THE WOMEN WHO NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU.
wandanat x f!reader
You spent your whole childhood with Wanda and Natasha at your side, certain the three of you would never drift apart. Then you left for the city, and now coming home means facing everything your absence turned their yearning into.
details: country/west farmer!au, slow burn/story/it's like a movie!! fic, a lot of words... please prepare time to read this story, eventual smut, porn/smut w/ plot, childhood friends to complex to together, farmer girls x city girl trope, hurt/comfort, slight angst with comfort, very happy ending!, top!natasha, switch!wanda, switch!reader, dom!wandanat/sub!reader, naughty smut, slight injury (r sustaining), f/afab!reader, cigarette usage (natasha)
Many hate on trios, saying there’s always a duo in a trio. That one person left standing just slightly outside the circle.
It was never the case with the three of you.
One shy greeting shared between you all when your families were introduced after Wanda and Natasha moved into town, and somehow the three of you became stuck together as thick as honey. Impossible to separate after that.
You spent countless sunrises to sunsets together. Inside jokes so overused they stopped making sense years ago, yet still sent you rolling onto your backs in laughter with pine needles tangled in your hair. From ages five to eighteen, you watched one another grow up in all the quiet ways that mattered most.
You explored every inch of land surrounding town, knew every trail, every hidden riverbank, every broken fence and abandoned road. Played the same games one too many times.
Spent nights at one another’s houses whispering embarrassing stories into the dark until tears gathered in your eyes from laughing too hard. And sometimes those nights turned softer, quieter. Comforting hands resting on knees when secrets slipped out, insecurities revealed only in the safety of each other.
You grew up with one another. Blew out birthday candles side by side, exchanged stupid Christmas presents every year, learned to drive in the same rusted trucks, and crammed yourselves into diner booths after reckless late-night drives through mountain roads. The whole town knew the three of you together, like your names belonged side by side as naturally as the mountains belonged to the horizon.
Inseparable, never meant to part from one another. Photos of the three of you hung around each other’s rooms, tucked into mirrors and pinned to walls, always leaving space for another year, another memory. Until one evening.
It was supposed to be another sleepover, only older now. The three of you somewhere between eighteen and nineteen, curled up in familiar places with the television humming quietly in the background and empty soda cans cluttering the table. Comfortable in the way only years together could make people.
Then your mother stepped into the kitchen and asked softly if you had told them yet. Their eyes flickered toward you immediately, and your body ran cold.
You couldn’t say it. Could barely even look at them. So your mother did it for you. She told them you were moving away to the city.
And the room lost its warmth.
You had been in New York for almost five years now. You’d finished college, settled into your first full-time job, and quietly reached the point where your life stopped feeling like something temporary and started feeling like something built.
Somewhere along the way, you’d grown into a woman almost unrecognizable from the girl who once ran barefoot through riverbanks and mountain trails. Back home, you grew up in a place where cell service barely existed, where fashion meant whatever clothes survived the week and your father’s boots were just part of the outfit you threw on over pajamas.
Your friends in the city found your childhood charming in that distant, curious way people do when they’ve never lived it. Wine glasses balanced between their fingers as they asked you questions about horses and wide open land and how you could stand living somewhere so small everyone knew everyone. What it was like. Why you left. If you missed it. If you could ever go back.
You always answered lightly, laughing it off, turning your past into something almost like a story instead of something you had lived. But the questions stayed with you longer than they should have, especially the ones about why you left, because you never really had a clean answer for that anymore.
Your parents had long since stopped arguing with you about New York. Now your calls home were softer, stretched out with pauses, your mother asking when you were visiting again and your father pretending not to notice how often you said you were busy. It hadn’t felt urgent before, life always pulling you forward too fast to look back.
But now, for the first time in years, the thought landed differently.
You could go home. There was nothing stopping you anymore.
You had PTO sitting unused, no deadlines pressing against you, no real reason not to leave the city for a while. You could just… go.
The realization settled in your chest in a way that made everything feel suddenly too quiet. That night you called your parents while sitting cross-legged on your couch, laptop open on your knees as flight searches loaded in the background, your finger hovering between dates as your mother’s voice filled your apartment from the speaker.
Your dad picked you up at the airport, giving you a hug so tight your lungs burned. You didn’t mind it. You just shoved your face into his shoulder and held on a second longer than you meant to, breathing in the familiar rough cigarette scent and something older underneath it was motor oil.
It hit you all at once how much you’d been holding back, how much you’d been pretending wasn’t there. How much you’d missed him. How much you still loved him in that deep, uncomplicated way that never really changes no matter how far you go.
When he finally pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders like he needed to make sure you were real. “God, look at you,” he said, voice thick in a way he tried to hide by laughing. “Look at my girl… you’re so grown up.”
