i've been reading stalker Wanda on binge and yesterday, she invaded my dream but i also felt that she was lowkey yandere for some reason. i mean- all i have to say is that i won't mind her being real and stalking me and then kidnapping me like this (disclaimer: ONLY Wanda is allowed to kidnap me)
~đŤ
Wanda is literally THE yandere, like she will do anything and everything to just HAVE you. And me personally, I wouldnât mind Wanda kidnapping me either đ. Wouldnât mind Natasha kidnapping me either.
But I also a longer stalker/obsessed Wanda fic may be in the making, but I gotta stay nonchalant ig đ
Just thinking about strap queen Natasha x pillow princess Wanda x innocent reader.
Natasha fitted with the ribbed strap on that always feels too much and too little at the same time, everytime she pulls out she meticulously does it so only the very tip is left inside you, leaving you both feeling empty and squirmy.
But you canât move, your face is buried deep against Wandaâs soaked folds, your tongue running on autopilot through the technique Natasha taught you last night. The muscle curves around Wandaâs throbbing clit in a suckling motion, occasionally dipping down to press against her needy hole.
Natasha finally pushes back inside, with no warning or grace, until sheâs bottoming out to the plastic balls lined with artificial cum that sheâs ready to release the moment itâs needed. Her lips brush between your shoulder blades as her hands lift you up by the waist to a kneeling position, careful not to move your head from Wandaâs crotch though. Groans escape her lips between whispered praise, âyour doing s-so good babygirlâ her breath hitches slightly as the base of the strap rolls perfectly against her own clit, causing her hips to rut into you.
You immediately whine at that, your fingers digging into Wandaâs thighs as you try to keep your mouths motions up. But it wasnât until you felt Wandaâs hands on your head pushing you down that you realised youâd stopped. Her words come out through gritted teeth, both sexually frustrated and also so aroused to see her special girl falling to pieces between her own legs. âDo I have to do everything in this house? You canât cum if mommy doesnâtâ she warns as she uses your face as her personal grinding pad âtongue out, detkaâ she growls, when you donât immediately react to the command Natashaâs hand connects hard with your already bruised ass.
Tears stream down your cheeks, not from pain or embarrassment, but pure pleasure, Natashaâs hand strikes you again and this time you listen, sticking your tongue out so Wanda can grind against it like she wants.
Wandaâs eyebrows knit together and her nose scrunches up every time your nose bumps against her delicate clit, eventually her lips part in a silent o shape, her thighs squeeze your face and her fingers dig into into your hair. A sudden warm gush coats your lips and chin, which you lap up mindlessly.
Wanda gives a singular nod to Natasha, who then wraps her arms around your chest to pull you into an upright position, her hips still thrusting the strap in and out of your leaking hole. Her hand circles down to your clit and rubs hard, but gentle, circles on the swollen nub. âD-daddy please!â You gasp out as Natashaâs other hand moves to roll your perked nipple between her finger and thumb. She lets out a soft hum before speaking. âGo ahead baby⌠come for me.â She whispers, and with that confirmation you come. Hard. Natasha moves her hand from your breast to squeeze the pump on the base of the strap on, painting your inner walls with artificial cum. One you found out tastes like strawberries. (Natasha made you eat Wanda out after she came in her a few weeks ago)
Hi darling! I wasnât sure if you actually have anons because i only ever really see you reply to fic requests, but I saw you replied to a few other people about ânormalâ things, so i was just wondering if i could possibly be the đŚ anon? Iâm 29 and use she/her pronouns.
Heyyyy, I absolutely do anons, and I fully see where your coming from. As in thinking I only do fic requests, but theyâre normally what people ask me to write the most.
And you can absolutely be the đŚ!
Also, to anyone else. Please donât be afraid to send an ask, even if itâs like the silliest little thing, I like reading your rambles or just interacting with my readers, it makes me so happy!
the photo you used of Elizabeth in your pinned post is so pretty, her eyes are doing something to my heartđśâđŤď¸đŤđľâđŤ
~đŤ
this is killing me because I redesigned my blog and I genuinely donât remember what picture used to be pinned đ but real honestly Elizabethâs eyes should come with a warning label
I loved Crawling Back To You, will this be a series?
I wasnât planning on it being a series, purely given how long the original fic is. I know itâs not my longest fic, but I donât know how I could turn it into an actual readable series without repeating myself?
I could write maybe a few like⌠cute little imagines for it though, if people would be interested in reading stuff like that?
PRETTY PLEASE UPDATE FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBERđđđ
Iâve been trying⌠but every time I actually sit down to write for it, I just end up writing a bunch of jumbled words that make no sense đŤŠ.
The worse part is that Iâve got a fully written plan for the last remaining chapters, and I know exactly what to write for it I just canât put the plan into a worthy chapter đ.
Hopefully going to lock in soon though đ¤, because Iâm also waiting for the update⌠to come to me.
Also if anyone wants like anything specific in the chapters, lmk. Girl Iâll do anything at this point.
Summary: An emperorâs daughter. A gladiator who should have been nothing more than entertainment for the crowd. In a world built on power, blood, and silence, they keep finding each other in places they were never meant to stand togetherâhidden glances in the arena, stolen moments behind palace walls, and conversations that feel too intimate to survive the weight of Rome.
Being the Emperorâs daughter meant belonging to Rome before you belonged to yourself.
Nobody ever said that outright, of course. They dressed it differently. Duty. Legacy. Honour. They spoke in polished language and careful smiles, but eventually every conversation returned to the same truth. Your life was not yours. You existed to strengthen alliances, to represent stability, to appear beside your father during celebrations and disappear again when decisions were made. Senators asked what books you liked before discussing marriage proposals in front of you. Noblewomen praised your intelligence before reminding you that intelligent daughters made intelligent mothers.
Every compliment seemed to carry instructions inside it. Every kindness seemed to expect something in return. People bowed when you entered rooms and stopped speaking when you approached and waited for your opinions only so they could agree with them. It made conversations feel strange. Artificial. Like everyone was performing a version of themselves and hoping you would reward them for it.
Which was why, despite every expectation and every raised eyebrow from your attendants, you occasionally came to the arena.
Not publicly.
Public attendance meant ceremony and silk and sitting beside your father while officials watched your reactions more closely than the actual games. Today had been different. Your father had spent the afternoon with generals and provincial representatives and had dismissed you with absent affection and instructions to remain in the palace.
Instead, you had ended up here, hidden in the imperial balcony above the arena where carved marble screens allowed you to see everything while remaining mostly unseen yourself. The servant accompanying you stood respectfully behind your chair with her hands folded together, and she had been trying for the better part of an hour to determine whether asking to leave would be inappropriate.
Below you, Rome moved and shouted and lived without restraint. Tens of thousands of people crowded the seats. Sun reflected off jewellery and helmets and polished stone until the whole arena seemed to glow. The air smelled dry and hot, layered with dust and oil and bodies and something metallic beneath it all. You rested your forearms against the stone railing and watched two men circle each other below while the audience reacted to every movement as though they personally held stakes in the outcome.
One man slipped. The crowd surged immediately. People stood. Voices crashed together. A section somewhere to your left started yelling for blood before the fighter had even hit the ground properly. The servant behind you shifted her weight and quietly said, âMy lady⌠we may leave whenever you wish.â You looked back at her briefly.
She seemed hesitant to even suggest it, which made you almost smile. âIâm not offended,â you said. âYou donât have to look like youâve insulted my ancestors.â She relaxed slightly and admitted, âI just thought⌠you never seem to enjoy this part.â Your eyes returned to the arena.
One fighter had surrendered. The victor stood over him waiting for judgement while thousands of people demanded different outcomes all at once. You watched for another few moments before saying honestly, âI donât.â The servant frowned. âThen why come?â You considered it.
It would have been easy to say curiosity. Or boredom. Instead you said, âBecause nobody pretends here.â She looked confused enough that you elaborated. âAt the palace, people say one thing and mean another. Here people cheer if they want violence. They cheer if they want mercy. Nobody acts ashamed of wanting things.â You looked across the rows of citizens and nobles packed together in the heat. âI donât think the arena is honest because itâs good. I think itâs honest because nobody cares if itâs ugly.â
Before she could answer, a horn sounded across the arena and the current match ended. Workers immediately spilled onto the sand, moving quickly to reset the space with a level of efficiency that felt unsettling. Blood disappeared beneath fresh sand. Equipment was carried out. Gates opened and closed. The crowd shifted restlessly. You leaned back slightly and expected another ordinary match to beginâuntil something changed.
Not louder. Stranger. A ripple moved through the audience before anything had actually happened. People started standing. Men who had been mid-conversation stopped talking. Entire sections turned toward one particular gate. Then voices began joining together until individual words disappeared and became rhythm. You frowned and looked down as the sound grew.
âAstra.â
Again.
âAstra. Astra. Astra.â
Thousands of voices. Not chanting for violence. Not chanting for blood. Calling for someone.
The servant behind you made a quiet noise under her breath and you glanced at her. She looked uncomfortable in a way she hadnât all afternoon.
You turned back.
ââŚWho is Astra?â
Her eyes returned to the gate.
She lowered her voice.
âA gladiator.â
You looked at her. She hesitated. Then added quietlyâ âThe Emperorâs favourite.â
And suddenly you understood why everyone was standing. The gate began to open. It opened slowly, like opening it too fast would either scare the audience or the supposed fierce gladiator behind the iron bars.
You expected spectacle.
The crowdâs reaction suggested spectacle. You expected gold armour or dramatic entrances or some enormous fighter built to look impressive from the highest rows. You expected someone who played to the audience. Someone who raised their arms and soaked in the attention like a senator giving speeches.
Insteadâ
a woman walked into the arena.
No fanfare. No flourish.
She stepped into the sunlight carrying a helmet beneath one arm and a sword in the other hand as though both weighed nothing. Her armour looked expensive but not decorativeâdark leather beneath worn metal plates, practical and repaired in places instead of polished smooth. There was no exposed skin designed to impress crowds, no unnecessary ornaments except for one narrow strip of crimson fabric tied around her upper arm. Her fiery auburn hair had been pulled back carelessly, enough to keep it out of her face and nothing more. She wasnât towering or broad in the way youâd imagined. She was lean. Controlled. Every movement economical. She crossed the sand without rushing and without slowing, like sheâd already decided exactly where she was going before stepping through the gate.
The crowd lost its mind.
âASTRA!â
The chant crashed around the arena.
âASTRA! ASTRA! ASTRA!â
People stood. Men shouted themselves hoarse. Someone below threw flowers. Someone else held up betting tablets. Entire sections erupted as she passed.
She did not look at them.
Your eyes narrowed.
ââŚThatâs her?â
The servant looked surprised by the question. âYes.â
You looked back.
âThatâs the Emperorâs favourite?â
Your servant hesitated. âPeople say she reminds him of Rome.â
You blinked.
You looked at the woman again.
Nothing about her seemed particularly Roman.
She didnât walk with arrogance.
She didnât acknowledge the applause.
She wasnât smiling.
She reached the centre of the arena and stopped while the announcer raised both arms.
âAstra! Victor of seventeen consecutive matches! Champion of the eastern games! Beloved of the people!â
The crowd screamed again.
The woman remained completely still.
You stared.
âShe doesnât look happy.â
Your servant glanced at you oddly.
âMy lady?â
You nodded slightly toward the arena.
âShe won.â
You looked at the audience.
âTheyâre chanting for her.â You looked back.
âShe looks bored.â
The servant opened her mouth slightly, then closed it again.
Down below, Astra finally moved.
The announcer stepped toward her with all the theatrical confidence of a man who knew people wanted to hear him speak.
âChampion! The people welcome you!â
Astra turned her head. Just enough. Looked at him. Then looked away. The crowd somehow screamed louder.
Your servant quietly said, ââŚPeople like that.â
You frowned.
âLike what?â
Her expression became careful.
âShe acts like she doesnât need them.â
You looked down again.
That you understood.
Not because you related to her.
You absolutely did not.
But because you recognised something.
People always wanted the attention of people who didnât seem to want attention.
The announcer finally introduced the opponent.
A larger man entered carrying a heavy shield and spear. The crowd booed immediatelyânot because they disliked him but because they wanted Astra to win. He played into it, raising his arms and grinning at the noise while pointing dramatically toward his opponent.
Astra looked at him.
Then adjusted her grip.
That was all.
No taunting.
No reaction.
The horn sounded.
The man moved first.
Fast.
Much faster than his size should have allowed.
The spear came forward immediately and several people gasped because it should have landedâbut Astra moved before you properly registered it. Not dramatically. No spinning. No impossible acrobatics. She simply wasnât where she had been a second ago. The spear passed empty air. She stepped to the side and struck once.
Not hard. Not flashy.
The man stumbled. The entire crowd roared. You leaned forward before realising you were doing it.
The fight continued. Three exchanges. That was all.
Every movement felt strange to watch because Astra never looked rushed. Her opponent fought emotionally. Aggressively. She fought like sheâd already seen the next ten seconds and was waiting for them to catch up.
Then the man overcommitted.
Astra moved behind him.
Her sword stopped at his throat.
Silence.
The whole arena held its breath.
The man froze.
The crowd exploded.
Your eyes widened slightly.
That was it?
No blood?
No dramatic finish?
She stepped back.
Lowered her weapon.
Waited.
The crowd began chanting again.
Not for her.
For judgement.
The defeated gladiator dropped to one knee.
Everyone looked upward. Toward the imperial seats. Toward where your father usually sat.
You slowly realised there was nobody there.
The announcer looked uncertain. People started murmuring. Then unexpectedly Astra looked up too.
Not generally.
Not toward the imperial section.
Higher.
Toward your balcony.
Your breath caught.
You couldnât see her expression clearly from this distance.
But you knew, without understanding how, she had seen movement behind the marble screens.
Her gaze stayed there for one second. Two.
Then she lowered her eyes.
Turned.
And raised her hand.
Not to the crowd.
Not dramatically.
A small bow.
Brief.
Controlled.
Your servant inhaled sharply.
âMy ladyââ
You looked at her. She looked pale. Then she whisperedâ
âShe never does that.â
The arena always sounded different from underneath.
From the imperial balconies, everything became one enormous thing. Noise blurred into noise until individual people disappeared and the crowd became something almost animal. Thousands of voices merged together and became Rome itselfâloud and impossible to ignore. But beneath the arena, behind the heavy gates and long stone corridors, the sound fractured apart again. You could hear pieces of it. A burst of cheering. A chant continuing somewhere above. The scrape of wheels carrying equipment. Voices becoming normal voices again.
Natasha preferred underneath.
She handed her sword over to an attendant without stopping. Someone nearby said, âThree exchanges today. Youâre getting lazy, Astra.â Another laughed and answered before she could, âNo, sheâs getting efficient.â Somebody else reached to clap her shoulder and thought better of it halfway through.
Natasha ignored all of them.
Popularity in the arena meant almost nothing. It changed the way people looked at you but not the shape of your day. You still woke up where you woke up. You still trained until your muscles hurt. You still belonged to whoever held your contract. Winning just meant more people knew your face while they cheered for things happening to your body.
