth the hair that had become disarrayed from leaning against Wanda's shoulder.
Apart from the guilt and shame that still linger deep in your chest—from hurting Yelena and Kate, from causing Natasha and Yelena to argue, and from allowing Wanda and Natasha to take care of everything for you—you suddenly feel oddly calm.
The idea of returning back home, even with Matt being there, is bearable. Going to your shift tomorrow morning at the coffee shop and then to your shift at the restaurant, is commonplace. Dealing with the stress of your finals is expected. It's the exhausting routine you've been working with for a long time.
But it's a routine filled with predictability.
You know how much coffee you'll need to get through your morning shift. You know you'll have to keep a practiced smile plastered on your face for both workplaces. But in that cycle, there wasn't a risk of your heart getting broken.
And in that certainty, there's comfort.
Natasha's lips pull into a thin line, her eyes bore into yours, but your gaze never wavers. After a few moments she releases a heavy sigh and pushes herself off the couch. She looks down at you, a small smile tugging at her lips but her eyes narrowed almost tiredly.
"Okay, let's go."
"What?" Wanda pipes up incredulously.
You see Natasha peer past you to Wanda. She stares at her evenly.
"She said she wants to go home," Natasha says, almost resigned.
Wanda scoffs loudly beside you. "She's not feeling well. She doesn't know what's best—"
Natasha doesn't let her finish. "She's an adult, Wanda. I'm not going to keep her captive here when she clearly wants to go." Natasha's expression hardens suddenly. You can't help but wonder what face Wanda is making back at her right now.
You know Wanda is just trying to look out for you. But you already allowed yourself to get stuck in their cloying sweetness. Now you have the strength to shake it off before you become dependent on it.
You plant your hands against the cushions, pushing yourself up so that you're standing in front of Natasha. Your legs wobble slightly from sitting for so long and from your strength only starting to return to your muscles. Natasha's eyes drift to your face, her expression softening immediately.
"I have to change," you say quietly. You look away from her, glancing toward your phone resting on the dining room table.
"I haven't had a chance to wash your clothes yet," Wanda admits softly from behind you.
"Is it okay if we leave in what you're wearing right now? You're already settled into those clothes anyways," Natasha says, her voice light.
You can tell she's attempting to brighten the mood that's dimmed along with the sky outside.
You let your lips curve into a small, weak smile at the effort. "Okay," you agree, turning your head to direct the smile at her.
Her expression brightens slowly as she looks back at you, though there's something almost unreadable in her eyes. Protectiveness passing through them briefly before she covers it up.
You hear Wanda shuffle on the cushions behind you. "I'll have your clothes washed and resting on your desk by Monday."
Wanda's fingertips tap gently against your cheek without warning, making you jump slightly at the unexpected touch. She softly tucks a few stray strands of hair behind your ear, letting her fingers linger against your skin for a moment before her hand finally falls away.
"Honey, why don't you grab your phone while Natasha and I get ready to go?" Wanda says, her voice matching the light pitch Natasha was using.
You turn around to face Wanda, your lips curving slightly before you nod. She smiles back at you encouragingly, giving you the strength to walk around her.
"Walk slowly, baby," Natasha calls out as you pass by the couch.
You turn your head back with a small, half-smile to let her know you heard her before continuing on your way toward the dining room. As soon as you turn your back, that smile slowly fades away into nothing. Behind you, you can hear the low murmur of their voices as they continue to talk, but they're keeping their tones too quiet for you to make out a single word.
By the time you finally make it to the dining table, your breathing is already slightly labored, your lungs burning just a bit. The strain makes you wish Wanda or Natasha had just carried you over here instead. But you shake off the thought before it can manifest any further.
You reach down and pick up your phone from the polished wood. Somehow, you just know, even before the screen brightens and illuminates your face, that a text from your older sister is already waiting for you.
How about Saturday? University finals should be done by this coming weekend right?
You breathe in shakily, smiling down at the screen despite yourself. Kate and Yelena were the best friends that you found. But your sister is the best friend you were born with. It almost makes you feel sorry that you had been ignoring her for so long, but you know you wouldn't have been able to speak before this.
Before you were confronted with the pain your decision had caused others. That pain your sister had probably felt too, but you chose to look away from.
Saturday works. It'll have to be late though, after my shift. I'll text you the time when I'm more sure.
Your sister's response comes instantly, as if she was waiting for the moment you responded.
Great! I'll see you then.
You press the side power button. The screen turns black, reflecting your face back at you. Your heart races, your finger tapping on the back of your phone at the thought of Saturday.
"All set?" Natasha's voice comes from behind you suddenly, forcing you to twist your body around to face her in surprise.
Wanda stands behind her, both of them sporting thick coats at the dropping temperatures outside. Wanda walks past Natasha, a padded jacket folded over her forearm. She holds it out in front of her by the shoulders. You reach out to grab it, but she pulls it back, smiling mischievously at you when you furrow your brows in confusion.
"Hold your arms out to the side, darling. I'll help you put it on. It's chilly outside."
You know you can put it on by yourself. You have a feeling Wanda knows too, but it's the hopefulness hiding beneath her gaze that makes you raise your arms.
She slips on each arm carefully. Warmth from the jacket seeps past the comfortable fabric of the sweatshirt Wanda lent you. She pats your shoulders when she's done, holding her hands there as she gazes at you. You peer up at her shyly.
"Thank you, Wanda," you murmur.
She squeezes your shoulders gently, her voice so tender it almost makes your heart ache.
"Of course, sweetheart."
Natasha clears her throat. You tilt your head, looking past Wanda's shoulder. Natasha smirks at you, holding her hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth.
You see her smirk begin to fade, the corners of her lips pulling downward, her shoulders drooping. You place your hand on top of hers before her shoulders fall completely. Wanda releases you, chuckling lightly to herself before sliding her hand into your free one.
They both interlock their fingers with yours, pulling you gently to the door.
The moment you step outside, the freezing air bites at your cheeks. The pale blue in the skyline reminds you that it'll probably snow soon.
Christmas is coming soon, you remind yourself. Maybe it'll be a white Christmas this year.
Blissful warmth blooms from where your hands meet theirs. Wanda swings your interlocked hands back and forth as you walk to the driveway.
You pretend the warmth is coming from the jacket Wanda helped you into.
—
The drive home is mostly quiet aside from the occasional comment made between Natasha and Wanda. You sit in the back, right behind the passenger seat, watching the trees and buildings pass by. For a while, large, luxury homes are the only thing in sight. You'd never been in this part of the city before. You never imagined you'd have the opportunity to.
Wanda twists her body around occasionally, fondness in every corner of her face as she watches you look out the window. You try not to meet her eyes when you peek at her from your peripheral vision.
The closer the car gets to the university, the more the houses begin to shrink. The paint outside the houses chipped in areas. Moss covering the roofs. Wooden planks haphazardly nailed over holes.
There's hardly any daylight outside when you finally arrive at home. The porch lights are off, the hazy glow from the streetlamps being the only thing illuminating the sidewalk. Natasha turns off the engine the moment the car is safely parked in front of the house.
She turns, resting her elbow on the console while her chin is atop her hand. Your eyes meet.
"Ready to go inside?" she asks. Wanda turns to look at you as well, unbuckling her seatbelt in the process.
"Yep," you respond, releasing your seatbelt as well. You watch in confusion as Natasha unbuckles hers.
"W-well," you start shakily, seeing Wanda turn back around, beginning to move as if she's about to exit the car. "Thank you again for everything. Drive home safe."
You reach for the door handle, hearing the click of the door releasing when Natasha speaks up.
"Oh, we're going in with you, though," Natasha says innocently.
Wanda pulls your door open from the outside, leaning down to beam at you. Her face looks so much brighter than the streetlights flickering around her. The corner of Natasha's lip raises in a lazy half-smirk.
"You can at least let us settle you into your room, right? You're not fully stable yet," Natasha coaxes, her voice light.
"I… I'll be alright." The idea of them seeing the environment you live in is mortifying. Spending more time with them makes you feel like you'll crumble.
Natasha pops open the driver-side door, her body turned away. She projects her voice back over her shoulder, her tone morphing into a mixture of effortless teasing and mischief.
"That may be so," she agrees easily. "But I have your key. So."
Your eyes widen. You frantically pat the sides of your pants, your fingers pressing hard into the fuzzy material but finding no pockets. The key for you bedroom had been inside the pocket of the skirt. You look up to protest, but Natasha has already stepped out and closed the driver-side door with a thud.
Wanda offers her hand to you from the sidewalk, smiling down at you almost apologetically. You huff in frustration, your shoulders dropping for a split second before you force them back upright into their rigid line.
You accept Wanda's hand for support, ducking your head to avoid the low roof as you finally exit the backseat. The moment your feet are planted firmly on the sidewalk, Wanda shuts the car door behind you. Before you can even take a single step toward the house, she gently but firmly pulls you inward by your connected hands.
