Summary: It’s the night of the Golden Globes, and your film has been nominated for everything. You should be nervous. You are nervous. But Maya’s beside you, and suddenly the spotlight feels less terrifying. Between stolen kisses, whispered critiques, and one very emotionally needy Matt, you find yourself slipping into the surreal reality of success, holding the hand of the woman who believed in you first. You win. You thank her. And the whole world watches you say her name.
Read Part 1 here!! Xo
Word count: 7.7K
Warnings: no warnings for this one loves but as always MDNI as previous parts include smut x
A/N: In prep for Kathryn at the Emmys tomorrow here’s part 2 of going to the globes! Buckle up… it’s a biggie! X
The carpet ends.
The noise fades.
You and Maya step into the ballroom and the first thing you see is glitter. Lights, dresses, a sea of power and pressurized fame. It smells like perfume and nerves and the expensive kind of fear.
The lights inside the ballroom are low and golden. Everything is quiet, almost reverent. Tables are set with flickering votives and tucked in name cards. Champagne glints in crystal flutes. You can feel the buzz of money and prestige humming beneath the polished elegance of it all.
She doesn’t say anything at first. She’s looking around at the studio heads brushing shoulders with actors in couture, publicists checking watches and Leonardo DiCaprio, fifteen feet away, already drinking.
She exhales, sharp. “Holy shit.”
You squeeze her hand.
She glances down at you, still in your gown, eyes ringed in shadow, face pale from the stress, and immediately refocuses.
“Hey,” she says softly, leaning in. “You did so good out there.”
You nod, lips twitching. “I need a chair… and maybe a snack”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I got you.”
Her hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady, guiding you through the rows of tables. She’s still glancing around, a little stunned. Not in a starstruck way, just out of place.
“You okay?” you murmur.
She lets out a dry laugh. “I’ve never been this close to anything like this. I’m usually watching this from my apartment in sweatpants with a box of rice crackers.”
“You belong here.”
She presses her lips together, too emotional to answer.
You grip Maya’s hand tighter. She gives you a squeeze.
“There’s our table,” she murmurs. “Front, dead center like fucking royalty. Matt’s already waving.”
And he is, both arms in the air, champagne in hand like he’s trying to hail a cab in 1975.
You make your way over.
Patty’s already seated, resplendent in gold, glittering with confidence. She stands immediately, grabs you into a hug. “Honey. You look like you floated here on a storm cloud. I love it.”
“You look stunning,” you smiled softly.
“I am stunning,” she says, beaming. “And I’m nominated. I have never felt more emotionally fulfilled.”
Sal’s beside her, grinning. “Witch queen in the house!”
You blink.
“Sal’s high,” Patty explains behind her glass. “Ignore him. He means well.”
“I love you guys,” Sal adds, pointing at you with a breadstick.
You look down at the table ans smile when you see Maya’s name place “look it’s you” you point out and pick it up to save.
“Wait, you’re center?” Sal asks Maya, voice pitched high with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Maya raises a brow. “What, you thought I was gonna be in the back with you and the interns?”
Sal gapes. “You're the head of marketing.”
“And I’m dating the director of the hour,” Maya replies sweetly, her arms snug around you. “Maybe you’ve heard of her.”
Sal sinks into an empty seat with a theatrical groan. “I spent like… so much money to come tonight. I’m in the fucking overflow.”
Maya just smirks. “That sounds like a you problem.”
Matt’s next, standing just off to the side, a little flushed, a little awkward. He’s in a very expensive tux that doesn’t quite sit right.
“You made it!” He says.
You nod. “We did.”
He smiles big. Too big. “No matter what happens tonight, this movie… you, changed the studio.”
You smile thankfully and lean further into Maya.
Matt continues to hover, vibrating with anxiety.
You tilt your head. “Are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah. No. Totally fine.” He fidgets with his cufflinks. “Just… big night.”
You finally sit down, trying not to wince, and Maya instantly crouches next to your chair, brushing the fabric of your gown so it settles right.
“You okay?” she murmurs.
“My joints hurt,” you admit quietly. “And I’m so tired.”
“Oh,” she breathes. “Baby.”
She crouches immediately, reaching beneath the table to adjust the hem of your gown, fixing the drape so it doesn’t pull where it hurts. One hand smooths along your calf, her other finding your hand and lacing your fingers together under the tablecloth.
“Better?”
You nod, just barely. You don’t care who’s in the room. Not the press agents, not the stars, not the moguls seated behind you. None of it matters.
You just want your Maya.
Maya exhales, still kneeling beside you. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.
“I’m right here,” she whispers. “You just stay with me, yeah? We’ll get through it. One course, one category at a time.”
She stands slowly and takes her seat beside you, but not with the same poise she had on the carpet. Now she’s quiet. Smaller. She’s still shining, but with a careful kind of glow. The kind of glow of someone that knows they’re not supposed to be here.
She brushes her hand along your thigh, anchoring herself, anchoring you. Because she might be stunned, but you’re the reason she’s here. And she’s not about to forget that now.
The room starts to press in a little.
You’re seated now, dress settled, water glass half full, hands in your lap. Maya’s right beside you, sitting still, but you can feel her vibrating under the table. Her hand’s still resting lightly on your thigh, but her fingers are twitching.
She’s not looking at you, but looking around, scanning the room.
At first you think she’s just clocking the room like always. But then you feel the shift, the tension creeping into her shoulders. Her posture is straightening like she’s performing still, as if the cameras are still on her even though they’re not.
Her voice is quiet, barely a murmur. “Oh my god, that’s Demi Moore.”
You blink. “Where?”
She jerks her chin across the room. “By the ficus. Table with the Saint Laurent clutch. Holy shit.”
You follow her line of sight. You spot the hair, the dress, the cheekbones.
You shrug. “She looks nice.”
“She’s Demi Moore.” Maya hisses. “And Fincher’s behind us. I heard someone say Fincher. What the fuck is happening.”
You glance at her. And suddenly you see that she’s not just overwhelmed, she’s intimidated.
Maya Mason. Top of her field. Marketing savant. Usually the loudest bitch in any room but not here. Not at this table. Not when everyone else seems like they were born on red carpets like this.
And you… you don’t care about any of it. So you move quietly, naturally, like your bones have always known the shape of hers. You shift in your seat and gently climb onto her lap slowly and carefully, the skirt of your gown bunching slightly, and settle there, arms wrapping around her neck.
She freezes.
“Baby oh my god-”
You lean in, whisper against her ear. “Can I have a kiss?”
She stares at you.
You look at her wide eyed and pretty.
Her mouth twitches. “You want to make out with me while Demi Moore is three tables away?”
You nod.
Maya laughs, this stunned, breathless sound that’s half awe, half disbelief. “Jesus Christ, I love you.”
Her hands slide around your waist. Her head tilts. “You really don’t care about any of this, do you?”
You shake your head. “I care about you.”
That undoes her.
She cups your face gently, one gloved thumb brushing your cheek. And then she kisses you soft and deep, but careful. Like she’s trying to anchor herself to the one thing that feels real in the whole damn room.
When she pulls back, your eyes are still closed. Your breath warm against her jaw.
“I needed that,” you murmur.
“I know, baby.” Her hands stay on your waist. “You can stay right here for a few more minutes,” she says softly.
You nod and snuggle in closer.
The room buzzes around you, golden and glittering. But you’re only aware of her heartbeat, steady under your palm.
You barely register Matt sitting up straighter to face you again. “So… how you feeling?”
You blink at him. “Like my spine has collapsed.”
Maya kisses your shoulder. “She’s a trooper.”
Matt nods, doing his best “cool boss” face. “Right, yeah. No, it’s a lot. But you’re… y’know. You’re really doing it. Just… if you do win, obviously there’s no pressure, but like…”
You stare at him.
He trails off.
Maya barks out a laugh.
“Holy shit, are you nervous?” she says, sitting up slightly. “You think she’s not gonna mention you?”
Matt flushes. “I didn’t say that.”
Maya winks. “Babe, he’s spiraling. Should we practice your speech right now? Maybe something like: ‘I’d like to thank Continental Studios. And Matt. Specifically Matt. The best man in horror.’”
Matt groans. “You’re insufferable.”
But before Matt can spiral further, you see them.
Across the room, heading toward your table with purposeful grace is Tilda and Willem.
Your cast.
Your monsters.
Your muses.
Tilda is already extending her arms like you’re her long lost haunted child. Willem has the look of a man who might do a dramatic reading of your screenplay on stage just because he can.
“My darling,” Tilda murmurs as she sweeps you into her arms. “You’re here!”
You let yourself melt into the hug.
Tilda pulls back, takes your face in her hands. “ I’d do anything to work with you again.”
You nod, a little breathless. “Yes please.”
Maya’s standing just behind you, watching the whole thing, one hand over her heart.
The table is buzzing with conversation.
Tilda’s leaned in, gesturing wildly with a flute of champagne. “No, but you remember, when the fog machine broke during that lake scene and Willem just started howling into the mist like a banshee?”
“I became the mist,” Willem says proudly.
You laugh, real and loud, head tilted back.
“And that old cinema in Prague!” Tilda adds. “Where you made us watch that cursed vampire film on actual celluloid like we were in a séance!”
“It was a restored print,” you say, mock defensive.
Maya’s still sitting next to you, one hand resting on your leg under the table, the other wrapped around a glass of very expensive champagne. She’s watching you, listening and nodding when it feels appropriate, but she’s quiet.
You’re talking about Bergman now. Something about Hour of the Wolf. About the pacing. The lens choices. You reference a Romanian horror short from the ‘60s that only exists in two archives.
And Maya’s quiet.
You don’t notice at first. Not really. Until the table laughs at something and you glance over to share the look, and she’s not looking at you. She’s looking down at her drink. Her jaw tight. Her smile frozen in place.
You lean in, soft. “Hey. You okay?”
She nods, too fast. “Yeah, no. Totally.”
You study her. “Maya-”
She cuts you off, gentle but clipped. “You don’t have to worry. You’re in your element. It’s good.”
You blink. “You’re my element too.”
You reach for her hand.
She lets you take it and squeezes back. But her eyes are somewhere else. She’s proud. She’s glowing. But maybe, just for this moment, she’s not in it with you.
You lean in. Whisper, “You’re the reason any of them even saw the film.”
She exhales through her nose.
You kiss her temple, quiet. “You’re my favorite part.”
She softens. Just a little. But the moment still lingers, like static.
Tilda’s mid story about some haunted castle Airbnb you all stayed in during the shoot when you shift your body just slightly, tilting toward Maya, hand still wrapped around hers under the table.
You glance up at her, voice soft. “Hey. You should tell them about the press day. The one where you made that festival exec cry.”
Maya blinks. “Wait, really?”
You smile. “You made them beg for our teaser slot.”
Willem perks up. “Now that’s a horror story I’d like to hear.”
Tilda lifts her glass. “To the woman who sold the darkness.”
Maya laughs, really laughs, her shoulders relaxing, eyes sparkling. “Okay, okay, but to be fair, that exec called the movie ‘niche’ and tried to offer us a 10 a.m. slot. I was legally obligated to ruin his day.”
Willem wheezes. “God I love her.”
And suddenly? She’s in. She’s throwing jabs with Willem, trading one liners with Patty, charming the entire table without even trying. She’s funny. Quick. Sharp. And she’s yours.
You sit back, hand resting on her knee, proud.
She catches your look, grins. “You’re staring.”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
She leans in, mock whispering. “Well yeah, look at me.”
The moment’s golden.
Willem just laughs. “Ah, young love.”
Maya’s laughing at something Patty said, something wildly inappropriate about a certain actor’s filler not settling, when she glances past you and does a visible double take.
“…No way.”
You follow her gaze toward the bar.
It’s Sal, his arm thrown around none other than Adam Scott, the two of them already halfway through their drinks and cackling like it’s a reunion special. Sal’s got his jacket half off, leaning into the bar like it’s his home turf. Adam’s gesturing wildly, like he’s telling a story from college and Sal slaps the marble with a wheeze of laughter.
Maya blinks. “Are you kidding me? That man is supposed to be heartbroken he’s in the back.”
Matt cranes his neck. “Is that… oh my god, is that Adam Scott? Didn’t he live on Sal’s couch for like six months?”
Maya shakes her head, amused. “Look at him. Giggling like he didn’t just spend thirty grand to be placed in Siberia. I swear to god, that man is indestructible.”
Then there is a shift, the house lights flicker once, the room quietening just slightly.
And Maya’s attention snaps toward the stage.
It’s starting.
You feel it in her breath before you hear it in the room, that tight inhale, the quick shift of her body beneath you, her arm tightening protectively around your waist. The food is rolled out, the cameras around the stage are turning. Applause builds in waves as the host walks out.
Maya leans in and kisses the back of your neck.
You don’t need to look to know her eyes are wide, heart racing.
She’s here.
You’re both really here.
The lights go down, and the ballroom stills. The opening music hits bright and triumphant, vaguely familiar. There’s a beat of applause, and then the host walks out to the mic, all teeth and sequins.
“Welcome to the Golden Globes! The only awards show where the bar opens before the first award!”
There is polite laughter as a camera pans across the room, you can feel the sweep of the live camera behind you.
Maya sits up straighter.
You? You’re focused on your plate, peeling apart the edges of a warm dinner roll and buttering it like none of this has anything to do with you.
The host grins. “What a night for cinema, huh? So many great films. So many iconic performances. So many bald white men being brave on screen.”
More laughter.
You glance up, amused, and take a bite of bread.
“I mean we had Glenn Close in The Remedy, we had Jodi Foster solving crime in True Detective, we had Tilda Swinton being buried alive in The Witch…”
Your head lifts slightly.
Maya chokes on her champagne.
The camera doesn’t pan to your table thank god, but heads turn, chuckles ripple through the room. Even Matt leans forward in his chair excitedly.
The host smirks.
“From the deeply twisted mind of Y/N Y/L/N, a horror film so unsettling I had to sleep with the lights on. And my husband. And my mom. And a crucifix.”
Laughter.
Maya’s hand slides under the table, clutching your thigh. She leans in, whispering, “Okay, but the press quote potential on that? I’m stealing that.”
You grin, cheeks full of bread. “Please don’t pitch during the Globes.”
Patty’s laughing. Matt’s watching you nervously, like he still doesn’t know whether you’re going to curse him or thank him.
You? You take another bite. Sip your water.
The host moves on. “Let’s get to the part where famous people clap for other famous people. Buckle up, Hollywood.”
The room applauds. The camera pans. The categories begin.
You rest your hand on Maya’s knee under the table.
She’s buzzing.
And this? This is only the beginning.
A few categories go by, Best Actor in a Limited Series, Best Animated Feature, something about Succession. The room claps politely, the speeches are short, the champagne is flowing.
You’re not really listening anymore. Because Maya’s hand is in yours under the table, her fingers warm and fidgety, and you’re tracing slow, lazy circles against her knuckles with your thumb.
“Hey,” she whispers, leaning close.
You glance over. Her eyes are still a little wide with that buzzed, slightly disbelieving energy that hasn’t left her since you asked her to be your plus one.
“You know,” she murmurs, “if someone told me when I started marketing that I’d be on the floor of the Golden Globes in full couture, next to a girl who makes movies about women getting their eyes eaten by crows, I would’ve assumed I was microdosing and misheard.”
You smirk. “You probably were.”
She grins. “That’s not not true.”
The host makes another joke onstage about Jeremy Allen White sweating through his tux, the room chuckles, but Maya’s attention is only half there. Her other hand is now gently stroking the back of yours, her fingertips lightly skimming your palm.
“You okay?” she murmurs. “You’re quiet.”
You nod, nudge your nose against her shoulder, still lazily playing with her fingers. “Just… don’t wanna be looked at.”
Maya softens. You don’t even need to explain. She just leans in, presses a kiss to the top of your head, then pulls your hand into her lap.
“You’re with me,” she says. “They can look all they want.”
You smile softly, feeling a little overwhelmed, and she gives your hand a little squeeze.
Then:
“Oh my god,” she breathes suddenly, eyeing the stage. “Is that… is that THE Rachel Weisz presenting?!”
You glance up just in time to catch Maya’s entire body going rigid. Her voice is a harsh whisper. “Babe. Babe, I need you to look at her. Look at her. The sleeve detail alone!”
You snort, covering your mouth to hide it, and lean back into her with a mischievous little whisper, “is this how I sound when I talk about prosthetic bone work?”
She looks scandalised. “First of all, your bone work is genius. Second of all, shut up, she’s talking.”
“Oh my god,” Maya murmurs again. “She’s wearing Loewe. I knew it. Look at the tailoring. Look at that structure. God, she’s unreal…”
You tilt your head, letting her ramble. It’s cute. For about six seconds.
Then you frown. “Maya.”
She doesn’t look at you, still eyeing the stage. “Mmhmm?”
You pout and tug gently at her hand in your lap. “Stop looking at Rachel Weisz.”
That gets her attention.
Her head snaps to you. “What?”
“Kiss me.”
Maya blinks in confusion then grins, wide and wicked.
“Ohhh,” she teases, leaning in just slightly. “Is someone a little jealous?”
You glare weakly. “I’m serious. I love you. I need attention.”
Maya chuckles, soft and smug, and tips forward to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, her lips brushing so lightly they make your whole face warm.
“There,” she whispers. “Better?”
You nod, satisfied.
She reaches up and gently nudges your pout with her thumb. “Love you spooky.”
You smile sweetly. “Love you too.”
Maya’s eyes gleam. “Damn right you do.”
And just like that, you both dissolve into quiet laughter, your shoulders shaking against hers, the glittering industry world still spinning around you like set dressing. But you don’t care, you’re just two weirdos in love, curled around each other like talismans, holding hands like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
You curl into her again, victorious, and maybe still a tiny bit smug as Rachel Weisz finishes her bit on stage and Maya keeps her eyes only on you.
Another envelope is opened. Another round of applause. The night starts to settle into its rhythm of applause, speech, camera pan, refilling the champagne.
You nibble at your second bread roll.
Maya’s doing that thing where she pretends not to be watching you chew but is absolutely watching you chew. Like she can’t believe the woman who made The Witch, the movie that made people faint at Cannes, is currently hoarding carbs like a little Victorian orphan.
“Babe,” she murmurs, “I think you’re just eating out of anxiety.”
You glare. “I think you’re projecting.”
She raises her brows, shrugs, and pours you more water. “Don’t choke when Cate Blanchett walks back by. I can’t give you the Heimlich in this dress.”
You grin behind your hand.
Another round of categories. A few wins for streaming shows. Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series. Best Song from a Film.
You’re clapping politely, sipping your water, starting to feel the edges of overstimulation fray your nerves, but Maya’s hand is still in your lap, grounding you.
One of the presenters walks out and makes a joke that absolutely destroys the room. Something about an iconic meme. A TikTok sound. A viral campaign that everyone in the industry got obsessed with last year.
You frown.
“What?” you whisper to Maya.
She leans in. “That’s that TikTok thing, remember I had to change a campaign around it?”
Matt, two chairs down, gapes. “Wait. You don’t know the towel guy?”
You blink. “Is this a sex thing?”
The whole table erupts in laughter. Even Matt wheezes into his champagne flute.
Maya just beams, smoothing her hand along your thigh, clearly delighted.
“She doesn’t have social media,” she explains proudly. “My baby is from, like, a different time. She just watches old horror movies and lights candles and makes things that ruin people’s sleep.”
Willem wipes his eyes. “God, I love her.”
You’re flushing hard now, ducking your head, but Maya tips your chin up.
“Hey,” she murmurs, all heat and affection. “Don’t be embarrassed. I love that about you.”
You nudge her under the table, but she just kisses your temple and grins like she’s won something.
There’s a lull as the ceremony hits a commercial break. Stage lights dim. Waitstaff refill flutes of champagne and clear untouched starters. Somewhere, a camera operator stumbles and almost takes out a floral centerpiece.
You’re still, too still.
Maya watches your fingers twitch beneath the table, your knee bouncing ever so slightly, eyes fixed on the stage but not seeing it.
“Hey,” she murmurs, pressing her hand against your thigh. “You with me?”
You blink and nod, you’re not convincing anyone.
“C’mon.” Maya’s already standing.
You don’t question it, just slip your hand into hers and follow, weaving between tables and shoulder brushing celebrities until you reach the hallway. A security guard clocks you both and nods, letting Maya guide you toward one of the guest bathrooms without question.
The second you’re inside, under the quiet hum of too bright lights and echoing tile, you break. You grab her wrist, spin her gently, and push her back against the wall of the private dressing area. A breath, shaky in your chest. Then you’re kissing her hard.
Maya gasps, startled, but instantly melting into it. Her hands come up fast, cradling your jaw, her rings cool against your skin. She kisses you back like instinct, like oxygen, her mouth open and hungry, tongue sliding deep and sure as her body presses flush to yours.
You gasp into her mouth. “I needed… I just…”
“I know,” she breathes, kissing you again. “You’re okay. I got you.”
You fist your hands in the fabric of her couture. “Tell me again.”
Maya kisses along your jaw, your neck, her voice low and urgent between each brush of lips. “You’re brilliant. You’re terrifying. You’re the best fucking director in this entire room.”
You whimper.
She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips slick, breath ragged. “You don’t need to prove anything tonight. You already did.”
You swallow hard, still trembling. “Can I just… can I stay here with you? Just for a sec?”
“Always.” Her fingers slide through your hair. “I’ll stay here the whole night for you.”
You rest your forehead against hers, breathing her in. She smells of perfume, champagne and something so distinctively Maya that it makes you shiver.
You stay like that for a long moment with your foreheads pressed together, your breaths syncing, the world quiet behind the thick bathroom door.
Then Maya hums, soft and playful, brushing her nose against yours. “You really pulled me into a Golden Globes bathroom to make out like we’re at prom.”
You smile, still catching your breath, “Well… I am dating the hottest girl at the dance.”
That earns you a grin, it’s wide, crooked, a little stunned. She kisses you again, slower now like she’s savoring it, like she knows exactly what you need.
Her hands find your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles through the silk of your dress. You tilt your face up and melt into her, arms looped loosely around her neck, her body warm and solid beneath your hands.
“I hate this part,” you mumble against her lips.
“I know you do.” Her voice is gentle. “But you’re doing so good. You’ve barely scowled at anyone.”
“I scowled at Matt.”
“Matt doesn’t count.”
You chuckle, burying your face into the crook of her neck. She smells like expensive perfume and you. Like safety.
Her fingers rake through your hair, nails lightly grazing your scalp and making you practically purr.
“Baby,” she whispers, “you’re gonna win. I feel it.”
You whimper. “I don’t care about that.”
Maya pulls back slightly, enough to meet your eyes. “You don’t?”
You shake your head. “Not if you’re not there.”
Maya’s lips part, caught off guard, then her expression crumples into something soft and wrecked.
“Oh my god,” she murmurs. “You can’t just say shit like that to me when I’m already so in love with you. I’m fully gonna cry in custom couture.”
You kiss her again, and for once she lets you lead, her hands gentle and roaming as yours slide into her hair.
There’s a knock on the outer door, a polite two tap that signals a return to reality.
You sigh but you don’t move right away.
Maya kisses your cheek, your temple, the hollow beneath your jaw. “You ready?”
“No.”
She grins. “Okay. Then we go back when you’re ready.”
“…I’m ready if you hold my hand the whole time.”
“Deal. But only if I get to brag that my girl is the sick, twisted genius behind The Witch.”
You hum against her lips. “As long as I get to go home with you.”
“Baby,” she smirks, opening the door with her fingers laced tight through yours, “you always do.”
You and Maya slide back into your seats just as the house lights dim again. You’re flushed and glowing from the bathroom makeout, a little dizzy from the adrenaline, and then you spot it.
Dessert.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide. “They brought out dessert while we were gone.”
Maya follows your gaze to the table. “And it’s the good kind. That’s a full size cake slice.”
You immediately grab your fork like it’s a lifeline. She laughs and nudges your leg under the table as you take a huge bite, eyes fluttering shut like you’ve reached nirvana.
Across the table, Patty’s deep in conversation with someone from the Silver Springs team. Matt’s refreshing his phone like it holds the secret to winning. Maya leans in to whisper, “I swear to god if you cry over cake but not over your movie, I’m taking the award home.”
“Jokes on you we live together” you mumble through a mouth full of cake.
You’re still mid chew when you see the next category appear on the screen.
‘Best Actress in a Motion Picture.’
Your eyes widen. You set your fork down. Maya grabs your hand, subtle under the tablecloth.
The presenter opens the envelope, smiling before she even says it.
“Tilda Swinton, The Witch.”
You feel the sound before you hear it, the wave of applause. Maya’s hand tightens around yours as the camera cuts to your table. Tilda rises with quiet elegance, gliding to the stage like some kind of ice goddess, silver hair slicked back, wearing something that looks like it belongs in a museum.
You’re still in stunned silence as she begins.
“I’d like to thank Continental Studios for backing such an unflinching, strange little monster of a film. And most of all, to Y/N,” she looks directly toward you, “my most beloved director.”
You freeze.
The camera pans to you. You blink fast. Maya squeezes your hand so tightly it almost hurts.
Tilda glances toward your table, her expression something between pride and kinship. “Thank you for trusting me. For haunting me. For reminding us that women are terrifying and holy, often at the same time.”
The applause is thunderous.
You try not to cry into your cake.
Maya leans in, pressing her lips to your cheek.
“You are her most beloved director,” she whispers. “And mine too.”
You turn your face toward her, kiss her slow and soft and grateful.
Patty blinks, wiping at the corner of her eye. “Jesus. She’s good.”
Matt is slack jawed beside her. “We made that. We’re smart. I told you guys. I said she was Rosemary’s Baby level good. I said it!”
You let Maya hold your hand as the applause dies down, your name still buzzing in your ears, your cake forgotten.
For now.
The ballroom hushes again as the next presenter steps up to the mic.
You can feel Maya shift beside you, her hand moving instinctively to rest against your leg under the table. Not in a way that’s noticeable, just enough pressure to ground you, thumb tracing back and forth. The table’s half distracted, half nervous. Patty’s fidgeting with her napkin. Matt is vibrating in place, pretending to be cool while clutching a flute of champagne.
“Next up,” the presenter says, smiling, “is Best Director, Motion Picture.”
The lights get dimmer and you can hear the pulse in your ears.
Maya leans in, whispering into your ear, “breathe, baby.”
The nominees appear on the screen above the stage, a rotating montage of heavy hitters.
“Christopher Nolan, The Protegé.”
The camera cuts to Christopher: calm, smiling, tuxedo so neat it was like it was printed on him.
“David Fincher, Bloodlines.”
A cheer goes up for David as a still is shown of him on location in Budapest.
“Bong Joon-ho, Mother Tongue.”
There is respectful applause and few excited whoops as a short video of him directing Robert Pattinson plays.
“Sofia Coppola, The White Season.”
There’s a round of an applause as her set pictures are shown. It’s elegant and understated.
“And Y/N Y/L/N, The Witch.”
The screen floods with your face. A still from behind the scenes: you in black, cloak like coat on set, chin tipped up as you give notes to Tilda, candlelight glowing behind you. You look terrifying yet composed.
But at the table, your fingers are trembling around your water glass.
The applause is louder than you expected, and it feels… different. It’s not just polite or just out of curiosity. It’s recognition.
Maya clutches your hand under the table. She’s holding her breath.
The presenter smiles again and opens the envelope. “The Golden Globe goes to…”
There is an agonising beat of silence.
“Y/N Y/L/N, The Witch.”
For a moment, nothing moves.
Then the table erupts.
Matt jumps up cheering, almost knocking his chair backward. Willem claps so loud he hits his wine glass and knocks it over. Someone behind you, probably Sal, yells “YES!”
But you don’t hear any of it.
You’re staring straight ahead, body stiff, lips parted like you’re waiting for a second name to be called, like this might be some kind of mistake.
And then Maya is already on her feet. Her chair scrapes loudly back against the carpet, and she’s in front of you, dropping to her knees.
“Baby,” she breathes, cupping your face. Her eyes are glassy, her voice wrecked with emotion. “You won. You won. That’s you.”
You blink at her. You still haven’t moved. She gives your thigh a quick tap, her marketing brain flickering back to life. “Okay, you gotta go. Cameras are on. You’re the spooky genius of the night. Let’s get you up there.”
Your legs wobble as you rise. Maya is immediately there, fixing your dress, adjusting the sleeve where it slipped, smoothing the edge of your dress with fast, expert hands. She looks you up and down like you’re not just her girlfriend, but her star. Her campaign. Her win.
Then she presses one last kiss to your temple, firm and reassuring.
“I’ll be right here,” she whispers. “Go get your trophy baby.”
You step away in a daze. The lights seem hotter now. The music swells gently behind you as you make your way toward the stage. You barely feel your feet, the tremble in your knees, the unbelievable pressure of a thousand eyes on your back.
Behind you, Maya sits down slowly, still beaming. Still stunned. She presses her palms together in front of her mouth like she’s holding a prayer there. Her mascara is already smudging.
Matt leans across the table, practically shaking.
“I told you,” he grins, dabbing at his eyes. “Our witch is going to win a fucking Oscar.”
Maya doesn’t answer. She’s watching you climb the steps like it’s the most important moment of her entire life.
You stand there for a moment, blinking under the heat of the lights, your name echoing around the ballroom.
The trophy is already in your hands. It’s heavy, solid and real. You stare at it like it might vanish from your hands.
The room fades into a soft blur, applause still echoing as you step up to the microphone. Your hands are shaking. You take a breath, steadying yourself.
A few chuckles ripple when you start with, “…I don’t… I don’t really… talk much. Like this.”
The room laughs gently, it feels encouraging. You glance out across the crowd to see famous faces like Cate Blanchett, Bong Joon-ho, Leonardo DiCaprio. Rachel Weisz is literally whispering something to Michelle Yeoh.
But all you can see is your table.
And Maya.
She’s sitting forward with both hands clasped over her lips, eyes shining, like she’s holding in all the love in the world.
You swallow and look back to the mic. “I just… I really thought I was coming here to support my wonderful cast and crew. So this is… yeah. Wow.”
More gentle laughter. Maya’s eyes crinkle, she knows your tone. You’re stalling because you’re about to cry.
You glance down at the trophy again.
“The Witch was the kind of story I never thought I’d get to tell. It’s dark. It’s female. It’s angry. It isn’t clean. But every single person who touched it believed in it.”
You take a breath.
“I want to thank the cast, Tilda and Willem, you are… holy. Thank you for trusting me. I want to thank the crew, especially the night shoots crew who had to trek through the woods with fog machines and a flock of goats for twelve weeks. I owe you everything.”
You’re interrupted by laughter.
“And of course, everyone at Continental, Matt, thank you for taking a risk on me. On this. You’ve let me be a complete little freak in a very expensive sandbox and I… I’m so grateful.”
Your fingers tighten around the trophy. Your voice softens.
“But most of all…”
You glance back at the table and straight to her.
“I want to thank the love of my life Maya Mason.”
Maya freezes. She blinks, visibly caught off guard. The room hushes.
Your voice doesn’t shake, not now.
“She’s the reason I got through this. She believed in me when I didn’t. She held me on the nights I was too scared to sleep, and fed me when I forgot to eat, and reminded me that the things that make me strange are the same things that make me worth listening to.”
Maya’s lip trembles.
“She never asks for the spotlight. She never takes credit. But she’s the smartest, strongest, most beautiful person I’ve ever known, and everything I do is better when she’s part of it.”
You smile shy and tearful. “So… thank you, Maya. I love you. This is for you.”
Maya is completely undone. Hands over her mouth. Shoulders trembling. She’s having a mascara meltdown and not even trying to hide it.
You give the tiniest little bow, your hands still shaking, and step away from the mic.
As you leave the stage, the music swells and Maya’s already half standing in her heels, her hands reaching for you before you’ve even reached the stairs.
You barely make it three steps off the stage before you hear her voice, breathless and wrecked.
“Baby!”
You turn, still blinking like you’re underwater.
And then she’s there. She throws her arms around you before the backstage handlers can even finish directing you. Her arms lock tight around your ribs, her face burying into your neck, her whole body trembling as she holds you like she might fall apart otherwise.
“Oh my god,” she’s whispering. “Oh my god. You did it. You fucking did it.”
Her lips brush against your jawline. You try to say something, anything, but she’s already kissing you, hard and desperate, right there in the wings.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” she breathes, her hands cupping your face now, fingers brushing your cheeks where your own tears are threatening to spill. “You just thanked me on national television, in a room with everyone in the fucking industry. You said I’m the love of your life-”
“You are,” you manage to whisper. “You are.”
That breaks her.
Maya lets out a choked sound, a half sob, half laugh, and hugs you again. It’s a full body, no space between you kind of hug. Her fingers sink into the back of your dress like she never wants to let go.
“I love you so much,” she mumbles into your neck, trying to laugh it off, but her voice is cracking too hard.
Her hands are in your hair now, her tears catching in the curls at your temple.
“You looked so nervous up there,” she breathes, smiling through tears. “But you still did it. You were brilliant.”
You nod, burying into her shoulder.
“You were the only one I could think about,” you say, voice raw.
Maya pulls back just enough to see your face and the look she gives you is devastating and overwhelmed, so in love she’s stupid with it.
“Marry me,” she blurts suddenly.
You freeze.
Maya stares at you.
Then bursts into laughter, half wheezing, half horrified, her hands flying to cover her face.
“I- fuck, I didn’t mean to say that right now,” she starts, already flustered, backpedaling like she’s terrified she’s ruined it.
But you don’t let her finish. You reach for her wrists and hold her there, grounding her.
“Yes,” you answer.
Her eyes go even wider.
You nod, barely able to breathe, still half stunned from the win, the stage, the kiss, the lights. But this part’s clear.
You wrap your arms around her neck and whisper it again, right into her ear, “yes.”
Maya breaks into a full body shudder. A sound escapes her chest that isn’t laughter or crying but something wild in between. Her hands cup the back of your head and she kisses you so hard you almost drop the damn trophy.
“You can’t say yes like that,” she breathes against your lips, trembling. “Not when I haven’t even got a ring, not when you just won a fucking Golden Globe, not when I look like a drowned raccoon-”
You kiss her. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re mine.”
She lets out another teary laugh, pulls you in tight, and mumbles, “on my god. I proposed to the most brilliant woman alive at the Golden Globes.”
“Romantic as hell,” you whisper.
“I’m so in love with you it’s insane,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “I should be institutionalized.”
You grin. “I could definitely direct that.”
That makes her laugh so hard she hiccups and the moment’s completely, perfectly, yours.
The ballroom’s finally thinning out as the cameras stop rolling, designers and producers already drifting toward the valet, actors getting wrangled for afterparty interviews. The Vanity Fair party shuttles are rolling up outside.
You’re curled into Maya’s side, warm and exhausted, the weight of your trophy still tucked against your hip as she guides you toward the doors. Your feet hurt. Your joints ache. You’re vibrating with everything, the win, the adrenaline, the fact that Maya Mason asked you to marry her and you said yes.
“Y/N! Maya!” Matt’s voice cuts through the crowd, he’s weaving his way toward you, tie loose, hair a mess, holding a bottle of champagne under one arm like he’s still mid celebration.
Patty’s with him, glowing from Silver Springs’ win, in full party mode. Sal, sunglasses on inside and absolutely high, trails behind them.
“You guys coming to the after party?” Matt grins. “We’re on the list for the Vanity Fair party!”
“We’re not going,” Maya cuts in, sweet but firm.
They all blink at her.
“You’re not…” Matt blinks. “Wait. But you love an after party.”
“I do,” Maya says, already tugging you closer by the waist, her hand splayed wide and possessive over the small of your back. “But I love her more.”
You glance up at her looking grateful and flushed, and she just smiles down at you, soft and open, like she’s already home.
Patty narrows her eyes. “Wait… are you okay?”
“I’m great,” Maya says, beaming.
“Okay…” Patty says slowly, sipping her drink like she’s about to start psychoanalyzing. “That’s not suspicious at all.”
Sal frowns. “Wait, are you guys high?”
“No,” Maya says. “But thanks for assuming that the only reason I’d want to take my award winning girlfriend home and make out with her for six hours is drugs.”
You blink. “Six?”
“Minimum,” Maya says.
That gets a choke out of Matt. “Okay. Jesus. Yep. Go. Go now.”
Maya leans in toward Patty, whispers conspiratorially. “She doesn’t like parties. She likes me.”
Patty just raises her eyebrows like well, fair enough.
You squeeze Maya’s hand. “Have fun without us?”
“Oh we will,” Patty says, winking. “But clearly not as much as you two.”
Maya’s already steering you away, fingers laced tight with yours, like she can’t get you out of here fast enough.
The car’s waiting out front. She helps you in like you’re the crown fucking jewels.
She doesn’t even let go of your hand on the ride home.
The second the car door shuts, Maya exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.
“Oh my god,” she groans, yanking off her heels and tossing them toward the front like an exhausted war hero. “We did it. You did it. You fucking witch, I cannot believe you!”
You giggle, tucked against her side, still clutching your Golden Globe like it might vanish if you let go.
She grabs it.
“Gimme,” Maya says, eyes sparkling. “I need to take a photo of it on my lap like I’m the one who directed The Witch.”
You roll your eyes playfully. “You did the marketing campaign.”
“Exactly,” she grins, already lifting her phone. “Shut up and look proud.”
You do. She snaps three pictures, one cute, one smug, one aggressively unhinged with her sticking her tongue out while pretending to lick the trophy.
Then she’s scrolling.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s see these press pics,” she murmurs, the screen lighting up her face as she starts pulling from the Gettys. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Baby these are actually good. Do you know how rare that is?”
You lean into her shoulder as she zooms in on one of you both on the carpet, your face half hidden behind your hair as you laugh, Maya beaming in head to toe contours like she’s been doing this forever.
She saves it. Then another. And another. And then she posts one of her kissing your temple while you clutch the trophy, both of you mid-laugh.
**@mayamarketing: my girl won a golden globe.**
You glance over. “You posted it?”
She shrugs, smug. “The people needed to see.”
Then she kisses you again, soft and lingering, one hand cradling your jaw, the other still loosely holding your trophy.
“You know,” she murmurs, lips brushing yours, “I am gonna propose properly. Ring and everything. It’s gonna be like… derangedly romantic. I’ll cry. You’ll cry. It’ll be perfect.”
You giggle, giddy and flushed and overwhelmed.
“Do it somewhere spooky,” you grin.
Her eyes sparkle. “Stop. Don’t give me ideas. I will.”
You kiss her again, slow and warm, and she sighs happily into it, her arms wrapping tight around you.
“God,” she whispers, pressing her nose to your cheek. “I love you so much. I can’t believe you said yes.”
“I can’t believe you asked,” you say.
She nuzzles you. “I was literally crying like a fucking loser. Very romantic.”
“Perfect,” you murmur. “Just like you.”
She melts. “Oh, fuck me.”
You smile and kiss her again.
The trophy glints between you as the city lights blur past the windows, two girls in the backseat, wildly in love, Golden Globe in hand, and a ring still to come.
Summary: After watching the finished cut of your new movie, the Continental Team worry about how to break a major note to you
Word Count: 8.6K
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, MDNI xo
A/N: sorry for the absence, I’m still finding my feet with being back x I thought maybe some hurt comfort might be nice after the heartbreak I think we are all collectively in waiting for Chapter 53 of the absolute masterpiece that is ‘Lights, Camera, Magic”… xo
Matt’s practically skipping down the hall, already mid speech before he and Quinn have even reached the door.
“This is it,” he says, clutching a burrito in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. “This is history. We’re about to see The Witch for the first time. Award season buzz before it even opens, critics are calling it, what was it Quinn? ‘an occult masterpiece?’”
Quinn, balancing a laptop against her chest and juggling a legal pad, grins. “Yeah. Or, like, ‘if Ingmar Bergman got into heavy metal.’ Which is… honestly kinda cooler.”
They’re buzzing, like kids sneaking into an R-rated movie, as they round the corner.
That’s where they spot Sal.
He’s leaning against the wall, sunglasses on indoors, nursing a bottle of water the way some men cling to life rafts. He raises one hand in greeting, winces at the overhead lights.
“You look like death,” Matt says.
Sal shrugs. “Yeah, well, I was celebrating team Open’s Golden Globes success until four a.m. My liver’s doing its own little Sundance right now.”
Quinn chuckles nervously. “You’re still excited, though, right?”
Sal pulls off his sunglasses just enough to glare at her. “I may be hungover, but I’m not dead. Of course I’m excited. It’s her. She doesn’t miss.”
And then, heels clicking, iced coffee sloshing, Maya Mason arrives.
She’s immaculate. Head to toe in designer gear: heeled boots, a bomber jacket, statement sunglasses pushed up into her hair. Incredibly long press on nails wrapped around a thirty two ounce iced coffee. She looks like she just stepped out of a campaign shoot and not into a screening room with cracked leather seats.
“Morning, bitches,” she drawls, sliding her sunglasses down to peer at them.
Matt blinks. “How are you already this put together?”
“Because unlike you,” Maya says, eyeing Sal pointedly, “I know how to hydrate and moisturize. Also? Big day. My girl’s first look. You think I’m going to show up looking like you?”
She takes a long sip of coffee, smug.
“She’s proud,” Quinn teases.
“That I am,” Maya says, tugging off her jacket and tossing it over a seat. She flops down like she’s at home. “I’ve seen pieces, I’ve heard the editor whispering about how gnarly it is… honestly? I’m proud. She’s about to ruin our mornings, and I cannot wait.”
Matt points at her. “Okay but like just so we’re clear, you’re not allowed to spin this into, like, a quirky Twitter moment. This is prestige horror.”
Maya grins, sharp and smug. “Babe. Please. Nobody spins prestige like me.”
The projector hums to life. The lights dim. They settle in with their coffees and snacks, buzzing with anticipation.
For the first time, they’re about to see The Witch.
The lights dim. The screen glows a sickly white.
The first ominous notes of the score rumble through the room, vibrating the worn leather recliners. The Continental logo fades into black.
Matt Remick leans forward in his seat, burrito wrapper crinkling in his hand. His eyes are already wide, like he’s at the premiere of his own life.
“This is it,” he whispers, half to himself, half to everyone. “This is the one. This is the moment. Our Rosemary’s Baby, our Exorcist, our…”
“Jerk off material for the year?” Sal mutters, slouched low with his sunglasses still on.
Matt ignores him. “Prestige horror. Critics are gonna eat this shit up.”
Quinn is practically bouncing two seats down, notebook in her lap but untouched. Her face is glowing in the light from the screen. “God, even the font on the title card is unsettling. She’s so deliberate with it. She knows exactly what she’s doing already.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sal agrees, but his voice is softer.
Maya shifts in her chair, legs crossed, massive iced coffee sweating on the armrest. She looks like she walked out of a campaign shoot and into a crusty little screening room. She glances over the rim of her cup, amused.
“You guys sound like you’re about to propose to her,” she says, smirking. “It’s the title card. Relax.”
“It’s not just the title card,” Quinn insists, eyes on the screen. “It’s the mood. It’s a statement. She’s… oh my god, listen to that composition.”
The opening shot unfolds into a bleak and misty treeline, static and unnervingly patient. The score hums like a warning under it.
Matt actually gasps. “Jesus. That’s cinema. That’s a vision.” He slaps Quinn’s arm. “Do you hear that? That’s the sound of Variety calling me a tastemaker in three months.”
Maya rolls her eyes, sipping her coffee. “You’re unbearable.”
Sal groans. “I think it might be too early in the morning for horror. My stomach’s already queasy.”
“You’re hungover,” Maya shoots back. “That’s not her fault.”
Onscreen, a lone figure emerges in the fog, small, human, swallowed by the trees. The camera lingers long enough to be uncomfortable.
Quinn exhales like she’s in church. “God, that’s so bold.”
Matt clutches his burrito like it’s a baby. “This is our bold director. This is gonna be the movie they put in the obituaries when I die.”
“Sooner than later if you keep talking through the movie,” Maya deadpans.
The music swells. The forest darkens.
The movie has begun.
The first act rolls by in silence broken only by gasps, scribbles, and the occasional crunch of Matt’s burrito foil.
They see a farmhouse, candlelight, and shadows stretching too long on the walls. The sound design is relentless, whispers that scrape against the eardrum, a thrum in the floor like something’s underneath.
Matt is perched on the edge of his recliner, practically vibrating. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Do you hear that? That’s critics calling it ‘masterful sound design.’ That’s Variety putting us on their Best Of list. That’s-”
“Jesus, man,” Sal mutters. “It’s been twenty minutes. Chill.”
Quinn doesn’t even look away from the screen. She’s hugging her notebook to her chest, whispering praises, “she’s building it so well. This is insane.”
Maya’s half smiling, sipping her iced coffee like she’s trying not to laugh. “You’re all acting like you’ve never seen a horror movie before.”
Onscreen they focus on a figure in the woods. The sound of something wet tearing. The camera doesn’t flinch.
Quinn’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my god.”
“Holy shit,” Matt whispers, eyes wide.
The camera holds. The sound deepens. Something snaps. And then… they see mangled organs in a body begin to twitch.
Sal lurches forward, groaning. “Nope. Nope, I’m out.” He rips off his sunglasses, stumbles to his feet, and bolts for the bathroom. A second later the sound of him retching echoes down the hall.
Quinn whimpers, peeking through her fingers. “That was… that was so much. That was… god, it’s genius, but I think I’m gonna faint by the end of this.”
Matt presses a hand over his mouth, pale as paper. “Okay, okay, yeah, that was… maybe a little much for breakfast burrito viewing.”
Maya just sits there, wide eyed, lips parted. Then she lets out a stunned laugh, shaking her head.
“Jesus Christ,” she says, grinning despite her horror. “She really went there. My girl really just made that. At nine a.m. On a Tuesday.”
Quinn groans, collapsing back in her seat. “She’s either a genius or a sadist.”
Maya leans back, smug, tapping her iced coffee. “Both. That’s why I’m dating her.”
Sal staggers back in, blotchy and sweaty, muttering something about suing you for emotional distress. Matt still looks like he might be sick.
The room is silent when the scene ends. The screen fades to black for a beat, then moves on like nothing happened.
But the damage is done.
Matt has his burrito abandoned in his lap, his face gray. Quinn’s notebook is closed, her pen dropped onto the floor. Sal’s utter wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, sunglasses pushed crooked on his face.
Finally, Matt breaks.
“Okay. Okay. Nobody panic.” He’s wringing his hands, voice tight. “But… there’s no way. Absolutely no fucking way.”
Quinn’s still pale. “It’s… it’s brilliant. It’s visionary. But no cinema’s gonna touch a wide release with that kind of gore. You’d lose half the audience in ten seconds.”
Matt points like she’s proving his point. “Exactly! Exactly. And the Academy? Forget it. They’ll puke harder than Sal.”
“Hey,” Sal croaks, collapsing back into his chair. “That shit was medically unsafe. I almost died in there.”
Matt leans forward, desperate now. “We have to tell her to cut it. There’s no awards run with that scene in. We’re tanking the campaign before it even starts.”
Quinn nods reluctantly, chewing her lip. “Yeah. As much as I worship her? We have to. It’s just… it’s too far.”
All eyes slide to Maya.
She’s been quiet, sipping her iced coffee, staring at the blank screen with her sunglasses dangling from her fingers. When she finally speaks, her voice is lower, more careful.
“She’s a genius. She knows exactly what she’s doing.”
Matt groans. “Maya.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Maya cuts in, sharp. “It was a lot. Like, a lot. I don’t know if I ever wanna look at ground beef again. But she made it that way for a reason. She doesn’t put shit in by accident.”
Quinn tilts her head. “So you think we just… leave it?”
Maya sighs, dragging a hand through her hair. “I think…” She pauses. “I think if you’re gonna tell her to cut it, it can’t be me. I sell the movie. I don’t give notes. That’s not my lane.”
Sal groans. “God, she’s right. She’s always right. But somebody’s gotta do it.”
Matt’s already shaking his head, panicked. “Not me. She already thinks I’m the corporate sellout. If I say it, I’m dead to her. Sal, you were the one who puked.”
Sal glares. “Yeah, and? That’s why I’m the last person who can bring it up.”
They all turn back to Maya.
She raises her hands, iced coffee still in one. “Don’t even look at me. No fucking way. She’s my girlfriend, not my client. You want me to tell her to cut the scene she probably bled for? No. I like sleeping at night.”
Matt rubs his temples. “Jesus Christ. We’re screwed.”
The room falls into uneasy silence. The movie keeps playing, but no one’s watching anymore, they’re all just trying to figure out who’s going to break the news to you.
The movie rolls on in silence. None of them are watching anymore. They’re all just staring at the screen like it’s a bomb about to go off.
Finally, Matt blurts, “Okay, so. Who’s telling her?”
“Not it,” Quinn says instantly, hands up.
“Same,” Sal mutters, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. “Not my circus, not my vomit inducing monkeys.”
Matt whirls on him. “Sal, you’re literally the one who puked! It has to be you.”
“Which is exactly why it can’t be me,” Sal shoots back, voice hoarse. “She’ll think I’m weak. She’ll think I can’t handle her vision. I’ll never get another invite to set again.”
“You already don’t go to set,” Maya cuts in flatly.
Sal waves a hand. “Still. Principle of the thing.”
Matt turns to Quinn, desperate. “Quinn. You’re the young, fresh exec. She respects you. You’re thoughtful, you’re-”
Quinn’s already shaking her head. “Nope. She’ll think I’m pandering to marketing data. She’ll never forgive me. This movie is her baby, and she’ll see me as the one trying to take the scissors to it.”
Maya snorts. “Well, yeah. Because you would be.”
Quinn glares. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t start,” Maya says, sipping her coffee.
Matt throws up his hands. “Alright, so what, then? We just don’t tell her? We pretend the vomit never happened?”
“I’m fine with that.” Sal shrugs.
“Yeah, sure, until she screens it in Toronto and the entire audience bolts for the exits,” Matt snaps. “Then what? You think the Academy voters are gonna sit through that?”
“God, shut up,” Maya interrupts, rolling her eyes. “You sound like me and I don’t like it.”
Matt points at her. “You. You should tell her. She trusts you. She loves you. If anyone can get away with it, it’s you.”
Maya laughs incredulously. “Ohhh, no. No, no, no. You want me to look my girlfriend in the eyes and say, ‘Hey, baby, remember that scene you shot for three days and poured your soul into,? Yeah, cut it.’ Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Come on, Maya,” Matt pleads, sweating. “You’re her safe place! She’ll take it from you!”
“Exactly,” Maya fires back. “Which is why I’m not doing it. I’m not ruining that.”
Quinn leans forward. “Matt, you’re the boss. It has to be you.”
Matt looks horrified. “No. No, no, no. She already thinks I’m a corporate hack! If I give her the note, she’ll put a curse on me.”
“She’s not a real witch,” Quinn mutters.
“She is a witch!” Matt says, panicked.
Sal groans, tipping his head back. “God, this is like jury duty.”
They all sit there, glaring at each other, trapped in a perfect Continental stalemate. Everyone knows the note has to be given. And no one wants to be the one to give it.
The movie flickers on, ignored. The room is still buzzing with the echo of Sal’s retching and Matt’s spiraling.
“Look,” Matt says, running both hands through his hair. “Someone has to do it. If we sit on our hands, we’re basically letting her walk into a PR buzzsaw. Who’s gonna do it?”
“Not me,” Sal groans. “I’m still tasting bile.”
“Not helping,” Matt whines.
“I’ll do it,” Quinn blurts, suddenly sharp. Everyone turns. She lifts her chin. “Fine. I’ll tell her. Whatever. She doesn’t need to like me. She can hate me. That’s fine. I can live with that.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence.
Then Maya slowly lowers her iced coffee, raises one perfect eyebrow, and says, calm but lethal, “watch it, Hackett. You’re talking about my girlfriend.”
Quinn freezes, backpedals immediately. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t saying she’s not… I just meant…”
Maya leans back, smirking now. “Yeah, I know what you meant. But let’s get one thing clear: you give her a note like that, and she’ll hate you for life. And honestly?” She shrugs, casual. “I’d let her.”
Quinn blinks. “So… you agree the scene’s too much?”
Maya exhales, stares at the ceiling for a beat. “Yeah. It’s a lot. It’s probably too much. Sal puked, for Christ’s sake. But it’s not my job to fix it.”
Matt jumps in, desperate. “Okay, so Quinn, you’ll do it?”
Quinn swallows hard, looking from Matt’s panicked face to Maya’s sharp grin. “I…” she wilts a little. “Maybe.”
Sal groans. “Oh, this is gonna be a bloodbath.”
The credits roll. The screen fades to black. No one claps.
Matt claps once anyway, too loud. “Incredible. Amazing. Genius. But… yeah. So here’s the plan.”
He turns to Maya, eyes wide. “You call her. Invite her to lunch. Then Quinn slips in and delivers the note. Easy.”
“Excuse me?” Maya says, narrowing her eyes.
“Come on,” Matt pleads. “She’ll pick up if you call. She always picks up if you call. And she’ll actually show up.”
Quinn, who just ten minutes ago was all ‘fine, I’ll do it,’ now looks like she’s staring down a firing squad. “Wait, wait, wait. So I’m just… I’m just supposed to walk into lunch and drop that bomb? ‘Hey, great to see you, by the way your masterpiece is unwatchable, enjoy your lunch’?”
Sal, pale and sweaty, groans. “I already puked in the bathroom. What do you want from me? I did my part.”
Maya snorts. “You didn’t do shit, Sal. You just redecorated the bathroom with your stomach lining.”
Quinn shoots her a panicked look. “Maya. Seriously. Is she going to kill me?”
“Yup,” Maya says, way too cheerful, digging her phone out of her pocket. “And I’m gonna sit there and watch.”
Matt points a finger like he’s orchestrated a master plan. “Perfect. Perfect! Maya softens her up, Quinn delivers the note, Sal backs her up, and I…” he falters, glancing between their faces. “I supervise.”
“You hide,” Maya corrects, thumbing through her contacts.
Matt doesn’t deny it.
Maya sighs, puts the phone on speaker, and leans back in her chair, grinning. “Alright. Watch the master at work.”
She hits call. The phone rings.
Across the table, Quinn looks like she’s about to throw up next to Sal.
Maya looks at them, whispering as the line connects. “Easy. Lunch invite. Then, Hackett, you’re on.”
Maya lounges back in her chair, one ankle crossed over her knee, iced coffee balanced against her thigh. The phone rings on speaker.
Your voice comes through, a little muffled, like you’ve just woken up. “Mm? Baby?”
The whole table jerks at the intimacy. Matt slaps Sal’s arm to shut him up before he can snicker.
Maya smirks, her voice dropping low, warm. “Morning, cryptid. You still in bed?”
“I was,” you mumble. “Now I’m not. Why’re you calling on speaker? Who’s there?”
Maya shoots a warning look at the table. “No one important. Just the usual idiots. Don’t worry about it.”
You yawn. “Mm. What’s up?”
Maya leans forward, resting her chin in her palm, eyes locked on Quinn who looks like she’s about to faint. “Thought you might wanna come by for lunch. My treat. Continental cafeteria’s doing… I dunno, something vaguely edible. Or we can order in. Whatever you want.”
There’s a beat before you reply softly, “you just miss me.”
Maya grins. “Obviously. You caught me.”
Sal makes a gagging noise. Maya flips him off without breaking eye contact with the phone.
On the other end, you giggle. “Okay. Lunch. What time?”
“Soon as you can get here,” Maya says. “Bring your scary little notebook. You can scribble witch symbols on it and terrify the interns.”
“Stop,” you laugh, embarrassed.
“Never,” Maya shoots back. “Alright, baby. See you soon.”
She hangs up before you can protest further, tossing her phone onto the table with a self satisfied smirk.
Matt beams like a kid at Disneyland. “Perfect! She’s coming. Now, Quinn, you-”
Quinn’s already shaking her head, panicked. “I can’t do this. No way. She’s going to hate me. She’ll never forgive me.”
Maya raises her brows. “Welcome to the big leagues, Hackett. Eat shit.”
Quinn groans, burying her face in her hands.
Sal leans back, grinning weakly. “This is gonna be a bloodbath.”
The team migrates to a conference room in Continental's main building and within minutes the table is littered with coffee cups. The four of them wait, jittery like kids about to be caught doing something wrong.
Through the glass wall, they see you coming down the hall, scarf looped messily around your neck, hair a little wild, notebook tucked under your arm. You look tired, but there’s that unmistakable spark that is both soft, witchy, and completely yourself.
Sal follows the look and snorts, then says the first thing that jumps into his mouth, loud enough for the table to hear, “how can someone that hot think of something that disgusting?”
The sentence lands like a dropped plate.
For a second there’s awkward laughter, the kind that cracks because everyone’s embarrassed for the remark, and the room teeters.
Maya’s face changes before the insult lands fully. Her jaw tightens.
“Watch it,” she says, slow and cold.
Sal tries to recover, hands waving. “I didn’t mean-”
“You did,” Maya says. Her voice is level but sharp enough to bruise. “And if you ever call her disgusting again, I will personally make your life very uncomfortable. Got it?”
Sal throws up his hands. “Hey, no disrespect. I’m just saying: beautiful woman, absolute freak brain. It’s… impressive.”
Matt groans, pacing. “Okay, can we not objectify her right before we try to give her the worst note of her life? Jesus.”
Quinn hugs her notebook tighter. Her knee is bouncing under the table, the bravado she had earlier draining by the second. “God, she’s here. She’s really coming in here. I’m actually gonna be sick.”
Maya doesn’t smirk this time. She just stares at you through the glass as you approach, her fingers drumming against her iced coffee. Shes beginning to look rattled.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “She is. And she’s not gonna like this.”
Matt forces a grin, but his voice cracks. “It’ll be fine! We’re just… supportive colleagues having lunch. Then Quinn delivers the note, quick and clean. In and out.”
Quinn shoots him a panicked look. “Clean? There’s nothing clean about this.”
Maya doesn’t take her eyes off you. Her jaw is set, but her chest is tight. “You’re about to break her heart over a scene she killed herself to get right. Don’t screw it up.”
And then the door handle rattles.
You’re here.
The door swings open. The air in the room tightens. You hover for a second in the doorway, your bag clutched to your chest. The overhead fluorescents feel too harsh. For a moment, you almost look like you might turn around and leave.
But then Maya’s up out of her chair.
“Hey, baby.” She strides over, all warmth and certainty, and before you can second guess yourself she’s got her arms around you, pulling you in tight.
You go stiff at first, shy in front of the others, but it only lasts a beat. Her perfume, the press of her mouth against your temple, the strength of her hold, you melt against her like you always do, breathing her in, clinging back.
She tips your chin up and kisses you, soft and grounding. “God, I missed you.”
Your cheeks heat, your voice small. “So… you saw the movie?”
Maya smiles at you like you hung the stars. “Yeah, we saw it.”
You duck your head, shy, teeth catching your lip. “Did you… like it?”
The table shifts awkwardly. Matt’s halfway between clapping his hands together and sweating through his shirt. Quinn looks like she’s going to faint.
And then Sal, never knowing when to shut up, chuckles nervously. “Yeah, uh… I didn’t know spinal cords could, uh… do that.”
The room goes dead silent.
Maya’s head whips toward him, glare sharp enough to slice through glass. “Sal.”
He lifts both hands, backpedaling. “I’m just saying! It was… educational.”
You blink, confused, glancing between them. The shy little smile on your lips falters.
Maya smooths her hand down your back, pulling you close again, voice softer now, meant only for you. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. You were brilliant.”
You stay close to Maya, half hidden against her chest, her fingers rubbing slow circles into your back. Her iced coffee sits forgotten on the table, right now she only cares about keeping you steady.
Matt clears his throat loudly, eyes darting toward Quinn like a director trying to cue an actor.
Quinn sits stiff in her chair, wide eyed and frozen.
Matt mouths: Now.
Quinn shakes her head in fear.
Matt widens his eyes, more desperate and mouths out ‘NOW’.
Quinn swallows, turns beet red… and blurts “I… uh… I have to pee. Really bad.”
Before anyone can stop her, she bolts out of her chair, notebook clattering to the floor, and makes a break for the hallway.
Sal stares after her for a beat, then sighs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He grabs his water bottle and hustles after her.
Matt throws his hands up, groaning. “Quinn! Don’t-… ugh, goddammit!” He scrambles after them both, muttering, “We’re never gonna survive this,” as the door swings shut behind him.
The conference room falls quiet.
You blink, still tucked against Maya, baffled. “Did Quinn just run away?”
Maya exhales, brushing her lips against your hairline. “Yup.”
“Why?”
She hesitates for too long. “She’s… uh… shy?”
You tilt your head back, narrowing your eyes.
Maya gives you a crooked little smile, her thumb stroking your cheek. “Don’t worry about it, baby. They’re idiots. All of them. I’ve got you.”
Maya nudges the door open with her hip, keeping an arm firm around your waist as she takes you to her office. Her office is classic Maya Mason chaos: garment bags draped over the couch, a stack of sneaker boxes in the corner, mood boards pinned to the wall. A half empty bottle of perfume sits next to a pile of movie poster mock ups on her desk.
“C’mere,” she murmurs, steering you toward the couch. She pulls you down with her, tucking you into her side like she’s been waiting all morning just to do this.
You curl in, shy smile flickering back. “They’re acting so weird today.”
“Mm, they’re always weird,” Maya says, kissing your temple. “Don’t waste brain cells on them. You want sushi? Tacos? Dumplings? I’ll order whatever you want.”
You shrug, melting into her chest. “Surprise me.”
“Dangerous words,” she teases, but she’s already pulling her phone out, one arm still tight around you. She presses a kiss into your hair between tapping out an order. “Okay, food’s on the way. Now you don’t move until it gets here. Doctor’s orders.”
You laugh softly, sinking deeper into her.
Maya strokes your arm, eyes softening as she studies you and for a second her smile slips. She knows what’s coming. She knows how much it’ll sting and she hates it. So she just holds you tighter, pressing her cheek against the top of your head like she can protect you from what’s waiting outside.
Meanwhile Matt slumps into a chair, rubbing his temples. “Okay. So, round two: who’s actually gonna do it? Because she’s here, she’s in the building, and if we keep dodging, it’s gonna look worse.”
Sal cracks open his water, takes a long gulp, then gestures at Maya’s empty chair. “It should be her. It’s a marketing problem. Gore this extreme is a distribution note, not a creative one. Mason should handle it.”
Quinn whirls on him, eyes wide. “Absolutely not. Are you insane? She sleeps with her. That’s a conflict of interest!”
Sal smirks, amused. “So? Pillow talk’s still a form of communication.”
Quinn looks like she might combust. “No, Sal, that’s not how this works! You can’t ask someone to give a career defining note to their girlfriend. It’s unprofessional. And cruel.”
Matt throws his hands up. “Great, so what, it’s me? Again? Everyone already thinks I’m the corporate monster! I can’t take another hit, I need her to like me.”
Sal rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Matt, it’s not a date, it’s a note.”
“Yes, but she’s terrifying,” Matt snaps back. “If I tell her to cut that scene, she’ll never look me in the eye again. She’ll hate me. I can’t!”
Quinn cuts him off, near hysterical. “Don’t look at me either! I’m the baby of the group. She’ll eat me alive. I’m a creative exec, not development. She doesn’t want me telling her what to do.”
Sal groans. “God, you’re all useless.”
Quinn jabs a finger at him. “Then you do it!”
“Hell no,” Sal says instantly. “I already puked. My body’s made my statement.”
They all glare at each other, the stalemate somehow worse than before.
“Perfect,” Matt mutters. “Not one of us can tell a director to trim a scene. Real professional.”
You’re still curled against Maya on her couch, the smell of takeout filling the room. Pad Thai in your lap, dumplings on the coffee table. Maya’s got one arm around you, chopsticks in her other hand, stealing bites from your carton every time you’re distracted.
It feels warm and safe like maybe the weird vibe from earlier was just in your head.
Then the door bangs open.
Sal bursts in first, followed by Matt, then Quinn hovering in the doorway like she’s hoping the floor will swallow her whole.
Sal points at you, pale but animated. “I vomited!”
You freeze, fork dangling mid air. Noodles slip back into the carton with a soft splat.
Your eyes widen. “Okay? And… why did I need that information?”
Quinn winces, covering her face. Matt jumps in, flapping his hands. “What he means is, he had a very strong physical reaction to your movie. Like, visceral! Impactful! A sign of how powerful it is!”
Sal shakes his head. “No. I mean I puked. In the bathroom. Violently.”
Your face twists. “Oh my god.”
Maya’s arm tightens around you. Her gaze snaps to Sal, sharp and lethal. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Matt tries again, sweating bullets. “It’s a good thing! Sort of! Like… people are gonna talk about how shocking and intense it is. Award voters love a story.”
Quinn groans softly in the doorway, “Oh my god, kill me now,” under her breath.
You look between all of them, completely bewildered, Pad Thai forgotten in your lap. “What the hell is happening right now?”
Maya strokes your arm, jaw tight. “Exactly what I’d like to know.”
You sit on the couch, the carton of Pad Thai abandoned in your lap, staring at them like they’ve just staged an intervention. Maya’s arm is tight around you, her body angled like a shield, but the room is pure chaos.
Matt’s pacing, sweating through his shirt. “Okay, okay, everybody calm down, this is fine, this is totally fine!”
Sal throws up his hands. “It’s not fine, I puked! You think Toronto wants vomit stories in the press?”
Quinn groans, clutching her notebook like a life raft. “Can we please just do this without bitching out?!”
“Shut up, Hackett!” Sal snaps. “You were supposed to say it at lunch, not chicken out!”
“I didn’t chicken out, I panicked,” Quinn fires back.
Matt claps his hands desperately. “Guys, focus! We just have to-”
You slam your pad Thai down, noodles splattering across the lid. “Enough! Just give me the note.”
The room freezes.
They all glance at each other. Then at Maya. Then back at you.
Finally, Quinn blurts, “It’s the gross scene. The… spinal cord thing. They think it’s too much for wide release.”
You blink. The words hang heavy, echoing.
Sal chimes in quickly, defensive. “It’s not just us! It’s literally biology! My body rejected it!”
Matt adds, “We’re only saying this because we love the movie, okay? It’s brilliant, it’s genius, but we can’t win awards if half the audience faints in the aisles.”
Quinn nods frantically. “We all agree. Even…” she falters, then blurts it out, “even Maya said so.”
Your head whips toward her with wide eyes, your breath caught. “…You hated my movie?”
Maya’s whole body stiffens. Her jaw drops, seething. “Are you kidding me?” She rounds on the others, voice cracking sharp as glass. “Don’t you dare drag me into this! That’s not what I said, and you know it!”
Matt raises his hands, panicked. “Okay, technically she didn’t-”
“Technically?!” Maya snaps. “I defended her. I said she put it there for a reason. Don’t twist my words because you’re too chickenshit to deliver a note!”
The air is electric. You stare at her, hurt in your eyes.
“…So you did think it was too much,” you whisper.
The air is sharp enough to slice.
Maya crouches in front of you, hands on your knees, eyes fierce but pleading. “Baby. Listen to me. I love you. I believe in you. But that scene?” She swallows hard. “You need to get rid of it. It’ll kill your movie before it even has a chance.”
Your chest twists. “What about the orchard scene, then?”
Matt blinks. “The what?”
Sal frowns. “There was an orchard?”
Quinn tilts her head. “…Was that before or after the spinal cord thing?”
Your jaw drops. “…Oh my god. You didn’t even watch the rest of the film.”
Silence. Matt coughs, sheepish. “We were… distracted.”
Sal shrugs, unapologetic. “I was in the bathroom. Dying.”
Your gaze whips to Maya, the one anchor you thought you had. “…You saw it though. Right?”
Her face falters, just for a beat but enough.
“Maya?”
She presses her lips together, guilt flashing across her features.
“I…” she shakes her head, hair falling into her face. “Baby, I’m sorry. I got stuck on that scene too. I was thinking about release strategy, about how to protect you, and I…” her voice breaks. “I didn’t watch past it.”
The words land like a stone in your chest.
Your eyes shine wide, hurt. “You… didn’t see my movie?”
Maya’s whole body flinches, her hands tightening on your knees. “No, baby, I saw it. I saw enough. I know what you were doing, I know the brilliance-”
But you’re already pulling back, the food forgotten, and the air between you split open.
When you finally speak, your voice is soft, almost too soft, trembling but cutting through the room sharper than any shout.
“You gave me a note… without even finishing the movie?”
Matt shifts in his chair. Sal coughs. Quinn stares hard at her notebook. None of them answer.
You swallow, eyes glassy, hands twisting in your lap. “You watch the whole film. Then you give notes. That’s how it works. You don’t just stop halfway. That’s…” your throat closes. “That’s not respect.”
Maya is already shaking her head, moving closer, her hand reaching for yours. “Baby, no, I wasn’t trying to disrespect you. I was trying to protect you.”
Your eyes lift to hers, wide, devastated. You pull back just enough that her hand misses. “You didn’t protect me. You brought me here so someone else could say it. You lied.”
Maya freezes, the word ‘lied’ hitting her like a stone. “No. No, baby girl, I swear, it wasn’t like that.” Her voice is breaking now, rushed and panicked. “They were panicking, they made a plan, and I-I thought if I stayed close, I could soften the blow. I was trying to be on your side.”
Your breath hitches, your voice catching on the edge of tears. “But you weren’t. You didn’t even see the rest of the film. You didn’t see me.”
The room is still. You sit curled in on yourself, a soft, witchy silhouette fraying at the edges, and Maya is crouched in front of you, looking like she might come apart just trying to reach you.
You sit for a long second, feeling the room tilt around you. The sound of their voices becomes distant, like someone speaking in the next room.
Then you inhale. The breath pulls something together inside you that feels older than anything on those leather chairs: an old carefulness, the way you learned to be small so the world wouldn’t break you further.
You stand up without drama. Everyone looks up at once.
“Okay.” Your voice is small at first, then flattens into something that carries. “Consider the scene cut.”
Quinn opens her mouth to thank you then thinks better of speaking. Matt’s hands go to his face. Sal makes a sound that’s part relief, part apology.
You fold your hands in front of you and keep your gaze level. “And if you have other notes, if you decide to finish the film at some stage, send me an email. Don’t ambush me during my lunch.”
Maya’s eyes widen, and for a second she looks like someone seeing a faultline open in the floor beneath them. She lunges forward, the protective instinct raw and immediate.
“Baby, don’t go,” she starts, voice thin with panic.
You don’t raise your voice. You only say, quietly, “I’ll see you at home.”