By the time she reached the baths, the sweat beneath her armour had become uncomfortable. The baths beneath the arena werenât ugly exactly, but they werenât designed to impress. Long stone pool. Steam rising lazily into the air. Benches against the walls. A few narrow windows high above that let in strips of afternoon light. Some gladiators were already insideâone washing blood from his arms, another sitting silently with his eyes closed, somebody arguing quietly about betting money. Nobody paid much attention to anybody else. That part Natasha liked.
She set her things down and began removing her armour piece by piece. The routine never changed. Bracers first. Then the shoulder pieces. Belt. Tunic. She rolled her shoulder once and felt the dull ache where the spear had clipped her. Not injured. Just sore. Around her, people moved normally. Nobody stared. Nobody cared. Bodies stopped being remarkable in places where everyone had scars.
She stepped into the heated water and lowered herself carefully until the warmth covered her shoulders. Heat settled into bruises and loosened muscles she hadnât realised were tight. She closed her eyes.
Then the room changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Conversations stopped halfway through. Water shifted. Somebody stood too quickly.
Natasha opened her eyes.
There were footsteps.
Not many.
But they echoed differently.
Then a voice said quietly, respectfullyâ
âMy lady.â
Her entire body went still.
The Emperorâs daughter did not come here.
Not to the gladiator baths.
Not after matches.
Not without reason.
Natasha lowered her eyes immediately.
Not out of fear exactly.
Habit.
You did not look directly at imperial women. You especially did not look directly at the Emperorâs daughter while half-submerged in a bath after a fight. That sounded like exactly the kind of thing that became a story told in warning to other people.
Around the room, everyone had stood. Nobody spoke. There was a pause.
Then your voice. Closer than she expected.
ââŚDo people usually do this?â Nobody answered. You sounded genuinely confused. You asked again, quieter this time. âThe standing?â
One servant answered carefully. âMy lady, it is respectful.â
You were silent for a second.
Then saidâ
ââŚPlease sit down.â
Nobody moved. You looked around. Your expression shifted slightly.
âThat wasnât an order to test loyalty. I mean it.â
One older gladiator slowly sat. Then another. Then everyone followed.
Natasha stayed where she was.
Still looking downward.
There was quiet movement across the room. Not rushed. Not ceremonial.
Then footsteps approached and stopped nearbyânot close enough to invade space, but close enough to make conversation possible.
You spoke.
âYouâre Astra.â
Natasha answered without lifting her eyes.
âYes.â
Your tone stayed thoughtful.
âThat isnât your real name.â
It wasnât phrased like a challenge.
More like an observation.
Natasha looked up briefly before catching herself.
You werenât dressed for court. Simpler clothing. Still expensive enough that nobody could mistake your status, but less⌠imperial than she expected.
She answered carefully. âNo.â
You nodded. âWhat is it?â
The room became immediately uncomfortable. People looked away. Natasha stared for a second. People didnât ask that. The crowd didnât. Owners didnât. Even other fighters mostly used arena names.
She said after a pauseâ
ââŚNatasha.â
You repeated it once. Quietly. Not testing it. Not making it dramatic. âNatasha.â Then nodded. âThatâs prettier.â
She blinked. That was unexpected.
You looked at her shoulder.
âThe spear hit you.â
Natasha looked down.
âIt wasnât serious.â
You frowned slightly. âThat wasnât what I asked.â
She looked back at you. You looked completely serious. So she answered. âIt hurt.â
Your expression immediately softened. Not pity. Just acknowledgement. You nodded once.
âRight.â
Then after a secondâ
âI thought it probably did.â
Natasha stared. Nobody asked questions like that. People asked if sheâd won. People asked how she moved. People asked if sheâd fight again. Nobody looked at a gladiator and seemed surprised they could hurt.
You looked around the room. Then back at her. ââŚDo people talk to you after matches?â
Natasha frowned slightly.
âWhat?â
You clarified.âNormally.â
She looked confused. âThey congratulate me.â
You shook your head. âNo.â You thought for a second. âLike a person.â
That actually caught her off guard.She stared.
You seemed to realise how that sounded and immediately looked embarrassed.
âI didnât meanâ I know people talk to you. I just meantâŚâ
You looked frustrated with yourself.
Then admitted â âEveryone was chanting your name and nobody looked at you.â The room was silent. You looked at the water. Then said quietlyâ âYou looked unhappy.â
Natasha looked at you for a long second. Nobody had said that either. Not once. Eventually she answered honestly. ââŚI was tired.â
You nodded immediately. Like that made complete sense. Like she hadnât just admitted something embarrassing. Then you smiled slightly. Small. Private. And said âThat makes more sense.â
You stepped back.
Your servant looked relieved.
Before leaving, you looked at Natasha one last time and said âRest your shoulder, Natasha.â
Not Astra. Natasha. Then you left.
And Natasha sat in warm water while people slowly started speaking again around her and realised, with growing annoyance she was probably going to remember that conversation for a very long time.
Two days after the fight, the arena looked almost unfamiliar.
Without the crowds, there was nothing to distract from how enormous it actually was. The stone seats climbed upward in endless rows until they blurred in the afternoon light, and the open sky above made the whole structure feel less like entertainment and more like something ancient and severe. Sand covered the floor in smooth pale stretches interrupted only by footprints, old drag marks and training equipment left where workers had finished with it. Somewhere beneath the seating, people moved through corridors and storage rooms, their voices occasionally carrying upward before disappearing again. But out here, in the centre, it felt strangely empty.
Natasha preferred it that way.
She stood near one of the training posts with a weighted wooden sword in her hand and worked through the same movements sheâd repeated for years. The palus in front of her was little more than a thick upright post fixed into the ground, darkened and split in places from years of practice. Gladiators trained against them because wood didnât hesitate and didnât forgive mistakes. The practice weapons were deliberately heavier than real ones, and after enough repetitions the body learned to move properly before the mind had time to interfere. Strike. Recover. Step. Adjust grip. Again. Her shoulder pulled faintly every time she raised the sword above a certain angle, not enough to matter but enough to notice. She ignored it. Most things stopped hurting if you stopped treating them like they deserved attention.
She brought the sword down again and glanced upward without thinking.
The imperial balcony wasnât difficult to spot. Even empty it looked expensive. Draped cloth softened the harsh stone, and carved screens cast patterned shadows across the seats. Someone stood there.
You.
Natasha recognised you immediately and immediately looked away.
You were alone.
No officials. No guards arranged dramatically around you. No sign of your father. You leaned slightly against the railing and looked downwardânot generally across the arena, but specifically toward where she stood. Natasha frowned slightly and adjusted her grip on the practice sword. Fine. People watched training sometimes. It meant nothing. She resumed. Strike. Recover. Step. Again. She didnât look up for several minutes. When she eventually did, the balcony was empty again.
Her expression tightened slightly.
That was fine too.
She rolled her shoulder once and raised the sword again.
Then she heard footsteps.
Not rushed. Not hidden.
She turned.
You stood several feet away.
For one strange second she genuinely thought she had imagined you.
You werenât dressed formally. You still looked expensive in the effortless way people from the palace always did, but not ceremonial. Light fabric suited for the heat. Jewellery kept practical. One servant remained behind you at a respectful distance, close enough to intervene if needed and far enough to pretend she wasnât listening. You looked around the arena briefly before your eyes settled on her and your expression shifted into something faintly pleased, like youâd found what youâd come for.
Natasha lowered her head immediately. âMy lady.â
You looked mildly surprised by the formality. âYou know, if you keep doing that, Iâm going to start thinking Iâm difficult to talk to.â Natasha looked up slightly before stopping herself. âYou are the Emperorâs daughter.â You considered that for a second and said, âThatâs not actually an answer.â Her mouth almost moved. Almost. You looked at the wooden sword instead and tilted your head.
âYour shoulder.â Natasha blinked. You nodded toward it. âI came to ask about your shoulder.â There was enough straightforward concern in your voice that she stared for half a second before answering automatically. âItâs alright.â You looked at her. Waited. Then said, âThat sounded exactly like somebody whose shoulder isnât alright.â Natasha looked at the training post instead. ââŚIt hurts.â Your face immediately softenedânot dramatically, not with pity, just with recognition. âRight.â You nodded once like sheâd confirmed something important. âThat makes sense.â
You walked closer to the palus, circling it slowly. Up close, the wood looked rough and damaged, packed with years of strikes. You touched one of the grooves with your fingertips and frowned. âThis is what you train against?â Natasha nodded. You pressed your thumb against the wood experimentally before immediately pulling it away. ââŚThat hurts.â Natasha looked at the post. Then at you. âYes.â
You looked offended on behalf of the concept. âNo, I mean touching it hurts. Why is it like this?â Natasha answered because she had to. Then realised she didnât mind answering. âHarder than people.â You turned back to her. âThat feels backwards.â She looked at the practice sword in her hand. âIf training is harder, fighting feels easier.â You looked between the sword and the post and said with complete sincerity, âThat sounds miserable.â Natasha shrugged. âIt works.â You stared at her for a second before saying quietly, âYou keep saying things like they donât bother you.â She looked at you properly for the first time since you arrived. You looked back immediately instead of away. âDo they?â
She should have ended the conversation there.
Instead she looked out across the empty arena and said, ââŚSometimes.â You nodded immediately like sheâd given a normal answer instead of something she hadnât intended to admit. You looked up at the seats around you. Empty. Silent. Then said, âI think I like it better empty.â Natasha frowned slightly. âThe arena?â You nodded. âWhen people are here, nobody actually sees anything.â You looked back at her and added, âThey were chanting for you and nobody noticed your shoulder hurt.â Natasha looked at you for a long moment. You didnât seem to realise that wasnât a normal observation to make.
You looked thoughtful instead. Then you asked, quieter this time, âDo you actually like fighting?â Natasha expected questions about victories. About fame. About winning. She looked at the wooden sword in her hand and thought about it properly before answering. ââŚI like being good at something.â You looked at her and said softly, âThat wasnât what I asked.â Natasha looked back. You smiled faintly and added, âBut I think I understand.â There was no judgement in it. Somehow that made answering feel easier. She looked back across the arena and admitted, âNo. I donât think I do.â You nodded once and looked strangely relieved. Then after a second you smiled slightly and said, âIâm glad your shoulderâs alright anyway.â
And Natasha realised with immediate irritation that she had stopped training fifteen minutes ago.
Natasha expected the request to feel like an order, because everything in Rome that came from power usually did, even when it was dressed up as politeness.
So when you appeared again at the edge of the arena later that day, walking straight through the sand with your servant hovering at a distance and your expression entirely too calm for someone about to ask a gladiator to dine with an emperor, she tightened her grip on the wooden sword instinctively and waited for the hook in the sentence that would turn it into a command.
Instead, you just stopped a few steps away and said, almost casually, âMy fatherâs requested you at dinner tonight,â like you were passing on information about weather rather than rearranging someoneâs entire evening.
Natasha stared at you for a moment before responding flatly, âYour father requests a lot of things. I am usually not one of them.â You blinked once, then tilted your head slightly as if considering how to explain something obvious to someone who was being deliberately difficult, and replied, âHe specifically asked for you. Astra. Or⌠Natasha, I suppose, depending on which version of you he expects.â
That made her expression tighten, because it meant her name had been spoken in rooms she had never entered, and she lowered the wooden sword slightly as she said, âThat is not a good thing,â in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer. You, however, just shrugged lightly and said, âIt might not be a bad thing either,â like both outcomes were equally possible and neither particularly dramatic.
The walk to the palace later felt like stepping into a different version of the same city, one where everything had been cleaned, adjusted, and arranged to be looked at from specific angles. Natasha followed a step behind you through corridors of pale stone and soft light, hearing the subtle shift in her own footsteps compared to the controlled silence of the palace staff.
At one point she muttered under her breath, âIt is very quiet for somewhere built to house so many people,â and you glanced back at her immediately with something almost like amusement, replying, âItâs not quiet. Itâs just organised,â as if that explained everything. Natasha raised an eyebrow slightly and said, âThat sounds like the same thing rich people say about chaos,â which earned a brief, unexpected laugh from you, small but real, and you responded, âThatâs because rich people are usually talking about things theyâve never been inside.â
When you reached the dining hall, Natasha stopped instinctively at the threshold because the room was still set for more people than were present, long table stretching out under soft lighting, places marked with unnecessary precision, servants positioned at the edges like statues waiting for instruction. Her shoulders tightened slightly as she muttered, âThis looks like a political problem,â and you glanced at the arrangement and answered, âIt is supposed to be dinner,â with a faint frown that suggested you had expected something different too.
Before Natasha could say anything else, you turned toward a servant and asked, âWhere is my father?â in a tone that was polite but direct enough that it made the question feel heavier than it should have been. The answer came after a pause that lingered just a fraction too long: âThe Emperor is⌠unavailable this evening, my lady,â delivered carefully in the way people spoke when they had been told to avoid specifics.
You exhaled softly through your nose, not angry, just resigned, and turned back to Natasha with a look that said this was not unusual. âHeâs unavailable,â you repeated, and then added, almost conversationally, âwhich usually means heâs doing something that will make tomorrowâs senate meeting unpleasant.â
Natasha glanced around the room once before stepping further inside and saying dryly, âSo I am here for a dinner that is not happening.â You looked at her, expression brightening slightly, and replied, âWell, technically it is happening. Just⌠incorrectly.â That earned another small look from her, and she said, âThat is not reassuring,â while sitting down at the table in a way that kept her posture alert, hands resting loosely but ready if needed.
The first few moments of the meal were awkward in a way neither of you acknowledged, mostly because the absence of the Emperor made the space feel both too large and too intimate at the same time. You broke it first by gesturing vaguely at the food and saying, âThey always overdo it when heâs supposed to be here. As if heâs going to be impressed by the shape of a roasted bird,â which made Natasha glance at the plates before replying, âHe probably has people who tell him what shape things should be impressed by.â You looked at her for a second and then said, âThatâs probably accurate, yes,â before taking a bite and adding, âDo gladiators get told what shapes to be impressed by?â Natasha leaned back slightly and answered, âOnly when they are being sold,â which made you go quiet for a moment before you said, more softly, âThat is a very bad system.â
Natasha watched you as she spoke, noticing the way you didnât recoil from what she said, didnât try to soften it or turn it into something poetic or distant. Instead, you just frowned slightly and asked, âDoes it ever get boring?â and when she raised an eyebrow you clarified, âThe arena. The fighting. The crowd chanting the same name over and over like they think it belongs to them.â
Natasha let out a small breath that might have been a laugh if it had more warmth in it and said, âThey donât think it belongs to them. They think I do,â and you immediately replied, âThatâs worse,â without hesitation.
At some point the conversation stopped feeling like questions and answers and started feeling like a rhythm. Natasha found herself leaning into sarcasm without meaning to, watching your reactions with more attention than she was comfortable admitting even internally.
When you asked, âDo you ever get tired of hitting people for entertainment?â she answered, âOnly when they are bad at dying,â which made you pause mid-drink before you laughed properly this time, sharper and more surprised, saying, âThat is not what I expected you to say,â and she replied, âYou will find most expectations are wrong,â which made you grin slightly and say, âThat is a very gladiator thing to say.â
The longer the meal went on, the more Natasha noticed how different you were when you werenât performing your position for anyone else. You were still composed, still clearly aware of yourself in the space, but you didnât behave like someone constantly adjusting to invisible eyes.