Your front presses right against hers as her other arm wraps securely around your torso, pulling you into a hug.
Your heart begins to race instantly, your entire body heating up against her thick winter coat. The flush spreads rapidly up your neck to your cheeks and ears. You peer up, your eyes wide from the sudden contact.
"I just wanted to make sure your body didn't suddenly get cold," Wanda says softly, looking down at you with a far too satisfied smile playing on her lips. "It could really affect your healing, darling."
"I-I'm not cold," you stutter out, your voice uneven as you instinctively wiggle against her, desperately trying to escape the rising heat in your body.
"Hurry up, girls," Natasha calls out from ahead. She's already standing at the base of the wooden steps leading up to the porch, her dark silhouette crisp against the streetlamps. "It's chilly out here."
Wanda lets out a long sigh, the warm ghost of her breath brushing against your flushed cheeks. She squeezes her arm tightly around your torso one last time, the soft curves of her breasts pressing firmly against yours for a second, sending your thoughts spinning into incomprehensible loops.
She finally releases her hold on your waist, but she keeps her fingers tightly interlocked with yours. She leads you up the cracked walkway toward the porch while your brain reels from the lingering sensation of her touch.
You only come back to yourself after you input the security code, pushing the painfully cold metal handle down and forcing the front door open.
The scent of weed wafts toward you instantly. The strong aroma clears your sinuses along with your head. You bite the inside of your mouth, gnawing lightly before turning around.
"I should be fine from here. If I could just have my key back, please," you say, keeping your voice light. You try to subtly wriggle your hand free from Wanda's grasp, but her fingers remain firmly locked with yours.
Natasha steps past you, her body stiffening immediately the moment she breathes in. You're just glad the lights in the common room are off, only the loud, muffled chatter of your downstairs roommates echoing through the dark hallway.
"No," Natasha states resolutely. "Lead the way." Her lips are pulled downward, her eyes hard as she stares down the length of the hallway.
Looking at her face, you can just tell she won't take no for an answer. You release a heavy breath, the floorboards creaking as you shift your weight. Wanda squeezes your hand gently.
You walk quickly down the dark, narrow hallway, the scent growing stronger as you near the kitchen where the door to the basement is. You make a right turn, your body knowing the route even in the dark. You pause in front of your door, Natasha and Wanda's footsteps stopping right behind you.
"Can I have my key now?" you ask quietly, keeping your head down. Your body trembles slightly from the shame and embarrassment coursing through your body. Wanda holds your hand steady, not allowing your hand to waver.
You hear the quiet rustle of fabric as Natasha pats down the pockets of her jacket, and then you feel the cool shock of metal against your free palm. You reach out, pinching the key between your index finger and thumb while the rest of your fingertips press against the worn wooden door, gliding around the surface until you find the keyhole and the handle.
The lock clicks open.
You push the door forward and reach inside, flipping the switch to turn on the light to your room. The harsh light immediately unveils the space you've been living in for months.
You step inside. The room is almost as cold as it is outside. Your roommates must've forgotten to turn the heat on again. Or, more likely, they were trying to reduce the utility bill.
Barely visible smoke rises through the vent, the scent of weed almost sickening in its concentration. The small metal tab used to close the vent had broken off long before you ever moved in. It was one of the many downsides of living in an old, rundown house. The vents are all connected.
You turn around on your heel, a small, wry smile plastered on your lips."That's far enough, right?"
They both hold similar expressions. Their eyes scan the room. Natasha's lips pull into a thin line the longer she looks around the space. Her eyes dart to the vent, her expression darkening. Wanda stares silently at the bulging white bag of clothes she had given you, which is resting right on top of your worn desk, before her gaze tracks across the rest of the small expanse.
It's the glimpses of pity in their eyes that forces you to look away from them, your chest tightening.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sor—"
"It's fine," you say quickly, cutting Wanda off before she can finish the sentence.
You know what she's trying to apologize for, but right now you don't want to hear it. You had forgiven her anyways. You don't need this.
You ears prick at the sound of footsteps coming up the basement stairs, the weight of them all too familiar. You pull Wanda into your room by your clasped hands and reach out to tug on Natasha's arm, herding her inside before shutting the door quickly and locking it.
"What—" Natasha starts, her voice sharp with confusion, but you instantly put your index finger up to your lips, silencing her.
The sound of the floorboards creaking comes closer and closer down the narrow hallway, until the heavy steps stop right in front of your door.
Three heavy knocks pound violently against the wood, the vibration rattling the frame before finally stopping.
"Hey, you in there?" Matt shouts from behind the door. "We didn't get to finish hanging out last time," he slurs, his vowels dragging together. You can hear the dull thud of him leaning against the door, as if he can't keep himself upright.
Natasha's body tenses. Her eyes flash dangerously, her stance twisting as if she's planning on opening the door and confronting him. You reach forward, your fingers clutching the cuff of her coat. You plead with her with your eyes. Her harsh expression softens slightly when she looks at you, but the murderous glare doesn't disappear from her eyes
"I can see your lights on," he drawls, barely discernible. He pounds on the door again, harder than before. You don't move a muscle. You're grateful when Natasha and Wanda follow suit.
"Fuck… whatever," he mumbles in frustration. You hear him stumble backward, his slow, uncoordinated steps dragging back toward the kitchen and finally fading down the basement stairs again.
"Who was that?" Natasha asks. Her voice drops into a dangerously calm register, the lack of inflection making you swallow nervously. But you force yourself to tilt your chin up, meeting her sharp gaze head-on.
"He's one of my roommates," you respond evenly, barely hiding the tremble in your voice.
"And he's talking to you like that?" Wanda says incredulously from beside you. Her hand begins to squeeze yours so tight that it begins to hurt.
You wriggle your fingers out of hers, your face morphing into a wince. Wanda's eyes widen when she realizes she hurt you. Her mouth opens to apologize but you don't let her speak.
"It's fine. It's my problem."
Natasha scoffs. "It's not just your—"
"It is, though." Your voice begins to rise, the words cracking. They should've just let you come inside by yourself.
Wanda tries to approach you, her arms extending, but you take a step back. Your breaths begin to come out raggedly, the stress, the shame, the embarrassment of the situation making it hard to control your emotions.
"Honey…" Wanda starts cautiously, her tone softening into a plea. "Why don't you just come back with us? It's so cold in here, and I don't see how you're going to rest well with all this smoke hanging in the room."
"And then what?" you breathe out incredulously. "You throw me away when you're done with me?"
The room goes silent.
"What do you mean, baby?" Wanda asks after a moment, her voice filled with confusion.
You can't answer her. All you can hear is the frantic, uneven rushing of your own breath and the loud, violent pounding of blood in your ears.
"What did Yelena say to you?" Natasha asks, her voice turning sharp enough to cut through metal.
"Nothing," you manage to whisper, the word scratching against your raw throat.
Natasha takes a slow step toward you. "It can't just be nothing. Tell me, baby girl," she says, her voice dropping into a desperate, raspy plea.
"Just go," you mumble, refusing to meet her eyes. You stare fixedly down at the wooden floorboards beneath your sneakers.
Your hear her weight shift, her face suddenly beneath yours, looking up at you, desperately trying to search your expression for something. You shift your eyes away, staring at the wall instead.
She sighs heavily before finally stepping back. "Fine," she mutters. "I'll see you at the office on Monday after your final."
"Natasha, what?" Wanda asks in disbelief. "We can't leave her in this environment."
"We're not her moms, Wanda. We can't tell her what do to do."
"But she called you—"
"Stop," Natasha commands resolutely. There's a slight, fragile crack in her voice that sounds a lot like hurt, but you don't let the sound linger.
You hear the door creak open, followed by light footsteps.
"Please try to take care of yourself, my sweet girl," Wanda calls out softly from the doorway, her voice thick.
You only hear one last thing before the bedroom door finally closes. It's Natasha's voice, dropping into a register filled with venom.
"I'm going to kill Yelena."
—
The moment you were left alone in your cold room, it felt like your life had instantly returned to what it was before you ever met them.
Given that you ignored the ache in your chest from your heart tearing at the realization that you had let them go.
You wake up on Sunday at 4 AM, your eyes stinging from the smoke that had lingered in your room as you slept. Your throat still hurt slightly, your muscles holding onto a light ache, your movements a bit more sluggish than usual. But it wasn't much different from the way you'd feel after a sleepless night.
Smiling mechanically and greeting customers. Having conversations with your coworkers that never went past the surface. Drinking a bitter espresso shot whenever you felt your energy levels beginning to wane.
Studying when you come back home, listening intently whenever you hear footsteps. Changing, smoothing down your shirt, fixing your hair over and over again until it's satisfactory to you.
Or rather, to your mother.
Going to the restaurant, talking to Angie, greeting customers that call you over endlessly. The practiced smile never leaving your face until you finally walk out of the restaurant. Feeling relieved when you realize Matt isn't home. Showering then pulling your laptop out to study.