You smiled at him, soft and a little watery around the edges, eyes matching his in that too-emotional way neither of you commented on. You squeezed his hands like you were grounding yourself through him instead of the other way around. “I miss you…”
“Me too, and so does your mother,” he said, giving your hands a gentle squeeze back as he nodded toward the exit. “Let’s go home… she’s waiting for you there.”
She gave you a just as tight hug, one you fully just broke into, tears slipping before you could even think to stop them. You held onto her like your hands had been waiting years to do that again, arms wrapped around her so tightly it almost felt like you were afraid she might disappear if you let go.
She didn’t rush you. Just held you back just as firmly, one hand steady between your shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head like you hadn’t outgrown needing it.
You buried your face into her shoulder, breathing in her shampoo and lotion, the familiar softness of her sweater, the quiet warmth of her that somehow still felt like home even after everything. The air in the house felt different in a way you couldn’t quite place at first.
Cleaner, lighter, like it had been waiting for you to notice it again. And suddenly it hit you how long it had been since you’d taken a full breath without something sitting heavy in your chest.
You exhaled shakily, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes still glassy. “I’m home…”
“That you are,” she said softly, brushing a thumb beneath your eye like she was still allowed to do that without asking. “We’ve been counting down the minutes.”
Her smile was small, careful, like she was afraid too much emotion might break something.
“We’ve got dinner… please come in.” Then, after a beat, her gaze flicked over your shoulder toward the rest of the house, softer still.
“The house has changed a bit… as you might assume you notice.”
After dinner, when you finally parted for the night, you climbed the creaky stairs slowly, each step familiar in a way your body remembered before your mind fully caught up. They had said the house had changed, and you believed them, until you reached your bedroom door.
The moment you opened it, everything stopped. Your suitcase rolled softly behind you and came to rest in the corner, but you barely noticed. Your feet moved on their own, slow and careful, like you were walking through a memory instead of a room.
Nothing had been moved. Nothing had been replaced. It was all still there, held in time like someone had refused to let it become anything else.
The old quilt on your bed. The faint marks on the wall where posters used to hang. The dresser you’d carved into when you were younger and thought it was funny. The bookshelf still slightly crooked no matter how many times your father tried to fix it. Even the soft smell of dust and old wood and something unmistakably you.
You walked like you were in a movie you weren’t sure you belonged in anymore, fingers brushing over surfaces as things you had forgotten suddenly returned in fragments. Late-night conversations, getting ready for school, lying on your back staring at the ceiling thinking the world would never change.
And yet it had. Just not this room.
You flop onto the bed afe hearing the springs bounce under you. The ceiling stares back at you the same way it always did, familiar in a way that almost feels unreal after so long away. Your eyes drift to your vanity, spotting the photos there, and something in your chest tightens.
You sit up slowly, gaze lingering on them. Smiling faces caught in time. Too many memories packed into small frames, edges slightly worn from years of being looked at and never really put away. You, Wanda, Natasha. Always the three of you.
You wonder what they’re up to, where they are right now. If they’re together. If they’re laughing. If anything about them feels different, or if it’s just you who changed. If they moved on after you left.
Your throat tightens before you can stop it.
You reach over and turn your lamp off for the night before you can let yourself wonder about anything further.
You had some time to warm up to everything again before your parents mentioned that you should attend the city’s small gathering once more, just to greet everyone again, catch up, be seen. It had sounded like a good idea at the time. You missed people from the town you grew up in, missed the familiarity of faces that didn’t feel like strangers even after years apart.
Your parents were going too, a kind of quiet reassurance at your side in case you felt awkward or in case the town had decided you’d become the “city girl” who left and never quite belonged again.
A few hours later, and it had been a fine gathering for the most part. Shaking hands yet again, hugging occasionally, repeating the same softened version of your life until your smile started to feel practiced instead of real. The fire burned bright in the center of everything, casting warm light over familiar faces as the sun fully disappeared and the night settled in.
You excused yourself quietly, slipping away toward the bathrooms just to breathe for a moment, let your shoulders drop where no one could see.
That’s when a truck pulled up. Headlights cut through the dark for a second before shutting off, leaving the engine to tick in the silence. It caught your eye without meaning to.
The door swung open, and your heart stuttered in your chest.
The one with the short, messy hair stepped out first. Except it wasn’t short anymore. Long auburn strands spilled over her shoulders, catching the firelight every time she moved. A cigarette rested between her lips, smoke curling into the night air.
The habit struck you immediately. Unfamiliar against the version of her you’d carried in your head for years.