You leaned forward when you spoke, occasionally interrupted your own thoughts to change direction mid-sentence, and once, when a servant approached too quietly behind you, you startled slightly and muttered, âYou need to stop appearing like that,â which made Natasha glance at you with faint surprise before you added, âItâs unsettling even when youâre not trying to be dramatic.â Natasha responded dryly, âMost people prefer servants not to be dramatic,â and you immediately said, âMost people have never been surprised in the middle of eating,â like that explained everything.
At one point, Natasha caught herself looking at you differently than she had intended to. Not as the Emperorâs daughter sitting at the head of a political structure, but as someone who kept accidentally making the room feel less formal just by existing in it incorrectly.
You were speaking about something trivialâwhether the arena sand ever got reused for anything elseâand you were gesturing slightly with your hand when you talked, and Natasha realised, with something faint and irritating, that you were not only easy to talk to, but also genuinely pleasant to look at in a way that didnât feel engineered. Not like the polished beauty she had seen in noblewomen at a distance. Something more natural. Unintentional. She looked away before that thought could settle properly and said, âYou ask strange questions,â which made you smile and reply, âNobody answers them properly unless I do.â
When the meal finally ended, neither of you addressed the fact that it had only been the two of you, or that the Emperor had never appeared at all. You stood first, brushing your hands lightly as if dismissing the formality of the entire evening, and said, âWell, that went better than expected,â to which Natasha replied, âYour expectations seem low,â earning a quick grin from you as you answered, âYou would be surprised.â
She followed you out of the room a step behind, as she had earlier, but this time the silence between you didnât feel empty, and when you glanced back once before parting ways and said, âWe will probably do this again,â Natasha found herself answering before thinking, âThat depends on how many more dinners your father forgets,â and only after you laughed quietly and walked away did she realise she had meant it less like a warning and more like a hope she didnât want to examine yet.
It started in a way Natasha didnât plan for, which was usually how things became dangerous in Rome.
She had not gone looking for you.
That was the part she would have repeated later if anyone had accused her of anything, because it mattered, even if only to her. She had returned to training as usual, the arena still mostly empty in the late afternoon heat, the sand softer underfoot than it ever felt during matches, and she had been working through drills against the palus with a kind of controlled focus that kept her thoughts from drifting too far into anything resembling the previous evening. The dinner had been strange enough that it sat in her mind like an object she couldnât quite place, not unpleasant, not exactly welcome either, just⌠unresolved. That was the word that annoyed her the most. Unresolved implied continuation. Implied repetition. Implied that it would happen again without her permission.
She struck the wooden post harder than necessary, felt the vibration travel up her arm, reset her stance, and told herself firmly that it didnât matter. Then she looked up without meaning to.
You were already there.
Not in the arena this time, but in the imperial seating again, slightly shifted from where you had been the day before, one hand resting against the marble railing as you leaned forward in a way that suggested you had been watching for a while. Natasha stopped mid-movement, the wooden sword still raised, and for a brief second the entire arena felt too quiet even though nothing had actually changed.
You lifted your hand in a small, informal gesture that didnât resemble anything official, more like acknowledgment than greeting, and called down, âYouâre going to break that thing before you learn anything new with it,â as if commenting on something ordinary rather than standing above a gladiator training alone in a place where most people would never have dared speak out loud.
Natasha frowned slightly, lowered the sword, and called back, âIt is designed to be broken,â which made you tilt your head and reply, âThat sounds like a bad design philosophy,â before sitting down properly on the edge of the balcony like you had no intention of maintaining distance just for appearanceâs sake.
She looked away again, forced herself to resume her stance, and told herself she was imagining the fact that she had started paying attention to where you were positioned in the seating rather than ignoring it like she should have been doing. Strike. Step. Reset. Except now there was a presence above her rhythm that didnât belong to the training routine.
Eventually, she stopped again, exhaling through her nose, and looked up properly. âAre you always here when I train?â she called out, the question sharper than she intended, and you leaned forward slightly as if considering it before answering, âNo. Sometimes I arrive early. Sometimes I arrive late. Today I was curious whether you always hit things that look like they owe you money,â which earned a brief, reluctant pause from her before she replied, âThey do not owe me money,â and you immediately said, âYou hit them like they do.â
There was something frustratingly easy about the way you spoke to her, like there was no hierarchy built into the sentences unless she added it herself, and Natasha found herself walking a few steps closer to the centre of the arena without fully deciding to.
âYou should not be down here,â she said after a moment, more out of habit than concern, and you responded without hesitation, âI was down here yesterday,â as if repetition made it acceptable. Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly. âThat does not make it better.â You shrugged lightly and said, âIt makes it familiar,â and then, after a pause that felt slightly more deliberate, added, âBesides, I wanted to ask you something.â That made her stop properly, wooden sword lowering just slightly, because questions from you were never simple and never predictable.
âAsk,â she said carefully, and you hesitated for a fraction longer than usual before looking down at her instead of the arena and saying, âWhen you fight⌠do you ever stop and think about anything else?â Natasha almost answered immediately with something defensive, something clean and closed, but the way you were looking at her made it harder than it should have been. Not intense. Not demanding. Just present. So she exhaled slowly and said, âIf I do, I lose,â which made you nod like you had expected something like that, though your expression tightened slightly anyway.
âThat is what I thought,â you said quietly, and there was something in your voice that made her look up more fully. You leaned forward on the railing again, closer this time than before, watching her in a way that didnât feel like ownership or curiosity or performance. Just attention. âIt seems unfair,â you added after a moment, âthat you are only allowed to exist properly when you are winning something.â
Natasha let out a short breath that almost became a laugh, because it was easier than responding to the actual meaning of what you said. âEverything in Rome is unfair,â she replied, and you immediately said, âYes, but you say it like you have accepted it,â which made the air between you shift slightly in a way she couldnât immediately name.
She took a step closer again without thinking, now close enough that your voice carried more clearly down into the arena instead of needing to be called. âAcceptance is useful,â she said, and you shook your head slightly. âNo,â you replied, softer now, âit is just quieter.â That made her pause, because it was not an argument she could win in the usual way. The silence that followed wasnât uncomfortable, but it felt heavier than before, like something had been placed carefully between you that neither of you had named yet.
Natasha adjusted her grip on the wooden sword, then looked up properly again. âYou ask too many questions,â she said, and for a moment she thought you might deflect again, but instead you smiled slightly and answered, âNobody else answers them properly.â There was a beat where neither of you moved, and the distance between the balcony and the arena suddenly felt less like height and more like something thinner, something that could be crossed if either of you stopped treating it like it was fixed.
Natasha should have stepped back.
She didnât.
Instead she said, âYou should leave before someone decides you are not supposed to be here.â It was practical. It was correct. It was exactly what she should have said. You didnât move immediately. You just looked at her for a moment longer than necessary, then said, âYou always say things like that,â and when she frowned slightly, you clarified, âLike you are waiting for me to disappear.â
That landed differently.
Natashaâs jaw tightened slightly, and for the first time in the conversation she didnât answer right away. You watched her carefully now, no humour in your expression, just something quieter and more uncertain. âI am not going to disappear,â you added after a moment, almost as if you were reminding yourself as much as her. Natasha finally looked away first, down at the sand, and said, âIn Rome, people like you usually do.â
There was a pause.
Then your voice, softer than before. âWhat do people like me do?â Natasha hesitated, because the honest answer was not something she should say, and definitely not something she should say to you. But the space between you felt too open to leave empty, so she said carefully, âThey are present. And then they are not. And everyone pretends they were always meant to be gone.â She heard your breath shift slightly at that, but when she looked up again you were still there, still leaning on the railing, still watching her in a way that felt uncomfortably steady.
After a moment you said, âThat sounds like a very exhausting way to exist,â and Natasha almost responded with something sharp, almost pushed the conversation away the way she usually would, but instead she found herself saying, quieter than before, âIt is normal.â That made you smile slightly, not amused, but almost sad, and you replied, âI do not think I like normal very much,â before standing up straighter again as if forcing the weight of the conversation back into place.
When she spoke next, it was instinct more than decision. âYou should go,â Natasha said again, but this time it didnât sound like a warning. It sounded like something else she didnât have a name for yet. You nodded slowly, then looked at her for one more second longer than necessary and said, âYou should stop looking like you are waiting for something to end,â before turning away from the balcony and finally leaving the arena.
Natasha stood still long after you were gone, the wooden sword hanging loosely in her hand, the training post forgotten behind her, and realised with quiet irritation that the part of her that had expected you to disappear had not actually been convinced yet.
The arena had changed without you in it, and Natasha noticed it in a way that irritated her more than she expected.
At first it was small thingsâempty stands that stayed empty longer than they should have, the imperial balcony remaining untouched through training hours, the absence of footsteps where she had started subconsciously expecting them. Then it became something harder to ignore, like the space above the sand had stopped carrying a particular weight. No quiet presence leaning forward. No voice drifting down mid-drill. No interruption that felt like it should have been annoying but somehow wasnât. The arena was just the arena again. Stone, sand, heat, repetition. Controlled. Predictable.
Natasha told herself that was better.
She said it while tightening her grip on the wooden sword, while striking the palus harder than necessary, while resetting her stance until her shoulder ached in a familiar, uncomplicated way. Better meant stable. Better meant nothing shifting when it wasnât supposed to. Better meant no imperial daughter appearing in places she had no reason to be and asking questions like the world was built to answer them. Better meant focus returning fully to training, to survival, to what actually mattered.
Except focus didnât return cleanly.
It kept slipping.
Not in dramatic ways. Not in distraction she could name and correct. It was quieter than that. A pause before impact. A glance upward that lasted half a breath too long. The instinct to expect something that didnât arrive. The arena felt slightly wrong in its correctness, like a rhythm missing a single note that most people wouldnât notice unless they had heard it before.
That was what bothered her most.
Not that you were gone.
But that she had started noticing when you were there.
She realised it fully on the third day.
She had finished training early, sweat cooling against her skin as she walked back through the lower corridors of the arena, hearing the usual background noise of workers and distant movement, and found herself looking up automatically toward the imperial balcony before she even consciously thought about doing it. It was empty. Of course it was empty. It had been empty every time she checked since you stopped appearing. And still, something in her chest tightened with a reaction she didnât want to examine too closely.
Natasha stopped walking for a moment in the corridor where light cut in from high stone slits, dust floating through it like suspended ash. She told herself it was irrelevant. She told herself she had experienced emptiness far more complete than this. She told herself she had trained alone, fought alone, lived alone in ways that made absence meaningless. That was the truth she understood. That was the truth that kept things manageable.
And yet this absence felt structured.
Deliberate.
Like something had been placed in her routine and then removed without explanation, leaving the rest of it still functioning but subtly wrong.
When she returned to the gladiator quarters, the others were the same as always. Voices, arguments, laughter that didnât reach eyes, people talking about fights she had already stopped thinking about. Someone slapped her shoulder in passing and said something about her next match, and she responded in the way she always didâshort, precise, detachedâbut even that felt slightly misaligned, like she was speaking from a version of herself that hadnât fully caught up yet.
That night, she lay awake longer than usual.
The room was dark except for thin strips of light from the corridor outside. Other fighters slept around her, breathing heavy and uneven in the exhaustion of routine. Somewhere further away, someone laughed too loudly at something she couldnât hear. Natasha stared at the ceiling and listened to the building settle.
She told herself, again, that nothing had changed.
Except the problem wasnât change.
It was removal.
You had not slowly become part of her day in a way she could adjust to. You had appeared like an interruption in a system she had spent years keeping predictable, and then you had stopped appearing at all without warning. No gradual fading. No explanation. Just gone from the balcony. Gone from training. Gone from the space above the arena where her attention had started drifting without permission.
And she hated how quickly her mind supplied the possibility that this was normal.
That people like you didnât stay.
That she should have expected it.
That she should not haveâ
She stopped that thought before it finished.
Rolled onto her side.
Closed her eyes.
Did not sleep.
By the time morning came, the decision had already formed, not as something she had chosen in words, but as something her body had accepted before her mind agreed. She waited until the quarters were loud enough that movement wouldnât be noticed, until attention was elsewhere, until the world outside was busy enough to hide a single absence, and then she left without announcing anything to anyone. There was no plan beyond getting out. No justification she would have admitted out loud. Just the same unsettling absence pressing at the back of her thoughts, refusing to settle.
The palace walls rose above the city like something designed to be impossible to cross, smooth stone catching pale morning light, guards distant enough to become shapes rather than individuals. Natasha moved through shadowed routes and service paths she had learned over time without meaning to, avoiding attention not because she was afraid of being seen but because being seen would turn this into something elseâsomething she would have to explain. When she reached the outer wall, she stopped for a moment at its base, looking up at it the way she had looked at opponents before fights, measuring distance without emotion.
âThis is stupid,â she muttered quietly to herself, because it was, and the honesty of that didnât stop her from stepping forward anyway.
The climb came later in fragments she would not have described as thoughts so much as movement. Stone rough under her fingers. Gaps between light and shadow. The sound of her own breathing controlled and steady in a way it only ever became when there was no audience. Above her, the palace shifted from exterior structure to something more private, windows becoming fewer, surfaces becoming quieter, until she reached a place where everything felt closer than it should have.
She paused there.
Not because she was tired.
Because for the first time since she had made the decision, she became aware of what she was actually doing.
The palace at night was not the arena.
It did not belong to crowds.
It belonged to individuals.
And somewhere beyond the wall she had just crossed, you were sleeping in a room that was not meant to be entered like this.
Natasha stayed still for a moment longer than necessary, hand braced against stone, listening to the quiet of a place that did not expect her presence, and felt something uncomfortable settle in her chest that had nothing to do with fear and nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the fact that she had been fine without youâ
until she wasnât.
The window was higher than expected, but not impossible, and she climbed with the same controlled efficiency she used in training, fingers finding carved grooves in the palace stone that were decorative rather than functional, boots pressing against narrow ledges never intended to support anything heavier than architecture. From outside, the room beyond was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, its light warm against pale fabric and polished surfaces, casting soft movement across curtains that shifted slightly with air she could not feel yet. She paused just outside the opening for a moment longer than necessary, and for the first time since leaving the gladiator quarters, she felt something like hesitationânot fear of being caught, not even fear of consequence, but awareness that crossing this particular threshold had no precedent in anything she understood about her own life.
Inside, your room was quieter than she had imagined in a way that made her immediately aware of how much noise she had been carrying without noticing it. It was not grand in the way ceremonial halls were grand; there was no attempt to impress unseen audiences here. Instead, everything felt lived in without being messy, arranged without being performative, as if the space belonged to someone who did not expect to be judged for existing within it. Natasha moved through the opening carefully, dropping into the room with minimal sound, landing lightly on stone flooring that was warmer than expected beneath her feet. She straightened slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light, and only then realised she was actually inside your space rather than outside it.
You were asleep.
Not dramatically. Not staged. Just there, half turned in the bedding, one arm resting loosely against the edge of the sheets, your face partially lit by the low lamp on the far side of the room. Without the presence of court, without the structure of attention or expectation, you looked younger in a way Natasha could not immediately reconcile with the version of you she knew from the arena and dining hall. There was no distance here. No performance. Just stillness that did not require witnesses. Natasha froze again, this time for a different reason, and for a moment she simply stood there in the dim light, her mind refusing to attach language to what she was seeing because language implied interpretation, and interpretation implied she understood why she had come at all.