Monday brings your first university final.
It's early in the morning, forcing you to stop by the corner mart to grab a bitter cup of coffee. Thankfully, it's past the graveyard shift. A worker you've only seen a handful of times stands silently at the checkout counter.
Your face remains impassive throughout the exam. Only a faint tremor runs through your hand as you write. You catch the bus to RMG the moment you place your completed exam paper on the professor's desk and walk out of the lecture hall.
Eli's familiar grin greets you the second you reach the floor. A paper bag resting on your desk does as well. In it are the clothes you had worn to the party on Friday night. But what catches your eye is the familiar fruit snack packet tucked right next to the neatly folded fabric.
You spend the next few hours chatting with Eli and completing the tasks Mark gives you. In the middle of the day, you catch Cindy staring at you from across the floor, a small, sad smile resting on her face from the far wall.
You head straight to the restaurant in the evening. You return Nicole's borrowed clothes while she tells you everything you apparently missed at the party. She tries hard to convince you to go to another party next weekend, but you politely decline this time.
The impending meeting with your sister looms heavily over you through every single action you take.
It repeats on Tuesday.
Wednesday is much the same, except for your scheduled meeting with your academic advisor.
"We haven't had a student get accepted into a company of that status before," Mrs. Stewart says with genuine delight. "You're a great student already, but make sure you make our university look good."
You know she doesn't mean to put pressure on you. It's just supposed to be a piece of light encouragement. But it still feels like more weight is being added to your shoulders anyway.
You just smile politely at her, wishing her a happy holidays and a good winter break. It's later that day that you're forced to pay your rent and utilities, watching as the money drains away from your account.
On Thursday, Wanda visits the sixtieth floor.
She walks slowly around the space, chatting with different employees and making them smile from her quiet encouragement. You can feel her eyes lingering on you the entire time. She walks over to the far left corner, stopping right next to your desk. But the exact moment she's about to speak, Mark appears out of his office.
She doesn't get the opportunity to say a word to you. Mark needs to talk to her about a few pressing things, pulling her away.
It's then that you realize that your hand is shaking more against the keyboard. Your pulse thuds painfully against your throat, your breaths coming out shallow and quick. You exhale harshly in frustration and grab your lukewarm coffee off the desk, taking a long sip to force it down.
You stare blankly at the monitor. Your thoughts begin to spiral painfully in your skull. Your leg bounces uncontrollably beneath the desk leg. You bite the inside of your mouth, pressing your molars hard against the sensitive muscle until it hurts.
You continue to force your eyes to focus on the numbers, even when your body begs you to just stop and take a moment to breathe.
It's hard to sleep at night, even when your mind feels like static.
Friday brings your very last final exam of the fall term. It doesn't bring the wave of relief you had expected. Your body can't seem to calm down. It feels like your heart has been racing relentlessly since yesterday, keeping you alert when you finally reach the RMG building. But a heavy blanket of exhaustion rests over your limbs anyway. It's a restriction you're used to functioning with at this point.
Everything is exactly the same when you reach your desk. Except, this time, a small handwritten note sits right on top of your keyboard, along with another fruit snack packet.
Please take breaks when you need them.
Somehow, you just know this is from Natasha.
You curl your fingers into a tight fist, fully prepared to crumple the paper into a ball and throw it away. But you can't seem to get yourself to actually follow through with the motion. Your hand freezes. Only the right corner is slightly bent by the time you slide your desk drawer open, placing the note safely inside the dark space instead.
Saturday. 4 AM. Espresso shots. Polite conversations. Your cheeks beginning to hurt from forcing yourself to smile. Empty laughter. Opening wine bottles. Smoothing your shirt down. Forcing your shoulders back. Your heart racing painfully. Hiding the shake in your hands when you pour water. Telling Angie your shift was good when you're clocking out. Stepping outside the restaurant to glowing streetlights. Freezing air biting at your skin. Hopping on the bus.
But not to home. To the diner nearby that you and your older sister would go to when your parents would begin to fight. One of the few twenty-four hour establishments. Neon lights. Typical old school diner vibes.
You step off the bus into the cold. A thick plume of white smoke comes from your mouth as you breathe out, the condensation cooling immediately in the air. You look through one of the glass window panes of the diner, your eyes immediately darting straight to the very back booth where the two of you would always sit together.
Your lips curve into a soft smile. It's hard to tell, even to yourself, if that smile is coming from a place of happiness or sadness. You just instinctively know the person sitting there is your sister, even though you can only see the back of her head from the sidewalk. Your hand reaches for the metal door handle hesitantly, your fingers freezing.
You can see her glancing down at her phone. Probably waiting to hear if you've arrived safely.
Your fingers curl around the freezing metal decisively before you pull the heavy door open and step inside.
—
"Hey," you greet awkwardly, sliding into the booth across from your sister.
Her eyes widen immediately. Her gaze darts all around your frame, taking you in. You brace yourself for the lecture she's probably about to give you. That you're not taking care of yourself well. That you lost weight. That your eyes look tired and hollow.
Instead, the second she opens her mouth, it feels like you've gone back in time to when you were in middle school.
"You look like crap," she says bluntly.
You stare at her in disbelief for a moment before rolling your eyes. "Well, thanks," you respond, your tone completely deadpan.
A familiar smile creeps onto her face, widening by the second, and your lips instinctively follow suit. It reaches its peak before you both burst out laughing. Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back against the booth, and for a beautiful, fleeting moment, it feels exactly like when the two of you were still a team.
Back when you both shouldered the burden of your parents expectations. Her carrying more weight than you because she always told you that since she's the older one, she should be the one to protect you. It feels like you're looking at that version of your sister.
The version before her smile was stripped away and the roles reversed.
"You wanna order something to eat? It's on me," she says, using her finger to wipe the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes.
You shake your head, your gaze dropping to smile down at the table. "No, it's okay. I ate a little bit at the restaurant during my shift."
"Are you still letting what mom told you get to you?" she asks, raising a brow.
Yes. How could you not?
"No," you respond automatically, not letting your expression waver. "I'm really just not hungry."
Liar, your own consciousness screams at you.
"If you say so," she muses softly. She doesn't push the food issue, but her hand slides across the table to find yours, holding your fingers gently. Her eyes soften the longer she looks across the booth at you. It's the same expression she used to give you back in elementary school—right around the time your mother had decided that being average was no longer acceptable. Looking back on it now, maybe your sister was trying to fill that space.
"When was the last time we actually came here?" she ponders, looking up at the ceiling in thought.
You smile wryly to yourself, keeping your eyes locked on your clasped hands. "Probably in my freshman year of high school," you murmur. "So… back when you were a senior."
"I think you're right." She pauses, her gaze dropping to the table as well. "That was an interesting year."
You chuckle quietly, but there's no humor in the sound.
Interesting? That wouldn't be the word you would choose. It's hard to describe that time in a single word.
Alone, your inner voice whispers to you.
That would probably be the closest description. It's the year when your sister let the weight you were both sharing drop from her shoulders and walk away to somewhere you couldn't see her.
It's still so vivid. The day everything changed.
You mother hadn't picked you up from school since you were in fifth grade. Your father had told her that you should take the bus because he didn't have these luxuries when he was growing up.
But your mother texted you that she was picking you up one day in the latter half of your freshman year. You hadn't questioned it. Rather, you were a little excited thinking that maybe your mother was softening a bit. You were unprepared for the cold words that actually came out of her mouth the second you closed the passenger door.
"I picked your sister up from school earlier. She got bullied. Be nice."
And that was it.
You remember taking slow steps up the carpeted stairs back then, desperately trying to think of the correct thing to say to her. I'm sorry? What can I do to fix this? Are you okay?
You remember finally stepping into the frame of her bedroom doorway. Her new desk was still in the middle of being built at the time, so she was sitting flat on the floor, facing away from you. She had her laptop set on top of a low coffee table, watching videos to drown out the silence of the house.
You remember pausing at the threshold. The older sister who had always seemed so much taller than she actually was, suddenly looked incredibly small.
You remember sliding down onto the floor right behind her, your arms tightening around her shoulders.
"I love you," you whispered, pressing your forehead into the back of her hair.
You remember her shoulders beginning to shake violently against your chest, a choked, agonizing sob bursting past her lips. Her head bowed down into her lap as she tried with everything she had to control her ragged gasps, but she just couldn't manage to do it anymore.
And you knew in that moment inside her room, that you would do absolutely anything for her.
Your sister lets out a breathless laugh. You look up, meeting her eyes.
"Anyways…" she says, her voice trailing off. "It's been too long."
"Yeah," you whisper, memories of the past swirling in your mind. "But here we are." You force a smile onto your face.
Because you truly are happy to see her. But seeing her face and hearing her voice brings up so many other emotions than just the one. Emotions that you're ashamed of confronting.