And then you walk out with a kind of slow, exhausted dignity that makes the chaos in the room behind you seem suddenly childish and small.
The door clicks shut.
For a heartbeat the conference room stays suspended then the sound breaks. Maya’s face fractures in an instant, the fierce, private fury of someone betrayed and terrified taking over.
Maya spins on them, eyes wild. “Are you kidding me? What the fuck was that?”
Matt tries, “Maya…”
She cuts him off, loud and sharp. “No. No, no, no. Don’t Maya me. You dragged her in here, you blindsided her, you made her feel like some intern with a bad first draft. She’s your fucking director.”
Quinn stammers, “We were just trying-”
“Oh my god, Quinn, don’t. Just don’t.” Maya’s pacing now, yanking her iced coffee off the table, gesturing with it like a weapon. “She trusted us. And what did we do? We turned it into some shitty ambush lunch.”
Sal mutters, “I didn’t even want to give the note!”
“Yeah, no shit, Sal, you didn’t want to help, you just vomited. Congratulations. Very helpful.”
Matt runs a hand down his face. “It wasn’t supposed to-”
Maya wheels on him. “Oh my god, Remick, you think that matters? She left here thinking I lied to her. Me. And you know what? She’s right. Because I went along with this stupid little plan, and now…” she breaks off, shaking her head, voice dropping. “Now I’m gonna spend my evening trying to fix her because you three couldn’t grow a pair and give a goddamn note like adults.”
Maya grabs her iced coffee, half melted and waves it like a knife. “You want to give her notes? Fine. Watch the rest of the fucking film first.”
And with that, she storms out, heels clicking like gunfire down the hall.
~
The house dim except for the light bleeding from your office. The rest of the apartment feels still, heavy with the day. Maya shuts the door behind her like she’s afraid even the click of the latch will set something off.
She’s been dreading this since the second you walked out. Her stomach’s been in knots all day.
“Mama’s home,” she mutters to herself, rubbing her forehead, trying to muster bravado. But it dies quickly.
She follows the glow down the hall. Your office door is cracked. She pushes it open gently.
You’re at your desk, hunched over a notebook, pen scratching fast. Candles burn low on the bookshelf, shadows long on the walls. The screen beside you shows your timeline pulled apart, scenes reshuffled. You don’t look up.
Her heart sinks.
Maya leans on the doorframe, arms crossed like she’s bracing herself. “You’re already rewriting.”
You nod once, not stopping your pen. “It needed replacing, right? Might as well start now.”
The words are soft, almost casual, but your voice carries the quiet weight of someone who’s already folded hurt into work.
Maya’s chest aches. She crosses the room, slow, like you’re a deer she doesn’t want to spook. “Baby…”
You finally glance up. Your eyes are rimmed, tired, but steady. “What?”
Maya falters, chewing her lip. All day she’d rehearsed lines, jokes, apologies, all spin, but now it all feels paper thin. “I hate that you’re in here doing this because of me. Because of us.”
Your pen pauses, fingers twitching over the page. The silence stretches.
You begin writing again, eyes down, the scratch of your pen filling the silence. “Well,” you say softly, almost offhand. “You gave me the note. Eventually. And it needs fixing.”
Maya winces like the words hit her ribs. “Baby…”
You finally set the pen down, lean back in your chair. Your face is calm, but your eyes… they’re bruised with hurt. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Maya crosses the room in three strides, hands flexing like she doesn’t know what to do with them. “It was a shitty move. I should’ve had your back and I didn’t. And I’ve hated myself for it all day.”
You don’t answer, you just watch her like she’s under a microscope.
“Please don’t pull away from me. Not you.”
And before she can think twice, she’s climbing right into your lap, knees bracketing your thighs, her weight settling over you like she belongs there. She cups your face in both hands, frantic kisses pressed into your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth.
“Don’t be mad at Mommy,” she whispers against your lips, a shaky grin breaking through the guilt. “C’mon, baby girl, punish me later, just please, not this.”
Your breath catches, your hands hovering uncertainly at her waist. The switch is dizzying: her, the one always in control, now clinging to you like you’re the only ground she’s got left.
She kisses you again, slow this time, her thumb tracing under your eye. “I’ll fix it. Whatever it takes. Just don’t shut me out.”
You are sitting at the desk with the lamp low and your notebook open. Maya is curled against you, knees draped over either side of your thighs, one arm hooked around your neck. Her weight is warm and familiar; her breath smells like cold coffee and something sweet. For a while the simple press of her against you is almost a salve.
Then the ache you’ve been holding all day tightens into something you can’t stand anymore. It brings on the steady need for space you can always recognize in yourself.
You move your hand very gently along her side and, when she looks up, you keep your voice soft. “I need to be alone in my office for a while.”
Her face changes like someone flipped a light switch. For half a second she looks like she’s going to make a joke, be the deflective Maya you know, and then the panic sets in, you can see it in her wide eyes and the way her breath catches.
“Don’t be like this,” she says fast, the edges of the words frayed. “Baby you can’t just… don’t make me-” she scrambles, too quick, trying to find the right thing to say. Her fingers fumble at the collar of your shirt as if physical contact could stop the sentence you’ve already made.
You reach up and cup her cheek, thumb trembling against her skin. “I’m not punishing you. I just… I need to be by myself for a while.”
Maya’s mouth snaps shut. She’s always been the loud one, the fixer, the person who moves to fill the empty space, and now she freezes, because this is not a problem she can make go away. For one awful beat she looks stranded.
Then, in that half second where she kicks on performance to hide her panic, she forces a smile too bright for the low light.
“Fine. Fine.” Her voice is sharp and too loud in the quiet room. She slides off your lap robotically.
She stands, hands on the edge of the desk as if she needs it to steady herself. “I’ll be in the living room. Text me when you want company. Or when you want me to beg. I can beg. I have… begging in my repertoire.” The attempt at humor is brittle.
You pick up your pen. You don’t tell her to stay or come back. You only look at the page and let the silence stretch.
Maya swallows, the joke gone. For a second her bravado cracks and she steps close again, like she might try one more time to wedge herself into your orbit. “Baby, please…” she begins, voice small.
“Please Maya I just need some space for while”
She blows out a breath, mutters, “Fine,” and walks out. The office door closes softly behind her.
You sit with the lamp haloing the page, the scratch of your pen the only sound. Outside, Maya paces the apartment like an animal in a room it can’t rearrange. You hear the occasional curse, very Maya, and then the apartment settles into a heavy quiet.
The apartment is hushed except for the low hum of the heating and the faint tap tap of nails on glass. Maya’s propped up against the headboard, hair piled messily on top of her head, glasses sliding down her nose. The glow of her iPad makes her look like a ghost of herself, a hoodie zipped up over her tank top, her bare legs tucked under the duvet. She’s been ‘working’ for hours but hasn’t gotten through a single deck.
Down the hall, the click of your keyboard stops. You hit send on the email to Matt, a clean, neutral list of proposed changes, no warmth, but no bitterness. Just business. Then you close the laptop and sit there for a second, staring at your hands, before finally pushing back from the desk.
You peel off your clothes as you walk toward the bedroom, each movement slow from the day’s weight. When you step inside, Maya glances up from the iPad, shoulders hitching automatically like she’s been caught. The nervous smile that flickers across her mouth doesn’t reach her eyes.
You don’t say anything. You pull your sweatshirt over your head, drop it on the chair, unclip your bra, and slide out of your skirt until you’re down to a soft tank and underwear. The room smells like her shampoo.
Maya sets the iPad down on the nightstand without looking at the screen. “Hey,” she says quietly, like she’s testing the sound. “You done?”
You nod once. “Sent Matt the email.”
She swallows. “Okay.”
You climb into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. For a heartbeat you hesitate at your edge of the mattress. Then you slide across the space between you and curl into her side, head on her shoulder.
Maya’s arm comes around you instantly, reflexively, like her body’s been waiting all night for that signal. She exhales into your hair, the tension in her chest loosening just enough to breathe. She presses a small, tentative kiss to your forehead.
“Hi, baby,” she murmurs. “Thank you for coming to bed.”
You nod against her, eyes closing. Her fingers find the back of your neck, rubbing slow circles there, the way she always does when she’s trying to soothe you without words. The glow of the iPad fades behind her, forgotten.
Maya’s arm tightens around you, her mouth brushing the top of your head. “Baby… listen, I-”
But the words tangle, because you’re already shaking. A small, muffled sound presses into her chest, wetting the cotton of her hoodie. You’re crying the quiet tears you’ve been holding back all day.
Maya stills, her throat closing. Her instinct is always words, always spin, always fix, but this time she doesn’t push. She just folds both arms around you and holds on like she’ll never let go.
Your voice is thin and broken against her. “I know… I know studios want changes. I know it’s not personal. I just… you didn’t even finish it. And then all of them-” you stop, your shoulders curling in tight. “It was too much. It was all just… too much.”
Maya presses her lips hard to your hair, eyes burning. “Oh, baby girl…” She rocks you a little without even realising, thumb rubbing over your shoulder. “I fucked it up. I did. I thought I was protecting you, and I only made it worse. I’m so sorry.”
You don’t answer. You just cry quietly into her chest, letting it come out in little tremors and breaths.
Maya holds you through it, one hand stroking your hair, the other wrapped protectively over your waist. She doesn’t fill the air with chatter this time. She just lets you feel it, her heartbeat steady under your cheek, her presence solid even when she’s terrified she’s lost some part of you.
Eventually, your breathing evens, the tears drying on her shirt. Maya kisses your temple softly, whispering, “I’ve got you. Always. Even when I fuck up, I’ve got you.”
Your face is still hidden against her chest, her hoodie damp beneath your cheek. You sniff once, a small sound, then another.
“I love you,” you whisper.
Maya’s arms tighten around you instantly, as if she can pull you back from every bad moment by sheer force. Her chin rests on the crown of your head; you can feel her swallow hard before she speaks.
“Oh, baby…” her voice is low, rougher than usual, the words landing soft and sure. “I love you. I’m here. I’m right here.”
She keeps rubbing your back, slow circles. Her thumbs brush under your eyes, wiping at the wetness there. “Breathe with me, yeah? Just us, right here.”
You nod against her, eyes closing, letting the sound of her heartbeat and her steady breathing anchor you. She rocks you a little, kisses your hairline again.
“I’m here, my spooky girl,” she murmurs. “Even when I mess it up, I’m here.”
Her hands are warm on your back, her mouth at your temple, whispering it again until it’s a rhythm: “I love you. I’m here. I’m here.”
The two of you stay like that, curled together in the low glow of the bedside lamp, until the shaking in your shoulders eases and you’re just breathing against her skin, held tight.
~
The light is pale and watery through the blinds, the kind that makes the room feel quieter than usual. You’re still tucked under Maya’s arm, head heavy on her chest. She’s awake, rubbing slow circles into your back, her glasses perched on her nose, iPad abandoned on the nightstand.
“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “You feelin’ a little better?”
You nod, small and sleepy, and nuzzle closer into her warmth.
She exhales, relief in the sound, and strokes your hair back from your face. “Good. Because…” she pauses, a little grin tugging at her mouth, “Matt emailed me at, like, two a.m. He loves the changes you proposed. Totally back on board.”
Your eyes flicker open, still heavy, and you nod. “Okay. I can do that.”
Maya tilts her head to press a kiss against your temple. “Of course you can. You’re brilliant.” She squeezes you tighter against her, rocking you just slightly.
Then she pulls back a little, studying your face. “So, what do you say? Forget the world, stay in, watch movies in bed? Just you, me, and a Costco-sized box of Sour Patch Kids?”
The corner of your mouth lifts, shy but real. You nod.
“Yeah?” she teases softly, eyes sparkling. “That a yes?”
You nod again, pressing your face into her neck, hiding your smile there.
Maya grins, tucking you close against her chest like she’s never letting you go. “Good girl. That’s the plan then.”
She kisses the top of your head, one hand still stroking your back, the two of you cocooned in the soft morning light, the world outside irrelevant.
The day drifts by in a blur of blankets and the faint hum of movies playing low on the TV. You barely keep track of what’s on, old black and whites, some comfort junk, the odd horror Maya pretends to mock but clings tighter through.
Mostly it’s just the two of you, wrapped around each other in the tangle of sheets. Her legs looped with yours, her arm hooked firm around your waist, your head tucked under her chin. Every time you stir or shift, Maya presses another kiss into your hair, your cheek, your shoulder, like she’s reminding both of you she’s still there.
You let yourself sink into it, the rhythm of her breath, the familiar scent of her shampoo, the rise and fall of her chest under your cheek. The safe space builds itself out of nothing but the two of you, no studios, no notes, no fights. Just warmth.
By evening, the outside world has shrunk to a dim whisper behind the curtains. You’re tangled together, half asleep, your hand caught in hers.
Summary: When Hollywood’s strangest new director begins quietly shopping her next script, Matt Remnick loses his mind trying to find her. Mysterious, brilliant, and barely reachable, she’s the kind of director that could give him his Rosemary’s Baby… if he can track her down.
Maya Mason isn’t worried.
Because the strangest woman in Hollywood that the studio is chasing? She already has her.
Word Count: 9K
Warnings: explicit smut, strap-on use, MDNI
A/N: This is just a quick little Maya fic I wrote while catching up on The Studio finally, I definitely want to write more Maya so any suggestions would be great xo
Matt Remick bursts into the conference room like he’s just come from war… or worse, a breakfast meeting with Griffin.
He’s got that look. Wide eyes, rumpled blazer, the smell of overpriced oat milk clinging to him like defeat. But he’s grinning like he just found the last golden ticket in Hollywood. “Big news,” he says. “Huge news.”
The team’s already waiting, Sal is sprawled in his usual seat with a breakfast burrito and a hangover, Quinn tapping away on her tablet with one AirPod in, and Patty Leigh sipping tea like she’s three seconds away from biting someone.
Sal doesn’t look up from his phone. “You always say that and it’s never huge man.”
“No,” Matt says, too pumped to be insulted. “No, this is real.”
Patty sighs and sets her tea down with careful grace. “What is it Matthew? You look like you’re about to wet yourself.”
Matt drops his phone on the table, screen facing up. It’s paused on a still from Wolves at the Well, that shot, the one with the lake and the antlers and the girl screaming underwater. Instantly recognizable. Instantly iconic.
“She’s looking for a studio,” Matt announces, reverent. “She’s looking for a studio.”
Quinn looks up. “Who is?”
Matt lets the silence drag just long enough to be dramatic. “Y/N Y/L/N.”
A pause.
Quinn straightens. “Wait. Seriously?”
Patty’s brows raise, skeptical but intrigued. “She’s leaving her indie? I thought she was some kind of cursed forest nymph who only works with companies run out of moss-covered cabins.”
Matt is glowing now. “Nope. Word is she’s looking for a studio. Not an indie label, not some moody investor with a fetish for Icelandic grief dramas. A studio. She wants scale. Reach. And after Wolves exploded? She’s got leverage. She wants to tell bigger stories and still keep control. We can offer that.”
Patty leans back, calculating. “How sure are you?”
“I’ve got three sources,” Matt says. “And her agent’s being cagey, which means it’s real.”
Quinn stares at him. “She’s the biggest thing in film right now. Her movie’s still breaking streaming records. If she’s even considering going big…”
“She is,” Matt says. “And I want her here.”
Silence.
Patty lifts a brow. “You really think she’s going to give up witchy obscurity for a studio boardroom?”
Matt grins. “Not for any studio. But this one? If we pitch it right? We can blow A24 out of the fucking water.”
Patty leans back, amused. “And who, pray tell, is going to convince her?”
Sal whistles low. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the plan?”
Matt points around the room like he’s handing out weapons in a war room.
“Quinn- I want everything. Press, panels, podcast interviews. Get inside her head. I want to know what she wants before she does.”
“On it.”
“Sal- find out who else is sniffing around. What they’re offering, who she’s talking to. No one moves without us knowing about it.”
Sal nods, already typing on his phone.
Matt turns to Patty. “You’re producing the pitch. She’s not a ‘take her to lunch and flatter her’ type. She’ll want vision. Integrity. Respect. Sell her on what we aren’t.”
Patty gives a slow, dangerous smile. “I do love a challenge.”
Then Matt turns to Maya.
And the energy shifts.
She hasn’t spoken. Head to toe in Louis Vuitton streetwear, tight ponytail, three rings on each finger, legs crossed like she’s not even paying attention. But her jaw tightens at the sound of your name.
She’s already read your new script. She read it in bed while you lay next to her, legs tangled with hers, chewing the end of a pencil and asking if she thought the ending was too kind. She didn’t answer. She kissed you instead.
“You marketed Wolves at the Well,” Matt says. “She loved that campaign. She said it was the only time her work didn’t feel… diluted.”
Maya says nothing.
“She trusted you,” Matt continues. “You get her tone. You get her weird, terrifying mind. If anyone can figure out how to bring her in, it’s you.”
Maya exhales slowly. “She doesn’t do meetings. She doesn’t do people.”
Matt shrugs. “Then don’t make it feel like a meeting. Make it feel like whatever the hell she needs it to be. We just need her to talk to us.”
Maya tilts her head. “You want a horror film with a ten-minute silent sequence where a woman stares into a mirror and rips her teeth out one by one, and you think I’m the key to selling it?”
Matt grins. “Exactly. And I think you’ve still got a line to her.”
Her eyes narrow. “What makes you think that?”
Matt shrugs. “Because if I were her, and I trusted anyone in this hellhole, it’d be you.”
A beat.
Maya leans back in her chair, her expression unreadable.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says.
~
The boardroom becomes a war room.
Matt’s pacing again, sleeves rolled up like that helps him think. He’s surrounded by stacks of folders, half-eaten pastries, open laptops, and a terrifying number of Post-it notes.
“We can’t find her,” he says, hands in his hair. “I mean, what the fuck, we cannot find her. Where does she go when she disappears between projects?” he demands. “Nobody just vanishes anymore.”
“She does,” Quinn says, flicking through a spreadsheet. “She doesn’t have a personal Instagram, hasn’t been seen at a public event in eight months, and there’s literally one known address on file, some cabin in Northern California that may or may not exist.”
“She’s not completely off the grid,” Sal argues, waving his phone. “She liked a tweet two weeks ago.”
Matt spins on him. “What tweet?”
“It was about practical effects in horror. But the tweet got deleted, so…”
“So she’s alive, but elusive.” Matt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great.”
Sal doesn’t even look up from his screen. “No publicist, no assistant, no active socials. Her website is literally a black screen with a Latin quote and a candle that burns out if you hover over it too long.”
“That’s performance art, not contact information!” Matt snaps.
Patty sips her tea. “She’s a ghost with awards.”
Matt slams a file down. “I promised Griffin we were talking to her this week. I called her the next big thing. The anti-Marvel. The future of smart cinema. He said, and I quote, ‘We need her in the building before A24 eats our souls and pisses out another Oscar.’”
Patty doesn’t blink. “And you told him you had this in the bag didn’t you?”
“I panicked!” Matt throws his arms up. “And now we’re screwed.”
He turns, wild-eyed, to Maya, who’s lounging in her chair with one knee up, chewing on the end of a pen and looking like this is the most fun she’s had in months.
“You marketed her last movie,” Matt clings to the one link he has to you. “You got her. You understood her. You got into her head. If anyone knows where she might be, it's you.”
Maya stretches slowly, deliberately, and shrugs. “Maybe she’s just… busy. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
Quinn blinks. “Isn’t she developing something?”
“She’s always developing something,” Sal mutters. “The question is where. And with who.”
Matt’s pacing again. “We’re talking about the woman who made a horror movie about intergenerational trauma and demonic taxidermy and made it a hit. She’s brilliant. She’s unstable. She’s perfect. And she’s missing.”
Patty tilts her head. “She’s not missing. She’s choosing not to be seen.”
Matt points at her like she just unlocked the final puzzle piece. “YES. Exactly. She’s choosing. And we need to give her a reason to choose us. We need bait. Blood in the water. Something that says, ‘We get it. We’re not like the others. We won’t sand down your edges.’”
Sal sighs. “You’ve got a weird artsy cinephile boner for this woman haven’t you?”
Quinn looks toward Maya. “Seriously though… no leads at all?”
Maya shrugs again, slower this time. “Maybe I didn’t leave the door open far enough.”
Matt groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. We are so fucked.”
Maya just smiles. Calm. Knowing. Not offering anything. Not rushing. Not helping. Not yet.
Hours pass.
The conference room gets darker as the sun goes down, but no one bothers with the lights. The glow from laptops and phones and half-dead chargers is enough. A shrine to failure, if you asked Maya, which, blessedly, no one does.
Quinn ks scrolling with the intensity of someone hacking into the Pentagon. “Okay, I found a podcast she did anonymously five years ago under a fake name. I think it’s her because she mentions a childhood fear of mirrors and references a book no one else ever talks about-”
Matt cuts her off. “Is there an email?”
“No,” Quinn says, without missing a beat.
Sal’s got three tabs open: Reddit, IMDbPro, and a very messy spreadsheet titled WITCH LEADS. “Someone swears they saw her in Prague. Someone else thinks she’s living in a commune in upstate New York.”
Matt looks physically ill. “I told Griffin we had momentum.”
Patty snorts from where she’s taken up residence at the head of the table, reading over a dog-eared draft of one of your old scripts. “She is actively avoiding being found. This is artful silence. Intentional disappearance. She’s not playing hard to get. She’s playing divine to be untouched.”
“She has to want something,” Matt insists, like he’s trying to manifest you. “People don’t vanish unless they want to be chased.”
“Or left alone,” Quinn offers gently.
Matt groans and flops into a chair. “Why does she have to be like this?”
Maya, still perched like a cat on the edge of her chair, flips her pen between her fingers. “Because if she wasn’t like this, you wouldn’t want her half as much.”
The room stills for a beat.
Matt narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
Maya lifts a brow. “A little.”
“You know something,” he says, sitting up straighter. “You’re being weirdly calm.”
“I’m always calm,” she lies.
Quinn glances over. “Seriously, Maya, no old contacts? No secret email? No unlisted number?”
Maya yawns. “If I did, don’t you think I’d have used it by now?”
Patty side-eyes her. “Would you?”
Maya doesn’t answer. Because the truth is: she hasn’t even tried. Not really. She could send one message. Just one. And you’d answer. But where’s the fun in that?
~
Three long, caffeine-stained, sleep-deprived days since Matt declared, loud and confident, that you were in play.
You were not in play. You’re hovering above like a spectral deity, ignoring every pitch deck and soft outreach like none of it matters, which, to you, it probably doesn’t.
Griffin is starting to hover. “Any updates?” has turned into “When will I see something?” and now it’s morphing into ‘The Scary Tone’ that sharp, glossy warning that means the countdown has started.
Matt is in executive hell.
So he does the only thing he can do to cope: gets drunk and high with Sal and spirals through someone else’s movie.
Before the film, though, they hit up a spot Sal swears will “cure all emotional disease”, a high-end Italian place in West Hollywood that’s all mood lighting, rich velvet, and wine lists the size of novellas.
They meet at a high-end Italian place with dark velvet booths, moody jazz, and wine lists thicker than a studio script rewrite.
“I can’t believe she’s ghosting us,” Matt says, sinking into the booth. “Us, Sal. She makes one demonic deer movie and suddenly we’re not worthy of her divine witch vibes?”
Sal takes a sip of red wine and shrugs. “You knew what you were getting into. This is why I date Pilates instructors.”
Matt ignores him. “You know what the worst part is? It’s not even rejection. It’s- it’s nothing. She hasn’t even acknowledged we exist. It’s like trying to cast a fucking spell and getting static.”
Sal leans back. “You’re mixing your metaphors, man. You need carbs. Or a Xanax.”
Matt raises his glass. “Or both.”
Matt waves for a martini like it’s a sedative. “She’s out there somewhere. I know it. And we’re gonna lose her. I can feel it.”
Sal shrugs, flipping open the menu. “Then let her go. Find another terrifying gay auteur.”
Matt glares. “She’s the terrifying auteur. There is no one else.”
But before Sal can mock him further, something shifts in the room.
Matt glances up and freezes. There, in a deep velvet booth lit by a golden sconce, sits Maya Mason.
All sharp cheekbones and matte lipstick, black Gucci suit jacket slung over her shoulders, wine glass in hand. Her posture says I’m relaxed, but her eyes are calculating, ever so slightly narrowed.
Matt freezes. Elbows Sal.
Sal glances over and lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t peg her for this level of bougie.”
Matt perks up. “Oh my god. Maya’s here. Should we go over?”
Matt starts to stand.
And then… you appear.
A soft, sudden presence moving through the space like perfume flitting over from the bar like a dream or a hallucination or some kind of punishment designed specifically for Matt’s crumbling sanity. You’re wrapped in silk and leather, a drink in one hand, your expression easy and unhurried.
You’re glowing under the amber light, glass in hand, lips glossed. You walk toward the booth without a second of hesitation. You slide in beside Maya, lean in, and press a kiss to her cheek. She murmurs something, barely audible, but her arm wraps around your waist. You settle into her side like it’s yours. Like it’s always been yours.
Matt blinks rapidly. “She’s the mystery of the industry. The director no one can contact. She communicates in riddles and metaphors and one-word emails and now she’s just… she’s just- here?!”
They both duck slightly behind the wine rack like two deeply uncool spies.
“Do we go over there?” Sal whispers.
“I can’t,” Matt hisses. “I’m wearing H&M.”
He peeks again. You’re laughing now, soft and warm, gently nudging Maya’s shoulder as you sip something golden from a heavy crystal glass. Maya says something and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. You smile up at her like she built the sky.
Matt slumps back down, clutching his drink. “We’re dead. Griffin’s going to turn me into a chair.”
Sal mutters, “Holy shit.”
Maya glances up and sees them. Her smile drops a millimeter. Her eyes narrow. Fucking hell. She takes a long, slow sip of her drink. Not because she’s thirsty, but because she needs a second to breathe through the coming wave of Matt’s voice, emails, frantic walk-and-talks, and existential screeds about visionary cinema.
You tilt your head. “Are you okay?”
Maya smiles at you, soft but thin. “Yeah. Just spotted something annoying.”
You turn, casually following her gaze, eyes landing on the two stunned men standing by the maître d’.
You clock them instantly.
Maya exhales, like this is exactly the kind of nonsense she’d been trying to avoid. She rubs your thigh under the table, gently, grounding.
“Listen…” she mutters. “Continental studio… Matt and Sal over there, they want to make your next movie.”
You blink again, surprised but not rattled. “They do?”
“They’re fucking gagging for it.”
You tilt your head, amused. “Is that why they look like they’re about to pass out?”
“Yup.”
You giggle softly and kiss her cheek. “How flattering.”
Maya sighs, resigned. “So much for a quiet night.” She holds Matt’s gaze for a beat. Then lifts her glass.
A quiet, unreadable toast.
Across the restaurant, Matt stares into the middle distance like he’s experiencing ego death. “I’m going to throw up,” Matt mutters.
Sal raises his wine. “To lesbian espionage.”
You’re halfway through dessert, some ridiculous tower of hazelnut praline and dark chocolate that Maya ordered “because you deserve nice things”, when the shadows shift beside your table.
You glance up.
Matt Remick is standing there, eyes wide, smile tight, like he’s just come face to face with a god and doesn’t know if he should bow or cry.
Sal’s with him. Two steps behind. A little too much wine, a little too confident.
“We’ve been trying to reach you!” Matt says, breathless.
Maya groans under her breath.
You blink. “Clearly.”
Matt laughs nervously, motioning at the booth. “Can we- uh- join you? Just for a minute. We don’t want to interrupt. Well, we are interrupting. But we don’t want to.”
You glance at Maya. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back, arms crossed, watching with the calm of a lion in tall grass.
You nod and gesture to the other side of the table. “Go on then.”
They slide in like two college freshmen sitting down with the headmistress.
Matt clears his throat. “First of all, let me just say… we’re huge fans. Everyone at the studio is. Your work is… it’s revolutionary.”
You give a polite, noncommittal nod. Maya sips her drink, unmoved.
Then Sal leans in, far too casually. “Didn’t know you were a lesbian!” he says, grinning. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that- I mean, honestly it’s my most searched porn tab.”
Matt physically recoils.
You blink. Once. Slowly.
Maya does not react. At all. Just shifts, placing her hand casually on your thigh under the table.
Sal keeps going, like a man joyfully flinging himself off a cliff. “No, seriously. I mean, it’s hot, right? You two together. Power couple. You got that dark academia meets streetwear vibe. Like if The Craft had a PR department.”
You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head ever so slightly. “This,” you say flatly, “is who wants to make my movie?”
Matt slaps Sal’s shoulder hard enough to shake the table. “Ignore him. He’s… he’s not usually like this.”
Maya leans in then, finally. “Oh, no,” she says, voice syrupy with sarcasm. “He’s exactly like this.”
Matt’s smile stretches thinner. “We just wanted to let you know- if you’re developing something new, we would love to talk. No pressure, obviously, but our door is wide open.”
You study him for a moment, sipping your drink. You don’t answer right away. You just… let the silence grow. It stretches long enough that Matt starts to visibly sweat.
Then finally, you look at Maya. “I thought they were gonna be taller,” you say.
Maya snorts into her glass.
~
Maya’s been smirking the whole ride back. She kicked her heels off in the car, feet in your lap, your fingers tracing slow circles against her ankle while she casually recounted every second of Matt and Sal’s implosion over dinner like it was the highlight of her year.
“‘Didn’t know you were a lesbian!’” she says, mimicking Sal with a cartoonishly terrible voice. “‘It’s my most searched porn tab!’ Babe. Babe. I almost choked on my fuckin wine.”
You laugh softly, leaning your head against the leather seat. “You loved it.”
“Oh, I loved watching you scare the shit out of them. I could feel Matt’s soul trying to exit through his eyeballs.”
You hum, smiling to yourself. “He really looked like he was meeting the cryptid he’s been chasing for years.”
Maya grins, sharp and smug. “And she was just sitting in my lap the whole time.”
Later, at home, you’re curled up in bed together. Maya’s shirt is unbuttoned, her skin warm against yours, one arm thrown over you like she’s never letting go. The lights are low. The city hums far below the windows.
She’s scrolling idly on her phone, probably reading headlines about someone else’s PR failure, when you shift closer, pressing your cheek to her collarbone.
“Maya?”
She hums in response, not looking away.
You trace your finger along the inside of her wrist, gentle. “Want me to pick your studio?”
That gets her attention. She lowers the phone and looks down at you.
Your eyes are soft, wide, full of something quiet and real. “Give you complete control over the marketing?” you ask, voice like silk. “Let you run the campaign. Do it your way. No committee. Just you.”
Maya stares at you for a moment. “You’d do that for me, baby?”
You nod, nuzzling into her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Of course I would.”
She exhales, long and slow, like she wasn’t expecting that to hit her so hard.
“Fuck,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “I really got you, huh?”
You nod again, smiling, utterly gone for her.
She kisses your forehead, her lips lingering. Then she pulls back just enough to look down at you with a slow grin. “Yeah?” she murmurs. “Alright, baby girl. I’ll set up the meeting.”
You smile, nodding, and then lean in again, just a little, just enough to brush your lips along her collarbone.
She freezes for a second.
You press another kiss, soft and slow, just below her throat.
“Baby,” she says, voice a warning, a whisper.
You don’t answer. You just kiss higher, up the slope of her neck, the angle of her jaw, your breath warm against her pulse. You feel the way her arm tightens around you, like she’s trying to stay cool, trying not to let on that she’s already halfway gone.
Then she turns her head, catches your mouth with hers. It starts soft, slow and indulgent, her fingers slipping into your hair as your lips move against hers in lazy, exploring rhythm. You tilt into her, pressing yourself closer, one hand slipping under the open edge of her shirt to rest against her stomach.
Maya deepens the kiss like she’s claiming it, her hand sliding down your back, pulling you more fully into her lap.
She breaks away just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours. “You get like this when you make big promises?” she murmurs, smiling against your mouth.
You smile back, lips brushing hers. “Only for you.”
She kisses you again, hungrier now. Less patient. You’re still curled into her lap, fingers splayed across the bare skin of her stomach under her unbuttoned shirt, your lips brushing slow, reverent kisses up her throat like you’re praying to her body with your mouth.
She lets you.
Lets you worship her like this, patient and slow, kisses trailing higher, deeper, lips barely parting, breath warm against the spot just below her jaw that always makes her shudder. And when she does, when her fingers tighten in your hair just a little, you smile against her skin.
“Fuckin’ brat,” she mutters, voice thick, but she’s already tilting her head to give you more.
You kiss her jaw. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth.
Then you pull back just enough to whisper, soft and saccharine, “Want you.”
Her hand slides down to your throat, not rough, just there. Just holding. “Yeah?” she murmurs, thumb brushing under your chin, tipping your face up to meet hers.
You nod, lips parted, eyes wide and open in that way that always makes her lose her fucking mind.
“Want me to take care of you, babygirl?”
“Please.”
She kisses you hard this time, no patience, no softness. Just heat and teeth and tongue. Her grip on your throat tightens a little as she pushes you back into the pillows, climbing over you, her knee parting your thighs with practiced ease.
“You offering me your film and this sweet little body in the same night?” she growls, voice low and dangerous, mouth dragging down your neck now. “You trying to kill me, baby?”
You gasp as her teeth catch your collarbone. That makes her laugh, deep and warm, before her mouth returns to your skin.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, hot against your chest. “Mine to kiss, mine to fuck, mine to show off when the studio begs for your name and you’re sitting in my lap.”
Your fingers dig into her back, hips rising to meet her. “Yes, Maya…”
“You gonna be good for me?”
“Yes/ yes, I’ll be so good… ”
“You are good,” she purrs, trailing her hand down between your thighs, fingers slipping under your panties like you were made for her. “Always so fuckin’ good for me.”
And when her fingers finally slide into you, slow and deep, you cry out for her, high and sweet and already undone, and Maya grins like she just won. Because she did.
Her fingers are already inside you, deep and slow, dragging along that perfect spot that makes your thighs tremble and your breath catch in your throat. Maya’s body is draped over yours, shirt half-off, hair falling over her face as she watches you like she’s memorizing the way you fall apart.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “So sweet, baby. Can’t believe this perfect little thing belongs to me.”
Your hips rock up to meet her hand, helpless and greedy. “Maya…”
She curls her fingers just right and you gasp, eyes fluttering closed, head tipping back against the pillows. “Uh-uh,” she says, voice sharp, dominant. Her free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Eyes on me.”
You do. Because how could you not?
Her smirk softens at the edges. “Look at you,” she whispers. “So powerful out there. Untouchable. And now you’re under me, legs shaking, begging to come.”
You nod, desperate. “Please- please, Maya…”
“I know, baby,” she coos. “I’ve got you.”
She fucks you with deliberate, punishing strokes that make your back arch, your nails claw at the sheets, your voice turn to broken little moans that only she gets to hear.
“Who makes you feel this good?” she demands, her mouth at your ear now, her pace unrelenting.
“You do,” you gasp. “You do, Maya!”
“That’s right.”
She doesn’t let up. Her thumb finds your clit, circling in slow, sinful rhythm as her fingers thrust deeper. You’re close. So close. And she knows it. She feels it.
“Come for me,” she commands, voice low and dangerous. “Now.”
And when you do, it crashes over you like fire, white-hot and consuming, your whole body shaking as you sob her name. She holds you through it, fingers still moving as you writhe beneath her, overstimulated and soaked.
You’re gasping, lips parted, body trembling and she still doesn’t stop.
“Again,” she says, quieter now. “I want one more.”
“M-Maya…” You’re already wrecked, legs weak, tears in your lashes.
But her hand doesn’t leave you. Her mouth kisses your throat, your cheek, your lips. Her eyes stay on yours.
“You said I had control, didn’t you?” she whispers.
You nod, crying out as she thrusts again. “Yes- yes- fuck- yes!”
“Good girl.”
You’re shaking.
Your chest is heaving, thighs soaked, voice cracked open into raw little gasps. And Maya still hasn’t let up. She hasn’t stopped touching you, hasn’t moved from where she’s curled against your body, fingers still inside you, lips still on your neck.
“Fuck, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and wrecked with praise. “You’re so good for me. So perfect like this.”
You can’t speak. Your throat is raw from moaning, your body so sensitive that even the smallest movement makes your hips twitch. But Maya isn’t finished. She licks into your mouth when you try to cry out again, muffling your moans with her kiss, letting your broken little sounds melt into her tongue as she keeps her rhythm steady.
“Come on, babygirl,” she says, voice molten. “One more for me. Just one more. You can do it. I’ve got you,” she purrs. “You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you?”
You nod, tears spilling over as your eyes squeeze shut.
“That’s my girl,” she says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Fucking take it.”
Your climax hits harder this time, like lightning, like something primal cracking loose inside you. You sob her name, the sound helpless, wrecked, as your body arches into hers and the pleasure rips through you like fire.
Maya doesn’t stop. Not until you’re trembling, gasping, pleading for her mouth instead of her fingers. She finally slows, eases her hand out, kisses your cheeks, your wet lashes, your trembling lips.
“Shhh,” she whispers, wrapping herself around you. “I’ve got you, baby. You did so good for me. So fucking good.”
You collapse into her, boneless and broken and safe. She pulls you close, her hands now stroking soft and slow down your back, murmuring against your hair, “I’ve got you. I’m here. I love you.”
The room is still hazy with the aftermath, your body soft, spent, sprawled across Maya’s chest as she strokes your hair with slow, possessive fingers.
You’re trembling in that delicious, floating way. Your skin feels fever-warm, your lips swollen from her kisses, your thighs aching from being held open so long. Every inch of you is humming, fucked out and fully hers.
And Maya?
Maya looks like a goddess. Lipstick smudged, eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with satisfaction.
She presses a kiss to your hairline.
You breathe out her name like a prayer. “Maya…”
She hums, low and amused, fingers still stroking your spine. “That was sweet, baby. You took it so well.”
You nod, nuzzling closer. “Wanted to be good for you.”
“I know,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You were. You always are.”
There’s a pause. Then her fingers tighten a little in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. “But I think someone forgot her manners.”
Your breath catches. Your thighs instinctively press together.
“You gonna thank me properly?” she purrs, tilting your chin up to meet her eyes. “Or you gonna make me ask again?”
You whimper. “Want to. Want to thank you.”
She smiles, slow and dangerous, and shifts onto her back, guiding you between her thighs with the smooth confidence of someone who already knows what you’ll do. Who owns what you’ll do.
“Show me, then,” she says, voice all velvet and command. “Show me how grateful you are.”
You settle between her legs, kissing her thighs reverently, softly at first, until she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs you where she wants you.
She’s soaked for you. Already aching. And when your tongue finally drags over her, slow and sweet, she lets out a low, shuddering moan that makes your heart stutter.
“That’s it,” she murmurs, voice shaking now. “My good fucking girl.”
You lick into her like she’s holy, like this is your altar, and your worship is earned. You’re gentle, focused, letting her control the rhythm, her hand guiding your mouth, her hips twitching up against your tongue as she gets louder, messier, more desperate.
You moan against her, the sound sending vibrations straight through her.
“Fuck… fuck, yes- don’t stop, don’t you dare- ”
She comes with a sharp, broken cry, thighs clenching around your head, her voice shattering into a gasp of your name like it’s the only word she knows.
You stay there.
Kiss her through it. Lick her clean. Keep your mouth soft and open on her until she’s twitching, panting, tugging your hair to pull you off with a sharp hiss.
You look up at her, eyes shining, and whisper: “Thank you, I love you.”
Maya groans. “Fuck. Come here.”
She pulls you up, kisses you filthy, tasting herself on your tongue and rolls you into her arms, both of you ruined and radiant in the glow of it.
Sunlight spills through the curtains, warm and golden, casting a soft glow over your skin as you stretch slowly beneath the sheets.
You’re still a little sore. Your thighs ache in that perfect way, your lips are swollen from kissing, and there’s a faint, delicious hum still rolling through your muscles, reminders of everything Maya did to you last night. How she took from you. How you gave her everything.
She’s already awake.
Propped against the headboard, hair mussed, one arm lazily draped around your waist as she scrolls her phone with the other hand, wearing only her open silk robe and a smirk that spells danger.
You blink up at her, sleep-heavy. “What’re you doing?”
She doesn’t look away from the screen. “Texting Matt.”
You groan and bury your face in her hip. “Poor man.”
She grins. “He’s fine. I’m giving him the gift of hope.”
You peek up. “What’d you say?”
Maya hits send with a little flourish, then turns the phone toward you.
<Maya: You’re getting your meeting. Wear something that doesn’t scream ‘desperation.’>
You burst into sleepy laughter, curling closer to her. “You’re so mean,” you mumble against her skin.
She strokes your hair. “He’ll live. Probably already printing t-shirts that say I Met Y/N Y/L/N and Survived.”
You giggle again, then go quiet.
Maya glances down. “What?”
You look up at her, eyes soft. “I’m glad it’s you.”
She pauses. Smile fading into something warmer, deeper.
“I know,” she says, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Me too.”
Then her phone buzzes. A message from Matt.
<Matt R: OH MY GOD. WHEN. HOW. WHERE. WHO DO I CALL. I’M READY.>
Maya sighs dramatically and locks her screen. “This is what I get for letting the masses know you’re mine.”
You hum, smug. “You love me.”
She kisses you. “I fucking do.”
~
The conference room is spotless. Brighter than usual. Like someone turned up the lights to overcompensate for the impending dread.
Matt Remick is pacing again.
Quinn’s at the end of the table, calm on the outside, but absolutely sweating through her blouse. Sal’s already had two coffees, half a croissant and is fidgeting so hard the table rattles.
And Maya? Maya’s lounging in her chair like this is a boredom exercise, one leg crossed over the other, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses still on even though they’re inside. Her expression is unreadable, cool and calm, the faintest smirk playing at her lips.
“She’s late,” Matt says, not for the first time.
“She’s not late,” Maya replies, not looking up. “She’s theatrical.”
Quinn eyes the door like it might explode open at any second. “Do we stand when she comes in?”
Matt actually considers it. “I don’t know, do we?!”
“She’s not the fucking Pope,” Maya mutters.
Sal’s bouncing his knee. “I think I’m gonna throw up. What if she hates the pitch? What if she says nothing and just leaves?”
“She won’t leave,” Maya says, now finally pulling off her sunglasses, revealing that infuriating glint in her eyes.
“How do you know?” Matt asks.
And that’s when they all hear it: the elevator ding.
Everyone freezes.
Maya uncrosses her legs slowly, deliberately. “She’s here,” she says.
Sal stands so fast he knocks his chair back.
Matt smooths his blazer, then immediately un-smooths it, then just gives up and wipes his palms on his trousers.
The footsteps echo down the hallway.
Quinn breathes out, once. “Okay. Show time.”
Maya leans back in her chair, sipping her coffee from her obnoxiously big Stanley cup like the goddess of chaos she is. “She’s gonna eat you alive,” she says, deadpan.
Matt doesn’t know if she’s joking.
And then the door opens. You enter the room like a shadow falling over water, quiet, poised, the kind of still that makes people hold their breath without realizing it. The moment you step through the door, the air shifts. Matt bolts upright. Quinn straightens her notes. Sal tries to stand but mostly fumbles his coffee.
Maya’s already sitting back in her chair, legs crossed, wearing a black Gucci hoodie layered over a YSL T-shirt, obscenely expensive sneakers up on the edge of the table like this is a meeting she couldn’t care less about. But her eyes don’t leave you. Not once.
You take the head of the table. Say nothing. Let them sweat.
Matt starts first, of course. “We are thrilled you’re here. Honestly, this… this means a lot.”
You blink.
He keeps going. “We’ve been talking internally about what kind of slate makes sense for where film is heading, where you’re heading. And your voice? We think it defines the next era.”
Quinn jumps in. “Your work doesn’t compromise, and neither do we. You’d have creative control, a team that gets the tone, the language, the darkness.”
“We’ll protect your process,” Matt adds quickly. “We want to empower you, not get in your way.”
“We’ll give you whatever you want,” Sal says, before realizing how that sounds. “I mean, not whatever, but like… most things. Within reason. Or- outside reason, if it’s, like, cool.”
You stare at him.
Maya pinches the bridge of her nose.
You sit at the head of the table, spine straight, legs crossed, eyes focused on a fixed point in the distance like you’re seeing something no one else in the room can.
The others: Matt, Sal, and Quinn, are still mid-pitch. Words flying, ideas piling up on top of each other, offers and promises and desperate energy all funneled toward you.
And you’re still.
Maya clocks it immediately. She hasn’t said a word since you walked in. Just sat quietly off to the side in her usual luxury streetwear combo, arms folded, eyes locked on you.
But when your fingers twitch on the armrest, barely, like a flicker of static, she moves. Not dramatic. Not showy. Just real. She stands, walks over, and places her hand on your back. Palm flat. Warm. Steady. Her other hand rests on your forearm. No words. No looks exchanged.
And you exhale.
Barely a sound. But Maya feels it.
Your shoulders loosen. Your eyes slip closed. Not all the way, just enough to quiet the noise. You lean into the touch. Just a little.
And that’s when Quinn sees it.
It clicks, not in some cinematic, revelatory way. Just quietly. All at once. You’re not mysterious because it’s your brand. You’re not untouchable because you’re trying to be.
You’re just… different.
Your silence isn’t curated. It’s instinct. The long pauses. The blank stares. The way you drift just slightly outside the rhythm of a room. You’re not avoiding them because you’re a diva. You’re avoiding them because you’re anxious.
Quinn glances at Maya who is now gently running her thumb along your arm, still facing forward like she doesn’t want to make a scene, and sees it for what it is.
This isn't a strategy. It’s care. Maya’s anchoring you while the others scramble to impress you. And it’s working.
Matt hasn’t noticed. He’s still going, talking fast, trying to pivot into something with buzzwords. Sal keeps jumping in with half-formed ideas.
But Quinn watches the way your lips part just slightly, like you’re finally able to breathe again.
And Maya? Maya just mutters, quiet enough for only you to hear: “You’re good, baby. They’re just noise.”
You don’t respond.
You don’t have to.
Matt is mid-sentence, something about festival reach and global rights, his voice hitting that slightly manic pitch of a man dangling off the edge of a dream.
“- we’d leverage the marketing momentum of Wolves at the Well, of course, but frame this next project as your arrival. The next evolution of your vision, scaled but intact, and-”
“Matt,” Quinn says, calmly but firmly.
He falters. “What?”
She holds up a hand. “Just… give me a second.”
Sal blinks. “Wait, what-”
“No, seriously,” Quinn says, her eyes never leaving you. “Let’s stop. Right now.”
Everyone turns.
You haven’t moved. Still sitting there, Maya’s hand resting gently against your arm, your fingers now loosely curled into hers beneath the table. Your eyes are half-lidded, face soft but unreadable.
Quinn sees it again, the stillness, the disconnect, the focus. But also the touch point. Maya’s presence. The grounding.
Quinn leans forward, lowering her voice like she’s speaking across a sacred line. “We don’t want to pitch at you,” she says. “We want to work with you. However that looks.”
You blink slowly.
Matt looks confused. Sal is squinting like he’s missed half a conversation.
Maya says nothing. Just lets her thumb glide against your wrist again.
And that’s when you speak.
Quiet and measured like every word has to come out slowly, or else you’ll lose your nerve. “I want Maya to have everything she wants.”
Matt frowns. “What?”
You lift your gaze. Steady now. Direct. “I want her to have whatever she wants.”
A beat.
“I know you want me,” you continue, voice calm but unwavering. “But I only trust her.”
Silence. Not dramatic silence. Loaded silence. The kind that settles into every corner of the room and stays there.
Matt runs a hand through his hair, laughing, just once, like it escaped him. “Okay. Okay. Fine.”
Maya squeezes your hand under the table.
You sit there, spine straight, Maya’s hand still tucked gently over yours on the table. Matt looks stunned. Sal’s blinking like he missed a scene. Quinn is unreadable, but watching, always watching.
Then Maya clears her throat and stands. “Now give us the room.”
Matt blinks. “What?”
She jerks her head toward the door. “Out. Five minutes.”
Quinn nods immediately, dragging Sal by the arm. Matt hesitates, glancing at you one last time before sighing and following.
The door clicks shut.
And no one hears footsteps retreating because of course they don’t leave. They stay just outside. Pressed up against the glass wall like they’ve got a right to any of what’s about to happen.
Inside? Maya turns to you, arms crossed, eyes soft, but still sharp enough to cut.
“You were fucking incredible,” she says, quiet and sure. “You know that, right?”
You don’t answer. Not with words. You’re up before you know it, rising from the chair like you’re being pulled to her.
Maya barely gets her arms open before you’re on her, hands in her hair, mouth on hers, kissing her like you need it to live. It’s not graceful. Not curated. It’s messy. Desperate. Honest.
She catches you easily. One hand on your waist, the other fisting in the back of your shirt as your mouth moves hot and hungry over hers.
You mumble against her lips, voice cracking, “I was shaking. I was shaking, Maya.”
“I know,” she says, kissing you again. Slower this time. “But they didn’t see it. You held the room. You made the call. You were fucking brilliant, baby.”
Your hands are everywhere, cupping her face, grabbing her shirt, trying to climb into her skin. “I hate meetings,” you breathe. “I hate rooms like this.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted to hide.”
“I know,” she says, grounding her palm at the small of your back. “And you still did it.”
She kisses you again, rough and claiming, and you melt into it, letting her hold your weight like she always does. Her hand slides up your spine, holding you tight, kissing you like she’s proud. Like you’re hers. Like you always have been.
Outside the door, Matt whispers, “Are they… are they making out right now?”
Sal nods, reverent. “I think she just cried on her a little.”
Quinn’s smirking. “She chose Maya, not us.”
And inside?
Maya breaks the kiss only to murmur against your lips, her voice hoarse.“You want me to tell them you’ve made your decision?”
You nod, breathless. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Tell them I’m yours.”
Maya grins. “Oh, they know.”
The door swings open.
Maya strides out like a woman who’s just pulled off the heist of the century. She’s grinning. Smug. Unbothered. Lips a little redder than they were ten minutes ago.
Sal looks up, stunned. Quinn raises an eyebrow, already clocking the lipstick situation.
Matt shoots to his feet. “Well?”
“She said yes,” Maya says, without ceremony. “You can unclench now.”
Matt nearly wilts with relief. “Holy shit. Okay. Amazing. What do you need? What do we need to-”
“I want a proper budget,” Maya cuts in, already gathering her bag like she’s about to leave a crime scene. “None of this pretend-support bullshit. I want a full team, proper spend, launch runway, and I want control of the marketing. Not a taste. Not a ‘collaborative’ voice. Control.”
Matt nods, fast, desperate. “Yes. Fine. Whatever she needs.”
“Good,” Maya says, slinging her bag over her shoulder, grin spreading. “You can tell Griffin she’ll be in touch with a script by the end of the week.”
Sal blinks. “She’s already finished it?”
“She’s already writing a sequel,” Maya says, breezing past.
“And where are you going?” Quinn asks, voice amused, arms crossed.
Maya flashes a wicked grin as she opens the door. “I’ve got a meeting with Mackie and Ron Howard at the Sunset Tower in twenty. And then I’m taking my girl home.”
Matt’s jaw drops. “You’re- wait, what?”
But Maya’s already gone.
And behind her? You trail after her quietly, your fingers brushing hers. Head down. Lips kissed raw. You don’t say anything to the room as you leave.
You don’t need to.
Because Maya already said it all.
The SUV is silent, the tinted windows shielding you from the chaos you just left behind. The studio’s glass façade disappears behind you like a fading mirage.
Maya’s sitting beside you in the back seat, legs wide, arm slung lazily along the backrest behind your shoulders. Her other hand rests firmly on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, idle circles through the fabric of your trousers.
You haven’t said much since leaving.
You don’t need to.
She breaks the silence first. Voice low. Warm. Slightly smug. “You were a fucking machine in there.”
You laugh softly, head dropping to her shoulder. “I was shaking.”
“And still owned the room,” she says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You didn’t just say yes to the deal, you dictated the terms. You looked Matt Remick in the face and said, ‘I trust her, not you.’ You could’ve spat in his latte and he still would’ve thanked you.”
You smile against her neck, quiet and dazed.
“I was just trying not to cry.”
Maya scoffs. “Yeah, well. You made me want to cry. Proud tears. Or maybe power-hungry tears. Still unclear.”
Her hand squeezes your thigh, harder now.
“Seriously, though,” she says, glancing at you. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A beat of silence.
Then her voice drops even lower. “You know what happens to good girls who hand me entire marketing budgets and creative control?”
You lift your head slowly, lips parted, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.
“What?”
Maya leans in, grinning like the devil. “They get fucked stupid.”
~
The house is quiet when you get in.
Your shoes are off before you realize it. Your hands are a little shaky, your breathing shallow like you’ve just finished running, but it’s not fear. It’s the come-down. The crash after the biggest high of your life.
You’re going to direct your film. With a real budget. With real backing. And with Maya’s studio. You’re going to make your movie. And you didn’t cry. Not once.
You’re in the middle of the living room, fingers pressed to your lips like you’re still trying to convince yourself it’s real, when you feel her behind you.
Maya slides her arms around your waist from behind, her mouth at your neck. “You did it,” she whispers, low and sure.
You nod slowly. “I didn’t cry.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“I talked. I said what I wanted. I told them to trust you.”
“You were perfect,” she says, and there’s no hesitation in it.
You turn in her arms to look at her, eyes wide and glossy. “I didn’t think I could-”
Maya cuts you off with a soft kiss. Then another. And then she pulls back, eyes dark. “You didn’t just do it,” she says. “You owned it. You handed me a whole fucking studio’s trust, like it was nothing. And you know what, baby?”
You shake your head, dizzy with her voice.
“I’m gonna make you feel everything tonight.”
She kisses you again, slower now, hands moving down your back to squeeze your ass as she walks you backward toward the bedroom.
“You trust me?” she murmurs.
“Yes.”
“Good. Strip.”
Your breath catches.
Maya steps back just enough to pull her gucci hoodie off. Her bra’s black, expensive, perfect. Her eyes never leave yours.
You pull your shirt off slowly, fingers fumbling slightly, body humming. By the time your clothes hit the floor, she’s already reaching into the drawer by the bed.
When she turns back, she’s got the harness on, low-slung, black leather, heavy with promise. Her eyes burn into you as she adjusts the straps, slow and practiced.
You’re already trembling.
“Get on the bed,” she says. “Hands above your head.”
You obey.
You always obey for her.
She climbs on top of you, straddling your hips, kissing you deep, one hand cupping your jaw, the other tracing down your throat. “Still with me, babygirl?”
You nod, lips parted. “Always.”
And then she takes her time. Mouth on your neck. Then your chest. Her tongue curling around each nipple, licking and sucking until you’re whining, arching up into her, begging already and she hasn’t even touched you where you need it.
“You gonna let me fuck you slow?” she whispers, kissing down your stomach.
“Yes… please… ”
“Gonna let me take care of you?”
“Yes, Maya…”
She kisses your thighs reverently. Then slips a hand between them, parting you gently. She leans down, kisses your clit once, softly. Then again. Then sucks it just hard enough to make you gasp. By the time she slides the tip of the strap into you, you’re already panting, needy, hands gripping the sheets. And still she moves slowly. Inch by inch.
“You’re so tight for me, baby,” she murmurs, watching you fall apart. “So fucking wet.”
You moan, high and desperate. “Please- please, Maya…”
“I know, babygirl. I got you.”
She fucks you with long, deep strokes, no rush, no teasing. Just possession. Her hand on your stomach to hold you down, her strap dragging against every perfect spot inside you as she watches you lose yourself beneath her.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to yours. “Say it.”
“I’m yours…I’m yours, Maya- fuck!”
“That’s right,” she growls, picking up the pace just slightly, her hips rolling into you in smooth, relentless rhythm. “All fucking mine.”
And when you come, crying out her name, back arching off the bed? She doesn’t stop. She kisses you through it. Fucking you deep and slow until you’re trembling, overstimulated, wrecked. Only then does she slow down, hands soft again, kisses returning to your chest, your face, your lips.
“Breathe, baby,” she murmurs. “You did so good. My perfect girl.”
You nod, eyes fluttering shut as you collapse beneath her.
Safe.
Home.
And completely hers.
~
The room is low-lit and warm, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only comes after. After the chaos. After the fight. After the fuck.
You’re both in bed.
You’re curled into her side, skin bare but for the threadbare Stevie Nicks tee you stole from her weeks ago and never gave back. Legs tangled under the sheets, arms wrapped around her waist like you’re anchoring yourself to something real.
Maya’s already half reclined, propped against a velvet pillow, silk YSL pyjamas buttoned down just enough to flash the edge of her collarbone. She’s got a facemask pulled up on top of her head like she forgot she meant to use it. Her phone’s on the nightstand. She hasn’t looked at it in an hour.
The only light comes from the old black-and-white horror film flickering across the flatscreen, The Haunting, or maybe Carnival of Souls, something you love with too much reverence for anyone else to touch.
You’re transfixed. Eyes wide. Body relaxed in the way it only ever is when Maya’s hand is resting between your shoulder blades, fingers moving in lazy, absent circles.
She watches the screen for a minute. Watches you watch the screen. Then she laughs softly under her breath. It’s affectionate. Disbelieving.
“Jesus,” she murmurs, lips ghosting against your hair. “I’m dating the next big name in cinema and she’s still just a little cryptid watching ghost films in my bed.”
You don’t even look at her. “I heard that.”
“I meant it.”
You hum, small and smug.
She shifts slightly, brushing her nose against the crown of your head.
You’re not talking. But your hand’s curled into the silk at her waist, absentmindedly twisting the fabric between your fingers like you’re grounding yourself there.
It makes her chest ache.
There are meetings waiting in her inbox. Contracts to finalize. An entire launch strategy to sketch out for a movie that doesn’t even exist on paper yet.
But none of it matters right now.
Because you, her strange, brilliant, batshit little artist, are asleep in her arms, breathing slowly, dreaming vividly, probably whispering storyboards in your head as you drift.
She smiles, slow and full, and tightens her arm around you.
And for a moment, just a moment, Maya Mason, queen of twenty-city press runs and million-dollar deadlines, just lies there. Holding her girl. Breathing in your soft weirdness. Letting herself be still.
And as the film plays on, grainy and echoing with ghostly screams, you mumble something into her neck. Something half-formed and sleepy.
“Fog machines…”
She stifles a laugh.
“Yeah, baby,” she whispers. “You can have fog machines.”
Maya Mason Masked Murdere/Actress Fem Reader | AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰| Maya + Reader MasterList | Darkfic +DeadDove List
Warning : Bl00d Kink / Vi0lence / Mask Kink / Sm_t / Yandere / Murder / RIP Sal / Maya is Unhinged / Possesive / Jealousy / G0re / Knif3 Play / Dirty Books Made Me Do the Knif3 Handle / Tongu3s / Mask Kissing / Clos3 Pins / Dirty 90's Phone Calls / Voice Jumbler / Agent Vidal Won't Win / Dark Romance? / Pain Kink / Bad BD$M / No Safe Word / D3ad D0ve / 3.5 k words / 18+
“Uh well, thanks for all your hard work. Uh, well…We cannot in good conscience continue filming, so we are officially stopping,” Matt told the production team, Matt stood there with his group. Quinn, Sal, Maya, and Tyler, all there as if it were the last supper or something. As you and the filming crew were supposed to watch like lost shepherds. The cops and detectives were all at the sidelines, waiting for someone to move out of place. To confess to being a serial killer maybe?
Your laugh broke through the crowd like a whip. A single manic noise in a frightful lot in Hollywood. You don’t see Maya smirk on stage.
How many dead actors until a studio takes the hint and shuts the production down?
Three, it turned out, actually.
The FBI agent Vidal’s eyes were narrowed on you as you laughed inappropriately. She was sure you were guilty, which was comical, really.
But then you weren’t being completely honest with Agent Vidal. You hadn’t mentioned the interesting communication you’d been having, the strange fucking phone calls, the gifts, what happened last night…
But you were desperate.
You’d needed this movie, okay, half-truth.
Yes, you wanted to do this horror movie, and your career was in crisis.
But it was deeper than that.
Sicker, if you were telling the truth.
The killer with the mask was on a rampage, but he was killing…bad people.
People who were cruel to you on set.
First was a casting director who implied you should blow him for the part.
Poor Mark was stabbed through both eyes with his member cut off. He’d been with the studio since the 70s. (And instantly replaced without a thought, but that’s LA for you).
The next day you got a letter with a single black rose.
Apologizing for the hideous remarks and saying that this admirer would never be so crass. That they would make love to you slowly.
You didn’t tell the police, unsure why. Something felt wildly too revealing. You’d have to explain and - you didn’t want to.
Instead, you ate the story and placed the flower in a vase.
Then, the excuses tacked ontop of each other. You stuck to your complicity. once the murder had passed, and the press got more excited for the film. You didn’t want to get into trouble for withholding evidence.
The next week of filming, everyone was on edge, some even implying it was a stunt from the studio to boost marketing sales.
Then the next victim. The second was a costume artist who implied you’d been too fat to fit into the negligee for the opening running scene.
His fingers were found, and they were able to identify his body in a bad part of town, skinned like someone was partial to wearing him. Stabbing to his major arteries, slow bleed out.
At that point, rumor had spread that you might be behind it.
Cops watched you closely.
A tail everywhere you’ve gone.
That's when you’d gotten the first phone call.
“You liked my rose.” The voice asked, and you inhaled sharply. Not a person you recognized. You should hang up. You should call 911. You should at least lock your doors. Instead, you spun to look at the rose, and answered back like you were some stupid final girl in this horror movie;
“I’ve never been given a flower before.” You say too honestly.
“Not even for your school performances?” The voice was shrill, through some kind of voice jumbler.
Giving you the reality that you knew this person. Not recognized, but they were concerned enough to go to this length. Could it be someone on set playing a trick? No, how would they know about the rose unless it was the killer.
Why were you impressed they’d gone to all this trouble? You were fucked up.
They were guilty, that this was wrong.
“I should call the police.” You tried to reason with yourself more then the killer, but gripped your phone tighter.
The sinister answer was fast, not liking you pussying out.
“No, no, no, not a good idea.” They threatened.
“What exactly is the endgame here?” You said, contemplating if you should try your pager. Page the studio or Agent Vidal, her card still on your kitchen table.
“You.”
The phone line cracked, you feel cold sweat roll down your back.
You don’t know how to answer that; they can’t be serious.
“That’s not very funny,” you reason back, and whatever voice scrambler did a little sadistic laugh.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like scary movies?” The voice sounded masculine, but something about this felt too smart; you imagined a woman.
You move the landline phone away from your mouth for a minute, rubbing your lips together, trying to think of a way to not incriminate yourself.
What if you gave the killer the wrong answer? What if you lied? What if you didn’t turn them in?
You bite your lip, but bring the bottom of the phone back to answer;
“Of course I do.” It would be dumb to lie as the person enrolled in the lead of a horror movie contract, and a franchise no less.
“What’s your favorite scary movie?” The voice asks, seeming to be enjoying themselves.
“Why? Do you want a date night?” You snark back, and the laugh on the end sends your hair on edge.
“I would love date night, but you’d have to follow the rules. And big stars like you, I’m afraid the femme fatale type doesn’t listen to rules. But would you, for me? In my spooky, scary mask, with my long knife, could you be a good girl for me?” The voice asks, and you hated how your breathing was coming out on the phone now.
“I think I should hang up now.” You say, but the uncertainty is clear. And the killer just laughs again.
“Don’t be boring, I know you're not boring. Don’t start now, tell me - would you behave for me? Would you lick the mask? Would you bend over in those black cute panties with your ass cheeks peaking out, and let me spank you? Or is that too vanilla- too girly for a woman of your needs?” The voice hits you right at your core, fuck this.
You look down, how could they see you were wearing your black panties? Were they inside the house? You look over at your kitchen window. Moving to pull the blinds down-
“Don’t, you’ll make me so sad.” The killer says.
You know what they do when they’re mad, you hate to see them sad.
You stood still staring out into the night, no lights to be see . Just pitch black outside your window.
“I knew you’d want to play. You’re just as bad as me.” You hear from the speaker, you're holding the phone like it’s a lifeline.
You still don’t hang up. You need to hang up.
“I don’t want to play anymore.” You answer slowly, but you both know it’s a lie.
“Oh come on now, if you don’t play, you can’t win.” The caller tries to entice you.
“What could I possibly win that I’d want?” You snarl back but you already know.
“I’ve already given so many fun gifts, don’t you doubt me now. Not when you see how much I can make happen.” The threat gives you insight.
You're suddenly freezing cold in your hoodie and black panties, in your kitchen, waiting to die, waiting to be stabbed.
You imagine the knife penetrating your skin, then the image bounces in your mind where your bleeding out with the phone in your hand and a knife in your chest.
The image leaves, and the adrenaline washing through you is both alluring and horrifying.
“Aren’t you a bit curious who I am?” They taunt and it’s killing you, you have to know.
So much of your life you felt forgotten, looked over, ignored. Why else would you choose acting? To finally be seen.
But here was your secret admirer, your very first one. And they’d do anything for you…Perhaps that was so worth the gamble with your life.
Your fingers grip the landline so hard your white knuckling it.
“You’re not some sicko assistant tech or something, you work higher up.” You string it together and hear a hum through the speakers. They liked that.
“They’re my girl.” The caller says the praise, and it rocks your whole being. Why are you so fucked?
“You work at the studio.” You repeat it, like you can’t believe your actually getting somewhere. Suck it Agent Vidal, how far had she made it in the case? Fuck her perfect smile and sexy boobs, you were an actress making better headway then her.
“You already said that kitten.”
“I’m not your kitten, I’m not your girl, now tell me who the fuck you are?” You spit out, taking a step closer to the window, hoping they can see you now.
“Oooh, look at you. I knew you had guts, knew it before the silly director saw you. Knew it before the studio got word of you. But seeing you here in your little panties mean mugging me, well this really gets me going.” The caller said excited, and you got a gross idea.
“Fuck please don’t be Matt or Sal, I’ll never be able to unimagine that. Sal already gives me the creeps.” You feel like you might throw up, another laugh on the line.
“No, remember I have power, real power, not a simpleton. Pay attention, or I’ll have to make this more painful.”
The hair on the back of your neck stands up.
“Is that what your going to do, hurt me?” You swallow drly, and you can see your reflection in the window.
There’s a pause.
“Do you fear that, it doesn’t sound like you do. How cute. Is that what you want, pain? Would that make you quiver?” The voice jumbler can’t hide how the killers voice deepens. You’ve made them aroused.
You twist around you, grabbing the cord of the phone like it might save you. You rock back on your heels, ready to turn away.
“You aren’t even here, I’m not-I’m not going to dirty talk on the phone-to-to a murderer! I’m not flirting some sex game-”
“Isn’t it though?” The ask hits you in the chest, your heart pounds.
“I’m hanging up.” You sound less and less sure, and the psycho on the other end knows it.
“No your not, you’re mine. We both knew that before you even answered the phone.” The caller says and you bite your lip so hard it bleeds.
Neither of you say a word.
You scrunch your toes and stare into the night imagining what they might look like.
“Pull your underwear down.”
It wasn’t a question. The killer was telling you, in the middle of the night, in front of the window.
You slowly raise your left hand, your thumb playing with the elastic, a bit of your pubic hair peaking out.
That was the first time.
The first of many, so many calls, so much touching. So many things you swore you’d enver do.
Your pulled back into the present day as FBI Agent Vidal walks in front of Matt now, and she’s eyeing you more than the crowd.
The third victim had been found, Sal. He’d evidently made a remark about you needing to do more ‘nude work.’ They’d taken his body off of the Hollywood sign, guess he finally got instead of gave some of the ‘D,’ he was so found of talking about.
You’d stared at the photo’s this morning, the stab wounds were consistent.
Your admirer was dramatic if not reliable.
You never should have mentioned Sal, had you wanted this?
“If you have any information, please come forward. If you are hiding something or aiding in this killer in any way-” Vidal’s trying to make you feel the heat. But you disasociate as her lips move. Unaware of the head of marketing watching you just as closely. Her blue eyes remembering what you looked like bent over naked, screaming and moaning as you were inscructed where to put the closepins. As you ruined yourself for a masked crazed lunatic…..with a knife.
Agent Vidal tried to say something about how if everyone co-operates this will all be over soon.
They were all wrong. It won’t stop it.
Your lover won’t stop until she’s satisfied, and they weren’t smart enough to catch them.
You were biased of course….
But then…..after last night, you don’t know if you want this ever to end.
Fuck you don’t know anything after last night….
Everything had changed;
You’d been waiting by the phone, only no call.
Everynight they called, every single night.
So you waited by the tv, it quietly playing a slasher film. You were already, your panties on and nothing else.
Something must have been broken inside of you, that you didn’t care about anything else anymore. Not acting, not the studio worrying about this stupid film.
Your mind was consumed.
You stared at your corded phone like it was the only thing that could save you.
You were past hating yourself for craving their attention. Past being embarrassed while you defiled yourself for their enjoyment.
Something about the carnage, all that murder in your name…. delighted you.
The clock ticked on the wall.
The phone didn’t ring.
You waited.
You would learn in the morning why your admirer was so late. Traffic from the Hollywood Sign wasn’t easy at any time of night.
You tried so hard to stay awake, but your eyes got heavy staring at that phone. Sleep stole you before your killer could ring.
You woke up with a start, grabbing the phone to answer it, only to have dreamt it run in the first place.
The dial tone was practically taunting you.
“Hello? Hello?” You said to the phone lines to no one. But still the dial tone run like a bad dream.
You put it down and groan, attempting to wipe the sleep from your eyes. This would be the first night of not hearing a word from the killer.
Your monster.
You decide to go to bed, no use enjoying the feeling of being stood up.
Yawning and half asleep already, you carry your exhaustion out of the living room, towards the hall with your bedroom.
You don’t get that feeling that happens in horror movies, where something is off. Don’t notice a change in your surroundings.
You walk into your bedroom, confused why all the blankets are gone, the candles lit, rose petals on the ground.
You spin on your heel and run towards the front door, only to see a figure step out.
The mask was nightmare fuel, simple, yet the deep black eyes gave you nothing.
No idea what emotion was held. Long mouth something akin to a psychotic childs drawing. A halloween mask, the terrifying figure was taller than you. Wearing a black robe and boots.
They pulled from behind their back a long black knife, you stepped back.
This is the part where you run.
You watched as your intruder didn’t step forward, didn’t lunge, didn’t cut you up.