The second door swung open a beat later. You shouldn’t have been surprised to see her, not really, but the sight of her still knocked the breath from your lungs. She looked older now.
Taller somehow, steadier. Softer in a way that only time could carve into someone. Even her voice, faint beneath the noise of the party, had deepened into something calmer, more mature.
You could hear the two of them talking quietly amongst themselves.
Their names stirred in the back of your mind, dangerously familiar. You shoved the thought down before it could settle, forcing your steps to remain even as you continued toward the bathrooms, pretending your pulse hadn’t suddenly fallen out of rhythm.
Part of you hoped you’d imagined it. That maybe you’d looked too fast, caught the wrong angle in the flicker of firelight and smoke and familiar noise. Maybe she hadn’t seen you at all.
But fate had other plans.
For one fleeting moment, her gaze drifted lazily across the crowd. Casual, distracted. Then it found you right as you reached the edge of the building and stepped inside.
You pushed through the bathroom door quickly, the cold fluorescent light washing over you as you gripped the edge of the sink for a second longer than necessary. Your pulse still hadn’t settled. You turned on the faucet anyway, letting the icy water run over your hands just to give yourself something else to focus on, but you can't.
Five fucking years. You dried your hands slowly against your jeans as you stepped back into the mosquito-filled air, already planning to keep your head down and walk straight past them.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Guilt and awkwardness climbed up your throat so fast it almost made it hard to answer.
“Hi.”
The word came out quieter than you intended.
Silence settled between you almost immediately, thick and uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to her anymore—or if you were supposed to say anything at all. The two of you hadn’t spoken since the day you left for the city. No calls. No texts. Nothing except years of distance stretching wider and wider until it became easier to pretend it didn’t matter.
Maybe this was how things were supposed to go.
People faded. Friendships lost their grip. Not everyone you met was meant to become part of your foundation. Some people were only passing branches, temporary things meant to break away eventually.
You told yourself that was all this was. Five years was a long time to hold onto someone. You shifted slightly, already preparing to step around her and leave the conversation exactly where it stood. Brief, polite before Wanda spoke again.
"You changed your hair,” she commented, her eyes drawing carefully over you.
“Yeah, I did…” you breathed out, wiping at your bicep when you felt what was probably a mosquito land there.
“It looks nice. Seems like you’ve really been taking care of yourself.”
The compliment sat awkwardly between you. You shifted your weight, one foot already turning away like you were preparing to leave the conversation before it had the chance to become anything more. Still, you could feel Wanda’s gaze lingering on you. And another from farther away, heavier somehow, burning into your skin.
Curiosity got the better of you. You glanced toward the truck near the fire and found Natasha already watching you. The flame from her lighter illuminated her face for a brief second as she lit another cigarette, smoke curling past her lips as she leaned back against the truck.
“Not too sure,” you admitted. “However long I can stretch my PTO. I’m getting time with my parents.”
Something flickered across Wanda’s face at that. Small enough that you almost missed it. The mention of family. The quiet implication beneath your words. That you came back for them, not for this, not for her.
No mention of catching up. No offer to see each other again. Still, she smiled softly, the kind that felt more polite than personal now. “Well… it was nice seeing you.”
“You too.”
The words felt strange leaving your mouth.
Wanda gave a small wave before turning and heading back toward the fire, her figure slowly blending into the warm glow and drifting smoke. You started in the opposite direction, hands shoved into your pockets, but after a few steps you glanced back over your shoulder anyway.
It wouldn’t be a small town without its monthly farmer’s market.
Your parents had driven the three of you into town early that morning, and for once, you didn’t mind staying close to them. It gave you something familiar to hold onto. The market buzzed around you with soft music, overlapping conversations, and the scent of kettle corn drifting through the warm air. You pointed out different stands to your mom, teased your dad over overpriced honey, and exchanged polite smiles with a few familiar faces from years ago.
It almost felt normal.
By the time you stopped at the smoothie stand near the edge of the market, the heat had already settled into your skin. You held your mango smoothie in one hand while waiting for the larger one your parents planned to split, half-listening to the blender roaring behind the counter.
Then a voice slipped into the space beside you.
“Mango? Always been your favorite.”
Your stomach tightened before you even looked up.
Wanda stepped beside you casually, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket despite the warmth outside. Her hair was pulled back loosely today, auburn strands catching in the breeze.
“You ordering one?” you asked, trying to sound more relaxed than you felt. Almost pushing her away again.
She hummed softly, glancing up at the menu board. “Maybe. I’m deciding.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “This stand’s new. Only been here about two years.”
She glanced away from the menu for a moment, eyes settling on you. “How’s the city been?”
The question made your stomach sink unexpectedly, like there was too much wrapped inside those four words. Your fingers tightened slightly around the smoothie cup as you silently wished your parents’ order would be ready already.