"Why…" she starts hesitantly, before forcing herself to continue. "Why did you suddenly stop talking to me? Why did you just leave without a word?"
She stares at you, searching your eyes. You remember a time when she understood what you were thinking without you having to say a single word. Too much time must've passed.
"I just wanted to learn how to be independent the hard way," you say with a joking tone. "May as well throw myself into the deep end, right?"
She sucks in her bottom lip for a moment, holding it tight before releasing it with a heavy breath. "There's no way that's it," she says definitively.
She leans forward, her voice dropping. "Is it because of me?" she whispers.
Your chest tightens. Her gaze drops to the table for a split second, her eyes blinking quickly as if her mind is racing before she looks back up.
"Is it?" she repeats, her voice coming out louder when you fail to answer.
You eyes drift down to the table.
"It's not…" you start, your voice drifting away as your mind races.
It's not that simple.
Your lower lip finds its way between your teeth. Your canine presses painfully into the sensitive skin but you can barely feel it.
Memories of what followed replay in your head.
Your sister stopped eating at the dinner table with you and your parents. It's not like there was much conversation to begin with, but just her presence made it more bearable. You'd stare at her empty seat, the food sticking to your throat at the suffocating atmosphere.
She started playing video games constantly, especially after her desk was built. You remember helping her set up her computer after your father refused to.
"Everything okay at school?" you had asked between assembling parts.
"Yep," she had responded shortly, her face completely devoid of any emotion.
The two of you didn't really talk much after that day.
Naturally your parents shifted their gaze to you. Your father would force you to study in the dining room so he could watch you. Every time you would even look away for a second, you would hear him sharply click his tongue in reprimand across the room. It was a warning.
Your mother would force you to go to every single church and community event with her. They were functions your sister used to attend as well, but your mom wouldn't ask her anymore. Right before you would walk through the doors of the venue, your mom would grip your bicep with crushing force, her fingernails digging deep into your skin as she whispered the same rule into your ear.
Be proper. Smile.
You remember how she would make her way over to where you were sitting in those crowded rooms. She would put her manicured hands on your shoulders, smiling flawlessly while chatting with the people gathered there. But out of everyone’s sight, she would pull your shoulders back harshly, her thumbs digging deep and painfully into your shoulder blades to force your posture into compliance.
After those events, you would return home in complete, suffocating silence inside the car, only to open the front door and instantly hear the distant sound of your sister happily shouting to her friends online from the safety of her bedroom.
"It's not what?" your sister prods, refusing to let it go.
"It's not that simple," you respond, leveling her with a glare you can't hide anymore.
Stop, you plead with yourself internally. Stop before you say something you don't mean.
"Then make it simple." She glares back at you, her hand tightening around yours. "At least tell me what I did so I can apologize."
The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.
"It's not something you can apologize for. We can't go back to the past."
She huffs out a laugh in disbelief. "So it's that then? Because I shut down and needed time to focus on myself?"
You yank your hand out of hers, opening your mouth to speak but she doesn't let you get a word out.
"Because I was depressed? Because I was going through the lowest point of my life?" Her breaths are coming out heavily, the look she's giving you full of lethality.
You shake you head at the table, your lips pulled downward.
This is why you never wanted to speak to her about this.
You remember when she was diagnosed with depression in your sophomore year of high school. It was when your mother became softer on her. Loving. The way a mother is supposed to be. But that softness she showed your sister came back to you with viciousness.
Every time your sister would raise her voice while playing games upstairs when you were sitting at the dinner table with your parents, your father's eyes would instantly flash with anger. He would rise from his chair, muttering under his breath about how useless your sister was. That he was embarrassed of her. Your mother would try to coax him back down, but he would violently twist out of her grip, preparing to march straight up the stairs to slam her bedroom door open and yell at her.
You were always terrified, your heart hammering against your ribs. But you would force your voice to stay perfectly steady and compliant, rising out of your own chair to tell your father that she was just doing her best.
He would turn all that built-up rage on you instead. He would march over, pointing his finger right in front of your face, his skin red as he shouted about all the things you needed to be doing better.
But it always successfully stopped him from going up those stairs.
It was one day in your senior year, just a few months before graduation, when you finally realized you couldn't stay in that house for another second.
You had arrived home after an exhausting day at school, feeling like your social battery was completely depleted. Other students had stopped you constantly in the hallways, asking you about upcoming events. You hadn't wanted to be impolite, so you had just stood there, answering a barrage of questions that never seemed to end. You barely had enough time to set your backpack down on your bedroom floor, fully prepared to start the copious amount of homework you had received, when your mother stomped straight into your room, demanding you get changed as soon as possible.
It was the first time in a very long time that you actually found the courage to ask her to let you skip an event. You just couldn't imagine having to look proper and talk to more people.
The very next thing you registered was the sharp, blindingly hot sting across your cheek.
Your mother had never struck you on the face before that. But it wasn't even the sudden pain that surprised you.
When you slowly straightened your head, your eyes met your sister's across the hallway. Her bedroom door was cracked. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she looked at your face. But instead of stepping out to help you, or even asking if you were okay after your mother walked away, she just reached out and shut her door slowly.
"Answer me," your sister demands.
You suck in a breath, trying to calm your racing heart but the truth comes out anyways.
"Why did you leave me to deal with everything by myself? Why did you have to shut down? Why couldn't you see that I was struggling?" Your chest heaves, staring at her with pleading eyes.
"You think I did that on purpose?" she breathes out incredulously. "Put yourself in my shoes for a second. You got mom and dad bragging about how perfect you are to everyone. You had friends in school. A social life. Why would you be struggling?"
"What—" you pause, your voice full of confusion before it raises. "What are you even talking about? I did that all for you."
"Oh, really?" she laughs. The sound is completely devoid of humor, her voice suddenly turning lethal. "But guess what? I didn’t ask you to do a single thing for me."
Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. It feels like she's driven a dagger straight into your sternum, your heart frantically trying to beat around the blade.
"You resent me, don't you?"
You turn your head away at the word, unable to look at her. It's the feeling you've held deep down since your freshman year of high school. That suffocating, shameful feeling.
You know it isn't her fault that she got bullied, but you can't help but resent her for everything that followed.
"But guess what?" she continues, leaning forward across the table and pointing her finger directly in your face. It's the exact same gesture your father used to use at the dining room table. "Your decisions are on you."
She slides quickly out of the booth, stomping away toward the diner exit without looking back at you even once.
You stare blankly at the door, breathing in the scent of stale coffee.
I didn't ask you to do a single thing for me.
Your decisions are on you.
Your decisions are why you're sitting here, alone, in this diner. If you had stayed at that house and endured it for a little longer, would you at least still have your sister right now? The thought tears at you, the possibilities of what could've been different playing in your head as you continue to stare blankly at the door.
—
You don't know how long you sit there. You're still frozen in the same position you've been in since she left.
A sudden burst of loud laughter from a few tables down finally forces you to blink, breaking through the static in your mind. Your eyes focus, registering the heavy white snowflakes now drifting slowly down past the glass pane of the door outside.
You slip out of the booth, not really registering the movement of your own steps. You just know that right now, you can't stand to hear that joyous, easy laughter from the other tables.
Your skin freezes instantly the moment you step outside the glass door, thick plumes of white smoke forming in front of your mouth with every single breath you take. The bus won't be here for a long while. So instead of waiting at the sign, you just stand there, watching the snow slowly accumulate on the sidewalk while a few cars pass by on the street in front of you.
You lean your upper back against the large window pane of the diner, the cold glass seeping straight past the thin fabric of your restaurant work shirt. But you can hardly feel the chill.
Snow drifts softly onto your cheeks. The flakes melt slowly against your skin, the freezing moisture tracking down your face until it hits your jawline. People pass by you quickly, ducking their heads as they try to get to their parked cars. The rubber soles of their shoes crunch rhythmically against the fresh powder on the sidewalk.
You look straight down, blinking at the tips of your own shoes as the white powder begins to form a neat ring around them.
Suddenly, there's another pair of shoes pointing directly toward yours.
"What're you doing out here, baby?"
Somehow, hearing that soft, raspy voice, feels like your walls are tumbling down.
You lean forward, the top of your head tapping against her chest.
"Natty," you whisper brokenly, your honest feelings slipping past your lips. "I'm so alone."
"Why do you think that, darling?"
Wanda's gentle, sweet voice comes from right beside you. You suddenly feel a weight draping over your cold shoulders. The deep warmth slowly spreads all across your back as the scent of mint and jasmine swirl together. It's that comforting aroma that helps you find the strength to continue.
"I lost all my best friends," you breathe out, the words tearing at your throat. "And it's all my fault."
Hearing yourself say it out loud feels like it's final. You reach your hand up, clutching tightly at the fabric of Natasha's jacket. You just need to feel like something is real in this unreal situation.