You took a shaky breath opening your mouth to say something, anything.
You’d asked for date night, it seemed your admirer had delivered.
You tried to calm yourself but your heart was pounding in your ears and you were somewhere between excited and mortified.
The killer tilted their head to the side, like a dog who is trying to understand a command.
“You-You came.” You say lamely and instantly wish you’d been more creative.
Your intruder tilted their head back, walked forward slowly, knife raised to the side, you walked backwards.
Unsure why you weren’t picking up speed, weren’t screaming bloody murder.
But you walk all the way back to your bedroom, with it’s flicker candlelight, the rosepedals are softer then kittens cheeks under your feet.
Your butt hits the end of your bed and you almost stumble but manage to catch yourself.
The masked assailant walks the distance until they’re body bumps against yours.
You’re sure it’s a woman now, her chest presses against yours, up close like that - you can smell expensive perfume and something….salty? No what was that? It was…Coppper, it was…blood?
They lunge forward and you stay still as your killer stabs your bed with the nine inch blade.
You jump but don’t run, the gloved hand grabs your throat, and it’s wet - bloody.
You don’t move an inch, terrified it’s about to be the end, terrified you’ll wake up and this will be another hot dream.
But as the masked killer’s bloody hands moves down your neck, smearing the sticky substance down your throat, down down - she pushes down your underwear.
You must look like some sort of bad fingerpainting, but the message was clear.
You were staying still, silent, as your admirer marked you.
She grabbed the end of your top and ripped it through the middle, you gulped and she watched the way your red coated throat bobbed.
Her greedy hands pushed the fucked fabric until your breasts were hers to play with.
The black gloves cupping them, pinching and twisting, making you try your best not to moan.
The masked head tilts, like she’s learning you, learning how to play your body.
You bite your lip trying not to make noise, not to lose it, but as your nipples were now crimson and her hands roamed freeling down your rib cage, you thought this might be the most alive you have ever felt.
On the verge of death.
You try not to yelp when the voice scrambler finally makes it’s appearance again, and the masked individual sounds just like the phone calls.
“I thought you wanted date night?” It says dripping with charm.
You are too scared to laugh, but too horny to scream, of course now’s the time she makes a joke.
“Take off the mask, I want to see you.” You say with more confidence than you thought possible.
Your hand reaches out and she pulls back.
“I thought you liked the mask? Kitty doesn’t like my games anymore?” Your bloody killer is so flirty you are already dripping wet and somehow covered in someones blood. Who’s you don’t question, too busy with your tits out, nipples hard as diamonds.
“You wanted me, you have me. I think I’ve proven I’m not going to the cops, please?” Your voice cracks at the end, your killers thumbs go back to your nipples. As if she’s mesmerized by you, now you feel powerful.
Her gloved fingers pinch your nipples painfully and your knees buckle just a bit, but your masked woman won’t let you fall yet.
Even through the voice machine, you hear her anger.
“I’m not scared of your horny Agent Vidal, she couldn’t make you cum. Not like I have. And you know better to play with dead things. She will get got on her own time.” The masked killer gave you the clue, a little treat. What was that phrasing? Who else said things like ‘get got?’
“You’d kill her, just to-”
Her mask comes impossibly closer to you, and your eyes widen at just how intimidating she is.
“I’ve killed so many more, for so much less. You have a way about you, my little muse.”
You can practically hear her smiling.
You could unpack that later, you’re too selfish you have to ask;
“I want to-” You start but stop, feeling stupid.
“Do it.” Your lover says so strong it fills you with something.
You lift your face up, heavy brath, hesitant, afraid she would deny you like past lovers.
But your staring into the black holes of a dark mask. Souless, empty, and unyielding.
You’ve never felt more alight. Every nerve ending on fire.
You place a kiss on the white plastic jaw, once.
The moan you hear is both from the voice changer, and in her chest.
It gives you a head high.
The blood starts to dry on your skin, you are baptised.
You kiss down the jaw once, twice, then you feel bold.
You let your tongue lick the black fabric, and feel a hard wet muscle through the fabric lick back.
You both moan now.
Adam and God’s first touch.
Two wet tongues ready to devour each other whole, with that thin barrier.
You’re fucked.
The bloody glove grabs the back of your head, your hair fisted, you scalp burns.
You whine, missing the wet tongue more than oxygen.
“You didn’t say you liked the room, easy kitten. All in good time. But you promised me you’d ride me. I think it’s time you make good on that, don’t you think?” She tells you, and you look down to her crotch and she laughs.
“Uh uh, turn around my little star. I have something thicker for you to ride.” Your masked terror tells you, spinning you with the foce of her grip.
You see the knife, jet black blade, sticking out of your mattress.
You shudder, a full body reaction.
“Go on superstar, show me.”
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𓂃 ࣪ ࣪⋆✩˚ ༘ [thee avengers]: The Concept of ‘Fucked’ in Different Contexts
— in which! you somehow found yourself in the middle of chaos in debris-filled NYC with no recollection of how you got there in the first place.
OR soulmates exist and you were the lucky egg tethered to the Earth's Mightiest Heroes (but here's the catch: you have zero fucking idea).
word count: 1.3k
content! cliché, very crackfic-adjacent, NO DEFINITE TIMELINE YET, idiots being idiots, reader's dealing with an existential crisis, reader judging alien's guts, maybe mildly improper use of research & mathematics terminologies (tho i'm pretty sure it's not, but just in case), SOULMATES AU!, questionably executed poly bcuz i'm greedy n i want them all to fall for you, not beta'ed we die like my will to live when my goat sacrificed himself, eng not my first lang, did i write this while high? feels like a fever dream
“WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING FUCK..?” You whispered to yourself, mildly incoherent. Your head throbbed, and you could barely feel your damn body—it felt like the plug connecting your brain to your physicality was damn near severed, with the way that your body refused to cooperate. Abhorrently so.
All you could remember was falling, and the vague feeling of crashing into a nearby ten-story building. Which—in theory—is fucking impossible considering you were just rawdogging your solo thesis and overdosing on caffeine less than ten minutes ago. Fuck chatgpt, you have a fully functioning brain (that you intend to use to the full extent, even if it’s barely cooperating) and a spanish latte addiction—you can do everything.
Your eyes opened due to sheer willpower, because, apparently, nothing truly works until you put your whole mind into it. No, you don't think that's quite how the quote goes, but yes, you'll take what you can get.
And, well, if waking up to chaos, destruction, and friendly fire was what you’d get, you’d gladly demand a refund. Even if, hypothetically, you have social anxiety—you’d even do it with a smile. Because seriously, what the fuck?
“Cap, civilian on your six o’clock.”
“Impossible. There was no one there two minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, check again. I can see her still as a statue.”
Now, you were about to resign to your poor, unfortunate fate. You saw something faintly reminiscent of an alien with a sword-thing bulldozing straight towards you, aiming for your untimely demise, and you thought oh! great, i wouldn’t have to embarrass myself in front of the panelists.
Well that would’ve been the plan, if not for a certain super-soldier-serum-infused captain sliding over to save your ass and a lone arrow whirling straight to the alien-thing’s brain—blowing it cleanly off with a loud baam!
You saw guts. Purpley, goey, guts.
Were those intestines?
Oh my god, why the fuck was it chunky?
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
“Do not ask me the color of anything.” You whispered, brain still too pretty to function, staring at the person carrying you into… safety? You don’t know anymore. At some point, you thought cyan and turquoise were the same thing—and you used to be very particular with colors. Like five minutes ago, when you hadn’t seen an alien’s flying guts in 4k resolution.
Then your eyes drifted to your—for lack of better terms—now-unmasked-carrier.
Damn, why does he look like that—in a good way, but like why?
He looked insanely familiar, too. Mhmn…
It wasn’t until a debris-filled road made him slightly trip, almost loosening his grasp on you—shaking your insides. Not the good kind. “Oh god, I think I’ll hurl my dinner.” Whispering, your grip involuntarily tightened on his neck, heart immediately dropping to your ass as it pounded heavily in your eardrums. Hey, at least you got your senses back. Barely. But a win is a win.
It was afternoon. 2:54 pm, to be exact.
Meanwhile Steve Rogers just thinks he (unfortunately) picked up a mildly pathetic chick. And he would’ve brushed it off, if not for his soul-mark—coincidentally placed below your frozen-in-fear hand—burning like a bitch. It’s the only reason why he tripped; after all, nothing could deter the captain when he’s saving lives. Not even a lone pebble deliberately placed to screw him over (the pebble did nothing, it was innocent).
“You’re safe, don’t worry.” Steve couldn’t help but reassure the stranger. His instincts automatically made his mouth spew the words without thinking of the consequences—if there were even consequences. It’s normal to comfort strangers, he thinks. More so if the stranger was his soulmate, he thi—no, he backtracks. “I got you.”
“I mean, I would hope so.” You replied without thinking, eyes trailing to stare ahead of you, blinking once, twice—then whimpered involuntarily when you caught a glimpse of a heinous-looking gigantic alien that looked exactly like it was pulled from your worst nightmares. “Okay, no matter what you do, do not look back. Please.”
Normally, he would’ve listened. Because Steve treats warnings with careful precaution—he’d learnt that from his military days. But he hadn’t been doing things as he normally would for the past ten minutes. You’re the anomaly. He’s actively choosing to blame you.
“What?” Steve momentarily stopped, confusion coating his features as he subtly tried to turn.
When he did, what he saw was an ugly fucking alien beelining straight to where he was currently standing—all towering and fucking ugly. “What the fuck.” He whispered, staring at the god-awful centipede-like creature. Well, if the centipede was 10x angry and 10000x bigger. Did he mention ugly?
Subtlety be damned, you still felt the light shift—and, swear to god—you felt him freeze. “Do not look ba—I told you not to look back!” You panicked. And panicked was an understatement as your painted nails dug into his soft flesh.
And then he’s sprinting. Oh god, he’s sprinting.
Not away, no. Oh no, you would’ve fallen for that handsome, bulky stranger if he was.
He was sprinting towards it. With the sole intention of killing it off with his well-painted shield and brute force.
You think he had forgotten the fact that he was still carrying you—the quote-unquote innocent civilian he was supposed to rescue. He didn’t. He very clearly whispered a hold on tight—I’ll make this quick, while shifting you securely in his hold. And then you thought you met god.
Not that god, the other god. The one who screams another! while breaking a mug-god. The one who preaches those who are worthy could lift the hammer-god. The one who—yeah, you get the gist. It’s damn Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder-god.
You were hammered, but not hammered enough to the point that you’d forgotten Chris Hemsworth gorgeously portrayed that handsome male specimen—that’s, well, currently standing in front of you, striking that god-awful fuck-ass creature-thing. “Are you alright?”
You would’ve swooned. Really, you would’ve. If only you weren’t—you know—creating impossible hypotheses you never thought would’ve been created, due to the sheer absurdity of ever thinking about it, like, at all.
Great, now you don’t even know what the absolute fuck you were thinking.
At least now you’re assured that you aren’t made by A.I. Because if you don’t even know what you’re thinking, what makes you think a chatbot would?
But to simplify:
The one carrying you + painted shield + reassuring phrases + very captivating plump ass = Captain-America-slash-Steve-Motherfucking-Rogers
The one who bitch-slapped a creature + gorgeous long blond locks + hammer god = God-of-Thunder-slash-Thor-choke-me-with-those-bulky-biceps-Odinson
(America’s Ass + Golden Retriever God) + Chaos n’ Destruction + n = The Avengers
Now this leads to three utterly substantial statements of the problem—with their mind-fucking, corresponding hypotheses. Let’s delve deeper, shall we?
01. You had gone clinically insane, hyper-realistically imagining impossible scenarios from ypur severe lack of sleep.
Ha₁: You don’t need to defend your research no more; you’re insane.
Ho₁: You’re more prone to being admitted to the mental asylum, saying goodbye to your family and the friends you’ve made along the way.
02. You had somehow been transported into a parallel-slash-alternate reality due to the sudden clockwise shifting of the Earth’s axis.
Ha₂: The professors who laughed at you for proposing this as your research title can now suck your juicy fuckin’ ass.
Ho₂: They literally can’t; you (accidentally) altered a timeline (or universe, rather) you weren’t supposed to be in.
03. You died, finally biting the dust after an umpteen number of all-nighters and caffeine-induced psychosis.
Ha₃: You died. In theory.
Ho₃: You died. In practice.
With those written (in your head) SoPs, you arrived at approximately three (3) conclusions. Either you’ve gone insane (unlikely), or Earth said fuck you in tagalog then spun in reverse (maybe likely), or you’ve died from caffeine-induced overdose (please don’t be likely).
Either way, one thing’s for certain: you’re fucked.
okay hear me out, in my defense, i got lazy editing my masterlist okay. making banners (although satisfying) sucks the soul outta me (like how i wish leon would). so then i started writing like a drabble, then the drabble became a story, then the story became a chapter, then i started making a banner, then the next thing i knew, this post was already drafted lololol. Leon will be making a comeback soon, i have like *checks notes* 10 wips of that guy he's not going ANYWHERE.
anywhoo, i truly do miss these guys so i thought, why not make a classic avengers polyfic? rbs & comments for kisses, as always, ily
Warnings: Smut ahead. Angst. Yearning. A college love story. Mentions of sh, death and alcohol (minor talks).
Word Count: 22.2K Words
There were certain things everyone at university knew to be true. The library would always be packed during exam season. The coffee on campus tasted like burnt dirt. And if you ever spotted Natasha Romanoff walking across the quad, chances were you wouldn't find her alone. Somewhere within arm's reach was you, laughing at something she'd whispered, wearing her hoodie or athlete jacket despite owning plenty of your own, or absentmindedly reaching for her hand as though it had always belonged there.
The first thing people noticed about Natasha Romanoff was her confidence and her cocky nature (and she looked good but that was obvious). And the second thing was that she looked at you like you hung the moon and stars. It was the kind of love that didn't seem forced or performative. She would wait outside your lectures with your favorite drink, kiss your forehead before her track practice, and somehow convince you to skip studying just long enough to watch the sunset from the roof of your residence hall. And you did all of that, because you were deeply in love with her, that and Wanda said you were uptight and needed to loosen up.
You and Natasha were practically inseparable from the day you met, well that was a stretch but it was true in its own way. It all began when you were carrying a large suitcase with a box in one arm. You had been moving into your dorm suite and with your mom, still downstairs talking the RA's ear off, you basically had to do all of the heavy carrying alone. It was fine until you accidentally bumped into someone which resulted in you dropping the box that held most of your belongings.
"Shit. I'm sorry." You exhaled, bending over to pick the fallen goods up. What you weren't expecting was for the person to reach over and help pick your stuff up. You looked up to find a redhead holding the pink teddy bear your father had gifted you as a child before he passed away. Smooth. Heat flooded your cheeks as the redhead scanned the small teddy bear before giving you a smirk.
"Cute." She mumbled as you stood up before picking the box up from the floor. She straightened up and handed you the fluffy toy, hands grazing against your own in the process.
"You in this suite?" She asked and you gave a simple nod because at that moment you could not muster the courage to talk to the extremely good looking person that was standing in front of you. This would be the person you'd share a suite with? Woah.
"Natasha. Looks like we're roommates."
"Y/n." You replied with another curt nod. Natasha chuckled before pulling the heavy box out of your arms without asking. You raised an eyebrow as she opened the door. You took in the place. It was quite simple. There was the kitchen, a living room that had a small couch and the bathroom. On the other side were doors to what you assumed to be the bedrooms.
Natasha walked over to the empty bedroom. Your bedroom.
"You don't talk much huh?" You shrugged your shoulders while grabbing your suitcase and wheeling it in.
"Guess we'll get along great then."
"I...thank you." You stammered and the redhead gave you a look that sent flutters down your spine to your core.
"No problem." She set the box down onto the mattress and looked at you.
"I'll see you later then." Before you could reply, Natasha was out of your room, probably making her way to yours. You released a short breath before your mother stumbled into the suite, waving the RA (who'd been forced to carry the rest of your bags) into your room.
___
Later that day, you were already deep in organization mode. Classes didn't start for another two weeks, but your bedroom was immaculate. Bed made with crisp sheets, books stacked by subject on the desk, clothes folded and color coded in the closet, and your bookbag already packed with notebooks, pens, and a color coded syllabus you'd printed early. Perfection was control. Control was survival.
The redhead sauntered in like she owned the place, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, athletic shorts riding low on her hips, black tank top stretched across toned shoulders and arms. Her hair was messy in that deliberately effortless way, green eyes scanning the room with a lazy smirk.
"Damn, roomie. You moving in or building a museum?" She dropped her bag right in the middle of the floor, kicking off her sneakers without bothering to line them up. One landed near your perfectly arranged shoes.
You stared, jaw tight. Rude.
"Some of us like being prepared. You planning on living out of that bag all semester?" Natasha laughed, that low, cocky and flopped onto the unmade bed across from yours, arms behind her head.
"Relax, princess. It's college. Lighten up." She watched you reorganize the bag she'd slightly disturbed, clearly amused. You then proceeded to throw her own shoe back towards her which she caught with grace.
"Please refrain from coming into my room and leaving a mess." You explained.
"You always this wound up? Or is it just for me?" You hated her immediately. That smirk. That easy confidence. The way her masculine energy filled the room and made your carefully ordered world feel... disrupted.
And later that night, after you'd politely (but firmly) asked her to move her shit off the floor for the third time, she leaned against your desk while you were triple checking your planner.
"Is this cocky attitude the one that gets you girls?" You snapped, not even looking up.
"Because it's not working on me."
Natasha's grin widened, slow and dangerous.
"Who said I was trying to get you, sweetheart?" You gave Natasha a pointed look before you moved back to organizing your stuff. At least then you'd be able to put some order into your life unlike the redhead who just smirked and left your room.
__
Living with Natasha was a mission to say the least. If it weren't for the fact that she was awfully good looking, you'd really hate the redhead. You two had been living together for almost a month. At first, it was somewhat fine. You tolerated Natasha because she was civil and respected the rules and boundaries you came up with. But then, Natasha being Natasha had managed to get in your head after a while.
With that cocky attitude of hers, she thrived on driving you to the brink of insanity. Most days, Natasha would come back from her track practice, throw her bag on the kitchen counter before making her way into the bathroom to shower. You'd scold her occasionally about being messy, and she'd shrug it off by saying you needed to loosen up a little. You'd tell her to fuck off and then she'd smirk and call you "princess". You hated her. You hated her chaos. You hated her for being so attractive.
One late afternoon you'd come back to the apartment after having a long day of attending general biology, a statistics class and intro to psych. You walked in to find Natasha blending her usual protein shake. She was dressed in a black tank top and Grey sweatpants, hair wet probably from a shower. She glanced up at you, lips twisting into that smirk of hers once she set the lid onto the blender.
"Rough day princess?" You rolled your eyes while grabbing a glass from the cupboard above Natasha. For a moment you two were pressed up against one another before you stepped back to fill your glass with water.
"I told you to stop calling me that." You said after taking a sip from the glass and Natasha simply placed a spoon inside the sink. She turned to look at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe.
"What?"
"You look stressed."
"I am. Spent six hours with no break on campus." You finished the cup before rinsing it and placing it inside the sink.
"Make sure you clean up afterwards Romanoff."You mumbled before grabbing your backpack and heading to your room. Natasha watched you leave, eyes tracing the curve of your hips and your ass. She bit the inside of her cheek, hands gripping the counter top before accidentally dropping the spoon.
You looked back to find the redhead scratching the back of her neck while pretending like she had not been watching you walk away. Afterwards you slid into your room to take a light nap before you eventually had to study.
___
That same night you were on your bed, textbooks lined up in front of you as you made notes for your Intro to Psychology class. You'd opened the door to your bedroom because you needed the fresh air that your window was failing to provide.
Eventually you set the highlighter down to stretch. Your back was turned so you hadn't noticed the redhead that was leaning against your bedroom door. Natasha was about to make a comment but when a sliver of smooth skin showed and a soft almost moan like sound escaped your lips, Natasha swallowed the comment but that cockiness of hers remained.
She knocked on your door to get your attention before walking in and plopping on the empty side of your bed.
"Please, make yourself comfortable." You said sarcastically as she flipped through the thick textbook on your bed.
"Don't you have other things to do? Or I don't know, other girls to bother?"
"Why bother other people when I could just bother you? Besides I enjoy toying with you."
"You're such a menace."
"And you're insatiable." She retorted. You scoffed before getting up to put your notes into their color coded files. Natasha watched you with interest, one arm propped underneath her head while the other set the textbook down.
"You ever do anything else aside from color coding and organizing everything?"
"An organized life brings success Natasha."
"Huh. Y/n, we've been living together for almost two months and I've never seen you do anything remotely college like." You scoffed, moving towards your bed, ready to pull the redhead off of your bed but when accidentally bumped into your desk, it sent your small pouch bag onto the floor before the contents fell out.
Natasha's eyes trailed down before you could react, eyes widening and lips twisting into a huge grin. You scrambled down, picking the two perfectly rolled joints, weed flower, lighter and grinder up.
"Holy shit. Didn't think you had it in you." Natasha had managed to take one joint from you, assessing it with pure fascination before you grabbed it out of her hands.
"Give me that."
"Princess perfect is actually a stoner? Wow, impressive." She raised a brow, leaning onto your pillow as you shoved the pouch back into it's secret spot that you'd probably have to change later.
"Can you get out of my room?"
"Relax princess. I'm not judging you."
"I would not care if you did anyway." Natasha hummed then finally took the cue to leave.
"Alright then, I'll let you be." You exhaled once Natasha left your room but her scent was still clinging onto your pillow and her room. That night you struggled to sleep. You'd spent almost twenty minutes just tossing and turning before looking at the clock.
02:00
You sighed and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling for a good five minutes. But instead of fighting with sleep, you got out of bed, your bare feet padding against the cold bamboo flooring of your bedroom as you grabbed your slippers and put them on.
Natasha found you in the kitchen a few minutes later. She watched you boil water before pouring it into the cup and stirring it. Eventually she spoke up.
"Couldn't sleep?" You shook your head and she stepped closer.
"Me neither." You grabbed another cup, pouring hot water inside before placing one of the chamomile teabags inside.
"Is this one of your health focus tea brands?" You gave Natasha a look and she grabbed the mug before bringing it up to her lips. She took a sip and hummed.
"That's actually good."
"Anything is better than whatever concoctions you make for protein." Natasha laughed, actually laughed, not one of those half chuckles she gave after throwing one of her ridiculous and dry jokes.
You spent twenty minutes like that. Just talking about small things, like how the wind outside was crazier than usual, or how loud the neighbors were and even how school was going for you two. Nothing deep but also not surface level small talk. Somewhere along the line, the cups had gotten empty and both you and Natasha had migrated to the small couch in the living area.
She'd currently been talking about the upcoming track selections and how nervous she was.
"I think you'll do great."
"Yeah? And how do you know that?" She pushed and you shrugged.
"Dunno, guess I can kind of see it. You have a nice and lean frame."
"Is this you flirting with me princess?"
"Jesus, only you'd be capable of turning a compliment into something that would fill your ego." You smacked your lips and Natasha's grin only widened.
Eventually the topics shifted onto a much more personal level. But Natasha never spoke about her own life. Instead she asked you questions and you answered, keeping it vague but respectful. And eventually you both drifted to your own bedrooms, but not before Natasha stopped you.
"Thanks. That was really... good."
"You're welcome." You both stood in the hallway, looking up at one another before she eventually stepped back, almost bumping the wall in the process. You just shook your head with a small laugh and disappeared into your own bedroom.
___
A week after that early morning, Natasha had come back from another brutal track practice. She found you sitting on your bed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while you mindlessly bit the cap of your pen.
"Hey." She said, breaking you out of the frustrating trance you were in.
"Want to take a break?" She asked, eyebrows wiggling with what could only be mischief. You looked up and swallowed. Your eyes trailed down her sweaty frame, lean muscles and when you looked up you found the redhead waiting with that smirk of hers.
"I have a lot of work to do."
"Come on princess, don't be like that." You almost fought her but Natasha wasn't one to let things go. So you eventually sighed and slid your book from your lap and onto the bed.
"I'm not going anywhere with you until you take a shower." Natasha gave you one of her crooked smiles.
"What, you don't think I look good like this?"
"Shower or get out of my room." She eventually raised her hands up in surrender but left to go shower, mumbling how she'd be done in an hour.
That's how you found yourself walking with Natasha to some building behind the athletics complex. At first you fought her, mumbling how you had to be back soon because you were busy. But Natasha shut you down once she held up a fat joint, the words dying down fast.
"Huh, who would've thought that's all I needed to do to shut you up." She'd remarked while you shoved her shoulder.
"Shut up and let's go."
And that's how you found yourself sitting on a bench facing trees with off campus apartments. You two sat next to one another, watching the streets bustle with students going out for the night while others came back from the library. Natasha pulled out a simple black lighter before placing the joint in between her pink lips. You really never thought you'd envy a joint but here you were.
You watched her take a drag before exhaling the earthy smoke. You hated yourself for feeling this way about Natasha. She was cocky, egotistical, sometimes messy and annoying. But at the same time, she was also hot, funny and again, really fucking hot.
You were eventually pulled out of your thoughts when she leaned forward to hand you the joint. You accepted it before bringing it up to your own lips and inhaling the earthy smoke. Your body melted as the smoke curled around the both of you. You coughed once then took another inhale. Natasha didn't make fun of you, but she also did not wipe that smirk off of her face. You two sat there in silence for almost fifteen minutes before the weed finally settled deep within your bodies.
The high was smooth and calm. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulder as you leaned back against the wall. Within a few minutes you started talking. Really talking. About nothing and everything. Natasha watched your lips moved as you rambled on about something. She threw one of her dry jokes and you laughed. She liked the fact that you laughed. Your laugh sounded nice.
"You're fun like this." She said and you turned to look at her.
"That seems awfully backhanded."
"No, you're always locked in your bedroom so much that I never get to speak to you unless you're scolding me." All you could do was shrug your shoulders. I mean what else could you say?
"I know you think I'm uptight, but I'm not." You'd spoken up after a while of comfortable silence. Natasha turned around and looked at you properly this time. The way your curls framed your face, the way your skin shone under the campus lights and the way you seemed to always be in thought no matter the time. You looked really good. So good that Natasha wanted to lean in and kiss you. But all she did was clear her throat.
"We should go." She said, already standing up and offering her hand to help guide you up. You took it without saying anything this time. Her hand was warm, and it felt nice. You two walked back in comfortable silence, the high making the walk intense in the best way.
When the two of you reached your apartment, you gave Natasha a small shove with your shoulder again.
"Thanks. This actually really helped."
"No problem." You two stood there in the hallway before you nodded then walked into your bedroom and closed the door.
___
After that night, it sort of became a habit. You and Natasha would walk to the athletics complex, sit there while smoking and talking about stuff. Sometimes you'd just sit there in silence and watch nature take its course.
After a particularly long day of classes and practice, Natasha came back to the dorm with a fat, perfectly rolled blunt and that signature cocky smirk.
"Round two, princess. You in? Or are you too scared I'll corrupt your perfect little routine?" You rolled your eyes but agreed. The two of you ended up on the quiet grassy area behind the athletics building again, sitting on a blanket under the stars. The first hit already loosened the tension between you. By the time the blunt was half gone, you were both properly crossed, all giggly, warm, and hyper aware of each other.
You were lying on your back, looking up at the sky, when Natasha rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. Her red hair fell messily around her face, green eyes dark and intense as they traced over your body.
"You're really fucking hot when you're relaxed, you know that?" She murmured, her voice lower than usual. You turned your head, heart beating faster.
"You're only saying that because you're high."
"Nah." She leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.
"I've been thinking about this since the day your grinder fell out." The kiss started soft. It was tentative, tasting like weed and cherry lip balm. Then it deepened fast. Natasha's hand slid under your hoodie, palm hot against your warm skin as she cupped your breast. You moaned into her mouth, fingers threading through her red hair and tugging.
Things escalated quickly. She pulled you on top of her, hands gripping your ass as you straddled her hips. The high made everything feel slow and intense at the same time. You ground against her, hands still tugging red hair while her own hands played with your breasts. She pinched a nipple and you moaned louder into her mouth. But you eventually pulled back.
"We can't." Natasha looked up at you with dark eyes and swollen lips.
"Not outside. Someone could see us." You sat up whe fixing your hoodie.
You stood up on shaky legs almost tumbling back down onto her lap and Natasha laughed.
"Damn, already falling for me." She retorted and you kicked her shin. She groaned.
"Fair enough." She mumbled. With your help, Natasha stood up and picked the blanket she'd laid down along with her small bag that carried all of her miscellaneous stuff.
The walk back to your suite was charged with electricity and the leftover tension from before amplified by the high. When you reached the suite, she set the things down before turning to face you. You took a step back until you hit the kitchen counter.
"We should probably talk about the kiss." Natasha raised a singular brow.
"Talk?" You nodded.
"Y-yeah. Talk." Natasha stepped closer hands making their way around your waist.
"You seriously want to talk?" She pulled you closer to her and you gasped.
"N-Nat."
"I don't think you want to talk." She leaned forward, her lips inches away from yours.
"Nat..." You whispered, voice trembling.
"Yeah princess?" You closed your eyes and opened them again to find her green ones watching.
"Kiss me." She didn't need anymore convincing, her lips found yours.
This time the kiss was heated, all the built up frustration from your days and the tension that had been simmering between you two for the past few weeks now being poured out into this kiss. Natasha pressed you further into the wall before she wedged her thigh in between your legs. The moan you let out was muffled by her lips but it still managed to send heat down to Natasha's own core.
"I want to hear you make that sound again." She'd whispered against your lips, her hands roaming around your waist but still remaining respectful. The realization alone sent flutters down your own stomach. You ground yourself against her thighs, and Natasha took the opportunity to grip onto your ass, pulling you closer. With strong arms, Natasha picked you up and led you to the nearest room which was your bedroom.
She carried you into your bedroom, foot closing your door right after before "gently" placing you onto your neatly made bed.
"Hey, careful-"
"These sheets are gonna be messed up when I'm done with you anyways. Should be the least of your worries." She leaned forward to kiss you again, and you pulled her against you. Her hands slid under your hoodie, pushing it up. You let her pull it off, then your t-shirt underneath, heart pounding with desire.
That's when she saw them. The faint silvery scars on your upper arms and across the softer skin below your collarbones caught the low lamplight. You froze once you'd noticed the change in her expression. Shame hit like ice water through the haze. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide, curls falling forward as you curled in on yourself.
"I think you should maybe leave." Just then Natasha grabbed your wrists, pulling you even closer. She didn't say anything, she didn't have to say anything. She'd seen them in passing when you were changing and she accidentally caught a glimpse of your body from behind (you were late for class after accidentally spilling coffee on your shirt and you'd forgotten to close the door).
Natasha simply pressed a kiss onto the jagged marks on your upper arms and the smaller ones on your collarbone. Your once tense body relaxed as she kept pressing kisses from your collarbone and onto your neck. You eventually leaned back, letting Natasha continue kissing and biting the smooth skin. She eventually found the sweet spot that had you letting out the softest sounds that made her suck and bite even more.
More clothes came off before you were both on your bed naked. At one point you'd stopped to lecture Natasha for carelessly throwing her hoodie onto the floor but that stopped once she'd started trailing her lips downwards until she was in between your thighs. She slipped your panties off a little until the black lace was out of her way, still hanging around your ankle but far enough for her to work.
Natasha slid her left finger in between your now swollen and aching slit. And it felt good.
"Stop teasing."
"Whatever you say princess." Her tongue slid into your soaking cunt, slightly calloused hands pulling you closer so she could feast on your pussy. You threw your head back as Natasha threw one leg over her shoulder, the same one that held the lace panties before they eventually fell onto the floor next to her hoodie.
Natasha moaned at the taste of your arousal, tongue finding it's rhythm inside of you.
"W-wow." Was all you could breathlessly moan and Natasha moaned in between your legs.
"Yeah?" She whispered mouth still working you open before she introduced a finger. Natasha slid her index finger inside of you which made you buck further into her mouth.
"Tell me how it feels." She worked the finger inside of you, the obscene sound of your pussy getting fucked, filling the walls of your bedroom.
"Good."
"I think you can do better than that." Natasha curled the finger which made you moan out loud. Her tongue was hot and confident as she dragged it through your folds, exploring before focusing on your clit. She sucked the sensitive bud into her mouth, tongue flicking fast and firm. She then added a second finger, curling them in a "come hither" motion.
"You always get this wet y/n?" She teased as her finger slid in and out of you so effortlessly. You shook your head.
"Yeah? Just for me?" She continued stroking her fingers inside of you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars.
"Your tongue feels so fucking good. Fuck, Nat-" You gasped, hips bucking. She held you down with one strong arm across your waist, red hair tickling your thighs as she ate you out like she was starving. The wet, obscene sounds continued to fill the small bedroom, her tongue lapping and sucking, fingers thrusting deep and curling against that spot inside you. You gripped her hair tight, thighs trembling around her head. The high made everything feel overwhelming and perfect at the same time. Every lick, every curl of her fingers sent sparks up your spine.
She looked up at you while she worked, her green eyes locked on yours, lips and chin shiny with your wetness. The sight alone nearly made you come alone.
"You taste so fucking good y/n." She groaned against your pussy, then dove back in harder. She sucked your clit rhythmically while her fingers fucked you faster, curling just right. Your back arched hard off the bed.
"Nat, shit... I'm gonna...fuck!" She didn't stop. She moaned into you, the vibration pushing you over the edge.
You came hard on her tongue, thighs clamping around her head, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips as your pussy clenched around her fingers. Natasha kept licking you through it, slower and gentler, until your legs were shaking and you were pushing at her head from the overstimulation. She finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up your body with a satisfied smirk. She kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
"You good, princess?" She asked, voice husky. You could barely speak, still catching your breath. You just nodded and pulled her back down for another kiss.
You were still panting, thighs twitching from the aftershocks as Natasha crawled up your body with that satisfied, cocky smirk. Her lips and chin were shiny with your wetness, green eyes dark with hunger. Before she could say anything smug, you grabbed her by the shoulders and flipped her onto her back. The high made you bold.
"My turn." You murmured, voice husky.
Natasha's eyebrows rose, but her smirk widened as she spread her legs for you.
"Yeah? Show me what you got, princess." You kissed her hard, tasting yourself on her tongue, then started moving down her body. You sucked marks into her pale neck and collarbone, then lower, taking one of her nipples into your mouth while your hand slid between her thighs. She was soaked. You groaned against her skin when your fingers met all that slick heat.
"Fuck, you're wet." You breathed, almost surprised. Natasha let out a low chuckle that turned into a moan when you kissed down her toned stomach and settled between her legs. You didn't tease. You dove straight in. You licked a slow, broad stripe up her pussy, savoring the taste of her. Natasha's hips jerked, one hand flying to your curls. You licked again, firmer this time, tongue dragging through her folds before circling her clit.
"Shit, yeah just like that." She groaned, thighs tensing around your head.
You got more confident. You sucked her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue fast while sliding two fingers inside her. She was tight and dripping, clenching around your fingers as you curled them upward. The wet sounds were loud in the small bedroom of yours, obscene and yet so addictive.
Natasha's usual cocky control started slipping. Her red hair was messy against the pillow, hips rolling up into your mouth as she cursed under her breath.
"Fuck, y/n... your mouth feels so fucking good."
You moaned against her pussy, the vibration making her gasp. You fucked her harder with your fingers, sucking and licking her clit with messy enthusiasm, completely lost in the high and the taste of her. You looked up at her while you worked to make her cum. Her green eyes half lidded, lips parted, chest heaving. She looked wrecked. It was hot as hell.
You added a third finger, thrusting deep and steady while your tongue worked her clit relentlessly. Natasha's grip on your curls tightened, her thighs starting to tremble.
"Don't stop, please, fuck, I'm close-" You didn't. You sucked harder, curled your fingers just right, and moaned against her as she came.
Natasha came with a low, broken groan, hips bucking against your face as her pussy clenched hard around your fingers. You kept licking her through it, slower and gentler, until her thighs stopped shaking and she tugged weakly at your hair.
You finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up her body. Natasha immediately yanked you down into a messy kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.
"Damn. " She muttered against your lips, still breathing hard.
"You're really good at that." You laughed breathlessly, collapsing beside her. She pulled you close, one arm slung around your waist, both of you sweaty and hazy from the weed and the orgasms.
Neither of you said much after that. Just tangled limbs, lazy kisses, and the quiet satisfaction after making each other cum.
___
Sunlight filtered through the blinds the next morning. You woke up naked in your own bed, but Natasha's arm was slung possessively over your waist and her red hair was tickling your shoulder.
For a second, the memories hit you. The shared blunt, her mouth between your thighs, the way you'd moaned her name, how good she'd felt. Your own leg in between her thighs. Your face heated instantly.
You carefully slipped out from under her arm, grabbed one of the oversized t-shirts from the floor which so happened to be hers, and tiptoed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Back to normal. You had a 10 a.m. lecture. You also had notes to review. What happened was just... a one time thing. Spontaneous. Roommates with benefits didn't mean mornings had to be weird. Right?
You then walked back to your bedroom, ready to organize everything for the day. You were already at your desk in her t-shirt and panties, frantically reorganizing your color-coded planners and pretending last night hadn't happened, when Natasha finally stirred. She stretched like a cat, the sheet slipping down her pale, toned body. When she saw you at your desk, already in full type A mode, her lips curved into that infuriating cocky smirk.
"Morning, princess." She said, voice still raspy from sleep and smoke.
"Running away already?"
"I have class." You replied, not looking at her. You straightened your pens with more force than necessary.
"And you should probably clean up your bedroom, I walked passed it and it looks like a tornado hit it."
Natasha chuckled lowly and sat up, not bothering to cover herself.
"Cute. You're back to scolding me like nothing happened. Like I didn't have my tongue buried in your pussy last night." Your pen froze mid air. Heat rushed through you at the crude reminder. You turned slowly, trying to look unaffected.
"It was just sex, Natasha. We were high. It doesn't have to be a thing."
She stood up, completely naked, and walked over to you with that effortless athletic swagger. She stopped right behind your chair, leaning down so her breath brushed your ear.
"You can pretend all you want." She murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"But I still remember how you sounded when you came on my face. How you gripped my hair and begged for more." You shivered. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily. Damn her.
You stood up abruptly, putting distance between you.
"I'm not begging. And I have to get ready for class." Natasha just smirked wider, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. She reached out and tugged lightly on the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing, her t-shirt.
"Keep it." She said.
"Looks better on you anyway." You grabbed your towel and practically fled to the bathroom, heart racing and skin still tingling from her proximity. You could hear her low laugh behind you.
The entire day, you tried to focus on lectures. Tried to pretend it was nothing. But Natasha's words kept echoing in your head. The memory of her mouth. Her fingers. How ridiculously good she was.
By the time you got back to the dorm that evening, you were tense and annoyed at how easily she'd gotten under your skin again.Natasha was sprawled on the living room couch in shorts and a sports bra, looking far too pleased with herself when you walked in.
"Still pretending, princess?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. You dropped your bag onto the kicthen counter and crossed your arms.
"You're impossible." She grinned and crooked a finger at you.
"Come here and I'll show you just how impossible I can be."
"I'm not easy Natasha."
"I never said you were. And quite frankly I enjoy it when you fight me, it's like our very own foreplay." You huffed in annoyance and turned around to grab a glass of water. Anything to help distract you from the girl sitting behind you. But that failed when you felt Natasha's presence and warmth behind you. You felt her hand tuck your hair aside before she pressed a kiss onto your neck.
"Tell me you didn't enjoy last night."
"Natasha I have work to do."
"Yeah? And there's something else I'd like to do now too. You."
"Smooth." But you weren't exactly pulling away when she wrapped her arms around your waist. And when she started kissing down your neck, you were already leaning against her, head thrown back, ass press firmly against her front.
It lasted approximately five minutes before you were led into her bedroom, gripping her red hair while riding her face with vigorous speed. The soft sounds of your moans bouncing off of her bedroom walls.
___
The next morning, you woke up first. The dorm was quiet except for Natasha's soft breathing. You were still in her bed, naked under the sheets, body pleasantly sore in places that made your face burn with memory. The joint you'd smokes in her room, her mouth on you, the way you'd moaned without shame... it all came rushing back.
You slipped out carefully, grabbed the first shirt you could find (hers, again), and went straight to your bedroom and sat by your desk. Back to normal. You started reorganizing your notes with sharp, precise movements, trying to shove the entire night into a neat little box labeled "Mistake."
Natasha woke up about twenty minutes later. She stretched, the sheet falling to her waist, and smirked the second she saw you already in full planner mode once she'd reached your door.
"Morning, princess." She drawled, voice still rough from sleep.
"You're up early again. Trying to pretend you weren't riding my face last night?"
You didn't look at her.
"I have a lecture later today. And your bedroom is a disaster again. Can you at least try to keep your shit contained now that we're... whatever this is?"
Natasha chuckled, completely unbothered by her own nudity. She walked over and leaned against your desk, arms crossed, watching you straighten pens with way too much focus.
"You're cute when you're in denial." She said.
"All tense and bratty like I didn't make you come three times." Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk. Heat flared low in your belly despite yourself.
"It was all just fun okay, Natasha. Don't make it weird."
She leaned down closer, red hair falling forward, green eyes amused.
"Weird? You mean like how you're wearing my shirt right now? Or how wet you already are just from me standing here?"
"You're in my bedroom naked."
"Yeah, and you like it." You finally looked up, glaring.
"You're so fucking cocky." That was all it took. Natasha grabbed you by the waist, spun you around, and bent you over your own desk in one smooth motion. Your carefully stacked planners and notes went flying again as she pressed up behind you.
"Yeah?" She murmured against your ear, yanking your her shirt up over your ass.
"Keep scolding me then. See what happens."
You tried to snap back, but the words died when she dropped to her knees and buried her tongue in your pussy from behind without any warning. She ate you out like she was proving a point. One that was messy, confident, and relentless. Her hands spread your cheeks as her tongue licked and sucked, two fingers pushing inside you deep. You gripped the far edge of the desk hard, biting your lip to stay quiet, but soft moans still escaped. She didn't stop until you came hard, thighs shaking, forehead pressed against the wood. Natasha stood up, wiped her mouth, and leaned over you.
"Still think it was just the weed?" She asked, voice smug. You were breathless, annoyed, and already wanting more.
"Just shut up and fuck me properly." You muttered.
___
The pattern became frequent. After the third night, you and Natasha stopped pretending like this was nothing, especially when the sex was just way to good to pretend. So you both agreed on being roommates with benefits. Whatever the hell you wanted to call it, that's what it was.
When you told your close friend Wanda about it, she'd given you a look that said she wasn't all for it.
"These never end well y/n." You sighed as you two neared your favorite café.
"I know but its not like we can avoid one another Wans. I mean we live together for Pete's sake."
"Pete's sake?" Wanda teased and you rolled your eyes.
"Point is, we can't avoid it. Besides the sex is good." You shrugged and Wanda chuckled while opening the door.
You and Natasha began the rhythm. Whenever you had a bad day from pre-med classes, all she needed to do was look you in the eye, before she was guiding you onto the nearest surface and burying her face between your legs. Or whenever she had a bad practice, all you needed to do was pull her by her hoodie before laying her on the bed and fucking her with your fingers.
It was good, spontaneous and convenient. Neither of you had bothered to label it let alone think about it. This was all just the harmless kind of fun people have in college. Yeah. Just fun.
___
It was a Thursday night in mid November. You'd had one of those days. The kind where everything felt heavy. A brutal organic chemistry midterm you weren't sure you'd passed, followed by a phone call with your mom that dragged up old memories of your dad. You came back to the suite quiet and closed off, and this time it was the kind of quiet that usually meant you'd bury yourself in planners and books until the feelings went away.
Natasha was already there, sprawled on the couch in a tank top and shorts after practice. She noticed immediately. Instead of her usual cocky greeting or grabbing you for a quick fuck, she sat up from the couch and watched you drop your bag onto the kitchen counter and start reorganizing the contents in your bag with sharp, tense movements.
"You're spiraling." She said simply.
"I'm fine Natasha." You mumbled but your voice wavered. You weren't fine. You kept moving things around, trying to regain control. Natasha got up, crossed the room, and gently took the stack of notes from your hands.
"Hey." She said softly.
"Stop." You tried to pull away, but she set the notes down and tugged you toward her bedroom instead. No heat. No smirk. Just her strong arms guiding you down until you were both lying there, facing each other.
You expected her to kiss you, to turn it into sex like always. That's what this was supposed to be, just benefits. Release. Nothing more. But she didn't. Natasha just pulled you closer until your head rested on her chest. One hand stroked slowly through your curls, the other rubbing gentle circles on your back. The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy at the same time.
"You don't have to be okay all the time." She murmured after a while. Her voice was quieter than you'd ever heard it.
"Not with me." Something in your chest cracked. You hadn't let anyone see this version of you in years. The scared girl who still felt the guilt and pressure from home, who built walls of order so the world couldn't take anything else away.
But here, in the dim dorm light with Natasha's heartbeat steady under your ear, the walls felt exhausting.
You didn't cry. You just breathed her in. The faint scent of her body wash and the gym. And you just let yourself be held. After a long stretch of silence, Natasha spoke again.
"Wanna get something to eat?" All you did was nod, but Natasha held you for longer. She didn't want to stop.
___
Natasha slammed the door harder than necessary when she got back. You looked up from the couch, highlighter paused mid sentence. She was limping noticeably, jaw clenched, a fresh bruise blooming on her left cheekbone. Her duffel bag hit the floor with a thud, followed by one sneaker, then the other, right in the middle of the room.
"Bad day?" You asked carefully.
"Understatement." She grunted, wincing as she tried to put weight on her right ankle.
"Some rookie on the team decided to play hero during drills. I took the fall. Coach reamed me out anyway. Then my phone started blowing up with family shit. Perfect fucking day."
She looked pissed off at the world. You knew that look. It was the same one she got right before she usually pushed you up against a wall to blow off steam. But tonight she just walked into her room and dropped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. You closed your notebook and stood up before making your way into her room.
"Don't." She muttered when she saw you moving.
"I'm not really in the mood for your organizing lecture right now."
"I wasn't going to lecture you." You grabbed the ice pack from the fridge a towel, and the first aid kit that you kept in your room. Then you knelt in front of her without asking.
Natasha watched you silently as you gently lifted her injured foot into your lap and wrapped the ice pack around her swollen ankle. Your touch was careful but firm. You didn't say anything about the mess she'd made or the shoes in the middle of the floor. You just worked quietly, dabbing the bruise on her cheek with a cool cloth next. She stayed tense for the first few minutes, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then something in her shoulders finally loosened.
"Thanks." She said gruffly, almost like the word hurt to say. You finished securing the wrap and looked up at her.
"You don't always have to be the tough one, you know." Natasha let out a bitter little laugh.
"Yeah? Tell that to everyone who needs something from me." Instead of answering with words, you climbed onto the bed beside her and gently pulled her down. She resisted for half a second out of habit, then let you maneuver her so she was curled against your side, head resting on your chest.
This was new territory.
Natasha Romanoff, the girl who always had to be the strong, cocky one, let herself be held. She shifted until she was fully tucked into you, face buried in the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. You wrapped both arms around her, one hand slowly stroking up and down her back.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held her while she breathed through the shitty day.
Eventually, she mumbled against your skin.
"I hate this ankle. And my family. And today."
"I know." You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her red hair. You stayed like that for over an hour. No sex. No teasing. Just you holding her while she let herself be vulnerable for once.
Later, when you both shifted to get more comfortable, Natasha turned over so her back was pressed against your front. You instinctively curled around her, becoming the big spoon. Your arm wrapped around her waist, your chest to her back, legs carefully tangled so you wouldn't bump her injured ankle.
Natasha let out a long, shaky breath and relaxed completely into you, the little spoon for the first time.
"Never thought I'd let anyone hold me like this." She admitted quietly into the dark. You hugged her a little tighter.
"Get used to it." She didn't reply, but her hand found yours and laced your fingers together over her stomach.
___
The shift happened gradually. You and Natasha still continued to have sex on occasions (more often than you'd like to admit) but underneath it all, something began brewing. Sometimes you caught yourself watching Natasha. Like the one Saturday morning where she offered to make you breakfast to deal with your hangover. Both of you had gone out the night before to some house party.
Natasha had to actually drag you out after you'd been locked in your bedroom for seven hours straight. You'd complained about it, so much that Natasha had to pick you up and out of the chair. You dropped your weight on purpose, forcing Natasha to practically drag you out of the chair.
"Stop deadweighting." Natasha grunted, readjusting her grip.
"I'm not." you lied, immediately slouching even harder. Natasha eventually gave up and threw you into your bed.
Natasha opened your closet, ruffling through the clothes inside. You sat up and frowned.
"What are you doing? Stop that. You're making a mess!" You scolded but Natasha didn't listen. She continued rummaging until she pulled out a black dress before handing it to you.
"Here, put this on."
"Why this?"
"Because I've never seen you in it and it looks easier to take off. Now get dressed." Without another word, Natasha left you to go get ready. And well, obviously you got dressed.
The party was loud enough to make conversation optional. Music thumped through the walls of the frat house, bass vibrating beneath your sneakers as bodies squeezed past one another with red cups and slurred laughter. Someone had already spilled something sticky across the kitchen floor.
"This was worth dragging you out for." Natasha teased, nudging your shoulder. You rolled your eyes.
"I'm still convinced I would've had a better night in bed."
"You say that every time."
"And every time I'm right." Natasha laughed, that soft laugh she only seemed to have around you, and she disappeared toward the kitchen, returning a minute later with two drinks.
"I remembered." She said, handing you the one without the cranberry flavored vodka. You frowned.
"You remembered?"
"You hate cranberry."
"Oh." You accepted the cup, suddenly aware that she'd never once asked you to remind her.
Hours blurred together. You danced with your friends. Natasha disappeared into conversations with her teammates. Every so often your eyes found each other across the room. Neither of you acknowledged it. Because there was nothing to acknowledge.
Then someone wrapped an arm around your waist. A guy from one of your statistics tutorials.
"You've been hiding all semester." He grinned.
"Dance with me?" You shrugged your shoulders.
"Sure." It wasn't anything serious. It was just dancing. No harm in that right?
You laughed at one of his terrible jokes, swaying absentmindedly with the music. Across the room, Natasha's smile faltered. Her teammate was halfway through telling a story before Natasha realized she hadn't heard a single word.
Who was that? Why was his hand there? And why...Why did it bother her?She scoffed quietly to herself. Ridiculous. You weren't together. Hell, you weren't even dating. You were roommates who occasionally slept together. That was all. So why did she suddenly want to march over there and pry his hand off your waist-
"You okay?" Natasha blinked.
"Hm?"
"You've been staring for like... five minutes."
"I wasn't staring." She said which wasn't exactly a lie. Her teammate followed her gaze.
"Oh." Natasha immediately looked away.
"Oh?"
"You've got it bad."
"I literally don't."
"Romanoff."
"We're just roommates."
"...Who have sex."
"...With boundaries." Her teammate snorted into her drink.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
When the song changed, you excused yourself for some air. The backyard was cooler, quieter. You leaned against the railing, breathing. A few seconds later the back door opened.
"You disappear a lot princess." You didn't have to turn around.
"I like quiet." Natasha stepped beside you, her warmth grounding you in the moment. Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. It was... comfortable, like it always was whenever you say with Natasha.
Your shoulders brushed. Neither of you moved away.
"You cold?" Natasha asked.
"A little." Without thinking, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
"You'll freeze."
"So will you."
"I run hot." You smiled and let out a small chuckle.
"You always have an answer."
"One of us has to." Another silence.
Your fingers found the sleeve of her jacket, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric between your thumb and forefinger.
"You know..." Natasha said quietly.
"Hm?"
"I think you're the only person I actually like coming to these things with." You looked at her. She looked back. For just a second.
Long enough for something unfamiliar to settle between you. Not desire. That part had always been easy. This was...Different. Neither of you had a name for it yet. So, naturally, you both looked away first.
By the time the two of you stumbled back to the apartment, it was well past two in the morning. Natasha fumbled with the keys, muttering something under her breath when she missed the lock for the third time.
"You've got the hand-eye coordination of a professional athlete," you deadpanned.
"I've been drinking."
"You've had two vodka cranberries."
"They were... strong vodka cranberries." The door finally clicked open. You kicked your shoes off the moment you stepped inside, groaning at the relief.
"I am never wearing heels again."
"You say that every time."
"And this time I mean it." Natasha only smiled. It was domestic in a way that neither of you cared to acknowledge.
You disappeared into your room long enough to swap your dress for an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts. By the time you emerged, Natasha was already in the kitchen, two glasses of water sitting on the counter.
"Hydrate." She said, sliding one toward you. You raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing." You said, with a small shake of your head.
"What?"
"It's just..." You took the glass, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
"You're weirdly caring." Natasha scoffed.
"I'm preventing your hangover. Selfish reasons."
"Mhm."
"I'm serious." She pushed.
"Sure you are." The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It rarely was anymore. You leaned against opposite sides of the counter, lazily sipping water while the refrigerator hummed in the background.
"You disappeared for a while tonight," Natasha said eventually.
"So did you."
"I was talking to my teammates."
"I noticed." She hesitated but then she spoke up again.
"...That guy."
"What guy?"
"The one you were dancing with." You blinked.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"He asked me to dance."
"I saw." You couldn't help the teasing smile that spread across your face.
"Were you jealous?" Natasha answered far too quickly.
"No."
"You hesitated."
"I didn't."
"You literally did."
"I was thinking."
"About?"
"How annoying you are." You laughed, shaking your head as you walked past her.
"You were jealous."
"I wasn't."
"You so were." Before you could make it another step, Natasha caught your wrist. Not tightly. Just enough to stop you. The apartment fell quiet.
You looked down at her hand, then back up at her. Neither of you spoke. It would've been so easy to let go. Instead, her thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin. A thoughtless gesture. One she'd probably deny remembering in the morning.
"You've got glitter on your face princess." She murmured.
"Oh." She reached up before you could react. Her fingers barely skimmed your cheek. One tiny fleck of silver caught on her fingertip.
"There." Neither of you moved. You were standing far too close now. Close enough to hear each other breathe.
Close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Natasha swallowed.
"We should probably go to bed."
"Probably." Neither of you did. For one suspended moment, the world seemed to wait with you. Then Natasha stepped back first.
"Goodnight."
"Night, Nat." Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you. Only then did Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.
"This is getting dangerous." She whispered to the empty apartment. And in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed, you whispered the exact same thing.
And now, Natasha stood at the small counter in just a tank top and sleep shorts, red hair tied up loosely with strands falling around her face. She moved carefully because of her ankle, but she was focused, cracking eggs into the pan, buttering toast, cutting up an apple she must have grabbed from somewhere. Two plates were already set out.
You stood, leaning against the wall and just watching Natasha move. There was something about the sight that made your chest ache with a deep, quiet yearning. Natasha Romanoff, the girl who left chaos everywhere she went, who swore she didn't do soft things was currently making you breakfast.
After last night. After she'd watched that guy flirt with you at the party with that tight jaw and sharp eyes. After she'd pulled you close on the dance floor like she couldn't stand anyone else near you. After the almost moment at the door where she'd looked at you like she wanted to say something she couldn't. You wanted to crawl back under the covers of your bed and hide from how much you felt.
Instead, you straightened up and padded over quietly. Natasha glanced at you when you leaned against the doorway. For a second her green eyes softened, almost vulnerable, before she looked back at the pan.
"Morning." She said, voice a little rough. "Figured you'd be hungover. Sit." You sat at the tiny table.
She brought over a plate, perfectly cooked eggs, buttered toast, sliced apple, and a glass of water with ibuprofen next to it. She set it down in front of you like it was nothing, then sat across from you with her own plate.
You stared at the food for a long moment. She made this for you.
The girl who usually left protein shakers on your desk and teased you about your planners had gotten up early (or stayed up) to do something nice. No teasing comment. No smirk. Just quiet care.
The yearning hit you harder than it ever had. You wanted this version of her every morning. The one who noticed when you were overwhelmed. The one who got jealous but didn't make it your problem. The one who held you on bad nights and let you hold her on hers. You wanted to reach across the table and touch her hand. You wanted to tell her how much it meant. But you stayed silent, because saying it out loud would make it too real.
Natasha kept stealing glances at you while she ate. Her eyes lingered on your messy curls, on the way you were still wearing last night's shirt. There was a tension in her shoulders, like she was holding something back. Like she was fighting the same pull you were. The silence between you felt heavy with everything unsaid.
You wanted to be closer to her. You wanted her to pull you into her lap and hold you like she had the other night. You wanted to bury your face in her neck and breathe her in until the fear of loving someone this much went away. Instead, you took a bite of the eggs.
"They're good." You said softly.
Natasha's lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile.
"Yeah?" You nodded, heart aching with how much you were already falling.
She didn't need to say anything. The breakfast, the quiet way she watched you, the way her foot gently brushed yours under the table, it was all there.
And you were terrified by how badly you wanted to keep it.
___
The party that Wanda was throwing was loud and crowded, but Natasha couldn’t take her eyes off you. She seemed worried because you weren't acting like yourself. She noticed it first in the bathroom hallway. You’d stepped away for a minute, and when she followed a little later, she caught you in the mirror. Your face was twisted. A quick flash of disgust and shame as you looked at your reflection, arms subtly crossing over your chest like you wanted to disappear. You fixed your expression fast, but Natasha saw it. She felt it like a punch to the gut and said nothing. Not then.
Later, back in the main room, it got worse. You were sitting beside her on the couch, but you weren’t really there. Your arms stayed crossed tight over your chest. Your shoulders curved inward. You laughed when your friends joked but it was hollow. Natasha watched you slowly disappear into your head, picking at the sleeve of your shirt, trying to hide pieces of yourself she already knew were beautiful.
It killed her.
The walk home was quiet, the cold night air sharp between you. Natasha’s hand brushed yours a few times but she didn’t grab it. She just stayed close, jaw tight, heart doing something complicated and heavy in her chest.
The second the door to your suite closed, she couldn’t hold back anymore.
She stepped forward and pulled you into her arms right there in the middle of the living room.
No words. No teasing. No rush to turn it into sex. Just Natasha wrapping herself around you completely. One arm slid around your waist, the other hand cradling the back of your head as she tucked your face gently into the crook of her neck. She held you like she was trying to shield you from the whole world. It was strong, steady, and warm.
You froze for half a second, then melted. Your arms came up slowly, wrapping around her back, fingers clutching the fabric of her hoodie like she might vanish. Natasha’s chin rested on top of your head. She breathed you in, slow and deep, her heartbeat strong against your cheek.
The silence was thick with everything unsaid. She could feel the tension still lingering in your body, the way you were trying so hard to shrink yourself. It made her chest ache with a fierce, protective kind of yearning. She wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were. How she hated that you ever looked at yourself like that. How she’d been falling for you for weeks now. For the girl who scolded her about messes and still took care of her when her ankle was fucked up. For the girl who let her see the cracks even when it scared her.
But she didn’t speak. She just held you tighter, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other stayed buried in your curls. The butterflies in her stomach were violent. This wasn’t benefits anymore. This was her wanting to be the person who made you feel safe enough to stop hiding. You pressed closer, face buried deeper into her neck, breathing her in like she was the only steady thing in your chaotic world. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it.
You were terrified by how much you needed this. How much you needed her. The girl whose chaos kept breaking your control and somehow made you feel more alive than your perfect plans ever had. Neither of you let go. You stood there in the middle of the living room for what felt like forever, wrapped up in each other, hearts racing with quiet, terrifying yearning. The kind of closeness that felt bigger than sex. Bigger than just roommates with benefits. This was just two girls falling slowly, deeply, and helplessly into something neither of them could stop anymore.
Later that night, you laid in Natasha's bed. No heat except for the warmth her body provided. She held you tightly as you both watched tiktoks on your phone. It seemed very intimate, the lines were crossing. But as Natasha pressed a kiss onto the top of your head before laughing at some video on your phone, you knew that you wanted to feel this more. You wanted her. Deeply.
___
2026
You were sitting in the bedroom of your off campus room, pre-med textbooks gathered around you like weapons. The room smelt of Redbull, the incense sticks you'd lit up to relax you and help you study (which failed) alongside your iPad. Luna, your cat, was perched on the other side of the bed, her gaze focused on your stressful form. She tried to help by making the occasional biscuit but that ended with her taking a short nap inside of your sheets. Lucky.
You groaned, throwing your head back before closing your textbook. Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced at it and found her name on your screen. Your stomach shrank.
Natasha
Fans want more content. You up for it?
You clenched your jaw, heart slamming against your ribs. You wanted to type, tell her to fuck off but you didn't have enough fight in you anymore. It still hurt deeply. It was as if Natasha had pulled your entire heart out with her hands before smashing it into bits and pieces. The tears were already gathering in your eyes. How could she just waltz back into your life after every fucking thing? You should have blocked her, deleted her number even but instead, you just typed.
You
Why are you texting me?
Natasha
Just wanted to see if you're up for it. I miss you.
The notification preview told you everything you needed to know. You read it once, twice, then swiped it away without ever opening the conversation. You laughed bitterly before switching your phone off for the night. You grabbed your books and iPad to place them aside. You weren't in the right mind space to do any studying.
Luna moved closer, tucking herself underneath your arm once you were settled. You switched the lights off and stared at the ceiling. How dare she.
But when you woke up the next morning, the message was edited this time. Still there, just that last phrase "I miss you" was gone. Coward.
___
It was a rainy Friday morning. The storm kept everyone inside. You were curled up on the couch with a textbook, trying to focus. Natasha had been restless, pacing the living room until she finally gave up and dropped down beside you.
Without asking, she lifted your legs into her lap and started massaging your calves with strong, careful hands. You glanced at her, surprised.
"You’re always tense." She said quietly, not looking at you.
"Figured I’d help." You didn’t argue. The steady pressure of her thumbs felt too good. After a while, you put the book down and just watched her. The focused crease between her brows. The way her red hair fell into her face. The quiet gentleness she only seemed to show when it was just the two of you.
Natasha caught you staring and smirked, but it was softer than usual. She kept rubbing your legs long after they stopped aching, like she didn’t want to stop touching you.
There were other moments where natasha and you realized that this was beyond just benefits. Like the time where she helped you study. It was 2 a.m. You were at the kitchen table surrounded by flashcards, eyes burning. Natasha should’ve been asleep in her room, but she wandered out in an oversized hoodie and sat across from you.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stole one of your highlighters and started quizzing you in a low, patient voice. Every time you got an answer right, she’d give you a small, proud smile that made your stomach flip.
When you finally slumped forward in exhaustion, she stood up, came around the table, and pulled you into a hug from behind. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, chin resting on your head.
"You’re gonna kill this exam." She murmured.
"But you need sleep, princess." You leaned back into her, letting yourself be held. In that moment, with her warmth surrounding you and the quiet of the dorm at night, you realized how much you craved her presence. Not just the sex. Her steadiness. The way she made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter.
Or the other time when you woke up to the sound of the door closing. Natasha had gone out early despite the cold and came back with two coffees. Yours made exactly how you liked it, with the right amount of oat milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. She set it on your nightstand and tried to sneak back out, but you caught her wrist.
"You didn’t have to." You said, voice still sleepy. Natasha shrugged, looking almost shy for once.
"I wanted to." She lingered in your doorway, watching as you took the first sip. The quiet fondness in her eyes made your heart do something dangerous. You wanted to pull her into your bed and hold her. You wanted to tell her how much these small things meant. Instead, you just smiled at her over the cup, and she smiled back. A smile that was small, real, and full of unspoken yearning.
Late November, you stormed into the shared living room after a long day and the sight made your jaw clench. Natasha’s protein shaker was tipped over on the counter, leaking across the surface. Her duffel bag had exploded near the couch, knee pads and shoes scattered. One of her hoodies was draped over the back of the chair you always used.
"Natasha! "you said sharply, setting your bag down.
" This is shared space. I’ve asked you so many times. I need things a certain way out here. I can’t keep cleaning up after you every single day-" She stepped out of her room, still in her tank top and shorts from practice, green eyes darkening the moment she heard your tone.
Instead of snapping back, she walked straight toward you with purpose. You expected her to kiss you roughly like usual, to turn the scolding into angry sex. But this time she stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her.
"Keep going." She murmured, voice low. "Tell me how much I’m ruining your perfect little world." You opened your mouth to continue the lecture, but the look in her eyes made the words die. There was hunger there, yes, but also something deeper. Something almost reverent.
She took your hand and pulled you into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her. The second you were inside, she lifted you onto your desk in one smooth motion. Your perfectly stacked planners, color coded notes, and highlighters went tumbling to the floor in a chaotic rainbow mess as she shoved them aside. The sight of your carefully controlled space being disrupted by her sent a shiver through you.Natasha kissed you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt, but she was slower than usual. More deliberate. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.
"I want to fuck you with the strap tonight." She said quietly, voice rough."
"If you’ll let me." Your breath caught. You’d never let anyone do that before. It felt big. Vulnerable. Trusting someone that deeply with your body, especially Natasha, the girl whose chaos kept cracking your walls, was terrifying.
But you trusted her. You nodded, swallowing hard.
"Okay." Natasha’s eyes softened for a moment, something like awe flickering across her face. She kissed you again, slower this time, like she understood what you were giving her. She took her time undressing you, kissing every new inch of skin she revealed. When you were naked on the desk, she grabbed the strap from where it had started living in your room and buckled it on carefully. Then she stepped between your spread thighs, slicking the thick toy.
"You sure?" She asked, voice gentler than you’d ever heard it during sex.
"Yes." You whispered, gripping the edge of the desk.
"I want it to be you." The trust in your voice made her exhale shakily. She pressed the head against your entrance and pushed in slowly, watching your face the entire time. You gasped at the stretch, fingers digging into her shoulders. Natasha stilled, letting you adjust, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other brushed a curl from your face.
"Fuck, you look so beautiful." She breathed, voice strained with how much she was holding back. Once you nodded, she started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that gradually built in intensity. Every snap of her hips knocked more of your organized notes and planners to the floor, the chaos of her presence completely overtaking your control.
But you didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, moaning softly against her neck. The sex was heated, yes, her hips snapping harder as she got lost in it. But it was layered with something much more intimate. The eye contact. The way she whispered “I’ve got you” every time you gasped at a particularly deep thrust. The way her hands held you like you were precious.
You came hard around the strap, trembling in her arms, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips. Natasha followed soon after, grinding deep and shuddering against you, burying her face in your neck.
Afterward, she stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard amid the scattered wreckage of your desk.
She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes dark and full of quiet wonder. The trust you’d just given her, letting her be the first to take you like that, hung heavy and beautiful between you. Neither of you said it out loud. But the feelings were there, growing stronger with every passing day, whether you wanted to admit it or not.
___
You and Natasha walked through the carnival, shoulders occasionally brushing. It was supposed to be a group hangout, but when Carol and Wanda coincidentally excused themselves because they had plans they'd forgotten about, it was just you and Natasha. You didn't mind it though, especially because you enjoyed being around her. As friends.
"Still can't believe you've never been to these things before." You shrugged.
"Never had the time."
"Well, now you do, so let's make sure you have fun princess." She wrapped an arm around your shoulders before guiding you further in. You melted into her embrace, especially when she pulled away and you still smelt like her perfume. The carnival was small but lively. Twinkling lights strung between booths, the distant screams from the Ferris wheel, and the smell of fried dough and popcorn in the cold night air.
Natasha kept stealing glances at you, her red hair peeking out from under a black beanie, green eyes bright under the colorful lights. First stop was the food stalls. Natasha insisted on buying you a massive stick of cotton candy. You laughed when she tore off a piece and tried to feed it to you, both of you giggling as the sugar melted on your tongues. She won a small stuffed keychain at the ring toss and immediately hooked it onto your bag.
"Souvenir." She said, smirking.
You retaliated by dragging her onto the Tilt-A-Whirl. She pretended to be unaffected the whole time, but when you got off she was a little green and dramatically leaned on you for support.
"You’re enjoying this way too much." She grumbled, but her arm stayed around your shoulders.
The real moment came at the basketball shootout booth. Natasha’s eyes lit up when she saw the giant prizes hanging above the counter Especially the oversized, soft brown teddy bear with a red bow.
"Watch this." She said, cracking her knuckles with exaggerated confidence. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with an amused smile. She paid for three shots and stepped up, rolling her shoulders like she was back on the volleyball court.
First shot, swish. Second shot, nothing but net. Third shot, she paused, glanced at you, then sank it perfectly. The guy running the booth looked shocked. Natasha just smirked, pointing up at the big bear.
"That one." He handed it over with a defeated sigh. Natasha turned to you, holding the giant teddy bear like it weighed nothing, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold and the small victory.
"Here." She said, pushing it into your arms.
"For my favorite control freak." You smacked your lips but accepted it gratefully. You hugged the soft bear to your chest, half laughing, half melting. It was huge, almost as tall as your torso and ridiculously cute. But it wasn’t really about the bear.
It was the way Natasha watched you, green eyes soft and warm under the carnival lights. The quiet pride on her face. The way she’d gone out of her way to win it just to see you smile. You clutched the teddy bear tighter, butterflies exploding in your stomach.
"Thank you." You said softly, stepping closer until you could rest your forehead against her shoulder for a second.
"I love it." Natasha’s hand came up to rub your back, lingering there. She didn’t tease you this time. She just held you for a moment, the chaotic carnival noise fading into the background.
Later, as you walked back toward campus with the giant bear tucked under your arm (and Natasha’s arm around your waist), you kept stealing glances at her.
When you got to the apartment, you set the teddy bear down before being pulled into her arms. She kissed you softly, like you were made of glass and you wrapped your arms around her neck. Somehow you landed up on the couch. You both smoked in the living room with the window cracked and the fan on, laughing at nothing until the giggles faded into comfortable silence. The high settled deep, warm and floaty, lowering every defense you both usually kept up.
Somehow you ended up in the tiny shared bathroom, clothes already half off from making out against the wall. Natasha turned on the shower, and you both stepped under the hot spray together, bodies pressing close in the small space.
Water cascaded over you, your warm skin against her pale, athletic frame. Steam filled the air. Natasha had you pinned gently against the tiles, kissing you slow and deep, her hands sliding over your waist, your hips, your thighs. The high made every touch feel electric and endless. The laughter had died down. What was left was something heavier.