“Uh, yeah…” you muttered, shifting your weight. “It’s good. A lot.”
Wanda smiled anyway, like she understood the awkwardness behind it. “Still overwhelming?”
“Pretty much all the time.”
“I can imagine,” she said softly. “Forty people in one gathering is about enough for me. I can’t imagine being surrounded by that many people all the time. Always somewhere to go.”
You hummed, feeling yourself loosen slightly at the subject. Talking about the city was easier than talking about yourself. Easier than talking about the five years sitting between the two of you.
“It’s not as bad as people think,” you admitted, glancing down at your drink. “Everyone kind of stays in their own lane. It feels like you actually get your own space there.”
You paused briefly before adding quieter, “Doesn’t feel as suffocating. Or like everyone’s watching you all the time.”
Your name was called from the stand. Relief flickered through you immediately. “That’s mine,” you said, half a step backward as you pointed toward the counter. You grabbed your parents’ smoothie when it was handed over, the cold cup grounding you in something simple again.
Wanda was still there. Feeling awkard to say goodbye, but even more not to say anything at all. You turned back to her, something small and almost unintentional softening your expression. Not quite a smile, not quite nothing either.
“Uh… it was good seeing you,” you said quietly.
Wanda nodded once, gentle. “Yeah. You too.”
You held her gaze for a second longer than you meant to, then shifted your weight away, your parents already drifting toward the next stall.
“Take care,” you added, voice lighter now.
"You too."
You lay in bed, covers pulled up to your chest, staring at the ceiling while the quiet of your room presses in around you. Your eyes drift again and again to the photos still pinned along your vanity mirror. Snapshots of a life that feels both distant and uncomfortably close.
You shift restlessly beneath the blankets, your thoughts swinging between extremes, almost hot and cold the way Wanda and Natasha feel in your chest.
Part of you circles the idea of mending it.
Of letting the distance soften, of allowing something polite and careful to form again. Something that doesn’t demand too much, just enough to acknowledge what you once were without pretending it never existed.
It's similar to Wanda, who's already reaching, in her way. Small steps. Easy conversations. A version of reconnection that doesn’t feel like it would swallow you whole if you tried.
The second part, one that looks at Natasha and feels that familiar finality settle in your bones. The part that questions why you would even try to rebuild something that already burned itself down so completely.
What would it even mean to go back there? What would you be rebuilding, exactly. Friendship, history, or just the echo of something you’ve already outgrown?
It pulls you in two directions at once, neither one fully letting go.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize it isn’t really about choosing between them. It’s about choosing which version of the past you’re willing to carry forward with you.
You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, watching the clouds shift into something ugly overhead. Thick, swollen, and dark enough to swallow the horizon. They rolled together into one continuous mass as far as you could see, the air turning heavy with the metallic scent of rain before it even started falling.
You tapped your foot against the floor near the counter, impatience building as you waited for the last of the payment to go through for your parents’ horse feed. One more errand. One less thing for them to worry about. That was the idea, anyway.
The cashier finally nodded toward the card reader. “You’re good to swipe or tap.”
“Thanks,” you muttered, relief already loosening your shoulders.
The bell above the door jingled as you stepped outside.
You had wished for no rain. And the sky answered anyway.
It hit fast. Cold wind first, then the first scattered drops, and then all at once the world opening up above you. You hurried toward the car, already regretting the jacket you chose, the timing, the entire day.
You had wished to get home safe. And the car responded by slowing like it was thinking about giving up entirely.
A sputter. A shake. Then silence.
“No. No, no, no—come on,” you groaned, gripping the wheel as if that alone could convince it otherwise. You slumped forward, pressing your forehead against it for a second before letting out a long, defeated breath. “Damn it… of course. God fucking damn it.”
Of course it was the old car. Of course it was your parents’ old everything. Old house, old roads, old feed store that took forever to get anything done.
You shoved the door open and stepped out into the rain immediately soaking through your jacket. Cold water ran down your arms as you moved behind the car, placing your hands against the trunk.
“Please,” you muttered under your breath, as if the car might suddenly develop empathy.You pushed.
At first it barely moved, tires digging into wet ground that was already turning fast into mud. You leaned harder into it, boots slipping slightly with each effort. Rain blurred your vision, plastering your hair to your face, soaking through everything faster than you could adjust.
More time passed. And your arms started to burn. Your breath came sharper. The car barely shifted an inch.
“Come on,” you hissed through clenched teeth, pushing again, harder this time.
The ground gave out beneath one step, your foot slid out from under you instantly. You hit the mud first—hard—then felt the sharp sting as your face followed, your lip splitting on impact. A copper taste filled your mouth almost immediately, mixing with rainwater as it ran down your chin.