Natasha's hand encompasses yours gently, uncurling your tight fingers from her jacket and moving your hand down and inside her deep coat pocket. She rubs the back of your knuckles with her thumb while her palm presses firmly against yours. Warmth begins to return to your fingers that were once ice cold.
You feel the low rumble of Natasha's chest as she begins to speak.
"I have a feeling that's not true, baby girl," she murmurs, her raspy voice coming out achingly soft. "And you're not alone."
You feel a warm hand gently rest against the back of your head before long fingers thread smoothly through your hair, which must be damp and messy from the falling snow. It's the soothing, rhythmic touch of their fingertips against your scalp that makes you register that it's Wanda's hand.
"I heard about what Yelena told you," Natasha continues. Her voice tightens for a split second before she releases it. "I won't lie to you and say that Wanda and I haven't seen others before you. But you're different." She says the words simply, like it's an undeniable fact.
Wanda speaks up, keeping her voice low. "I know you don't have any reason to believe us yet, but I promise we'll always be here. Will you let us show you?" she asks, hopefulness underlying her speech.
You exhale shakily, the heavy puff of white smoke dissolving into nothing.
You're so tired of fighting. Tired of handling everything by yourself. Tired of your own decisions.
Tired of being alone.
"Can we at least take you to the car? Your hand is freezing, baby," Natasha says softly when you fail to respond.
You slowly tilt your chin up, Natasha's face coming into view. Thick snowflakes rain down from the sky all around you. Wanda's head is resting lightly against Natasha's shoulder, both of them looking down at you with soft, encouraging smiles—but their eyes are swimming with sadness. Maybe they can see the hurt hiding in yours.
"Natty," you mumble out. The shorthand name comes out almost whiny, thick with childish neediness you've suppressed for years. "Can you carry me there?"
Both of their eyes widen almost comically, but it's Natasha who recovers first.
"Of course, baby girl."
You scooch a step closer to her, raising your arm and wrapping it securely around her neck. She beams down at you, her expression filled with quiet joy. She releases your hand from inside her pocket, and both of her strong arms find their way underneath your thighs, lifting you with ease.
You press your cheek against her shoulder automatically, turning your head so your face is safely tucked right into the crook of her warm neck. Wanda smiles playfully at you from Natasha's other side before taking a step back.
"Let's go," Wanda says softly, her voice filled with relief. She moves her hand from your hair down to your back, rubbing her palm there in soothing, slow circles. "Our pretty girl is cold."
You finally let your heavy eyes close. The quiet sound of crunching footsteps in the fresh powder surrounds you. You feel your entire body completely relax against Natasha's, essentially going limp in her arms, but she doesn't falter or shift her grip in the slightest.
"Our baby," Natasha whispers quietly next to your ear.
You hadn't slept well all week, constantly waking up to your heart racing painfully throughout the night, or finding that tiredness wouldn't come despite your exhaustion. But right now, you can feel your brain beginning to slow down, knowing it's okay to sleep.
Like it always does when you feel Wanda's gentle warmth. Like it always does inside Natasha's safe presence.
Natasha continues to carry you down the sidewalk. Wanda continues to rub your back. And you realize through your groggy mind, that you're not alone.
—
A/N: Sorry for the angsty chapters back to back. I was originally going to do a filler chapter about finals week but I just didn't see the point. I figured I may as well bite the bullet and just have the conversation with her sister so that R can actually finally start to work through her problems. It'll be a lighter/fluffier chapter next though! :D
Thank you so much for the comments! I never imagined how much this story would grow and that people would actually resonate with it. So, thank you again!
Summary: You're breaking down, collapsing, shattering into a thousand pieces, but Wanda refuses to let you feel like a burden.
Content: BIG emotional hurt/comfort, angst, fluff
Word Count: 1,727
Masterlist Link
Taglist: @toe19 @imnotasuperhero @daniininouu @cate-chism @gumboug @absolutelyregal @deathbylesbianwitches @staytherewillbecakkes
The kiss was frantic. It felt like exposing every nerve in your body to a scalpel, splitting you at the seams so everything could spill out in a tangled, oily mess ready to set ablaze.
Broken.
You were broken, unravelling on the spot, and the sheer blistering mess of it all cut hot, wet lines down your cheeks.
Wanda cupped your jaw, her hands steady, anchoring you to here and now, only to feel her pull away.
Grasping for her, your heart gave a heavy, painful lurch because you’d already screwed it up, somehow, someway, too messy and desperate to be anything but repellent and you couldn’t stop yourself from whimpering.
“Please,” you whispered against her lips, begging, “please, I can be enough, I can be good, I can be what you want, just let me be enough, please, please!”
“You are,” Wanda said fiercely. “You are enough.”
She held you tighter, brushing your cheek with her thumb. “Look at me,” she all but growled.
You opened your eyes, meeting her crimson stare like a lighthouse in a storm. “You. Are. Enough,” she said firmly, slowly, trying to etch the words into your bones.
You didn’t remember your legs giving out, you were suddenly on the floor and Wanda wrapped you up in her arms, rocking you, kissing your head, hugging you tight until the shivering deluge of everything Jennifer brought out of you finally ran its course.
It wasn’t the first time she left you feeling that way, but it was the worst time.
Once you ran out of tears, you sat quiet in her lap, the fabric of her skirts clutched loosely between your fingers. You didn’t want to move, you didn’t want to think—you couldn’t think.
Blank.
You were blank, empty, like your skull was full of fog so thick nothing could break through.
Wanda murmured something to you, the words fuzzy, her tone coaxing. It made you look up at her again, your movements loose, almost clumsy, like you weren’t quite aware of yourself.
She smiled at you, tilting her head. “There you are my sweet girl,” she cooed. “Let’s go to bed, ptichka. I think you’ve had quite enough of today, haven’t you?”
You didn’t question it. You let Wanda pick you up like a sleepy koala, bringing you out of the basement, through the kitchen, and up the stairs.
It was hard to pin down when Wanda lost her more unearthly qualities, one moment she looked every bit the otherworldly Scarlet Witch with her regalia and blackened fingertips, and the next she was Wanda again. A normal person would feel relieved, more at ease with the familiar humanity, but it made no difference to you. You still saw Wanda in the darkness, just as you saw her in the gentle, sweater-clad woman carefully wiping your face clean in the upstairs bathroom.
You let Wanda strip you down, too gone to feel any shame about it, and cooperated with her putting you in a girlish nightdress just like the one you wore on the first night.
Wanda changed into that pretty burgundy set, but you didn’t take the opportunity to look at her, too preoccupied with sitting on the edge of her very comfortable bed and looking at her room, slowly kicking your legs.
Red dominated the space, in soft furnishings, the wallpaper, and curtains. The bed had just the right amount of give and smelled like warm, sweet pine, making it impossibly easy to curl up under the covers with her when she was done and burrow into her warmth, shamelessly seeking the comfort she offered.
.
.
Unbalanced was the best way to describe how you felt the following morning. You remained in her arms, snuggled down against her chest where the world felt far away.
Wanda didn’t rush you, letting your sit quietly and collect your thoughts. She checked to make sure it wasn’t something else, that you hadn’t withdrawn so far into yourself that nothing showed, but you just needed a moment, perhaps a long one, to articulate yourself.
“I don’t know.”
Wanda looked down at you, waited for you to elaborate, let you catch the words you needed rather than jump to conclusions and derail your train of thought.
Swallowing, you continued, “I don’t know what to do with myself. What my life will look like. Will you…am I allowed to leave?”
“Of course,” Wanda said, her brow pinching with worry. “I would never keep you against your will.”
She carded a hand through your hair, gently combing it. “If you want to continue working, pursue further education, pick up new hobbies, you can. I want you to be happy.”
Biting her lip, she added. “But I also need you to be safe. I need to know you are safe.”
She carefully tilted your chin up to meet her stare. “You understand, don’t you, sweetheart?”
You nodded slowly. “I do.”
Wanda kissed your brow, pulling you close where you easily fell asleep again.
It was late morning when you next woke up, and began the first day of your new reality.
You ate breakfast together, talking about the past, sharing stories that didn’t hurt, exploring plans for the days ahead.
After lunch, Wanda spent a few hours in her workshop studying the horrible book, the Darkhold she called it. An evil thing, corruptive, dangerous, not something to be handled carelessly, and she was quick to both warn you against touching it and reassure you that she was being careful. She understood the effect it had on her, the way it made her… off, sometimes.
And whisper though it might about power and wishes and desires—she knew what lay down that path. She had to learn everything there was to know in that book, it was tied to her powers, the magic she wielded, but she had no interest in destroying everything Natasha died for, so the book stayed impotent and contained.
For now.
For as long as Wanda could do so.
You took the time by yourself to make notes, categorising your life and what you wanted to keep, wanted to let go, to work towards.