Natasha pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. Water dripped from her red hair onto your shoulders. Her green eyes were dark, pupils blown, but the look in them wasn’t just lust anymore. It was soft. Adoring. Almost overwhelmed. She brushed a wet curl from your face with trembling fingers.
"I love you." She whispered, voice rough and raw under the sound of the water.
"Fuck, Y/N… I’m so in love with you it scares me." The words hung between you, real and terrifying. Your heart slammed against your ribs. You cupped her face with both hands, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks as you searched her eyes. The yearning you’d been feeling for weeks, the quiet pull every time she held you, every time she looked at you like you were more than just benefits, crashed over you all at once.
"I love you too." You breathed, voice shaking.
"I didn’t want to. I wasn’t supposed to fall this hard… but I’m so in love with you, Natasha." The kiss that followed was slow, deep, and full of everything you’d both been trying not to feel.
Hands roamed with new tenderness, not rushing toward sex, just touching, holding, memorizing. Natasha’s arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you impossibly closer under the spray. You clung to her like she might disappear.
You stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, trading soft kisses and quiet “I love you”s between shaky breaths, hearts racing with the terrifying, beautiful weight of what you’d just admitted.
When you finally stepped out, still wrapped in towels, skin damp and warm, you and Natasha stumbled into her bed, giggling and kissing like you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. The “I love you”s from the shower still echoed in the air, making everything feel electric and terrifyingly soft at the same time.
Natasha pulled you on top of her, hands sliding under your towel to caress your bare skin. The kiss deepened, slow and reverent, tongues brushing lazily. You could feel how much she was trembling, not from nerves, but from the weight of what you’d both just admitted.
"I love you." She whispered again against your lips, like she needed to taste the words.
"I love you too." You breathed, smiling into the kiss. She gently rolled you onto your back and settled between your legs, but instead of reaching for the strap or going down on you, she shifted higher. Her thigh pressed between yours as she hovered above you, red hair falling around both of you like a curtain.
"Can I…?" She asked softly, eyes searching yours.
"I want to feel all of you." You understood. You nodded, heart racing. Natasha lowered herself until your bodies aligned perfectly. It was wet, warm, and slick against each other. The first slide of her pussy against yours made you both gasp. She interlaced your fingers, pressing your hands into the mattress on either side of your head, holding you there as she started moving.
It was slow at first. Gentle rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against yours in a delicious, intimate rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, slick heat, perfect pressure, the way your bodies fit together so naturally. You looked up at her and couldn’t look away.
Natasha’s green eyes were locked on yours, full of so much love and awe it made your chest ache. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, red hair messy and damp. Every slow grind pulled soft, breathy moans from both of you.
"I love you." She whispered again, squeezing your hands tighter as she rolled her hips in a slow circle.
"So much." You let out a shaky giggle, overwhelmed by how good it felt, how right it felt.
"I love you too… fuck, Nat-" She laughed softly too, the sound breaking into a moan when you tilted your hips up to meet her. The giggles turned into breathy, loving sounds as the pleasure built. Your fingers stayed tightly laced, thumbs stroking each other’s skin.
You couldn’t stop looking at each other.
Every roll of her hips, every slick slide of your clits together, every shared gasp, it was intimate in a way you’d never experienced before. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Full of love.
Natasha leaned down to kiss you, still moving, still grinding in that perfect rhythm. The kiss was messy and sweet, full of smiles and little giggles when your noses bumped or when the pleasure made you both tremble.
"You feel so good." She whispered against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours.
"I can’t believe you’re mine." You squeezed her hands harder, legs wrapping around her as the pressure built higher.
"I’m yours. All yours." The orgasm came slowly, beautifully, washing over both of you at nearly the same time. You came with a soft, broken moan, clenching and shuddering against her. Natasha followed right after, hips stuttering, a quiet “I love you” spilling from her lips as she trembled above you. You stayed like that for a long time afterward, foreheads pressed together, fingers still intertwined, breathing each other in. Soft giggles bubbled up between lazy kisses as the high and the afterglow mixed together.
Later, while music played softly from the speaker in your room, Natasha held you in her arms, fingers drawing lazy patterns onto your skin.
"I wasn't always like this you know." You mumbled before untucking your head from her neck. Natasha never stopped drawing patterns but her focus shifted to you.
"One morning I'd been late to school because I spent the night before prepping for this debate tournament, nationals actually." You paused then continued.
"I panicked but my dad said he didn't mind dropping them off for me. He left work, picked them up but..." Your voice cracked.
"He got into an accident and died on the spot." Natasha stopped drawing but she held you tighter.
"If I had just stuck to my usual routine, stuck to the order that I know instead of just...he still could've been alive."
"Y/n..." Natasha started but you shook your head.
"I know, it's not my fault but the thought never leaves my head. He saved people you know, traveled the world to help sick families. If only I'd been careful enough, I could've saved him too." You let out a dry chuckle.
"It's why I'm studying medicine too. I don't know, maybe if I save other people's lives, it will somewhat fill the hole of taking his life."
"I started hurting myself after that. But even that wasn't enough... That's why I love having things in order so much. Control is good, safe. Things don't get taken away if they're planned. B-but with you, you just bring this chaos. You make me feel like I don't have to suffocate with this persona." She wiped the tears that had fallen down your cheek away as you continued to talk.
"I never wanted to let anyone else in because I'm scared of having someone I love so deeply get taken away from me. But you and your cocky self managed to break in." Natasha let out her own laugh, soft and warm. She let out a soft sigh before looking up at the ceiling.
"My family isn't so great either. Dad was never present, moms an alcoholic who had two children and we were barely getting by." She paused and looked down at you, as if she couldn't believe that she was actually telling someone about this.
"I was always the stronger one you know. Had to raise my sister and practically keep my mother from spiraling too. She wasn't abusive or anything but it's hard caring for other people when you don't even have the capacity to care for yourself. I wasn't that smart in school either but I had these killer legs. " You laughed despite the tears sitting in your eyes.
"In middle school, I worked at some shops just to be able to afford secondhand spikes. They weren't quality but I turned them into something great. In high school I was luckier, I had this coach who believed in me. Bought me my real first pair of spikes. Even though they barely fit me, I still keep them with me to remember why I'm here."
"Are those the blue ones hanging on your walls?" You asked and she nodded.
"Yeah. Coach always said I'd go far. But he also said I'd have to let go and let someone in. Never believed him. That was until I met you." You didn't say anything but you tucked your head back underneath her chin. She held you closer, as if she were trying to become one with you. And you let her, because in this room, it was just the two of you existing in this messy thing you called life.
___
2026
The sound of footsteps nearing the door had your heart slamming against your ribs. Eventually the door open and you were met with the redhead standing in sweats and a black top. She looked unfairly good but you pushed that down.
"Hey." You gave her a short nod and she opened her door wider, letting you step inside.
"I'm glad you said yes."
"Cut the small talk Natasha. We're just here to film." Natasha flinched at the use of her full name laced with venom. It sounded so wrong coming from you but she nodded before scratching the back of her neck.
"I set up in my bedroom." You let Natasha lead you through her off campus apartment into her bedroom before setting your bag down.
You stripped out of your jeans and sweater, until you were just in pink underwear. Natasha had been fidgeting with the camera settings until she saw your body. The sight alone was able to send a wave of heat down her body but it also brought back ugly and unwanted memories. She swallowed the thoughts down before pressing record.
You both had eventually agreed to film one last video together. After the breakup, you hadn't exactly deleted the page you created together. The breakup was too messy to even approach this conversation so you left the site up.
Six months after the breakup you finally gathered the courage to log back in. It felt like a knife was being twisted inside of your heart as you replayed a video. It wasn't out of lust, no. This was from the intimacy of the videos. Watching the way Natasha held you, caressed you touched you, fucked you, made love to you, brought so much pain to you because she left. After building something so beautiful, she packed up her things and left as if all of what you'd built together was just a phase. You remember getting so wasted that night, that you almost sent her a drunken text about how she fucked you over. But that ended with your head inside of the toilet throwing up from the thought of speaking to her again. Not even the alcohol could destroy you the way she did.
Two month later, you went back and released a video alone. It made money yeah but the comments were the same.
Where's Natasha?
Did you guys break up?
Bring back red, you two were so amazing together.
You wanted to log off and delete the account then but you didn't. And now, almost a year and a half after the breakup, you were sitting on your heartbreakers bed.
You two eventually fucked. When her hands first touched you, it felt like coming back home after a long holiday. She made you feel good, you moaned for the camera, had your share of orgasms, gave Natasha hers, allowed her to fuck you with the strap but never in missionary and cow girl. Anything that avoided prolonged eye contact (even though that had been your favorite back then).
After the both of you had your last orgasm, you let her kiss you and praise you, but that was all for the camera (fans loved the aftercare that she provided. It was rare to see and that's what made you two such a hit). After that you got up and got dressed. Natasha watched you but you could tell there was a lot on her mind that she wanted to say.
"I'll post it tonight. Whatever comes in we split 50/50." You'd explained after slinging your bag onto your shoulder.
"You seriously won't talk to me?"
" You did all of the talking back then. I have nothing to say to you. Delete my number and forget about me." You left her apartment after that but you both knew that this was far from over.
___
The fans loved the video. Comments begged to have more. And when Natasha sent another text.
Natasha
Money was good. We could film another one.
She was right, the money was so good, you were able to get the new edition of Gray's Anatomy for Students for medical school.
___
It was sophomore year of college. Both you and Natasha were lucky enough to get another shared suite. And the first thing you both did was christen the entire suite.
"I missed you so fucking much during summer break." She whispered against your lips, hands already picking you up and placing you onto the kitchen counter.
"Loved those photos and videos that you sent." She murmured, lips sucking against her neck, you moaned but when Natasha tried to push you further onto the countertop, you paused.
"How clean is this surface?" You dodged her kiss turning around to assess the counter top Natasha placed you on.
Natasha only sighed in a mixture of sexual frustration and love.
"I'm sorry Nat but you're not about to fuck me on a dirty surface." Natasha whined as you climbed off and sauntered over to get cleaning products in your bedroom.
"The sooner you help me, the sooner I get to show you lingerie I got!" Natasha practically ran into the room to help you after that. Your new home was a mixture of both of you. Natasha seldom left her things around anymore but you still lectured her most days. She let you just because she knew it would end up with you gripping the nearest surface while her head was in between your thighs.
The relationship blossomed beautifully. You two even had polaroid pictures of one another behind your phone case after Wanda had sneakily taken one with her camera. You got the picture of the two of you kissing while Natasha got the one of the two of you looking so lovesick, it was disgusting.
"For your crazy kids someday." She remarked after handing you the two copies.
You walked around on campus during the day and at night, holding hands and talking about nothing and everything. You pulled her into study sessions at the library that started with either of you testing one another on your modules and ended with the two of you sneakily making out in the section tucked far away that no one visited while her hand slowly made it's way up your thigh. Most times you'd swat her hand away but it would end up inside you anyway, Natasha watching you with this smitten look.
Some nights, after coming back home late from a study session with friends, you'd slip into her bed and watch her sleep. The sight alone was able to ground you but recently she had this habit of faking sleep just to scare you.
"Boo!" You shrieked and threw your head back in frustration as Natasha poked your stomach.
"What the fuck Nat?! Stop that!" Natasha only chuckled in response to your reaction.
"Stop watching me sleep you weirdo." You'd shove her head back when she leaned in for a kiss but that only ended with your legs wrapped around her shoulders while her mouth was in between your thighs telling you that she'd rather watch you cum instead.
On a whim, you had posted a video on tiktok about you and Natasha. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the two of you lip syncing to some new trending song while her hands roamed around your waist. It was harmless really but it started getting people's attention.
You wouldn't say that you and Natasha are the typical "tiktok" couple but watching the two of you do some trend or lip sync or even just harmlessly post one another was really something people enjoyed watching one of the videos that had gotten a lot of attention was the one where couples were sitting in a car and trying some takeout. Now neither of you had a car but that didn't stop you. Instead, you'd set up your phone in your room (because yours was the aesthetic and Natasha's room was a mess).
The video was simple. You recorded the two of you holding up different things taking bites and sharing the foods. But then it would fade to the two of you making out. The first kiss was soft. Natasha leaned in, cupping your jaw as she kissed you softly. It was slow, sweet, and intimate your eyes fluttering closed, one hand resting on her thigh. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back. You both continued eating like nothing happened. The second one was much hotter.
Natasha had her hand fisted in your curls, kissing you hard. You bit down on her bottom lip, tugging it visibly between your teeth. Natasha groaned into your mouth, the sound low and rough. The kiss was aggressive, needy, her free hand gripping your thigh tightly. When you finally pulled back, her lip was red and slightly swollen.
You both turned back to the camera, a little breathless.
"These spicy dumplings are no joke." You said, voice slightly husky.
"Super flavorful. 9/10 from me." Natasha licked her bitten lip.
"Yeah… really fucking good. 9.5."
The third and final one faded in with you already straddling Natasha’s lap. You were kissing her deeply, her hands resting on your hips as she tilted her head to kiss you harder. It was slow, passionate, and full of heat. Soft sounds escaping as your bodies moved subtly together. You pulled back just enough to look at her, both of you smiling against each other’s lips.
You turned toward the camera, still in her lap.
"Overall verdict?" You said, a little flushed.
"This place is a strong 9.5 out of 10. We’re ordering from here again for sure." Natasha looked straight into the lens, one hand still possessively on your thigh.
"Highly recommend." She added, voice low and satisfied.
"10/10 experience." The video ended with both of you smiling at the camera, the takeout boxes scattered around you.
The soft moments mixed with the heated ones and the way you two looked at each other like no one else existed, made the fans lose their minds in the comments. Comments varied, some calling you a cute couple or something alike. While some were bolder and friskier.
"Drop the twitter"
"Can we watch"
You remember the night you'd shown the comments to Natasha. You were laying on top of her, scrolling through the comments before showing her your phone. She just laughed.
"I mean we'd look good." The topic ended there.
But the love for filming intensified. There was something so satisfying about filming your sexual activities. She'd hold the phone while taking you from behind. There was something so tantalizing about her pale hand gripping onto your ass, hips pounding hard enough to send your ass rippling like water. You'd moan into the pillow hands gripping the pillow while throwing your ass back to meet her thrusts.
"You look so fucking good baby. Throw that ass back f'me, yeah just like that." You'd moan in response.
"Tell me how deep I'm in baby."
"So f...deep." Natasha slapped your ass, spurring you on.
"Yeah? Feel my cock deep in your pussy?"
"Feel you everywhere, in my stomach." She fastened her pace, the new strap hitting deeper inside of your pussy. You came fast, the sound of your melodic moans sending Natasha into her own orgasm.
Your filmed videos varied like that. Either you'd record her in between your legs, sucking and fingering you while talking filthy to the camera. Or her in between your legs shoulders propped onto her shoulders as you gripped the counter top. She'd kiss down your thighs, lick your leg kiss a toe then go back to sucking in between your clit. Other videos ranged between you fingering her, riding her cowgirl or even of the two of you touching yourselves in front of her. But your videos weren't the only thing growing.
The love and vulnerability between you two grew too. After she'd come back from a horrible athlete tournament, third place, though it was good, Natasha screwed up the last run and was almost disqualified.
You ran her a bath, let her soak before giving her a massage. You then spent a long time just massaging her legs, focusing on the calves and quads.
"You're good no matter what Nat. You're the best runner I know. " You'd praise. You worked slow circles into the knot in her calf before moving to her hamstring.
"Relax." You murmured, lifting her leg into a passive hamstring stretch.
That night Natasha let go and let you fuck her with the strap. The sight of he laying back, red hair spilled across the pillow as you thrust into her filled your heart with so much warmth.
"You're so beautiful Nat." She pulled you in for a kiss and came with you playing with her tits while kissing her deeply.
That night you laid together, listening to the shared Playlist you made together. Natasha's eyes were filled with love as she mindlessly played with your curls.
"Falling in love with you is like discovering a new favorite song. Every time I think I've heard the best part, I listen again... and somehow find another reason to love it." She whispered. You stared at her.
"...What?" Natasha smiled sheepishly.
"I said falling in love with you is like finding a new favorite song." Your heart felt impossibly full. You searched her face as if trying to figure out how someone could say something so effortlessly beautiful.
"That's... " You laughed softly, shaking your head.
"Probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Natasha's cheeks flushed.
"Yeah?" You slipped your arms around her waist.
"Yeah."
___
The first fight was over something stupid really. It was after you agreed to meet Natasha after your last class of the day (where you had to write an exam about statistics which you weren't really succeeding. So you really expected Natasha to be there because she knew what this meant to you.
You checked your phone for the twelfth time in fifteen minutes. Nothing. No text. No missed call. Just the lock screen staring back at you with an empty notification bar. Students poured out of the lecture hall in clusters, laughing as they made plans for the afternoon. One by one, the crowd around you began to thin.
You stayed where you were. Natasha had promised she'd be here.
"You waiting for someone?" You looked over at one of your classmates.
"Yeah."
"They're running late?"
"...I guess." Another five minutes passed.
Then twenty. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. Maybe she'd forgotten. The thought stung more than you cared to admit. Just as you turned to leave, a familiar voice called your name.
"There you are." You looked up.
Natasha jogged toward you, her track bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. A sheen of sweat clung to her forehead, and her hair had almost completely escaped its ponytail.
"Sorry." She said between breaths. "Practice ran over." You stared at her.
"You could've texted."
"I know."
"You said you'd be here."
"I did." Another pause. Natasha rubbed the back of her neck.
"Coach kept us longer than expected."
You waited. She didn't say anything else. No apology. No acknowledgment that you'd been standing there for almost forty minutes wondering where she was. Instead, she flashed that easy grin.
"C'mon." You didn't move. She frowned.
"What?"
"I waited for you."
"I know."
"And?" Natasha shrugged.
"It wasn't a big deal." Silence.
The smile slipped from her face the second she saw yours.
"It wasn't..." you repeated quietly.
"I mean-"
"It wasn't a big deal?"
"No, that's not what I-"
"You made me wait nearly forty minutes."
"I got held up."
"I know that."
"Then why are you mad?"
You let out a short laugh. Not because anything was funny. Because you couldn't believe she was missing the point.
"I'm not mad because you were late."
"Then-"
"I'm mad because you couldn't take ten seconds to tell me."
Natasha opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I was busy."
"You were too busy to send one text?"
"I just forgot." The words landed harder than either of you expected. Forgot. You looked away first.
"If it's not a big deal to you..." You adjusted your bag onto your shoulder.
"Then I don't really have anything else to say."
"Hey-" You walked past her. She reached for your wrist. You slipped out of reach before she could touch you.
For the first time since you'd met her you left Natasha Romanoff standing there alone.
___
The apartment had never been so quiet. Usually, one of you always had something to say.
A joke. A complaint about assignments. An argument over whose turn it was to do the dishes.
Now:
"Morning."
"Mhm."
"You heading to class?"
"Yep."
"...Okay." Natasha watched your bedroom door click shut. She hated it. She hated how you wouldn't even look at her.
By lunchtime she'd already sent three messages.
Nat 🕷️
Still mad?
Nat 🕷️
I'm sorry.
Nat 🕷️
Can we talk?
You'd read every single one from the notification preview. You never opened the chat. That somehow felt worse.
The next morning, another knock sounded against your bedroom door. You ignored it. A second knock. And then you heard her voice.
"I brought a peace offering." Silence.
"It's coffee." Nothing.
"And one of those stupid blueberry muffins you always complain are overpriced but still buy." Your hand froze halfway through zipping your backpack.
"Go away."
"I'd rather not." You opened the door. Natasha stood there holding a takeaway tray in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.
"You look tired."
"I slept fine."
"Liar." You reached for the coffee. Natasha pulled it back.
"Not until you hear me out." You narrowed your eyes.
"You're annoying."
"I've been told." You folded your arms.
"Talk."The confidence she'd worn so effortlessly for the last two days disappeared. She looked... nervous.
"I was wrong." You stayed silent.
"I should've texted." Silence.
"I knew you were waiting for me." Another pause.
"And I made you feel like... like it didn't matter." Your expression softened but only slightly. Natasha took a careful step closer.
"I wasn't thinking."
"No." You said quietly.
"You weren't." She nodded.
"I know."
"I kept checking my phone."
"I know."
"I thought maybe you'd forgotten about the fact that I needed you." Her face fell.
"I didn't."
"I know that now." Another silence settled between you. This one wasn't angry. Just honest.
"You hurt my feelings, Nat." The words came out smaller than you'd intended. Natasha's shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry." No excuses. No jokes. No trying to make you laugh. Just two words.
"I'm really sorry." You looked at the coffee again. Then at her.
"You got my order right?" A tiny smile tugged at Natasha's lips.
"Extra caramel."
"And?"
"Oat milk."
"And?"
"No whipped cream." You took the cup from her hand.
"Good." Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.
"So..."
"So?"
"Am I forgiven?"
You took a long sip before answering.
"You're on probation." She laughed.
"I can work with probation." You tried to keep your face straight. You really did.
But the corner of your mouth betrayed you. Natasha caught it immediately.
"There it is."
"What?"
"That smile."
"I'm not smiling."
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
"You absolutely are." You rolled your eyes, finally looking at her properly for the first time in two days.
"Shut up." Natasha smiled back. god, she'd missed hearing you say that.
___
You woke up to Natasha’s warm body curled around yours, her arm slung over your waist and her face buried in your neck. For a moment you just stayed there, soaking in the quiet comfort of her breathing against your skin. Then reality hit. It was a Tuesday. Your birthday. And you had an 8 AM lecture.
You pressed a soft kiss to her lips, smiling when she sleepily kissed you back.
"Gotta go." You whispered.
"See you later."
Natasha mumbled something incoherent and pulled you closer for one more kiss before letting you slip out of bed. You got ready quickly, leaving her dozing under the covers, and headed out without making a big deal about the day. Birthdays had never been special. They were just another weekday.
The second the door closed, Natasha was wide awake. She’d been planning this for weeks. Under her bed was a plain cardboard box she’d been secretly filling. She pulled it out and spent the next few hours arranging everything with more care than she’d ever admit to. It was nothing expensive, just things she knew you’d love. She got you a stack of your favorite snacks (including the weird spicy chips you pretended not to like but always stole from her), a soft oversized black hoodie she’d "borrowed" from the athletics store because she knew you liked wearing her clothes, a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny star charm, a new sleek black grinder, and a small bag of good weed flower she’d saved up for.
But the part that took the longest, the part she was most nervous about, were the flowers.
Natasha sat cross legged on her bed for almost three hours, tongue poking out in concentration, twisting colorful pipe cleaners into little flowers. Her fingers ached. Some of them came out crooked. A few petals were lopsided. But she kept going, making a small, imperfect bouquet in your favorite colors. When she was done, she put them in an empty mug and set everything on your desk with a simple handwritten note:
“You deserve to feel special today. Happy Birthday, princess. From Nat”
She wasn’t cocky about it. No smirk. No teasing. She just wanted you to feel loved on a day you’d told her once meant nothing.
You came back from your afternoon classes exhausted and expecting nothing. You pushed open the door and stopped dead in your tracks. The living room was softly lit. On your desk sat a wrapped box and the most ridiculous, colorful bouquet of pipe cleaner flowers you’d ever seen. Natasha stood in the middle of the room, hands in her hoodie pockets, looking almost nervous. Her usual cocky energy was completely gone. She just looked at you with soft green eyes, waiting.
"Happy birthday. " She said quietly. You walked over slowly, picking up one of the pipe cleaner flowers. It was messy and imperfect and so obviously made by her hands that your throat tightened.
"You made these?" You asked, voice small.
"Took me three hours." She admitted with a shy little laugh.
"They’re kinda ugly, but… I wanted to make you something myself." You opened the box next. Every single item inside hit you right in the chest. The hoodie. The bracelet. The snacks. The new grinder and weed. All chosen because she knew you. Because she’d been paying attention. Tears welled up before you could stop them.
Natasha stepped forward and pulled you into her arms without hesitation. She held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.
"I know birthdays aren’t a big thing for you." She murmured into your hair.
"But I wanted this one to be different. You deserve to be celebrated, Y/N. You deserve someone who notices the little things and wants to make you smile."
You hugged her back fiercely, burying your face in her neck as a few tears slipped free.
"No one’s ever done anything like this for me." You whispered, voice thick.
Natasha held you even tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
"Well, get used to it." She said softly. "Because I’m gonna make sure every birthday from now on feels like you matter." You stayed wrapped up in her for a long time, the pipe cleaner flowers and thoughtful box on the desk behind you. For the first time in years, your birthday didn’t feel like just another day. It felt like love. Real, warm, and beautifully overwhelming.
___
2026
You don't know how you let yourself be roped back into her bed, but here you were, moaning and letting Natasha fuck you like old times. The camera caught everything. The way she pulled you closer just to bury her mouth in between her legs, how your fingers pulled her hair, pulling her impossibly closer, or how she kissed your thighs like she still had the control to do that. And you let her, because part of you really wanted to reminisce about the good times. About what used to be. About her...
When you were done, you got dressed like you usually did after this.
"You posted another video of yourself." She started, you paused. Then she spoke and you almost didn't hear her.
"It was beautiful." Another pause.
"I miss you." You clenched your jaw, fighting the emotions down.
"You don't get to do that."
"Y/n, at least talk to me. Please, just give me a chance to talk." The laugh you let out was so bitter it made Natasha flinch.
"Why won't you just give me a chance to talk y/n, please I'm begging you. Baby I'm begging you."
"Why?!" You finally turned to look at Natasha. She looked devastated.
___
2025
The rain thrummed violently against the window to your shared off campus apartment. The sound should have been grounding you at this moment but your kind was a storm. And your heart? It was raging from unshed tears and unsaid words.
Lately things with Natasha were extremely rocky. It was like you were treading on thin ice. At first you chalked it up to her grad school applications and her regional tournament. But you were starting to believe it was more than that.
Natasha was distant, quiet and guarded. You tried to talk to her but it either ended in a fight where she'd leave and come back smelling like alcohol or with the two of you fucking before going to sleep facing the walls. That's not what you wanted. You wanted your Natasha back. But she was so gone.
Even the sex, it was still good but she barely paid attention to you anymore. She wouldn't look at you with those adoring eyes anymore, now it was filled with anger. Not to you, never to you. But you still felt it. Either that or she'd stare into the distance. She'd fuck you like she was trying to punish you for something you didn't do, then slip into bed without giving you the aftercare you emotionally needed.
That's how you found yourself sitting on the countertop. The food you'd cooked had gone cold and the lingerie piece you'd bought sat untouched underneath your robe. Natasha was late. Again. You'd tolerated the countless of times she was late back then but on your fourth anniversary?? You'd drawn the line there.
Natasha stepped into the apartment, hair and clothes soaked before throwing her bag down onto the floor. She took her spikes off and set them aside before turning to find you waiting for her.
"Oh. I thought I told you you didn't have to wait up."
"Seriously?" You exclaimed. She sighed in annoyance.
"Y/n, please don't start this right now, I'm not in the mood."
"Bullshit Natasha, you're never in the mood anymore!" You hopped down, robe slipping off your shoulder and she noticed.
"Okay are we gonna fuck or what because I'd rather get to that now."
You shook your head, tears blinding your vision.
"What's today Nat huh? Tell me." She paused and frowned.
"I don't know what you're talking about." You laughed.
"It's our fucking anniversary Nat!" You watched the realization hit her before she spoke.
"I forgot."
"Yes, like you're forgetting everything else about me. Natasha I haven't seen or spoke to you properly for more than two weeks. You're just-"
"Don't do that bullshit now y/n! What... have you been secretly writing this in your little planners? Have you been waiting to throw this in my face? I'm busy y/n, I'm sorry I don't have time to entertain you like I could when we were fucking nineteen years old."
"I'm not asking for a lot. All I'm asking for is for my girlfriend to kiss me on the cheek and fuck me like I actually matter to her." You raised your voice and she shook her head.
The fight escelated.
"I can't keep carrying this relationship on my back Nat. It's like I'm the only one in this relationship. It's fucking one sided.. I love you Natasha I really do but I can't suffocate like this anymore. Do you even love me?"
"I never asked you to carry us y/n, you put that on yourself. I'm not some fucking thing you can organize and fix to be in your perfect life."
"I never said that I wanted you to be perfect, I just want you to be present! Are you even fucking listening to me or am I just some body you get to fuck and leave huh? Cause I'm so convenient for you the moment you want us to film a video and get money but then you're back to drinking and acting like I don't exist. " It sounded ugly, but you had been feeling like that for a while now.
"I have family shit okay y/n! My families fucking breaking apart and I've got no one or nothing to keep me from fucking spiraling." You froze, by now the tears were falling freely.
"Then talk to me baby, please. I want to help you but you need to let me in."
"I don’t need you to fix me, Y/N. Stop trying to organize my trauma like it’s a fucking syllabus." That stung.
"I’m not trying to fix you. I’m trying to love you. But you won’t let me. You fuck me, you laugh with me on camera, but the second it gets real, you shut down."
Natasha stood, voice cold with that old cocky edge sharpened by pain.
"Maybe we were always better as a show. Hot couple on campus OnlyFans. Perfect on TikTok. In real life? You need order. I bring chaos. We’re ruining each other."
You cried. She didn’t. Words flew, accusations about her emotional unavailability, your rigidity. She accused you of no understanding family. Like the time you two fought about Natasha just giving her mom the some money from cash she'd been saving up for after college. You retaliated buy saying she never let you in. How she only told you half truths. Like the time she pulled away early senior year.
Her mom had a bad relapse. Overdose scare that landed her in the hospital. Yelena called in a panic at 2 a.m., and Natasha drove six hours without telling you the full story. She came back three days later, hollow eyed and closed off. Practice became her escape. She’d return to the apartment late, smelling like sweat and exhaustion, and the sex turned into what it did. The angry, distant, missionary with her eyes fixed on the wall while she thrust into you like she was punishing the helplessness she felt.
And still you gave her all of you but now she couldn't even give one bit of herself to you.
"You want me to spill every ugly detail so you can organize it into neat little boxes? Fix me like one of your fucking syllabi?" Her voice rose.
"My mom almost died again last week, Yelena’s spiraling, and I’m supposed to what, come home and play perfect girlfriend while pretending I’m not drowning? You have no idea what that pressure feels like."
"I don’t?” Your voice cracked, tears burning behind your eyes.
"I’ve been carrying us for months, Natasha. Planning around your moods, making excuses for why you’re distant, waiting up after your ‘family calls’ like some pathetic side character in your chaos. I love you. I loved planning a future with you. But you look at me during sex like I’m not even there anymore. Do you know how that felt? To feel invisible to the person who used to make me feel seen?" The words hung heavy. Natasha’s jaw clenched, her athletic frame rigid.
"You need everything perfect and scheduled. I bring mess. I ruin things. Maybe I should just stop pretending I can be what you want." That broke something in you.
"You’re a coward." You whispered, voice shaking with hurt and fury. Tears spilled over now, hot on your cheeks.
"You’re using your family as an excuse to run. I never asked you to be perfect. I just asked you to let me in. To stay. But you’d rather fuck me like an escape and leave me picking up the pieces than actually love me back the way I deserve."
Natasha flinched like you’d hit her. For a second, her eyes softened, regret flashing through the anger, but she doubled down, voice low and final.
"Then maybe stop waiting for me to be someone I’m not." She turned away, grabbing her duffel bag from the closet.
"I’m done ruining your perfect order." You froze.
"Baby please don't do this." But Natasha continued packing as if you weren't standing there. She packed her protein shakers, spikes a few clothes and other necessities. Every movement felt like another crack in your chest. At the door, she paused, hand on the knob, red hair curtaining half her face.
"I did love you." She said quietly, without turning around.
"Still do. That’s why I have to leave."
The door clicked shut behind her.
You didn’t scream. You didn’t collapse right away. You just stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling the silence press in like a weight. The apartment, once shared chaos and love, felt too big, too empty, too perfectly organized without her mess disrupting it. Your chest ached with a hollow pain that made it hard to breathe. Tears came in waves as you sank onto the couch, pulling your knees up. She’d chosen her walls. Her family ghosts. Her escape.
And you? You were left with the brutal truth. Loving Natasha Romanoff had been the most beautiful, terrifying disruption of your life. Now it was over, and you had to rebuild your order around the giant hole she’d left behind.
You cried until your eyes were raw. Then you got up, wiped your face, and started reorganizing the apartment the next morning, erasing every trace of her while your heart stayed shattered.
You blocked Natasha after that then deleted your number, but you couldn't log into that account. Not yet at least.
The weeks after the breakup were hell on a shared campus. You threw yourself into your pre-med grind harder than ever, color coded schedules, extra lab hours, anything to avoid the places where Natasha might appear. But it was impossible. The university was big, but your worlds overlapped too much.
The first run in happened three days after she moved out. You were grabbing coffee at the student union when she walked in with two track teammates. Your eyes locked across the room. Natasha froze mid step, green eyes widening with raw guilt before she schooled it into that old neutral mask. You turned away first, heart hammering, and walked out without your drink. Your hands shook the entire way back to your apartment.
You spent the entire night sitting on the shower floor crying and watching blood run down the drain. The blade was left on the bathroom counter but the pain remained in your heart.
You could no longer function anymore. It was as if your body was on autopilot. You couldn't listen to music anymore, that just reminded you of Natasha. Getting high was no longer an option anymore because the high only brought back memories. So many of them that you ended up hurling your guts out before curling into a ball and crying. Your apartment became a mess. What was once neat and organized became untidy. Back then you would've cleaned it but now you just sat in the chaos because at least then you could be reminded of Natasha.
And having shared friends made it worse. Your friend group had basically fused over the years. Mutual friends from parties, late night study sessions, and track tournaments. The first group hangout after the split was brutal.
It was a casual bonfire at someone’s off campus house. You almost didn’t go, but you refused to let her exile you from your people. Natasha was already there when you arrived, red hair loose, wearing the black hoodie you used to steal. She was laughing at something a teammate said, but the moment she saw you, the laugh died.
You sat on the opposite side of the fire, surrounded by friends who were visibly uncomfortable. The group chat had been suspiciously quiet about "the situation." Conversations felt forced. Someone tried to tell a story from sophomore year involving both of you, then trailed off awkwardly.
Natasha’s eyes kept finding yours across the flames, heavy, regretful, full of everything she wouldn’t say. You hated how much you still wanted to walk over and touch her. You hated even more that she looked like she wanted the same. When you got up to leave early, she followed you to the edge of the yard.
"Y/n-"
"Don’t." Your voice was ice.
"You made your choice. Live with it." She didn’t follow after that.
You saw her everywhere. At the athletics center when you cut through to get to the library. She’d be coming out of practice, sweaty and flushed, duffel bag over her shoulder. Sometimes she’d nod. Sometimes she’d just watch you walk by with that haunted look. In the dining hall. One time you were with friends and she was two tables away.
At mutual friends’ birthdays. One party got especially messy when someone who was too drunk asked loudly.
"So when are you two getting back together? The chemistry was insane." You left. Natasha stayed and got wasted. She ended up in someone else's bed but even then she felt distant and hollow.
"You should talk to whoever it is." The girl said the next morning.
"What are you talking about?"
"Whoever she was, she's clearly still haunting you." Natasha let the girl out of her apartment but five minutes later she had a bottle of alcohol in her hand, stating at the polaroid Wanda once too of the two of you as if she could teleport back to that day, just to feel you in her arms again. She spent the day crying and went back to the shared account just to see your face again.
You both kept up appearances. Natasha threw herself harder into track practice and grad school applications. You buried yourself in research and solo content that paid the bills but felt hollow. The OnlyFans account stayed dormant, neither of you posted anything couple related, and fans noticed the silence.
The pain was constant but quiet. You missed her in the small ways. No more protein shakes magically appearing, no cocky texts making you roll your eyes, no warm body disrupting your perfectly made bed. Some nights you’d stare at old TikToks (private now) and cry. Other nights you’d fuck yourself with the vibrator she’d left behind, hating how you whispered her name when you came.
Natasha looked like shit for a while too, thinner, quieter, the cocky energy dimmed. Mutual friends said she wasn’t dating anyone. She wasn’t even hooking up. Just… existing. You both became experts at polite distance. Civil nods in public. Short, surface level conversations when forced by group settings. Never alone. Never touching. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Even at her big track tournament. Natasha had do drag herself there. She wasn't even excited to run but she had to because her scholarship was riding on it, and with her grades slipping, she couldn't afford another mishap.
Natasha was anxious as she tied the laces to her spikes up. She scanned the crowd, half expecting to find you there. And to her surprise you were. You guys locked eyes, her heart stuttered but then you looked away. It hurt but you still showed up. And that pushed Natasha to run like her life depended on it.
She won first place but it felt hollow. Because even when cheerleaders, friends and teammates surrounded her to congratulate her, she wanted nothing more than your attention. For you to be running down and throwing yourself in her hands, exclaiming that you were proud of her while wearing her jacket and kissing her face.
But when she looked back at the bleachers, you were already gone.
___
2026
"Fuck you Natasha. You don't get to come into my life and expect everything to go back to the way it was." Natasha flinched but she stood stronger.
"I know. I'm sorry. But I need you y/n. I miss you. I thought it would be better to be our own people but fuck..." She paused and rubbed her neck.
"I'm not even a person without you."
___
It was hard it really was but you two missed one another. You agreed to meet up at a coffee shop. One coffee just to talk and no funny business. She looked ecstatic when you told her that.
That's how you ended up fixing things with one another again. It took some time, a lot of time but soon enough you two were falling in love again. You didn't just fall back into her arms again. You made Natasha earn you. If she wanted you that badly then she'd earn you, fight for you, love you the way you deserved.
And it worked. You two ended up dating five months later. You went on for two years. It was like falling in love all over again. It was beautiful, messy and fragile but with Natasha it all felt worth it. The next two years were genuinely good. You graduated pre-med and started med school. Natasha finished her degree and took a coaching job at a local club while figuring out her future. You moved into a nicer apartment together. There were trips, lazy mornings with coffee and Luna demanding breakfast, passionate nights where she still fucked you like she needed you more than air, and quiet ones where you just held each other.
You even filmed a few more videos together, not for the money anymore, but because the trust had returned and it felt fun again. But something was… off. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no massive fights like senior year. No distance. And yet it never quite reached the effortless magic you both remembered from freshman, sophomore and junior year. You were both trying so hard, too hard, to make it what it used to be. The nostalgia became weight instead of warmth. You were in love with the memory of each other as much as the real person in front of you. Stuck. You two loved each other but you weren't in love anymore.
The final conversation happened after a quiet fight. It started over something small, you reorganizing the kitchen again because her post practice mess triggered old anxieties, and her snapping that she felt like she was always walking on eggshells in your “perfect” space. It escalated into the living room, voices raised but not screaming.
"I feel like I’m failing you again." Natasha said, running a hand through her red hair. She looked tired.
"Like no matter how much I try, I can’t give you that version of us you remember." You sat on the couch, Luna jumping into your lap like she sensed the shift. Your chest ached.
"I feel the same." You admitted, voice cracking.
"I love you. I really do. You’re still the only person who makes me feel this alive. But… it’s not working the way we want it to. We’re both holding on because the love is real, but we’re not the same people who fell in love in that freshman dorm. I keep waiting for it to feel like it did back then, and I think you are too." Natasha sat beside you, careful not to crowd Luna. She took your hand, the touch still familiar, still warm.
" I keep thinking if I just try harder, get better at the family stuff, stop bringing any chaos… it’ll click again." She said quietly.
"But that’s not fair to either of us. I love you enough to admit this isn’t what we both deserve anymore. We’re good together. But we’re not right anymore."
Tears slipped down your cheeks. Luna purred loudly, pressing against your stomach as if offering comfort.
"I hate this." You whispered.
"But I think you’re right. We’ve been trying to recreate something beautiful instead of building something new. And it’s exhausting us both." You talked for hours that night. Really talked. About the good times (freshman year stoner giggles in the shower, the way she used to make you laugh until your sides hurt, the electric chemistry that started it all). About the pain (senior year, the breakup, the campus ghosts). About how much you’d both grown.
By the end, you were curled against her, Luna between you like a fluffy mediator, both of you crying quietly.
"I don’t want to lose you completely,” Natasha said, voice thick.
"You’re still one of the most important people in my life. Maybe… we figure out how to be friends? Real friends. Without forcing the romance." You nodded against her shoulder.
"Friends. It hurts like hell right now, but I think that’s what we need."
The breakup was kind. No slammed doors. No bitterness. You helped each other move her things out over a weekend, sharing memories and even laughing through tears when Luna tried to “help” by sitting in every box.
You stayed close. Group hangouts were no longer awkward. Natasha still came over sometimes, just for dinner or to watch movies with you and Luna. The romantic tension faded into something softer, warmer. She was still your person, just in a different way. You dated other people eventually. So did she. But no one ever quite matched what you had.
Years later, when people asked about your college love story, you’d smile and say.
"We burned bright. Really bright. And when it was time, we let it settle into embers instead of forcing the fire. She’s still family."
You know how your favorite song builds and builds until it reaches that one perfect moment? The moment that makes you close your eyes every single time you hear it. But even after that, the music doesn't stay there forever. It softens. It quiets. Eventually, it comes to an end.
Maybe that's all you two ever were. Not a song that ended too soon. Not one that went on for too long. Just one that reached its peak... and knew when it was time to fade.
Summary: When after months of dating things haven’t progressed in the bedroom the way Agatha thought, she starts to wonder why.
Word Count: 5.7K
Warnings: Explicit smut so as always MDNI xo
A/N: sorry for the absence, I needed time to take care of myself a little (thankfully Lunar updated LCM which did help alot) but here’s the long awaited second part to like a Virgin! I hope you enjoy 💜xx
After that first night, her fingers inside you, your legs shaking, her whispering ‘that’s it, baby, let me play with you’ while you cried into her shoulder, something shifted. Something permanent.
You’ve always been soft and sweet. Nervous about taking up too much space. But ever since that night, you’ve started taking up her space, curled into her arms, trembling under her hands, aching for her when she so much as brushes her thigh against yours on the couch.
And Agatha?
Agatha’s obsessed.
She watches you now with this quiet, reverent hunger like you’re something sacred she’s allowed to ruin. She’s never been with a girl like you before. So young. So untouched. And fuck if she doesn’t love every single second of it.
You’d never even been touched before her, not like that. And she makes sure you remember it every night her hands are on you, when she’s knuckle deep inside you on the couch whispering ‘this is mine now, yeah?’, or when you’re straddling her lap with your panties already soaked, crying her name into her mouth as she grinds her cock against your swollen little clit and praises you for how needy you get.
You’ve learned to jerk her off the way she likes. You’re still shy about it, but she guides you gently, voice low and filthy as you stroke her under the covers, all while your own hips squirm against her thigh like you can’t help yourself.
And God, you can’t help yourself.
She’s ruined you.
You grind in your sleep now. You wake up panting with slick between your thighs and her name already on your lips. You rub yourself on her cock without thinking, without words, just this soft moan and wide eyes and a hitch in your breath like you need her there to breathe.
But you still haven’t fucked.
Not properly. Not yet.
You’ve talked about it… God, you’ve begged for it. She’s been hard so many nights, you’ve felt her twitching between your legs, felt her pulse through her boxers as you grind down with tears in your eyes from how badly you want her inside you.
But she won’t do it rushed and she refuses your first time to be when you’re both exhausted from work. She wants to take her time with you, just like you deserve. But neither of you have had the time.
Agatha’s been stuck on night shifts for nearly two weeks now, her schedule flipped, her hours brutal. She leaves for work just as you’re getting home from the clinic, worn out and sore after another day of surgeries and emergency call outs. She kisses you on the couch, cups your face, fingers your cunt slow and steady until you’re a mess in her lap, but she never goes further than that.
You fall asleep curled in her sheets, empty and aching, her cock hard and untouched because you were too tired to do more than whimper against her neck.
And it’s killing you both.
You feel it in every glance. Every brush of her hand against your lower back. Every sigh when she finds you half asleep in her hoodie on the sofa with no panties on because you thought she’d be home in time to fuck you and you didn’t want to waste time getting undressed.
You’ve started crying when she grinds against you now.
It just happens, the overwhelmed little gasps, the way your body shakes when she gets close, the way you sob into her chest when she pulls away because she can’t give you what you need yet. And it’s not just because of the way she touches you. It’s because of everything she won’t do. Because she’s waiting for the right moment. Because she wants your first time to be perfect.
And that’s what’s driving you both insane.
This slow burn of bodies and boundaries and exhausted schedules has been building now for days. Weeks. You’re losing your mind with it and she’s right there with you. It’s only a matter of time before someone snaps.
Tonight you don’t even hear the car pull up when Agatha gets home.
You both decided you’d stay over to spend the evening together. So you’re curled on the couch, swaddled in Agatha’s old flannel, mindlessly scrolling on your phone with the TV humming low in the background. It’s nearly nine, later than you’d hoped but earlier than her usual shift ends lately, and you’re about to give up and text her that you miss her again when the lock clicks and the front door opens.
You sit up fast.
Agatha steps inside, and your heart jumps into your throat. Her hair’s mussed, her button down slightly rumpled, coat half off already like she’d been tugging it off on the porch. She looks wrecked but when her eyes land on you, it’s like she’s de-aged a decade.
“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, already soft.
You squeal and scramble off the couch, bolting across the room and throwing your arms around her, burying your face in her chest with a giddy little sound.
“You’re early!”
She laughs, low and surprised, and wraps her arms around you tight, rocking you back and forth like she’s missed you just as much.
“Don’t get used to it,” she mutters into your hair, but her hands are already smoothing down your spine, one settling low on your ass, fingers flexing.
You’re wearing nothing but one of her old flannels and a soft pair of cotton panties, and she notices immediately.
“No pants, huh?”
You look up at her, wide eyed, breath a little caught. “Didn’t think you’d be home yet…”
“Lucky me.” Agatha hums, cupping your jaw.
You don’t make it to the couch.
She lifts you up in one smooth motion, kissing you hard and open mouthed, her tongue licking into you like she’s starved. You cling to her, arms around her neck, legs locked around her hips. She stumbles you back against the wall, grinding her cock up between your thighs until it drags perfectly against your soaked panties and makes you moan into her mouth.
“Fuck, baby,” she groans, dragging her mouth down your jaw, your neck, her voice shaking, “been thinkin’ about you all fucking day.”
You whimper as she thrusts up again, slow and firm. Her cock rubs against your clit through the thin fabric, and you arch, hips stuttering against her.
“Agatha!”
“I know, baby,” she pants, kissing you again, “I know, I know.”
She’s so hard it hurts, grinding against you with purpose now, dragging out whines from your throat with every pass. You clutch at her shoulders, overwhelmed and wet already, more than ready.
‘This is it’ you can’t help but think, ‘this is finally it.’
She rests her cock directly along your heat, pressing you to the wall with her full weight. The tip catches against the curve of your panties, and her voice breaks with it.
“You want me to fuck you, baby?” she breathes against your lips, eyes wide and starved.
“Yes please…”
And then…
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING.
Her emergency wok ringtone.
You both freeze.
Agatha doesn’t move for a second, doesn’t even breathe. The phone buzzes again louder this time, vibrating from where it’s been abandoned on the side table by the door.
You’re still trembling in her arms. Her cock is still right there, leaking through her briefs, pressed to your soaked cunt.
She growls under her breath.
“Fuck.”
You cling to her tighter. “No, don’t answer it. Just ignore it, please?”
She kisses you once, hard, then groans and sets you down gently. You whimper when her heat leaves yours, when the loss of her weight makes your legs weak.
“I have to, baby,” she mutters, jaw tight, already reaching for the phone. “If they’re calling this late, it’s bad.”
You stand there flushed, tears stinging behind your eyes because this was finally going to be it, and now you’re alone again, aching and empty and so fucking tired of waiting.
Agatha answers the phone, growling a clipped, “Harkness,” and listens.
Her shoulders tense.
“…I’ll be right there.”
And just like that, Agatha is gone and you’re curled up in her bed, still in her flannel, still wet between the thighs.
You don’t bother changing, you just crawl into her sheets and tuck yourself into the spot where she usually sleeps, dragging her pillow under your cheek and breathing her in like it might quiet the ache in your chest.
It doesn’t.
You’re trying not to cry.
You know it’s not her fault. You know the job comes first, that she had to go, that someone out there is probably hurt or missing or dead. And still the weight of it all crashes over you, the emotional whiplash of being so close, so ready, finally ready, and then… it’s over.
The clock reads 22:06. Her emergency phone rang exactly seventeen minutes ago.
Your own phone buzzes.
~ Agatha: Baby I’m so fucking sorry x you okay? ~
You sniffle and back type with shaking fingers.
~ Y/N: I miss you already xxxx ~
Her reply is instant.
~ Agatha: Oh sweetheart, my poor baby x ~
~ Agatha: I know, it’s killing me too x you were so ready, weren’t you? ~
You bite your lip and nod, even though she can’t see you.
~ Y/N: I really was ready Aggie 🥺xoxo ~
There’s a long pause. You can picture her now, probably sitting in the front seat of the squad car, one hand in her lap, the other clenched around the phone, jaw set, guilt swimming in her chest like cement.
~ Agatha: You have no idea how much I wanted you, babygirl x ~
~ Agaha: I was two seconds away from being inside you ~
~ Agaha: I wanted to fill you up so deep ~
~ Agaha: Stretch you open ~
~ Agaha: Watch your eyes roll back ~
~ Agaha: Wanted to fuck you while you cried for me ~
You gasp, burying your face into her pillow.
~ Agaha: You’re still wet for me, baby? ~
You squirm under the blankets, heart pounding.
~ Y/N: Uh huh xo ~
~ Agaha: you wanna touch yourself honey? ~
You bite your lip softly.
~ Y/N: Agatha I can’t 🥺it’s not the same xx I just want you here ~
The reply comes slower this time.
~ Agaha: That’s my girl ~
~ Agaha: Fuck, I’m so lucky ~
~ Agaha: Soon, baby I swear x I’m gonna take you so slow the first time x ~
~ Agaha: Gonna make it so good you’ll never want anyone else xx I’ll make you mine forever ~
You don’t realize you’re crying again until the tears slip hot onto your cheek, soaking into her pillow. You curl tighter into her bed, phone clutched to your chest, heart aching and full.
Because despite it all, despite the shift, the delay, the need that’s eating you alive, you still feel wanted. Still feel hers, still feel safe even when she’s not there.
~
You really went all out.
The table is set, candles flickering. Her favorite wine is breathing on the counter. There’s a playlist you made humming softly through the speakers, something slow and smoky. There’s even dessert chilling in the fridge, something from the fancy bakery you had to preorder a day in advance.
Agatha is freshly showered, in her softest t-shirt and boxers, her hair damp and skin warm, looking at you like you’re her entire world. She leans in and kisses your cheek as you bring the food to the table.
“Smells amazing, baby,” she murmurs, eyes shining. “And you look…”
Her gaze sweeps over your little black slip dress, the lace peeking out at the edges of your thighs. She exhales like she’s seeing heaven itself.
“Fuck.”
You beam, cheeks warm. “Figured I’d make an effort.”
Agatha takes your hand before you sit and brings it to her lips to kiss your knuckles like you’re some precious girl from another time.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs.
You both sit to start the meal. You’re halfway through the meal when you notice the heat simmering behind her eyes, the way she’s stopped eating and started watching you instead. One hand is resting low on her thigh under the table. The other is clenching her wine glass like it’s keeping her grounded.
“You’re staring,” you murmur shyly.
“‘Course I am,” she says, low and rough. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Your heart flutters.
You take a deep breath. “Agatha?”
“Yeah, baby?”
You wet your lips, taking a stabling breath before admitting “I want tonight to be the night.”
She freezes. Her fingers curl tighter around the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes go dark.
“Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’ve never been more sure.”
She exhales, long and slow, eyes roaming your face like she’s trying to memorize every freckle, every eyelash, every curve of your mouth.
Then she stands to come to your side of the table. She kneels in front of your chair and places both hands on your bare thighs, steady and warm.
“I’m gonna take such good care of you,” she says, voice rough, reverent. “Gonna make it perfect, baby. I swear.”
You lean down to kiss her. You’re both already shaking with anticipation. Her fingers stroke softly up the inside of your thighs…
And then your phone rings.
You pause.
Agatha growls under her breath, already reaching for your waist again. “Ignore it.”
But the ringtone makes your stomach twist.
It’s the clinic. Not reception, the emergency line.
“I have to,” you whisper.
Agatha sees your face fall.
“No, no, baby don’t answer…”
But you already are, pressing the phone to your ear with trembling fingers.
“This is Dr. Y/N.”
There’s a panicked voice on the other end. A golden retriever hit by a car. There’s internal bleeding and you’re the only vet in the county certified to perform this particular abdominal procedure.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes tops.”
When you hang up, Agatha’s already sitting back, her jaw clenched, cock straining under her boxers, eyes closed like she’s trying not to scream.
“I’m so sorry.” You whisper.
She stands slowly and pulls you into her arms.
“I get it, baby,” she says hoarsely. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” you say, eyes glassy. “You were finally home. I was ready. I wanted tonight to be our night.”
Agatha kisses your hair, presses your face to her chest.
“And it will be,” she promises, brushing your back. “Not tonight. But soon. Soon, baby. I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you.”
~
Agatha’s on the sofa, one hand lazily stroking Señor Scratchy as he dozes across her lap, the other cradling a lukewarm mug of coffee she hasn’t touched in half an hour. The living room is quiet, the TV muted, just the hum of the fridge and the soft sigh of wind outside.
She’s still wound tight from the other night, still aching from every almost, every breathless moment she had to let go of. Her cock’s been hard off and on for hours, just from thinking about the way you looked at her across that dinner table with those doe eyes and sweet little voice saying 'I want tonight to be the night’.
So when the knock comes, it startles her. It’s nearly dark out, you weren’t supposed to finish until much later. She frowns and sets her mug down, scratching behind Señor Scratchy’s ears before gently sliding him off her lap.
“Alright, alright,” she mutters, tugging her joggers up a little and heading for the door.
She pulls it open and freezes.
You’re standing there in one of her hoodies, its sleeves swallowing your hands, your cheeks pink from the autumn air, smiling bright and soft.
“I got off early.” You explain happily.
Agatha stares. Then physically groans before grabbing you by the hips and lifting you into her arms like it costs her nothing.
You squeal, giggling, arms wrapping around her neck as your feet leave the ground.
“Baby,” she breathes against your neck. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” you whisper back.
“I thought,” she starts, but she’s already kissing you. “Fuck, I thought I was gonna have to wait ‘til the weekend to see you.”
“Nope,” you grin, nuzzling close. “Just me and you. All weekend.”
“Oh, baby… you don’t know what you’ve just done.” She growls softly.
Then, she kicks the door shut behind you, carrying you straight into the bedroom without even asking, and mutters “tonight’s the fucking night.”
You giggle against her neck, flushed pink and soft as she presses kisses down your jaw.
She carries you to the bedroom like she’s starving for you, becuase fucking he’ll she’s been waiting for this.
And you let her. Because you have been waiting too. And now you’re ready.
Before you can say another word you’re flat on your back, trembling already. Her hands are warm on your bare thighs, having pulled your scrubs off greedily to get to bare skin. She’s kissed every inch of you through every nervous giggle and shaky breath, and now she’s knelt between your legs, looking like she might lose her mind from how soft and sweet you are for her.
“Baby,” she rasps, eyes flicking down to your soaked panties between your parted thighs. “You sure?”
You nod, breath shaky. Your fingers twist in her T-shirt. “I don’t wanna be with anyone else but you.” You admit softly.
Agatha exhales like she’s trying to hold herself together with duct tape and prayer.
“You know I’m not gonna last long,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to your knee. “Not if you keep looking at me like that. You’re… fuck, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
She leans in, brushing her lips across your stomach, her hands skimming your hips as she tugs your underwear down slowly. She’s reverent with every inch of you.
But it’s when she pulls away to fumble with her bedside drawer when you whisper “Don’t need to use one. I went on birth control a few weeks ago. W-when I found out about you. I wanted to be ready…”
Agatha freezes.
Her breath leaves her like she’s been punched.
“You what?”
You swallow, eyes wide. “I… I wanted you to be my first. Properly. And I didn’t want anything between us.”
Agatha sits back on her heels, hand in her hair. She looks wrecked. “You went on the pill for me?”
You nod nervously, shy that you’ve done the wrong thing by admitting you wanted her bare for your first time taking her.
And when she leans over you again, her eyes dark, mouth parted, you see a look of desperation in her face you hadn’t seen before.
“You want me bare,” she whispers. “You want me, my cock, inside you for the first time ever. Nothing between us.”
Your voice is a whisper. “Please?”
Agatha’s mouth crashes into yours. She’s kissing you hard, hands trembling as they cradle your face, your hips. Her cock throbs hot and thick between your legs, and when she pulls back, it’s only to groan.
“You’re gonna ruin me.”
Her fingers trail gently between your thighs, already glistening from how wet you are for her.
“All for me,” she murmurs, kissing your hip. “So fucking sweet for me. My good girl.”
You whimper, soft and shaky, and she coos, eyes fluttering shut like she might actually come from this alone.
Her thumb finds your clit, starts drawing slow, teasing circles. And when she slides a finger in slowly your whole body jolts.
“Ohh!” You gasp.
“I know, baby,” she whispers. “I know. You’re doing so good.”
She moves so slowly, just one finger at first, kissing you through the stretch. You feel impossibly tight and she’s trying not to lose it.
“You’ve never been touched like this,” she groans, voice shaking. “No one’s ever… fuck, baby.”
You nod, eyes glassy. “Just you.”
That does it. She lets her forehead drop to your thigh with a strained, guttural sound and works in a second finger, curling them slightly to open you up.
“God, you’re gripping me so tight,” she groans. “You feel perfect, baby. So fucking perfect.”
Her cock is hard and heavy, resting against your thigh as she fingers you, and you can feel how she’s throbbing, how much this is affecting her. But she doesn’t rush. She just keeps stroking, kissing, whispering to you.
“Relax for me,” she says softly, lips at your temple. “Let me get you ready, sweetheart. Gotta stretch my pretty baby out, yeah?”
You nod, lips parted, tears clinging to your lashes as her fingers pump slow and steady, coaxing your body open. You’re panting, squirming, moaning her name between gasps, and she’s so proud of you.
“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuck, look at you.”
She eventually slides her fingers out and strokes them over your pussy once more, watching your hips jerk.
“Think you’re ready for me?” she whispers. “You want my cock, baby?”
You nod, flushed and whimpering. “Yes. Please.”
She lines up, guiding her tip to your entrance, practically shaking with restraint. She cups your cheek, kisses your lips, then your eyelids.
“Deep breath for me,” she murmurs. “I’m gonna go real slow.”
And then she starts to push in. It’s so much. Her cock is big and thick, stretching you inch by inch, and you’re gasping for air, clinging to her shoulders. Your body trembles, hips tensing around her.
“Shhh, shhh, I’ve got you,” she breathes, lips to your jaw. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re mine.”
She pauses halfway in, letting you adjust. “You’re doing so good. I promise it’ll start to feel better soon, okay? Just relax and let me in, babygirl.”
You tilt your hips, desperate for more of her, and she groans like she’s dying. She sinks deeper until her hips are flush against yours and she’s inside you, her virgin girl, finally hers.
“Oh my fucking God,” she rasps, her face buried in your neck. “Oh honey, you’re not a virgin anymore. You’re mine.”
You’re crying. You feel so full, so emotional, so overwhelmed. But you nod, clutching her closer.
“M’not a virgin,” you whisper. “I’m yours.”
She doesn’t move at first. She just holds herself there, buried to the hilt inside you, her hips trembling with restraint. Her cock throbs, twitching deep in your soaked, swollen cunt and you can feel it all: the weight, the fullness, the slow ache of being stretched for the first time.
Your thighs are shaking. Your eyes are wet. Your arms are wound tight around her shoulders like you’re afraid to let go.
And Agatha is gone.
“Look at you,” she whispers, cupping your face in both hands. Her voice breaks. “You’re taking it so well, babygirl. I’m so proud of my girl.”
You whimper softly, too full to speak, too overwhelmed to think. All you can do is breathe and blink up at her, lips trembling.
She kisses you. Slow, soft, deep.
And then, finally, she rocks her hips back just enough for the head of her cock to press against your tightest spot again, and then she pushes back in, slow and careful.
You cry out from the pressure, the shock, the stretch.
Agatha moans, head falling forward into your neck.
“Oh fuck, baby. You feel like heaven. You feel… fuck. You were made for me.”
She grinds in deep again, bottoming out slowly, her cock filling you so completely it makes your vision blur.
“Still okay?” she pants, barely holding back.
You nod, teary-eyed, your voice barely a whisper. “Feels so… full.”
Her eyes flutter shut. She kisses your cheek, your temple, your eyelids.
“You are full, my love,” she whispers. “All the way. You’re doing so good. So tight for me.”
She starts to move again. Out, then back in, a gentle rhythm like she’s afraid you’ll break.
But you don’t, you melt.
Your legs fall open wider, your hands clawing weakly at her back, and the next time she thrusts, you moan.
“Ohh Agatha…”
That breaks her.
She kisses you hard, hips stuttering just a little, and begins to move again, but this time smoother. A little deeper. Still gentle, still careful, but more needy now. Her cock glides inside you like it was meant to be there, every stroke pressing into your softest spots.
“You’re mine now,” she breathes into your mouth. “No one else. No one’s ever touched you. No one ever will.”
You nod, voice breaking. “Only you.”
“Only me,” she growls. “You’re gonna come on this cock, babygirl. Gonna feel so good honey.”
She slides a hand down to your clit, starts circling it gently with her thumb, and the combination makes you arch, sobbing into her shoulder.
“Agatha!”
“That’s it,” she whispers, her voice wrecked with need. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”
You’re crying now, overwhelmed and overstimulated, feeling so full of her. And when you finally come, clenching down around her cock, wailing her name like it’s the only word you know, Agatha’s whole body shudders.
“Holy fuck,” she groans, slowing her thrusts just enough to keep you riding it out. “That’s my girl. My good, sweet girl.”
You’re still shaking, but she’s still hard inside you and you know she’s not finished yet.
“You can take more,” she whispers, kissing the tears off your cheeks. “Can’t you, baby?”
You nod, whimpering. “Yes… please. Don’t stop.”
You’re still shaking. Still wet and open around her cock, your thighs trembling from the first orgasm, and Agatha hasn’t moved an inch.
She’s still buried to the hilt inside you, cradling your head in her hand, brushing your tears away with her thumb, staring down at you like you’ve just made her believe in God.
“Look at you,” she whispers, voice thick and wrecked. “You’re still fluttering, baby. Fuck my girl’s still coming down huh?”
You whimper softly, blinking up at her, lips trembling.
“Don’t stop,” you breathe, dazed.
Agatha leans down, kisses your cheek, your eyelids, your damp lashes.
“Can’t ,” she murmurs. “You feel too fucking good. I’m not ready to let go of this pussy yet. Not when you’ve been so brave for me.”
She begins to move again. Slow at first, grinding deep, just circling her hips until her cock is grinding against your most tender spots. You gasp, arching softly under her, your hips twitching, almost trying to squirm away.
But Agatha’s hands hold you firm.
“Shh, shh, I know, I know,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “You’re sensitive now, huh? All wet and messy for me. But you’re gonna take another one for me, aren’t you, baby?”
You nod, barely able to speak. Your fingers curl into her biceps. “Y-Yeah.”
“That’s my good girl.”
And then she starts fucking you again, deeper this time, her thrusts dragging out of you with aching pressure before sinking all the way back in, her hips rocking into yours with a little more weight now. Every stroke pushes a choked moan from your lips.
Agatha watches your face the entire time.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry,” she groans, fucking into you slow and deep. “You know that? Fuck. You’re perfect. Warm, tight, mine.”
You whimper, clinging to her, your body arching helplessly under the pressure. “Love you”
“That’s it honey,” she breathes, cupping your jaw. “I love you too. I want to see you fall apart for me.”
Her thumb finds your clit again, slow circles syncing with her thrusts, and you sob into her shoulder, hips shaking uncontrollably now, every nerve ending overstimulated and burning.
“You’re gonna come again for me,” she whispers, nuzzling your ear. “Just like that. Come on baby let it happen.”
You cry out, arching up into her, your whole body shaking as the second orgasm crashes through you harder than the first, tears streaming down your cheeks, thighs trembling around her hips, your cunt clenching so hard around her cock that Agatha shouts, losing rhythm as she grabs your hips tight and buries herself as deep as she can go.
“Oh my God,” she groans. “You’re, fuck, you’re milking me, baby. Jesus Christ.”
You’re still crying, your arms flung around her neck, every breath a sob, every muscle fluttering.
Agatha holds herself still, her cock twitching deep inside you, and she kisses your mouth hard like she can’t believe you’re real.
“You’re mine,” she pants. “Forever. You hear me?”
“F-forever,” you cry, tears slipping down your cheeks, lips parting to kiss her again.
And then you feel it.
She groans and comes deep inside you, full-body shudders rocking her frame as she pumps you full. Her hands are everywhere, your hips, your cheeks, your breasts, like she can’t hold enough of you at once.
“Oh fuck, yes. That’s it. Take it all, babygirl. Take every drop.”
She doesn’t pull out right away. Instead, she stays inside you, kissing you gently, reverently.
“Look at my girl,” she whispers against your lips. “Took me so well. First time, and you made me lose my fucking mind.”
You’re dazed, wet, trembling in her arms.
Agatha smiles and strokes your hair.
“You okay, baby?”
You nod, whispering softly, “I love you.”
And Agatha groans like that’s the final blow. She kisses you again, holds you close, still buried deep inside her girl, her virgin no longer.
You’re still trembling when she finally eases you onto her chest.
Her cock slips free with a slow drag, and you gasp, whimpering softly as the feeling of emptiness hits you. Agatha hushes you instantly, pulling you close, tucking your face into her neck like she’s trying to make you a part of her.
Her hand strokes your spine, long and slow, her other gently cupping your thigh, soothing where it still twitches from overstimulation.
“You did so good for me, baby,” she whispers against your temple. “God, you were perfect. My perfect girl.”
You sniffle a little, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with tears and pleasure and something even deeper, that sharp and dizzy ache of being known. Of being loved.
You press a kiss to her chest, just above her breast.
“I was kinda scared at first,” you admit softly, voice small. “But I wanted it to be you. I want to be with you in every way.”
Agatha exhales hard like she’s been holding her breath for weeks. Her hand cups the back of your head.
“Of course it was gonna be me,” she murmurs. “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to have you like this.”
You look up at her, eyes big and watery and shining.
“I just…” you falter, biting your lip. “I don’t want you to get bored of me. I want to be together forever.”
Agatha’s face crumbles. She pulls you tighter against her chest, kissing your hair, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere she can reach.
“Baby,” she says, rough and low. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you. I love you. There’s nothing in this whole fucked-up world that could ever make me stop.”
You sniff again, trying to smile even though your lip wobbles. “Promise?”
She lifts your chin and kisses you, deep and tender.
“Promise,” she whispers, against your mouth. “I’m yours. Forever.”
You melt right there on her chest, arms curled around her ribs, aching and full and fucked out and loved.
Her strong hands stroke over your back.
“Gonna take care of you now,” she says. “Clean you up, order some food, anything my baby wants.”
You giggle against her skin. “Even sushi?”
She groans like it’s physically painful, but smiles anyway.
“Even raw fuckin fish. My baby gets what she wants.”
“I just want you.” You sigh, snuggling in again.
“You have me.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her voice thick with love. “You’ve always had me.”
Hours later the sheets are soft and tangled. The pizza box you both agreed on ordering is abandoned on the dresser. The bedroom window’s cracked open to let in the cool night air, but neither of you notice the breeze.
You’re asleep on Agatha’s chest, curled into her like a kitten, lips parted, one arm draped over her stomach. Your other hand is still loosely curled near your face, your lashes soft against your cheek.
You look so soft and young. You are young. And Agatha? Agatha can’t stop looking at you.
She strokes her fingers through your hair, slow and careful so she won’t wake you. Her other hand rests low on your back, thumb moving absently over the dip of your spine.
There’s a dull ache still between her legs, a deep, pleasant throb reminding her she’s still half hard even now. But she doesn’t move or chase relief. She just watches you.
Her girl.
Her baby.
Her sweet, perfect little thing who trusted her with everything.
She never thought she’d have this. Not again. Not after all the years, all the damage, all the dead ends.
But here you are.
Asleep on her chest, wearing one of her old t-shirts and nothing else. Her scent all over you, her name in your mouth even now, the faintest whisper of “Agatha” breathed out between soft little sighs.
Agatha blinks slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs. She’s had women before. A lot of them. She’s loved a few too, or at least
thought she had. But this? This is different.
This is real.
This is coming home to warm lights and soft kisses and your voice calling out “hi baby” when she walks through the door.
This is you curled up on her lap in your silly little summer dresses, feeding her strawberries and giggling when she pretends to bite your fingers.
This is your toothbrush next to hers.
This is your face when she slid the ring on your finger.
This is forever.
And it terrifies her.
Because if she loses this, if she loses you, there won’t be anything after. She knows it in her bones. She won’t survive it.
But lying here, holding you like this, she thinks maybe she doesn’t have to worry so much.
Because you’re still here, warm and soft in her arms, safe and loved and hers.
You murmur something in your sleep, something that sounds like her name, and she smiles, kisses the top of your head, and tucks the blanket up around your shoulders.
“I got you,” she whispers, barely audible. “Forever, baby.”
what if you were GAY and your girlfriend was the personification of DEATH and then your SON died and she had to reap his SOUL or whatever because it was her JOB and then you never forgave her but she still LOVED you and then you projected your GRIEF onto a random teenager while battling through DEATH trials with PATTI LUPONE
Summary: You finally get answers to all the questions that have been plaguing you.
An: I don't even know what to say anymore guys, this is the end of Mob Law 🥲. Thank for sticking around and reading. I have a final epilogue planned before we truly say goodbye to this pairing. I hope you enjoy the last chapter of the main story 💜.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Masterlist 2
It's you who opens the door. You stand face to face with your father. The tension is beyond thick.
“Well, I'm not dead yet so that's good right?”
His attempt at a joke falls flat.
The door opens wide enough for Wanda and Natasha to fall into his line of sight.
“You are very lucky she wants to talk to you,” Wanda glares at the man.
Tony hasn't taken his eyes off of you, “I know.”
The blonde clears his throat, “Can we come in?”
You step to the side, and the two men enter the home.