Her gaze dropped almost immediately, instinctively, because that was what survival taught you in unfamiliar territory, but even looking away did not remove the fact that she was standing in your room in the middle of the night without permission, fully aware that this alone would be enough to end her life if anyone chose to interpret it in the wrong way. She could already imagine the sentence being spoken aloud in a court voice, calm and final: gladiator enters imperial daughterâs private chambers. There would be no context that survived that phrasing. No explanation that mattered. Natasha swallowed once, slowly, and found that her body was not preparing to leave.
Instead, she remained still near the edge of the room, listening to the faint sounds of your breathing, to the subtle shift of fabric when you moved slightly in sleep, to the distant hush of the palace outside continuing without either of you. The wooden practice of training, of fighting, of existing within rules that made sense, suddenly felt very far away. Here there were no rules she understood, only proximity, silence, and the strange, heavy fact that she had crossed an entire city not to fight, not to win, not to be seenâbut to confirm that something that had stopped appearing still existed somewhere she could reach.
And that was the part she did not let herself think about for too long, because if she did, she might have had to admit that standing in your room like this was not about the palace, or danger, or even curiosity anymore, but about something far more difficult to justify, something that sat uncomfortably close to wanting.
You woke slowly, not all at once but in fragmentsâthe kind of waking where the room arrives before your thoughts do, where light becomes shape before meaning. The lamp was still burning low, but something about the air felt different, heavier in a way that didnât belong to sleep. At first you assumed it was just the palace doing what it always did at night, shifting and settling, until you noticed the silence wasnât quite the same silence you fell asleep in. This one had edges.
When you turned your head slightly, still half caught between dreams and awareness, you saw her.
Natasha.
Standing where the roomâs shadow broke against the faint light, as if she had been carved there rather than placed. Completely still. Watching the space more than watching you, like she wasnât sure whether she was allowed to exist in the same moment you were waking up in. For a second your mind tried to make it normalâguards, attendants, someone with a messageâbut none of those explanations survived the way she was holding herself. Controlled, yes, but not relaxed. Not distant. Something tighter underneath it.
You pushed yourself up slightly, voice rough with sleep as you said, âYouâre very committed to the idea of entering rooms uninvited.â Natashaâs head snapped up immediately at your voice, like she hadnât allowed herself to expect you waking would be real until it happened, and for a second she didnât answer at all. Her expression shiftedâjust slightly, but enough that it didnât match the version of her you were used to seeing in daylight. Less composed. Less filtered.
âYou werenât there,â she said finally.
You blinked, still not fully awake. âIâm⌠here.â
Natasha let out a quiet breath through her nose, almost a laugh but not quite, except it had no humour in it. âNo. You werenât.â She stepped forward one pace, then stopped like sheâd caught herself doing it. âFor weeks. The stands. The balcony. Training. Nothing.â Her voice stayed steady, but there was something underneath it that didnât belong to it, something sharper and unguarded. âYou just stopped.â
You sat up a little more properly now, rubbing your eyes once as reality settled in, and frowned slightly. âI didnât stop anything. I was justââ you gestured vaguely, like the answer was obvious, âbusy.â
You nodded like that explained everything. âYes. Palace things. Meetings. Dresses. People telling me things are important that are not actually important. You know. Normal imperial women stuff.â
There was a pause after that where Natasha just looked at you, and for the first time since you had met her, she didnât look like she was filtering what she showed you. It wasnât anger exactly, but it was something closer to frustration that had nowhere to go. âNormal,â she repeated, flatly. âYou disappeared for weeks and you call it normal.â
You frowned slightly now, more awake, sitting properly against the bed as the situation fully registered. âI didnât disappear,â you corrected gently, as if this was a misunderstanding she was exaggerating. âIâm not⌠gone. Iâm literally in a palace. I justâwasnât here.â
Natasha stared at you for a moment longer, and then something in her expression shifted, subtle but unmistakable, like a line she had been holding finally gave way. When she spoke again her voice was quieter, but heavier. âI thought you had left.â
That made you stop completely.
âLeft?â you echoed.
Natashaâs jaw tightened slightly, like she regretted saying it the moment it left her mouth, but she didnât take it back. âYes,â she said, more controlled now, but not fully back to her usual distance. âThat is what people do. They appear. They watch. They leave.â Her eyes flicked briefly away from you, then back again. âYou stopped coming. So I assumed you were done.â
There was a silence after that that didnât feel empty, just dense. Like the room had become smaller without either of you moving.
You looked at her properly now, really properly, and something about your expression softened in a way that didnât feel like politics or position. âNatashaâŚâ you started, then paused, like you were choosing words carefully for once. âI didnât leave.â
She gave a short, almost bitter exhale. âYou werenât there.â
âI was busy,â you repeated, but this time it sounded less like dismissal and more like explanation. Then you added, a little more quietly, âI didnât think it meant that.â
That landed differently.
Natasha looked at you for a long moment without speaking, and whatever she had been holding together loosened slightly at the edges. âIt did,â she said simply. âTo me.â
That was the closest thing to honesty she had offered you without armour around it, and it made something in your chest tighten in a way you didnât immediately understand how to place. You shifted slightly on the bed, suddenly very aware of how close she was, how the room felt too still around the two of you, like it was waiting for something neither of you had agreed to name.
âYou came here,â you said softly.
Natashaâs gaze dropped briefly before returning to you. âYes.â
âWhy?â
There was a pause.
Not long.
But real.
Then she answered, quieter than before, âBecause you stopped being there, and I didnât like what that did to everything else.â
You stared at her.
âThatâs not an answer,â you said gently.
âIt is the only one I have,â she replied immediately, then stopped as if surprised by her own honesty.
The silence that followed wasnât uncomfortable. It was just⌠close.
Natasha took one step closer, then another, slower this time, like she was making a decision she didnât fully trust but couldnât stop herself from completing. You didnât move away. That seemed to matter to her more than anything else in the room. When she finally stopped beside the bed, she looked down at you for a moment that felt too long to be casual and not long enough to be anything else, and said quietly, almost like a warning to herself, âYou confuse things.â
You tilted your head slightly. âI think you were already confused.â
That made something flicker in her expressionâsomething almost like a smile, but too restrained to fully become one. âYou talk too much,â she said.
âYou broke into my room,â you replied.
âThat is not relevant.â
âIt feels relevant.â
Natasha huffed quietly, then shook her head once like she was trying to clear something out of it. âYou were gone,â she said again, softer now, less accusation and more truth she didnât like holding. âAnd I didnât know what that meant.â
Your expression shifted slightly at that, and for once you didnât answer immediately. When you did, your voice was quieter too. âI didnât mean for it to mean anything.â
Natasha looked at you then in a way that wasnât guarded anymore, not fully. Just present. âIt did anyway,â she said.
And then she leaned down.
It wasnât dramatic. It wasnât rushed. It didnât feel like the arena or anything that had ever been performed for an audience. It was careful in a way that almost suggested she was checking whether it was real as she did it, like she expected the moment to disappear if she moved too quickly. Her hand didnât grab you. It barely touched the bed beside you for balance, and when her lips met yours it was brief and soft and uncertain in a way that somehow made it more intense, like it mattered precisely because it wasnât trying to become anything bigger than it was.
When she pulled back, she didnât move away immediately. Just stayed close enough that the space between you felt different than it had before.
Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Then Natasha exhaled slowly and said, almost quietly, âDonât do that again.â
You blinked. âDo what?â
âDisappear,â she said, and there was no sarcasm in it now at all.
You looked at her for a second, then answered softly, âI didnât realise I was allowed to matter enough for that to be a problem.â
That made her pause.
Properly.
And for once, Natasha didnât respond with distance or control. She just looked at you, something unreadable but steady in her expression, then said, âYou are.â
The night didnât become anything else after that in words.
Only presence.
Eventually, she stayed.
Not in explanation. Not in permission. Just in the quiet that followed like it had decided it belonged there too.
And when the palace began to shift toward morning, when light slowly started to soften the edges of the room and the world outside began pretending it had always been ordered and awake, Natasha left the way she had comeâquiet, controlled, careful not to disturb what was still sleeping.
The window was colder at dawn. The climb was the same. But something about it felt different as she moved back into the world she understood.
Behind her, the room stayed warm.
And she didnât look back until she was already gone.
Over the next few months, the pattern of your lives stopped feeling like an accident and started feeling like something carefully maintained, even if neither of you would have described it that way out loud. It never became public, never became a story, never became anything that could be pointed at and named without consequences following immediately behind it. Instead, it became fragments of time stolen from everything elseâsmall, hidden spaces where the world outside did not exist in the same way.
Sometimes it was your bedroom in the dead of night, where Natasha would arrive through the window like she had the first time, except now she moved with less hesitation, landing more quietly, as if her body had started remembering the shape of the room. You would already be awake more often than not, sitting half-wrapped in blankets, whispering something like âYouâre late,â even though there was no real expectation of timing, and she would reply dryly, âI wasnât late. You just waited wrong,â before sitting beside you like it was the most normal thing in the world for a gladiator to exist in imperial silk shadows. In those moments, conversation was softer, less structured, drifting between small complaints about the palace, absurd rumours from the arena, and Natasha occasionally saying things like, âSomeone tried to bet on whether I would lose my next match,â which would make you laugh quietly into your sleeve and answer, âDid you lose?â and she would look at you and say, âNo,â like the question itself was insulting.
Other times it was the stables after everything had gone quiet, when the palace horses had settled and the stable boys had gone home, leaving only the smell of hay and wood and the occasional shifting sound of animals resting in the dark. You would sit on stacked hay bales while Natasha leaned against a wooden beam, arms loosely folded, still carrying traces of the arena in the way she stood even when she was relaxed. You would talk about nothing importantâwhat food was better outside the palace, whether horses ever got bored of being important animalsâand Natasha would answer in that slightly sarcastic tone that had become familiar now, saying things like, âI think everything here is bored of being important except you,â which would make you nudge her lightly with your shoulder and say, âThatâs not true. I am extremely entertaining,â to which she would respond, âDebatable,â without looking at you.
There were also moments in the gladiator quarters, though those were rarer and more careful, usually late at night when most of the building had settled into exhausted silence. Natashaâs room was not impressiveâstone, simple bedding, weapons resting in familiar placesâbut it was hers in a way nothing in the palace fully was, and you would sit on the edge of her cot while she cleaned her gear or tended to small injuries without acknowledging how often those injuries were now less severe. Sometimes she would glance at you mid-task and say, âYou know you are not supposed to be here,â and you would answer immediately, âNeither are you,â which would make her pause just long enough for something unspoken to pass between you before she returned to what she was doing.
Once, it was a small picnic by the river outside the city, somewhere neither of you were officially meant to be. The grass was uneven, the water moving steadily beside you, and for a while neither of you spoke much at all. Natasha lay back on the ground with one arm behind her head, eyes half-closed against the light, and you picked at food absentmindedly before saying, âIf anyone saw us, theyâd probably assume Iâve been kidnapped,â which made her open one eye and reply, âYouâre doing a very bad job of looking kidnapped,â to which you smiled and said, âI can try screaming if it helps,â and she finally laughed properly, short and quiet, like she wasnât used to letting it happen in open air.
It never stopped being hidden. It never stopped being careful. But it did start to feel continuous, like something that existed even when you werenât together, stretching invisibly between meetings like a thread neither of you acknowledged but both of you would have noticed if it disappeared.
And then there was the sunrise.
It was early, earlier than most of the city had decided to wake, when the sky was still holding onto its darker colours and the horizon was only just beginning to soften. You were both sitting high enough above the city that the roofs stretched endlessly below you, the palace behind you still quiet, still unaware of itself in the way buildings always were before people filled them. Natasha sat slightly behind you, one arm resting loosely on her knee, posture relaxed in a way she almost never allowed herself anywhere else. You leaned back slightly against her shoulder without thinking about it, and for a while neither of you spoke, just watched the light change slowly as if it belonged to you for a few minutes before it belonged to everyone else again.
When you finally broke the silence, your voice was quieter than usual, less playful, more uncertain in a way you didnât often let show. âDo you ever wish we didnât have to hide from everyone?â you asked, eyes still on the horizon. Natasha didnât answer immediately. She didnât move away either. For a moment, she just stayed still, watching the way the light spread across the city like it was something she was trying not to interrupt.
âYes,â she said finally.
It wasnât dramatic.
It wasnât softened.
Just honest.
A pause followed, heavy but not uncomfortable, and when Natasha spoke again her voice was lower. âBut wishing doesnât change it.â
You nodded slightly, like you already knew that, like you just needed to hear her say it out loud anyway. The silence returned, but it felt different nowâless like absence, more like something being shared.
Natasha shifted behind you, just enough to close the small space between you, and for a moment she rested her forehead lightly against your temple, brief and quiet and careful in a way that said more than either of you were willing to put into words. When she pulled back, she didnât linger.
Instead, she stood.
The movement was familiar nowâcontrolled, practiced, the kind of leaving that had been learned rather than decided. You turned slightly as she stepped back toward the edge, already knowing what came next even before she said anything.
âI have to go,â she murmured, not as an apology but as a fact.
You gave a small nod. âI know.â
Natasha looked at you for a second longer than necessary, something soft and unreadable in her expression now that the sun was starting to catch the edges of her face, and then she leaned down to kiss you againâshort, gentle, unperformed, like something that wasnât meant to be witnessed even when no one was there to see it. When she pulled away, she didnât hesitate this time. She just turned toward the palace wall, already becoming something else again as she moved.
You watched her go until she reached the edge and began to climb down, disappearing gradually into stone and shadow and the returning structure of the world.
And when she was gone, the sunrise no longer felt like it belonged to just the two of you at all.
Later that same day, the palace felt different in a way you couldnât immediately explain, though at first you tried to convince yourself it was just your imagination reacting to a lack of sleep and the leftover warmth of the morning. You moved through the corridors as usual, attendants stepping aside, distant conversations folding themselves neatly out of your path, marble floors reflecting light in the same controlled way they always did. Nothing looked wrong. Nothing sounded wrong. And yet the structure of it all felt slightly tighter, like the building itself had been adjusted by a hand you hadnât seen.
It was only when you turned into the quieter wing near your fatherâs private audience rooms that you heard voices you werenât meant to hear.
Not because they were loud.
Because they were calm.
Your fatherâs voice carried first, measured and precise in the way it always was when decisions had already been made before speech. There was no anger in it, no debate, just conclusion being processed into instruction. âIt cannot become public,â he was saying, as if continuing a conversation already underway long before you arrived, and you slowed instinctively before the corner fully revealed you, your body stopping before your mind had decided to.
A guardâs voice followed, lower, careful. âThe gladiator, my lord?â
A pause.
Then your father again, quieter this time, more deliberate. âYes. Natasha.â
The name hit the air differently than anything else in the conversation, and for a moment you forgot to breathe properly, because hearing it spoken like thatâclean, detached, reduced to something that could be handledâdid not belong in the same world as the way she had said your name at sunrise.
You stepped closer without meaning to.