For dinner, you helped Wanda around the kitchen with food prep and cleaning, and afterwards spent most of the evening cuddling by the fire, watching something easy and comforting. It always seemed to end up with the two of you kissing at length, not that you were complaining. You delighted in feeling wanted, the way Wanda’s grip on you tightened when your teeth caught her bottom lip, her eyes darkening until all that remained was a smouldering pinprick of crimson, hungry and sanguine.
Wanda was soft. So soft but firm, control wrapped in velvet, and every little show of restrained passion made your belly flutter.
It took the storm three days to finally clear, leaving behind a blanket of snow that glittered in the morning sun.
Staring out at the white-capped mountains and frosted pines from Wanda’s bedroom, you’d said, “I want to see it.”
The words made Wanda freeze, half-way through brushing her hair.
There was no need to elaborate.
She knew what you meant.
Wanda dressed you all cosy in a pretty coat, holding your hand as you stepped outside for the first time in over a week.
The air was crisp, clean, and so cold it immediately numbed the tip of your nose. Thankfully, the rest of you was quite comfortable, so you were happy to continue.
Gossamer currents of scarlet energy swept ahead as Wanda cleared a path forward with her magic, rendering the walk an easy affair rather than a trudging march.
A waking stillness held the world around you, the slow stirring of life from its storm induced torpor. Birds began to call, flitting from one snow laden branch to another, each flutter of wings and tiny darting shape making the walk pass in what felt like moments.
Your heart stopped when you saw it.
A looming, blocky shape half-buried in the snow, the icy blanket not enough to fully hide the mangled truth of it.
In the stark light of day, you couldn’t imagine how you survived. The front was almost completely caved in around the trunk of a stubborn pine, branches piercing the interior like a bouquet of spears, spilling upholstery guts from the drivers seat.
If anything moved just an inch more than it did Wanda would have found a corpse.
You would have died. Angry, hurt, and discarded.
Heart thumping, you squeezed Wanda’s hand, your breath coming short and quick.
She stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the wreck and forcing you to focus on her. A cold hand pressed to your cheek, making you jump.
Wanda pressed her brow to yours, voice low and firm. “But I didn’t find a corpse. I found you.”
Slowly, you nodded, trying to let the words take root. “I survived.”
“Yes, you did. You survived. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“You’ve got me.”
It could have so easily been worse, but it wasn’t, and you were grateful for that because in truth you didn’t want to die.
You never wanted to die, to just give up on life and miss out on all the things that still mattered to you.
All you really wanted was to feel loved.
To feel loved, and safe, and desired.
Like you would be missed if something happened.
That your memory wouldn’t be brushed off as easily as dust from the mantle.
You wanted, to feel wanted.
Wanda kissed you, a light, chaste brushing of lips meant for connection more than anything else. “You are,” she whispered, “you are, you are, you are.”
Pressing close, you wrapped your arms around her waist, and Wanda’s immediately looped around your shoulders, hands sliding into your hair and pulling you down into her neck where she was warm and soft and smelled of sweet, woodsy amber.
You weren’t free of your doubts, it would take much longer than three wonderful days to uproot such established weeds, but thanks to Wanda you had the time, and you were going to spend as much of it as you could with her, no matter what anyone else thought.
They lost the right to pass judgement the moment they made you feel like the world was better off without you in it.
Welcome to the Kitty Cat Lobster Shack. Open for lunch and dinner 7 days/week. Fair warning though, we close regularly and unpredictably for naps and zoomies.
Nothing builds up a girl’s self esteem like realizing that any time someone actually likes my dating profile, it’s either a catfish or bot. One of these days I’ll finally give up and fully embrace my single cat lady destiny
summary: a stressful day pulls you back into your own hyper-independence. luckily, you have two unwavering dominants at your side to lovingly remind you of your role.
authors note: part one is hereee! so, so excited for this au, you have no idea. i’ve noticed my writing has been wanting to lean much more into the softness and vulnerability that can come with being a submissive. kink and smut will still be intermingled with all of this, but i hope you all still enjoy some slower-paced, emotional fluffiness <3 this is not proofread. men & minors dni.
content warnings: age gap relationship, bdsm dynamics, emotional confrontation, guilt, crying, consensual punishment, spanking, aftercare
to be carried: masterlist
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you stir the batter in the bowl more vigorously than before. this was the third time you had tried to perfect the consistency. it either had lumps impossible to beat, or was too runny to pour onto the hot skillet. normally, pancake batter wouldn’t hold so much importance, but today, you needed this one thing to go right.
last night, you’d been tossing and turning through most of the evening. when the sun started to peak through the curtains of your bedroom, you sighed and quietly slipped out of bed, abandoning all hope of feeling rested.
today, your boss’s boss and several colleagues were visiting the office. as office manager, any shortcomings from your team had a way of becoming your responsibility. the thought alone made your stomach curl. handling failure has never been one of your strengths.
lost in thought, your whisk scraping loudly against the porcelain bowl, you accidentally splash yourself with some of the batter. you hardly notice as you stare straight ahead out the glass window in the kitchen. bacon sizzling on the stove next to you pops in protest, being left on one side for too long.
“shit.” you mutter to yourself, setting the bowl to the side. you grab a pair of tongs, flipping the pieces of bacon you had haphazardly lined the pan with. you scrub a hand over your face, trying to take a deep, regulating breath.
“i see my busy bee is already buzzing this morning.” you hear a voice, still raspy from sleep, ring from the entryway to the kitchen. you turn, your face a little flushed as you’re faced with your favorite pair of sage green eyes.
“i’m sorry, did i wake you?” you ask. suddenly, you feel a little self conscious about the mess coloring the counters. not to mention, you’re sure your face is a clear reflection of your current state.
“yes, but i don’t mind.” wanda shuffles closer to you when you make no move to close the gap. her hands find your waist with easy recollection. she holds you steady—you didn’t realize your body was nearly vibrating before. her thumbs stroke you through your pajama shirt. you look at her, feeling something tug in your chest at the way she looks at you. she studies you carefully. you try to mask the worry and stress on your face, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“you know..” wanda starts, reaching up to wipe away some wayward flour that was caked onto your cheeks and chin. “breakfast is usually my job.” her hand returns to your waist, pulling you an inch closer. you exhale shakily. something about the warmth of her body pulls you from your thoughts.
“i like to do it sometimes.” you insist, reaching behind you for a cup meant to pour the pancake batter onto the pan. wanda regards you for a moment and then releases your waist. she grabs the cup from your unsuspecting hands.
“i’ll help.” she says, and the way she says it leaves no room for argument. she steps around you, taking your place in front of the stove. you stare at her back, swaying on your toes.
“wanda, you really don’t need to help.” you step closer so you’re shoulder to shoulder.
“and you don’t need to make breakfast. sometimes we do things we don’t have to do.” she pours generous sized circles of batter onto the heated pan. they sizzle, smoke rising off them. she reaches for the temperature knob, turning the heat down.
you exhale through your nose and step aside, bumping your shoulder lightly against wanda’s before reaching for the coffee mugs instead.
“do you think ‘tasha will be up soon?” you ask as you place a coffee pod into the machine. you’re the only one who uses the flavored pods—wanda and natasha prefer the plain coffee grounds.
“she was starting to wake up when i left the room.” wanda replies, flipping the pancakes. you nod, getting a third mug out of the cabinet.
as if on cue, you hear natasha’s footsteps coming down the hall, always louder when her body is heavy with sleepiness.
“it’s 6AM.” natasha grumbles, her eyes squint to adjust to both the sun streaming through the open window and the kitchen lights you had turned on when you first started making breakfast. she looks so soft standing there that guilt tugs at your chest for waking them both.
“the sun is coming up?” you offer, your shoulders shrugging. she can read the guilt creeping into your expression. she scrubs her hands over her tired face.
“come here.” she holds her hands out in front of her. you abandon your spot in front of the coffee maker, padding into her open arms. she gathers you against her with the same practiced familiarity as wanda. the embrace is heavier though, drawing you closer.
“you were tossing and turning most of the night. you wanna talk about it?” her hands glide lower down your back, her hands warm even through your pajamas.
you shake your head. “no, i’m okay. or i will be later …maybe.” you shrug. you look off to the side, suddenly finding a spot on your wrist very interesting.
you feel her hands tighten around your hips until you’re suddenly being lifted into the air, your bum now resting against the cold granite top counter. you shiver at the unexpected temperature difference. you cross your ankles, but natasha steps between your legs before you can, her palms resting flat against your bare thighs.
“you’re not wiggling out of this that easily, little bee.” her voice is firm, but there’s a softness to her eyes that tells you she’s not actually upset. “you’re stressed about the people visiting your work today.” it’s not a question. you frown, squirming under her close observation. “talk to me. what’s going on in that head of yours?” her finger gently pokes at your forehead.
you look at natasha through your lashes, your eyes darting to wanda who still has her back to you as she wraps up breakfast. you watch her plate the food and your stomach almost turns at the sight. you’re really not hungry. making breakfast had simply been a distraction.