You froze for a second, breath shaking, rain hammering down around you like it was trying to erase you entirely. Your fingers lifted instinctively, brushing over your lip. No, your nose. Or wherever it is the blood had started to show after slamming into the back of the car.
“God,” you muttered again, voice rough as you pushed yourself upright, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. It didn’t help much. Everything was already soaked anyway. Rain, mud, and now a thin streak of blood that refused to blend in.
You turned back toward the car, still half-focused on trying to salvage the situation, when headlights cut through the storm in the distance.
At first, it was just relief. Sharp and immediate. Someone. Anyone.
You held a hand over your eyes, squinting through the rain as she stepped out of the truck. Her boot sank slightly into the mud, dark water splashing around it, but she didn’t seem to care.
You opened your mouth to explain. Something halfway between it just died and I’ve got it handled... but she cut you off before you could get a word out.
“The hell are you doing?” Natasha’s voice cut through the storm, sharp enough to feel like it landed harder than the rain.
Something in your chest snapped hot immediately.
Not fear. Not embarrassment.
Frustration. Honestly, it might’ve even started the second you saw her truck.
“What does it look like I’m doing, you ass?” you shot back, wiping rain from your face again only for it to be replaced instantly. “The car stopped. It’s not starting again and I’m just trying to go home!”
She made it across the road, crouching slightly to peer into your stalled car as rain battered both of you. You stood there beside it, completely soaked now.
Tears dripping into your eyes, clothes heavy and clinging to your skin, mud tracking up your legs. Everything felt cold, uncomfortable, wrong. The only thing you could think about was a hot shower waiting somewhere on the other side of this mess.
Natasha straightened again, voice carrying over the storm.
“I can’t help you out here,” she called. “I’ll drive you back and tow your parents’ car.”
There wasn’t much room for argument in the way she said it.
The passenger seat of her truck felt like another world entirely. Your soaked clothes squeaked faintly as you sat down. You stared straight ahead for a moment, hands awkward in your lap, trying to settle your breathing. Time only moved forward, you reminded yourself. Second by second, and you're moving forward to this moment ending.
Natasha was already outside again, hooking your car up, rain running off her shoulders as she worked. Then she climbed back into the driver’s seat like the storm didn’t touch her the same way it touched everyone else.
The truck rumbled slightly as she started it. Silence settled in immediately after, just the low hum of the AC. The steady drum of rain against the windshield. The faint creak of metal as the tow line tightened behind you.
You stared out at the blurred world beyond the glass, rain streaking sideways in the headlights as the truck rolled steadily forward.
“Thank yo—” you started, the words catching in your throat before they could fully form.
Natasha hit the brakes. Hard.
The sudden stop snapped you forward against the seatbelt, breath punching out of your lungs as the world jerked into stillness. The tow line behind you creaked under tension. Rain hammered the windshield like it was trying to break through.
“I just can’t fucking believe that you’re back. Why in the world did you come back? You’re so incredibly selfish, you understand this?”
For a second, you just stared at her, rain and adrenaline still ringing in your ears.
“Excuse me?” you say, sharper now.
Natasha lets out a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it. She looks back out at the road like she already regrets turning toward you in the first place.
“Yeah,” she mutters, “excuse you.”
The wipers drag back and forth, useless against how hard it’s coming down.
You open your mouth again, but she cuts in before you get anything out.
“No, don’t… don’t even start explaining like there’s a good version to any of this,” she says, voice tighter now. “Not ‘I wanted to chase my dreams.’ You only told the two of us when your mom brought it up. Like something you were never even going to tell us until you just left. And I don't even want to know how you told your sweet parents."
“Natasha—!”
“Two friends, people who’ve known you since birth,” she continues, faster. “You don’t think we deserve an official goodbye? Any explanation? Before you get up and leave for five years? And oh yeah, 'I got your little things done, so let me just come back because I missed it?' You expect everything to just be fucking peachy dandy? Two people you’ve known for your whole life, who’ve been nothing but everything to you. You can’t even afford the decency to say goodbye? What a fucking joke you are.”
You throw your hands up, opening the car door. “I can’t do this.”
She’s out almost immediately, slamming her door behind her.
“Run away,” Natasha snaps after you, voice cutting through the storm. “Very you. Don’t confront anything head-on."
You whip around to face her.
“So what is it with you? Do you want to drive me home, or should I drive? Because this is—”
“This is what?” she interrupts, stepping closer. “You tell me. What is it with you? Why did you want to leave everyone here who’s cared about you? Truly?”
Her voice rises slightly now, not quite yelling, but close.