Your father continued, as though discussing logistics rather than a person. âShe has become visible. That is the problem.â Then, after a brief pause, he added, âSomeone has reported sightings. More than one. The palace is not blind.â Another pause followed, shorter this time, before he said, âThey saw them together.â
The guard hesitated. âTogether, my lord?â
And your father answered, with the same calm tone he would use to sign off on trade routes or troop movements, âThe Emperorâs daughter and a gladiator do not exist together in any version of Rome that remains stable.â
Your fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the stone wall without you noticing.
Then the guard spoke again, more carefully now. âWhat would you have us do?â
There was a silence after that, not uncertain, just considered. When your father spoke again, it was quieter, almost conversational, which somehow made it worse. âShe will be arrested tomorrow. Quietly. No spectacle.â A small pause. âPublic execution is not an option. It would invite questions.â
Another voice, hesitant. âAnd the gladiatorâs standing, my lord? The crowd favours her.â
That earned a faint exhale from your father, not quite impatience, more like inconvenience being acknowledged. âThen it must not appear as punishment. It must appear as removal. Clean. Without narrative.â
Your chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with breathing.
Then came the part that made the world tilt.
âAnd your daughter?â the guard asked, more carefully this time.
A pause.
Longer.
Measured.
When your father answered, it was with the same certainty he used for everything else. âShe will be secured.â
Another pause, then clarification, as if speaking to someone slower than him. âShe is not to leave the palace unaccompanied. Her movements will be restricted immediately. Inform her that arrangements for marriage are being prepared. Suitable alliance. Controlled outcome.â
There was a brief silence in which no one spoke, as though even the guards were adjusting to the simplicity of the sentence.
Then your father added, almost absently, âThis will resolve itself. It always does.â
Something inside you went very still.
Not fear first.
Understanding.
Then disbelief.
Then a sharp, rising clarity that made the corridor feel suddenly too narrow to contain you.
You stepped back from the corner slowly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might make the conversation turn around and notice you standing there. Your mind tried to attach order to what you had heardâpolitical stability, reputation, damage controlâbut none of those words fully reached what was sitting underneath them. Natashaâs name repeated itself in your head, not as an announcement anymore but as something already being handled.
Arrested.
Tomorrow.
Quietly.
You didnât realise your hand had pressed against your own mouth until you lowered it again, breathing shallowly through your nose as you turned away from the corridor. The palace continued moving around you exactly as it always had, servants passing without noticing the shift in your posture, distant footsteps echoing in controlled rhythms, sunlight falling across stone in the same indifferent way it always did.
But nothing inside you matched it anymore.
And as you walked away from the corridor, carefully keeping your pace steady so no one would question you, one thought settled into place with uncomfortable certainty, heavier than everything else you had just heard:
Natasha had finally stopped being hidden.
And now the palace was going to make sure she stopped existing at all.
You didnât remember deciding to run. You just remembered movement.
The palace corridors blurred as you walked faster than you should have been allowed to, forcing your expression into something neutral enough not to draw attention, even as everything inside you was already collapsing into a single direction. Servants passed. Voices echoed. Doors opened and closed with the same controlled rhythm they always did, but none of it registered properly anymore. Natashaâs name kept repeating in your head in the same calm tone your father had used, like it had already been reduced to something that could be processed without consequence.
By the time you reached the gladiator quarters, you werenât thinking in full sentences anymore.
The building hit you differentlyâdarker, louder, more real. The smell of sweat and metal and sand clung to the walls, the usual noise of fighters and guards filling the space in overlapping fragments. Someone laughed too loudly nearby. Someone else argued over equipment. Life continuing exactly as it always had, unaware that it was already out of time.
Natasha was not hard to find.
She was where she usually was, half-leaning near her space with weapons within reach, posture relaxed in the way only people who were never truly relaxed could manage. She looked up the moment you entered, not startled, just observant in that immediate way she always had when it came to you. Her eyes tracked your face first, then your breathing, then the fact that you werenât trying to pretend anything was normal.
That alone made her straighten.
âYouâre here early,â she said, voice even.
You didnât slow down. âTheyâre coming for you.â
That stopped everything.
Not dramatically. Not outwardly. Just a stillness that spread through her expression like something had been placed down carefully inside her and left there.
Natasha didnât ask who immediately. She didnât need to. Instead she studied your face for a moment longer than usual, then asked quietly, âWhen?â
âTomorrow,â you said. Then, because saying it once wasnât enough for your own mind to accept, you added, âTheyâre going to arrest you tomorrow. Quietly. Andââ your voice caught slightly before you forced it steady again, âthey plan to execute you privately.â
There was a pause.
Around you, the quarters kept moving. Metal clinking. Voices continuing. Life refusing to understand urgency unless it was shouted directly at it.
Natasha exhaled slowly through her nose. It wasnât panic. It wasnât shock in the way people usually expected. It was something flatter. Sharper. Like she was already calculating distance before she had fully acknowledged emotion.
âOf course they are,â she said finally, almost to herself.
You stared at her. âThatâs it?â
Her gaze flicked to yours. âWhat do you want me to do? Argue with an emperorâs decision?â A pause. âThatâs not how this ends.â
Your hands tightened at your sides. âIt doesnât have to end.â
That made her look at you more directly.
For a second, something softer almost appeared there. Almost.
Then she stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly so it didnât carry. âListen to me,â she said, controlled again but not distant. âIf they come for me here, there are too many variables. Guards, witnesses, delays. I donât survive that.â A beat. âNot cleanly.â
You swallowed. âSo what do we do?â
Natasha held your gaze for a long moment, then glanced briefly toward the exit, already shifting into decision rather than reaction. âWe leave.â
It wasnât a question. It wasnât hesitation. Just fact.
You blinked once. âLeave⌠Rome?â
âYes.â
Another pause.
Then she added, quieter, âNow would be better.â
Something in your chest tightened, but you nodded before doubt could fully form. âOkay.â
That single word seemed to settle something between you.
Natasha moved first.
No announcement. No explanation. Just immediate efficiency, grabbing what mattered without hesitation. You followed without needing instruction, the two of you slipping through the gladiator quarters as if you had always known where the blind spots were meant to be. The world around you continued as usualâlaughter, shouting, routineâbut it started to feel distant, like something happening behind glass.
The stables were quieter, the air heavier with hay and animal warmth, the structure dimly lit by low lamps that cast long shadows across wooden beams. Horses shifted softly in their stalls, unaware of urgency, breathing slow and steady in a way that made everything outside feel even more unstable by contrast.
Natasha didnât waste time choosing.
One horse. Strong, fast, already saddled.
âJust one?â you whispered.
âItâs less obvious,â she replied immediately, already adjusting the tack with practiced hands.
You didnât argue.
Moments later, the horse was moving, hooves striking the ground with controlled urgency as it left the stables and slipped into the outer paths beyond the palace. No grand escape. No spectacle. Just disappearance through motion.
Natasha rode in front, steady and focused, guiding the horse with the kind of control that came from knowing exactly how much force was necessary and nothing more. You sat behind her, close enough to feel the shift of her movements through the ride, close enough that there was no space left for hesitation. The city began to fall away behind you in fragmentsâstone walls, distant lights, the outline of Rome shrinking into something that felt less like a place and more like something being left behind.
At some point, without needing to speak, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around her waist.
Natasha didnât react outwardly, but her posture adjusted slightlyâsubtle, instinctive, making space without breaking focus. The wind cut across you as the horse moved faster, and you buried your face against the back of her shoulder blades, the world narrowing to motion, warmth, and the steady reality of her in front of you.
Neither of you spoke.
There was nothing to say that would have fit the speed of what was happening.
Behind you, Rome disappeared.
Ahead of you, nothing was defined yet.
Only movement.
The shelter was not meant for anything alive.
It had probably once been part of a travellerâs structureâhalf-collapsed stone walls, a broken roofline held together more by stubbornness than design, and an open side that looked out over empty land that stretched too far in every direction to feel safe. The horse stood tied just outside, shifting occasionally, snorting softly into the cold air as if even it understood that they had left the world behind and entered something quieter but no less dangerous. Inside, the ground was uneven, scattered with old straw and dust that rose slightly every time either of you moved, catching faint moonlight that slipped through cracks in the stone.
Natasha sat with her back against one of the remaining walls, arms resting loosely over her knees, posture relaxed in the way she only ever allowed when there was no immediate threat. You were beside her, close enough that your shoulder brushed hers when either of you shifted, both of you still breathing slightly unevenly from the ride, the motion of it still lingering in your bodies like a memory that hadnât fully settled. For a long time, neither of you spoke. Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything that mattered felt too large for the quiet space you had ended up in.
Eventually, you broke it first, voice softer than usual as you looked out at the dark horizon and said, âDo you think somewhere exists where this doesnât happen?â Natasha glanced at you briefly, then followed your gaze outward, expression unreadable for a moment before she answered, âPeople like to believe that. It helps them sleep.â You frowned slightly. âThatâs not an answer.â She let out a quiet breath through her nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. âIt is the only honest one,â she replied, then after a pause added, âRome is not special. It is just louder about it.â
You shifted slightly closer, knees drawn up now as you hugged them loosely, and said quietly, âIf we had left earlier⌠before all of this⌠do you think it would have been different?â Natasha didnât answer immediately, which in itself felt like an answer. When she did speak, her voice was lower. âYes,â she said simply. Then, more carefully, âBut not in the way you think.â You turned your head slightly toward her. âWhat way then?â She hesitated, eyes still on the darkness outside. âWe would have found something else trying to take it from us.â
That made silence settle again, but it wasnât empty. It was full in a way that felt almost heavy enough to touch.
A while passed before Natasha spoke again, quieter this time, almost like she was admitting something she had kept folded away for too long. âI didnât think I was allowed to want anything that wasnât temporary,â she said. You looked at her properly now, and she didnât look back immediately, as if saying it into the space between you was safer than meeting your eyes. âAnd then you showed up and made it⌠inconvenient.â
That pulled a faint, tired smile from you. âIâm very good at being inconvenient,â you murmured.
Natasha finally looked at you then.
Properly.
Not as a problem, not as a variable, not as something positioned above her life, but as something that had somehow ended up inside it. âYes,â she said quietly. âYou are.â
The words hung there for a moment, and then you leaned your head slightly against her shoulder, careful but certain, like it had become instinct rather than decision. Natasha didnât move away. Instead, after a brief pause, she adjusted slightly so you could stay there more comfortably, her hand resting loosely near your arm without quite touching in a way that felt like restraint and permission at the same time.
âI think I love you,â you said suddenly, softly, like the thought had slipped out before you could decide whether it was allowed.
Natasha didnât react immediately. Not because she didnât hear you, but because the weight of it seemed to settle before she responded. When she did, her voice was quieter than anything she had said all night. âThat is a dangerous thing to say,â she replied.
You let out a small breath that might have been a laugh if it had more energy. âEverything about this is dangerous.â
That earned the faintest shift in her expression, something almost like acceptance, almost like surrender to something she had already been losing control of for a while. âYes,â she said. Then, after a pause that felt longer than it was, she added, âI know.â
The rest of the night didnât become anything more defined than that. Just closeness. Just silence that no longer felt like absence. Just the kind of stillness that only exists when two people stop pretending they are separate from what is happening between them.
And then morning arrived without warning.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
Just light breaking too sharply across the horizon, turning the land from grey to visible in seconds. Natasha was awake first, as she always was, her body reacting before thought fully formed, posture changing instantly as her attention snapped outward. Something about the air had shiftedâsubtle at first, then undeniable. Not birds. Not wind. Not distant movement of animals.
Hooves.
Many.
Too many.
The sound came again, closer now, not scattered but coordinated, the kind of rhythm that belonged to purpose rather than chance. Natasha was already moving by the time your eyes opened fully, her hand near where her weapon would have been if there had been time to prepare it properly.
âGet up,â she said immediately, voice low but sharp.
You sat up fast, disoriented for half a second before the sound reached you properly and understanding hit all at once. âThatâsââ you started, but didnât finish it, because there was no need.
Natasha was already looking outward through the broken wall.
And then she saw them.
Shapes emerging over the rise of land, spreading out in a formation that did not belong to accident or coincidence. Armoured riders. Too many to miscount. The palace colours unmistakable even at distance.
Your breath caught slightly as you followed her gaze.
âNo,â you whispered, but it wasnât a refusal. It was recognition.
Natasha didnât look at you yet. Her entire focus was forward, calculating in a way that was almost automatic now, but there was something in her posture that had changedâsomething that understood this was not a fight she had chosen and not a fight she could win in the usual way.
âThey found us,â she said quietly.
The first arrows came before either of you had finished moving.
Not a warning shot.
Not negotiation.
Just impact cutting through the morning air with sudden, final precision.
Natasha turned sharply toward you at the exact moment your body reacted, her movement fast enough that she was already closer than she had been a second before, but there was no space left to close, no time left to do anything except reach.
You fell together, not separately, the world collapsing in fragments of sound and motion that stopped making sense almost immediately. The horse outside startled and pulled against its tether, distant shouting beginning to rise, but all of it felt far away already, like something happening to another version of the world.
Natasha caught you as you dropped, her arms around you immediately, pulling you in with instinct rather than thought, as if holding you could still change the outcome of something already decided. You reached for her without fully seeing her anymore, your hand finding her arm as everything else started to blur into distance and noise.
âHey,â she said, voice suddenly different, no longer controlled, no longer distant. âStay with me.â
You tried to answer, but it came out uneven, breath unsteady, words failing halfway into shape.
Natashaâs grip tightened slightly, forehead lowering briefly toward yours as if refusing to let the space between you grow any larger than it already had. âNo,â she said quietly, not to you, but to everything else. âNo, noââ
You managed something like her name, barely formed, and her attention snapped back to you immediately.
âIâve got you,â she said quickly, urgently now, as if saying it was the same as making it true. âIâve got you. Look at me.â
You did.
For a moment, everything else stopped mattering in the only way it ever had.
Natashaâs expression wasnât the controlled one the world knew. It wasnât the gladiator. It wasnât the legend. It was something unguarded and raw and entirely human in a way that no arena had ever been allowed to see.
And then, slowly, that part of the world began to fade too.
The noise softened.
The movement outside became distant.
The morning light stopped feeling like it belonged to anything beyond the space between you.
Natasha stayed with you until there was no distance left to hold at all, and when the world finally stopped being something either of you could hold onto, it did not feel like an ending that belonged to Rome.
Natasha existed in this life the same way she always had: sharp, efficient, observant. SHIELD operative. Avenger. Someone who moved through high-level briefings and global crises with the kind of calm that made other people trust her instincts even when they didnât understand them.
She didnât remember anything before this life.
Not the arena.
Not the crown.
Not you in any conscious, nameable way.
Only something she could never quite place.
A pull she had learned to stop questioning.
And it was there again now.
The meeting room hummed with controlled impatience. Screens were active. Files were open. The Avengers were already halfway through the usual pre-brief chaosâTony talking over himself, Sam arguing about logistics, Steve trying to keep the structure from collapsing into personality contests.
Natasha sat back in her chair, relaxed in the way that always made it look like she wasnât paying attention even though she was tracking every detail in the room at once. Her posture was easy, one arm resting along the table, expression neutral with just enough edge to suggest she could interrupt anything if she chose to.
Tony gestured at the empty seat at the head of the table. âSo, are we doing the classic government thing where the important person arrives exactly after weâve already solved the problem without them, or are we getting the full experience today?â
Sam didnât look up. âTheyâre late.â
Tony nodded. âYes. That is the tradition.â
Natasha let a faint breath of amusement pass through her nose, not quite a smile. âYou sound personally offended by punctuality.â
âI am,â Tony said immediately.