The door closes behind them. There's a finality in it. This gets resolved now or someone will die. You all knew it even if no one was saying it.
You're the one who everyone follows as you move towards the dining room. You move around the space freely grabbing some glasses and a bottle of rum out of the liquor cabinet .
The rest take their places around the dining table.
“Am I the only one who needs a drink?”
“I'll take one,” your father answers.
You pour into three glasses. Though she doesn't answer, you know Natasha wants one.
After what can be described as a gulp of rum, you sit your glass against the table.
“Start talking,” you clear any type of emotions from your face.
Tony swallows loudly. He nods once, before fidgeting with the watch on his wrist. “I never intended to fall in love with any one. My family- our family, has been involved in mob culture for generations. So growing up, I'd always known that I'd inherit this lifestyle. I never wanted to force a person into this.”
The sigh that leaves him is rough. You study the way his face falls. The hatred in his gaze as he focuses on the wooden table.
“Then I met your mother. She was easy to love. So easy, that I didn't realize what I had brought unto her until it was too late. I told Anne about everything, I thought maybe knowing what I had to do would deter her. It didn't. She was stubborn,” he almost chuckles when he says the last part.
Your fingers clench a few times but you stay calm, “Very stubborn.”
“Truth is that I never wanted to get rid of her. I was being selfish by indulging in a relationship with her without thinking of the consequences. That changed when she became pregnant.”
You pause, “How long were you together for?”
He doesn't hesitate, “6 years publicly, 9 if we're counting the period when we couldn't see each other.”
“After the court case,” Natasha interjects.
“After the incident,” he corrects her. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My competition spotted her with my brother. It was supposed to be a normal exchange of goods, but I had gotten sloppy.”
“Sloppy how?”
He looks at Wanda, holding eye contact. “In this line of work it's dangerous to care about people. It's even more foolish to let people know who you care about.”
“They spotted her,” Wanda fills in.
“My pregnant girlfriend and my brother. Deal wasn't going how they wanted, so they shot at them. Arno basically used his body as a shield to protect her. That day I decided that they were safer away from me. I talked to my people in the system to sort everything out.”
“Just like that?” You swirl your drink in your hand.
“My brother was shot 4 times. The love of my life, who was carrying my kid, could've died. Of course it was just like that. I set them up away from me, new look, new identities, it was basically a fresh start.”
You finish your drink. “What about me?”
“I was there when you were born. Not in the room when it happened, but I did get to hold you after. One look at you and I knew…” he pauses and you can see him fighting to be honest.
Steve places his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder in comfort, “The truth.”
“I knew I was out of my depth. I couldn't protect, I couldn't provide, fuck I didn’t know how to be a father. I was scared of failing. Arno on the other hand, when he looked at you…it was paternal. It's like he knew he'd do anything to keep you safe. I resented him for it. I started to think that maybe he and Anne had something. It was a stupid thought but at that point I had already sent them off to their fake married life together. That's what really ended the relationship between your mother and I. I sent her to live a life with a man I was jealous of.”
“Did you have him killed?”
He answers definitively, “No. My brother was a better man than me. Yes, I was jealous, but he was taking care of my family. Taking him out would've put you both in danger. He was killed by a dirty cop. Arno was an informant. The cop said my brother gave him bad information, made him look suspicious to the station. He shot him over it.”
“Why didn't you show after he was killed. I heard my mom talking to you, telling you that you should be there,” your grip on the glass tightens.
“For what? To put a larger target on your back?” Tony defends his actions.
Your gaze hardens, “In case you forgot my mother was killed anyway and I was framed for her murder. I don't know how much of the case you saw, but I almost died in police custody.”
“Within 24 hours the man who did it was dead.”
You chuckle bitterly, “10 years of my life. You didn't even have to be a father, you could've still gotten my name cleared.”
He falters, “I know. I was scared but that's no excuse. I wasn't protecting you, I was protecting myself from something like this. Kid, I'm not a good guy. I'm bad at being vulnerable, I'm even worse when I actually care about someone. I make all the wrong choices and decisions. The distance is for my safety because I hate the idea that I'm the one who caused the harm.”
You stand a little straighter, “So you're a coward.”
His jaw clenches, “I wouldn't be here now if I was.”
You shake your head, “You're here because you don't want Wanda to kill you.”
“I'm here because I'm sorry. I'm done pretending that I did the right thing. I ruined your life and I regret it.”
You know there's honesty in his words. You can tell by the look in his eyes. The desperation, the despair, the guilt, they all swim through his irises.
It's then that you realize that nothing he says will make you pity him.
“You didn't ruin my life. I won't give you that much credit. I-” you try to begin your own speech but Wanda places her hand over yours.
The look in her eyes is predatory. It's almost worse than when she was beating Tony in the courthouse. There's something more unhinged there.
It should scare you.
“You're still lying,” she says coolly.
“Wanda-” her wife tries, but the mob boss pays Natasha no mind.
You see Tony fidget under her gaze.
“Come on Maximoff, he's-”
Her gaze cuts through the blonde man's voice, “It's Don Maximoff and it would be in your best interest to never interrupt me again.”
“You can't talk to him like that,” Tony’s voice waivers when he speaks.
Wanda pulls her gun out and aims it at Steve. The entire room stills.
“You trying to give me orders in my house? You pathetic excuse for a man. I was almost buying this bullshit you were selling. It sounds honest, it sounds like accountability but then I remembered something. I spoke to both of the officers to persuade them into appearing in court.”
Tony pales immediately. He looks sick and you can see panic enveloping his features.
“When I was beating the truth out of Vin Gonzales he told me that you were involved. How would he know that unless you were actively involved in this situation? You're here in my kitchen, trying to sell authenticity without honesty and the thought of that makes me pretty upset.”
“Tony,” Steve says his name.
Tony doesn't look at his boyfriend.
The blonde stands in anger slamming his fist on the table, “Look at me.”
The dark haired man just shakes his head. Steve scoffs and turns his attention towards Wanda.
“Don Maximoff, I truly apologize but this doesn't have anything to do with me. I don't want anything to do with this anymore. I would like to be excused.”
There's a small smile forming on Wanda’s lips. “Tony, your noble man is about to walk out on you. Anything to say to him, who knows if you'll be seeing him again.”
“Steven, I'm sorry.” He doesn't bring his gaze up.
“You seem like a decent man Steve. So go out into the world and keep being decent, don't make me regret letting you leave this room,” Wanda warns him.
“Thank you Don Maximoff,” he bows his head to her.
Natasha walks him out of the room leaving the three of you momentarily.
“Stark, I'm going to be honest with you. The only reason you don't have a bullet in your head right now is because my girl deserves an explanation. She deserves the truth. You want to tell her or do you want me to tell you what I think?”
“I didn't have Anne killed,” he takes a long pause. The kind that sucks the air out of a room. Natasha comes back before he finishes the sentence. “But I had you arrested for her murder.”
No one moves for a long time. You blink once…twice… three times. It's the harsh reality that you didn't expect.
Tony's looking at the table . Wanda's looking at Tony. You're looking somewhere past him. Natasha is looking at you.
She's first to notice the twitch of your hand. It happens so fast no one can react when you slam Tony's head into the mahogany wood.
You jump across the table and push him down. You strike him over and over again. It's damn near identical to what happened with Pietro. Except now you're screaming and your vision is blurred by tears.
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
His hands are only up trying to protect his already injured face.
Wanda simply watches you. Natasha on the other hand begins to approach. She places her hand on your shoulder, it stops your swing mid air.
She wraps her arms around you and then you're collapsing into her hold. The sobs that rack your body are violent. Your throat burns and your fists ache.
“How could you?” The words scrape their way up your throat.
Tony lay flat on his back, barely breathing. He swallows thickly, it pains him to do it.
“I wanted to watch over you without being involved,” he wheezes as he attempts to sit up. “I could keep tabs on you without revealing myself. At the time-”
“Shut up!” You squeeze your eyes closed.
He stops talking immediately.
“I don't want anything to do with you. I got my answers and I don't need shit else from you. If you value your life you'll stay away from me, Tony. This is the only chance I'm giving you to walk away. You should take it before my girlfriend blows your brains out all over the kitchen floor.”
He scrambles to his feet as best as he can. For a moment it looks like he's going to say something, but then he thinks better of it. His walk is staggered and he pauses every few steps to get his balance.
“If I see you again I'll kill you,” Wanda threatens him one last time.
“I know,” is the last thing he says in your line of sight.
When you hear the front door close, it's like you can breathe again.
“Detka,” Natasha says softly.
Your nails dig into your palms and you begin to shake again. You want to scream again but your throat feels raw.
Natasha slips her hand into one of yours. You let her. Your hands are covered in a mixture of Tony's blood and your own.
“His jaw is sharp,” you respond to her.
Wanda comes around with a small bag of ice. She gets down to your level, placing the bag on your split knuckles.
You rest your head on Wanda’s shoulder. Natasha drags a hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you.
“We have you baby,” Wanda kisses the top of your head. “It's over now. He's not going to hurt you anymore.”
“He's a dead man if he even has the courage to think about you,” Natasha's voice has a dangerous rasp to it.
You don't say anything, you don't know what to say.
Natasha and Wanda share a look with each other. They're trying to work out what they want to do in this situation.
“Baby how about we get cleaned up?” Wanda searches your eyes for confirmation.
You nod slightly, slowly standing. They each take one of your hands. They lead you to the bathroom.
You let them undress you. You don't know how you feel. There's anger but not enough of it. It hurts but you don't know what to do about it. There's no resolution to any of it.
You were wrong when you said he didn't ruin your life. You can't believe that anyone would do what he did. The cruel part is that you don't even want him to suffer. You don't want him dead. You just want him to stay away from you and your family.
“Y/n sweetheart?” Wanda’s warm hand on your cheek brings you back from your thoughts.
You see the worry in her eyes. It works to ground you even more. You place your lips against hers in a chaste kiss.
“I'm okay,” you hold her gaze.
“Are you sure?” Natasha says from behind you.
You crane your neck to give her the same reassuring kiss.
“Yes.”
In the shower you feel the weight of the day going down the drain. Somewhere between your thoughts and their hands you placate yourself knowing that this is your new life.
You'll never step foot in a cell again. You never have to feel unwanted or like a burden. There are people who love and support you unconditionally. He tried to keep you from building a community, but family found you anyway.
Your friends never gave up on you. Wanda and Natasha will never give up on you. From this point on, there is no moment in the past 10 years that is at all comparable to your current situation.
When you're comfortable and out of the shower, you can still feel Wanda and Natasha’s cautious nature around you. They do not want to provoke you, but they're unsure of what you exactly need.
“I love you,” you say it out in the open.
“We love you too.”
You look at them, “You make me happy. This makes me happy. I can't change what's happened to me. It's not something I'll be able to ever forget and that's okay. Being with both of you makes it okay. For the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm making choices based solely on my survival. There aren't any consequences to my emotions. I feel safe and I didn't know that I could still feel that way before I met you.”
Wanda’s mouth opens and closes as she attempts to find the right words to say. She looks at her wife who also seems to be in a stunned silence.
“To make you feel that way means everything to us malyshka,” Natasha takes your hand in hers.
“From that first letter you wrote, I knew that you would mean more to us than just a favor for Peter and Kate. We admire everything about you Y/n. Your strength, your softness, your talent, your shortcomings, your anger, your resilience, your intelligence, and stubbornness; all of it, all of you,” Wanda takes your other hand.
“I didn’t think it was possible for me to love anyone as much as I love Wanda. It was a scary thought to entertain and to be honest I did not want to entertain it at all. But you just made it so easy to fall in love with you,” Natasha’s doesn't tear her eyes from you.
“She's right. I knew as soon as I saw you that I could love you. Natasha was very hesitant, rightfully so. I was a little less hesitant because the only other time I feel like I do around you, is when I'm around her,” Wanda adds.
Together their words fill you with warmth. This time when the tears come, laughter follows. It's light and airy coming through your lips.
They hold you in their arms.
“Here I am trying to let you know I'm okay and now I'm crying again,” you joke.
“It's perfectly fine if you aren't okay Y/n,” Natasha reassures you.
“I know, but I promise that I am.”
Wanda treads carefully, “Even with what he said?”
“Fuck Tony. Maybe there was a time in my life where I needed him, where I would've wanted him around, but that time is over. I have everything I need right here.”
“We can give you the world if you want it Y/n,” the mob boss sounds as serious as a heart attack.
You kiss her on the cheek, then do the same to the lawyer.
“I don't need the world. I just need this, here, with you.”
Natasha squeezes you tighter, “Then you'll have it for as long as you want it.”
“Well I'm not planning on giving it up any time soon,” you say smugly.
“Good, because I'm sort of hoping you want this forever,” Wanda gazes lovingly into your eyes.
That same warmth emanates from your eyes. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest. You think of all the things you could possibly respond with. The most clever answer is a simple one. It's something that you hope to say to both of them one day in the distant future. The words you end up saying just make sense; they ignite something beautiful in both the women. It fills them with endless possibilities and hopes for the future.
“I do.”
Just like that Wanda and Natasha are on the same page. They'll do anything to hear you say those words again.
Melissa Schemmenti / FTM Teacher Reader | AO3 | FanFics | Tip Jar | Trans Fanfics | 2026 Trans Pride MasterList
Warning : ⚠️ / FTM reader insert / he him reader / not stealth workplace / camera shy / token hire / whimsical sneakers / Toy Story & ABBA Mentioned / nerdy reader / yearning core / hurt comfort / head bonk / Yearning Core / Mommy Melissa Kink / 18+
“We are extremely inclusive here, as you can see. By our clear token hire.” Principal Ava boasted like she was the most progressive. In a public school, in Philly you suppose maybe your being hired was novel.
You’d hoped none of the staff would dwell on this one little fact about you.
The camera swung to you in the break room.
“Stop calling him that.” Barba snapped, as your shoulders curled as if you could hide yourself and your lunch.
“It’s offensive, and that’s coming from the gay hire.” Jacob adds mid bite, coffee stain on his own papers as he sat at the opposite table.
You tried to ignore the cameras and focus on your notebook with the lesson plan. But Ava kept speaking, and you slunk even further in your seat. Desperate to melt into the disgusting floor.
“You will recognize him from my TikToks. We hired an attractive trans man who’s yummy! But I didn’t say that cuz I’m in love yal.” Ava adds and cups her heart, and then poses for the camera.
“This feels wrong,” Janine said to Gregory who was eyeing the camera, uncomfortable as ever. “Should we do something?”
You grabbed your stuff, slung your bag over your shoulder, stuffing the papers under your arm and taking the black coffee with you.
You slipped out the door just as Melissa entered the break room, stopping just by you, a little closer than she’d allow many to stand near.
“Hey Buzz where off to at this hour? Not doing your second cup of too much sugar, not enough coffee, are you?” The red head teased but you shook your head and moved away from the door.
Making a mad dash into the hall and away from the lights and cameras.
“What did you do to him? He’s the nicest hire we’ve ever had and you go scarin’ em! AYE! GET THOSE CAMERAS OUT OF MY FACE BEFORE I TURN YE INTO POLPETTONE!” Melissa shouts so loud you hear it at the end of the hallway.
Already imagining what Jeanine's face is doing at that offended scowl. The definition of a teacher's pet even after she became one.
But you won’t slow down, you open your door and enjoy the comfort of silence.
Your cartoon sneakers squeaking as you round your desk. Your eyeglasses hang from the cream thermal you're wearing. And luckily its too early for anyone to need you. Dropping the thick stack of papers and notes for this week. You're careful not to bump the Pixar memorabilia figurines off the top of your desk, or the long luscious plants you’d had since your first day of teaching six years ago. The vines are thick and love your newest classroom.
You take the corded headphones hanging on your shoulder and put them in your ears.
Enjoying the beats of ABBA, you shoulder the window a little too hard and it works. The pop is satisfying. The frame bending just enough for you to jack it open.
It was humid as all Hell this summer, and as June heat hit your windows like a greenhouse. You tried to enjoy the small movement of air, as the morning noises bumbled outside.
Your smile curled as ABBA’s Chiquitita swelled from the headphones into your system.
Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leavin'
You'll be dancin' once again and the pain will end
You will have no time for grievin'
Chiquitita, you and I cry
But the sun is still in the sky and shinin' above you
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita
You hum and even sway a little as you dance out the bad feelings, you couldn’t let the kids feel what you just went through. It wasn’t their fault.
Being a transgender teacher didn’t change your mission, if anything it made it all the more important.
No kid left behind in the public school system, not on your watch. You weren’t as perky as Janine, but you certainly understood the hustle. You’d been bulled through your whole life for being born wrong. Now that you realized you hadn’t been, that there was beauty in hormones and gender euphoria. Finding yourself on a different path then others. That was all okay.
Now you wouldn’t let another kid walk around with that kind of weight on their backs.
So you hung equal signs, and made after school hobby groups, you bought with your tiny paycheck art supplies. And you wouldn’t give up on those little faces that you saw every morning.
So you danced it out as you passed out packets to start the kids off with some fun word puzzles to learn keyterms for this week. On the whiteboard you drew Woody and Buzz jumping together over the math question for the day.
And even went as far as to sing as you swayed and created your own dopamine.
Oblivious to the red headed teacher who was twice your age smirking as she watched you enamored.
Yeah sure you were younger, but Melissa had tried to talk herself out of her feelings.
Seeing you dance like a goofball in your classroom, with your adult buzzlightyear shoes. Those tight jeans hugging that sweet ass, damn you were the kind of snack Melissa couldn’t ignore.
And she loved your humor, your smile, the way you taught kids long division way before the requirement. The way you stayed after school and worked with Malcom with his dyslexia. All of it, Melissa saw you.
Not as the trans hire, or some way for Ava to make new followers on instagram. No, Melissa saw how you put that smile on. How your glass half full attitude wasn’t easy, wasn’t a crusade or special pill. You didn’t have Janine annoying energy.
You were trying to make this school better, without changing the foundations of it. You did it in a million small silent ways.
Melissa Schementi was absolutely sold by your charm.
And as you pushed your nerdy glasses up your nose and squinted at the board, Melissa had to remove herself from the thin window at your door as to not drool in hall.
The morning ran smooth, kids all a little tired but ready for fun. By lunchtime you think if you do a different tactic. Go early to the break room, maybe you can get your lunch out and another cup of coffee before the hoard goes in.
You slink inside, your shoes squeaking again, but your to the fridge with your scooby-doo lunch box out. And you twist to see if anyone’s there yet, still silence except for kids going to the cafeteria. So you try your next move, worlds best teacher mug under the Mr. Coffee you press buttons with fever.
But you’re too late.
Jacob, Gregory, and Barba burst through and they’re arguing about something. You try to ignore it bend back down to open the fridge and fish out the creamer.
Unaware once again of Melissa’s eyes as she walks in and instantly glued her attention to your ass cheeks.
Those acid washed denim with the belt, fuck she could bend you over and eat you like a damn sweet treat in this summer heat. The idea of licking you pussy to ass made her sweat more.
Barb had noticed Melissa’s stare and before she could joke to her friend, the principle came back in and read the room.
”Someone likes the token hire after all, huh?” Ava’s voice rang through and you jumped.
Head colliding with the top of the fridge and you winced.
”FIDDLE STICKS!” You shout, and cup the back of your head.
“What grown ass man says fiddlesticks?” Ava recoiled in disgust as Melissa strode over and opened the freezer as you stumbled a little.
”The kind who teaches second graders!” She shot back, Barbra moved to the sink and got a paper towel to dampen it.
You blinked a few times, the room spinning too fast.
Barbra and Melissa eased you into one of the staff lunch chairs and you felt your stomach flip flop.
“Buzz, baby can you say something? You hit your head kinda hard.” Melissa cooed and Gregory and Jacob both made faces at each other. The redhead wasn’t known for her gentleness.
Yet here she was, cupping the ice to the back of your head. Barbra raised the cool paper towel but in reflex Melissa took it and dabbed it onto your forehead.
Barbra tried hard not to comment; not about to call her friend out here. But she wasn’t used to this version of her best friend.
“Ow,” you finally wheezed, not feeling as tough as you’d like.
“We should get the nurse.” Gregory said unhelpful only for everyone to glare at him.
“We don’t have a nurse on Tuesdays.” Jacob murmured to him, trying to save his friend the wrath.
“Which is illegal.” Barbra reminded Ava who scoffed as if none of this was her fault.
“Buzz baby, I’m going to take your glasses off.” Melissa told you and slipped off your glasses. You kept blinking and trying to breathe through the throbbing pain.
“I have some Tylenol.” Barbra added going to the lounge drawers.
“We took it all last month when everyone got headaches from construction next door.” Gregory added again and Jacob shook his head to stop talking.
“Wowie, can you guys be anymore helpful?” Melissa shot the rest of the room, saved for Barbra who was now going through her purse.
“Hey don’t you even think about going home, I can’t call another sub. Unless you want Mr Johnson to teach math. But last time he told them math was invented by Bezos.” Ava shrugged like that wasn’t the worst thing.
“I can do it,” you say trying to stand only for a sexy red head to push you down.
”See, he’s willing to go to be more than just a toy.” Ava found her own joke funny, but no one was laughing. Certainly not the woman holding your head up while you resembled a bobble head. Your eyes dilating and then turning pin point.
“You ain’t goin nowhere. Hold this,” she grabs at your hand to cup the ice pack to your noggin. Throwing the soaked towel away and spinning to Ava. Enough heat to set off the janky fire alarms.
“You’re going to let him lay down in my classroom or imma tell everyone how you harassed him. Buzz will get a big settlement and this school will be investigated by HR. Yeah Ava, I can do it too. I know a guy. And it that don’t work I know another guy with ten thousand pounds of live rats. So you pick.” Melissa speaks with her hands and a lot of confidence.
Even you were scared. As you squinted up Barbra put a hand on your forehead, trying to decide if she should hand you a trash can for you to puke in.
Melissa was ready to throw down, she might be shorter, but she could take Ava in a fight in two seconds.
“God that’s why she calls him Buzzlightyear isn’t it? Because she loves him from infinity and beyond.” Jacob murmurs a little wrapped up in the love story.
But Gregory doesn’t agree.
“Pretty sure it’s because of his addiction to cartoons and shoes. But yeah, sure.” He added not so quietly.
Ava isn’t dumb, she doesn’t look at Schemmenti for a moment before nodding.
Barba seems pleased even, Melissa doesn’t waste anytime, she’s lifting you up. You stumble a little but the short teacher steadies you and walks/drags you out of the lounge.
Melissa walks you to her classroom and you see a beanbag chair that has to be older than you, with more stains than Barney’s Dinosaur suit.
“Lay down, go on. I Lysol it every day.” Melissa adds and you just about fall down onto if it.
Then let out a big sigh.
Melissa is set to work, closing blinds and making the room nice and dark. Your shoulders sag in relief.
“Kiddo, I j know your a big burley man, but imma get you a blanket.” Melissa grunts as she pulls out a Philly Football blanket and lays it over you.
“You don’t have to-“
“Stop it, I want to. Not everyday I get to manhandle a hunky teacher. Now close your eyes Buzz.” Melissa tells you and you lift your head to see her walking away.
“Where are you going?” Your voice panics, the older teacher likes a needy man.
“Grade papers, make sure no one bothers yous. Why, need someone to play with your hair and tell you a bedtime story? Or all that sugar keep you up?” Melissa asks from her desk as she puts her son glasses on.
“I quit sugar,” you grumble, and put your head back. Finding the idea arousing, if she wanted to play Mommy you wouldn’t be opposed…
“Why’s that?” Melissa asks.
“I’m trying to get more fit,” you wheeze, your head killing you.
The red head devours you from across the room, up and down.
“I think you could stand to add some more sugar in your life.” She whispers hoping you won’t hear it.
“No one’s ever….taken care of me…like this.” You admit, your eyes closed. Only the sounds if distant childrens laughter and the hum if the AC.
“Yeah, well get used to it.” Melissas flirting always sounds like a threat and she wants to kick herself for it.
“You think I’m a hunk?” You question still laying open like a starfish in the bean bag chair. It’s not romantic, it’s probably crazy lookin, but you feel sick and don’t care.
“Who said I said that?” Melissa asks angrily, and a little louder than before.
“You did,” you remind her, just moments ago. You fought the pain running down your skull.
“Lapse in judgement.” Melissa tries to cover it up but now you're smiling. And that’s her kryptonite.
“I didn’t think anyone liked me…just the token hire.” You yawn as you say it.
Melissa rifled through papers on her desk, not sure what she pretending to look for.
“Yeah well, not to me.” The older teacher answered low again. Not sure how to say all that mushy shit.
“I even heard a few teachers say I was to prove the district did Inclusivity. No one cares about me-or my ability to teach…Just the box I tick off.” You finally admit out loud, trying to not sound as heartbroken as you were.
“That’s messed up. No, that’s… Damn it Buzz, ignore em. They say I’m tenure and cranky. What do they know?” Melissa let out a noise of disbelief and tried to lay it on thick. But as she stood at her desk, she lifted her glasses off and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
Her anger for you, is too strong to pretend.
Even if your concussed with your cartoon shoes in the air. You might be the butt of their joke, but you mattered. You mattered to these kids. And damn it, you mattered to Melissa.
“I guess I’ll be the inclusive and you’ll be the cranky.” You tried to joke, but it came out dumb. Melissa chuckled at your attempt at lightening the mood.
Your mouth opened as sleep finally took you. Ice pack falling onto the ground. Melissa would be sure to take you to a doctor. Not wanting your brains to be too close to scrambled eggs. She knew a guy who made hours calls. The older teacher is already planning and scheming. But when her eyes moved back to you, you were gone to the world.
As you slept, drooling, mouth hanging open, deep snores. Completely unsexy, Melissa tried to resist the urge to push the stray hair off your forehead or kiss your cheek.
Melissa schementi had it back, she whispered in the dark classroom to your sleeping form;
“Sounds good to me, Buzz. Just try not to break my heart will ya?”
“Hey, Kid,” Melissa greets you as you stroll through the teacher’s lounge. You swiftly open the fridge and toss your lunch bag inside, not caring where it lands. Melissa lets out an amused snort before asking, “We still on for tonight?”
Tonight? Oh, tonight.
She’s staring at you with those big, green eyes and you know you’re blushing hard—too hard, because a wide grin spreads across her face.
“Of course, Mel,” You mumble, fiddling with the zipper of your fleece jacket. “Unless you wanted to cancel, or something?” You ask, failing at hiding the disappointment in your face. She must be able to tell because she beckons you forth with a manicured finger.
“Sit,” she says, kicking out the chair next to her with her foot. “And no, Y/N. I was askin’ cause I was gonna make you dinner.”
“Oh, shit!” You hear Ava before you see her. She strolls in, Janine in tow. She throws her head over shoulder to look at her. “Make sure you get this for my live show.”
“Now, hold on,” Melissa starts, her previous lighthearted voice turned rough as Ava’s cackles get louder. “Janine, you better not be getting nothin’ and what live show?”
Ava ignores Melissa’s questioning momentarily. “You getting this?” Janine mumbles an incoherent response, awkwardly thrusting an iPhone from her chest. Ava rolls her eyes and returns her smile to look at Melissa. “My live show, Red. I had to hire Thumpy over here to get my good angles.”
“Um, Ava, sorry to interrupt,” Thumpy—Janine laughs, her voice trailing off into a joking tone. “You don’t pay me.”
“Well now you’re definitely not getting paid. What did I tell you about interrupting?”
“Alright, alright,” Melissa groans. “Forget I asked. Just leave us in peace.”
Your heart flutters for a moment when Melissa says the word ‘us.’ It’s pathetic how easily she can give you butterflies. If anything, it’s just further proof of how you feel for her. You sigh at the thought but Melissa thinks you're agreeing with her, so she nods her head.
“Fine, I’ll leave you two alone for now,” Ava mutters, directing Janine to point the camera at you two. “But for the record,” She says to the camera, “I got twenty that says they end up together by the end of the week. Who’s going in on this?”
End up together by the end of the week. The words echo around in your mind, the thought of you and Melissa ever “ending up” together causing warmth to blossom in your stomach. It’s a frequent daydream of yours, but for a moment, it’s real.
“Ava Coleman, are you gambling online again?” Your second favorite coworker, Barbara, says when walks in on the conversation.
“No, Mrs. Howard,” Ava dismisses, trying to shoo Janine away at the veteran teacher’s arrival. “Just a joke between me and my fans, you know.”
With that, Ava and Janine are gone. You can still hear Ava as she directs Janine around the school. Melissa clears her throat loudly, drawing you from your thoughts.
“Anyway, hon, I was thinkin’ I can just pick you up from your place?”
You nod, a light blush rising to your cheeks. “Yes, that’s fine.”
Barbara pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down with you two, glancing up at the clock on the wall. You almost forgot you only have a few more minutes with Mel before classes start for the day, so you appreciate the subtle reminder.
“Do you two have plans this afternoon?” Barbara asks, blowing on her coffee.
You’re about to answer, but Melissa beats you to the punch. “Y/N’s gonna show me how to set up my new gaming system, or whatever.”
Barbara’s eyebrows raise, the corner of her lips turning in a knowing smirk. “You bought a gaming console, Melissa?”
Now it’s Melissa’s turn to blush. “Yes, Barb. I love video games.”
Your eyebrows furrow. You didn’t know she loved gaming. You sort of just assumed that she was interested in them, not that she loved them. Had you not been paying attention this whole time?
“Forgive me, dear. I forgot how much you absolutely love them,” Barbara says it like an inside joke, her voice dripping with implication.
Before Melissa can respond, the bell rings loudly and all of three of you stand from the table, chairs squealing on the linoleum floor.
“It was nice chatting with you ladies,” Barbara says, picking up her mug. She gives you a warm smile and Mel a familiar one. “I hope you both have a wonderful and blessed morning.”
She turns toward the door and three becomes two, once again.
“Does 6 work for you, hon?” Melissa asks you as you slowly walk toward the door, trying to delay leaving her by dragging your feet.
“Yeah, Mel, sounds great,” you pause before saying, “Should I bring anything?”
She smiles softly. “Just yourself. I’ll see you later, kid.”
She plants a kiss on your cheek as she passes you on her way to her classroom. It’s something new she’s been doing, you noticed. And it’s only been with you. It makes you feel giddy and special, but you act like it doesn’t phase you at all.
You push the butterflies in your stomach down as you try not to think about Melissa’s lips. She is your friend, maybe even your best friend, but your heart seems to think otherwise. You tell yourself that she’ll give you a kiss on the cheek later, too, if you set up her console without issue.
One can only hope.
*** *** *** *** ***
Your day goes by in a blur. It was an easier Friday— the kids were calm, everyone did their classwork, and dismissal went by without any real issue. You’d even managed to avoid Ava all day, which in turn, meant you didn’t talk to Janine much but you didn’t mind. You were too busy thinking about Melissa, as you normally were these days.
You get home quickly, the 15 minute drive from Abbott to your apartment short and sweet. You immediately go to your closet and begin to fret over outfits. It's stupid, you know it is, but you want Melissa to think you dress nice outside of school.
Eventually, you land on a pair of jeans that hug your waist just right and an oversized green sweater. You’ll throw on a pair of old Converse later, but for now, you wait for Mel to pick you up.
You think about the inside of her house while you wait. You’ve been there before, probably more than Barbara at this point, but you still feel nervous. You know you’ll end up eating dinner with her, as you always do when you visit, and it brings you momentary comfort.
A knock sounds at your door a few minutes later and you know it’s her.
“Hey, hon,” Melissa greets you when you swing the door open, planting another kiss on the side of your face. She runs her eyes over you for a second, smiling brightly. “You look cute. Ready to go?”
“Hey, Mel. Let me get my shoes,” You say.
It isn’t a long drive from your apartment to her house. The entire drive, you and Melissa talk. It starts off about school, then complaints about Ava, and into more personal things like weekend plans or family. Melissa even offers to accompany you on your ritual Sunday trip to the grocery store, and you tell her you might take her up on it.
She guides you into the house with the palm of her hand pressed to your lower back. It sends shivers of delight down your spine, and immediately you feel like your knees might buckle. “Make yourself at home, you know where everything is,” she says when you step through the front door. She kicks her shoes off in the hallway and you do the same, following her into the living room.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Or a snack?”
“Oh, water’s fine,” You reply, going to sit on the edge of the couch. Melissa shoots you a pointed look, a lock of red hair falling in front of her face. She chuckles when you can’t meet her eyes and disappears into the kitchen, a series of muttered curses and clatters filling the moments after. She returns to you quickly with a glass of wine in one hand and a can of Sprite in the other.
Sprite. Your favorite soda. Did she buy this just for you?
“Oh, Mel, you don’t have to,” You say as you take the can from her hands, blushing as your fingers brush past each other. She sits next to you in the couch, angled toward you.
“Yeah, yeah. I know you like ‘em… so,” she trails off, her face reddening in a blush of her own.
“Well… thank you. You’re sweet.” In a moment of boldness, you lean over and quickly kiss her cheek as she’d done to you so many times. Your lips meet her soft skin, and for a brief moment, you can smell the citrus scent of her shampoo.
Melissa smiles brightly when you pull away, a small hum falling from her mouth. She clears her throat, taking a sip of her red wine. “So, um,” she mumbles from under the lip of the glass. “I got this, Playing Station, or whatever.”
Before you can help it, you snort. “PlayStation, Melissa.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes. She points toward the large TV across from you. It sits on a wood entertainment center, taking up most of the space on the surface. There are shelving compartments underneath, some full with DVDs of old movies or books. There’s a few pictures of her family, some of whom you recognize. The PlayStation sits in its own compartment, cables stacked on top of it neatly.
“Looks like a PS4,” You tell her as you stand up to get it. You slide it from the shelf and hold it in your hands, checking the ports for any damage. “I didn’t know you liked to play games though, Mel.”
“New hobby.”
“Right,” You mumble, kneeling down on the carpet to begin plugging it into the TV. You’ve done it a million times before with your own consoles, so it only takes you a couple of minutes to get it hooked up. “Alright, that should do it,” You say as you brush off your jeans and plot next to her on the couch. She hands you a remote and you turn the TV on, going to the HDMI2 menu option.
“Make sure you go to this one, Mel,” You explain to her as the PlayStation loading screen comes to life on the TV. You grab one of the controllers on the coffee table and begin setting it up for her.
You go through the language menus, account creation, and put in Melissa’s WiFi password. She asks you questions while you work, mostly ‘what’s this?’ Or ‘how’d you do that?’ You jump at any opportunity to talk to her, so you make sure to explain in detail what you’re doing.
You’re halfway finished with your Sprite when the console is ready for use. “So,” You start, taking a sip from the can before returning it to the coffee table. “Do you have a favorite game then?”
Melissa bites her lip, face flushing from the alcohol. “I like that, uh, shooting game or whatever.”
“Of course you would,” You laugh, and you really believe her because that is so very Melissa.
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” She slaps your arm playfully, mocking hurt. “What do you play?”
You think for a moment. “Lately I’ve been into this one game called Stardew Valley. It’s cute, you should try it.”
“Okay. Put it on there,” She says, completely serious. She’s sitting up straighter now, glass of wine discarded and forgotten. Instead, she focuses on the TV with a gaze you’ve never seen before.
You giggle, “Well, you have to buy it first, Meli.”
Meli. You didn’t mean to, but the nickname slipped from your mouth before you could correct yourself. For the umpteenth time that day, a warm blush crossed over your face.
“Meli, huh? I like it,” she says. She squeezes your knee affectionately as you panic internally. It’s pathetic how the smallest touch could send you into haywire, you think. Melissa nods her head at the TV. “Buy the game, I want to play it.”
And so you do.
Before you know it, you and Melissa are playing together on the couch. She’s slumped next to you, her thigh pressed against yours as you explain the mechanics of the game. She doesn’t understand at first, occasionally muttering curse words under her breath when she runs out of energy on the game. You play for an hour and have a good start to the farm when Melissa begins asking about the NPCs.
“Okay, so who’s the dork with the hair?”
You flick your eyes to her side of the screen and notice she’s talking to one of the bachelors. “That’s Elliot,” You explain as you clear out some debris from your shared farm. Melissa makes a confused noise, so you continue. “He’s a marriage candidate. I mostly don’t bother with him, though.”
“Marriage? I thought this was a game.”
“It is a game Melissa,” You laugh, joysticks clicking as you play the game. “It’s kind of a life sim, I guess. You farm, do stuff around the community, and build relationships with the characters. It’s a cute game.” You feel silly for a second as you explain all of this to Melissa, but when you look over, she looks completely entranced. The embarrassment is short lived and you feel yourself scooting a little closer to her on the couch.
“Who do you get married to then?”
“What do you mean? You get married to the characters.”
“Can I marry you then?”
It’s an innocent question, but it still knocks the air from your lungs. Can I marry you then? You’ve heard her say it many times in your silly little daydreams, but nothing compared to the real thing. If you could even call it the real thing.
You struggle to answer her for a moment. “Well, technically, you can, but I don’t know if that’d be very fun.”
“What? I think you’d be a very fun wife.” She says it in a way that you don’t know if she’s joking or not, so you just settle for an awkward laugh instead. “Re-lax, hon,” Melissa drags, bumping your shoulder with her own. “I’m just kiddin’. Tell me about this marriage stuff now.”
And so you do.
The night is fun and filled with laughter. You stop playing Stardew after another hour so Melissa can make you dinner. She, of course, makes Italian food and insists on sending you home with a huge tupperware container of leftovers. She drives you home and asks you about other games to play and you tell her a few more of your favorites. When you get out of the car, she gives you another kiss on the cheek and promises to get caught up with the game so you can really play the next time you come over.
*** *** *** *** ***
Monday morning comes quickly and you find yourself walking back into school. You didn’t get much sleep the night prior, to your own fault. You were up all night playing drunk Minecraft with your friends and it got a little out of hand after one too many whiskey shots. You ended up falling asleep on your couch and if not for Melissa’s text, you probably would’ve been extremely late to work.
She’d asked about your favorite breakfast food and when you answered, she left you on read. You assumed it wasn’t meant for you and went about your day, bringing you to now.
You unlocked your classroom door and pushed it open with your elbow, flipping on the light as you started your morning routine. Arrange all of the chairs, make copies, and do some lesson planning before the kids arrive. As you go to set your bag down on your desk, you stop in your tracks.
A brown paper bag sits in the middle of your desk with a note stapled to the top. It smells like grease and breakfast, and you immediately know it was Melissa.
In Melissa’s loopy handwriting, the note reads:
I hope it’s good! Have a good day, hon.
Love, Meli.
It makes you swoon, and for a moment you wonder if you’re being pranked. She has to know what she does to you. But then again, maybe not. You go about your morning, completing your routine between bites of your favorite breakfast sandwich.
Tuesday starts out the way it usually does. Nothing particularly exciting, just the same old stuff you do every week. You haven’t really had a lot of time to socialize, so you decide to walk down to the teacher’s lounge during your 45 minute grace period. You should be lesson planning, but you’re a little burnt out from the day.
“Hey, everyone,” you say when you stroll in, opening the fridge to find something to drink. There was usually water or Diet Coke, and sometimes you even stole a bottle of whatever healthy drink Gregory had stashed for the week. The other occupants in the room greet you back as your eyes rake over the refrigerator shelves, landing on a Starbucks drink with your name on it.
“What’s this?” you ask, taking it from the fridge.
“Hm?” Barbara glances toward you from her spot at one of the tables, noticing the drink in your hand. A small smirk graces her lips. “Ah, I believe Melissa picked that up on her way to work this morning.”
You take a sip of it and your eyebrows widen slightly. It’s a caramel macchiato, and you can swear there’s extra caramel in it. Exactly like you order it. You didn’t think you ever told Melissa that, though.
You send Melissa a quick text to thank her. It gives you a little more energy throughout the day and on your drive home, you imagine kissing Mel on the cheek again.
When Melissa shows up to work with a potted Orchid on Wednesday, she accidentally catches Barbara’s attention. She holds her breath as she walks by, praying that she won’t say anything.
But she’s Barbara, so of course she does.
“Melissa dear, a minute, if you can,” she calls in her preaching voice. Groaning, Melissa marches over with the plant tucked carefully in her arms.
“What, Barb?”
She smiles in response, despite Mel’s annoyed tone. “I apologize for taking up your time. I was curious why you’ve brought that,” she points toward the pot, “in with you this morning.”
“Oh, so a girl can’t want a frickin’ flower Barbara?”
“No, Melissa, a girl can want a flower,” Barbara says, her voice dripping in sarcasm, “but you don’t want a flower. I know you. Is it for Ms. Y/LN?”
A rosy blush rises to her cheeks and she realizes she’s been caught. “Yes, it’s for Y/N. It’s her favorite flower.”
“And remind me again why you don’t just ask the poor girl out?”
They are walking toward your classroom now, carrying casual conversation on their way. Melissa replies in a serious voice, “The game told me to do it like this.”
“I’m sorry?”
Melissa sighs, “I’m supposed to bring her favorite stuff, or whatever. Then I’ll get to ten hearts. Fricken’ plant was like 80 bucks, so I think that’s at least like, what, 2 hearts? She’ll get it.”
Barbara raises her eyebrows, coming to a stop at the door of your room. She pats Melissa on the shoulder, leaning in slightly. “Sure she will.”
On Thursday, Melissa brings you a box of new markers for your whiteboard. You’d been begging Ava to put the order and were about to give up and buy them yourself. So, naturally, what does Melissa do?
She brings you every dry erase marker ever made.
“Meli, I don’t even know what to say,” you mumble, blush reddening your cheeks. You glance up at her as you sift through the markers, your hands gliding along the different colors. She smirks at you, her green eyes shimmering mischievously. “Where’d you even get all of these?”
“Oh, I know a guy. No big deal,” she shrugs, hands on her hips. “You like ‘em?”
“I love them.” You stand from your chair and quickly wrap her in a hug, your nose landing in her soft hair. You feel her arms snake around your waist and squeeze. Your heart beats wildly out of your chest, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you give her a lingering kiss on the cheek once more. “Seriously, thank you,” you say as you pull away.
She waves you off, a large smile plastered across her face. She looks beautiful and for a second you wish you could take a picture.
“Anything for you, babe.”
Babe.
Babe.
You’re too caught up in your thoughts that you don’t realize Melissa’s absence. For the rest of the day on Thursday, you glance at the box of markers next to your new Orchid.
The following Friday afternoon, Melissa finds herself in a hushed conversation with Barbara.
“I think it’s working,” she whispers as they watch students play outside. She shoots a glare at a pair of students who start to play too rough and resumes her rambled confessions. “I mean, she hugged me, Barb. I think that was the heart event, you know?”
“You’re going to have to remind me what exactly this heart event entails, my dear.”
Melissa grumbles, “I told you, Barb, the eight heart event. One more event and she’ll marry me.”
Barbara’s eyes almost pop out of her head. She angles herself toward Melissa, placing a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Marriage, Melissa? Isn’t that a little… soon?”
Melissa shakes her stubborn head. “No, she told me. Well, the game told me, but Y/N told me about the game, so.”
Barbara is about to reply, but the bell rings. The kids begin the run inside for dismissal, and Melissa follows. A defeated sigh escapes her lips as she watches her friend usher her students back to the classroom.
*** *** *** *** ***
You and Melissa are walking out to the parking lot when she stops you from getting into your car.
“Wait, Y/N,” she says, hand on your wrist. “I have something for you.”
She reaches in her purse and pulls out a small yellow envelope. Your eyebrows tighten in confusion as you open it, revealing two small pieces of paper. You pull it out and are greeted with tickets to an Eagles game.
“I know you don’t watch football,” Melissa explains as you turn the tickets over in your hand, “but I do. So I thought I could take you to your first game, teach you about it.”
She’s looking at you expectantly and you realize you forgot to answer. You blush, chuckling softly. “This is really sweet of you, Melissa. I would love to go with you.”
“I thought it would be nice,” she says, reaching for your hand. “You taught me about your game, I’ll teach you about mine.”
It’s dreamy and charming, and you imagine kissing her again. It seemed to plague your mind lately, preventing you from thinking about anything else. You settle for gently squeezing her hand and you send her a warm smile. “I’m excited.”
“Okay, so is that ten hearts now?” she asks. She adds in a half-whisper, “or maybe that’s only nine?”
“What, Melissa?”
She takes a deep breath, leaning closer towards you. “Ten hearts and then I can marry you.”
Marriage? Melissa? You?
“What?”
“Y/N,” Melissa says seriously as you stare at her in confusion. “You said I had to get ten hearts to get married or whatever. It’s okay if that was only one heart, but I’ve been keeping track. I should be at like nine, at least. Right?”
Stardew Valley. She’s talking about Stardew Valley. She’s talking about marrying you, heart events, and favorite gifts. Unknowingly, Melissa has been dating you all week and you didn’t bat an eye.
Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N=31, r=24), violence, death, grief
Word count: 13,2k
A/N: I’m proud of this ending..so don’t come after me. I’m still reading all of your messages, by the way, every single one of them, so please don’t feel ignored. There are just so many that it would take a lot of time to reply and post everything. The messages that came in through DMs will all be answered this week. So thank you again for staying with me through all of this, I’m not fully back; I just wanted to give you guys the ending of this series, and honestly…I like it.
So, I’ll see you all one day. Keep your heads up, stay safe and take care of yourselves <3
Part 5
The next morning, the compound moved like a body waking for war.
There was no army roaring in the courtyard or banners snapping from castle walls. There was the same feeling beneath everything. People spoke in short sentences, tools passed from hand to hand and quantum suits were checked, sealed, recalibrated, checked again, then checked a third time because no one wanted to admit the fear was not in the machinery.
Natasha moved through it all with purpose because purpose was the only thing keeping her from thinking too hard now. If she thought too hard, she would remember the night before. Your hand in hers, your voice against her skin. I love you still.
She had woken before you and for a few minutes, she had allowed herself to lie there and look at you in the gray early light, your white hair loose across her pillow, your face softer in sleep than it had been in years. One hand had been curled near Natasha’s waist. She had not moved for a long time, there had been missions before, so many missions and mornings of leaving warmth behind because the world demanded blood, secrets, lies, rescue, sacrifice. But this morning had felt different. Because for the first time in five years, she had woken with something she wanted to return to.
That made leaving feel dangerous when she found you in the hangar. You stood inside the Quinjet with the ramp lowered, one hand braced against the open frame and looking out across the compound grounds. You were already dressed for the mission and your hair had been braided again, though not as tightly as before. Natasha stopped at the bottom of the ramp and for a second, she simply looked at you. She smiled before she could stop herself and you noticed without turning your head. “You are staring.”
Natasha climbed the ramp. “I’m allowed.”
Your mouth shifted faintly. “Are you?”
“After last night? Definitely.”
That did make you look at her. The faintest warmth touched your eyes and Natasha felt it land in her chest like a hand closing around something bruised. Then she saw it fade and her smile softened. “What’s wrong?”
You looked away. The hangar was full of movement beyond the Quinjet, but inside the aircraft, the world narrowed. You stood in the center of it like a queen trying to decide whether to confess treason to her own heart. “Nothing.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow and you exhaled through your nose. “Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look at me as if I am already lying badly.”
“You are.” Natasha stepped closer. “Talk to me.”
For a long moment, you said nothing and she waited. That was something she had learned with you: pushing too hard made you become stone, waiting gave the woman beneath the crown a chance to decide whether she wanted to be found.
Your fingers flexed against the Quinjet wall and then you said, “We could leave.”
Natasha went still, at first, she thought she had misunderstood. “What?”
You looked at her then and there was something in your eyes she had not expected to see. “We could leave.” you said again and Natasha’s chest tightened. “You mean not go?”
“I mean go somewhere else.” You took one step toward her. “Your machine can open time. We do not have to return to the exact places they choose. We do not have to step into the parts of the past where the Stones wait surrounded by enemies and consequences.” Your voice was low and that made it more frightening because you were trying so hard to remain calm. “We could choose another time..”
Natasha stared at you and you kept going and the words came faster now, as if they had been trapped behind your teeth for hours. “A quiet year..before the war. Before Thanos or Wakanda or my crown. Before all of it.” Your eyes searched hers. “We could stay there.”
Natasha did not answer. For one impossible second, she saw it. The thought arrived cruelly and fully formed, like a life outside consequence. Somewhere before the Snap, before the world broke, before the compound became a grave and your throne became a punishment. A small place no one knew..Just you and her.
Natasha hated how badly the image hurt and you saw it. “You see it too.” You stepped closer until there was barely any distance between you. “We could change things from there, not with their plan or with one attempt and no mercy if something goes wrong.” Your voice trembled, “We could prevent so much, Natasha..Save my parents before the ash ever touches them, save your sister from the years she lost, save all of them before grief teaches us what we are willing to become.”
Natasha closed her eyes briefly at Yelena’s name. Her sister, found too late and still somehow alive. One more impossible thing Natasha had been given after thinking the world had taken everything that word could mean and when she opened her eyes, you were watching her. “You have a family here..” you said softly. “But you could have them whole. You could have them before the damage.”
Natasha’s voice came out rough. “And what happens to everyone here?” Your face tightened. “Their pain would never happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
“No.” Natasha shook her head. “You know what it feels like to want that to be true.”
Your expression changed and anger flashing beneath the hurt. “Do not speak to me as if I am a child asking for a fairy tale.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m speaking to you like someone who knows what running sounds like when it dresses itself up as strategy.”
You recoiled slightly and Natasha hated herself for it, but she did not take it back, because she knew. She knew what it was to look at a mission and see a door hidden inside it. To see the chance to leave the blood, the guilt, the people waiting for you to be better than you were. She knew what it was to want one clean betrayal if it meant one private peace. But she also knew what happened when you kept choosing escape and called it survival.
“You think I want to run?” you asked.
Natasha looked at you carefully. “I think you want to stop losing.”
Your mouth closed, because there it was. The truth neither of you had touched.
Your eyes shimmered, but your face hardened instinctively and Natasha stepped closer before the crown could come back over you completely. “You saw your mother yesterday.” Your jaw clenched. “You heard her voice. You saw your dragons. You touched the past and it touched back.” Natasha’s voice softened. “Of course you want to go there and never leave.”
You looked away and she followed your gaze. Outside the Quinjet, Tony laughed bitterly at something Bruce said. Scott dropped a tool, apologized to the tool, then picked it up. Steve adjusted the straps on his suit and Thor sat alone, staring down at his hands. Broken people preparing to break time because nothing else had worked.
Natasha looked back at you. “I want it too.” You turned sharply. The confession seemed to surprise you more than refusal would have and Natasha gave a sad, small smile. “You think I don’t? You think there isn’t part of me that wants to pick some year where nobody knows my name and just stay there with you?” Her voice caught and she forced it steady. “I spent my whole life running from rooms where people tried to make me into something useful. I know how to disappear. I could do it better than anyone.”
Your face softened despite yourself. “Natasha…” She shook her head once. “But I found Yelena, I found my family again. Not perfectly but here..in this wreckage and this team…” She looked toward the hangar. “This team is what’s left of me too. If I run now..” Natasha said, “when there is finally a way to bring them back, then what was all of it for? The five years? The work? The pain? The people who kept standing because we did?”
Your eyes dropped and Natasha moved closer, close enough to touch but not touching yet. “And you.” Your gaze lifted. “Look at what time made you.”
Natasha reached for your hand then. “Do you really want to risk becoming this again in another timeline?” she asked. “Another version of grief? Another war? Another set of dead because we thought we could outsmart consequence?” You looked down at your joined hands and your thumb moved once over her knuckles, almost unconsciously. “I could save them..” you whispered and Natasha squeezed your hand. “You still can.” she said. “But not by abandoning everyone else.”
You closed your eyes and for a moment, Natasha thought you might pull away but you didn’t. When your eyes opened again, they were wet, but the decision inside them had changed. “If we fail..” you said, “I will remember that I almost chose differently.”
Natasha nodded. “So will I.” A faint, broken laugh left you. “That is a poor comfort.”
“It’s the one we have.” You looked at her then, really looked at her and something warm passed through the grief. “You would have come with me?”
The question was quiet. “Yes.” She lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “That’s why I can’t.”
You stared at her for a long moment. Then you stepped forward and rested your forehead against hers. “After..” you whispered and Natasha closed her eyes. “After.”
“We find them and we bring them back. We return the Stones. Then…” You stopped, as if the future was a language you had forgotten how to speak and Natasha finished softly, “Then we figure out what a life looks like.”
Before Natasha could continue, Steve’s voice carried from the hangar. “We’re ready.” You released Natasha’s hand slowly, like letting go was something that needed discipline. Then you squared your shoulders and the queen returned by degrees.
The team assembled around the quantum platform like mourners around an altar. They stood in a loose circle beneath the machinery Tony had built, each of them carrying more history than the platform could possibly hold.
“The Stones are out there in our past. Six chances, one round trip each. No mistakes we can’t carry. No second chances waiting if we lose our nerve.” Steve’s eyes moved from face to face. “Most of us have spent the last five years trying to live with what happened. Some days that meant fighting and some days it meant just standing back up. But today, we have a chance to do more than live with it.” He paused and Natasha glanced at you. You stood beside her, face calm and eyes fixed on Steve. “We get the Stones. We bring them back..everyone.” His voice hardened. “Whatever it takes.”
The words moved through the platform and Natasha looked at you. For a second, you did not speak, then your eyes flicked to hers. “Whatever it takes.”
Steve stepped back into position. “See you in a minute.” Natasha said, her eyes met Steve’s. Tony activated the sequence and the platform lit beneath them. For one suspended second, Natasha felt everything at once, till the world vanished. There was light and pressure and color folded into shapes Natasha’s mind refused to understand. The quantum tunnel tore open around them like a storm given mathematics and Natasha held herself steady because panic would not help and because beside her, through the blur of impossible motion, she could feel you. Then the world slammed back into shape.
The ground stretched around them in cracked plains and jagged stone, reddish-brown and gray under a sky heavy with storm clouds and wind dragged grit across Natasha’s suit. Rhodey landed with a grunt and looked around. “Charming.”
Rocket’s voice crackled over comms from another timeline, faint but present through the linked system. “Everybody alive?”
Natasha ignored the chatter and looked at you. You were staring at the horizon as if time had a sound and you were trying to decide whether it was lying. Nebula adjusted her device. “The temple is that way.”
Rhodey followed her gaze. “That’s us.”
You looked at Natasha, because this was the split. Morag for the Power Stone and Vormir for the Soul Stone. Natasha moved toward the small vessel waiting where Nebula had said it would be. A sleek, battered ship belonging to a dead year and a future no one here would get to live if they failed. Rhodey stopped beside her before she climbed in. “You good?”
She softened slightly. “Be careful.”
“You too.”
His eyes moved to you and for a moment, Rhodey seemed to consider saying something, then he only nodded. “Your Majesty.”
Your brows lifted faintly. “Colonel.”
“Try not to stab space.”
“I make no promises.” Rhodey almost smiled.
Then Rhodey and Nebula turned toward the temple and you and Natasha boarded the ship. The flight to Vormir was quiet at first.
Morag dropped away beneath them, the ship cutting upward through storm clouds and into the black. Natasha handled the controls with careful attention while the autopilot followed Nebula’s coordinates. You stood behind her at first, one hand braced against the back of the pilot’s seat, watching stars stretch across the viewport. After a while, you sat in the co-pilot’s chair and Natasha glanced at you. “You okay?”
Your mouth curved faintly. “You ask that often for someone who dislikes dishonest answers.”
“I keep hoping you’ll surprise me.”
“I am not okay.” Natasha nodded and you looked at her. “Surprised?”
“No.”
Outside, space opened around them and you looked at it for a long time. “When this is over..” you said, “where will you go first?”
Natasha’s fingers stilled briefly over the controls because the question felt dangerous. But she allowed herself to think about it. “Yelena.” she said and your eyes moved to her. Natasha kept looking forward. “If this works, she comes back to a world that has had five years to change without her. She’ll be angry.”
“She is your sister.”
“That’s her natural state.”
You considered that. “Will she like me?”
Natasha huffed softly. “No.”
You blinked and Natasha glanced at you and smiled. “Not at first.”
“Why?”
“Because she’ll think you hurt me.”
Your face went still. “She would be right.”
Natasha regretted the words immediately, but you did not seem wounded by them. “Then I will accept her hatred.”
“She might come around.”
“What would convince her?”
“Probably you threatening someone who deserves it.” Your brows lifted and Natasha sighed. “Don’t look pleased.”
“I am not pleased.”
“You are.”
“I enjoy having clear objectives.”
Despite herself, Natasha laughed and she looked away before it became too much. “What about you?” she asked. “Where do you go first?”
“My mother.” Natasha’s hands softened on the controls. “I do not know what I will say..”
“You don’t have to plan it.”
You breathed out, almost amused, then your expression shifted. “I was angry with her the last morning I saw her.” Natasha looked at you. “It was nothing, something foolish.”
Natasha said nothing and you continued, quieter now. “I left without kissing her cheek.” Natasha’s heart ached. “She was dust before I returned.”
“She knows you loved her.”
“You cannot know that.”
“No.” Natasha glanced at you. “But I know what mothers hear even when daughters are being impossible.”
The ship began its descent and Vormir appeared from shadow like a dead thought. The planet was dark and jagged, wrapped in heavy clouds and cold light. Only stone and mist and a mountain reaching upward as if it had been built not by nature, but by something that wanted visitors to understand they were not welcome. Natasha felt the hairs rise at the back of her neck and beside her, you went very still. The ship cut through atmosphere and landed on a flat stretch of black ground near the base of the mountain.
The ramp lowered with a hiss and cold air entered the ship like a warning and Natasha looked up. “Of course it’s at the top.”
You began the climb together. At first, there was only the sound of boots on stone and wind moving between cliffs. The path was steep, narrower in places than Natasha liked, with drops vanishing into fog on one side and black rock on the other. She moved carefully, eyes scanning for threats and you moved with the grace of someone raised on mountains, though the place did not seem to please you. “This mountain is wrong..” you said after a while.
Natasha glanced at you. “Wrong how?”
“It has no memory. All mountains remember something.” Your eyes moved along the rock. “Fire, water, buried roots or old bones. This remembers nothing but waiting.” Your face was turned upward, eyes on the path, but your expression had gone somewhere else.
“What would she think of me?” Natasha asked suddenly.
Your steps slowed. “My mother?”
“Yeah.”
You looked at her now. “She would watch you too closely at first.”
“That sounds fair.”
“She trusted slowly. Especially with people I wanted near me.” Natasha’s chest warmed despite the cold. “And after watching?”
“She would see you are dangerous.”
“Still fair.”
“And sad.” Natasha looked down and you continued gently, “She would not mistake that for weakness.” Natasha swallowed. “She would ask you questions you did not want to answer..Then feed you while pretending not to notice you avoided them.”
Natasha smiled faintly. “I think I would have liked her.”
“She would have liked you.“ The answer came too quickly to be anything but true and Natasha looked at you. Your expression softened in a way she had rarely seen since the night before. “She liked women who survived what should have ended them.”
You climbed higher and the air grew thinner. Natasha had been trained to ignore fear when it had no visible source, but Vormir made that difficult. Every ledge felt watched and every shadow felt aware. After another stretch of silence, you said, “If this works, what are we?”
Natasha nearly missed a step and you caught her arm immediately. She recovered fast and gave you a look. “That’s a hell of a question for a death mountain.”
Your hand remained on her arm for a second longer than necessary. “I would rather ask it before than regret not asking after.”
“What do you want us to be?” Natasha asked.
You looked down the path behind you, then at the dark sky, then back at her. “I do not know how to be casual with you.”
Natasha’s lips parted slightly and you went on, “I do not know how to make you a quiet thing or a secret in a room. A comfort I take when grief has exhausted me.” Your eyes held hers. “I tried to make you smaller in my memory, easier to survive, it did not work.”
Natasha’s chest ached and you stepped closer on the narrow path. “If we live through this..” you said, “I want to learn the shape of a life with you.”
Natasha looked at your hand still resting near her sleeve. “What about your kingdom?”
“It is part of me.“
“I know.”
“And you have your world.”
“I know.”
“Then we will be inconvenient.” Natasha huffed a small laugh, eyes burning. “We already are.”
Your mouth curved faintly, then grew serious.
“I cannot promise softness every day..” you said. “I cannot promise I will not be difficult, or angry, or too much queen when you need only me. I cannot promise that the blood on my hands will vanish because I love you.”
Natasha reached up and touched your face. “I’m not asking for perfect.”
“What are you asking for?”
Natasha’s thumb moved along your cheek. “You. Trying and staying. Letting me tell you when you’re becoming a knife again.”
You looked at her for a long second. “That sounds irritating.”
“It will be.”
“Good.”
Natasha smiled and you leaned forward and kissed her, like a promise made against cold wind on a mountain neither of you understood. Natasha kissed you back with one hand curled against your jaw and the other gripping your sleeve because the path was narrow and the universe had terrible timing. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against hers. “After.” you whispered again and Natasha closed her eyes. “After.”
The summit drew closer, though the path seemed longer with every turn. The sky above had darkened into a bruised purple-black and the wind had gone thin and sharp. Natasha could feel the mission settling over her again, but underneath it, there was you. Your shoulder brushing hers when the path narrowed. Your hand steadying her once when loose stone shifted beneath her boot. The quiet knowledge that you had nearly asked her to run and she had nearly wanted to. The knowledge that both of you had chosen to climb anyway.
At last, the path leveled. A flat stone platform opened before them, carved into the mountain’s peak. Beyond it, the world dropped away into endless dark and Natasha stopped, you stopped beside her.
At the far end of the platform, a figure waited in the mist. The wind moved around him without touching him and Natasha’s hand went to her weapon and you hand went to your sword.
The figure lifted his head and in a voice that seemed to know both of you before you had spoken, he said, “Natasha, daughter of Ivan.” And Natasha froze, then the figure turned slightly toward you. “And you, daughter of Vaelor and Maeryn.”
Natasha looked at you and your face had gone white. “The Stone you seek is near,” he said. “But it carries a price.”
Natasha kept her hand near her weapon, but the hooded figure did not move like something that could be fought. That was the first thing she noticed. There was no weight in him or breath clouding in the cold. The wind moved around the long black fabric of his cloak, but not through him. The mist seemed to gather at his feet like even the mountain knew what he was and did not dare touch too closely.
Your hand tightened around the hilt of your sword and Natasha stepped half a pace closer to you before she looked back at the figure. “Where is the Stone?”
The figure turned his head toward her. Under the hood, there was only the suggestion of a face. “At the foot of the mountain.“
Natasha’s brow tightened and the figure lifted one long arm and pointed past them, toward the edge of the platform. “To claim it, you must lose that which you love.”
Natasha stared at him. “What does that mean?” The figure’s voice remained calm. “An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul.”
For a moment, there was no sound. Then your voice came from beside “No.”
The figure looked at you. “This place has only one law.”
“I said no.”
The words cracked through the air like a blade drawn too fast and Natasha turned toward you fully. “Wait.”
But you were already moving. You crossed to the edge of the cliff before she could stop you. Natasha followed, her pulse rising with each step, though part of her already understood. Part of her had understood from the moment the hooded thing said lose. You reached the edge first and Natasha came beside you. The drop fell farther than it should have. It vanished through layers of mist and shadow, down into the belly of the mountain where red light glowed faintly against stone like something bleeding beneath the world. Far below, a flat black surface waited.
Natasha stared into it and felt her stomach turn cold. A soul for a soul.
Her mind rejected it at first. No. There had to be another way. There was always another way. A trick, a mechanism, an angle, a flaw. Everything had flaws. Locks, men, systems, gods. Natasha had built her life finding the place where impossible things could be opened with enough pressure.
You stepped back from the edge and Natasha looked at you. “No.” you said again, quieter this time, as if arguing not with the figure but with reality itself. “There will be another way.”
Natasha said nothing and you turned from the cliff and began pacing, one hand pressed against your mouth, the other still gripping your sword. “It wants a soul, fine. What kind? Living? Dead? Bound? Blood? There are rituals that speak in riddles. There are old magics that call sacrifice by one name and accept another if the words are right.”
“Y/n-”
“No.” You pointed at her without looking. “Do not say it.” Natasha’s throat tightened. “You do not know this place and neither do I. That thing is a guide, not a god. It speaks as if law makes it truth, but every law has wording and every wording can be broken.” You turned toward the hooded figure. “Who made this law?”
He did not answer and you took one step toward him. “Who enforces it?” Silence. “What happens if we refuse?”
“The Stone remains.“
“What happens if we take it by force?”
“You cannot.”
Your mouth curled without humor. “Many have said that.”
The figure looked past you, toward the abyss. “Many have stood where you stand. Something in Natasha went still, because thought arrived with terrible clarity.
Thanos. He had stood here and Thanos had come to this mountain with Gamora, but had left with the Stone. Gamora had not.
Natasha felt the truth click into place so brutally it almost made her sway. She looked at you and you were still staring at the figure, furious and calculating and alive. Natasha knew then that there was no plan..only a choice. And choice had always been the most dangerous weapon in the universe.
You turned back toward her, already speaking. “We should test the boundary. Scan the cliff. There may be another access point below. If the Stone appears at the foot of the mountain, perhaps-”
“There isn’t a plan.”
You stopped and your face changed. “What?”
Natasha looked toward the edge, then back at you. “There isn’t a plan.”
Your eyes hardened. “Do not do that.”
“Thanos came here with his daughter.”
“No.”
“He left without her.”
“No.”
“And he had the Stone.”
Your jaw tightened until Natasha could see the muscle jump. “You do not know what happened.”
“Yes.” Natasha said softly. “I do.”
You stared at her and anger rose in your face, but underneath it was fear. “No.” you said. “No, Natasha.” The name in your mouth almost broke her. “Maybe there’s another way.” you said, but the words were weaker now. Natasha stepped closer. “There isn’t.”
“Do not accept that.”
“I have to.”
“No, you do not.” Your voice sharpened. “You are not allowed to become noble now. Natasha almost laughed. You stepped toward her, “We have not come this far for you to decide the universe gets to take you. We found a way, we have time and we can think. We can-”
“Hey.”
Natasha reached for you and you caught her wrist before she could touch your face. “Do not comfort me while planning to die.”
The words split something open and for one second, neither of you moved. Then Natasha saw your eyes flick toward the cliff. You had realized the same thing and had not been trying to save her from choosing. You had been trying to buy enough time to choose first, so Natasha moved fast.
She twisted out of your grip, stepped inside your guard and swept your legs with a force that took advantage of surprise more than strength. You hit the ground hard, breath leaving you in a sharp sound as your back struck black stone and your eyes flew wide.
“Natasha-”
“I’m sorry.”
She fired before you could rise. The Widow Bite hit your chest in a burst of electricity and your body arched. Pain flashed across your face, shocked and furious and the sight nearly tore Natasha in half, but she was already running. The cliff was only a few yards away and the edge rushed toward her like an answer and for one second, she let herself think of everyone.
Yelena, Steve, the team, the empty compound and you. Especially you.
Suddenly a dagger buried itself in the ground inches from her boot and Natasha’s foot caught. She fell hard, shoulder slamming into rock and pain burst down her arm, but she rolled instantly, already turning. You had torn the Widow Bite off and your face was twisted with pain and fury, but you were on your feet, running past her toward the edge with your cloak snapping behind you like a black wing.
“No!” Natasha lunged and she hit you from the side before you reached the cliff. Both of you crashed to the ground, the impact knocked the breath from Natasha’s lungs. You groaned beneath her, then shoved violently, trying to throw her off and Natasha hooked one leg around yours and pinned your wrist, but you were stronger than she expected.
“What are you doing!?” you screamed and Natasha grabbed for your other hand. “I’m not letting you do this!”
“You do not get to decide that!”
“Neither do you!”
You slammed your head back against hers and pain exploded behind Natasha’s eyes. She lost her grip for half a second and that’s was all you needed. You twisted, drove your shoulder under her weight and threw her over. Natasha hit the ground on her back and before she could rise, you were above her with one knee planted hard beside her ribs and a dagger in your hand. You did not strike and that hesitation saved her..or doomed you. Natasha kicked up, caught your wrist, and rolled. The dagger clattered across the stone and you snarled and drove an elbow toward her throat. She blocked it barely and you used the motion to break free entirely.
You staggered up, so did she and for a heartbeat, you faced each other across the black stone, both breathing hard, both bleeding now from small cuts, both looking at the other like the enemy and the beloved had become the same impossible shape. Your voice shook with rage. “You have a family who values you.”
Natasha froze and you pointed toward her with one trembling hand. “Yelena is waiting in your world, people who chose you, who know you, who will come back and need you!” Your face twisted. “You have a life to return to.”
“So do you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No!” The word broke across the cliff. “I have a throne. I have a crown. I have people who need a symbol, a weapon, a queen. They desire what I can do for them. They kneel to what I represent.” Your voice cracked. “They do not love me as I am.”
“That’s not true!”
You laughed once, broken and furious. “Is it not?”
“Your people love you!”
“They love the queen who fed them and killed their monsters. They love the Khaleesi who brought dragonfire to their enemies. They love the daughter of their dead king.” Tears filled your eyes now, “But you, Natasha. You are loved as Natasha. Not widow, not Avenger. You.”
Natasha shook her head. “No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not letting you make me the reason you die!”
Your expression softened for one devastating second. “You are the reason I would like to live.”
That nearly stopped her, then you moved and Natasha moved too. You both knew this fight now. No more pretending there might be another outcome if one of you could just speak fast enough. You ran for the edge and Natasha caught you from behind and drove you down harder this time. Your body struck the stone with a sound that made Natasha flinch. Pain tore across your face and you gasped, one hand clutching at your ribs and for half a second, you could not move. Natasha hated herself, but she ran. The cliff came fast and did not look back. If she looked back, she would stop.
The edge reached her and jumped. For one impossible instant, there was no ground beneath her, only wind. Then something slammed into her wrist and pain tore through her shoulder as her fall stopped violently. Natasha cried out and looked up. You were above her, sprawled against the cliff edge on your stomach, one hand locked around her wrist. Your other hand had fired her own grapple line. The cable stretched from Natasha’s belt to a jagged stone outcropping several feet above you, wrapped tight around it.
Natasha looked at it and understood. You had not caught her to pull her back..you had caught her to make sure she could not fall.
“No..” Natasha breathed and your face was pale with pain. Blood ran from a cut near your brow and down the side of your face and your breathing was ragged, but you smiled. “It is all right.”
Natasha’s terror became rage in the same breath. “N-No, it is not!“
She tried to swing her free hand toward the cable release, but the angle was wrong. Her body hung over the abyss, weight pulling at your arm and the cable keeping her from dropping far enough to reach anything useful. You had planned it in the seconds between falling and catching her.