“How’re the fake friends in New York?” she throws in, sharp and quick. “You like the money? The title of being in New York instead of this nothing town?”
A beat.
“It’s all wonderful, right? Until you need to think about something that actually means something to you. That’s why you came back. You’re not truly satisfied there and you know it. Why the hell did you even lea—”
“Because Natasha, I’ve had nothing done nothing! My siblings have done outstanding things, and all I have ever done is mess around. I tossed pencils into a cup with you and Wanda instead of studying. My sister was in honors at my age, while I was covered in mud. My parents expect more. I can’t be the loose end in my family.... I.."
She huffs. “You know how much your parents missed you when you were gone? I made up excuses to come by just to try and cheer them up. They worried they messed up with you. Wondered why you left so far away when you seemed so happy here.”
You wave your hands. “Can we just… don’t…”
“Sure,” she says, tone flat, unimpressed, already done. Climbing back into her car.
The drive is even more silent than before, Natasha reaching to try to light a cigarette on the rest of the drive.
You glance at her. “Terrible habit, but I’m not surprised.”
She huffs, setting the pack back in the cup holder. “Wanda’s been entirely too sweet to you. I’ve been telling her."
She pulls up at your parents’ house, unattaching the car. She waves to your parents, who look worried on the front porch, before her car hums off into the distance, not a wave your way. But your heart feels warmer, soften even... despite the harsh words thrown at each other. You slept that night, feeling a little less like bricks were laying on you.
The argument in the storm had been the dam that broke everything. After that, something in the air between you all shifted. Not healed, but loosened just enough to breathe through. The past hurt feeling like a river cried, and the bridge beginning to form again.
Despite it all, you started smiling a little when you ran into them. In a small town, it was impossible not to. There were only so many places to go, only so many corners of town you could avoid before they stopped feeling avoidable at all.
At the diner, it was a brief wave.
At the little store downtown, it was Wanda holding the door open while Natasha lingered near the counter, pretending not to notice you.
At the gas station, it was a quiet exchange of “hey” that lasted a few seconds longer than it used to.
It wasn’t smooth. But it wasn’t as sharp anymore either.
Each time, you found yourself staying a little longer. Saying a little more. Laughing, sometimes, before you had time to stop yourself. The awkward edges didn’t disappear, but they softened enough that you stopped bracing for impact every time you saw them.
And slowly, without any real announcement, things started to settle into something that resembled a pattern.
Wanda always spoke first. Careful, warm, like she was still trying to build a bridge between where you were and where you used to be.
Natasha stayed quieter, but she didn’t leave. She lingered in the background of conversations more often than not, watching, listening, occasionally throwing in something blunt that cut through the softness without fully breaking it.
It confused you, how something so fractured could still hold together in motion. And eventually, even your parents noticed.
“You’ve been running into them a lot lately again,” your mom said one evening over dinner, her tone light, but threaded with something warmer. “It makes me really happy… I was happy your friendship could rekindle. I had hope.”
“It’s trying…” you said, a little uncertain.
Your mom hummed softly, poking at her food. “It was a hard time when you left. Hit them hard, as it did us. Sweet women, they are. They’d come and help us with some chores. The ones you used to cover. They’d ask how you were doing…”
She glanced up at you then, softer now.
“Well... anyways, I’m just happy you’re all talking again. They’re gold. Don’t let go of them, alright darling? True gold, not false. Rare."
It had begun to bloom.
Not in any sudden, obvious way. Nothing you could point to and name, but in the slow return of ease. In the way your shoulders stopped tensing when you saw them. In the way conversations started lasting longer without feeling like you were walking on glass.
You found yourself revisiting places you hadn’t thought about in years.
The riverbank you used to sit at as a kid looked smaller now, quieter in a different way. The water still moved the same, but everything around it had changed just enough to remind you how much time had passed. You pointed things out absently when they were with you, half-laughing at old memories you weren’t sure you should still remember so clearly.
Your bed felt warm, like home each time you laid your head.
While you felt free, the two women felt caged still.
A weight still sat on their shoulders. Something unspoken, something that hadn’t dissolved just because time had passed and you were back in the same rooms again.
It lingered in the things they didn’t say.
In the way Natasha’s gaze flicked to you when she thought you wouldn’t notice.
In the way Wanda’s anger never quite found a place to land. It rose, once, briefly. Then dissolved the moment she saw you again, as if relief outweighed everything else. As if having you in front of her made it impossible to hold onto anything sharp for long.
It lived in hesitation, too. In the smallest pauses before speaking your name. In fingers that twitched, almost reaching, then curling back into themselves like restraint was a habit they couldn’t break.