The door opened.
Everything shifted slightlyânot in alarm, not in surprise, but in attention. The room adjusted the way it always did when authority entered it.
But it wasnât the senator.
It was you.
Natasha didnât move at first.
Not because she was slow to react.
Because something in her reacted before thought did.
You stepped into the room with composed certainty, like you belonged in spaces where decisions were made about the world. Calm. Controlled. Familiar in a way that had no source she could identify, no memory to attach to it, just an immediate, irrational sense that the room had changed shape around your presence.
Natashaâs gaze locked onto you instantly.
And stopped there.
The noise in the room continued, but it fell slightly out of focus, like it had shifted one step away from something important it didnât realise it was missing.
You looked up.
Met her eyes.
And for a fraction of a secondâtoo brief to explain, too sharp to ignoreâeverything else dropped away.
Not memory.
Not recognition.
Something deeper than either, and less defined.
Like a pressure in the air between you that had always been there, finally becoming noticeable.
Natashaâs expression didnât change outwardly. But something in her attention tightened, like her focus had been pulled into a single point it couldnât leave.
You held the moment for only a heartbeat longer than politeness allowed.
Then you spoke, voice steady, controlled, professional.
âMy apologies,â you said. âMy father was delayed. Iâll be presenting in his place.â
The room respondedâchairs shifting, small acknowledgements, the rebalancing of roles. Tony said something under his breath about government scheduling being a myth. Steve straightened slightly. Sam muttered something about âsurprise upgrade to the meeting.â
Natasha didnât look away from you.
Not even when she spoke lightly to the room, tone calm, almost teasing, as if nothing unusual was happening at all.
âWell,â she said, âthis should be interesting.â
A few people reacted to that. Tony definitely did.
But Natashaâs attention stayed exactly where it was.
On you.
And you, after a second too long, finally broke the gazeâreturning to the briefing, continuing the role you were here to play.
The meeting carried on.
Words were spoken. Plans were made. The world kept turning in its structured, controlled way.
But neither of you fully returned to it.
Because whatever had just passed between you didnât have a name that belonged in this life.
Only a feeling that neither of you understoodâ
like something impossibly old had just recognised itself again.
Summary: The Avengers rescue an injured wolf from the woods surrounding the Compound. Keeping her is supposed to be temporary. Weeks turn into months, the wolf refuses to leave, and somehow Wanda and Natasha end up far more attached than either of them intended. Unfortunately, secrets donât stay buried foreverâand neither does the past sheâs been running from.
The new Avengers Compound still doesnât quite feel lived in yet.
The building itself is enormous, gleaming glass and steel rising out of the countryside like something pulled straight from a science fiction film, but there are still boxes in hallways, equipment waiting to be unpacked, and entire sections of the facility that remain eerily quiet. The team is settling in, finding routines, claiming rooms, learning which elevators are the fastest and which kitchens are stocked with the good coffee. For the first time in a long time, things feel almost peaceful.
Outside, the late afternoon sun paints the grass in shades of gold.
Tony sits on a blanket spread across one of the open lawns surrounding the compound, watching Morgan run through the grass with the endless energy only a child seems capable of possessing. She laughs as she chases a butterfly, tiny sneakers kicking up dirt behind her while Tony pretends not to be smiling.
âYou know,â he calls out, leaning back on his hands, âI personally think that butterfly is cheating.â
Morgan gasps dramatically. âDaddy! Butterflies donât cheat!â
âSays who?â
âSays science.â
Tony snorts. âIâve made a career out of arguing with science.â
The little girl simply sticks her tongue out before continuing her pursuit.
For a while, everything is normal.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
The forest bordering the compound sways gently in the breeze, leaves rustling softly overhead. Birds sing somewhere beyond the tree line. The distant sounds of construction and moving equipment drift from the compound itself.
Then Tonyâs phone buzzes.
One of the technicians inside needs a security code.
âOne minute,â he tells Morgan, standing up. âDonât go anywhere.â
She nods absentmindedly, completely focused on the insect sheâs following.
Tony walks inside.
It should take less than sixty seconds.
Back in the forest, far beyond the compoundâs sensors and surveillance systems, you move silently through the undergrowth.
The woods belong to your pack.
Humans rarely come this deep into the territory, and when they do, they almost never notice the wolves watching from the shadows. Your kind has survived that way for generations. Hidden. Careful. Unseen.
The breeze shifts.
Your ears twitch.
A strange scent drifts through the trees.
Human.
Several humans.
You pause.
The scent isnât unfamiliar anymore. Ever since the massive compound appeared on the edge of the forest months ago, humans have become a constant presence. Loud machines, strange smells, bright lights.
Usually, you stay away. Today should be no different.
Then another scent reaches you.
Predator. Your head immediately lifts. Bear. Large. Close.
Far too close to the humans.
You break into a run.
Back at the compound, Morgan finally notices the silence. The butterfly has disappeared. The breeze has changed. Something feels wrong. Slowly, she turns. The enormous brown bear stands at the edge of the lawn.
For a moment, neither moves.
Morgan freezes.
The bear stares.
Then the little girl screams.
The sound rips through the countryside.
Inside the compound, Tonyâs heart nearly stops.
He drops everything and sprints.
Outside, the bear begins moving forward. Not charging. Not attacking. Just advancing.
But to a frightened child, the difference means nothing.
Morgan stumbles backward.
Tears immediately spring into her eyes.
The bear huffs.
And then a brown blur explodes from the forest.
You hit the animal with enough force to throw both of you sideways across the grass.
The bear roars.
Morgan gasps.
The lawn erupts into chaos.
You land on your feet first, placing yourself directly between the predator and the child. Fur bristles along your spine as a deep growl tears from your chest.
The bear answers with one of its own.
Neither backs down.
The size difference is obvious.
The bear is massive.
But you donât move.
Behind you, Morgan cries.
The sound only hardens your resolve.
The bear lunges. You dodge.
Teeth snap inches from your face.
You retaliate instantly, slamming into its shoulder hard enough to stagger it. The two of you crash across the lawn, tearing up grass and dirt as claws and teeth flash.
The bear recovers first.
A powerful paw swings.
You try to evade.
Almost.
The claws rake across your side.
Agony explodes through your body. A strangled yelp escapes before you can stop it. Warm blood immediately begins soaking into your fur.
The smell fills the air.
But you remain standing.
The bear advances again.
You bare every tooth you have - growling, threatening. Refusing to yield. The predator hesitates.
You take one step forward. Then another. Ignoring the blood. Ignoring the pain. Ignoring the way your legs are beginning to shake beneath you.
Something changes.
The bear decides you arenât worth it.
With one final warning growl, it begins backing away.
Then it turns.
Then it disappears into the forest.
Only then do you allow yourself to breathe. Tony bursts out of the compound.
âMorgan!â
He reaches her in seconds, dropping to his knees and pulling her against his chest. She immediately buries her face against him, sobbing as he frantically checks for injuries.
âDadâdadâthe wolfââ
âIâm here,â he says quickly. âYouâre okay. Youâre okay.â Only then does he finally look up.
And see you.
The wolf standing twenty feet away.
Covered in blood. Swaying unsteadily. Your breathing is ragged. Your legs threaten to buckle beneath you.
For a second, Tony simply stares. Because wolves donât protect humans. They certainly donât throw themselves at bears for them.
And then, right before his eyes, your body finally gives out. You collapse into the grass. And everything goes black.
Consciousness returns slowly, surfacing through layers of exhaustion and pain that seem determined to drag you back under every time you try to fight your way awake. Your entire body feels heavy, your limbs sluggish and weak, and the deep burning ache radiating from your side makes it painfully obvious that whatever happened before you blacked out was not some strange dream.
The first thing you notice is the smell. Sterile. Artificial. Clean in a way no forest ever is. Beneath it are dozens of other scents layered togetherâmetal, electronics, unfamiliar cleaning products, coffee, humans. Lots of humans. Your eyes slowly open and immediately narrow against the bright overhead lighting. White ceiling. White walls. Medical equipment. Panic sparks through your chest almost instantly.
You try to sit up only to discover something restraining you. Thick rope is looped securely around your torso and forelegs, keeping you anchored to a reinforced medical bed, while an uncomfortable muzzle wraps around your snout. A low sound rumbles in your throat before you can stop it. The movement pulls painfully at your injured side and your gaze drops to find your entire flank wrapped beneath layers of thick bandages. Even through them, you can smell dried blood.
Across the room, three men stand talking. One of them you recognise immediately from countless distant observations near the compoundâs perimeter. Tony. Beside him stands the broad-shouldered blond man youâve seen training outside before, and another dark-haired man wearing glasses.
None of them notice youâre awake at first, too focused on their conversation. âIâm serious,â Tony is saying, arms folded tightly across his chest. âWeâre putting up fencing. Big fencing. Electric fencing if we have to. I step inside for sixty seconds and a bear shows up. A bear. Do you know how insane that sounds?â The blond man sighs. âTony, wildlife exists. We built this place practically next to a forest.â
âGreat. Then wildlife can stay in the wildlife section and my daughter can stay in the not-being-eaten-by-bears section.â The man with glasses pinches the bridge of his nose. âMorgan wasnât hurt. Thatâs the important thing.â âBecause of her,â Tony immediately replies, pointing directly at you. âOr him. Her. Whatever. The wolf. If that animal hadnât intervenedâŚâ His voice trails off slightly, and for the first time you hear genuine gratitude beneath the protective frustration. âMorgan keeps asking if the wolf is okay.â
The movement of your head finally catches Steveâs attention. His posture immediately straightens and his eyes widen slightly. âGuys.â Tony and Bruce turn at the same time. For several seconds none of them say anything as they realise youâre conscious and staring directly back at them.
The room becomes strangely quiet. You can practically smell their uncertainty. Tony takes a cautious step forward first, not fearful exactly, but wary in the way anyone would be standing this close to a predator. âWell, hey there.â His voice softens unexpectedly. âGood to see youâre still with us.â You stare back without blinking.
The muzzle makes it impossible to communicate anything beyond a low frustrated huff. Bruce glances between you and the restraints. âSheâs calmer than I expected.â âShe just woke up,â Steve points out. âGive it a minute.â Tony studies you for a long moment before exhaling. âSo what exactly do we do now?â Nobody answers immediately because they all know itâs a complicated question. In every practical sense, youâre a wild animal. An unusually large wild animal, but a wild animal nonetheless. Wild animals belong in the wild. Thatâs the obvious answer. The problem is that every single person in the room knows what would happen if they released you right now.
You can barely move without pain. The deep claw wounds across your side would leave you vulnerable to infection, other predators, or simply collapsing somewhere in the forest where nobody would find you. Steve seems to reach the conclusion first. âWe canât release her like this.â Bruce nods almost immediately. âAgreed. Medically speaking, sheâs nowhere near healed enough.â Tony looks at you again, meeting your gaze directly. âAnd considering she basically saved my kidâs life, dumping her back into the woods half-dead feels like a pretty terrible thank you.â He rubs a hand over his face before letting out a long breath. âAlright. Fine. We keep her here. Temporary arrangement. We treat the injuries, make sure sheâs recovered, then we release her back into the forest when sheâs healthy enough to survive on her own.â
Steve folds his arms. âYou realise youâre talking about keeping a wolf inside the Avengers Compound.â âTrust me,â Tony mutters, looking directly at you. âI am painfully aware of how ridiculous that sounds.â Despite the conversation being about you, none of them notice the strange intelligence lingering behind your eyes as you watch every word, every movement, every decision being made. Because as far as the Avengers know, lying restrained in that medical bed is nothing more than an injured wolf.
The discussion about your future inside the compound is interrupted by the sudden crackle of a radio sitting on one of the nearby counters. The burst of static immediately draws everyoneâs attention before a familiar female voice comes through the speaker. âControl, this is Romanoff. Requesting clearance to land.â Steve reaches over without hesitation, pressing the response button. âYouâre clear. Padâs open.â A brief pause follows before Natashaâs amused voice returns. âGood. Because weâre landing whether itâs clear or not.â
The transmission clicks off, earning a tired sigh from Steve and an eye roll from Tony. âSheâs been spending too much time around you,â Steve comments. âExcuse you,â Tony replies. âThat level of confidence is a gift.â Despite the conversation, your ears have already perked up. Two unfamiliar scents drift faintly through the building, carried in through ventilation systems and opening doors. Human. Female. One carrying traces of smoke, leather and gunpowder. The other carrying something warmer. Something strange. Something that almost reminds you of standing in sunlight during winter. Before you can properly identify it, distant engines rumble somewhere outside the compound. Even through the walls you can hear the unmistakable sound of a Quinjet settling onto the landing platform.
Several minutes later the medbay doors slide open and both women walk inside. The first thing you notice is that every scent in the room immediately changes. The dark-haired woman enters first, dressed in a partially damaged tactical suit with several shallow cuts visible along her arms and one across her cheek. Nothing serious from the smell of it, but enough to explain the dried blood. Beside her walks the redhead. Unlike the other woman, she appears mostly unharmed apart from a split lip and a few smudges of dirt lingering across her uniform.
The moment your eyes land on them, something strange happens. Your tail immediately begins thumping lightly against the medical bed. Once. Twice. Then continuously. You donât even realise youâre doing it at first. Every instinct in your body suddenly seems focused on the two newcomers.
They are, quite simply, the prettiest women you have ever seen. The dark-haired one carries herself with effortless confidence while the redhead seems to possess an almost unnatural kind of beauty that makes it difficult to look away. Your tail continues its rhythmic tapping against the mattress despite the pain in your side. Natasha notices first. âWell thatâs either adorable or concerning.â Tony turns. âOh great. Now sheâs happy.â âMaybe sheâs happy to see me,â Natasha says with a grin. âMost creatures are.â âMost creatures donât have teeth the size of steak knives.â
Bruce immediately shifts into doctor mode the second he spots the cuts on Natashaâs arms. âSit.â Natasha glances at the medical bed beside yours. âYou know, every mission I come back from, you somehow find a way to make this place look more ridiculous.â Bruce points firmly at the bed. âSit.â âBossy.â âNatasha.â âFine.â
She drops onto the mattress with exaggerated suffering while Bruce begins gathering supplies. Wanda remains standing instead, her attention entirely focused on you. Unlike the others, she isnât studying you with caution. Sheâs simply watching. Curious. Interested. Your tail somehow starts wagging harder under her gaze.
The movement finally draws a laugh from Steve. âSee? Thatâs what I mean.â Natasha glances between you and Wanda before smirking. âLooks like somebody has a favourite already.â Wanda doesnât respond immediately. Her eyes remain fixed on you, lingering on the muzzle wrapped around your snout, the ropes binding you to the bed and the thick bandages covering your side.
Something about the sight clearly bothers her. âWhat happened?â she finally asks. Tony launches into the story while Bruce works on Natashaâs injuries. By the time heâs finished explaining the bear attack, Morganâs involvement and the rescue, both women are staring at you with entirely different expressions than when they entered. Natasha looks impressed. Wanda looks heartbroken. âPoor thing,â Wanda murmurs softly. âShe saved Morgan?â Steve nods. âPretty much.â âAnd now sheâs tied to a bed.â âBecause sheâs still a wolf,â Tony immediately replies. âA very large wolf. A very injured wolf. But still a wolf.â
The conversation continues for several minutes as the men explain the situation. They explain how releasing you would almost certainly be a death sentence in your current condition. They explain how keeping you permanently isnât realistic either. They explain that despite everything youâve done, youâre still a wild animal and they canât simply start treating you like a domesticated pet.