“Pull me up!!” Natasha said and you did not move. “Pull me up!”
Your grip on her wrist tightened briefly for one last time. “I won..”
Natasha’s breath broke. “You don’t get to say that!”
Your smile trembled. “I believe I do.”
“N-Noy.” Natasha’s eyes burned. “No, you don’t. You don’t get to win this, you don’t get to leave me with that..”
Your face softened, the queen was gone now. The Khaleesi was gone. There was no war left in your expression, only love. Only a terrible calm that made Natasha want to scream until the mountain cracked.
“Natasha.”
“No.”
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
“You must.”
“I said no!” Her voice tore out of her and for above, the hooded figure watched in silence.
Your thumb moved once over the inside of Natasha’s wrist and the gentleness broke her more than any force could have. “Look after Vhassar.”
Natasha shook her head violently. “Don’t.”
“There is a reason he let you in.”
“Stop.”
“He knows you.”
“Stop it!”
“He trusts what I was too afraid to.”
Tears spilled down Natasha’s face now and you smiled through your own. “He will be angry..Be patient with him.”
“I am not taking care of your dragon because you are going to tell him yourself!”
Your mouth trembled and for the first time, fear touched your face and Natasha saw it and reached upward with everything she had, straining against the cable, against gravity, against the law of a place that had already decided what love was worth.
Your fingers slipped slightly and Natasha gasped. “Y/n-”
Your eyes met hers. “Do not call me that.” The old name, the placeholder of a life before queen, before crown, before sacrifice. Natasha choked on a sob. “Then don’t make me lose you.”
You closed your eyes briefly and when you opened them, they were full of tears. “I love you.”
Natasha broke. “No.”
“I love you, Natasha Romanoff.”
“Then stay!” Natasha screamed. “Stay and have it with me!”
Your face twisted and for one heartbeat, Natasha saw you almost change your mind. That was the worst part but then you looked past her, toward the red glow below and your expression steadied. “I am sorry.”
Natasha’s voice collapsed into a whisper. “Please, no..” Your hand loosened. “No.”
She tried to grab tighter, but blood and sweat and gravity had made both your hands slick. Her fingers dug into yours so hard she felt skin tear. “Please!” she begged. “Please, don’t. Please!”
You smiled one last time as the woman who had stood in Natasha’s room and confessed love like it had survived despite every attempt to kill it. “After.” you whispered and you let go.
Natasha screamed when your body dropped away from her. White hair lifted around your face in the wind and your cloak opened like broken wings. For one impossible second, your eyes stayed on hers and then the distance took you. Natasha fought the cable, fought the air, fought the mountain, fought every law of the universe with a sound torn out of something deeper than grief. She looked away before you hit but the sound came anyway.
Natasha’s scream died in her throat and for a moment, she hung there, suspended over the abyss, body shaking so violently the cable hummed against the stone. Slowly, because horror demanded its own obedience, Natasha looked down. Far below, you lay on the black stone at the foot of the mountain.
White hair spread around your head and one arm bent wrong beneath you. Your cloak pooled dark around your body and you were too still. Natasha stopped breathing. There was no blood she could see from so high up. No motion or last miracle. No dragonfire tearing through the sky to catch you. Only you. At the bottom of the mountain.
The world went white and swallowed everything. The cliff vanished and the scream in her throat became silence and then she was lying in water. For one second, she did not remember her body, then she sat up with a gasp and her hand was closed around something. Natasha looked down and the Soul Stone rested in her palm.
This was what the universe had taken you for. A sound came out of Natasha that did not feel human and curled over the Stone, one hand pressing it against her chest like she could crush it back into nothing, like she could force it to become you, like if she held it tightly enough the exchange might reverse itself out of pity. The water rippled around her knees and Natasha sobbed. She had come to Vormir with you and was leaving with a rock. Before she could stand, before she could think, before she could even say your name aloud, the quantum device on her wrist activated.
The water vanished again and then she was gone. The compound snapped back into existence all at once. “We did it! Wait, did we do it? I think we did it!”
Everyone was back, till Natasha hit the platform on her knees. Pain shot up her legs, but she barely felt it. The Soul Stone was still in her fist, the other hand slammed against the metal floor. Around her, the excitement faltered and Steve’s smile disappeared first. He saw her face, then he saw the empty space beside her. “Nat?”
Natasha could not answer and the room went quiet by degrees. “Where is she?” Bruce asked and Natasha looked up. Her face was wet, she did not know if she had been crying since Vormir or if the water had come back with her or if grief had simply drowned her and left the evidence.
Bruce’s voice broke. “Natasha…where is Y/n?”
The name struck like a blade and Natasha opened her hand. The Soul Stone glowed in her palm and for one second, everyone stared at it. Then Natasha threw it and the stone flew across the room and struck the far wall with a hard, ringing crack before dropping to the floor. No one spoke and Natasha’s hand remained outstretched from the throw, fingers shaking. Then she folded in on herself.
A few hours after Vormir, the compound had become a room full of people trying not to look at the empty space beside Natasha. No one said your name because your absence had weight. It sat in every room before Natasha entered and waited there after she left. It moved through the compound like smoke, slipping between machinery, gathering beneath the platform, curling around the orange Stone no one wanted to touch. The Soul Stone sat on the table now, contained beneath a transparent field of light.
Natasha had not gone near it again. Every time she looked at it, she saw your hand slipping from hers and every time someone spoke of it as a necessary piece of the plan, her throat closed so violently she had to turn away before anyone noticed.
Tony worked because Tony worked. That was how his grief moved when he could not afford to feel it. He built around pain until the pain had a shape, a circuit, a housing, an interface. The new gauntlet took form on the central table beneath his hands and Bruce’s careful supervision, a thing of metal and Stark design made to hold the power of gods. The others watched from a distance, because there was only so much help a person could offer when the object being made might burn through anyone who wore it. Natasha left before the gauntlet was finished and outside, the compound grounds were too green. That was the first thing she hated.
Natasha walked until the building was behind her and the field opened ahead then she stopped and her legs simply refused another step. She stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest and looked at nothing. The last moments came back without mercy. Your face over the cliff, blood near your brow and your hand wrapped around her wrist. Natasha closed her eyes and that only made it worse.
I love you, Natasha Romanoff.
“Nat.” Steve stopped a few feet away, giving her space because he knew better than to take it without permission. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, till Natasha said, “We told each other yesterday.”
Steve’s face tightened and she stared out over the field. “Yesterday.” she repeated, because time had become obscene. “We spent five years not saying it. Five years surviving around it, hurting around it, pretending it was something else because something else would have been easier. Then last night…” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. “Last night we finally said it.”
Steve said nothing. If he had tried to comfort her too quickly, she might have broken his nose. “She said she loved me too..” Natasha whispered. “She said it like she was angry it survived.” Her eyes burned. “I told her I loved her.” Natasha laughed once, but it was empty and brutal. “And now she’s gone forever.”
Steve stepped closer, “Natasha…”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t.”
“I’m not going to tell you it’s okay.”
“Good. Because I would hate you for it.”
“I know.” She looked at him then and he looked awful. Grief had hollowed him from the inside, not only for you but for all of it. For Bucky, for Sam, for Wanda, for everyone, for the fact that the world kept asking him to lead people into sacrifice and then keep breathing afterward. “She chose.” Steve said quietly.
Natasha looked away before the tears could fall. “I was supposed to be faster.”
“Nat-”
“I was.” Her voice sharpened. “I knew what she was doing, I saw it. I still let her get the rope secured. I still let her-”
“You didn’t let her.”
“She died holding my hand.”
Steve closed his eyes and Natasha’s voice dropped. “And I came back with a Stone.”
Steve moved then and pulled her into an embrace she was not ready for, only to stand beside her, shoulder close enough that she could lean if she chose- Suddenly, inside the compound, something thundered and the ground lurched under their feet. Natasha’s head snapped toward the building and the sky split open. A blast of fire tore down from above and struck the compound dead center. For one impossible second, the building held..then the world exploded.
Natasha hit the ground hard and pain flashed through her side. She pushed herself up on one elbow and looked toward the compound. Half of it was gone, the building that had held their last desperate hope had collapsed inward, smoking and burning under a sky now darkened by something enormous. A ship..Thanos.
The name moved through Natasha before anyone said it, her grief became something else instantly. Steve was already on his feet, shield in hand, blood running from a cut near his temple.
“Nat?”
“I’m okay.”
They ran toward the wreckage and everything after that became impact and smoke. Natasha crawled through broken concrete with blood in her mouth and your last words still burning behind her ribs. She found Scott trapped beneath rubble and helped him force a passage wide enough to drag himself through. She heard Rhodey’s voice over comms, then Rocket’s, then Bruce roaring somewhere under collapsed steel as water began flooding lower levels. The gauntlet and the Stones. That became the center of the world again, because apparently the universe had a sense of cruelty too refined to leave grief alone for more than an hour.
Clint found the gauntlet first in the tunnels beneath the wreckage and when Natasha heard his voice over the comms, she almost laughed from the brutality of it. Clint, alive and breathing in this version of the world, running through the dark with the thing your death had bought. “Clint, move!” Natasha shouted into comms as alien creatures flooded the corridor beneath the compound.
The battle did not begin all at once, it rose, like something dead standing. Thanos’s forces poured from his ship and the broken earth around the compound. Natasha fought in the rubble because that was where she was when the first wave came. The battle widened around her and the fight went on and on, until it narrowed to Thanos again.
The gauntlet was nearly his till tony moved. Natasha saw it only in pieces through smoke and bodies. The Titan raising the gauntlet, convinced of victory even now, even after everything and a snap was heard, but nothing happened. Thanos looked down and the Stones were gone. Tony stood several feet away, his armor crawling with impossible light, the Stones embedded across his own hand. His face was already burning from the power and Natasha understood before he spoke.
Tony looked at Thanos and snapped his fingers. The light exploded outward and for a second, the entire battlefield disappeared inside white. When the world came back, Thanos’s army began to turn to dust. This time, the silence belonged to them. Thanos watched it happen to his army, watched his victory become nothing in his hands and then he sat, like an old man suddenly tired.
The Titan looked across the battlefield at everything he had failed to stop, then he too came apart and dust moved where Thanos had been. Natasha watched it drift away and felt nothing like satisfaction. Only the terrible knowledge that the universe had demanded another price and Tony had paid it.
Pepper reached him first and Natasha did not move toward them. Not because she did not care, because some griefs needed the people closest to them first. She stood in the ruin of the battlefield, blood on her face, ash in her hair, your death in her chest, Tony’s sacrifice unfolding in front of her, and Vhassar roaring somewhere above because he still had not found you.
The world had been saved but it did not feel saved. Days passed strangely after that and the world came back wrong and right at the same time. Families reunited in streets, in hospitals, in homes where one side of the bed had been empty for five years. Children returned to parents who had aged without them. Husbands reappeared in kitchens where wives had learned to eat alone. Mothers dropped grocery bags when sons vanished five years ago and appeared again in the same doorway asking what had happened.
The vanished called it moments, the living called it five years. Both were true and that made every reunion ache. Wakanda received its king, the mountain kingdom received its dead. Your parents returned to a world where their daughter had ruled for five years and died before they could see what she had become. Natasha avoided thinking about that as long as she could.
Tony’s funeral was quiet for the amount of worlds he had helped save. There was sunlight on the lake, too soft for what had happened. People stood in black and said very little and Pepper’s face held a grief so controlled it made Natasha ache. After the wreath drifted away, people slowly scattered in small groups. Some stayed near the lake, some went inside. Some touched Pepper’s shoulder and said words that could not help but still needed saying.
Natasha remained by the trees and Steve found her there. For a while, he only stood beside her. Finally, Steve said, “T’Challa came to me.” Steve’s voice was careful. “Her parents are asking for you.”
“No.”
“Nat-”
“No.”
“They know she’s gone.”
The words struck anyway and Natasha’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “They know her death bought the Soul Stone..” Steve said. “They know it wasn’t for nothing.”
Natasha turned on him then. “She is dead, Steve.” He went quiet. “She is dead. Their daughter is dead. I came back with a rock and she came back as a story people are already making noble because noble is easier to live with than what actually happened.”
Steve’s face tightened and Natasha’s voice broke. “It should have been me. It should have been me..” she repeated, “She had parents waiting, a kingdom. Dragons. People who knew her before she became whatever grief made her. She had-”
“You.” Steve said quietly and Natasha stopped. „She had you.”
That hurt so much she almost hated him for saying it. “She chose.” Steve said and Natasha looked away. “She knew you would try to take her place.” Steve continued. “You knew she would try to take yours. That’s not failure, Nat. That’s love making the same stupid decision from both sides.”
A tear slipped down her face before she could stop it and Natasha wiped it away angrily. “I was holding her hand..”
“I know.”
“I lost her anyway.”
Days passed again and you haunted her with precision. You came in pieces, your mouth near hers in the dark or fingers gripping the strip of gown. The way you had said Vhassar’s name. The way you had told her to look after him like there was a future where Natasha could stand beside a dragon and explain why his rider had not come home. One night, Natasha woke with your voice still in her ears.
Look after Vhassar.
She sat upright in bed, breathing hard. For a moment, she did not know where she was. Compound? Safehouse? Your chambers? Vormir? Her own grief had turned every room into the same room eventually. Then she saw the jacket on the chair and the desk where the strip of your gown had once rested before she folded it into a small box and hid it because seeing it and not seeing it both hurt.
An hour later, she was in the air, by dawn, she was on the water. The route to your kingdom had changed since the world came back, like the mountain passes were guarded more openly now and the outer villages were full of returned people trying to learn the shape of the five years they had missed. But Natasha did not take the main roads. She took a small boat through a cold northern inlet, following the old waterway that curved beneath the black cliffs and led toward the hidden harbor carved into the mountain’s base. It was the same route she had taken five years ago when she came to tell you they had found a chance.
That realization hit halfway across the water and Natasha gripped the side of the boat until her fingers hurt. Would you still be alive if she had never come? If she had left you in your kingdom with your grief and your blood and your crown, would you still be ruling now? Would your parents have returned to find you hardened, yes, cruel in places, yes, but alive? Would Vhassar have roared over the courtyard in welcome instead of searching battlefields for a body that would never answer? If Natasha had not brought hope to your chamber, would you still exist?
By the time the boat touched the hidden dock, Natasha was shaking with cold and something worse. She barely stepped onto the stone before soldiers emerged from the shadows. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m here to see the king and queen.”
One soldier’s face hardened and another looked at her hair. Natasha realized too late what he had seen, the silver clasp.
She had braided it into her hair before leaving. She had not fully understood why, maybe because she was going to your home. Maybe because she could not bear to arrive without something of you visible. Maybe because part of her wanted them to know before she spoke that you had once marked her with your witness.
The soldiers exchanged looks, then one stepped behind her and took her weapons. They brought her through the harbor tunnels without a word and the castle rose above the city as it always had. They led her through the throne room doors and at the far end of the hall, your father stood from the throne. King Vaelor was not as Natasha had imagined him and exactly as she had. His grief was not quiet, it was barely contained behind the dignity of a returned king standing in a hall his daughter had ruled without him.
The moment he saw Natasha, fury crossed his face so violently several guards shifted. “You.”
The word carried through the hall and Natasha stood still. She did not defend herself when your father descended the dais one step and his hand went to the sword at his side, but before he could draw it, your mother moved.
Your mother came down the steps alone and Natasha had seen her only once in the past. She stopped in front of Natasha and for a long moment, she simply looked at her. Your mother’s eyes moved over her face, the cuts fading from battle and the sleepless shadows. Then her gaze lifted to Natasha’s hair and your mother’s breath broke.
One hand rose to her mouth and your father saw it too. “She gave you that..” your mother whispered and Natasha’s throat closed. “Yes.”
The queen’s eyes filled. “She would not have given it lightly. She marked you.”
Natasha’s hands curled at her sides. “She said it was her witness.” Your mother’s face crumpled. For one terrible second, the queen disappeared and there was only a mother hearing her daughter’s voice through a stranger.
Natasha broke first. “I’m sorry.”
The hall was so silent the words seemed to fall onto stone. “I am so sorry.”
Your father’s jaw tightened. “Tell us.”
Natasha looked at him..and told them. She told them about Vormir, about the stonekeeper speaking their names, the cliff and the price. About how both of you understood before either wanted to say it. Your mother’s face went white and your father stood like stone. Natasha told them how she tried to stop you, how you fought her, how you told her she had a family waiting and how she jumped and you caught her.
For a moment, she could not continue. Then Natasha forced herself onward. “She told me to look after Vhassar..” she said and your mother closed her eyes. “She said there was a reason he let me in.” Natasha’s voice broke. “She said she loved me.”
Natasha shook her head. “I failed her.”
The words tore out before she could stop them. “I failed both of you. I brought her into the mission. I told her there was hope. I took her to that place and I came back without her.” Her hands shook. “It should have been me.”
Your father’s expression hardened, but your mother stepped closer. “No.”
Natasha stared at her and Queen Maeryn’s tears were falling now, but her voice did not shake. “No.”
“I know my daughter.” The words stopped her. Your mother looked at her with grief bright and terrible in her eyes. “I knew her before crowns and dragons. Before war taught her to bite before she cried. I knew the child who would stand between an injured animal and grown men with spears because she had decided its life was hers to defend.” Her mouth trembled. “I knew the girl who would rather bleed than let another person pay a cost she believed belonged to her.”
Your father’s voice came rough from behind her. “She was always impossible.”
Your mother let out a broken breath that might have been a laugh if grief had not crushed it first. “Yes.”
She looked back at Natasha. “If she chose, then she chose with her whole heart. Do not dishonor her by making her sacrifice your failure.”
Natasha’s eyes burned. “I was holding her hand.”
“Then she did not die alone.” That broke something and Natasha looked away, but the tears came anyway. Your mother reached for her and Natasha flinched instinctively.
Then, slowly, she let your mother take her hands and the queen’s fingers were warm.
“She loved you?” your mother asked and Natasha could barely speak. “Yes.”
“And you loved her?”
Natasha nodded. “Yes.”
Your mother’s face crumpled again, but this time, she stepped forward and pressed her forehead briefly to Natasha’s. “You carry enough.” she whispered. “Do not carry what she would refuse to give you.” Natasha closed her eyes, the blessing did not heal her. It did something worse. It gave her permission to live, and she did not know if she wanted it yet.
When Natasha left the castle, the sun was beginning to sink behind the mountain. The city below glowed with torches and evening fires. Natasha walked alone down the outer path toward the hidden harbor and by the time she reached the lower cliffs, the wind had turned cold. The boat waited where she had left it, tied to the black stone dock and Natasha stepped toward it.
Behind her, stone shook and she stopped. A low rumble rolled through the harbor tunnel and she closed her eyes, No.
Claws struck rock and Natasha turned. Vhassar emerged from the shadowed archway behind her and filled the passage like night given teeth. Natasha remembered the first time he had let her touch him. You know me. Now he looked at her as if knowing was the wound.
Natasha faced him and for a long moment, neither moved. Then she turned back toward the boat and Vhassar followed. Each step sent a faint tremor through the stone.
Natasha kept walking. “Don’t.”
The dragon kept coming. She reached the boat and untied the rope with hands that had started shaking again and Vhassar’s shadow covered her. Natasha looked up and he stood at the edge of the dock now, head lowered, eyes locked on her.
“Go home.”
Vhassar did not move and Natasha stepped into the boat. The dragon’s head lowered farther, blocking her path out into the water. “Move.”
A low growl rolled through his chest and Natasha laughed once, “No. No, you do not get to do this.”
The growl deepened and she stepped back onto the dock and walked toward him. “Go.“
Vhassar’s eyes narrowed. “Go back to the castle.” Smoke slipped from his nostrils and Natasha shoved both hands against the side of his snout. “Go!”
Her voice cracked through the harbor and Vhassar rumbled and Natasha shoved again. “Stop following me..” He stared at her and suddenly she hated him. The way his eyes looked past her every few seconds as if expecting you to come around the bend with a half smile and blood on your sleeve and tell him to stop frightening the widow. Natasha hit her palm against his scales. “She’s gone.”
Vhassar went still. “She’s gone.” she said again, louder. “Do you understand me? She is gone and she is not coming back.”
The dragon’s head lifted slightly and his eyes changed. Natasha’s grief burst open. “She told me to look after you, but I can’t. I can’t even look at you without seeing her. I can’t hear you breathe without hearing her say your name. I can’t stand here and be what she left behind for you.”
Vhassar made a wounded sound and Natasha stepped closer anyway, tears spilling now and anger and sorrow tearing through each other until she could not tell them apart. “She let go!” Natasha screamed. “She let go and I lost her,ä and I can’t fix it, and you standing here waiting will not bring her back!”
Vhassar roared. Stone dust rained from the arch above and even the water shuddered. The roar did not sound like fury, it sounded like grief too large for a body, even one as vast as his. Natasha covered her ears for a second, then dropped her hands and shouted back even though he could not understand every word, even though maybe he understood enough. “I know!”
Vhassar’s wings flared, filling the tunnel with black shadow. “I know!” Natasha screamed. “I miss her too!”
The dragon froze and the words tore out of her after that, no longer controlled, no longer useful. “I miss her. I miss her and I had her for one night. One night after five years and then I watched her fall. So don’t look at me like I have her somewhere. Don’t look at me like I can give her back to you.”
Vhassar lowered his head slowly and for one terrible second, Natasha thought he might press into her hand the way he had once pressed into yours “No.” The dragon stopped and Natasha wiped her face with the heel of her hand and climbed into the boat.
This time, Vhassar did not block her. He stood at the edge of the dock while she pushed away and the boat drifted out into the dark water. Natasha took the oars because doing something with her hands was better than collapsing. Behind her, Vhassar roared again and the sound followed Natasha out of the harbor and into the open water. It rolled across the cliffs and broke against the evening like thunder with a heart.
She did not look back at first, till the roar came again, ragged and endless and Natasha turned. Vhassar stood silhouetted against the black stone dock, wings half-spread, head lifted toward the darkening sky. Fire glowed faintly in his throat but never came. Natasha gripped the oars until her hands hurt and the boat carried her farther away.
Weeks passed and the world kept going. Yelena found Natasha in pieces and tried, in her own angry way, to pull those pieces into something that still looked like a sister. She came by without warning and left food Natasha did not eat. Sat on the floor beside her bed when nightmares got bad and said cruel little things about Natasha’s coping mechanisms until Natasha almost smiled.
The worst nights were the quiet ones. Just your voice, soft in the Quinjet before the mission, asking for something that had sounded impossible then and now returned to Natasha with the cruelty of prophecy.
We could leave.
We could choose another time.
What if we stayed there?
Natasha would wake before dawn with those words moving through her like a blade and lie very still in the dark, staring at the ceiling of a room that had survived the end of the universe and still did not feel like home. At first, she told herself it was grief, then she told herself it was guilt. Then, weeks later, while standing in the compound hangar and watching Steve prepare to return the Stones, Natasha understood it was something worse.
It was a choice.
The quantum platform had been rebuilt after the battle, cleaner now, quieter, stripped of the frantic desperation that had surrounded it the first time. The Stones were sealed in separate containers, each one carefully prepared for its return. The repaired case sat at Steve’s feet like a box full of stolen time. Bruce stood near the console, going over the return sequence and Sam leaned against a railing nearby, arms folded, trying not to look as uneasy as he felt.
Bucky stood apart and watched Steve more than the machine. Steve wore the quantum suit with the shield strapped across his back and that expression on his face. The one that meant he had already made a decision and was only waiting for the world to catch up. Natasha watched him from the edge of the platform and for a while, neither of them said anything. Then she asked, “What’s your plan?”
Steve looked over. “To return the Stones.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow and he sighed faintly. “Nat.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“No. You’re just leaving out the part that matters.”
Steve looked down at the case and back at her. There was no point pretending, not with her. “I have to put them back.”
“And after?”
Steve’s face softened in a way that made him look younger and older at the same time. “I don’t know.“ Natasha smiled faintly, that was also a lie.
“Take me with you.”
Everything stopped and Steve stared at her. Behind him, Sam straightened. “Wait, what?”
Bruce looked up fully now. “Natasha-” But Natasha’s eyes stayed on Steve. Steve’s expression shifted through shock first, then concern, then something quieter and more painful because he understood before anyone else did. “No.“
Natasha almost laughed. “That’s your argument?”
“You don’t want this.”
“I do.”
“You’re grieving.”
“Yes.”
“That is not the same thing as choosing.”
Natasha stepped closer to the platform. “You’re going back to Peggy.”
Steve’s jaw tightened. “You’re going back.“ she said. “You’re going to put the Stones where they belong and then you’re going to take the long way home.”
Steve’s silence answered and Natasha nodded once, like something had clicked into place. “I’m coming.” Steve shook his head. “Nat, you have people here.”
“So do you.”
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t.”
His eyes sharpened. “Yelena needs you.”
“She needs her sister alive.” Natasha said and the words hurt because they were true and not enough. “She has that now. She has a world with people in it again. She has choices. She’ll hate me for leaving, then she’ll understand, then she’ll hate me again because that’s what sisters do.”
The hangar seemed to narrow around them. Natasha looked at the platform, the Stones, the machine that had already torn open time once and stolen you from her in the same motion that brought everyone else home.
“I keep waiting..” she said. “For the part where it gets lighter. For the mission to be enough. For the world being saved to feel like something I can stand inside.” Her mouth trembled, “It doesn’t.”
Steve’s face broke by degrees and Natasha hated that he understood but loved him for it too. “I am glad they came back.” she said. “I am, I would do it again. I would let her make the same choice if that was the only way.” Her breath caught. “But I wake up every morning in a world she died to save and I do not know how to live in it without her.”
Steve looked at her for a long time and wanted to argue. He wanted to say Yelena again. Clint, the team, all the words he had used on himself and failed to make obey. But Steve, more than anyone, knew what it meant to save the world and still belong to another moment. Finally, he asked, “Are you sure?”
Natasha almost smiled. “No.” That surprised him and she continued. “But I’m more sure than I’ve been about anything since she fell.”
Behind them, Bruce drew in a shaky breath. “This is not how this is supposed to work..” Bruce said carefully. “You return the Stones, then come back through the platform. That’s the plan.”
Natasha turned to him. “Plans change.”
“Not with time travel!”
Natasha looked at the case of Stones. “We’ll return them.” she said. “All of them. Where they belong, when they belong. We do that first.” Steve nodded. “Then?” Sam asked.
Natasha looked at him and Sam’s face was tight, hurt already forming because he knew what this was becoming. “Then Steve makes his choice.” Natasha said. “And I make mine.”
Bruce approached, looking enormous and miserable and helpless in the way only someone brilliant could look when intelligence had no answer. “Natasha, I can’t promise-”
“I know.”
“The branches-“
“I know.”
“Theoretically, if you remain in an alternate timeline, you won’t change this one, but there are still variables we don’t-”
“Bruce.” He stopped and Natasha smiled gently. “Thank you.” He hugged her carefully, like he was afraid of hurting her and more afraid of letting go. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet. “You both have five seconds.” he said, “From our perspective, rerun sequence is locked to the platform. If you don’t come back…”
“We know.” Steve said and Bruce looked at him, then Natasha.
He set the coordinates and Steve picked up the case. Natasha stepped onto the platform beside him and for one moment, she looked around the hangar. The place that had held her together badly for years, then she touched the clasp in her hair and Steve looked at her. She nodded and he nodded back. Bruce’s hand hovered over the controls. “Ready?” Steve breathed in and Natasha did too.
“For what it’s worth.” Steve said softly, only for her, “I hope you find her.”
Natasha looked straight ahead. “I will.”
Bruce pressed the button and light took them. Five seconds passed and Bruce counted them because that was his job. His hand hovered over the return control and Sam stared at the empty platform, when he pressed the button, the platform lit..and nothing happened.
Sam stepped forward. “Try again.”
Bruce’s face had gone pale. “Sam-”
“Try again.”
Bruce looked at the empty platform and swallowed. “They should be here.”
Bucky’s eyes had shifted to the lake beyond the hangar windows and his face changed first. “Sam.” He looked at him and Bucky nodded toward the trees outside. There was a bench near the water and a man sat on it.
Sam frowned confused, then moved toward the doors. The old man did not turn until Sam came close and he looked up. “Steve?”
“Hi, Sam.”
Sam stared. “What happened?”
Steve looked out over the lake and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, “I lived.”
Sam’s breath caught, the answer was too simple for what it meant. Steve had gone back into time, returned the Stones and then found the life he had been carrying like a wound since 1945.
Sam sat beside him slowly and a thousand questions moved through his face, only one came out first. “Where’s Natasha?”
Steve’s smile changed. He looked toward the lake, sunlight catching in the lines around his eyes. “She’s living too.”
Far away, in a time the restored world would never reach, the mountain kingdom woke beneath a younger sun.
The castle stood black and ancient against the high cliffs, banners moving in a clean morning wind. Below, the city had not yet learned the silence of the Snap and the wall of names had not been carved. The throne room still held voices that would one day become ghosts and then, by some miracle, never need to. Above it all, three dragons cut through the sky. Vhassar flew highest, black wings stretched wide against the morning and beneath him, his sibling, snapping playfully at the other one as he rose with a stolen sheep clutched in his talons. The sheep was very dead…the argument over it was extremely alive.
On the balcony of your chambers, you leaned against the stone rail and watched them fight over breakfast like creatures with no dignity and every right to the sky. You were younger here. Your hair was loose down your back, half-braided only because your mother’s attendants had lost patience and you had escaped before they could finish. You wore a dark red morning gown, soft at the sleeves, embroidered with tiny silver wings along the hem. The same gown Natasha had once seen only as a torn strip in your hand.
You smiled when Vhassar dove between the other two dragons and stole the sheep outright. “Thief!” you called.
Then arms slipped around your waist from behind and you stilled for half a breath. A familiar body pressed gently against your back and red hair brushed your shoulder as Natasha tucked her face against the side of your neck and breathed you in like someone still proving the world had allowed this.
“You’re awake early.” you said and Natasha’s voice came rough with sleep and something softer. “You have loud dragons.”
“They are expressing themselves.”
“They’re fighting over a sheep.”
“Passionately.”
Natasha huffed a laugh against your skin. You covered her hands with yours where they rested against your waist and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There were still things that had to be carried here, Natasha had told you enough, but noteverything at once. Some grief was too large to pour into a single morning. But she had told you about time, about the Stones, about a future that had been saved and lost and saved again. She had told you that there was a version of you who became queen too young, a version who brought armies to Wakanda, who loved her, who died on a mountain so half the universe could return.
You had listened and had wept. Then you had held Natasha until she stopped apologizing out loud. As Vhassar banked closer to the balcony, sheep still in his claws, eyes flicking briefly toward Natasha and he huffed smoke. Natasha lifted one hand from your waist and pointed at him. “Don’t start.”
The dragon rumbled and you smiled. “He likes you.”
“He tolerates me because apparently another version of him made a terrible decision.”
“He has excellent judgment.”
“He dropped a deer outside my window yesterday.”
“A gift.”
“It was still moving.”
“An enthusiastic gift.” Natasha laughed again and you turned in her arms. The morning light caught her face, she was not the Natasha from the future entirely, though she carried that life inside her. Her hair was longer here than it had been when she first arrived, the hard line between her brows had softened, not vanished. Some griefs did not vanish, they became part of how a person looked at sunlight.
The silver clasp was still braided into her hair. Your promise from a battlefield that, in this world, had not yet come. You touched it gently and Natasha went still.
“Do you ever regret it?” you asked and her eyes moved to yours. “The life you left.”
Natasha did not answer quickly. Below, the castle bells rang the hour and Natasha looked out over the kingdom. “Sometimes I miss them.” she said honestly and you nodded “I miss Yelena. I miss Steve and the others.” Her thumb moved slowly against your waist. “I wonder if they’re angry. I wonder if they understand or wonder if my sister is telling everyone I’m an idiot.”
Then her expression softened. “But regret?” She looked back at you. “No.”
Your throat tightened. “No?” Natasha shook her head. “I saved the world and still didn’t know how to live in it.” Her voice lowered. “You asked me once to run with you. I said no because we had to save them first.”
“And you did.”
“We did.”
Your hand tightened around hers and Natasha stepped closer. “Then I came back to you.”
You lifted your hand to her face and Natasha leaned into it. “You know..” you said softly, “this will not be simple.”
Her mouth curved. “Good thing we hate simple.”
“My parents will ask questions.”
“They already do.”
“My mother likes you.”
“She interrogated me for two hours over tea.”
“That means she likes you.”
“Your father threatened to throw me from the western wall.”
“He did not mean it.”
“He absolutely meant it.”
You smiled. “Only a little.”
Natasha laughed and rested her forehead against yours. The dragons roared overhead and the kingdom moved beneath you. Somewhere inside the castle, your mother’s voice rose in irritation at a servant, followed by your father’s answering laugh from the corridor. You closed your eyes briefly at the sound, still not used to how much a living voice could heal and hurt at once.
Natasha heard it too, her hand found yours. “After..” you whispered. It had been a promise once, a fragile thing spoken before a mountain demanded a soul. Now it was morning and Natasha smiling with tears in her eyes as she understood exactly what you meant. “After.” she answered and you kissed her then.. Natasha’s arms tightened around you from behind again and you leaned back into her and looked out over the land you had not yet lost, the future you might still change carefully, the family alive inside the castle, and the woman who had crossed time not to save the world this time, but to stay.
Together.
-
-
-
The End.
(One shots will be coming in the future, so feel free to give some ideas)
Summary: You are officially a free woman. It gives your father something to think about. While it gives your partners something to celebrate.
An: Next chapter is the last chapter.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Masterlist 2
“You want what she has.”
Steve sits next to Tony, as the billionaire watches the video of your speech over and over again.
The brown haired man's eyes don't move from the screen.
“I do. Her empire, her associates, her closeness to my daughter.”
Steve sighs, “You can't have it all Tony.”
Tony wants to disagree with his boyfriend. He wants to tell Steve that he's wrong. Tony is a king when it comes to having his cake and eating it too. This situation shouldn't be any different.
Yet it is.
“I know,” is how he chooses to respond.
Steve takes his hand, “So what's it going to be? Don Maximoff's territory or a relationship with your daughter.”
Tony rolls his eyes, “You have to make it sound dramatic like that?”
Steve looks at him seriously, “You can't keep playing with her life. You're either sorry for what you did, and want to make amends, or you prove her right.”
Tony's head falls into his hands, “She won't want anything to do with me.”
“Can you blame her?”
“Maximoff will try to kill me,” he adds.
The blonde man chuckles, “Yeah probably but if you can make amends with Y/n, she won't.”
The frown grows deeper on Tony's face. “I hate that they're all together. She was supposed to be safe from all of this.”
“That was easier for you to digest Tony. It was easier for you to justify not protecting her because of this lifestyle. It's bullshit. You didn't know how to be her father and that scared you away from even attempting it.”
Tony's gaze turns sour on Steve, “Watch it.”
The blonde doesn't back down, “Remember I'm not scared of you, that's what you like most about me.”
“I was protecting-”
“For God's sake Tony, she didn't need to be protected! She needed to be cared for. She needed to be loved and I don't know what fucked up prison logic you have, but she was never going to be safe there. It's literally prison Tony. Are you telling me you can't grasp this concept with all of your brain?”
Tony shakes his head in disbelief. He believes Steve has some nerve. The dark haired man chuckles, “You'll never understand. I don't expect you to, or anyone else for that matter. The safest place for her was far away from me.”
“So then what's changed? From where I'm standing you're still plenty dangerous to her,” Steve counters quickly.
Tony opens his mouth but his boyfriend cuts him off. “You don't get to pick and choose when to be a parent. You don't get to control how she feels about you.”
“Okay golden boy, then how do I fix it? What do I say to save my ass here? I don't have time for this bullshit, Wanda Maximoff is going to take my head off if I don't solve this problem.”
Steve scoffs, “You're unbelievable. Do you even care about your daughter?”
Tony slams his hand down onto the closest surface. “Of course I care about her! I just- I don't know how. I don't know what that means, if it means anything anymore. I know that this isn't something I can fix, so why bother? She's not going to forgive me and I'd be an asshole to ask her to.”
“You never even tried,” Steve says softly. “She deserves that much.”
“She doesn't need it from me, Steve. She's strong and independent. If she did need to depend on anyone she's got Maximoff and Romanoff.”
The blonde doesn't placate him anymore, “So what are you going to do?”
Tony makes his way over to Steve. They stand face to face. “I promised you a long time ago I'd be a better man. I've failed to meet those standards time and time again. I want to do the right thing Steve, but I've always been a selfish man.”
Steve takes a step back, his eye bore into Tony's defiantly, “I can't wait for you to be the man you promised you'd be anymore. It's now or never.”
At the Maximoff residence you notice the lack of the other car as you pull up. Happy and the others should've arrived first but they are nowhere in sight.
“Where is everyone else?”
Wanda pretends to be oblivious, “Maybe they took a wrong turn.”
Natasha is less coy, “Or maybe, we sent them away so we could properly celebrate your win today.”
“In what way?”
Wanda chuckles, “Whatever way you want detka.”
Your eyes widen, “Oh.”
“In the kitchen, in the office, on the couch, in the pool, we've got 24 hours on the clock,” Natasha adds.
“However I want?” You test out the phrase.
They see the idea sparking behind your eyes.
“However you want,” Natasha affirms.
Wanda’s hand finds purchase on your lap, “Do you know how you want it sweetheart?”
Your hand guides hers higher up your leg. “I want to be in control tonight.”
Natasha’s eyes light up at the idea, “We're all yours baby.”
You take your time getting into the house. There are no more words exchanged between any of you. Slowly but confidently you make your way to their room.
Natasha and Wanda trail behind you. They feel anxious, but in the most delightful kind of way.
Inside the room, they wait for your command. Your eyes soften as you look at both of them.
“Help me out of these,” you say.
Slowly Wanda approaches you from the front, Natasha takes the back. While Wanda deftly un-bottons your dress shirt, Natasha loosens your tie. The lawyer hand drags down your newly exposed chest to the button of your pants.
Your hands reach for the hem of Wanda's shirt. She lifts her arms and you pull it over her head. You watch her for a moment before turning your attention to Natasha.
Her shirt is already off. You reach behind her to unclip her bra. Her breasts reveal themselves to you. There's no hesitation in you as you grab them.
“You're so pretty Natalia,” Wanda is the one to break the silence.
You see the blush spread across the red head’s face.
“Natalia huh? Beautiful,” you comment, slowly dropping to your knees.
She watches you sink down, lust in her eyes. “Changed it after I immigrated.”
“Spread your legs for me Natty,” you nudge her legs apart gently.
She complies.
You look up to Wanda, “Come down here with me.”
The mob boss sinks to the floor just as you had. You cup her cheek, turning her face towards yours. Your lips connect roughly.
Wanda’s fire threatens to consume you. However you let a guttural sound release from your throat. It catches her by surprise, putting you back in control.
You pull away from her, “I want to see you taste her.”
Natasha’s legs are quickly made bare. Wanda's hands rest on the red head’s thighs. She can't help but tease. She places kisses between the highs purposefully building anticipation.
When her tongue finally slips between Natasha’s folds, your hand begins to stroke your cock.
Wanda eats pussy just like she kisses. There's a primal hunger. It's as if she's trying to devour her wife. The lewd sounds filling the room only make you pump your hand faster.
You see a small tremble in Natasha's legs and that's when you decide to yank Wanda away from her. You have a fistful of her hair and give her no time to protest as you kiss her. Your tongue explores her mouth attempting to taste any remnants of Natasha.
“Bed now. You on my face, you on my cock,” you say once the kiss ends.
You walk over to the bed, your back hits the mattress. Wanda's thighs land on either side of your head. She's looking down at you, her bottom lip between her teeth.
You feel Natasha's cunt against your hard on causing it to twitch. The pool between Wanda’s legs starts to leak onto your chin. Your hands climb up Wanda’s thighs before circling around her waist, pulling her all the way down.
You keep your eyes on hers as you taste her. Behind her you can feel Natasha’s warm mouth engulf your hard on. It has you moaning directly into Wanda's core.
“Fuck,” you mumble into the mob boss.
You know she's fighting the urge to grind on your face, but there isn't a world where you'd deny her that pleasure. So you stick your tongue before guiding her hips to use you.
“You sure baby?” Wanda pants on top of you.
You only bury your face deeper between her legs. Her hand lodges itself in your hair as she begins to hump your face.
Once Natasha’s mouth is off of you, the bed shifts. You can feel her cunt against you. You want to tell her not to tease you, but she figures that out without your words.
She slips your cock inside of her and you both groan at the sensation. Your hips snap up without your permission, and you can hear a cry leave Natasha’s lips.
“Fuck me, please.”
She starts bouncing, and your hips thrust up to meet her half way. Your eyes close as you're overwhelmed by the sensation of Natasha and the taste of Wanda.
The mob boss reaches down to move some of the hair that was sticking to your forehead back. You open your eyes to find her looking down at you.
“Can I cum in your mouth baby?”
In response you take your lips and lock them around her clit, sucking sensually. The woman above you starts panting.
All you can focus on is the way her body is responding to you. The curve of her neck. The way her hands grab at her breasts. The way she doesn't look away from you, even with her brow furrowed.
She cums in your mouth. She spills down your chin onto your chest as you release her clit. You hold her in place as her body trembles. She climbs off of your face.
You watch as she licks from where her wife is fucking you all the way up to your mouth. Her tongue doesn't hesitate to invade your lips.
“Watch me,” you tell her when your lips part.
She gives you some space. You sit up quickly with Natasha on your lap. She squeals as you put her on her back. You don't give her any time to adjust to the new angel before you're pounding into her.
Her nails dig into the skin on your back but that only makes you fuck her harder. Your head is against her shoulder, your breath tickles the skin there. With some light hesitation you bite down on the exposed skin.
You can feel Natasha clench around you. You don't know how much longer you're going to last.
“So good at taking me, Natalia. Sucking me in, so tight, so warm. How am I supposed to pull out?”
She shakes her head, “Don't.”
“You want it inside?”
She nods.
“Say it,” you whisper against her ear.
“Cum in me. Fill me with your cum. Breed my pussy. Fuck me, Y/n. I want it, please,” her eyes are glossy when they lock on yours.
“Fuck,” you whine as you cum inside of the red head.
You feel her own orgasm coating your cock at the same time. The grip she has you in keeps you flush against her skin. You're both trying to catch your breath.
“You need a rest?” Wanda says.
You lift your head up to meet her gaze. You can see the playfulness in her eyes but also the lingering hunger. You know what she wants.
Natasha’s hand caresses the side of your face and your eyes dart to hers. “She needs you.”
“You need me, Wanda?”
Her movements speak for themselves as she lays her face against the mattress. Her back arches, giving you a perfect view of her cunt. She looks back at you. “I need you so bad, detka. I'm so empty.”
It makes your cock twitch from inside Natasha. The red head laughs, “I think she likes that.”
You slowly pull out of Natasha. Your dick isn't completely flaccid, and with a few strokes of your hand it's ready to go.
“I'll take care of you, like you take care of me.”
You slip into her easily. You take a sharp inhale willing yourself not to cum immediately.
“You're so deep.”
You see the way her nails claw into the mattress. You can hear her biting back a whine. Her taste still lingers against your tastebuds. The room smells like pure sex and ecstasy. You can feel her pulsing around you.
“You sure you can take it,” you center yourself, wiping the sweat off of your forehead.
Wanda smirks, “I can feel your pre-cum dripping inside me. Don't get cocky.”
Natasha smacks her wife’s ass, “Be nice.”
She groans, “Baby you're close. I'm close. We're not going to last long and that's okay. I do not care, just cum in me.”
You lay flat against her, pushing deeper inside of her. You fuck her long and slow. Each movement has your breath staggering. The lewd sounds of the room only made your head fuzzier.
A whimper falls from your lips while they're pressed against her neck.
“You're doing so well, detka. I love the way you bury your cock into my pussy. You're going to make me cum,” Wanda groans.
Natasha’s hand finds Wanda’s clit at the same moment you pick up the speed. Wanda presses her head further into the sheets.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She cums hard against you.
“Oh my god,” a broken yell forces its way out of your throat as you fill her.
You start to pull out but her hand finds yours, “Stay.”
You kiss her shoulder in response. You feel the bed move and you whine.
“I'll be right back. I'm just going to get us some water,” Natasha ruffles your hair as she exits the room.
“I want to look at you,” you say from on top of Wanda. “But I think I'd have to take it out for that.”
The older woman maneuvers carefully. She slowly moves off of your cock, to turn around and face you.
You both have soft smiles on your faces. You reach out to tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” you scoot closer to her.
“I love you,” her eyes don't leave yours.
You don't hide the blush coating your cheeks, “I love you too.”
“Do I get an I love you or did I miss my chance trying to make sure we're all hydrated?” Natasha comes into the room with three bottles of water.
You dig your knees into the mattress, moving towards the lawyer. You place a gentle kiss on her lips, “I love you Natty.”
The red head smirks, “That's more like it. I love you too.”
Wanda clears her throat, looking at her wife expectantly.
Natasha rolls her eyes, “I love you too lord of the underworld.”
Wanda scoffs, “Then where's my kiss?”
“Come get it,” Natasha rebuts.
Wanda reluctantly makes her way next to you. The pout on her lips is adorable. Natasha pecks her lips softly before handing out the water bottles.
You all climb back into the bed. You are in the middle with Natasha and Wanda on opposite sides. Your back is flat on the mattress.
“So what now?” You break the silence. “The case is over.”
“You're a free woman,” Wanda says.
You nod, “I know, but…”
Natasha kisses your cheek, “Nothing about this has to change if you don't want it to. We want you here, with us.”
“I feel like I need to do something. I can't just live off of you for the rest of my life.”
Wanda’s fingers begin to draw patterns on your arms, “Paint for me.”
“Wanda-”
She shakes her head, “I'm serious Y/n. You make me some paintings, I can get them in galleries. Art is a large income job at this kind of scale. Enough for you to help around if you want to.”
“You're an incredible artist Y/n,” Natasha reassures you.
“What about the rest of my time?”
Wanda shrugs, “Whatever you want we can make it happen. If you want to go to college or travel, literally anything you can think of.”
“For awhile at least we'll definitely want you to be protected whether it's by us or Yelena or Bucky. We don't want you getting swarmed,” Natasha adds.
“They'll know better than to swarm you. I promise you that.” Wanda is already thinking of a larger threat to make for anyone who bothers you in public.
“And Tony?”
Wanda frowns, “I want him dead for what he has done to you.” She pauses briefly, “But he's your father and I won't end him if that's not what you want.”
“I don't know what I want,” you speak honestly.
Natasha interrupts, “You want the truth but you don't know if you're going to get it from him.”
“I don't want to put either of you in a position where he could take this from you.”
Wanda sighs, “If you want to talk to him, I'll make it happen. I can guarantee you he won't be taking anything from me detka.”
The door bell rings stopping the conversation in its tracks.
“Do you think-”
“Who else would it be?”
Together the three of you quickly scramble to throw on something decent. Natasha grabs her phone to check the front door camera.
She groans as she sees Tony Stark standing at the door with a blonde mass of muscle by his side.
Wanda grabs a gun to tuck into her waistband just in case.
“This day seems never ending,” you say, slipping a shirt over your head.
“Hey! The sex was good.”
You correct her, “The sex was perfect, but now my shitty father is at the door and I have to hear him out.”
Natasha speaks softly, “You don't have to hear him out.”
You sigh, knowing that you want all of this to be done. You want a clean break from the anxiety and turmoil that lives inside of you. You're ready to begin again. Tony is the last thread of your past life and it's about time the truth unraveled.
5 times you almost said the three big words to Natasha and the 1 time you finally did.
Warning : mention of violence, smut at some point...
Happy Pride Month!! <3
Still working on a long fic that's kicking my ass but had to write a little something that would not leave my mind otherwise, so... Enjoy :)
⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑
The room felt too big without her in it.
It was not really something you noticed right away, it was more gradual. The kind of thing that creeped in around the edges until suddenly you were hyper-aware of every empty space around you, every untouched surface, every silence that should not feel this loud.
You were lying on her bed, staring at her ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head and resting on her pillow.
You told yourself you would not do this.
You would not get used to the way it felt to be surrounded by her and her things - one of her leather jackets slung over the chair, a pair of her boots by the door, the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging stubbornly to the pillows around you.
And yet... here you were anyway.
Pathetically laying in her bed... Curled up beneath her blankets, your head buried in her pillow, surrounded by traces of her that made the absence somehow worse.
Missing her.
The thing was, you had spent years learning how to be alone. It had never bothered you before. You liked your own company. Liked the quiet, liked having your own space.
Then Natasha had happened.
And somewhere between late-night takeout, stolen hours between missions, and waking up tangled together more often than not, your definition of normal had shifted without asking permission.
"You’re such a traitor." You murmured quietly as Liho, her black cat, shifted slightly against the side of your head and let out the biggest sigh known to catkind.
Her tail flicked in response, unimpressed, before settling more comfortably against you, warm and solid and very clearly thinking the same as you.
You sighed as well, letting your head tilt to the side as you glanced down at her.
"You're supposed to make this less pathetic, you know?"
Liho blinked at you slowly, greenish eyes looking at you as if she were waiting for something.
You reached down absently, gently scratching behind her ears. She leaned into it immediately, purring, and you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips even if you tried. She always seemed to have that power over you. And her owner too.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," you mumbled, pursing your lips. "You miss her."
Because that was the thing, it was not just you. Perhaps the situation would be easier if it had been the case.
The whole room felt like it was waiting. Like it was holding its breath until Natasha walked back through the door and everything clicked back into place.
You let your gaze drift towards the nightstand - everything exactly where she left it, like she will be back any second.
Except she will not.
Not tonight.
Not for a few days, at least.
Solo missions would do that.
Liho shifted again, stretching this time, one of her paws pressing lightly against your ear.
You exhaled slowly, staring back up at the ceiling.
This was stupid.
You were being stupid. And you knew it, but apparently reason had no play in your feelings.
She was fine, after all. She was always fine.
You did not need to...
But your hand moved before you fully decided to, reaching for your phone where it rested on the mattress beside you. You stared at the screen for a second, the background picture greeting you not helping to talk yourself out of doing what you wanted to. Still, you paused for a second, teeth grazing your lower lip as you forced yourself to think rationally about this.
She was on a mission, after all. She did not need distractions.
She definitely did not need you calling in the middle of the night because you... Well, because you what? Missed her? Wanted to see her? Heard her voice? Make sure she was okay?
That felt... dangerously close to something neither of you were ready to unpack right now. Liho let out a small, impatient sound, nudging your hand with her head.
You glanced down at her, eyebrows raised.
"...You’re not helping." You grunted, closing your eyes before letting out yet another sigh.
God, you were so pathetic.
Liho was still staring at you when you opened back your eyes, you rolled them before hitting the call button.
It rang once... Twice... You almost talked yourself out of it and hung up but by the third ring, the line clicked.
"Yeah?" Natasha's voice answered, slightly hoarse, a little quieter than usual.
Relief hit you so fast it almost made you dizzy and angry at yourself. One word, one raspy, sleep-roughened word, and suddenly the knot that had been sitting beneath your ribs for days loosened.
Were you this desperate and gone for this woman? You hated that, hated how immediate it was - as if some part of you had been waiting for proof that she was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.
The realization hit a second later and made you want to throw your phone across the room. Because, God, you really were gone for this woman. You needed to get a grip on yourself, and that as soon as possible. And preferably before she found out as well.
"Hey, you..." You replied, smiling at the ceiling, scrunching your nose as Liho's snout nudged your chin.
There was a faint rustle on the other end - movement, maybe. Fabric shifting. The soft, distant hum of a foreign location you could not quite place.
"You okay?" Natasha asked immediately, worry lacing into her voice.
Of course she did.
You huffed a small breath, glancing down at Liho as she curled tighter against your shoulder, ears shifting at the voice coming out of your phone.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."
There was a beat of silence where you could practically hear Natasha thinking.
"Then why are you calling?" Straight to the point, not hitting around the bush with her - you always liked that. Usually.
You hesitated, because you did not actually really have a good answer.
"Can't I just call m-" You stopped yourself just in time, clearing your throat. Logically you knew she was your girlfriend. You had been on too many dates together if that was not the case. But you never said the actual word. There was actually more than one word you had not said yet. "Can't I just call you? It's been almost a week, I wanted to hear your voice."
Natasha let out a faint exhale on the other end, almost a huff.
"Of course you can call me, I just thought something was wrong at first," she grumbled, stopping as she heard you shift. "You're in my room."
It was not a question, it made you blink, caught off guard by her words.
"Wha-how did you even know?"
"Background noise," she replied, a smile in her voice. "And... you just confirmed it."
You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher as you rolled your eyes at her smug tone.
"Well, for the record, I’m here for a very important reason."
There was a soft, amused sound from Natasha on the other end.
"Huh uh, sure."
"It's true. You said Liho needed supervision and she doesn't wanna leave your room, so... here I am." You replied, chuckling when the cat let out a soft chirp, shifting closer to the voice.
"Alright, turn the camera on." Natasha asked, waiting.
You smiled, turning on your side and putting the phone on the other pillow to make sure she had a good view of Liho too.
Natasha's face appeared on the screen seconds later, her hair pulled back in a neat braid.
"There are my girls," she smirked, the corner of her mouth softening as she took in Liho's curled up position next to you. Her gaze flicked briefly to the side - like she was taking in the angle, the background, the way you were positioned. "You're on my side." She hummed, one eyebrow raising knowingly.
You narrowed your eyes, biting down the inside of your cheek.
"What?"
Natasha's smirk deepened, slow and knowing.
"The bed... you're on my side." She repeated, voice dropping just slightly as she raised both eyebrows this time.
You froze, because... you were. Without even thinking about it.
"It's... more comfortable." You said quickly.
Natasha did not respond right away, just looked at you like she knew that was not the real reason. Or to the very least, not the only one.
Your pulse picked up slightly at the look on her face so you quickly cleared your throat, looking down at the cat.
"Liho chose it first." You added, gesturing vaguely to the cat as backup. But of course, the traitor that she was, barely even reacted, simply staring at the screen while licking her paw absently.
Natasha chuckled, low and warm.
"Of course she did." She looked at the cat with playful suspicion before her eyes slid back to you.
You huffed out a quiet laugh, nodding.
"Yeah, she’s been complaining. A lot. I think she misses you."
Natasha pressed her lips together, taking in the sight in front of her.
"How is the roommate's situation going?"
"...She knocked over a glass earlier." You glanced down at the cat again, making a face.
Natasha sighed, glaring at Liho through the screen.
"I chose her name so well." She shook her head, but there was unmistakable affection in it.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
And she saw it.
Of course she did.
Her gaze lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
"Why did you call?" And there it was, the question you knew was coming again at some point.
You hesitated, because the real answer was sitting right there, obvious and inconvenient and a little too honest for comfort.
Because you wanted to see her.
Because you missed her.
Because her room felt too empty and wrong without her in it.
Because ever since you met her, she was always in a corner of your mind and these last couple of days you went back to that place more times than you would have liked - and actually needed to hear from the real her before turning completely crazy.
You shifted slightly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.
"Just checking in, you know..."
Natasha’s expression did not change but you could tell she did not buy it.
"Okay, and now the truth?"
"Hey, that's mean. I am checking in too." You grumbled, frowning at her.
She leaned closer to the camera, her face taking up more of the screen. The way she called your name always got you, and this time was no exception.
"You would check in if you knew I could actually talk about the mission. Which I can't. Which you already know. So...?"
"Wow. Okay. Read me like a book, why don’t you..." You huffed a small breath, rolling your eyes.
Natasha gave a small, smug shrug.
"I am."
You glanced back up at her. And unfortunately, she was still watching you like that. Too focused, too attentive, like she was waiting patiently for you to find the words.
Your chest tightened.
"...Couldn’t sleep." You admitted instead, softer this time.
It was not the whole truth but it was not a lie either.
Natasha's face softened.
"Yeah? Even if you're in my bed, surrounded by all my things... And wearing my shirt?" She sounded almost amused.
You glared at her, frowning.
"Stop being mean, I'll hang up."
"Okay, okay." Natasha held up one hand in mock surrender.
She looked genuinely amused for a minute though. But then silence settled again, not the same as before. It felt heavier now. Charged with something you could not quite name, only feel.
You watched her for a second. The way her eyes scanned the area behind the camera. The way her shoulders stayed just a little too tense, even when she was standing still.
She was working.
Even now.
Always.
"But I will anyway, you should get back to it..." You added quietly, offering her a gentle smile.
Natasha exhaled, and for a moment you thought she might actually protest.
"Yeah, probably." But she did not move, did not end the call, neither did you.
Your heart was beating a little too fast. There was something sitting in your chest again - that familiar pressure, that weight that had been building for weeks now, threading itself through every moment like this.
You swallowed.
"I-" You started, breaths burning your lungs.
Natasha stilled, eyebrows raising as you suddenly stopped talking.
"Yeah?" She prompted.
Your fingers tightened around the phone as you brought it closer. God.
This was stupid.
It was just words.
Just three words.
You could say them.
Right now.
She was right there. Looking at you like that. Like... like she was waiting. Like she could see the battle happening behind your eyes, like she was standing at the edge of the same cliff.
"I... I l-" The words caught, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you drew in a breath before panic slammed into you. You saw it then, so clearly, the possibility of silence. Of surprise. Of not hearing it back... And suddenly every survival instinct you possessed grabbed the wheel. "I mean I... You know,Liho is being very well taken care of. And I'll keep on doing that," you finished abruptly, the words coming out too fast. "Just so you know. Don't have to worry. About anything." You added with a smile.
Natasha blinked, then her face did something complicated, and suddenly she looked like she was the one whose air had been punched out of her chest even though you were the one actually out of breath.
"Yeah... I can see that."
"Good," you murmured, nodding a few times, hesitating again before clearing your throat. "Stay safe, okay?"
Natasha nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing.
"...I will," she said finally, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than it should. As if she were suspicious. "I’ll call you when I’m done."
You smiled, even though the motion felt rushed and out of place.
"Yeah. Okay."
Neither of you hung up immediately.
You just sit there for a second, looking at each other through the screen, waiting for more. Like there was something else to say.
Something just out of reach.
But then the screen went dark.
And the room felt just a little too big again, leaving you with words too big to deal with.
⧗
The plan had been simple on paper.
It always was.
In reality, however, it had dissolved into noise, smoke, and the kind of chaos that made your ears ring and all your carefully constructed thoughts scatter like startled birds.
Somewhere above you, something heavy collapsed with a metallic shriek, sending vibrations through the whole floor. The lights flickered twice before settling into a dim, unreliable pulse that painted everything in uneven shadows as dust fell from the ceiling like dirty snowflakes.
You pressed your back against the cold concrete pillar behind you, forcing yourself to breathe through the adrenaline clawing up your throat after taking down five other men. Your comm crackled with overlapping voices - Sam swearing, Tony complaining about power surges, someone yelling coordinates that immediately got drowned out by static.
Your earpiece buzzed again after another slow breath, and this time Natasha's voice came through clearly: "Status?"
Her voice was calm and grounded. Far too calm for the situation.
You exhaled sharply, something in your chest loosening just from hearing her - the sound of her voice hit you with embarrassing force. The building was still trying its absolute best to collapse on top of you. Your ears were ringing and your shoulder hurt and there were armed men somewhere in the vicinity actively trying to kill you. And yet the moment Natasha spoke, something inside your chest loosened.
You actually hated that she could do that, like some part of your brain had quietly filed her under safe, under trust, under the person you wanted beside you when everything else went to hell.
"Took down most of them but pinned on the lower level, door won't fucking open," you muttered, glancing around the corner before quickly ducking back as a burst of gunfire shredded the wall where your head had been a second ago. "Shit, three hostiles, maybe more. You?" There was a brief pause when you could practically hear her calculating.
"On my way." Natasha replied, voice steady despite the gunfire echoing faintly in the background of her comm.
You huffed a breath that was half relief, half exasperation, dragging the hand that was not holding your gun through your damp hair as dust still rained down from above. You perked by the wall, shooting one of the three guards.
"Nat, you’re not exactly in a position to be detouri-"
"I said I'm on my way." She cut in sharply before you could get another word out.
That tone meant she was not taking anything for an answer besides what she had already decided.
You rolled your eyes - even though she could not see you - before dodging another bullet as you ducked into another corner, firing two more back and hearing a groan as one bullet touched a shoulder.
"Yeah, okay, Romanoff. Because this mission hasn’t gone off the rails enough already, let’s just add 'reckless heroics' to the list."
"Shut up and hold your fire," Natasha scoffed, appearing on the other end of the hallways and taking down the two men before quickly jogging back to your side. "Well, you're welcome." She breathed out, bruised lips forming a small smile.
Before you could fire back, another explosion rocked the building, way too close this time. The wall at your back shuddered violently, cracks splintering up its side. You stumbled as the floor shook, catching yourself just in time, heart slamming hard enough to make your vision blur as the ceiling above the three guards lying on the floor suddenly collapsed on them.
"Fuck-" You gasped, pushing off and moving quickly to a slightly less terrible piece of cover with the redhead following. "Okay, that was... not ideal. Like at all." You added, one arm extended in front of Natasha - even though no one was coming your way as she stopped at your side.
"No shit." She grunted, scanning the area before tugging on your wrist to urge you to follow her.
"Took the long detour to come to me, huh." You joked as you carefully climbed back the stairs to find yet another issue.
"Traffic." She replied dryly, already peeking around the corner, assessing, calculating. Always working.
And God, even now, even like this, even with alarms screaming overhead and dust coating the back of your throat, even while your heart was trying to punch its way through your ribs - your eyes kept finding her.
The steady set of her shoulders. The quick, efficient movements of her hands. The way she assessed every angle, every exit, every threat in a matter of seconds.
Natasha always looked like she belonged in chaos, like she had made peace with it years ago and simply learned how to move through the storm, or perhaps had made a pact with it and already knew nothing would happen to her.
It should have been terrifying, instead it made something warm and painful unfurl beneath your ribs. Because every impossible situation somehow became more manageable when she was standing beside you. Because she had come for you.
The mission had gone sideways and the building was falling apart. And somehow Natasha had still heard you were trapped and immediately changed course. No hesitation, no discussion.
Your chest tightened - not from fear this time, but something sharper, heavier. Something that had been building for weeks, months, quietly threading itself through moments each more inadequate than the last.
You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the situation at hand.
"Hey, Nat," you said slowly, glancing up at the ceiling that was definitely not supposed to be doing that. "Tell me you have a backup plan."
Natasha glanced at you, lips pressed together.
"I do..." She grumbled, forcing a door open with her shoulder before quickly climbing up the next stack of emergency stairs. "Not sure you’ll like it, though."
"Natasha, I already don't like that we're going up right now..." You grunted, running to catch up with her.
She did not answer, just kept moving. The stairs were narrow and creaky underfoot.
"Sam or Tony’s gonna catch us on the rooftop." She replied, frowning at the door that refused to open. She kicked the combination lock, hissing as she grabbed a bunch of wires, ignoring the look you gave her.
Another tremor rippled through the building, stronger this time. A section of the ceiling caved in somewhere nearby with a deafening crash, the sound echoing through the corridors like a warning bell.
Your pulse spiked.
This was bad.
This was really bad.
Not because of the collapsing building, not because Tony's voice had disappeared from the comms three minutes ago, not because every instinct you possessed was screaming that the situation was deteriorating faster than anyone could fix. But because, for one horrible second, you genuinely thought this might be it.
And suddenly, all the things that normally seemed important vanished.
And suddenly, all you could focus on was Natasha. Natasha, crouched beside a broken security panel. Natasha, covered in sweat, soot and bruises.
And suddenly, the words were there.
Right there.
Sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and insistent and impossible to ignore anymore - because the thought of leaving this world without telling her hit you harder than any fear you might have felt all night.
You took in another shaky breath, your eyes tracking the smudge of soot along her jaw, the way a strand of red hair had come loose and was sticking to her cheek, the dried blood on her chin, the sharp focus in her eyes even as the world quite literally fell apart around you.
God.
If there was ever a moment... If the building came down right now, if this was the last conversation you ever had, you might actually not bear the idea of her never knowing.
"Nat," you started, your voice coming out tighter than you intended, almost swallowed by the distant sound of collapsing concrete. "If we, you know, don’t make it-"
"We will." She cut you off, the response immediate, like she had not even needed to think about it.
You blinked, lips parted as you observed her work on the colorful wires carefully.
"I... well, yeah, but like, if we don’t-"
"But we will," Natasha repeated, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. There was something in her eyes now - something stubborn, unyielding and fierce. "I won’t accept otherwise."
You stared at her for a second, incredulous, adrenaline and frustration tangling together in your chest.
"Oh my god, I know," you shot back, gesturing vaguely at the crumbling building around you. "I’m just trying to tell y-"
"Dekta," she cut in, her voice dropping just slightly, softer but no less firm. "It’s me. I won’t let anything bad happen to us... If you let me work on those fucking wires."
And there it was.
That certainty.
That absolute, unwavering belief that she could hold the entire world together through sheer willpower alone if it meant keeping you safe.
Your chest ached.
Because you knew her.
You knew where that came from.
And you knew how dangerous it was.
You let out a breath that turned into a frustrated half-laugh, dragging a hand down your face.
"Fuck, you’re so stubborn," you muttered, shaking your head at this impossible woman. "Whatever."
But the words did not go away.
They just settled deeper, heavier, waiting.
And the building gave another violent shudder, as if reminding you that time was running out.
⧗
It started as nothing.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
Just another debrief after another mission successfully wrapped. So, naturally, another cluster of agents and Avengers lingering a little too long in the common area with glasses in hands and loud music all around.
You noticed her by accident.
At least, that was what you told yourself later.
The truth was that your eyes had developed a bad habit over the past several months.
No matter how crowded the room was or who you were talking to, no matter how hard you tried to focus on literally anything else - they always found Natasha eventually.
Like a compass needle snapping north.
You could be in the middle of a conversation, could be laughing at something Tony said, could be halfway through a story - and somehow your gaze would drift across the room searching for red hair and green eyes before you even realized what you were doing.
Tonight was no different.
One second you were pretending to listen to Sam rant about government paperwork, leaning back against the counter with a drink you had half-drowned already, the next your eyes had wandered.
And there she was...
Beautiful.
Effortlessly, unfairly beautiful.
Standing a few feet away and talking to... someone.
You would not have thought twice about it, except... Well, she was smiling.
Not the polite, diplomatic curve of her lips she used when she was playing a role. Not the sharp, amused smirk she gave when she was teasing.
A real smile. Soft and easy and unrestricted.
Your stomach flipped, and not the pleasant kind of movements it usually did when it involved her.
You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to focus past the noise in the room to get a better look at who she was talking to. Some agent, you recognized the face vaguely, newer, maybe. You did not really know. What you could decipher however was the confident stance, way too relaxed to be speaking with Natasha, and leaning just a little too close.
And you realized with anger seeping into your veins that your girlfriend was not stepping away.
In fact, she tilted her head slightly, listening carefully before saying something back. And God, the agent had the fucking audacity to laugh.
Your grip tightened around the glass in your hand.
It was nothing.
Right?
It had to be nothing. Natasha knew plenty of people. People you did not know yourself. It was part of her job, after all. And it was not fair, she was not doing anything wrong. It was fine, not a big deal. But your slightly inebriated brain was set on convincing yourself it was a very big deal.
You forced your shoulders to relax, dragging your gaze away.
She was allowed to talk to people, a completely normal activity that human beings engaged in every day.
She was allowed to smile, too. Hell, you loved her smile.
This was normal.
This was-
You glanced back before you could stop yourself, and they were still talking. God, how long was this discussion going to be?
Your eyes kept on tracking every movement for the following minutes while the rest of your face was still pretending to listen to Sam’s story.
Every smile, every second she remained standing there. The worst part was that you trusted Natasha completely. This was not about trust, it was somehow more embarrassing than that, it was wanting.
Wanting her attention.
Wanting that smile.
Wanting to be the person she looked at like that.
And watching someone else get it felt like tiny little paper cuts somewhere beneath your ribs.
Death by a thousand stupid insecurities.
You took another drink.
An excellent decision, clearly.
Natasha said something else, her expression shifted - something amused flickering in her eyes - and the agent reached out briefly, brushing her dirty, unworthy fingers against her arm as she responded.
Something in your chest twisted.
Okay.
No.
Nope.
That was not happening.
You pushed off the counter before you could think better of it, crossing the room with the purpose you intended. You told yourself it was casual. That you were just... joining the conversation. Gathering information before actually stepping in.
Not interrupting.
Definitely not interrupting.
Natasha noticed you coming the moment your footstep hit a particularly creaky floorboard two steps to her right. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours - sharp, assessing and aware like she always knew exactly where you were in a room.
The... woman - whoever she was or thought she was - beside her was still speaking, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere.
"Hey," you said, a little too quickly, stopping beside the redhead and leaning into her side more heavily than you intended, blinking a few times to stop the world from moving too much - perhaps you should have stopped at two drinks like Sam suggested earlier.
The agent turned to you and offered an easy smile, probably delighted to have two Avengers speaking to her.
You nodded stiffly, barely acknowledging her before your attention snapped back to the person who actually mattered to you.
"Didn’t know you were still in debrief mode."
Natasha's lips twitched at the contact, subtle but there, her hand spreading on the small of your back to steady you.
"We’re not." She replied, her voice calm and even as always.
"Right," you said, glancing between them. "Just... chatting then."
"Yes." Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly.
There was a beat.
An awkward one, if you could say so yourself.
You did not like it.
"So," you added, forcing something casual into your tone that did not quite land the way you wanted it to. "What’d I miss?"
The unknown woman chuckled nervously.
"Not much. Just telling Miss Romanoff about my upgrade ideas for her bites."
"Her bites?" You replied, eyebrows raised, ignoring the way Natasha's hand tightened on your back in warning.
"Yeah, you know... widow bites. They're impressive already but Mister Stark wanted my help to upgrade them and Miss Romanoff had some very good suggestions," she continued, praising your girlfriend like you were not standing right the fuck there. "Didn’t expect that kind of knowledge, actually. You know a lot about... well, a lot." The young woman giggled.
Something about the way she said it, like it was new, like she was just discovering something you had known for so long... it grated.
"Yeah," you said again, tighter this time. "She does tend to know a lot about a lot." You let out a snort, giving the young woman a look.