“(y/n).” natasha calls your attention back to her. your eyes find her emerald green ones. you frown deeper, your posture falling.
“i don’t know… i’m just stressed. what if i fail? what if i’m held accountable for something i didn’t do wrong, but my team did? you know my boss is a total asshole and he always makes me feel stupid—like nothing i do is good enough. i just really don’t want to be reminded of that today.” you exhale forcefully when you finish. your body is tense with the confession.
natasha reaches up to cradle your face with gentle, yet firm hands. “hey, listen to me.” she doesn’t continue until she can tell you’re really listening to her. it takes a few beats.
“it’s going to be okay—really. you’ve been doing a very good job about helping your team stay in line. plus, they all love you. i’m sure they’re just as eager to perform well today for your guests as you are to please them.” she speaks with such a surety that you almost internalize her words. you think over them for a second, and then your boss’s face flashes into your mind. you sigh, eyes closing, shoulders falling again.
“natasha’s right, (y/n). you have nothing to worry about. you’ll see later tonight once this is all over with.” wanda chimes in, sliding your refillable water bottle over to you. you don’t reach for it.
“i want it to be over with now.” you groan stubbornly. it’s so petulant sounding, it has both of them chuckling softly despite themselves.
“i know, sweet girl. it’ll be okay.” wanda assures, standing next to her wife now. “for now, let’s try and get some food in that tummy. then after we can talk about it a little more before sending you off to work.”
—
“hey, (y/n), did you grab yesterday’s report off the printer?” your coworker kate asks. she was basically your unofficial assistant, always running around with you, willing to tackle whatever task you needed to take down. you were grateful for someone like her. sometimes she was the only thing keeping you sane throughout the work day.
“yep. first thing i did when i walked in this morning.” you nod your head, your fingers vigorously typing away at the keyboard in front of you. kate lingers in the doorway to your office, rocking back on her heels.
“what’re you typing up?” she asks curiously, stepping into the room.
“notes i forgot to add to yesterday’s report.” you mumble, eyes not even sparing a blink until you had the revised version ready to go. your “special” guests were due to arrive any moment now. you needed this done.
your phone buzzes next to you on your desk. your eyes don’t even glance in that direction. kate, being the nosy thing she is, steps closer, looking at your lit up phone screen.
“it’s natasha!” she declares cheerily. she was particularly supportive of your throuple relationship. she was also the only one in the office that really knew. she steps closer, getting a better look at the text before the screen goes dark. “she asking if you got to work okay.” she reads, taking a step back.
“shit.” you mutter, your hand on the mouse as you navigate to the print button. “i’m supposed to text them when i get to work. making sure i’m safe and all that.” you click on the print button. “i’ll text her back later.”
before you can think about it any longer, someone calls your name from the conference room.
—
“jesus christ, they were intense.” steve comments when your whole team is huddled together in the break room at the end of the work day.
your visitors had come and gone, all without rattling the office too much. everyone was on their best behavior, which you were very grateful for. even steve and bucky seemed to keep their obnoxious inside jokes to a minimum around prying ears.
“i’ll say.” you agree, smoothing a hand over your hair.
“i’m glad that’s over with.” kate comments, clutching her water bottle close to her chest with two hands. “this one has been extra stressed more than normal for weeks.” she jabs a finger in your direction, her eyes light with her teasing comment. your whole team chuckles softly at your expense. you roll your eyes.
“okay, yeah, yeah, yeah. laugh it up. they could have had my ass if they found anything wrong today.” you try to defend yourself, but you can’t hide the smile threatening to stretch across your face. it was such a relief now that they were gone.
“oh, please, (y/n), you’re the best of us. the only reason tony gives you shit is because he’s probably threatened by you,” carol chimes in. you snort at her comment.
“threatened? please. like i’d want his job.” you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket. you pick it up without thinking too much about it. it’s from wanda.
We haven’t heard anything from you today. Did everything go okay at work?
you curse under your breath. you forgot to text both of them all day today. you know their expectation is at least one check-in. you quickly type out a brief response as the rest of your team talks amongst themselves.
went great. talk more about it a little later.
you hit send, shoving your phone back into your pocket.
“ready to go, everyone?” you ask, gathering your personal items you had set on a little table. your water bottle feels heavier than it should at the end of the day. you can’t remember taking a single sip.
kate walks you to your car once the rest of your team parts ways. “proud of you, chica. everything went amazing today.” she compliments as you round the drivers side of your car.
“couldn’t of done it without you katie girl.”
—
the house is quiet when you step inside. you shuck off your shoes, placing your car keys on a small table under a mirror that hangs adjacent to the front door.
the house feels still without wanda or natasha. they must have gotten called into the office for the day. you guessed they would be home in a little bit, but for now it was just you in the empty space. you place your empty water bottle on the kitchen counter. it waits there, beads of condensation trailing lazily down its sides. it sat there almost as full as it had been that morning. your stomach twists at the realization of disregarding yet another rule today. it wasn’t on purpose.
you stare at it for a moment longer before picking the bottle back up to take a small sip. you still didn’t feel very thirsty. you set it back down, leaving it to sit alone on the edge of the counter while you head for the couch in the living room.
the soft cushions envelop you as soon as you sit down, and you sigh heavily. more silence surrounds you as you lean back against the cushions, your eyes fixed on a random spot on the ceiling. your hands are clasped over your stomach, fingers tapping back and forth absentmindedly. you wait for the relief you’d been promising yourself all day.
it never comes.
you’re unsure how many minutes have passed when you hear the soft hum of the garage door opening through the walls. you sit up at once, a soft smile on your lips you didn’t even realize is there.
they’re home.
voices drift in from the entryway and you can feel your body relax at the sound. you glance towards the walkway, your eyes landing on your water bottle perched on the kitchen countertop. evidence. you look away before either of them can follow your gaze.
natasha rounds the corner first, her expression warm as her eyes find you. “hi, honeybee.” you’re already crossing the room before she can reach for you. her embrace eases an ache you’d been carrying all day. “hi.” you mumble into her shoulder, your arms wrapped tightly around her waist. she presses her lips to the top of your head, lingering there before she feels you loosen your arms to greet her wife.
wanda smiles warmly, her gaze taking in your small frame. she pecks your lips before you can bury your face into her neck, her arms wrapping around you automatically. you inhale her scent, the action just as comforting as her arms around you. she sways back and forth just a little as you linger in her arms.
“what do you say we make dinner?” wanda murmurs next to your ear after another beat of silence. you nod into her neck, loosening your grasp as you step back from the embrace.
the three of you moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. dinner was made, plates were set and you were all in your respective seats before you knew it.
“i wanna hear all about your special visitors today. how did it go?” wanda asks as she cuts into her steak.
“it actually went really well.” you start, smiling a bit as you recall your surprisingly successful day. “kate was a huge help. she reminded me to calm down whenever i was getting a little too stressed out. steve too. he kept trying to make me laugh. i was able to share my reports without forgetting key things or stumbling over my words. it almost went too well. like i was waiting for the other shoe to drop the whole time,” you stab a piece of steamed broccoli with your fork, popping it into your mouth when you finish your sentence.
“i’m not surprised to hear that it went well. i knew it would.” natasha says. you can hear a twinge of pride in her voice.
“we’re very proud of you, little love.” wanda places her hand over yours, giving it an affectionate squeeze. you glow under her praise, your stomach fluttering at both the gesture and her words.
“thank you.” you reply in a soft tone, your gaze falling towards your plate as you smile gently.
forks and knives clank against plates as you all enjoy your food. you reach for your water that natasha had placed in front of you when you first sat down. she hadn’t said anything about it being full, and neither did wanda. perhaps they forgot to mention it.
“how was work for you guys?” you ask before you take a drink. they recall their day, which sounded like it was just as successful as yours had been. the call into work had been unexpected, but they were able to smooth all the ruffled feathers. they’ve always been good at that.
after you were all done eating, the three of you work together to clean up. wanda stood at the sink, washing the dishes while natasha wiped off counters and you put away the leftover food.
you open the fridge, setting the tupperware of steamed vegetables on the top shelf.
wanda becomes more quiet, her movements slowing as she scrubs each plate before carefully placing it in the dishwasher. natasha doesn’t ask any more questions or spark up a new conversation as you all work together. she doesn’t glance at you even as she can feel you watching her, instead turning to wipe down the table.
you linger where you are, eyes darting between them. the silence makes your belly curl.
you forgot to text them. only after being texted multiple times did you reply, and even then, it was very brief. you also had neglected your water almost all day. the expectation was at least one gone by the time you got home.
your disobedience wasn’t intentional, just small actions you told yourself you’d eventually get to and then never did.
you watch wanda place the last dish into the dishwasher. her back is still to you as she dries her hands. she uses the same small towel to dry splashes of water that had gotten onto the counter surrounding the sink.