Wanda listens quietly throughout the explanation, though itâs obvious she dislikes almost every part of it. âSheâs scared,â Wanda says at one point. âAnybody would be scared.â Tony gestures toward the muzzle. âAnybody with those teeth gets the muzzle until further notice.â Natasha snorts. âFair.â Despite the teasing, even she seems reluctant to argue with the precautions.
Eventually the discussion reaches the same conclusion Steve, Bruce and Tony had already reached earlier. You stay. You heal. Then youâre released once youâre healthy enough to survive. Bruce finishes patching Natasha up, Steve gets called away to deal with something involving training schedules, and Tony leaves shortly afterwards after reminding everyone at least twice that he intends to install enough fencing to make the compound look like a small country. Before long the room falls quiet again. Bruce eventually departs as well, leaving only two occupants besides yourself.
Natasha leans back against her bed while Wanda slowly pulls a chair over beside yours. Neither woman seems in any particular hurry to leave. The silence that settles over the room feels strangely comfortable. Your tail has finally slowed, though it still occasionally taps against the mattress whenever either of them looks your way. Wanda reaches forward carefully, stopping her hand several inches from your head. Giving you the choice. Giving you space. âHi there,â she says softly. Her voice is warm enough to make your ears immediately tilt forward.
Natasha watches the interaction with an amused expression. âThatâs it. Youâve adopted the giant wolf already.â Wanda doesnât look away from you. âI havenât adopted her.â âYouâve got the voice on.â âI do not have a voice.â âYou absolutely have a voice.â For the first time since waking up, something almost resembling contentment settles through your chest. Youâre still injured. Still restrained. Still trapped inside a building full of humans. But as Wanda continues speaking softly to you while Natasha teases her from across the room, you find yourself thinking that maybe staying here until you heal wonât be quite as terrible as you first imagined.
By the end of the evening, Tony has somehow managed to do what only Tony Stark could accomplish. Instead of simply discussing solutions, he has apparently purchased an entire reinforced animal enclosure online, paid an obscene amount of money for immediate delivery, and had it assembled inside the common room before dinner. Nobody is entirely sure how he managed it so quickly. Nobody is particularly surprised either. The temporary enclosure occupies one corner of the large living space, significantly bigger than any normal dog crate but still undeniably a cage. Thick metal bars form the walls while several blankets have been piled inside alongside a large padded bed that Bruce insisted on providing.
You were less than thrilled when they moved you from the medbay. The journey had pulled painfully at your injuries, and despite everyoneâs best intentions, being carried through hallways and elevators by a collection of superheroes had done very little to improve your mood. Still, once settled inside the enclosure, you had begrudgingly accepted that this arrangement was better than being tied to a medical bed.
The common room itself is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the darkening forest beyond the compound, soft lighting illuminates the space, and several large couches surround a television that currently occupies most of the roomâs attention. The rest of the team drifts in and out throughout the evening, some stopping to stare at the giant wolf now living in their headquarters, others barely reacting at all because after alien invasions, killer robots and Norse gods, an injured wolf somehow doesnât seem that strange. Eventually, however, most of them disappear to their own rooms, leaving the common area quieter and considerably more peaceful.
Natasha and Wanda remain. Apparently, post-mission takeaway has become a sacred tradition between them, one neither injury nor exhaustion is allowed to interrupt. Several containers are spread across the coffee table while a movie plays on the television. Natasha has already changed into comfortable clothes and sits stretched out across one end of the couch. Wanda occupies the other, though only briefly before Natasha hooks an arm around her waist and effortlessly pulls her closer. Wanda rolls her eyes but doesnât resist for even a second, immediately settling against her side with the kind of casual familiarity that only comes from years together.
From inside your enclosure, you watch the interaction with far more interest than the film currently playing. Earlier, after what felt like an unfair amount of debate from the men, Wanda had finally convinced them to remove the muzzle. More specifically, she had waited until Tony left the room, spent twenty minutes researching what wolves could safely eat, then used her powers to float a plate through the bars while giving everybody a look that clearly dared them to argue.
The meal itself sits mostly untouched beside you now. Youâd eaten enough to stop Wanda worrying, but your appetite remains limited by pain, exhaustion and confusion. Your head rests against the cool metal bars instead, chin propped between two of them as you quietly observe the women across the room. The scent of food fills the air alongside the steady rhythm of their conversation, occasional laughter and the comforting knowledge that neither of them seems remotely bothered by your presence.
You tell yourself youâre watching because theyâre interesting. Humans are fascinating creatures, after all. These particular humans even more so. They possess extraordinary abilities, live inside a futuristic fortress, and somehow spend their evenings arguing about which takeaway restaurant is superior. That should be enough to justify your attention.
Unfortunately, even you know thatâs not entirely true. The reality is significantly more embarrassing. You simply canât stop looking at them. Every time Natasha presses a kiss against Wandaâs temple while pretending to focus on the movie, your ears twitch. Every time Wanda unconsciously leans closer to Natasha while reaching for food, your eyes follow the movement. They fit together so naturally it almost seems effortless. Comfortable. Safe. Familiar. The sort of bond most people spend their entire lives searching for. A small, unhappy feeling settles somewhere in your chest.
You donât fully understand it. Maybe itâs loneliness. Maybe itâs homesickness. Maybe itâs simply the knowledge that while they sit together surrounded by warmth and companionship, youâre currently occupying a cage in the corner of the room. Whatever the reason, you find yourself lowering your head further onto the bars and staring quietly at the pair.
Across the room, Wanda notices first. Her expression immediately softens. âSheâs not eating much.â Natasha glances over. âSheâs eaten enough.â âShe looks sad.â âSheâs a wolf.â âShe still looks sad.â Natasha studies you for several seconds before shrugging. âOkay. Slightly sad wolf.â
Wandaâs attention remains fixed on you long after the conversation ends. Every few minutes you catch her looking over. Not out of caution. Not out of concern that youâll suddenly become aggressive. Just checking on you. Making sure youâre comfortable. Making sure youâre okay.
Itâs a level of care youâre entirely unprepared for. Back home, your pack looks after one another because youâre family. Protection is expected. Support is expected. Here, however, these people owe you nothing. They barely know you exist beyond being the wolf that saved Morgan. Yet Wanda still worries when you donât finish your dinner. Natasha still casually points out that your water bowl needs refilling before getting up to do it herself. The entire situation feels bizarre. The movie continues playing in the background while darkness settles fully beyond the windows.
Eventually Natasha stretches, pulling Wanda even closer until the redhead is practically curled against her side. âYou know,â Natasha says, glancing toward your enclosure again, âfor something thatâs technically a giant predator, sheâs ridiculously well behaved.â Wanda smiles faintly. âMaybe she knows weâre helping her.â
You lower your gaze before either woman can notice how intently youâve been watching them. The truth is that you donât know what tomorrow will bring. You donât know how long your injuries will take to heal. You donât know how youâre supposed to eventually explain being a werewolf when that particular problem inevitably arrives.
Right now, however, none of that feels especially important. The television flickers softly across the room, the compound remains peaceful around you, and for the first time since waking up inside a building full of strangers, you slowly close your eyes and begin drifting toward sleep while listening to Wanda and Natasha quietly talking on the couch.
The movie eventually ends sometime after midnight. The takeaway containers are cleared away, the television is switched off, and the compound gradually settles into the quiet stillness that only arrives when dozens of people finally go to sleep.
Before leaving, Wanda kneels beside your enclosure one last time. Her expression softens as she studies you resting amongst the blankets, though she still reaches for caution over sentiment. With a small wave of her hand, red magic surrounds the muzzle resting nearby and gently secures it back around your snout. You immediately huff your displeasure.
Wanda offers an apologetic smile. âIâm sorry, detka. Just for tonight.â Natasha snorts from behind her. âThe giant predator is judging you.â âI know.â âHarshly.â Wanda reaches through the bars to scratch lightly behind one of your ears before standing. âGoodnight.â
The simple word shouldnât matter. Humans tell each other goodnight all the time. Yet somehow, as you watch the two women disappear toward the elevators together, the common room immediately feels emptier than before. Much emptier. Soon the sound of their footsteps disappears entirely, leaving only silence, distant ventilation systems and the occasional hum of electronics somewhere deeper within the compound.
For a while you remain curled amongst the blankets, trying to settle back down. You close your eyes. Open them again. Shift positions. Try another position. Nothing helps. The common room is comfortable enough. Youâre safe. Warm. Fed. Your injuries are being treated. Rationally, there is absolutely no reason for the uncomfortable feeling sitting heavily inside your chest. Yet it refuses to go away.
Several hours pass before the loneliness finally wins. It begins with a small sound escaping your throat. Barely noticeable. A quiet whine. Then another. Then another. You donât entirely understand why youâre making the noise. Back home, wolves are rarely alone. Pack members sleep together, hunt together, exist together. Solitude is unusual. Wrong, almost. The compound is filled with people, yet none of them are here. The common room feels too large. Too quiet. Too empty. Before long, soft whining begins slipping from your muzzle every few minutes despite your best efforts to stop.
Unfortunately, the architects responsible for designing the compound made one critical mistake. Directly above the common room sits Wanda and Natashaâs bedroom. Every single sound carries upward with remarkable efficiency. Upstairs, Natasha is the first to recognise what sheâs hearing. She groans into her pillow. âIgnore it.â Beside her, Wanda lifts her head immediately. âSheâs upset.â âSheâs a wolf.â âSheâs whining.â âSheâs dramatic.â Another muffled whine drifts through the floorboards. Wandaâs eyes narrow.
Natasha immediately recognises the expression. âNo.â âNatasha.â âNo.â âWhat if sheâs scared?â âWhat if she wants attention?â Wanda pulls the blankets aside. âThen sheâs getting attention.â Natasha falls backwards onto the mattress with all the suffering of somebody deeply wronged by the universe. âThis is how it starts. One minute youâre checking on the wolf. Next minute sheâs paying rent.â
By the time the elevator doors open, Wanda is already halfway across the common room wearing oversized pyjamas and fluffy socks. Natasha follows several steps behind, muttering complaints she clearly doesnât mean. The moment you spot them emerging into view, the change is immediate. Your ears perk up. The whining stops entirely. Your tail begins thumping against the blankets.
Wanda pauses beside the enclosure and immediately points triumphantly toward you. âSee?â Natasha folds her arms. âTraitor.â Wanda crouches beside the bars. âWere you lonely?â The question is ridiculous. You cannot answer. Yet your tail somehow starts wagging even harder. Natasha notices.
âDonât encourage her.â âLook at her.â âI am looking at her.â âSheâs sad.â âShe was sad.â Wanda studies you for another few moments before standing again. A thoughtful expression appears on her face. Natasha immediately looks concerned. âDonât.â âWhat?â âWhatever youâre thinking.â âIâm not thinking anything.â âWanda.â The redhead glances between you and the elevator. Then back to Natasha. Then back to you. âShe can come upstairs.â
Natasha stares at her. âAbsolutely not.â âWhy?â âBecause sheâs a giant wolf.â âSheâs injured.â âSheâs still a giant wolf.â âNatasha.â âNo.â Wanda doesnât even argue. Instead, red energy immediately begins surrounding your enclosure. Natasha closes her eyes. âYouâre not listening to me.â âI listened.â âYou ignored me.â âThatâs different.â
The journey upstairs is probably one of the strangest experiences of your life. One moment youâre inside a cage in the common room. The next youâre floating through hallways suspended in glowing red magic while several night-shift agents openly stare. Wanda ignores them entirely. Natasha follows behind carrying armfuls of blankets while continuing her entirely unsuccessful campaign against the idea.
When you finally arrive at their bedroom, you discover it is significantly less intimidating than expected. Large bed. Soft lighting. Bookshelves. Personal photographs. Comfortable furniture. It feels lived in. Safe. Familiar. Wanda immediately directs your enclosure toward an empty corner of the room before finally lowering it onto the floor.
Natasha drops the blankets beside it with a dramatic sigh. âThis is ridiculous.â âYouâre helping.â âIâm helping because if youâre doing this, weâre doing it safely.â Despite her complaints, she begins arranging the blankets anyway.
Within minutes she has constructed what can only be described as a wolf-sized nest. Additional blankets line the floor. Extra cushions are added for comfort. Water is placed nearby. Then comes the final precaution. Natasha disappears briefly before returning with a length of sturdy rope from one of the roomâs drawers (đ). âThere.â She secures it carefully to create a boundary between your corner and their bed. âPerfect.â
Wanda raises an eyebrow. âReally?â Natasha points directly at you. âThat wolf could probably bite through steel if she wanted to. The last thing I need is waking up to discover sheâs decided two in the morning is cuddle time.â Wanda laughs despite herself. âSheâs not going to maul us.â âYou donât know that.â âI do.â âYou absolutely do not.â The argument continues as they prepare for bed, but it grows softer with each passing minute.
Eventually both women settle beneath the blankets. The room darkens. Silence returns. This time, however, it feels entirely different. Because instead of being alone several floors below them, youâre only a few metres away. You can hear Natasha turning pages of a book. You can hear Wanda quietly speaking to her. You can smell both of them nearby. The loneliness that had twisted uncomfortably in your chest earlier disappears almost instantly.
As sleep finally begins pulling at your consciousness once more, you curl deeper into the blanket nest Natasha built for you and listen to the gentle sound of the women talking until their voices gradually fade and the room falls completely silent.
The arrangement that began that night somehow became permanent. Not officially, at least not at first, but nobody seems capable of stopping it. Your injuries heal steadily over the following weeks. The angry wounds across your side gradually close. The bandages disappear. The limp fades. Bruce declares you healthy enough to return to the wild on at least three separate occasions. Unfortunately, nobody ever accounted for the fact that you had absolutely no intention of cooperating.
Somewhere along the way, the blanket nest in Wanda and Natashaâs room becomes your blanket nest. The common room enclosure is quietly dismantled and removed. The muzzle disappears entirely after several weeks without a single incident, much to the visible horror of the male members of the team.
Tony claims it is reckless. Clint claims theyâre all going to die. Sam insists he wants written documentation proving the decision wasnât his idea. Wanda ignores all of them. Natasha occasionally joins in solely because she enjoys watching them suffer.
You, meanwhile, spend most of your days following the two women around the compound with the determination of a particularly oversized shadow. Training room? Youâre there. Kitchen? There. Movie night? There. If Wanda gets up to refill her coffee, you immediately lift your head to make sure sheâs coming back. If Natasha disappears for a mission briefing, youâre waiting outside the room by the time she emerges.
Steve attempts to bond with you several times. Bruce brings treats. Clint tries bribery. Thor enthusiastically declares you a warrior beast worthy of Asgard. None of it works. The only people you consistently choose are Wanda and Natasha. It becomes such an established fact that nobody even questions it anymore.