Natasha’s gaze flicked to you again, sharper now. Assessing.
The woman glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on something. Finally. Tony had not picked the brightest one, it seemed.
"Well," she said, clearing her throat slightly. "I should, uh, let you t-"
"Yep," you cut in quickly. "Perhaps you should."
Natasha shot you a look at that, but the woman just nodded awkwardly and stepped away, muttering something about other projects.
You did not even watch her go, your focus was entirely on Natasha now.
The second she was out of earshot, the silence shifted.
Your redhead turned to you fully, arms crossing as she let go of you.
"Okay," she said, eyebrows raised. "What the hell was that?"
Your jaw clenched as you leaned against the wall for support, making a face of confusion.
"What was what?"
Natasha exhaled through her nose.
"That," she repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction the agent disappeared. "Just now."
You let out a short breath, shaking your head.
"Nothing, just... talked to your new friend, that's all."
Natasha's expression flattened, her eyes flashing with something that was both arousing and thrilling. God, whatever was in your drink really fucked you up.
"What is your problem?"
"My problem?" You echoed, incredulous. "I don’t have a problem."
Natasha stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Really," she said flatly, unimpressed. "Because you just interrupted a conversation for no reason and then acted li-"
"For no reason?" You cut in, the words coming out sharper than you intended. "Seriously?"
Natasha's jaw tightened, irritation flashing across her face.
"Yes. Seriously." She hissed back, keeping her voice low but making sure to send her point across.
You stared at her, incredulous.
"Wow," you muttered, running a hand through your hair. "Okay. Good to know then."
"Good to know what?" Natasha frowned.
"That you’re just... completely fucking oblivious." You grumbled.
"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows raised higher.
You hesitated. Because saying it out loud felt... actually ridiculous.
And petty.
And yet...
"You guys were flirting." You said finally.
The words hung in the air for a moment, then Natasha let out a sigh, leaned back against the wall, and turned to face you.
"I really wasn't."
You let out a disbelieving huff.
"Na-"
"I wasn't," Natasha repeated, firmer now, her gaze steady. "And if she thought I was, she's sorely mistaken."
You shrugged, the alcohol not helping you think clearly.
"Well, you were smiling."
"I smile," she replied, voice cooling as something you could not quite understand shifted in her expression, her shoulders dropping. "Sometimes."
"I don't know, not like that..." You grumbled lamely.
Natasha stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose as her eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, like what?"
"Like-" You stopped, frustrated, gesturing vaguely because you did not even have the right words for it. "Like you meant it or something."
"And that's a problem?" Natasha huffed out a laugh.
You opened your mouth before closing it again.
Because no. It should not be.
She was allowed to smile. Allowed to talk to people. Allowed to-
"Let’s just forget it..." You muttered, shaking your head.
Natasha reached out, gripping your chin gently and forcing you to look at her.
"Nuh uh," she said immediately, lips twitching. "Don’t do that. You started this, now finish it. Even if you're drunk."
You let out a sharp breath, throwing her a dirty look at her last words.
"Well, it’s just..." You cut yourself off again, jaw tightening. "It’s nothing, can we drop it?"
"It clearly isn't nothing."
"It is," you insisted, even though your chest felt tight, your thoughts a mess. "I just didn’t expect you to be so... friendly."
Natasha studied you, letting go of your chin to rest her palm on your sternum, thumb brushing the collar of your shirt.
"I'm friendly when I choose to be." She hummed.
"Yeah, I noticed." You chuckled, the words coming out more bitter than you intended this time. You reached for her hand with one of yours, keeping it on you - the touch grounding in a tilting world.
Natasha laced her fingers through yours, squeezing slightly.
"So what? I can't talk to someone now?"
"That’s not what I said."
"It’s what you’re implying."
"I’m not implying anything-"
Natasha sighed, cutting you off.
"You walked over there and shut down a conversation because you didn’t like it," she replied, voice sharpening. "So tell me, what exactly is the issue here?"
You stared at her.
Because the issue was obvious.
At least, it was to you.
But saying it out loud? That was different.
"That woman was clearly into you." You said instead.
Natasha blinked at you before snorting.
"Yeah, and?"
"And?" You stopped, frustrated, running a hand through your hair again. "And nothing. It’s just, like, obvious."
Her gaze locked onto yours, amusement flickering there.
"Yeah? Should I have?"
"I don’t know," you snapped, frowning at her, not understanding the funny aspect of this discussion like she seemed to. "Maybe... Probably."
Natasha leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath.
"Why?"
The question landed heavier than it should, the hair at the back of your neck standing up in alarm.
You hesitated.
Because the answer was sitting right there, at the front of your mind, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore.
Because you did not like seeing someone else look at her like that.
Because you did not like the idea of her wanting that from someone else.
Because you-
"Because I-" The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice cracking. "I just don’t like it, okay?"
Natasha hummed, lips curling into a satisfied smile, thumb brushing your hand.
You swallowed hard.
Your heart was pounding, she could probably feel it.
"I-I don't like seeing you like that. Imagining you with someone else." You grumbled, the words rough, pulled straight out of your chest.
Natasha pursed her lips, eyes on your frowning face.
"You think I’m 'with' someone else?" She asked, amused.
"No," you said quickly. "No, that’s not what I-just-" you shook your head, frustrated with yourself now. "Forget it. You can't understand."
Natsha hummed, looking at you with that familiar mixture of amusement and fondness, as if you were the most entertaining thing she had encountered all evening.
"Then explain it to me," she challenged, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you got jealous over a conversation."
"I didn’t," you stopped yourself again, exhaling sharply. "You're enjoying this too much," you grunted, giving her a look. "Okay, maybe I did. A little."
Natasha smirked, really smirked, the kind that made your stomach flip.
"Good of you to keep up, I've been enjoying it for five minutes," she chuckled, tilting her head to give you a knowing look. "A little?" She repeated.
"Fine. More than a little." You grumbled.
Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer, almost fond. Her eyes flicked downward, kissing you before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole than you were already, lips smiling against yours as she tasted the remeanant of the alcohol there.
You closed your eyes, trying to keep your mouth shut too. Because the truth was right there.
Because you loved her.
It sat at the back of your throat, heavy, burning, ready. Pulsing in time with the organ in your chest.
This would be so easy, too easy, to whisper it against her lips and blame it on the liquid courage coursing through you. To gasp it into her mouth, letting her swallow the words and sealing them with your insistent lips on hers.
You were already here, already halfway there, already saying things you probably should not be saying.
What were three more words?
Your pulse pounded as she stepped away, deep green eyes opening to stare at you.
"Wait..." Your voice faltered, breath catching as everything crashed together at once. "You're, like... very... important," you frowned, confused about where you were going with that, the words coming out of your mouth not necessarily the ones you expected. "I mean, like... I love... that you're interested in me. Only me." You finished, weaker than what you almost said.
Safer.
Natasha's eyes searched your face, like she was trying to find something you were not saying.
She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around your neck.
"Well, I thought that was pretty clear already, but I'm very much only interested in you, silly." She breathed out against your lips.
The words were steady and certain, making the hair at your nape raise again. But they did not quite settle the storm in your chest, even as your hands settled on her waist, heavy eyelids blinking to look at her.
Natasha kissed you again, softer this time, lingering.
Her hands came up to cup your face, thumbs slowly brushing over the apples of your cheeks like she was memorizing them.
"Next time," she whispered, smiling softly. "Maybe try using words a little better before jumping to conclusions."
You huffed a small, humorless laugh.
"Yeah. I’ll work on that, kinda hard after those insane drinks Clint wanted me to try, though..." You grumbled, staring into her green pools that lulled you closer, limbs melting into her.
And somehow you still wanted more.
Greedy and pathetic and hopelessly in love. The realization hit so hard it nearly stole your breath - well, that and her tongue tracing over your lips.
If only she knew the truth, though...
If only you could actually do that.
Said the words, the right ones, the real ones.
But instead, they stayed where they had been for weeks now, caught in your throat.
Unsaid.
⧗
Natasha woke you with a sound that did not belong in her bedroom.
Not a scream - Natasha Romanoff did not scream - but something very close to it. It sounded like a strangled inhale, like she surfaced too fast from underwater and forgot how lungs worked.
Your eyes snapped open instantly.
The room was dark except for the thin blue glow of the digital clock on the nightstand showing 3:13 AM.
Beside you, Natasha was rigid. Not sitting up, not moving, not one arm above her head like you caught her doing before. Just frozen flat on her back, chest heaving in shallow and uncontrolled breaths that were trying very hard not to become panicked.
"Nat?"
You pushed yourself up on one elbow when no response came from her, sleep dissolving immediately from your brain. The sheets were tangled around her legs, a sheen of sweat glinted across the exposed skin of her throat. Her hands were fisted at her sides so tight you could see the tendons straining.
"Natasha." You murmured, a little softer this time as you shifted closer, still careful, because you had learned to be careful with her.
Her eyelids finally fluttered open at the movemnt, eyes cutting toward you, green and glassy in the dark - but they did not really see you yet. They were still trapped somewhere else entirely, something years away from this room. The Red Room. A mission gone wrong. Or some memory she will never tell you about. There were ghosts living behind Natasha’s eyes sometimes. You knew that much.
And tonight they followed her into bed.
Your chest ached immediately - not because she looked broken, Natasha never looked broken, she looked exhausted like she had spent the last several hours fighting ghosts no one else could see.
"Oh, honey." The endearment slipped out before you could stop it and something in her expression cracked.
Not dramatically, because Natasha never broke dramatically either. But you saw it, that tiny flicker of exhaustion beneath the mask she was trying to pull back into place - tonight she was not fast enough. Tonight you caught the crack before the mask could close.
"’m fine..." She murmured automatically, her voice rough.
You almost scoffed at the lie, except there was nothing funny about the way her breathing still stuttered every few seconds.
"Yeah," you murmured instead, giving her a look. "Clearly."
Normally she would smirk at that. Throw something sarcastic back. Deflect. Tonight she just closed her eyes briefly like she was too worn out to actually pretend and let out a low sigh.
You hesitated for only half a second before reaching for her. That hesitation did not exist before. In the beginning, you touched Natasha carefully because you did not know if she wanted it. Now you hesitated because sometimes nightmares left her halfway feral with adrenaline and instinct. Once, months ago, she woke up swinging.
She cried afterward.
Not visibly, but her hands shook while she checked your jaw for bruising, and she refused to look at you for the rest of the night and following day so you would not be able to see her glassy eyes.
You remembered holding her face and saying, "Nat, hey, it’s okay, it was an accident." You remembered her whispering, horrified, "I could’ve hurt you." As if she had not spent every day since trying to make up for it with hands gentler than ever before.
Tonight, though, the second your fingers brushed her wrist, she grabbed you. Hard.
Never enough to hurt, just enough to reveal how desperately she needed the contact.
Your breath caught.
Natasha turned into you so quickly, almost hopelessly, and pressed into you like she could not get close enough fast enough. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other hooked under your shoulder, and then she was burying her face against your neck with a shuddering exhale.
Natasha never clinged before.
Your heart practically fractured on the spot.
"Okay," you whispered immediately, wrapping both arms around her. "Okay, I’ve got you."
She said nothing, not that you expected her to talk right now, but her grip tightened.
You could feel the aftermath of the nightmare in the tension running through her body. Every muscle pulled taut. Every breath measured too carefully.
You started rubbing slow circles against her back, carefully laying back against the mattress, thumbs pressing gently into her sides. It took a while before she melted even a little.
"You wanna talk about it?" You asked quietly, lips brushing her hairline.
You only received a tiny shake of her head against your throat in answer.
"Okay. That’s okay too."
Another few minutes passed in silence. Outside the compound windows, rain tapped very softly against the glass - a reminder that the world kept on moving in small, ordinary ways while you held one of the deadliest women on the planet together with your bare hands.
The thought would almost be funny if it did not feel so devastatingly tender.
Natasha shifted closer even though you did not think that was physically possible. One of her legs slid between yours, anchoring herself there. Her fingers curled into the back of your sleep shirt like she was afraid you would disappear if she let go.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly, lips pursing. Most people only knew the polished version of Natasha Romanoff. The smirks. The sharp edges. The glares. The dry humor. The controlled, untouchable elegance.
The Avenger.
The spy.
The weapon.
But you knew this version too.
The one who woke up shaking. The one who hoarded affection like she did not know when it would be taken away again. The one who pretended she was not tired right up until she fell asleep on your shoulder. The one who quietly moved closer whenever a room became too crowded. The one who checked that you got home safely even when she was halfway across the world. The one currently curled against your chest as if your heartbeat was the only thing keeping the nightmares away.
The one who pretended she did not need anyone while silently gravitating toward you over and over and over.
You planted a kiss onto her head, nose resting there as your lips stayed pressed on her temple. Immediately, impossibly, she softened further like that single gesture undid another knot inside her.
Your chest hurt so badly with it that you almost said it right then.
The three words rose so fast it scared you.
You stopped yourself so abruptly your breath almost caught audibly.
Natasha did not notice. Or if she did, she did not question it.
She was still tucked against you, eyes closed now, breathing gradually evening out while your heart absolutely lost its mind inside your ribcage.
Because holy shit.
Holy shit. You nearly blurred it out.
Again.
Panic bloomed instantly.
Not because it was not true.
God, that was part of the problem. It was too true. Because loving Natasha was not a choice you made anymore - it had never been your choice. It had become instinct. As natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. You loved all of her. The legend. The weapon. The woman.
Especially the woman.
You stared at the ceiling, fingers still moving gently through her hair while your thoughts spiraled violently out of control.
This was not the moment.
Actually, this would be the worst possible moment, if you thought about it.
She just had a nightmare. She was vulnerable and exhausted and clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world right now. Saying it now would be... unfair.
The realization landed heavy in your stomach - it would be unfair to put that on her now.
Natasha had spent her whole life with people taking advantage of vulnerability. Twisting soft moments into leverage. Making affection transactional.
You knew that.
You knew her.
The last thing you ever wanted was for her to think your comfort came with strings attached. Like she owed you something because she let herself need you tonight.
Your eyes stung suddenly.
God. And what if she panicked?
Not because she did not care about you - you knew she did by now, even if neither of you said it out loud - but because love was different.
Love was permanence.
Love was trust.
Love was something Natasha approached like a wounded animal approached an open hand: cautiously, suspiciously, waiting for the trap.
You could still hear her voice from months ago, quiet and strangely raw after a mission in God knew where left both of you bleeding in a safehouse bathroom.
"I’m not good at this."
You had looked up from where she was bandaging your ribs, eyebrows pulling together.
"Stichting me up? Could have told me before I let you put your hands on me, huh."
"No, just... this," she had muttered with a roll of her eyes, making a gesture with her free hand between the two of you. "All of it."
Relationships, she had meant.
Feelings.
You remembered smiling softly.
"Well, good thing you don’t have to be good at it, then."
Natasha had stared at you for a long moment like that answer genuinely confused her.
Sometimes you thought she was waiting for you to realize she was impossible to love.
The horrifying thing was that loving her was the easiest thing you had ever done.
You looked down at her now, at the red hair spilling across your shoulder. At the tiny crease still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Her plump lips partially parted, puffing air on your shirt.
At the way she unconsciously seeked your warmth even while asleep, fingers twitching against your back every few seconds just to make sure you were still there.
Your entire body ached with affection.
You wanted to say it so badly.
You wanted to whisper it into her hair and hold her until she believed it.
You wanted to tell her she was loved so fiercely and gently and without condition that it even terrified you sometimes.
But fear curled sharp beneath the longing.
Because what if she was not ready?
What if hearing it made her... retreat?
What if it changed this - whatever beautiful fragile thing the two of you had built together for months - into something frightened and uncertain?
Natasha did not do love.
Or at least she thought she did not, or to the very least act like she could not.
You had seen evidence of that belief everywhere: in the way she - most of the time - deflected sincerity with humor, in the way she usually went still when someone cared too openly, in the way she looked almost startled every time you chose her again.
As if she was still waiting for the moment you would not.
You could survive not saying it. You would rather swallow these feelings for another year than risk making her think she owed you an answer tonight, an answer given at three in the morning with tears still trapped behind her eyes would not really be an answer at all. However, you were not sure you could survive watching her pull away from you. Not over something like that. Not over timing. Not over words. So you swallowed the words down hard enough it hurt. And instead tightened your arms around her slightly and pressed another kiss into her red hair. Natasha made a small sound low in her throat. Contentment? Trust?
"You’re okay..." You whispered carefully.
Not I love you.
Even though every inch of you meant it.
"You’re safe. I’ve got you."
Her breathing evened out completely after a few minutes.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged at your own eyes again, but sleep came slowly. You mostly just laid there holding her, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.
You stayed. That was all. Stayed through the nightmares. Stayed through the sharp edges. Stayed through the parts of her she thought were too damaged to be loved.
You buried your face briefly in her hair, eyes burning.
"I’m here." You whispered.
Always, you almost added. But that was dangerously close to the other thing.
So instead you held her tighter and let the words live silently inside your chest a little longer.
⧗
You smiled against her insistent lips, blindly reaching for the handle of the door that was digging into your back, your other arm lazily draped around her shoulders.
Natasha chuckled into the kiss, breaking away just enough to push the door open with her hip.
She stepped inside first, pulling you along by your shirt collar before reconnecting your lips together the second the door of her quarters was closed behind you.
"Someone's eager." You mumbled between kisses, both arms wrapping fully around her neck now, back arching as you felt her warm hands on your hips.
Natasha bit your lower lip gently, hands sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press her burning palms against the shivering and bare skin of your back.
"Almost like it's been weeks or something." She breathed out, giving you a heated, amused look.
You shook your head, fingertips brushing along the loose curls of her braid. You tilted your face enough to look down at her cat who circled your ankles, purring at the contact. Liho meowed loudly at the lack of acknowledgement from both your parts, rubbing against Natasha's legs next.
The redhead ignored her, too busy nipping at your jaw instead, one of her hands tugging on the loop of your pants to bring you closer to her.
"She might be hungry..." You hummed, tilting your face back to give her more room, eyelids fluttering as you let your feet follow her wherever she was taking you.
Natasha grunted against your skin at your words, ignoring Liho entirely.
"She's always hungry," she muttered before pulling you in another heated kiss, hands gripping your hips as she walked backwards toward the door of her bedroom. "Plus, she already ate. Now's my turn." She smirked as she pulled you inside the room instead, closing the door before the black cat could enter.
"You’re so rude," you chuckled, leaning against the door, your hands feeling up her arms that quickly wrapped around you, refusing to let you go too far. "Slamming the door right into her face like that..."
Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes as she resumed her kisses along your jaw.
"Trust me you're not gonna want an audience," she said, lips hot on the hollow of your throat. "Know what else's rude?" Natasha asked, teeth grazing your skin, her eyes sparkling as goosebumps followed.
"Mhm, what?" You panted, already feeling yourself worked up, thighs pressed together for a semblance of relief, hands finding purchase at her toned shoulders.
Natasha smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your collarbone before biting down lightly, then soothing it with her tongue.
"You," she whispered against your skin, hands sliding lower. "You got no idea what you've been doing to me all day, huh? I couldn't stop thinking about you. During that meeting too," she grunted, nose nudging the collar of your shirt as far as possible. "Imagine that? Me? Distracted?"
"Well, I didn't do anything." You grinned, fingers slipping into her braid, purposely messing it up as you brought her lips back to yours.
Natasha groaned as you ruined her carefully braided hair - she hated when you did that. But she kissed you back anyway, hands fumbling and pushing fabric off your shoulders in a hurry.
"Liar," she accused between breaths. "You wore those clothes on purpose."
"My clothes? What about them?" You breathed out, helping her out of her own top.
Natasha kicked her shirt to the side, pressing flush against you, skin on skin now.
"That shirt," she said, voice rough as her fingers traced the waistband of your pants. "That clings like that? Your chest looked heavenly. Called my name." Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose before claiming your mouth again with a low whine of frustration as she tried to push your pants as far as she could.
You could not help but let out a shaky moan, kicking your shoes and jeans off to finish the job, fingers curling in her hair.
"I think you're losing your mind if you hear my tits talking to you." You chuckled against her lips, walking her to her bed, mouths still sharing the same oxygen.
Natasha fell onto the bed with you, laughing into your kiss - actually laughing, something rare and light that made your inside flutter so violently your lips parted against hers.
"Oh, your tits definitely talk," she teased back against your mouth before letting her mouth trail lower once you were fully straddling her lap. "They say 'touch me, Natasha' all day. Can hear them through all these walls and layers."
One of her hands slid up to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra, her other one pressing down your lower back to make you arch it.
"You're such a dork." You grunted, hips rolling on her lap, your hand not in her hair working on her bra, letting it pool between you like a final motion. Natasha let out a small laugh, but the sound turned into a breathy moan she tried to immediately swallow as your hips rolled against her lap again.
Her hands immediately reached behind you to take off the last piece of fabric hiding your silky skin from her gaze, eyes sparkling as the sight of your bare chest finally greeting her.
"Well hello, ladies. Missed you too." Natasha smirked, ignoring both the amused and bewildered look you sent her as she leaned down to press a light kiss on your sternum, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until your back arched against her on its own this time.
You let out a chuckle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you gripped her toned arm, your fingers still tangled in her head guiding her face lower. Natasha did not need guiding, she was already moving down - her lips trailing fire over your sternum, nipping gently at the soft skin of your chest before her teeth grazed the swell of your breast. Her hands trailed lower, feeling your soft sides and committing it all back to memories.
"Sorry, I might be delirious," she murmured, voice muffled against your skin as she pressed warm kisses over your chest. "Like I said, s'been weeks."
"Yeah..." You breathed out, eyelids heavy as you stared down at her. "...acting like you’ve been through withdrawal or something." You teased, though your chuckle died in your throat as her teeth grazed your sensitive skin in clear retaliation, piercing green irises looking up at you.
Natasha smirked against your skin before finally taking one of your nipples into her mouth, tongue swirling around it, slowly at first, teasingly. She could feel the way you tensed beneath her, how your breath hitched and fingers curled tighter in her hair. She hummed approvingly around the peak before sucking gently. Your hips jerked into her lap involuntarily as a reaction to her ministrations. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, breaths turning heavy as you tried to contain yourself even though her actions along with the faint friction happening between your thighs was making you dizzy with want for more.
Natasha immediately noticed the way you moved against her - subtle, involuntary, but so telling. She quickly switched to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while one of her hands slid down your stomach and over your hipbone, tugging down the last fabric clinging to your body.
You let her roll you over and watched as she dragged your panties off your legs, her burning fingertips grazing your skin. You shifted on your elbows, giving her a heated look as you stopped her from laying back with a firm foot on her toned stomach.
The redhead frowned, confusion clouding her gaze for a second.
"Nuh uh, you're wearing far too many clothes." You smirked, licking your suddenly dry lips.
Natasha arched a brow, but the smirk on her lips grew as she understood your demand. Without hesitation, she took a step back. Her buttons popped open in record time as she kicked off the remnants of her clothes. She grabbed your extended leg with one hand, squeezing your calf as she drew closer.
"Better now?" She drawled in a hoarse tone that groped at your belly with a small smile on her face, her lips trailing over the inside of your leg, eyes never leaving your face.
You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving her mouth as you tried your hardest not to melt too visibly under her ministrations. But it was harder said than done when your whole being filled with anticipation, your breath coming in faster before you could take the reins over it.
Natasha took her sweet time - kissing up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth of her mouth linger on your skin. She kept going until her nose bumped the apex of your thigh before finally reaching her destination, the first contact making every touch she did before small compared to the way her tongue eagerly seeked you out. Her eyelids fluttered for a second, a small sound escaping her parted lips as your grip in her hair resumed before tightening.
"Fuck-" You gasped, thighs already starting to tremble on either side of her head. "I almost forgot..." You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as her eyes snapped back to yours, her lips wrapping around your clit as she shot you a quick wink. "...how good you were at that." You finished in another gasp, letting the back of your head hit the mattress as you tried to keep the sounds in.
Natasha smirked - actually smirked, you could feel it against your folds - before diving back in with renewed focus. She alternated between slow, teasing licks and firm suction, like she had all the time in the world to relearn you - her tongue swirling expertly while one hand gripped your hip to keep you from bucking too much. The other slid up your stomach to pinch a nipple - multitasking like the terrifyingly efficient woman that she was.
"Inside-" You panted, back slightly arching off the bed while the hand not in her hair gripped the one that she rested on your chest for dear life, eyebrows furrowing as you focused on the pleasure she was making you feel. "Need you inside, Nat."
The redhead, your redhead, did not hesitate or drawled it longer than you thought she would - perhaps she did miss you as much as she claimed to - and slipped two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right on the first try like she knew your body better than her own. You rewarded her with a shaky gasp, unforgiving warmth spreading through you like wildfire.
Her tongue kept working your clit in perfect rhythm with her thrusting fingers, adding pressure exactly where it mattered. The wet sounds were loud in the quiet room, mixing with your gasps and Natasha's soft hums of approval against you as she stared at your body that chased the feeling she was giving you. And suddenly it was too much. Too many feelings. Natasha was all around you, everywhere - outside and inside. Her insistent hands, her heavy gaze fixed on you that you could not see but felt all the same, the scent surrounding the two of you. It was too much and you were right there, with the words ready to claw themselves out your chest and throat to finally slip past your parted lips.
You let go of her hair immediately as a semblance of dangerous clarity reached you, your hand pressing flat against your parted mouth. And what if you stopped yourself from breathing that way? At least the words were going down with you, and you would not blur them out of the blue, in the middle of sex, mind you.
You let out a trembling moan, thighs starting to shake as you bit down the inside of your fingers.
Natasha felt the exact moment you tensed, the way your body coiled like a spring ready to snap. She doubled down with eyebrows furrowed in focus, keeping the pace of her fingers and curling them while her tongue pressed hard against your clit. Your muffled moan only spurred her on, she always loved making you fall apart beneath her. Loved being the reason for that desperate grip on yourself, for those half bitten-off sounds she could practically taste in the air between you two. And then here you were, your thigh jerking up by reflex as your walls spasmed around her fingers, sucking them in.
She pulled back and took a deep, ragged breath, eyes traveling languidly over the faint sheen of sweat over your curves.
You opened your eyes again, face tilted to the side as you lazily reached for her with your hand, pushing the babyhair off her forehead with a faint, delirious smile on your face.
Natasha leaned into your touch, her damp lips curling as she kissed the palm of your hand. Her fingers, still glistening, brushed over your stomach as she crawled up to hover above you, arms caging either side of your head. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth first, then finally claimed it properly - slow and deep and so tender compared to what had just happened moments ago.
It made your toes curl.
"I love-" You stopped yourself just in time, gulping down, teeth grazing your lips as you tried to find something else to say. Something else than what you really wanted. Something that you might actually not regret saying. "I love, love when you do that." You finished in a lower tone, heavy eyes searching her face.
Natasha studied you, those green eyes always seeing too much, like she could read the hesitation in your chest, the words that did not make it out.
But she just kissed you again, slower this time, letting you taste the proof of your arousal clinging to her. Her hand came up to cradle your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheekbone gently, affectionate and warm.
"Yeah, I gathered as much." She grinned smugly against your lips.
You chuckled, pushing her away with one firm hand on her sternum before suddenly flipping both of you over, your body pinning her down on the mattress. You tried not to react too visibly as her hands immediately grabbed your hips by pure reflex.
"You know I don't like when you look too smug." You grunted, playfully rolling your pelvis into her lap, one eyebrow raised pointedly.
Natasha blinked up at you, almost surprised for once, her usually controlled expression flickering with something unreadable as your weight settled over her. A slow smirk curled on her lips, her hands traveling lower until she was cupping your buttcheeks.
"Well hello," she breathed out, tilting her chin to press a kiss to your jaw. "Missed those too." She smirked, her hands squeezing the flesh, a small chuckle escaping her as the involuntary movement it caused you to make.
"Oh, shut up." You laughed, your hands cupping her face to pull her into a firm kiss.
Because if there was one thing you were good at, it was distracting you from telling too much. And what could be a better distraction than those plump lips, stealing all possible breath from you until you could not speak anymore.
⧗
It was quiet in the compound.
Not the half-expected, tense, waiting kind of quiet that came after a mission or before one, but something softer, lived-in... And an atmosphere that could only prevail in the late hours of the day, one that only night owls could understand.
Most of the lights were off, the common areas were empty. And you were sitting on one of the couches, half-curled into the corner, a blanket draped over your legs more out of habit than actual need. There was a book open in your lap, but you had not turned the page in... well, a while now.
You were not reading. You had not been for the past twenty minutes. Or maybe even longer. Your gaze kept drifting.
To the doorway. To the window. To the hallway.
You did not know exactly when she got back.
You just knew she did.
You heard the faint echo of a quinjet followed by footsteps earlier. The soft click of a door. The almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere that always seemed to follow her presence - like something settled into place because she was back in your orbit.
You did not go to her. Not immediately. You had an unspoken agreement whenever one of you would return from solo missions, you would not go looking for the one who had just come back. It was up to her to come find the other if felt the need. Otherwise, you had to give the other time and space - enough to take a shower and put herself together while wiping away all the blood that stained the skin - before either of you could face the world again as an acceptable person.
So, you told yourself you would give her time, like always. Let her decompress. Shower, change, whatever she needed.
Totally normal.
Totally reasonable.
And it definitely did not end up with you pacing your own thoughts into the ground for what had to be the past half hour.
You exhaled slowly, dragging your eyes back down to the book you grabbed again.
You froze in the middle of a mess of words you surely must have tried to read before as soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. They were quiet - of course they were - but you recognize them anyway. Measured and controlled in the way that let you know she was letting you hear her approach.
Your heart picked up instantly.
Which was very stupid. It was just her.
Just Natasha.
The footsteps stopped right behind you.
You did not turn around right away, but you did not even know why. Maybe because if you did, this became real - that aching missing feeling whenever she was not near you. The words that had been sitting in your chest for weeks now, building and building and building until it felt like they were going to spill out whether you wanted it to or not.
"Your book’s upside down."
You blinked, looking down with a frown.
It was.
"...I knew that." You mutter, flipping it to the side quickly.
There was a soft sound behind you, something between a breath and the ghost of a laugh. You finally turned. And there she was. Clean now, changed too, her hair still slightly damp, falling loose around her shoulders. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, like she had already shed the mission and stepped back into something more... normal.
Her eyes were on you before they flicked to the empty mugs sprawled on the small table in front of you, eyebrows raising faintly.
"You’ve been sitting here for a while." She noted.
You shrugged, aiming for casualness to buy yourself more time on your emotions.
"Yeah. It’s a couch. That’s kind of what they’re for."
"Mhm." Natasha did not move closer, did not sit down next to you despite the empty place, she simply stood there, watching you. Like she was trying to figure something out.
You shifted slightly under the weight of it.
"What?"
"You’re weird again." Natasha tilted her head just a fraction.
Your eyebrows shot up.
"What!? Me? I’m not weird. What do you mean?"
"Yeah, you are," she replied simply with a scoff, like it was painfully obvious. "You keep almost saying something for weeks now."
Your stomach dropped, colors draining from your face.
Oh.
Oh, God, no.
You let out a short, awkward laugh, shaking your head.
"I don’t... what are you talking about?"
Natasha did not seem to buy it, not even a little, as she arched an unimpressed eyebrow in your direction.
"I’ve seen you do it," she continued, stepping a little closer now, her voice quieter but more certain. "You can’t lie to me, you know?"
You looked away, suddenly very interested in a nonexistent wrinkle in the blanket.
"I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things."
"I’m not."
"You might be."
"I’m not." She repeated, a little firmer this time.
You huffed a breath, rubbing the back of your book that laid on your side, upside down.
"Okay, even if I were, hypothetically, almost saying something... it’s probably not even important."
Natasha stepped closer, close enough now that you could feel the shift in the air between you as she leaned into your space.
"It is, though." She said, lips twitching.
You shook your head, letting out a chuckle.
"Nat-"
"Come on, just say it." The words landed softly, like a request. But solid with no room to dodge, no room to deflect anymore.
You swallowed hard, your pulse picking up again.
"This is a bad idea." You muttered, mostly to yourself, looking up at her with almost pleading eyes.
"Why?" She frowned.
Because you might ruin everything.
Because she might not say it back.
Because what you have right now is good and safe and enough-
"Because..." You started, before stopping. You held your breath, expecting... something. But Natasha did not move. She did not push. She just waited. And somehow, that was worse.
"You’re not gonna let this go, are you?" You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair in a nervous movement.
"No."
Of course not.
You glanced up at her, she was closer than you realized. Her expression was not guarded, not like it usually would be with... anyone else. Anyone else but you. There was something open there, she let you see it, decipher it like it was yours to. She was curious. Maybe even a little cautious. Like she knew this mattered.
Your chest tightened.
God.
This was it then. This was the moment you had been avoiding for weeks.
You were sure you could still back out. Say something else, make a joke, deflect, kiss her until you were both too distracted to remember the discussion at hand. You had done it before. You could do it again.
But you looked at her now.
At the way she was standing there, waiting. At the way she was clearly not letting it go this time. At the way she came to you without any mask on.
The faint dampness still lingering in her hair, the patience in her eyes, the way she had not pushed you once - just waited, as if she trusted you to get there eventually.
And God.
Maybe that was what finally did it, because something in your chest just settled.
You exhaled slowly. Because the truth was the truth. The truth was painful to hold in. The truth was choking you alive. Perhaps it was killing you more to keep it in than scream it at her. Because the truth was the truth and it was inevitable - even though you tried to run away from it. It would always come back to here and now, it would always come back to her.
"I love you." The words left your mouth in an exhale before you could stop them, like they almost did too many times to count before.
You froze immediately as your brain caught up, your heart slamming hard against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to take it back, to say something else. Anything.
But Natasha just... looked at you.
And for a split second, panic spiked, until a faint breath escaped her.
"Oh."
You blinked, your entire body went tense. The sound was not disappointed, it did not sound uncertain either. If anything, it sounded fond. Almost helpless.
And you were fucking lost.
"Oh?" You echoed, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were right now despite the blanket covering your clothes. "That’s-well, okay. Cool. Good. Great response. I-I actually really love that for me," you started to ramble, because of course you were - already half-turning away like maybe you could just physically remove yourself from the situation. "I mean, not that you have to say anything back, because you don’t. I just, well, clearly picked a great time to-"
"No, no, I just... was expecting something else," Natasha replied, lips twitching. "I mean, I already knew that."
You stopped before fully turning back now, elbows planted on the back of the couch as you caught up with her words.
"...What?"
Natasha smirked, something softer in her eyes now.
"I know." She repeated, like she knew you needed to hear the words again.
"You know, what? You knew? Since when?"
"A while." She shrugged slightly, pinching her lips together to hold the laugh in.
"A while?" You repeated, incredulous. "Natasha, I’ve been internally losing my fucking mind over this for weeks, actual weeks-"
"Yeah, I noticed." She scoffed, reaching for one of your hands.
"-and you just knew!?"
"Well, yes. I knew you loved me."
You stared at her.
Because that was... That was so unbelievably her.
"Oh my God, you are actually unbelievable." You muttered, dragging your free hand down your face.
There was a faint flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she stepped closer, fingers brushing hair away from your eyes so she could look into them.
"I love you too, by the way," she shrugged, lips twitching into a smirk. "In case you didn’t know."
You stared up at her, breath half caught in your throat. She loved you.
Of course she did.
The evidence had been everywhere.
You had just been too terrified to trust it.
"...You do?" You asked, because apparently your brain had fully stopped functioning as needed to hear things more than one time.
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"I just said that, didn’t I?"
"Yeah, I know, I just-" You let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "You could’ve, I don’t know, mentioned that before I spent months spiraling over it."
She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes.
"Well, you could’ve said it sooner.”
You stared at her, lips parted.
"...You’re really turning this around on me right now?"
"Mhm hm."
You huffed out another laugh, softer this time, something in your chest finally loosening after weeks of tension as she leaned in enough to press her smile against yours.
Summary:Mel being a perfect partner and a amazing mother earns her the title she deserves ❤️
AN:Probably this would be the last part of this unless someone send me another idea about this! But thanks so much for the support and the sweet comments!
Because her body clock had been trained by years of teaching children who treated sunrise like a personal challenge.
For a few quiet seconds she simply lay there, blinking sleepily at the ceiling while warm morning light slipped through the curtains.
Then she became aware of two things at once.
First:
You were half on top of her again.
One leg tangled with hers, your face buried against her shoulder, one hand lazily curled beneath her shirt like at some point during the night your sleeping brain had decided physical proximity still wasn’t enough.
Second:
Every inch of her body ached.
Not badly.
Just enough to remind her exactly how the previous night had gone.
Melissa closed her eyes briefly, remembering you laughing against her mouth in the kitchen, your hands grabbing at her waist, the sound of her own voice embarrassingly wrecked in her ears.
Her cheeks turned pink instantly.
Then your lips brushed sleepily against the mark at the base of her throat.
And she realized a third thing.
Oh no.
Very carefully, Melissa lifted her phone from the nightstand and switched to the front camera.
The screen illuminated her sleepy face.
Messy red hair.
Swollen lips.
And several very visible marks blooming along her neck and collarbone.
Melissa stared in silent horror.
Behind her, your sleepy voice mumbled against her skin-“Good morning to you too.”-
Melissa turned slowly.
You were awake just enough to look smug.
The sight of you, hair wild from sleep and smiling lazily against her shoulder, should have softened the crisis.
It did not.
-“Look what you did.”-
You blinked at her neck dramatically-“Hm. Terrible. A mystery truly"-
-“People at school are going to see these"-
You smiled without a shred of remorse-“Then maybe they shouldn’t stare at your neck"-
Melissa dropped back onto the pillow with a groan while you laughed softly beside her-“You are impossible"-
-“And you liked it"-Melissa covered her face with one hand. The worst part was that you were absolutely right.
With laziness and sleepy limbs, you moved completely on top of her, your face hiding on her boobs, giving small kisses to her skin
-"How are you feeling?" - you asked softly
-"Like it should be ilegal having to go to work after date night" - she mumbled and you laughed softly against her soft skin. Her hands went to your back to hug you under the covers and you hissed in pain. When the redhead lifted the covers, she saw what she had done to your naked back the previous night, scratches and cuts all over your back
Melissa froze.
You, meanwhile, had the audacity to look only mildly inconvenienced.
The redhead stared at the angry scratches running down your back, some faint, some very much not faint, and her entire face turned scarlet in under three seconds.
-"OH MY GOD"-She yelled. Your shoulders started shaking immediately with laughter against her chest.
-"Good morning to you too, cariño" - you murmured
-"I attacked you" - she said worried
-"You were enthusiastic" - you kissed her chest
-"I drew blood!"-she was shocked of herself
-"Tiny bit" - Melissa looked genuinely horrified now, fingertips hovering carefully over one of the marks like she’d discovered evidence at a crime scene.
-"Why didn’t you say anything?!"-You finally lifted your head enough to grin lazily at her.
-"Because every time I tried to speak, you kissed me again and my survival instincts failed" -That did not help.
Melissa dropped backward onto the pillows with another mortified groan, hiding her burning face behind both hands this time.
-"I cannot be trusted" -
-"Incorrect," - you said immediately, catching one of her wrists to pull her hands away from her face -"I trusted you with my life actually. Look at me. Still alive."
She narrowed her eyes at you.-"Barely" - You laughed softly and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose.
Melissa’s expression softened despite herself, though concern still lingered in her eyes as she carefully brushed her fingers over your back again, gentler this time.
-"Does it hurt?"-The sincerity in her voice melted you instantly.
-"Only a little," - you admitted -"Mostly when dramatic redheads poke the evidence" - you joked
-"I’m serious" - You hummed thoughtfully before nestling back against her chest, completely comfortable despite the scratches.
-"Honestly? I kind of like it, the soft sting of it makes me revive the night" - Melissa made the most scandalized sound you had ever heard in your life.
-"You are Insane" -
-"And you’re very pretty when you’re concerned about me" - She tried so hard not to smile.
Failed catastrophically.
A few seconds later she was stroking your hair beneath the blankets while you stayed sprawled half on top of her like an oversized affectionate cat, both of you warm, aching, sleepy, and devastatingly happy.
Then Melissa sighed dramatically toward the ceiling.-"We really have to go be responsible adults now, don’t we?"-
You groaned into her chest immediately-"Don’t say horrible things before breakfast"-One of your legs slipped between hers looking for more warmth, not wanting to get up, but the change of position made pressure on both of your crotchs and you moaned at the same time-"Fuck" - you murmured too sensitive-"Did I went too rough yesterday?" - you asked looking at her, Melissa made a strangled sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh, immediately grabbing your shoulder as both of you froze from the sudden oversensitivity.
-"Jesus Christ—" - she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. You buried your face dramatically against her chest in defeat.
-"Okay. Okay. Nobody move ever again" - That only made her laugh harder, though she winced right after. Your question softened the moment instantly.
Melissa opened her eyes and looked down at you, seeing the genuine concern behind your sleepy expression.
-"No" - she said quietly, fingers sliding through your messy hair -"No, baby. I’m okay."-You still looked unconvinced. Her smile turned gentler-"I’m sore because apparently we lost all self-control somewhere around the kitchen counter" - You groaned weakly against her skin.
-"In my defense, you’re extremely distracting" -
Melissa snorted softly, then carefully brushed her thumb along your cheek.
-"And you?" - she asked -"Are you okay?"-You considered it seriously for a second.
Every muscle in your body felt melted. Your back looked like you survived combat. Your legs barely trusted gravity anymore. And somehow you had never felt happier in your life.
-"I feel like I got hit by a truck driven by a very beautiful redhead" -Melissa laughed so suddenly she had to hide her face against the pillow.
Then her expression softened again as she looked at you sprawled sleepily over her body, still instinctively seeking closeness even while both of you ached. Her fingers traced lightly down your spine, much more carefully this time.
-"We should probably shower before work" - she murmured reluctantly. You immediately tightened around her like an offended octopus.
-"Counterproposal: we quit society and stay in bed forever"-
-"Tempting"-
-"We can raise Gaia in the wilderness."-
-"You cried last month because a moth flew into the kitchen"-You lifted your head indignantly.
-"That moth had malicious energy"-Melissa dissolved into helpless laughter beneath you, sunlight spilling across both of your tangled bodies while the quiet joy between you settled deeper and deeper into something permanent.
-"What if we call in sick?" - you offered, you wanted it to sound like a joke but you were truly thinking about it
Melissa looked at you for a long second after that. You could practically see the war happening behind her eyes. Responsible teacher. Responsible mother figure. Responsible adult.
Versus: Warm bed. Girlfriend wrapped around her like a sleepy vine. No pants. No emails.
It was honestly a brutal fight.
Her fingers absentmindedly played with your hair while she pretended to think seriously about it.
-"You realize" - she said slowly -"that as an educator I should encourage responsibility and commitment" -
You nodded solemnly against her chest.-"Very true"-
-"And as your landlord, I should probably discourage reckless behavior"-
-"Excellent point"-
Melissa narrowed her eyes-"You are agreeing suspiciously fast" -
-"Because I’m trying to manipulate you with maturity"-That earned a laugh warm enough to light the entire room.
Then she sighed dramatically toward the ceiling-"God, staying here with you sounds dangerously perfect"-Your heart did an embarrassing little somersault at that.
You tilted your head up just enough to look at her.
-"We could spend the whole day here," - you murmured dreamily -"order food, watch terrible movies, make Gaia deeply uncomfortable with how affectionate we are—"-
-"That child would roast us alive" -
-"True. She’d call us cringe and ask if we need supervision."-Melissa snorted, already imagining it. Then her expression softened while she looked down at you, all sleepy affection and tangled limbs and genuine longing written openly across your face.
And suddenly she understood this wasn’t really about skipping work. It was about not wanting the bubble to burst yet. Not wanting to leave the first morning that truly felt like yours together.
Melissa’s thumb brushed your cheek softly.
-"How about this," - she whispered -"we be responsible adults today..."-You groaned dramatically-"...but tonight" - she continued, smiling now -"we come straight home, order something unhealthy, steal all the blankets, and continue discussing our very serious future as an old married couple" -
Your entire face lit up instantly-"With matching rocking chairs?"
-"Obviously" -
-"And twenty dogs?"-Melissa pretended to think.
-"I’ll allow six before I start fearing for civilization" -You kissed her immediately for that answer alone, smiling so hard against her lips that Melissa couldn’t stop laughing into the kiss.
Then you hid on her chest. Again
-"Final offer, we call in sick, we cuddle all day, we order food, we make a blanket fortress with Gaia, and we pretend like the rest of the world doesn't exists...pleaseeee" - you pouted-"is Friday, we could have a long weekend... Don't you have a guy who can make us false doctors notes? You have a guy for everything..."-
Melissa stared down at you in absolute disbelief. Not because of the cuddling proposal. That part was dangerously tempting. But because you were currently sprawled across her chest with messy hair, sleep-heavy eyes, visible scratch marks on your shoulders, and a full dramatic pout while trying to negotiate like a cartoon villain whose evil plan was “blanket fort with snacks.” Her heart stood absolutely no chance.
-"You are aware," - she said carefully, fighting a smile -"that you’re weaponizing cuteness right now" -
You blinked innocently-"I have no idea what you mean"-
-"Liar" -
You only burrowed deeper against her, arms tightening around her waist.-"Come on, Lisa..." - your voice turned extra pleading now -"We can build a blanket fortress so advanced NASA gets concerned" -
Melissa laughed despite herself.-"And what exactly would Gaia think when both of her parental figures randomly skip responsibilities on the same day?"-
-"That we finally achieved enlightenment" -
-"Mmhm" -
-"Also" - you added thoughtfully -"it would be educational" -
Melissa looked horrified already-"How?" -
-"Structural engineering. Blanket physics. Advanced couch cushion architecture. The important lesson about choosing happiness and the importance of proper rest when you need it"-She was fully laughing now, shoulders shaking beneath you. Then you delivered the final blow-"And imagine Gaia’s face when she realizes we’re girlfriends now and emotionally unstable enough to build indoor civilizations" -
Melissa covered her eyes with one hand, defeated-"We are absolutely corrupting that child" -
-"With whimsy" -
-"With chaos" -
-"With love" - you corrected softly, looking up at her again. That one landed directly in her chest. Melissa’s entire expression melted. God. You always did that.
One second you were begging for forged medical documents like a sleepy raccoon, and the next you said something so sincere it unraveled her completely. She leaned down and kissed you slowly.
-"For the record" - she whispered against your lips -"I absolutely do not have a doctor-note guy."
You gasped dramatically-"Who even are you?"-
-"However..." - she continued, clearly trying not to smile -"I may know a teacher who deserves one irresponsible happy day after falling in love" -
Your eyes widened instantly-"Lisa" -
-"And I may know another idiot who’s going to spend the next eight hours attached to my side like human glitter" - You practically tackled her with affection after that, laughing into her neck while Melissa held you close beneath the blankets, already accepting her fate.
You kissed her smiling like an idiot
-"Beside, we need to have a conversation with Gaia that I'm sure it will take hours with all her questions... I can ask a doctor's note from one of my coworkers..."-you whispered, the wheels turning in your head. Melissa looked at you with increasing concern as you visibly started plotting. Not normal thinking. Not reasonable adult thinking. The very specific kind of thinking that had probably gotten you into trouble since childhood.
-"I know that face"- she said slowly.
You blinked innocently up at her-"What face?"-
-"The face that says your brain just committed to a terrible idea emotionally before consulting logic" -
You gasped dramatically-"Excuse you. This is a beautiful idea" -
-"You’re trying to forge a sick note for cuddle purposes" - her voice was deep with sleep and it was doing dangerous things to your brain
-"For family bonding purposes" - you corrected-"That’s basically therapy"-
Melissa laughed so hard she nearly snorted, immediately hiding her face in your hair out of embarrassment. The sound made your chest warm embarrassingly fast. God, you could get addicted to that laugh.
-"Baby" - she said between giggles -"Gaia is going to interrogate us like a tiny FBI agent the second she realizes we’re home on a school day" -
-"I know." - your grin widened -"That’s part of the fun" - Melissa shook her head fondly, fingers tracing lazy shapes against your shoulder beneath the blankets. Then her expression softened again.
-"She’s really going to be happy, isn’t she?" - she asked quietly.
You didn’t even hesitate-"Yeah" - Something vulnerable flickered across Melissa’s face at that.
Because despite all the jokes, despite how natural this already felt between the three of you, part of her had still been scared. Scared of changing the balance. Scared of stepping too deeply into something precious and accidentally hurting it.
You must have noticed the shift immediately. Carefully, you tilted her chin up so she had to look at you-"Hey" - your voice turned gentler-"she already loves you, Lisa. This isn’t us forcing something new into her life"-Melissa’s eyes softened instantly.-"This is just us finally catching up to what she figured out months ago" - That made her laugh quietly through the emotion threatening her again
-"Honestly? That child’s emotional intelligence is terrifying" - she murmured
-"It’s because she was raised by two disasters with big feelings" - you nodded
-"One disaster" - Melissa corrected softly, poking your side -"I was very composed before meeting you" - You smiled against her lips before kissing her slowly again.
-"Sure you were" - You sat on her hips, the blanket slipping off your body, fully naked and happy on top of her
-"So that's a yes? We stay in today?"-you asked. Her brain stopped working the moment your naked body was on fully display on top of hers
Melissa’s entire train of thought derailed instantly. Completely.
One second she had been trying to maintain the illusion of being the responsible adult in this relationship. The next, you were sitting comfortably on her hips with sleepy hair, flushed skin, and absolutely no concern whatsoever for the devastating effect you had on her nervous system.
The blanket pooled around your thighs while morning light traced along your skin in soft gold.
Melissa stared. Openly. Hopelessly.
Her hands landed automatically on your hips like her body had made a decision before her brain could participate.
-"Lisa?" - you asked again, fighting a smile now -"Your eyes just went completely blank" -
-"I’m thinking"-she said, you could see how she was literally drooling
-"No you’re not" - That earned a weak offended sound from her. Then you shifted slightly on top of her and Melissa’s head fell back against the pillow with a quiet groan.
-"See? This is workplace sabotage."
You burst into laughter immediately-"So that’s a yes to staying home?"-
Melissa looked up at you again, trying very hard to remember how functioning thoughts worked while you sat there smiling down at her like temptation itself. It was a losing battle. Finally she sighed dramatically, sliding her hands slowly up your thighs.
-"You realize" - she murmured -"that if you keep looking at me like this, neither of us is surviving this morning productively" -
Your grin widened.-"That still sounds like a yes."
Melissa tried to hold onto dignity for three more seconds. Failed spectacularly. -"Fine" - she whispered, pulling you back down into her arms -"we stay home" - You celebrated immediately by kissing her like you’d just won the lottery.
Which, honestly, considering the way Melissa laughed into your mouth while holding you close beneath the morning sunlight, maybe you had.
You sucked her swollen lips into your mouth on the middle of the kiss, earning a soft moan that made you shiver. If you two weren't as sore you would have eating her for breakfast, lunch and diner all over again
-"Can we make breakfast together?" - you asked on top of her lips rolling your hips lightly against her, whimpering on her lips, the hands on your hips tightened in warning
-"By together you mean I cook and you sit on the counter asking for kisses?" - she asked with a raspy voice
You laughed softly against her mouth, still dizzy with affection and lingering warmth while her voice scraped low and sleepy beneath you. God. That voice alone could ruin your entire morning.
-"That sounds extremely collaborative to me" - you whispered, stealing another kiss.
Melissa’s fingers dug a little deeper into your hips when you rolled against her again, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you both that your bodies were still deliciously oversensitive from the night before.
-"Careful" - she warned softly, though her own breath hitched a little -"you’re playing a dangerous game for someone who complained five minutes ago about not being able to feel their legs"-
-"But my mouth still works, that's enough" -That pulled a helpless laugh from her.
You stayed there another moment anyway, foreheads touching, both smiling stupidly into the quiet morning light like two people who still couldn’t fully believe this was real now. Official. Yours.
Melissa brushed a thumb along your cheek.
-"Breakfast together sounds nice" - she admitted softly -"But only if you promise not to distract me every thirty seconds."-
You gasped dramatically.-"You ask impossible things of me."-
-"I’m serious."-
-"And I’m deeply committed to being annoying in the kitchen."-
Melissa rolled her eyes fondly before tugging you down for another slow kiss.
-"Fine" - she murmured against your lips -"but if I burn the pancakes because you’re flirting with me, that becomes your emotional responsibility."-You smiled immediately.
-"Worth it."-
-"We should probably clean the counter deeply after all that happened yesterday in the kitchen" - she murmured thinking. You immediately buried your face against her shoulder laughing.
-"The poor counter went through a lot emotionally" - Melissa snorted softly, fingers absentmindedly combing through your messy hair-"Fuck you looked so delicious yesterday" - you kissed her neck
-"I’m serious. There are probably fingerprints everywhere."-
-"Lisa, we live there. I would hope there are fingerprints."- She pinched your side lightly for that.
-"You know what I mean."
You lifted your head just enough to grin at her-"Honestly? That kitchen deserves a medal" -
Melissa covered her face with one hand, already losing the battle against laughter again-"I cannot believe this is my life now"-
-"Your life now includes a very hot girlfriend and pancakes"-
-"Romance" - That finally broke her completely. Her laugh filled the room warm and bright while she hid her burning face against the pillow.
You watched her with the softest expression imaginable. Because this right here, this ridiculous sleepy conversation tangled in sheets with sunlight spilling across both of you, somehow felt every bit as intimate as the confessions from the night before.
Melissa noticed you staring after a moment.
-"What?" - she asked shyly. Your thumb brushed gently across her cheek.
-"Nothing," - you whispered fondly -"I just really like making you laugh" -you whispered giving baby kisses in her jaw.
Holding you with one hand, she stretched to the nightstand grabbing her phone, sending a text to Ava letting her know that she was "sick". The redhead never asked a day off, not even when she had that nasty fall outside the school, so even if the principal didn't believe her that it was because she was "sick", after all she did said you two would be up all night, she allowed the redhead the day off.
Melissa stared at the screen after sending the message, still looking mildly stunned by her own behavior. You watched her from where you were practically draped across her side, chin resting lazily on her shoulder.
-"Did you just commit academic fraud for me?" - you whispered dramatically.
Melissa laughed under her breath, locking her phone and tossing it back onto the nightstand.
-"Please. If Ava questions it, she’ll just assume I finally caught the plague from one of the kindergarteners."-your hand was doing lazy circles on her thighs
-"Or" - you added thoughtfully -"she’ll remember telling us we’d be up all night and connect the dots immediately"-
The redhead groaned instantly, covering her face-"God. She absolutely will" -You started laughing so hard the mattress shook beneath both of you.
-"Lisa, she’s going to look at your neck on Monday and know everything" -
-"Stop talking" -
-"She’s an educator. She observes patterns" - Melissa grabbed a pillow and smacked you weakly with it while trying not to laugh herself.
-"You’re enjoying my humiliation far too much" -
-"Counterpoint" - you said, catching the pillow and pulling her closer again -"you look adorable when scandalized" - That earned you a fond eye roll before Melissa melted back against you with a sleepy sigh.
For a quiet moment, neither of you spoke. The sunlight had shifted warmer now, painting gold across tangled blankets and rumpled sheets. Somewhere outside, the world was already moving forward with normal responsibilities and schedules and noise.
But here? Here there was only warmth. Shared laughter. The soft weight of your girlfriend in your arms.
Girlfriend. The word still sent ridiculous happiness blooming through your chest. Melissa must have noticed your expression because she smiled softly.
-"What are you thinking about?"
You kissed her temple lazily-"Just that this is the first morning I get to call you mine without pretending it’s a joke" - The redhead’s entire face softened instantly. Then she leaned closer, pressing one lingering kiss to your mouth before whispering:
-"Good. Because I plan on being very annoying about belonging to you now" - You smiled against her lips kissing her again, slowly slowing your kisses down, following the pattern of hickeys with softer kisses.
A phone started ringing with an upcoming call on the bedside table, Melissa stretched her hand and grabbed the phone picking up while you were still sharing kisses on her skin
-"Hello?"-she asked smiling because of you
-"Why are you answering mama's phone?" - the voice of your daughter on the other side made her open her eyes, without paying attention she had grabbed your phone thinking it was hers and she picked up. Melissa went completely still. You, meanwhile, had not yet processed the danger. Still half asleep, you kept pressing lazy kisses along her shoulder and neck while she stared into absolute middle-distance horror with your phone pressed to her ear.
On the other end, Gaia sounded deeply suspicious already-"...Mama?"-Melissa opened and closed her mouth once. Nothing came out.
You finally noticed the abrupt tension in her body and lifted your head slightly.
-"Everything okay, baby?"- Gaia gasped loudly through the speaker. Silence. Absolute catastrophic silence.
Melissa looked at you with the expression of someone watching their own funeral procession approach slowly from the distance.
You blinked. Then your eyes dropped to the phone in her hand. Then realization hit. Your soul briefly left your body.
Gaia recovered first.
-"WAIT" - her voice became increasingly louder and more delighted with every word -"WHY IS MELISSA IN YOUR BED?!"-Melissa made a strangled sound and immediately covered her face with one hand.
-"Correction, I'm in her bed" -You, traitorously, started laughing. Not a graceful laugh either. The kind that shook your entire body while Melissa stared at you in betrayal.
-"This is not funny" - she hissed under her breath while Gaia practically vibrated through the phone speaker.
-"It's a little funny..."-you smiled peaking the redhead's lips
-"MAMA!"-You finally took pity on the situation enough to grab the phone gently.
-"Good morning, tiny FBI agent" -
-"YOU SAID YOU WERE SICK!" - She yelled
-"Technically true. I’m love sick" - Melissa physically collapsed into the pillows behind you with a groan so dramatic Gaia burst into delighted cackling.
-"OH MY GOD YOU’RE GIRLFRIENDS!"-You looked back at Melissa, who was now hiding her entire burning face in a pillow while her red hair exploded everywhere dramatically.
And suddenly you started laughing all over again because honestly? This was exactly how your daughter finding out was always going to happen.
You sat on the bed laughing, your back full of scratches making the redhead feel guilty
-"If you are girlfriends now that means now you will sleep together and I will have the other room only for myself?"-she asked exited
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped the phone.
Melissa, however, looked deeply betrayed.-"THAT is your first question?!" - she exclaimed, still hiding beneath the blankets up to her nose.
Gaia gasped dramatically-"What? This changes the entire room economy" - You wheezed.
Melissa pointed accusingly at the phone.-"She gets this from you."-
-"Incorrect," - you said proudly -"she’s naturally gifted" -
Gaia hummed thoughtfully on the other end.
-"Soooo... does this mean I can decorate the other room however I want?"-
Melissa stared at the ceiling like she was reconsidering every life choice that had led her here.
-"We haven’t even had coffee yet and I’m already negotiating custody of furniture" -You crawled back toward her across the bed, grinning helplessly while wrapping one arm around her waist.
-"Careful, love. She smells weakness" -
-"I HEARD THAT!" - Your daughter yelled on the other side
-"You were meant to" - Gaia giggled loudly, clearly delighted beyond reason by the chaos unfolding.
Then her voice softened a little.-"Wait... are you happy?"-The room quieted instantly.
Melissa looked at you. You looked at Melissa.
And suddenly all the embarrassment and teasing melted into something warm enough to ache. You smiled softly before answering.
-"Yeah, bug. Really happy."
There was a tiny pause. Then Gaia made the most satisfied little sound imaginable.
-"Knew it" - Melissa laughed quietly at that, finally relaxing against your side while you kissed the top of her head-"Can we still build blanket forts if you’re in love now?"-
You and Melissa answered at the exact same time-"Obviously" -That made Gaia cheer loudly through the speaker while Melissa buried her smiling face against your shoulder, your laughter mixing together beneath the soft morning sunlight.
-"If I don't have school because Melissa is 'sick'"-you could hear the sarcasm on her voice-"will you come pick me up?" - she asked. Your hand was drawing lazy patterns on the redhead's back
-"Yes bebe, we will have breakfast and we will go pick you up" - you said softly
-"Can we go to the park after?" - she asked and you looked at Melissa
-"We can go to the park..."-the redhead said softly holding your waist
-"And the arcade?" - your daughter asked and you laughed softly
-"You are milking this... Melissa is sick" - you teased laughing.
Gaia gasped with the pure outrage of a tiny lawyer being denied her constitutional rights-"Exactly. She’s sick. Sick people need joy"-You immediately lost the fight against laughter again. Melissa, traitorously, nodded against your shoulder like Gaia had made a compelling medical argument.
-"She does have a point..."-You looked between the two of them in betrayal.
-"You’re teaming up against me already? We became girlfriends last night..."-
-"Healthy relationships require collaboration" - Melissa replied with suspicious seriousness.
Gaia chimed in proudly-"And arcade games."
You groaned dramatically-"I’ve created monsters."
-"No" - Melissa corrected softly, fingers squeezing your waist beneath the blanket -"you created a family" - That one hit you directly in the chest. Your expression melted instantly while Melissa looked slightly startled by her own wording again, like the thought had slipped out naturally before she could overthink it.
Gaia, however, sounded delighted.
-"WAIT does this mean we can have matching Halloween costumes now?"-You laughed helplessly. You remembered Melissa's Scarlett Witch and you bit your lip remembering that, that was the first time you felt attraction to her, even if you didn't said anything on that moment.
Melissa buried her face against your shoulder trying not to laugh too loudly
-"Yes bebe, we can" - you whispered kissing the redhead briefly. Then Gaia cleared her throat dramatically through the speaker.
-"So the arcade?"-
You sighed like a defeated warrior-"Fine. Park and arcade" - Gaia cheered so loudly you had to pull the phone away from your ear.
Melissa laughed warmly against your skin while your fingers threaded through her red hair, the three of you already slipping so naturally into this strange lovely little shape together that it felt less like something new and more like something finally found.
-"Go brush your teeth and pack your stuff, we will be there in an hour or so" - you said to the phone-"Te amo bebe"
-"I love you both" - she said exited before hanging up
-"We need to get up and shower" - you said lazy.
For a moment after the call ended, neither of you moved. The room stayed quiet except for the faint buzz of the disconnected phone and the soft sound of Melissa breathing against your shoulder.
Then she whispered-"She said both" - You looked down at her immediately.
Melissa’s eyes looked suspiciously glassy again, her fingers still curled loosely against your waist beneath the blankets.
-"Yeah" - you murmured softly -"she did" - The redhead smiled in that fragile overwhelmed way she got whenever happiness arrived too suddenly for her to fully trust it yet.
Then, because the universe refused to let either of you stay emotional for longer than thirty seconds uninterrupted, you shifted slightly and both of you winced at the soreness radiating through your bodies.
-"Right" - you groaned dramatically -"we are unfortunately mortal"-Melissa laughed against your collarbone.
-"And apparently not nineteen anymore" - she murmured
-"Speak for yourself. Spiritually I’m still young and athletic" - You tried to sit up. Your legs immediately threatened mutiny.
Melissa watched you collapse halfway back onto the mattress with the slow satisfaction of someone witnessing karma happen in real time.
-"Athletic," - she repeated.
-"I hate this house" - Melissa dissolved into laughter again while you buried your face into her stomach dramatically.
After another reluctant minute tangled together beneath the blankets, you sighed.
-"We really do need to shower before Gaia gets here" - Melissa hummed sleepily without moving-"Want to shower together?"-
Melissa looked at you knowingly-"That depends. Is this a real shower or one of your suspicious showers?"-
You gasped in mock offense.-"Lisa. I would never" - Her eyebrow lifted immediately.
Both of you remembered the kitchen counter at the exact same time-"...you know what," - you admitted thoughtfully -"that’s fair" -
After the shower, a shower with just kisses, you went downstairs to make breakfast, not without cleaning everything very well before.
You put on some music and Mel cooked for you
The kitchen felt entirely different in daylight.
Softer somehow. Less like the scene of your collective loss of self-control and more like a place already learning the shape of shared mornings.
Though admittedly, every time Melissa walked past the counter both of you avoided eye contact for at least three seconds. Just in case.
After and amazing breakfast and a few more kisses, you went to pick up your daughter, Melissa using a high turtle neck sweater to avoid letting your daughter see the mess of marks you left on her.
The second Melissa stepped out of the car, Gaia ran to her, being picked up by the redhead immediately, trying to play with her necklaces like she always did, but narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the high turtle neck. Not dramatic suspicion. Professional suspicion. The kind detectives in crime shows had right before uncovering government conspiracies.
You watched from the distance, resting against the car on your side to avoid putting stress on your messed up back, already trying not to laugh.
Gaia slowly looked Melissa up and down. Then at the turtleneck. Then at Melissa’s very obvious attempt to avoid eye contact. Then back to the turtleneck.
-"It’s like twenty degrees outside" - she said carefully. Melissa froze mid-step.
-"I..." - the redhead cleared her throat -"I was cold this morning" - Gaia’s eyes narrowed further.
You physically had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from losing it.
Then your daughter looked at you
-"Mama" - she said with narrowed eyes
-"Hm?"-you smiled, stepping closer to them to kiss her forehead
-"Melissa looks guilty" - Melissa made a wounded sound beside you while you burst out laughing immediately.
-"Traitor" - she muttered under her breath.
Gaia gasped.-"WAIT. How do I have to call you now that you are girlfriends?"-she seemed concerned
You both went quiet for a second. Melissa hugged her a bit tighter. And there it was again, that soft emotional expression she got every time reality caught up with her happiness.
-"You can call me whatever makes you comfortable, sweetheart" - she said gently.
Gaia thought about it with terrifying seriousness.
-"Can I still call you Melissa?"-she nodded.
-"Absolutely princess" - the redhead would never pressure her to do anything she didn't want to.
Then your daughter’s gaze drifted back to the sweater again. A beat passed. Another. And suddenly her eyes widened with horrifying realization. Melissa visibly panicked.
-"You know what?" - you interrupted quickly, open the car door-"who is ready to go to the park and eat ice-cream?!"
-"SHE BIT YOU?!" - Gaia shouted triumphantly from the backseat . Melissa turned more impossible red. You nearly drove into another dimension from laughing.
When you arrived to the park, you expected to at least have 2 min of peace, but as soon as you lay down the blanket and the basket, your daughter sat in front of you looking at both of you
-"I have questions" - she said
You stopped in the middle of taking the things out of the baskets as if someone had announced a hostage negotiation.
Melissa, beside you, whispered-"Why is she sitting like a tiny therapist" - Because Gaia was sitting like a therapist. Legs crossed. Hands folded. Expression devastatingly serious. The park had somehow transformed into an interrogation chamber. You pointed accusingly at your daughter.
-"This feels illegal" - Melissa immediately started laughing into her sleeve while you looked deeply betrayed
-"Question one" - Your daughter said and groaned already.
-"There are numbered questions?!"-you frowned
-"Focus, Mama" - Melissa was fully pink now from trying not to laugh too loudly. Gaia looked between both of you with exaggerated seriousness-"How long have you been in love with each other?" -
Silence. You and Melissa immediately pointed at each other.
-"She first" -
-"Absolutely not" - you denied
Gaia squinted.
-"Cowards" - your daughter murmured.
Melissa covered her face while you wheezed beside her. Then slowly, the redhead lowered her hands and smiled shyly-"I think..." - she glanced at you softly -"probably before either of us admitted it" - You looked at her with such immediate tenderness Gaia made a disgusted sound.
-"Ew. Okay. That answer was cute. I hate this already" - she made a puke sound.
-"You started the interrogation" - you said
-"And I regret nothing" - Then she leaned forward dramatically-"Question two. Were you flirting all those times in the kitchen when you thought I wasn’t noticing?"-Both of you froze. Gaia gasped loudly-"OH MY GOD YOU WERE" - Melissa looked seconds away from evaporating into thin air. You tried dignity. Failed catastrophically.
-"In our defense," - you said weakly -"we thought we were being subtle" - Gaia stared at both of you with the exhausted disappointment of a war veteran.
-"Mama. Melissa literally made you heart-shaped pancakes" - You blinked. Melissa blinked. Gaia spread her hands helplessly-"You two were one slow song away from a romantic movie montage" - she said stating the obvious
-"If I buy you ice cream, can we stop this?" - Melissa asked and your daughter nodded
-"Deal, but one last thing... I want a baby brother" - she said and run away to the ice-cream truck. The silence afterward was so immediate and violent it could have shattered glass. Melissa choked on absolutely nothing. You stared at Gaia.
Gaia stared back with complete confidence, like she’d just requested extra ketchup instead of detonating a conversational grenade in the middle of the park
-"Come on Mel! I want cookie ice-cream!"-she yelled from the distance. Melissa remained completely frozen beside you on the blanket. Absolutely motionless.
Somewhere in the distance, children screamed happily near the swings, birds chirped, and Gaia continued yelling about cookie ice cream like she hadn’t just emotionally flashbanged two adults in broad daylight.
-"Mel!" - she shouted again from beside the truck -"Before the good flavors disappear!"-she jumped up and down.
The redhead slowly turned toward you. Very slowly. Like a haunted Victorian doll gaining consciousness. You were trying so hard not to laugh your entire face hurt.
-"Baby brother?" - Melissa repeated faintly. Then she covered her face with both hands-"Oh my God" - That finally broke you.
You folded forward laughing helplessly while Melissa stared at the sky like she was personally asking the universe for strength.
-"She said it so casually," - Melissa whispered in disbelief -"like she was asking for a goldfish" - she whispered
-"To be fair" - you wheezed -"she probably thinks babies are easier than goldfish" - Melissa looked at you with betrayal in her eyes.
-"Why are you finding this funny?!"-she asked offended.
-"Because your face right now is incredible" - you laughed
-"I’m having a crisis" - she said scared. You reached over, still laughing softly, and squeezed her knee affectionately. Melissa exhaled hard through her nose before finally mumbling
-"I can’t even process being your girlfriend yet and apparently Gaia already has a five-year family development plan" -That only made you laugh again. Then your expression softened. You leaned closer, brushing your shoulder gently against hers.
-"Hey" - you said quietly -"you know she doesn’t mean pressure, right?"-you looked at her, Melissa’s eyes immediately softened too. Because she did know. Gaia wasn’t asking out of expectation. She was dreaming out loud. The way children do when something makes them feel safe enough to imagine a future inside it. Melissa swallowed softly.
Then from the ice cream truck-"MELISSAAA SCHEMMENTI!!!" -The redhead sighed dramatically.