“little bee?” natasha’s voice cuts into the silence. your eyes dart to where she stands several feet away. “can we talk for a minute?”
the knot in your belly tightens, but you nod regardless. subconsciously, your legs carry you over to the living room couch. you sit in the middle of the long sofa, a practiced routine as wanda and natasha assume their spots on either side of you.
you stare at your hands in your lap. wanda curls one leg under the other as she faces you, the other hanging off the end of the couch. natasha sits with both her feet flat on the floor, her torso twisted to face you. silence settles over the three of you for a long moment.
“bee, look at me.” wanda says gently. she doesn’t reach for you yet. you lift your head, sage green eyes boring into yours with a softness you’re not sure made you feel better or worse. “did you drink your water today? or was what we saw from when i filled it this morning?” they’re both almost positive it was the latter, but she wanted to double check just in case.
“from this morning.” you mumble, eyes falling back to your lap. this wasn’t the first time this had happened. you hear natasha exhale through her nose beside you. it’s quiet for another few beats.
“this is becoming a pattern, isn’t it?” wanda still speaks gently. the words echo in your mind. memories of other instances you’ve neglected the small tasks begin to run through your mind.
“i don’t mean to do it.” you whisper, your fingers fidgeting with the hair tie you always kept on your wrist.
“we know.” wanda replies. “but it's still happening.”
more silence washes over the room. it’s deafening. the knot in your stomach twists even more.
“none of this is about the water bottle.” natasha speaks, her words echoing in your right ear.
“the water isn’t important because we want you hydrated. it’s important because we asked you to take care of yourself.” she adds, her voice even, without a trace of harshness.
“when you don’t, you tell yourself you’ll do it later. later becomes tomorrow. tomorrow becomes next week. eventually your needs become the last thing on your list.” your shoulders fall when wanda speaks again. her words begin to resonate as you listen to them, almost as if she’s painting the full picture of which you’ve never fully looked at before.
“i… i guess it’s just a habit. it’s not on purpose.” your defense is weak, but you have nothing else to offer but the honest truth.
“we know, honey.” wanda soothes.
“intent explains behavior. it doesn’t erase the impact of it.” natasha adds. you feel tears begin to prick your eyes, your cheeks growing warm. it’s silent for another couple seconds.
“this morning you didn’t let me make breakfast.” wanda says. you glance up at her for the first time in several minutes. you’re slightly confused at why she brings it up.
“today you wouldn’t let yourself drink water.” she continues. she pauses a moment, letting it sit there before going on. “you let us hold you when it’s easy. when you’re exhausted or falling apart..” another small pause. “but the little moments before that…you decide you can carry those alone.” a tear rolls down your cheek you didn’t realize was balancing on your lower lid. the weight of what they’re saying begins to wash over you.
you sniff, the clock ticking on the wall the only other sound in the room.
“this dynamic doesn’t work unless you allow us to take care of you. we can’t carry something you won't hand to us.” natasha speaks again. you can’t look at either of them, your vision suddenly blurry as more unshed tears brim in your eyes. you twist the hair elastic around your fingers with trembling hands.
“i didn’t really realize it looked like that.” your voice cracks at the end, another tear slipping down your cheek.
“we know.” they both say in unison.
they don’t fill the gaps of silence as the three of you sit there. wanda watches your face carefully as the realization washes over you in waves. neither of them rush to comfort you, instead letting you linger in the silence. when your shoulders begin to shake and the hair tie slips from your fingers, natasha places a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. wanda lifts your chin, tilting your face towards her. you blink, causing a couple more silent tears to fall. she wipes them away with her thumbs, cradling your face with tender hands.
“we’re not mad, little bee.” she assures, stroking your cheeks until your eyes finally meet hers.
“we’re very proud of you for hearing us.” her gentle praise causes warmth to bloom in your chest despite everything else.
you sniffle, blinking away the rest of your tears. natasha reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table, handing the tissue to wanda. she gently wipes away the salty tears, running the tissue under your nose that was getting a little runny. you exhale slowly through your mouth, letting the emotion run through you.
natasha leans forward, her face coming into your peripheral vision. she squeezes your thigh again, a silent call for you to look at her. your eyes lift to her gaze without much thought.
“understanding why this happened doesn’t mean we skip our responsibilities.” she says.
you cast your eyes back down to your lap.
“i know…” you say, resigned.
“do you understand why there still needs to be accountability?” she asks.
you nod.
“can you tell us why?” she presses gently.
“because if we only talked about it…” you swallow before continuing, “i’d probably tell myself i’ll do better,” you exhale shakily, “and then i’d do the same thing over again.”
“exactly.” natasha reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear before lifting your chin.
“we still love you very much.” she reassures, her eyes are tender but firm, conveying the weight of her words. your lip juts into a pout without consciously thinking about it, the softness of the moment almost overwhelming.
there’s some more silence as you hold her gaze before she speaks again.
“stand up for me, baby love.” you stand on slightly shaky legs, turning slowly until you’re standing facing her. her hands find the button of your pants, fingers pinching to undo it before she slides down your zipper. it echoes in the otherwise quiet room. your heart begins to race in anticipation.
she peels your pants down your legs, and you place a hand on your shoulder to steady yourself as you step out of them. she takes her time to fold them carefully before setting them aside.
“com’ere.” she murmurs gently, holding her hands out. she helps to guide your body down into her lap. your head rests comfortably in wanda’s lap, propped up by your folded arms while your lower half is draped across natasha’s. you exhale shakily as natasha hooks her fingers into your underwear, carefully shimmying them off your hips until they’re bunched at your thighs. you shiver at the new exposure, feeling the cool air on your legs.
“you don’t need to count, little bee. just lie your head there in mommy’s lap and feel.” she smooths a palm over your bare asscheeks. wanda runs a hand down your hair at the same time.
you nod when natasha doesn’t continue, figuring she was waiting for your acknowledgment.
your body tenses slightly as you lie there in anticipation. you flinch when her hand comes down for the first time. the first always felt like a shock to your system.
she rubs out the sting and then hits you in the same place. your asscheek begins to bloom with heat, the weight of her hand heavy against your sensitive skin.
her palm comes down on the other cheek. this time, she doesn’t soothe the sting before hitting you again.
she builds a predictable rhythm, careful not to spank you in the same spot too many times without rubbing your increasingly sensitive backside.
the more she hits, the more inflamed your skin becomes, each one hurting more than the last. tears begin to prick your eyes again.
another slap lands in the spot where your buttcheek and thigh meet, the sensation causing your whole body to jerk. she spanks you there twice, a sob ripping up from your throat. your fingers curl around the material of wanda’s pants, your knuckles turning white from how firmly you were grasping on.
“that’s it, honey. let it all out.” wanda encourages as her nails gently scratch along your back.
natasha doesn’t let up, maintaining her rhythm until she can see the visible shake of your shoulders—like the weight finally lifting off of them.
“there we go, baby. just feel.” natasha croons, another smack landing on your left asscheek. she soothes it this time.
“doesn’t it feel good to let us take care of you?” natasha murmurs, hand coming down on your right cheek again. you sob, nodding your head against wanda’s leg.
you can feel when the last of the tension dissipates from your body.
your weight suddenly feels heavier in their laps as your body fully surrenders to them. you even feel it in your mind; the thoughts quieting, the pressure to carry everything all on your own fading into nothing.
natasha spanks you twice more, sealing the end of your consequence. your whole body shakes with sobs. the release feels euphoric.
your limbs are heavy as wanda carefully gathers you until you’re sitting in her lap, your body pulled tightly against her as her arms wrap around you. she doesn’t shush you, simply rocking you back and forth and stroking along your spine as you ride out the emotion.
you’re unsure how much time passes as she sways you back and forth or when you finally stop crying.
it’s not until your sobs die down and turn into sniffles that you finally lift your face from where it was buried in wanda’s neck.
you glance around you, slightly disoriented as you sway in her lap. your cheeks are pink and tear stained, eyes puffy from all the crying, but you feel lighter than you’ve felt in weeks.
“there’s my little honeybee.” wanda cradles your face in her hands. her green eyes are endlessly soft, a gentle smile on her face. you sniffle, her hands wiping away the wetness on your cheeks.
natasha appears in your vision, sitting closely next to her wife. she’s holding a bottle of water.
she smiles, wanda chuckling affectionately when you lean forward and your lips part, like you’re waiting expectantly.
natasha unscrews the cap, bringing it to your lips and carefully tipping it back. you swallow the liquid easily, suddenly feeling very thirsty after everything that just happened. when you pull back, natasha pulls the bottle away, screwing the cap back on.
“you did so good, baby.” she praises, caressing your cheek.
“so good.” wanda echoes.
your mind is hazy, full of nothing but the warm fuzziness of your submission. you look between both of them with glossy eyes.
“next time, we’ll carry it together.” wanda says, hands holding firmly to your hips in a grounding manner.
“together.” you nod, the word barely above a whisper.
theartofmadeline
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