In how their hearts betrayed them in quiet ways. Faster when you laughed, heavier when you looked away, uneven in your presence as if something inside them had never learned how to settle properly without you.
It lived in the nasty habit Natasha took upon herself. Smoke easing into her lungs instead of you. Into the nights the two of them spent together, the silence after as they occasionally grieved your presence.
Living to see a photo of you on social media, but too scared to follow.
It felt finate, your friendship. But the love that resonates in their hearts is infinite. And your distance, only strengthened it.
Your PTO is to come to an end. And this time, you inform others of your possible upcoming departure. It was brought up when they asked, settled into your bedroom. With a sunken heart, you come to realize the impending return date. Less than a week away. It felt as if a timer had offcially started. A stop watch starting, cointing down the seconds. Raising a feeling underneath everything. A question, a conflict to be resolved… hoping to be.
A sunken feeling settled in your chest as the return date became real in a way it hadn’t been before. Less than a week. A line drawn too clearly now to ignore.
It felt like something had started counting down. Haunting.
Tomorrow is your flight.
You sit with the two of them, checking into your flight. The room had been lively, until now. The clock louder than ever before.
"Sad I have only a couple hours really left... But we have each other's numbers... We can always text, or call..?"
"Right, yeah..." they had responded, dejected.
You hugged them, smiling—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes—before you got into the Uber. You waved goodbye to everyone: your parents, Wanda, Natasha. The dust kicked up behind the car as it pulled away, carrying you toward the airport, toward the flight.
You bit your nail, watching the world blur past the window, something tight settling into your chest. Your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears, uneven in a way you couldn’t quite settle. You kept swallowing it down, shifting your focus, pinching at your skin just to stay grounded in something physical.
It felt off. Wrong, even.
You walk toward security, lugging your suitcase behind you. Each step feels heavier than the last, like the airport itself is pulling you forward whether you want it to or not. The noise around you fades in and out. Announcements, rolling bags, footsteps, until it all starts to feel distant, muffled, like you’re already halfway gone.
Your mind keeps catching on moments you didn’t realize you were holding onto. Wanda’s laugh in your room. Natasha’s voice cutting through rain. The way silence between you all had started to feel less like absence and more like something full. Something you hadn’t known how to name until it was already slipping out of reach again. Like you don't what you have, how you feel until it's gone.
You swallow hard, forcing your grip tighter on your suitcase handle, like that could keep you steady. Like that could keep anything steady. Each step feels slower. The clock in your head ticking down the last few seconds you didn’t want to hear.
Your body is tense, too aware. Too tightly held.... until your name is shouted behind you.
For a second, you almost don’t believe it.
Then again.
Louder.
You turn, as something in your chest breaks loose before you can think about it. You drop your suitcase immediately and start moving before you even realize you’ve started running.
The space between you disappears too fast. And then you’re there, hugging the two women.
Hugging them tight, like if you let go too soon it would confirm every fear you’ve been trying not to name. They pull you in just as close, like neither of them had any intention of letting you be the one to hold on alone.
The pressure builds in your chest all at once. Too much feeling, too much time compressed into a single moment, and it spills over before you can stop it. Tears blur your vision, warm and sudden, and you don’t bother hiding them.
You don’t want to go home.
Because home isn’t the airport, or the city, or the life waiting for you past security.
Home is right here in your arms.
Wanda's or Natasha's home. You’re unaware and uncaring of whose it is as you're shoved inside with passion.
Your arms are wrapped around Natasha's neck, lips pressed to one another. The kiss is deep and unmoving. Her body pins you to the wall, and she grabs your thigh to wrap it around her waist. She holds you close, tightening her grip as she pulls you in. She tastes like the smoke she’s always inhaling and some unnamed, basic brand of chapstick.
You gasp, tugging at her hair as you melt into the kiss. Your body feels so warm and tingly that you believe you're floating. Wanda shuts and locks the door, coming up behind you to slide her hands down your chest while her lips lock onto your neck, listening to the little sounds you make.
Your shirt is tossed aside by Wanda, bra is shoved down so she can feel along your chest. To feel your nipples harden from her fingers tracing them. Your legs buckle under their touch, and they catch you to lead you toward the bed.
You fall back onto the bed, looking up at the two of them with lidded eyes, dressed only in your bra and bottoms. Wanda removes her shirt and lays over you, mumbling quiet comments about your body.
She whispers how gorgeous you are and how you’re stunning, "like a dream."
She tells you how good you look under her as she climbs on top, slotting her lips against yours. You reach a hand up to tug at her hair, squirming under the weight of her body. Pushed into the mattress by her hips slotting between yours. Hips grinding against one another.
Wanda kisses down your body, her lips latching onto your nipple for a moment.
"Mm—!"