-"I fear I’ve become emotionally attached to a tiny extortionist" - she murmured getting up
-"Too late now" - you teased gently -"she already adopted you" - Melissa smiled despite herself. Then she looked toward Gaia standing impatiently by the truck, sunlight catching the edges of her curls while she waved frantically for her to hurry up. And something impossibly tender unfolded across Melissa’s face. Something warm. Terrified. Hopeful. Like part of her heart had already started building a home there without asking permission first.
You noticed immediately. Of course you did. Your fingers slipped gently through hers.
-"Come on, love" - you whispered softly -"your kid is waiting".
After they bought the biggest ice cream possible, they came back to you.
The park had settled into that golden sleepy hour where everything felt softer around the edges. Children’s laughter drifted through the breeze. Someone nearby was playing music too quietly to recognize. The grass smelled warm beneath the blanket.
Gaia sat a few feet away cross-legged, entirely focused on destroying the largest ice cream cone legally available to a child. Chocolate streaked one cheek, cookie crumbs clung to her shirt, and every few seconds she hummed happily to herself while watching other kids race across the playground.
Melissa looked at her with helpless affection-"She’s wearing more ice cream than she’s eating" - You laughed softly from where your head rested comfortably on Melissa’s thighs.
-"That’s part of the experience" -
Melissa rolled her eyes fondly before scooping another bite from the cup between you both-"Open" - You obeyed immediately, smiling lazily when she fed you the spoonful. The redhead’s fingers brushed your lips accidentally in the process and both of you paused for the tiniest second. Still not used to this. Still a little dazzled by it. Girlfriend.
The word kept echoing quietly through both your heads like a song neither of you wanted to end. Melissa smiled down at you softly.
-"You look very pleased with yourself" - she whispered, her thumb tracing your bottom lip.
-"I am" - you admitted shamelessly -"I’m lying in my beautiful girlfriend’s lap while our daughter commits crimes against ice cream cones" - That made her laugh under her breath.
Your hand drifted lazily along the back of her knee while she kept feeding you little bites between conversations, absentmindedly caring for you in the most natural way imaginable.
-"Mama" - Gaia said without looking away from the playground.
-"Hm?"-you asked
-"You’re smiling at Melissa weird" - she pointed. You burst into laughter instantly. Melissa nearly dropped the spoon.
-"What does that even mean?" - she asked, scandalized. Gaia shrugged casually, still covered in chocolate.
-"Like in movies before people kiss in the rain" - You physically had to sit up because laughing on Melissa’s lap had become impossible-"Can we play baseball?" - your daughter asked exited, hands full of ice-cream.
-"Wash your hands first, I don't want you getting Lisa's bat dirty" - your daughter nodded running exited running to the faucet on the park to get cleaned.
You turned grabbing the redhead's jaw with your hand and kissed her deeply and slowly. Melissa melted instantly into the kiss. Not surprised. Not hesitant. Like she had already learned your gravity and her body simply followed it naturally now. Her hand slid up your wrist to hold it there against her jaw while your mouths moved slowly together beneath the warm afternoon sunlight, sweet with melted ice cream and lazy happiness.
For a few seconds the entire park blurred away. The noise. The children running. The music in the distance.
There was only the soft sigh Melissa made against your lips when you kissed her deeper.
Then-"EWWWWWW" - Both of you broke apart laughing immediately. Gaia stood a few feet away now, hands finally clean, staring at both of you with exaggerated horror-"You guys are kissing in public like teenagers" - Melissa hid her face against your shoulder instantly, laughing helplessly while you grinned shamelessly at your daughter.
-"And yet you interrupted us instead of looking away" - you raised your eyebrow.
-"Because I live here now," - Gaia answered dramatically, pointing between both of you -"This affects me emotionally" - You snorted.
Melissa finally lifted her head enough to smile at Gaia warmly-"I thought you wanted baseball" -
Gaia gasped-"RIGHT! So stop kissing" - she pointed at the both of you. Immediately she grabbed Melissa’s wrist and started dragging the redhead toward the open grass.
-"Mama come too" - she yelled at you and you got up from the blanket
-"Baby I suck at baseball, you know that" - you complained grabbing a ball
-"I can teach you" - the redhead offered immediately. She loved baseball, you knew that, she was an Eagles fan, she had a favorite collection of bats and she played with Gaia in the free time.You looked at Melissa with immediate suspicion.
-"Teach me?" - you repeated slowly -"Last time I tried, I almost hit myself with the bat" -
Gaia nodded gravely-"It was really embarrassing"-
-"Thank you for the support bebe" -you said. Melissa laughed warmly beside your daughter while the two of them dragged you farther across the grass anyway.
The sun painted gold along Melissa’s hair, turning the red into copper fire while she carried the bat easily over one shoulder. Comfortable. Confident. Entirely in her element now. God, she looked beautiful like this. Relaxed enough to shine.
-"Okay" - Melissa said, stopping in an open patch of grass -"first rule: stop looking at the bat like it personally offended you"-she pointed at you
-"It knows what it did" -
Gaia groaned dramatically-"Mama focus"-You stuck your tongue out at her before Melissa stepped behind you gently.
And immediately your brain stopped functioning. Her arms slid around yours to adjust your grip on the bat, chest warm against your back, her voice low near your ear while she repositioned your hands carefully
-"Relax your shoulders," - she murmured softly.
You swallowed-"I was relaxed before you got this close" - your voice came more pleading that what you expect, her front was pressing your scratchs on your back reminding you of last night.
Gaia made the loudest disgusted sound in human history-"NO FLIRTING DURING SPORTS!-
Melissa burst out laughing against your shoulder while you grinned shamelessly.
Then the redhead tapped your stance lightly with her foot-"Feet apart a little more" - You obeyed.
-"Good," - she praised automatically. And for some reason that simple little praise hit you directly in the nervous system.
Melissa noticed instantly.
So did Gaia unfortunately.
Your daughter narrowed her eyes.
-"...Why did mama make that face"-she squinted her eyes
-"No reason" - Melissa answered too quickly.
-"Suspicious..."-
You were still trying to recover while Melissa stepped away, smiling to herself now.
Then Gaia tossed the ball gently toward you. You swung. Missed spectacularly. The momentum spun you halfway around like a cartoon.
Melissa laughed so hard she doubled over immediately.
-"BABY!"-she laughed at you
-"I hate this sport... If we were playing fútbol I would be kicking your butts" - you murmured
-"You don't know how to play football..."-Melisa said and you looked at her squinting
-"Not football! I said fútbol! Like Messi!" - you yelled to her
-"Oh yes, she would be kicking our butts, that's why I don't wanna play with her" - your daughter agreed-"Again!" - Gaia demanded enthusiastically.
Twenty minutes later the three of you were breathless and laughing.
Gaia had grass stains on her knees. You had nearly dropped the bat six separate times. Melissa was glowing with happiness so obvious it almost hurt to witness.
At one point Gaia managed to hit the ball surprisingly far and sprinted after it triumphantly across the grass.
Leaving you and Melissa alone for a moment. The redhead moved beside you, smiling softly while taking the bat from your hands.
-"You’re improving" - she kissed your cheek
-"Liar" - you replied and kiss her briefly
-"A little..."-You laughed quietly before your gaze drifted toward Gaia in the distance. Then back to Melissa. And suddenly the sight of them together hit you all over again.
Melissa teaching Gaia patiently. Cheering for her. Laughing with her. Existing beside both of you like she had always belonged there.
Your chest tightened painfully with affection.
Melissa noticed the change in your expression immediately.
-"What?" - she asked softly. You stepped closer, brushing your fingers against hers around the handle of the bat.
-"Nothing," - you whispered with a helpless smile -"I’m just very in love with you right now" - you smiled kissing her again before your daughter could complain.
After you couldn't run anymore and you were covered on mud and grass, you decided to go home to take a shower before going to the arcade.
While you were showering yourself and your daughter, someone knocked on the door
-"I got it!" - Mel said coming down the stairs. When she opened the door, Barbara and all her friends from Abbott were there outside the door-"Barb?" - the redhead asked, the hand of her friend went immediately to the forehead
-"How are you feeling? Do you have any fever?" - her friend entered the house followed by the rest without waiting for permission.
Melissa froze in the doorway like a deer caught in the world’s most judgmental headlights.
Barbara’s hand was still pressed dramatically to her forehead while the rest of the group poured into the house carrying bags, drinks, and the chaotic energy of people who had absolutely decided this was a medical emergency social event.
Behind Barbara, Ava walked in holding iced coffee and sunglasses indoors like she owned the property already.
Jacob carried what appeared to be three different soups.
Janine had flowers.
Gregory looked deeply concerned but also vaguely resigned, like this exact situation happened to him weekly.
Melissa blinked rapidly.
-"...Why are all of you here?"-she frowned. Barbara looked scandalized by the question.
-"Melissa Schemmenti, you never take sick days" - the older pointed dramatically at her.
-"Exactly. You’re like one emotional breakdown away from becoming a ghost teacher haunting the school forever" - Jacob nodded solemnly.
-"We thought you might be dying" - Ava said smiling knowing the truth behind this.
Melissa opened her mouth. Closed it.
Then from upstairs came your voice-"Gaia stop spraying me with water!"-you laughed
-"YOU STARTED IT" -Followed immediately by shrieking laughter.
The entire group went silent. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Everyone turned toward Melissa. Ava’s sunglasses lowered down her nose with devastating precision. Barbara’s eyes widened just slightly. Gregory looked upward in realization like a man solving advanced calculus. Janine physically gasped. And Jacob? Jacob looked thrilled.
-"Melissa" - Ava said slowly, already smiling like a shark sensing blood in the water -"why does your sick day sound gay" - she smiled
Melissa’s soul left her body instantly-"It’s not what it sounds like" - she said quickly
At that exact moment you came downstairs. Hair damp from the shower. Wearing sweatpants and one of Melissa’s oversized Eagles hoodies. Looking entirely too happy and domestic for the situation. You stopped dead seeing the group in the living room.
The group stared back. Ava made a sound like she’d just won the lottery.
-"OH MY GOD"-Barbara looked between both of you once. Twice. Then her expression softened into immediate understanding so complete it was almost maternal-"Thank you Jesus! FINALLY!"-
Melissa covered her face. You looked at the redhead. Then at the teachers. Then back at Melissa. And slowly your grin spread.
-"...So," - you said carefully -"funny story... We didn't sleep last night" - you said smiling and Ava clapped
Melissa made a sound so offended and embarrassed at the same time that the entire room immediately lost composure.
-"I knew it! I told yall" - the principal smiled. Then she looked at the neck of the redhead covered in hickeys that right now they weren't covered with a piece of fabric because of the recent showered, then back at you-"Daam Melissa, you are living with a wild animal?"- Ava said
-"You should see what she did to my back before calling me wild animal" - you murmured under your breath
-"AVA!" - Ava was already crying laughing.
-"I’m just saying!" - she pointed dramatically at the visible marks along Melissa’s neck -"Girl, were you fighting for your life?!"-she joked.
You physically had to turn away because laughing directly in Melissa’s face felt dangerous for your long-term survival. Barbara, meanwhile, looked deeply entertained despite trying to maintain dignity.
-"Lord have mercy," - she muttered, though the smile pulling at her mouth betrayed her completely.
Janine’s jaw was hanging open-"YOU TWO ARE TOGETHER?"-
From upstairs Gaia yelled proudly-"THEY’RE IN LOVE!" - she said trying to change in her room but also be part of the conversation.
Melissa closed her eyes like she was accepting death at last.
Gregory quietly took a sip of coffee like none of this surprised him anymore.
Jacob looked emotionally invested to a frankly concerning degree.
-"Honestly," - he admitted -"this explains so much"-
-"THANK YOU," - Ava shouted immediately -"I thought I was hallucinating the tension for months" -
Melissa pointed at all of them accusingly-"Why is everyone acting like this was obvious?!"-
Every single person in the room stared at her.
Silence.
-"Melissa, the only two idiots that didn't knew you like each other, were each other" - the principal said.
The redhead looked betrayed beyond words. You finally stepped beside her, still smiling helplessly, and slipped an arm around her waist.
-"In her defense" - you teased softly -"she thought heart-shaped pancakes were subtle" - Ava physically bent over laughing.
Barbara clutched her chest.
Janine looked ready to ascend spiritually.
And Melissa? Melissa buried her burning face into your shoulder while muttering-"I’m moving to another country" -
Your daughter came running down the stairs looking at all the people at your house happily
-"Are you coming to the arcade with us?" - she asked exited, her t-shirt inside out because of her excitement
-"Baby they came to see Mel and her sickness"-you teased
-"It was your idea!" - Melisa said looking at you and you smiled kissing her cheek.
-"Do you want to stay, I can make some pizzas and we can watch something" - you asked watching at rest of professors in your living room, you knew Mel loved to have people at home and you knew that everyone, specially Barbara were dying to ask more details about all that happened after the previous night together.
The entire room went quiet for exactly one second. Then absolute chaos erupted.
-"PIZZA NIGHT!" - Jacob shouted immediately.
-"I knew this sick day was fake" - Gregory muttered into his coffee.
Ava pointed dramatically between both of you.
-"You cannot casually invite us into your lesbian domestic fantasy like this and expect me to leave" - she sat at the couch.
Melissa groaned into her hands.
Barbara, however, looked deeply pleased. The kind of pleased only someone who had spent months watching two idiots orbit each other at work could look-"That sounds lovely, sweetheart," - she said warmly.
Gaia gasped so loudly you thought she might achieve flight-"YES. WE CAN ALL PLAY GAMES!" - Your daughter jumped up and down.
You slid your arm fully around Melissa’s waist while she leaned automatically against your side now, no hesitation left in it anymore. Comfortable. Like she belonged there.
Ava noticed immediately and pointed again.
-"Look at them. They already stand like a married couple at Home Depot arguing about paint samples" -
-"That is weirdly specific" - you said.
-"Because it’s true" - she nodded
Melissa turned pink again while you laughed softly against her temple.
Then Gaia marched into the center of the room with all the confidence of a tiny event coordinator.
-"Okay. Mister Eddie, can you help me bring chairs from the kitchen, please? And cushions!"-Everyone actually looked at her.
Your daughter spread her hands dramatically.
-"Games now. Pizza later with movie. Romance bullying all day!"-she said smiling.
Ava wiped imaginary tears from her eyes-"I never wanted kids, but I like this one"
Barbara smiled fondly toward Gaia before looking back at Melissa. And there it was again. That soft knowing look. The one that said I see how happy you are.
Melissa caught it too. For just a second her expression shifted, something vulnerable and overwhelmed flickering there beneath the embarrassment and teasing. Because this entire thing still felt unreal. The warmth. The ease. You beside her smiling like she hung the moon itself. Gaia already weaving her into the shape of family so naturally.
Barbara noticed immediately. Of course she did. She stepped closer and squeezed Melissa’s hand gently-"I’m very happy for you, baby" - Melissa’s eyes softened instantly.
Then before the emotion could fully settle, Ava clapped loudly-"Okay enough feelings. I need details. Which one of you made the first move?"-
You and Melissa looked at each other. Then simultaneously pointed at the other again. The room exploded.
After answering most of the questions without giving too many private details, you went to the kitchen to make the pizzas, hearing the way they joked about stuff and played with Gaia.
It felt weird they way that you just went from being just you and your daughter to having a whole family and friends at home, so full, so loud, so nice.
The kitchen glowed warm beneath the soft yellow lights while you worked the pizza dough between your hands, the house was alive. Not politely occupied. Alive.
Laughter spilled from the living room in waves. Someone shouted dramatically about boardgame cheating. Gaia’s voice cut through the noise every few seconds at maximum volume, immediately followed by Melissa laughing in that breathless helpless way that had already become one of your favorite sounds in the world.
You paused for a moment, flour dusting your fingers. And listened.
Barbara was telling some story in the living room while Janine interrupted every ten seconds in outrage. Jacob was apparently trying to teach magic to Gaia while Mel explained how the trick worked. Ava had made herself comfortable on your couch like an evil glamorous cat claiming territory.
And Melissa? Melissa sounded happy. Not careful-happy. Not nervous-happy. The real kind. The kind that loosened her voice and made her laugh louder than usual. Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because for so long it had only been you and Gaia. Your small routines. Your quiet dinners. The constant low hum of survival mode wrapped so tightly around your life you’d almost forgotten people could simply... stay.
That homes could sound like this. Full.
You looked toward the living room doorway just in time to see Melissa sprawled on the carpet with Gaia beside her, both of them arguing passionately over arcade strategy while Barbara laughed from the couch.
Melissa looked up mid-conversation. Found you watching. And smiled instantly. God. That smile. Not the flirtatious one. Not the teasing one.
The soft one that reached her eyes slowly like sunlight spilling across water. The kind that said there you are. Something warm and enormous bloomed painfully behind your ribs.
Melissa must have noticed the shift in your face because her expression softened too.
-"You okay?" - she called gently over the noise.
You looked around the house again. At the mess. The noise. The people already reaching into the kitchen for drinks without asking. Gaia laughing so hard she nearly fell sideways onto Melissa’s shoulder.
Family.
The word still felt too big to touch directly. But somehow it was already here anyway. You smiled quietly before answering-"Yeah" - your voice softer than before -"I think I am."
Your face was soft, like full of feelings. Mel left Gaia with Barbara and went to the kitchen with you, holding your waist from behind and resting her face on your shoulder
-"What is going on that mind?" - she asked softly.
You exhaled slowly, leaning back into her warmth without even thinking about it.
Melissa’s arms tightened around your waist automatically, her chin resting on your shoulder while the noise from the living room blurred into a soft comforting hum behind both of you.
For a moment you just stayed therna Her heartbeat against your back. Flour on your hands. The smell of pizza dough and tomato sauce filling the kitchen. Home. The thought hit so suddenly it almost hurt. Your fingers stilled over the counter.
-"Nothing bad," - you whispered quickly, already feeling Melissa tense slightly behind you in concern -"Promise."
She relaxed immediately, pressing one soft kiss against the side of your neck, it made you shiver lightly-"Then what is it?"
You swallowed softly. How could you even explain this feeling? The strange ache in your chest from realizing happiness had arrived quietly while you weren’t looking.
You glanced toward the living room again.
Gaia was showing Barbara something dramatically with her hands while Ava argued with Jacob about movies. Gregory was helping Janine untangle something from her purse. And right in the middle of all of it sat Melissa’s sweater and youra tossed carelessly over the couch like you already belonged here. Like if you were meant to stay. Your eyes burned unexpectedly.
-"I think..." - you laughed softly at yourself, embarrassed by the emotion clogging your throat -"I think I got so used to surviving that I forgot life could feel like this" - Melissa went very still behind you. You kept speaking quietly. -"For so long it was just me and Gaia trying to make things work, you know?" - your hand covered one of hers around your waist -"And I loved our life. God, I did. But everything always felt... temporary somehow" - Melissa’s grip tightened. You leaned your head gently against hers-"And now you’re here"-Your voice cracked a little on the last word.
The redhead melted instantly. She turned you carefully in her arms until she could see your face properly, her own expression already full of that overwhelming tenderness she never managed to hide from you anymore.
-"Honey..." - she whispered.
You laughed weakly-"It’s stupid. I'm getting emotional over pizza..."-you joked
-"No" - Her hands slid up to cradle your face gently, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes before tears could fully gather there-"No, don’t do that," - she murmured softly -"Don’t make your heart smaller just because it’s full."-That almost ended you completely.
Your face crumpled into helpless emotional laughter while Melissa smiled through suspiciously shiny eyes herself.
Then she kissed you. Slow. Warm. Certain. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission to stay forever because it already had.
When you separated, you hid your face on her chest, hugging her waist and keeping her close to you, enjoying the warmth and smell of her skin
-"You know... I've been thinking about what Gaia said earlier... Do you want to have more babies?" - you asked softly and she tensed a little-"Not right now... I mean in the future, is something you would like?" - you murmured
-"I always wanted babies... But after my divorce I thought I was too old for it and the chances of a successful pregnancy at my age were not good, so I left that dream behind..."-she whispered softly and felt how your hands tightened around her waist
-"I just wanted to know... We already have Gaia..."-you whispered against her chest
-"But I grew up with many siblings... And even though we fight a lot, I really love them... And it would be nice if Gaia has someone else to play with... I mean if you want" - she whispered and kissed your head. Your chest tightened painfully at the softness in her voice.
Not because of the words themselves. Because Melissa sounded like someone carefully unfolding an old dream she had already taught herself not to touch anymore. You lifted your head slowly from her chest just enough to look at her.
The kitchen lights painted gold across her freckles and damp red curls, and suddenly she looked younger somehow. Vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.
-"Lisa..." - you whispered softly. She smiled a little, shy now under your gaze.
-"I know it’s complicated" - she admitted quietly-"And expensive and scary and probably something very far away if it ever happened at all. I just..." - her fingers brushed gently through your hair -"I used to imagine a loud house" - You swallowed hard-"And Gaia is loud" - she laughed making you laugh-"but now that you both are here, that fantasy that was buried on the past has resurfaced" - she said softly and you kissed her lips again.
Behind you both, the living room exploded into laughter again. Gaia shouting something about cheating at Mario Kart while Ava defended herself dramatically. A loud house. You looked toward the noise instinctively. And then back at Melissa. At the woman standing in your kitchen, holding you like she had already started building a life around you without realizing it. Your hands tightened gently at her waist.
-"You know" - you murmured softly -"when Gaia was born I was terrified" - Melissa’s expression softened immediately-"I was young and broke and exhausted all the time. And everyone kept talking about how motherhood changes your life forever like it was supposed to sound scary" - You laughed quietly to yourself-"But nobody told me that sometimes the scary part isn’t loving someone too much" - Melissa listened silently, thumbs brushing little comforting circles against your skin-"It’s realizing your heart can keep making room" - That made her eyes shine instantly. You smiled weakly-"So... if one day, far in the future, we decided we wanted another baby?" - you shrugged softly -"I think I’d like that, very much" - you whispered. Melissa’s breath caught. Really caught. Like the answer had slipped past every wall she’d carefully built around that dream.
-"Yeah?" - she whispered.
You nodded-"Yeah."
The redhead stared at you for one fragile overwhelmed second before pulling you into her arms so fast you laughed softly against her shoulder. Then she hid her face in your hair.
And quietly, almost embarrassed by how much hope lived inside the words, she whispered-"I think you’d look very beautiful holding our baby" - she kissed your forehead
-"Poor you when you have to deal with my crazy hormones and weird cravings" - you said smiling
-"Poor me?" - she repeated incredulously -"Baby, you’re already dramatic when you’re hungry"-
You gasped in mock offense.-"I am not dramatic"-
From the living room Ava yelled without hesitation-"YES YOU ARE"-Both of you burst into helpless laughter.
Melissa kissed your forehead fondly before speaking again-"You’d absolutely wake me up at three in the morning crying because we don’t have the right brand of pickles" - she said, her strong Philly accent escaping more thick now that she was relaxed
-"Wrong" - you corrected seriously -"I’d cry because the pickles looked at me with bad energy" - you nodded
-"See? This is exactly what I mean"-she pecked your lips
You grinned shamelessly against her lips-"And you would still go buy me pickles."
Melissa’s entire expression softened instantly-"Without shoes if necessary."
That warmth bloomed in your chest again, huge and impossible to hold quietly. You tucked yourself closer against her, hands sliding beneath the back of her shirt just to feel her there. Real.
Melissa smiled down at you with that same overwhelming tenderness that always made it look like she couldn’t quite believe you existed either.
-"Honestly," - she murmured softly -"I think you’d be adorable pregnant"-
You immediately buried your burning face against her shoulder-"I regret bringing this up."
She laughed quietly, hugging you tighter.
-"No you don't" -
-"...Maybe a little"-Melissa tilted your chin up gently until you looked at her again.
-"Can I tell you something awful?"-she asked
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously-"That introduction is concerning"-
The redhead looked entirely too pleased with herself now-"The second Gaia asked for a sibling, part of my brain immediately imagined a tiny baby with your hair" - Your soul left your body. Completely. Gone. You stared at her in stunned silence while Melissa dissolved into laughter at your expression.
-"Lisa..." - you whispered weakly.
-"I know"-she laughed softly
-"You can’t just say things like that" - you murmured
-"Why not?" - she teased softly, brushing her nose against yours -"You started the future family conversation" -
You looked at her for another long emotional second before muttering-"You’re evil" -
Melissa smiled against your lips-"And yet you’re still going to marry me someday" - she said it without thinking, without remembering why that seemed a bad idea in the past.
You froze. She froze. Both of you blinked at each other.
Then simultaneously-"Well now we have to discuss that too..."-you laughed on her lips nervously
-"But another day... We have guests that are waiting for the pizza"-she said nervously too. You let her go but you didn't step away
-"And by the way... I think this future hypothetical baby will be easier than Gaia..."-you said smiling and she lifted an eyebrow-"...I mean, with those milkers any baby will be happy" - you said joking looking at her breast and she hit your arm. Melissa stared at you in absolute disbelief for half a second before smacking your arm again harder-"Ow!" - you laughed immediately, nearly folding in half.
-"You are unbelievable" - she narrowed her eyes shyly
You looked deeply pleased with yourself anyway-"I’m just thinking practically" - you smiled
-"You are objectifying me in my own kitchen" -
-"Incorrect" - you corrected shamelessly -"I am appreciating you respectfully" - you nodded
Melissa tried to stay offended. She really did. But the smile fighting at her mouth ruined the whole performance.
-"Respectfully?" - she repeated.
-"Very respectfully" - The redhead rolled her eyes while your gaze drifted teasingly downward again, you let out a sing, she was delicious.
Melissa immediately grabbed your jaw and forced your face back up-"Eyes up here, menace" - You burst out laughing. Her hold was tight, but loving at the same time, you pecked her lips
-"WHY ARE YOU TWO SO QUIET?" - Gaia shouted suspiciously.
Melissa answered instantly-"WE’RE HAVING A NORMAL CONVERSATION"-
Ava yelled right after-"That sounded guilty as hell" - she was right.
You laughed into Melissa’s shoulder while she groaned dramatically toward the ceiling. She looked back at you then, still smiling despite herself, cheeks pink from laughing and embarrassment. And God. You adored her. Not just the beautiful parts. Not just the flirting and kissing and soft moments in bed. This too.
Melissa in your kitchen arguing with you about hypothetical babies while your friends destroyed your living room in the background.
Messy. Warm. Ridiculous. Real.
Your expression must have softened again because Melissa’s eyes gentled instantly.
-"What?" - she asked quietly.
You wrapped your arms around her waist again and kissed her softly.
-"Nothing," - you murmured against her lips -"I’m just really happy you exist... I love you Lisa" - you kissed her again
-"I love you my menace" - she whispered on your lips, you would never get tired of hearing her say that.
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Melissa started to see herself more as in Gaias mom than in her teacher.
Gaia stopped introducing her as Miss Melissa entirely.
It became:
"Mel, where are my shoes?"
"Mel, mama burned the garlic bread again."
"Mel, do you think raccoons have feelings?"
As if loving Melissa had become stitched naturally into the structure of everyday life.
The dinosaur ballerina room had been the beginning of the end. Melissa had tried, initially, to convince Gaia toward “something more cohesive.” That lasted approximately seven minutes. Now bright pink dinosaurs in tutus covered one entire wall of the carefully designed Italian-style house like a glittery act of rebellion.
You still remembered standing in the doorway watching them paint together. Gaia completely covered in green paint. Melissa with a pink handprint accidentally smeared across her cheek. Both of them arguing passionately about whether a T-Rex could realistically perform ballet.
-"Balance is important" - Gaia had insisted seriously.
-"Baby, its arms are six centimeters long."
-"Dreams are bigger than arms, Mel" -
Melissa had looked at you after that with such helpless love in her expression that you nearly proposed on the spot.
Then came the tiny mouse door. You had come downstairs one evening expecting peace and instead found Melissa crouched beside the staircase with paintbrushes scattered around her while Gaia supervised like a tiny construction manager.
-"...What is that?" - you had asked carefully.
Melissa looked up proudly.
-"A door for Ratón Pérez" - There, painted perfectly into the wall near the stairs, sat a tiny arched green door no taller than your hand, complete with miniature flowers and absurdly detailed gold hinges.
You blinked slowly.
-"You painted a fully functional mouse entrance into your house."
-"Our house" - Gaia corrected immediately from the floor.
Melissa smiled shyly at that while touching up tiny stars around the frame.
-"Well," - she murmured softly -"I didn’t want him struggling to get inside" - Your heart had almost burst open right there beside the stairs.
Because that was the thing about Melissa. She loved with infrastructure. Not loudly. Not performatively.She loved through details.
Packed lunches cut into little shapes. Extra sweaters waiting by the door. Nightlights replaced before they burned out. Tiny magical mouse doors painted into walls because someday Gaia would lose another tooth and Melissa wanted wonder to have somewhere to enter from.
And the strangest part?
It all became so normal so quickly.
Like she had always belonged there.
Like the house itself had been waiting for her laugh to echo through it before it could finally sound complete.
And then it came how comfortable Melissa felt on her rol as new mom when Gaia needed her the most. Helping even when you didn't knew how to.
One day Gaia came home devastated after a rough day at school. Nothing catastrophic. Just one of those childhood days where emotions felt too big for a little body to carry properly.
You found her curled on the couch refusing to speak. Before you could even figure out what to say, Melissa quietly disappeared upstairs.
She came back wearing one of Gaia’s dinosaur blankets like a cape.
-"Attention" - she announced seriously -"I have been informed this house is suffering from a severe sadness emergency" - Gaia blinked despite herself. Melissa climbed onto the couch dramatically-"Luckily I am a licensed feelings detective."
You watched from the kitchen trying not to smile while Gaia fought visibly against laughing-"That’s not a real job" - she crossed her arms
-"Wrong. I studied at emotional university."
-"That sounds fake" - she pouted trying to fight a smile
-"It was very expensive" -
By the end of the night Gaia was giggling so hard she hiccuped while Melissa performed increasingly ridiculous “investigations” into the case of the missing happiness.
And then there were the small things.
The quiet things.
The ones that mattered most.
Melissa brushing Gaia’s hair gently before school while listening with complete seriousness to long stories about playground drama.
Gaia automatically reaching for Melissa’s hand in crowded places.
Movie nights where somehow the two of them always ended up asleep against each other before the credits rolled.
The way Melissa never forgot things.
Favorite snacks. Spelling test days. The exact stuffed dinosaur required during thunderstorms.
One evening you came home late from work to find the living room lights dimmed low.
Melissa sat on the couch grading papers with reading glasses slipping down her nose while Gaia slept across her lap completely sprawled out, one tiny hand still tangled in Melissa’s sweater.
The television played softly in the background.
Neither of them had noticed you yet.
And for one fragile second you simply stood there in the doorway looking at them.
Your girls. The thought arrived so naturally now it no longer startled you.
Melissa looked up eventually and smiled immediately when she saw you. Soft. Sleepy. Home. Then she carefully mouthed-"She waited up for you." - Your chest ached so hard it nearly became unbearable.
Because all your life love had felt like something people threatened to leave with. But this? This stayed.
This painted mouse doors into walls and burned pancakes on rainy mornings and held your daughter through bad days like she had been born for it.
This built a home around you gently enough that one day you looked up and realized you were no longer surviving inside your life. You were living in it.
Melissa never had kids until now, she was happy to see how your daughter trusted her, how she was Gaia's mother even if your daughter called her Mel and no mama. She was happy to give her all the love your daughter deserved without asking for anything in return.
The redhead said to herself she didn't needed to be called mama, until the day it happened and she realized how much she was needing that
-"Lisa love, I'm going to put the car on the garage because it's about to rain, Gaia is watching Bluey, be right back" - you let the redhead know while she took a shower.
After a few minutes she heard the door of the bathroom open and she assumed it was you, but a tiny voice came instead
-"Mom can I speak to you?" - Gaia asked sitting on the closed toilet behind the shower curtain. Melissa frowned not being able to see your daughter
-"Baby your mama is parking the car, she will be right back" - she let your daughter know
-"I wasn't looking for mama, I was looking for you, that's why I said Mom, and not mama"-she said simply.
Everything inside Melissa stopped. The shower still ran softly around her. Rain tapped faintly against the windows outside. Somewhere downstairs, the muffled theme song from Bluey floated through the house.
But for one suspended heartbeat, the world narrowed entirely to that tiny voice outside the shower curtain.
Mom.
Melissa’s throat tightened instantly. She sat there frozen beneath the warm water, staring blindly at the tile while her heart beat so hard it almost hurt.
Outside the curtain Gaia shifted slightly on the closed toilet seat-"Mel?" - she asked softly now, suddenly nervous from the silence -"Did I say something bad?"-
That snapped Melissa back immediately.-"No, baby" - her voice came out rougher than expected, making her clear her throat quickly-"No, sweetheart. You didn’t say anything bad" -Her hands were shaking. God. She had spent months telling herself she didn’t need it. Didn’t need the title. Didn’t need the word. Because love was already there. Because Gaia already felt like hers in every way that mattered. But now that it had arrived anyway, so small and casual and sincere through a bathroom door, Melissa realized the truth immediately:
Part of her had been quietly aching for it all along.
She reached over blindly to shut off the water.
-"Can I open the curtain?" - Gaia asked carefully.
Melissa laughed weakly through the sudden burn behind her eyes.
-"Give me one second, bebé" - Gaia has seen Melissa like that before, with kids you have no privacy, but the redhead didn't wanted to look sad in front of her. She wrapped herself quickly in a towel before pulling the curtain open slightly.
Gaia sat there in dinosaur pajamas swinging her legs anxiously. The second Melissa looked at her properly, her entire face softened. Because Gaia looked worried now. Like maybe she’d crossed a line without meaning to.
Melissa crouched immediately in front of her despite still dripping water everywhere.
-"Hey," - she whispered gently.
Gaia looked at her carefully-"You’re not mad?"
Melissa made the tiniest broken sound of disbelief. Then she pulled your daughter into her arms so fast Gaia squeaked softly in surprise-"Baby" - Melissa whispered against her hair, voice trembling now -"I could never be mad about that" - Gaia hugged her back instantly. Small warm arms around her neck. Complete trust.
And that was what finally shattered Melissa completely. Tears slipped free before she could stop them. Quiet ones. Overwhelmed ones.
Gaia pulled back immediately-"Why are you crying?!"-she grabbed the redhead's face with her tiny hands.
Melissa laughed through it helplessly, wiping quickly at her face-"Because I’m emotional and dramatic apparently" -
-"Mama says that too" - That made Melissa laugh harder.
Then Gaia tilted her head thoughtfully-"You really liked it?"-Melissa looked at her for a long moment.
At this little girl who had wandered into her life carrying dinosaur backpacks and glitter and loud opinions about pancakes. The little girl she loved so fiercely now it scared her sometimes.
And softly, honestly, Melissa answered-"I think it might’ve been one of the happiest moments of my whole life" -
Gaia’s face lit up instantly. Then, with the devastating confidence only children possess, she smiled and said-"Well yeah. You’re my mom" - Gaia hugged her mom tightly again. Getting wet with the water on the redhead's head-"You won't leave us, right Mom?" - she asked hidden in the redhead's neck
-"What do you mean baby? I could never" - the redhead asked worried
-"My dad left us when I was a baby... And mom says we didn't need him to be happy... And sometimes I dobut that when I saw other kids having a dad, but then you arrived and you made us happy, you showed me that I didn't need a dad... But I do need you to be happy, so I need you to stay with us... Forever"-Gaia whispered with teary eyes.
Melissa felt her heart break and heal at the exact same time. The tiny wet arms around her neck tightened with every word, like Gaia was trying to hold onto her before she could disappear too. And God. Children carried fear so quietly sometimes. Not loudly. Not dramatically. They tucked it into little corners of themselves and kept growing around it until one day it slipped out in soft trembling whispers in the middle of ordinary moments.
Melissa held her closer immediately. Water from her damp hair soaked into Gaia’s pajamas, but neither of them cared.
-"Hey" - Melissa whispered shakily, pulling back just enough to look at her properly -"Look at me for one second, bebé" - Gaia did reluctantly, eyes glossy and scared in a way no child should have to be.
Melissa’s chest ached. She cupped Gaia’s cheeks gently in both hands-"Your dad leaving had nothing to do with you. Nothing." - her voice was steady now despite the tears burning behind it -"And it doesn’t mean everybody leaves" -
Gaia swallowed hard.-"But people say forever and then go away anyway" - That one nearly destroyed her.
Melissa inhaled slowly before resting her forehead carefully against Gaia’s-"Then I won’t just say it" - she whispered softly -"I’ll show you" -Gaia’s lip trembled immediately. Melissa smiled through tears now-"I’m going to stay for all the important things, okay?" - she murmured -"For bad school pictures and birthday cakes and fevers and dinosaur rooms and heartbreaks and embarrassing teenage phases."-That earned the tiniest watery laugh. Melissa brushed damp curls gently away from Gaia’s face-"I’m staying for movie nights and graduations and every lost tooth Ratón Pérez needs to collect" -
Gaia clung tighter instantly-"Promise?"
Melissa didn’t hesitate even for a second-"I promise" - The little girl broke completely then, burying her face into Melissa’s neck while quiet crying finally escaped her. Melissa held her through it without a second thought, rocking slightly where they sat on the bathroom floor together.
And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, Melissa realized something enormous:
This wasn’t just loving Gaia. This was motherhood. Not biology. Not titles. Not paperwork. This. Holding a frightened child and making them feel safe enough to believe in permanence again.
After a long moment Gaia whispered shakily against her skin-"I love you, Mom" - Melissa closed her eyes.
And for the second time that night, her heart completely gave out inside her chest-"I love you my baby daughter... And I will be here every step, forever" - she whispered into her daughter's hair.
Gaia made the smallest sound against her neck. Not quite a sob anymore. Something softer. Relief.
The kind children release only when they finally believe they’re safe. Melissa kept holding her there on the bathroom floor long after the tears slowed, fingers moving gently through tangled curls while the rain tapped steadily outside the windows.
Downstairs, the television still played quietly to an empty living room. Upstairs, wrapped in towels and warmth and promises, a family was stitching itself together thread by thread. Gaia eventually pulled back just enough to look at Melissa again, cheeks pink and damp.
-"Even when I’m annoying?"-she asked softly
Melissa smiled immediately-"Especially then" -
-"Even when I become a teenager?"-Melissa pretended to think about it very seriously.
-"...That one might require prayer" - Gaia laughed watery little hiccup-laughs that made Melissa’s chest ache all over again.
Then your daughter reached up and touched Melissa’s face carefully, wiping away the tears still stuck there with tiny fingers-"You cry a lot for a grown-up" -
Melissa snorted softly-"You and your mama did this to me" -
-"Good" - The answer came so quickly and confidently that Melissa burst into helpless laughter again.
Then Gaia tilted her head thoughtfully-"Can I ask something else?"-
-"Always" -
-"If you marry mama someday..." - she hesitated shyly -"Can I be Schemmenti too?"-Melissa’s breath caught so sharply it physically hurt. Because children really did say life-changing things with the same tone they used to ask for cereal. Gaia hurried to continue when Melissa froze again-"You don’t have to! I just thought maybe because there would be two moms and..."-
-"Baby" - Melissa interrupted softly. Her voice broke completely this time. She pulled Gaia close again immediately, kissing the top of her head over and over while tears slipped free despite her best efforts-"You can have all the names you want, whatever makes your heart happy," - she whispered shakily -"I will answer every single time to all of them"-Gaia hugged her tighter with a relieved little sigh.
And downstairs, the front door finally opened.
Your voice echoed through the house-"Why does it sound suspiciously emotional up there?"-
Melissa laughed weakly through tears while Gaia grinned against her shoulder.
Then your daughter shouted back proudly-"Nothing! I was just talking to mom!"-You heard the way that Gaia refer to Melissa and you froze for a second, understanding all the sobbing upstairs. Carefully you went to where they were, cuddling on the floor of the bathroom. You looked at Melissa first, because you knew your daughter liked to drop bombs like that and be completely normal after
-"You Okey?" - you whispered entering the bathroom and crouching in front of them. Melissa looked up at you immediately. And that was all it took. Because the second her eyes met yours, fresh tears spilled over again. Not distressed tears. Not bad ones. The overwhelmed kind. The kind that came when happiness arrived carrying more weight than your heart knew how to hold gracefully.
Gaia, meanwhile, sat perfectly content in Melissa’s lap like she hadn’t just altered the emotional architecture of the household forever.
-"I think I broke her a little," - your daughter admitted thoughtfully.
You laughed softly despite the tightness in your own chest. Then you reached forward instinctively, brushing damp red curls away from Melissa’s face-"Baby?" - you whispered again gently.
Melissa shook her head once, smiling helplessly through tears-"She called me mom" - she pouted softly.
Your expression crumpled immediately. Because hearing it was one thing. Seeing what it meant to Melissa was another entirely. You looked down at Gaia. Your little girl, still in dinosaur pajamas, sitting safely tucked against the woman she trusted enough to hand her heart to.
Then back at Melissa. The love in the room felt almost unbearably large.
You exhaled shakily before leaning forward and kissing Melissa softly. Slow. Tender. Grateful. When you pulled back, your forehead stayed resting against hers-"You deserve that word" - you whispered quietly.
Melissa broke all over again. A tiny wounded emotional sound escaped her while Gaia looked between both of you with the exhausted patience of a child dealing with dramatic adults.
-"You guys cry a lot" - You snorted through tears immediately.
-"You literally started this" - you tickle your daughter
-"By accident! I just wanted to ask her to stay with us!" - she said between laughs.
Melissa laughed weakly, still holding Gaia tightly with one arm while the other reached automatically for your hand. And there it was again. That feeling. Not the sharp frantic happiness from the beginning. Not the terrified hope. Something steadier now. Roots digging deeper. You sat down beside them on the bathroom floor without caring about the cold tile or the damp towels everywhere.
Then both your girls immediately leaned into you automatically, like gravity. Gaia against your shoulder. Melissa against your chest.
Home.
Your daughter sighed happily between both of you before announcing-"Okay now I’m hungry again" - The three of you burst into laughter at the exact same time.
summary: you get ten minutes with each of the girls, third is the nonchalant agatha harkness.
word count: 1.1k
warnings: bad flirting and pick-up lines as always
an: to the anon who requested agatha, don’t worry she is here!!:)
Natasha Romanoff has just looked directly into your sould, compared you to art and then walked away like she didn´t leave absolute chaos in your head. You stare at the ceiling, "what the hell was that?" You let out a big exhale.
You hear some muffle sounds from outside and the door slides open again, but it´s not another lady, it´s Sam this time. "Having fun?"
"I am," it sounds a little bit sarcastic, but Sam just smirks.
"Excellent," he winks at the camera.
"Natasha is very dangerous." Sam nods immediately.
"Oh, incredibly."
"Why would you let someone like that on this show?"
"We invited ten of them." Before you can recover from that statement, Sam walks back to the lineup of the ladies, waiting to capture your heart. And once again you feel the nerves coming.
"Alright," Sam chooses once again and his eyebrows shoot up. His eyes glances toward the girls, "I like this one. Agatha Harkness you´re next."
Agatha looks up and with a smirk, she says, "See?" She looks at others, "the universe knows quality."
Yelena groans, while Rio simply rolls her eyes, but Agatha ignores them all. With the confidence of someone who has never once second guessed a terrible idea, she starts walking toward the door, towards you.
When you meet her eyes, you can´t help but check her out once again. Rolled sleeves. Hands shoved casually into her pockets. The boots. The smirk... god she isn´t trying to impress you anymore, because she assumes she already has.
She stops in front of you. Looks you up and down, then smiles.
"Well," you immediately become suspicious.
"Well what?"
Agatha tilts her head, "I was worried Romanoff would´ve ruined my chances." Your face heats up and of course Agatha notices. Why are you so easy to read. God.
"That is very interesting."
"What is?" you blink.
"Nothing." Agatha sits down and you follow her. When you sit down, you notice that Agatha is relaxed, while having everything under control. Her hand is thrown over the backrest and one ankle resting on the opposite knee. You make a reasonable distance, but Agatha looks down, glancing at the gap, then at you and then back at the gap. You sigh and scoot slightly closer.
"There we go," you laugh at her words.
"You always get what you want, huh?" Agatha just smirks proudly and nods.
"That frequently?"
"When it comes to women? Absolutely." A grin tugs at your mouth, which makes her smile too, then she leans back. "So..."
You brace yourself, "so..."
"What do you think of me?"
You blink, "that is your opening question?"
She nods completly serious, watching you like a hawk.
"Oh my god, you´re actually waiting."
"Of course I´m waiting," she shrugs.
"Like 1-10 or you prefer different rating?"
"Whatever you prefer."
"That´s insane, you´re human being, not a product..." you slightly throw your hands.
"It´s television."
Okay, that is fair point.
You shake your head, "you´re confident..."
"I am."
"Very bold."
"Hm."
"A little dramatic."
Agatha presses a hand against her chest, "a little?" You laugh and she points triumphantly, "see? chemistry is already there."
"Me laughing doesn´t mean chemistry."
"It definetly is from my perspective." The conversation somehow spirals from there. Agatha tells stories, not all the way through, just halfway. Then gets distracted, then circles back. Then somehow lands the joke anyway. She talks a lot with her atractive hands. Every story sounds like she´s either about to solve a crime or start one. And the weirdest thing? You´re having a blast. A big one, actually.
Because beneath all the sarcasm and swagger, Agatha feels incredibly soft. At one point movie topic comes up and you share what your favorite movie is and of course Agatha judges you, affectionately.
Then you ask what she does when she´s not working, she shrugs. "Read."
"Really?"
"I know. Shocking," she rolls her eyes.
"I wasn´t going to say shocking."
"You were thinking it."
You were, to be honest.
"Maybe..." after a few seconds you smile, "do you have any cute reading glasses?"
"Just because my hair is a bit gray, you think I have reading glasses?"
"No... but if you read you do give a vibe of having the most cutesy reading glasses."
"Cutesy?"
"Yeah, cute ones, special ones, like not many people can see."
"You want to see my reading glasses?" Agatha tilts her head.
"I do. Because I know not many people have seen them."
And this time, it´s you, who got her, "they are red... with white dots." Before you can tease her more, she adds, "they are comfortable."
"Cute. But I still want to see them." You slightly lean into her hand on the back of the couch.
"Got it, anything else for you?" She smirks, playing this game with you.
"Uh huh, will I be the first to see them?" Agatha shakes her head.
"So Rio saw them?" The room goes silent, immediately.
"(Y/N)..." she starts.
Uh oh.
You want to apologize right away, maybe this was not the topic for a playful banter.
"You want to spend our precious ten minutes discussing another woman?"
"I-"
"Ouch."
"Agatha-"
"Ouch."
"Sorry, I was curious..."
"Devastating," she looks towards the ceiling, "I finally get alone time with a beautiful woman and she´s asking about Rio Vidal."
You laugh, not really defending your curiosity anymore. Agatha points at you, "this is emotional violence."
"Okay, I sincerily apologize, but you´re being too dramatic now."
"Correct," she doesn´t even deny it.
You stare at her, how her smile spreads across her face and suddenly you underestand why people keep getting pulled into her orbit. "You don´t have to answer, I was just... I heard the girls talk."
Agatha hums, "we dated."
"That´s it?"
"No."
You narrow your eyes and Agatha smirks, "we got history." The asnwer is simple, yet it´s enough. The moment passes, "enough about Rio..."
"Jealous?" Back into the playfull banter.
"Very," she says with a straight face, she scoots little closer, as she does, 10 minutes are over. "You´ve got to be kidding me..."
You both groan at the exact same time, that suprises both of you. And it also makes both of you laugh. Agatha rises from the couch, slowly, "well..."
"Well..."
She looks down at you for a second, little softer now than when she entered, less performace and more real. "You know," she says, shoving her hands into her pockets, "I was having a great time. But... you´ve got a terrible habit, you know that?"
"Oh?"
"You´re making people want another ten minutes with you." Your stomach immediately betrays you. Then Agatha leans slightly closer, "luckily for me, I´m very persistent."
And with that she opens the door and leaves. Agatha leaves ou smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
Request: Yes. Stalker Natasha x reader who knows she's being stalked. Reader is into Natasha stalking her and purposefully leaves her bedroom window open for Natasha every night. Reader has a religious mother. Reader is a baker and lives alone. Natasha has fallen for the baker who likes to read and live alone.
TW: Stalking, swearing, obsession(??), breaking and entering. Breeding kink. Religious mother. Camera in readers room. Natasha is GP. Reader is an implied virgin.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
You were dealing with a regular customer when the bakery door bell rang and in stepped a redheaded woman who looked like she rather owned the place.
You gave the customer their receipt as you did your practiced saying of greetings and seeing them again next time. Your eyes happen to travel to the tall redhead, the woman was in all black; black jeans, black combat boots, black tank top and a black leather jacket that looked more expensive than half the books you own.
"Hi there," her voice was smooth as her green eyes held yours. "Hi, welcome to our bakery. What can I get you?" You keep your voice light with kindness. "Coffee. Black. No sugar," the green eyed woman stated as if it should have been a known fact. "Order for?" You stare up at her as you ask her name. "Natasha," her name rolled off her tongue with her Russian accent hinting through.
"Will that be all, ma'am?" You type the order in the machine. "An apple danish too, please." She easily swiped her black card in the card machine. Natasha made her way to a chair in the corner as she waited for her order. Her greens eyes trailed over your figure as you personally tended to her coffee with such... care and focus, it almost made her smile. Almost.
"Order for Natasha!" You call out as you slid the coffee cup and the boxed apple danish on the counter for collection. Natasha made her way to her collection, "Fast service here." Her voice was smooth as she popped a lid on her to-go cup. "Yes, ma'am," you give a polite smile that was used for every day customers, "efficency is in our name." Natasha hummed as she sipped the piping hot coffee, "I bet it is." She tilted her cup towards you, "good coffee too. But an even better coffee brewer." Her green eyes watched yours as she was silent for a moment, "I just hope the baked goods are just as good."
"Thank you for coming, we hope to see you again soon," you reply with the rehearsed lines and a smile. "I'm sure you will, sweetheart." Natasha walked away with a smug smirk she couldn't keep off her face as she sipped her coffee once again, her fingers twitch against the box the apple danish laid rested in. The Russian felt a feeling stir within her, deep and mysterious but she ignored it for now.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
From that day, Natasha has been frustrated with thoughts of you and your smile and those innocent eyes that stare up at her, constantly. That same day was when Natasha looked you up, you had no family besides your mother, you live alone, and you love to read. She figured since she's followed you to book stores thrice in a week.
That's when she also found out that you've never been with anyone before, especially given your mother's rules of dating. How you have to be 'kept pure' for your future... 'husband.' Little did she know you were a homosexual, you would never tell her in fear of what she might do if she found out.
You basically kept to yourself, yet was familiar with the regular customers at your bakery. Mrs Mapple, an old English teacher, whenever you two talk all the old woman ever talked about were her cats, and sat in the booth and drank her tea.
Then there's Mr Edward, an old accountant who had retired two years ago to focus on his health. Natasha made a list of their names- for safety purposes, of course, she wants you to be safe. She can't have what's hers be getting hurt.
Natasha had come back from a long mission that forced tension to build in her body. She knew she shouldn't have but she did. She stopped in front of the bakery, her cold green eyes watched as you locked up for the night.
You walked home with your cold hands in your pockets as you searched for warmth, Natasha slowly followed you, she stuck to the shadows as she trailed you down. As you walked to your place, you looked around, your eyes scanning dark corners as the hairs at the back of your neck stood up.
You rubbed your face as you carried on walking home, ignoring the gut feeling of something bad happening.
Natasha watched from behind a thick oak tree, the Russian groaned as her eyes watched your hips move as you climbed the steps to your front door before entering your home. The redhead sighed, her forehead against the rough bark as she fingers grasped the trees body, her jeans suddenly feel tighter. She knew she shouldn't have, but she did.
The Widow climbed the side of your house and grinned in succession as she landed in front of your bedroom window, she was careful. Silent. As she watched you get undressed, your skin revealing itself for her eyes only. Excitement grew inside her body as she waited for you to fully strip bare for her. The older woman gulped as her jeans somehow felt tighter, she reached down to readjust herself with a relieved sigh.
The Russian heard the shower go on, green light. The Widow used her pocket knife to wedge open the window, sliding the frame up as she silently climbed inside the warm room.
It smells like you.
Her green eyes scanned the room, she glanced at the bathroom door before crouching down to the floor, she used the tip of her blade to pick up your discarded underwear.
Lace.
Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to not do anything too... revealing. She had to remain silent and hidden. She dropped the material as she stood up. Her hands automatically searched the bedside tables for anything she missed, only coming across a Jane Austin book with a book mark poking out.
The shower turned off.
Shit.
Had it really been that long?
Natasha quickly, stealthily climbed out the window, closing it fully. She didn't leave just yet as she watched your body emerge from the bathroom. Skin glistening and steaming from the hot shower. You dried your body off with your towel before throwing on your pajamas, Natasha felt her lips twitch in a smirk, you don't wear underwear to bed. Easy access.
You finally closed your eyes for the night, sighing as you got comfortable under your duvet, the sheets pulled up to your shoulders. Natasha waited, her eyes tracked your breathing, making sure you were in a deep sleep before opening the window again.
The Widow entered the warm room again, closing the window behind her, she stood still.
Fingers flexing as her jaw ticked. She shouldn't.
She really fucking shouldn't.
But she did.
Natasha got her boots off and neatly laid her jacket over the arm of the chair that sat in the corner of the room. The Russian's heart thumped as she took a step closer to the bed. Then another. Then her knee was on the mattress and next thing she knew she was on her side.
Natasha released a breath, her hand hovered over your hips as she moved her body closer to yours, heat radiated off her body onto hers. Then finally her arm wrapped around your mid section, Her face buried in your neck as she released a low groan of satisfaction.
The woman left in the early morning, leaving nothing but a lightly heated patch where she laid in bed. Your hand goes to your waist, your finger tips ghost over your hips. You could have sworn... you shake your head and throw the warm feeling if being held as a lucid dream.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The Russian's routine became ordering a black coffee with an apple danish, that she felt was too sweet, every morning. Natasha gave a nod, "You know me so well." Her green eyes watched as you worked the counter and boxed her dessert. 'Almost as well as I know you,' she thought.
You served the customers as per usual. "Natasha," you greet with a smile, "the usual?"
"You sleep well last night, sweetheart?" The Russian let her mouth move before her brain could stop her. She noticed how you seemed to run more smoothly, more energy. More of your beautiful smile just for her to see.
"What?" You hands froze on the boxes lid. "I mean, you just look so well rest today," Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, "I know you've had a busy week. It is a well known bakery you're running here, yes?"
You nod in response, "Oh," you close the dessert box, "yeah, uhm. I slept soundly."
'Oh, I know,' Natasha grinned as she thought to herself. "What about you?" You only ask back in politeness. "Best sleep I have had in years," Natasha tipped her coffee at Elena as she took a sip, "always the best." The redhead walked out the bakery with new found confidence.
You only slept so peacefully because of her. You were safe and sound in her arms and her arms only.
A pattern formed over the weeks. Natasha sneaking in through your window and got comfortable to cuddle you from behind, even going as far as getting under the blankets with you. Yet you still remained unknowing... well, in her eyes at least.
But you did, you did notice. You saw how her green eyes lingered on your face, your body. On you. How her fingers brushed yours when grabbing her order.
One night, you left your window open. Just an inch. But Natasha noticed, she always did.
The Russian happily climbed inside your room that always seemed perfectly warm with your scent. She watched your for a long second, then got undressed with a knowing smile, she bit her bottom lip to suppress a smug remark. The Widow settled in behind you again, under the sheets as her bicep twitched pulling you closer to her body.
Then you shifted back onto her.
She knew it. She fucking knew it.
She could tell by your breathing. The window you left open. Just for her.
Your bottom pressed against her front comfortably as her arm was firmly wrapped around your waist, her face tucked in your neck as she breathed in your scent. The Widow felt your body relax in her hold. Natasha's face was in your neck as she breathed in your scent. The Widow felt your body relax in her her hold as you succumbed to your sleep, she followed shortly with a hum of content.
Natasha left in the early morning, but she did not leave without a trace. A small note on your pillow laid beside your head.
'Thanks for the cuddles, sweetheart. :)' it read with a small drawn smiley face next to it.
That day you added a note to her dessert box.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
'For my favourite customer :)' you could only tease back, drawing a smiley face of your own for her.
The battle of teasing notes began, Natasha would hint to the night before of you guys cuddling in her notes. Till one day, a note of hers read, 'I love it when you press yourself against me in bed. You could hear her whisper those words in your ear with a rasp.
A small box sat beneath the note, and in it held a small silver chain with a single 'N' on it. You wore it the next day, the silver glinted under the bakery's lights and Natasha's green eyes immediately caught on to it. Her lips lift into a smug grin as she got herself a croissant for the morning.
The next day, you decided your stalker also needed a... gift.
So, what else would be a better gift than your underwear. You laid your underwear on your bed, along with a note that read, 'Just for you.
You looked at the finished gift and made your way to your bathroom to shower. The hot water hitting your skin perfectly as it soothed your tense muscles.
Natasha on the other hand, just came through the window, her eyes immediately found the little surprise waiting for her. Her trained ears pick up the sound of running water. Her feet make light work as she made her way to your bed like normal, she reads the note with a smirk as her tongue licked at her bottom lip. Her hands pick up the lace material, her thumbs rubbing over the lace hem then without a doubt, puts it in her pocket.
It is a gift after all, right? It's only right she keeps it.
Natasha looked towards the bathroom door, her body moving on its own as she followed the sound of water. Natasha's ear pressed against the doorlas she heard the water running, her imagination ran wild as she thought of you.
Naked. Warm. Her hands running up and down your sides as she kissed you all over your warm body while steam surrounded your bodies. Natasha's rough palm rested against the door, her fingers ticking towards the handle, her jaw ticked. She couldn't.
Just then, her phone lit up with a notification from Steve. Perfect timing. Steve is waiting for Natasha at the hangar to leave for their mission. Natasha's jaw clenched, her ears filled with sound of running water as her mind ran through thoughts of you then to the mission she needed to be on.
With a heavy sigh, Natasha pockets her phone as she slowly moved away from the door, she didn't leave without leaving a note of course, 'I'll be back soon, sweetheart. Thanks for my prize.'
Natasha left in a hurry, she didn't need Steve tracking her phone to find out where she's been. She does not need to hear about morals, not when you so perfectly fit in her arms at night.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
After two days passed of Natasha on her gruelling mission and long nights without her love to hold, she finally came back.
The Widow entered the bakery to someone flirting with her woman. Her lover. Her future wife.
"You know, I bet you taste sweeter than those cakes," the customer flirts but you can only laugh along as you hid your internal feeling of uncomfort, your eyes finding Natasha's as she watched you two interact. Natasha let out a silent huff as she left the bakery, knowing the action of kissing you or taking you out the back would make headlines with her Avengers status.
Natasha is a woman of patience though. So she waited till late at night, in her car watching the camera feed of you. Footage from the camera she set up in your room from long ago.
The screen showed how your eyes glanced directly at the camera before you began to strip yourself naked, deliberately slow and teasing.
You made her wait.
In Natasha's other hand, her fingers fiddled with your house key, a gift from you. Natasha had the key to your house she could easily let herself in, let her presence be known. But that would be too easy.
Natasha loved every second of it. Her eyes hungry for more as she watched your skin get revealed to the lens, her eyes watch as your nipples harden in the cold air. Her pants felt tight. Too tight.
Instead, she took the... 'normal' way. The path she took every night and climbed into your bedroom instead. The Russian entered your room again, her eyes tracking your form as you sat bare in only a single top made of thin material. You've been waiting for her. She knew it.
"Hi." Natasha easily smiled as she made eye contact with you. "Hi," you could not help but respond, your voice a whisper yet loud enough to fill the room.
The redhead shrugged off her leather jacket and hung it over a chair in the room, then she took off her combat boots, "You waited up for me, sweetheart?" Your eyes trace her well built form, lingering a bit on the subtle bulge in her pants, "Always."
Natasha's fingers made work of her belt buckle as she pushed the black denim off her legs, the Widow in her black top and boxers stood before you, her skin soft under the moon light.
Natasha hummed as she crawled on the bed, her heavy frame hovering over yours, her green eyes bore into yours, "How long?" You swallowed nervously, your heart banging against your ribcage, "What?"
"How long have you known that it was me?" Natasha's fingers lightly trained up your bare thigh, causing goosebumps to arise along your skin.
You gulp nervously, your chest heavy as you breathed faster, your eyes never leaving her greens as she waited for an answer. "Only after you asked how I slept," your palms rest beside you as you shift back bit, intimidated by her stern eyes, "my suspicions were confirmed when you gave me the necklace."
The Russian's eyes immediately went to the sliver that still laid on your chest, her fingers traced her own initial before picking the silver up. "Do you like it?" Her voice is soft as her thumb traced over the 'N'.
"I love it. Thank you," your hand moved to cover hers in a reassuring squeeze, "I wear it every day." The Russian smiled, leaning in so close her lips graze yours, "I know."
Natasha looked at you before leaning in properly, her lips ghost against yours before fully kissing you, deeply. She waited ages for this. To kiss you. To feel your soft lips on her own.
"Your lips are so soft, I knew it," Her voice is a deep rasp as she spoke, her forehead against yours. "You... thought about this?" You couldn't help but ask. "Every night, every day," Natasha leaned in again, her nose touching yours, her lips threatening to kiss you again, "every waking hour I spent... wanting you. To feel you. I want you, always." Her throat bobbed as she confessed, her Russian accent coating her words in a revealed heated obsession.
"You have me," You whisper back, her hand moves to her hand on your thigh, watching her reaction as you move her hand higher, into the inner of your warm thighs. "I know," her voice is teasing as she squeezed at your inner thigh, you gasp, clutching on her forearm, "I always have."
Her lips found the skin of your neck, her mouth moved feverishly as she nipped at your skin, then she moved down to kiss across your collarbone following it to the middle of your neck and down the valley of your breasts.
She pulls her hand from your thigh, her hands work to remove the barrier between her lips and your skin. Immediately your nipples begin to harden under the cold breeze before Natasha is back to kissing you.
The assassin pulled away, looking at you for a moment before kissing your lips again only to pull back and get rid of her own clothing. The older woman now fully bare before your eyes, your eyes couldn't help themselves but look at her, her old scars from missions she's been on, her muscle from working out, your eyes trail down her abs to her neatly trimmed and well taken care of patch of red hair that surrounds her erect cock with a red tip, dripping precum as she waited. The woman noticed, of course, she's a trained assassin, she noticed everything.
Her lips move against yours in passion, "I'll be gentle. I promise." Her voice is deep, husky as she positioned herself between your legs. "You don't have to be," You breathe heavily as your heart tries to catch up with your breathing.
Natasha eyed you cautiously, she wouldn't take advantage of being your first and your only time.
The Russian's lips trailed down the column of your neck to the soft skin on your stomach and thighs, her teeth grazing the warm flesh as she left her marks on you. Natasha settled in the middle of your thighs, her face deadly close to your aching warmth. You sat on your elbows, watching Natasha, her green eyes watch your chest rise with a hint of unease.
"Relax, detka," Natasha's arm moved up your body to pin your chest down and pin your body to the bed, "trust me." Her red lips were felt on your inner thigh, her voice vibrated through your skin causing your body to buzz with excitement.
"I trust you," you nod as you watch her kiss your thighs, your hip bone before settling comfortably in front of you again. "Good." Her lips press a gentle kiss to your sensitive bundle of nerves, your breath hitched, "just feel for me, baby." Her warm pink muscle from her mouth soothed up your labia gently.
"Natasha," you immediately gasp, going to sit up before being held back down again by her hand on your chest. "Relax, baby," Natasha's hand moved to squeeze at your chest, feeling the soft flesh in her grasp as her thumb and index finger rolled your areola as her mouth worked wonders on your body.
Your hands moved to hold hers on your chest, squeezing her wrist and hand as you felt her suck your clit gently with a swipe of her tongue.
Your hips twitch up towards Natasha's mouth, the Russian smirked as her other arm moved to pin your hips gently.
Natasha is hearing music right now, your beautiful moans of her name as she works on you, her tongue sliding through your labia easily as she sucked and nibbled at your clit. Natasha removed her arm from your hips, instead putting it up to your mouth, her middle finger tapped your bottom lip, "Open." And obediently you did, your warm mouth and soft lips invite her digit in. "Suck, get it nice and wet for me, moya lyubov." Natasha kissed your thigh as she watched, and felt, your warmth tongue against your finger as you sucked.
Natasha pulled her hand away, "Good girl." Her hand teased it's way down your body as she made sure to look at you. Her now wet middle finger, teasing your entrance.
"Natasha-" you gasp out a moan, your hands tighten around her hand on your chest. With a low hum, the Russian pushed her digit in, slowly, watching for any minor reaction and emotion change. Your hand moves from Natasha's wrist to her hair, the other still holding onto her hand, Natasha groaned as she pressed another kiss to your sensitive clit, her finger fully pushed inside of you. Natasha's warm muscle exited from between her lips as she looked at you, dead in the eyes, as she began to eat you out again as her finger started moving inside of you again.
Your muscles tense as your thighs instinctively close around Natasha's head as your body heats up, a warm pool in your lower abdomen, "Nat-Natasha!" Your body shook as you moaned loudly, exploding on her tongue and finger.
"Mhm...," The redhead hummed as she placed a kiss on your stomach, soothing your body, "you are sweeter than your desserts. So much more."
Natasha brought her hands to hold your thighs open yet secure around her head as she finished up her meal.
You feel your face heat up despite the room once being cool, now warm with the smell of sex in the air. Natasha kissed her way up your body, then to your lips, a deep and heavy kiss to your reddened lips as she groaned deeply when her tip made contact with your clit.
Natasha pulled away with a few pecks to your lips, her hand moving down to take hold of herself, her fist moving in up and down motions on her member.
Natasha licked her lips as she stared down at your wetness, then her hips twitched forward as she guided her tip to your entrance. "Breathe for me, baby." Her voice is husky with her Russian accent seeping through.
You inhaled sharply as you felt the Russian push in, stretching you out. Natasha made sure her hips moved slowly against yours, giving soft thrusts, each time pushing a little deeper in until her hips rest against yours. You felt stretched out. Full. So completely full of her, your Natasha.
Natasha's hands moved to your hips as she ground herself, her thumbs soothing over the skin of your hip bones before releasing a moan of your name. Natasha felt you tighten around her as her hips moved, she knew you were close.
She could feel it, how you beautifully clung to her. As if you never want to let her go.
The assassin's lips started attacking your neck as her hips moved in a rhythmic pace, her cock hitting deep spots inside of you that made you see the stars and beyond.
The Russian smirked as she felt your hips twitched against hers as your legs tightened around her waist. Natasha pulled out only to watch her come swell from between your labia, the milky white substance was thick as it dripped down your sex. Natasha immediately got obssessed, the idea of filling you up with her come and breeding you properly over took her mind. The Russian immediately guided her cock back inside of you without a doubt filling you up again.
Your back arched off the bed as you moan out her name loudly, your fingers clawing at her biceps. Natasha held your hips down this time, "Call me by my name, detka." Natasha lets out a heavy breath as her hips moved in a steady thrusting pace, a wet sound arising due to wet skin slapping against one another every time Natasha pounds into you. "Natasha!" You moaned aloud when her tip rubbed against your spongy G-stop deliciously. "C'mon, baby," Natasha grinned, red strands stuck to her sweaty forehead as she huffed, her hips giving a particularly harsh thrust as she got herself buried inside of you as deep as possible, "you know you can scream louder than that." You felt her hand steady herself beside your head as the other held your thigh open for leverage.
Words could barely escape your mouth as the pleasure clouded your brain. Natasha coaxed you, her hand leaving your thigh only for her rough thumb to attack your clit with firm circles.
"N-Natasha!-" the word escape from your lips before you could stop it. "That's it, baby. Keep screaming for me," Natasha's hips drove forward deep into yours, "Holy fuck." The Russian panted. Her green eyes trailed over your face, "You'll look so beautiful pregnant."
"Natasha, please," your moans are choked out as you felt the tip of her cock repeatedly rubbed over the spongy g-spot. "So round and full with my babies, you'll be utterly and completely mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed. Mine to love."
You couldn't help but agree with the muscular Russian towering over you as she relentlessly plowed your hips into the mattress, "P-please-" you could only break out as your fingers clutched at her strong shoulders, her skin warm with a thin layer of sweating covering.
"Please what, dorogaya?" Her voice is low in a mock as she kissed at the middle of your neck. "Breed me, Natty, please," you chocked out a sob as the pleasure turned blinding, your core muscles tighten again, the warmth felt stronger like fire as it waited to explode in your abdomen. Your shaking thighs managed to wrap themselves around Natasha's hips which only seemed to spur the Russian on.
"Oh, fuck-" the redheads head dropped in your neck as she moaned, her hips seemed to moved faster, "say that again, baby. Tell me what you need." Her warm breath fanned across your skin as her teeth nipped at the skin at the base of your neck. "Breed me, Natasha, please," your legs tightened around the redheads waist, as if trying to drive her deeper inside of you. You can't get enough.
Natasha sat up to lean on one hand beside your head again as the other still worked circles on your overwhelmed clitoris. Your hands move to cup the back of Natasha's neck as if it were some sort of support. Her green eyes looked down to where you two connected, how your cum seemed to mix together and form the perfect lubrication as she moved inside of you.
"Natty, I'm gonna-" your voice seemed to stop working as moans only left your throat and chest heavy as your body began to tighten around Natasha. "I know, baby, I know," she moved to lean on her elbow, her thumb still moving in continuous circle around your clit, "Come for me, baby. Come for me."
The Russian was not far behind, a few thrusts later she let out a moan, "Fuck. Baby," Natasha planted her hips firmly against yours as she came deep inside of you, breeding you and officially marking you as hers. Her lips met your kiss bruised lips in a passionate frenzy as she groaned, feeling you milk the last of her come from her before her hips slowly came to a still.
You exploded, back arching, thighs tensing as your legs tightened around Natasha's waist.
A moment of comfortable, tired silence went by of the Russian's hot, sweaty body on top of yours as her breath tickled your neck as she sighed out in bliss, her hand moved back to your thigh, giving it a good squeeze just to see you shake.
"I'm going to get you a ring," her voice is mumbled as her lips moved against your skin, "that way, I can make sure my wife stays properly bred."
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Anyway... l still don't know how to end it off, so... 🤷♀️