You jolt, a whine escaping you at the contact as your thighs rub together. You're seeking more already, which brings a cocky, knowing look to her expression.
She continues to kiss down your body and across your abdomen. She skips over the area you want, instead kissing up your inner thighs while her thumbs hook into your underwear.
"This alright?"
You nod. "Mm... 's alright..."
She slides them down while keeping eye contact, creating a deeper sense of heat. You reach out to cup her cheek, pulling her up to kiss you for another moment before she heads back down again to hover over where you want her most.
She blows against your clit, watching you as you shiver, your hands clutching at the sheets. It takes no longer than a minute to have you clutching at the headboard, moans slipping from your lips as she slides her tongue between your folds.
She presses her tongue against your clit, rubbing it there and making it feel almost as if it's vibrating. You keen and whine, rolling your hips against her face. You smear your arousal around her face as if it isn't already dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets.
Your chest rises and falls, your back arching. You give her a view she wishes could be captured in a Renaissance painting.
As you come down from your high and the pressure is released from between your hips, she gives you zero time before sliding a finger into you.
"O-oh—!"
"So tight," she teases. "Squeezing my finger..."
She licks at your inner thigh, biting down and littering the skin with hickeys, bruising it. She slides in a second finger, moving it alongside the one already inside you. You shove your face into the side, moaning into the pillow to muffle the sound.
"God...!" you squeak, mewling. "There...! There, please... oh...!"
She hums, kissing your collarbone. She places sweet kisses there before adding a third finger, one that stretches you delightfully well. Wanda seems gentle, as she is, but her fingers are large and she is something else in bed.
Watching you come down from your high a second time, Wanda slides her fingers out, licking the excess off. She looks back, noting Natasha's presence and the strap settled on her hips.
She moves to you, seeing the breathless, dazed expression on your face. Natasha manhandles you onto your back, raising your hips.
"Mm..! 'tasha...!"
"Keep 'em there," she commands, her hand resting on your hips to indicate exactly where she wants you to hold yourself. She rubs the length between your folds and against your ass, watching it catch your arousal almost like lube before she presses it fully at your entrance. She pushes all the way through, until she hits the hilt.
Noting how you rub your hips back as if you were in heat, grinding against her, she grips your ass and pulls back before pushing in again. She brings you to a keen, your mind completely lost.
Your face is smudged into the sheets, gripping them and making a mess as you take her the best you can. Wanda comes to the other end of the bed, leaning in to kiss you deeply.
You kiss back as best as you can. "I... I love you... I love you..."
Her expression softens, and both of theirs do. Wanda brushes her thumb against your cheek. "And we love you, so much."
"I... mm! Mm.. n-not leaving... e-ever—oh!"
Wanda hums, leaning back. She slides herself forward, her pussy on full view in front of you. You can feel the heat as her legs spread wide, opening herself up for you.
Before you can take anything into your own hands, Natasha’s hand shoves your face down into Wanda's cunt. You moan, rolling your hips back and liking the gesture. Your lips and nose are shoved into Wanda's cunt, while Natasha stretches you out around her length.
Wanda’s head is tilted back. "Ohhh baby, there... mm... dreamt about this."
You use your tongue and lips to worship her, driven by the rhythmic, heavy thrusts of Natasha behind you. The friction of the strap-on and the heat of Wanda’s skin create an overwhelming sensory overload. Your breath is hitching, muffled against Wanda’s thighs, as you work to keep pace with the frantic movement of your own hips.
Natasha leans over you, her chest pressing into your arched back as she whispers darkly into your ear. "If you don't make Wanda come, you get nothing else tonight. Focus on her."
The threat, or promise, sends a fresh jolt of adrenaline through you. You double your efforts, your tongue flicking and swirling with desperate precision until Wanda’s hands lock into your hair, her hips jerking upward in a sudden, violent spasm. She cries out your name, her walls clenching around your face as she reaches her peak.
Seeing Wanda shatter is the final straw for your own control. As she collapses back against the pillows, Natasha delivers several hard, deep lunges that hit exactly where you need. You let out a broken, high-pitched moan, your internal muscles seizing as your own climax crashes over you.
The room falls silent, save for the heavy, synchronized sound of three people catching their breath. Natasha pulls away, sliding out of you and collapsing onto the bed beside you both, pulling your shaking body into the middle of their warm, protective tangle
You spent so long trying to leave this town behind, but looking at them now, you know you’re never going to find a reason to say goodbye again.
note: Omg you made it? you read this whole thing? about 8k? thank you and congrats too. Hope you enjoyed! this took me two days to write... im legit struggling to keep my eyes open. I MEAN IT. i have to get up in 5 hours for work oops.