Morgan, however, quickly becomes a special exception. The young girl absolutely adores you. Every time she visits the compound, she immediately seeks you out. It starts with cautious petting and nervous excitement but rapidly develops into complete confidence. She sits beside you during movie nights, reads stories aloud while leaning against your side, and occasionally attempts conversations that make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
One afternoon she discovers that you enjoy licking the cheese powder from her fingers after sheâs been eating Cheetos. From that moment onward, the behaviour becomes a tradition. Tony nearly has an aneurysm the first time he witnesses it. âMorgan!â he practically shouts. âStop feeding the giant wolf your fingers.â âSheâs not eating my fingers.â âThatâs not the point.â âShe likes the Cheeto dust.â
You do, in fact, like the Cheeto dust. Morgan giggles every time your tongue cleans the orange powder from her hands while Tony watches with the exhausted expression of a father who has long since accepted that nobody listens to him. Wanda finds the entire thing adorable. Natasha takes photographs specifically to annoy Tony later. Life settles into a comfortable routine. A surprisingly normal one considering it involves superheroes and a wolf living inside a high-security compound. For the first time since being dragged from the forest, everything feels stable.
Naturally, that is precisely when Secretary Ross arrives to ruin it. The disruption begins on an otherwise ordinary afternoon when a government vehicle pulls up outside the compound. Nobody is particularly happy to see him.
Ross spends the first fifteen minutes arguing with Tony, the second fifteen arguing with Steve, and then somehow finds time to annoy everybody else as well. You pay little attention until your nameâor rather, your speciesâenters the conversation.
The moment the word wolf reaches your ears, you immediately become interested. Unfortunately, the news is not encouraging. According to Ross, there are laws regarding wildlife. Lots of laws. Apparently keeping a wolf inside an Avengers facility falls into several extremely complicated legal categories.
Tony argues that they didnât capture you. Bruce argues that they rescued you. Steve argues that releasing you while injured would have been irresponsible. Ross agrees with all of them. Unfortunately, the law does not particularly care. The solution seems obvious at first. Release the wolf. End of discussion.
The team actually attempts it. Once. Bruce drives you back toward the forest. Steve walks you to the tree line. Everybody says their goodbyes. You wait until theyâre halfway back to the compound before sprinting directly past them and returning home. The second attempt lasts even less time. The third attempt ends with you somehow arriving back before Bruceâs vehicle does. By then even Ross appears irritated.
Several days of phone calls, paperwork and governmental nonsense follow. Eventually a compromise is reached. A legal exception. A special permit. Some absurd mountain of documents that only bureaucrats could create.
The conclusion is simple enough. You may remain at the compound. However, somebody must legally assume responsibility for you. Any damage, incidents or accidents become that personâs liability. Technically the responsibility could belong to anyone.
Practically speaking, everybody already knows how the vote would go. You spend approximately ninety percent of your time attached to either Wanda or Natasha. Nobody else even comes close. âThis is ridiculous,â Sam says during the discussion. âThe wolf already chose.â Clint nods. âSheâs basically their kid at this point.â Natasha immediately points at him. âDonât call her our kid.â âYour giant wolf daughter.â âClint.â âFurry daughter.â Wanda is trying very hard not to laugh.
By the end of the meeting, the paperwork is signed. Wanda signs. Natasha signs. Just like that, they become your official owners in the eyes of the government. The entire concept feels deeply insulting from your perspective. You are a werewolf. A member of a pack. A fully capable person. Yet all anybody else sees is a very large animal. Still, there is something unexpectedly comforting about the way neither woman hesitates before accepting responsibility.
A few days later, Wanda and Natasha return from town carrying several shopping bags. The moment they enter the compound, you immediately investigate. Natasha attempts to stop you. You ignore her. Wanda laughs. Inside one of the bags is a collar. Not the cheap kind found in ordinary pet stores.
This one is clearly custom-made. Thick padded leather. Soft lining. Durable metal fittings. It smells new. Expensive. Natasha holds it while Wanda kneels beside you. âBefore you get offended,â Natasha says, as though you can somehow understand every word, âthis was not my idea.â âYou helped choose it,â Wanda immediately points out. âI helped stop you buying the one covered in stars.â âThe stars were pretty.â âThe stars were ridiculous.â
While they argue, Wanda carefully fastens the collar around your neck. It fits perfectly. Not restrictive. Not uncomfortable. Just secure enough to stay in place. Hanging from the front is a custom metal tag. On one side is Wandaâs symbol. On the other is Natashaâs. The metal catches the light as it settles against your chest.
For several seconds, neither woman says anything. Then Wanda reaches forward to smooth the fur beneath it. Natasha scratches behind one of your ears. âThere,â Natasha says quietly. âOfficial.â You should probably hate it. You should definitely hate the entire concept. Instead, standing between the two women while they admire the collar theyâd chosen together, you find yourself doing something deeply embarrassing. Your tail starts wagging.
The collar somehow marks the beginning of an entirely new phase of your life at the compound. Once the novelty wears off and everybody accepts that you are, apparently, staying forever, the team gradually stops treating you like a rescued animal and starts treating you like part of the household. It begins innocently enough.
Wanda teaches you basic commands, mostly because she thinks itâs funny. Sit. Stay. Come here. Spin. The first time she asks you to shake her hand, you stare at her in complete disbelief. You are a werewolf. A hunter. A member of an ancient pack. Yet five minutes later youâre placing your paw into her hand because the look of excitement on her face makes refusing impossible.
Natasha finds the entire thing hilarious. She begins inventing increasingly ridiculous tricks solely to see if youâll do them. Bruce walks into the common room one afternoon to discover you balancing a biscuit on your nose while Wanda counts down dramatically. Sam nearly falls over laughing. Clint records the entire thing.
The problem is that youâre embarrassingly good at all of it. You understand what they want almost immediately. Your intelligence is significantly higher than any normal wolfâs, and years of pack communication have made interpreting body language second nature. Within a matter of weeks youâve mastered every trick either woman can think of.
Eventually Natasha narrows her eyes at you one evening after watching you flawlessly follow a complicated chain of commands. âOkay,â she says. âI have an idea.â Wanda immediately looks concerned. âThatâs never good.â Natasha ignores her. âI wonder if she can do tactical commands.â
What begins as curiosity rapidly evolves into training. Real training. Natasha starts small. She hides objects around the compound and teaches you to locate them. Then she begins using volunteers. Usually Clint. Sometimes Sam. Once Tony, who spends the entire exercise loudly protesting that billionaires shouldnât be hunted for sport.
Natasha teaches you hand signals. Silent directions. Ways to circle around a target without being noticed. Methods for steering people exactly where you want them without ever physically touching them. The first time she points toward a fleeing agent during a training exercise and signals for you to intercept, you understand instantly.
Instead of tackling him, you cut off every escape route until he unknowingly moves exactly where Natasha wants him. The look on her face afterwards is almost alarming. âOh no,â Clint says from nearby. âDonât make that face.â âWhat face?â Natasha asks. âThe face that means youâve discovered something.â âIâve discovered something.â Clint groans.
Over the following weeks the exercises become more advanced. Tracking scents through forests. Locating hidden individuals. Moving quietly through difficult terrain. Working alongside Wandaâs powers. The entire thing feels so natural that it barely registers as training. Youâve hunted with a pack your entire life. Coordinating movements. Anticipating teammates. Understanding positioning. Reading body language. None of it is new. The only difference is that your packmates now happen to be a telekinetic witch and one of the deadliest spies on the planet.
Eventually Natasha decides thereâs only one way to find out if the training works. âAbsolutely not,â Steve says the moment she suggests it. âAbsolutely yes,â Natasha replies. âSheâs not going on a mission.â âSheâs more qualified than half the people Clint recruits.â Clint immediately points at her. âLeave me out of this.â
The argument somehow continues for three days. Tony sides with Steve. Wanda sides with Natasha. Bruce attempts neutrality. Thor enthusiastically supports bringing the giant wolf warrior into battle. Nobody is surprised. In the end Natasha wins, mostly because the mission in question is relatively straightforward.
A small HYDRA facility operating deep within a remote forest. Limited personnel. Minimal risk. The objective is simple. Get inside. Gather intelligence. Shut the operation down from the inside. The plan relies heavily on stealth, tracking and coordinated movement.
In other words, exactly the things youâve been doing for months. Even so, the atmosphere inside the Quinjet feels different on the day of the mission. Steve looks like heâs preparing for disaster. Tony keeps finding reasons to repeat safety instructions. Wanda spends most of the flight scratching behind your ears while Natasha reviews the operation for the tenth time. âSheâs going to be fine,â Natasha eventually says. âYou donât know that,â Steve replies. Natasha gestures toward you. âLook at her.â Everyone does. Youâre currently asleep.
The mission itself begins just after nightfall. The HYDRA facility sits hidden amongst dense woodland, isolated from nearby towns and protected by layers of security designed to detect approaching humans. Humans being the important word.
You move through the trees almost effortlessly. Every scent. Every sound. Every vibration beneath your paws paints a picture of the environment around you. Long before the others spot the first patrol, youâve already identified three separate guard routes and two concealed entrances. Wanda and Natasha follow close behind while communicating through earpieces.
The coordination feels effortless. Familiar. Comfortable. Natasha gives a silent signal and immediately you move. One guard notices movement in the trees and leaves his assigned position to investigate. Exactly as intended. Another follows. Then another. By the time they realise something is wrong, Natasha has already guided them directly into an ambush.
Further inside the facility the pattern repeats. Guards are distracted. Patrols separated. Escape routes quietly eliminated. Whenever Natasha points, you understand. Whenever Wanda shifts position, you adjust automatically. The three of you move through the operation with a level of coordination that surprises even yourselves. At one point Wanda glances toward Natasha after watching you flawlessly herd two fleeing agents directly into her line of sight. âYou trained her too well.â Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself. âI know.â
By the time the facility finally falls, most of the fighting is already over. SHIELD teams move in to secure prisoners while agents begin collecting intelligence. The mission is declared an overwhelming success. Steve congratulates everybody over the comms. Tony reluctantly admits the operation went smoothly. Natasha spends the entire return flight looking unbearably smug. You curl up on the floor of the Quinjet, exhausted but content, while Wanda absentmindedly runs her fingers through the fur around your collar.
For the first time since arriving at the compound, it truly feels like youâve found your place. Not as a rescued animal. Not as a guest. Not even as Wanda and Natashaâs oversized shadow. Out there in the forest, moving beside them through the darkness, working together without needing words, everything had felt instinctive. Natural. Like slipping back into a role youâd been born for. The only difference was that this pack looked very different from the one youâd left behind.
For a while after the HYDRA mission, everything seems perfect. The teamâs concerns about bringing a giant wolf into active operations disappear almost overnight after seeing how effectively you work alongside Wanda and Natasha. Training becomes less about teaching you and more about refining what already comes naturally.
You spend mornings following Natasha through obstacle courses and afternoons stretched across the common room floor while Wanda reads with her feet resting against your side. Life settles back into its familiar rhythm.
On the afternoon everything changes, the team has gathered outside to enjoy one of the rare warm days where nobody is actively saving the world. Someone has produced a baseball bat. Someone else has produced enough enthusiasm to convince half the team to participate.
Natasha is currently standing in the middle of the makeshift field arguing with Clint about rules that neither of them are actually following. Sam is laughing. Steve is trying unsuccessfully to keep things organised. Tony is insisting that technology should be allowed in sports. Morgan is cheering for whichever team happens to be winning at any given moment.
You lie comfortably in the grass nearby with your head resting across Wandaâs lap while her fingers move absentmindedly through the fur around your neck. The collar sits comfortably against your throat now, so familiar you barely notice it anymore. Every now and then Wanda scratches behind your ears and you find yourself leaning into it without thinking.
Across the field Natasha glances over and catches the sight. âSpoiled,â she calls. Wanda doesnât even look up from her book. âSheâs earned it.â You close your eyes, content to simply enjoy the moment. The smell of freshly cut grass fills the air. Laughter drifts across the compound grounds. Everything feels peaceful.
Then the wind changes.
Your eyes snap open instantly.
The scent hits you before anything else.
Wolf.
Not one.
Many.
Every muscle in your body immediately locks.
Wanda notices the change at once. Her hand stills against your fur. âDetka?â she asks quietly. Across the field Natasha turns as well. Years of experience make her notice danger the same way you do. The laughter gradually dies as the team picks up on the tension spreading through both of you.
The bushes bordering the compound begin to shake. Once. Twice. Then violently. Steve straightens immediately. Natasha lowers the baseball bat. Wanda stands. For several long seconds, nobody moves.
Then figures begin emerging from the tree line. One after another. And another. And another. Some appear fully human. Others remain in wolf form. Every single one carries themselves with the same confidence as an apex predator. They are large. Powerful. Scarred by years of survival. Several of the wolves are nearly your size. One is larger. The atmosphere changes instantly. Even the Avengers look unsettled.
The newcomers donât appear frightened by the heavily armed superheroes standing between them and the compound. If anything, they barely seem interested. Their eyes pass over the team entirely. Their focus settles on only one person. You.
By now youâve already risen to your feet. Your tail is rigid. Your ears flattened. A low growl vibrates through your chest. The wolves spread slightly as they approach. Not threatening the Avengers. Not even acknowledging them. Their attention remains fixed entirely on you.
The first voice comes from a broad-shouldered man standing at the front of the group. âThere you are.â The words immediately freeze half the team. Because wolves arenât supposed to talk. Behind him, a woman folds her arms and openly scoffs. âUnbelievable.â Her gaze drifts over your collar. Over Wanda. Over Natasha. Disgust twists across her face. âLook at you.â Nobody says anything. Even Tony appears too stunned to interrupt. The man steps closer. âWeâve been looking for months.â Your growl deepens. âAnd this is what we find?â another pack member asks. âLiving with humans?â âWearing a collar?â âSleeping in their house?â
The accusations come one after another. Natasha slowly moves toward your side. Wanda does the same. Neither woman takes their eyes off the strangers. âCare to explain whatâs happening?â Natasha asks quietly. You canât answer. Not without revealing everything.
Unfortunately, the pack has no such concerns. The broad-shouldered man laughs harshly. âYou didnât tell them?â Wandaâs expression shifts. âTell us what?â The woman beside him gestures directly toward you. âThat sheâs one of us.â Silence falls across the field. You feel it immediately. The confusion. The disbelief. Wandaâs gaze snaps toward you. Natashaâs follows a second later. âOne of you?â Steve asks carefully. The man smirks. âA werewolf.â The word lands like a grenade.
For several seconds nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Then all at once the carefully controlled situation collapses. âYouâre kidding,â Tony says. âYouâre not kidding.â Clint looks personally offended. âThe wolf was a person this entire time?â âTechnically,â Sam mutters. Natasha still hasnât looked away from you. Neither has Wanda. The emotions flickering across their faces are impossible to ignore. Confusion. Shock. Hurt.
Not because youâre a werewolf. Because youâve apparently been capable of understanding everything for months without ever being able to tell them. The pack continues speaking. âYou abandoned us.â âFor them.â âYou traded your pack for humans.â âFor a collar.â
The last comment finally snaps something inside you. Before anyone can react, youâre moving. The nearest wolf barely has time to dodge before you slam into him. The impact sends both of you tumbling through the grass. Another pack member lunges. You meet her head-on.
The fight erupts instantly. Growls tear through the air. Teeth flash. Bodies collide. Years of resentment and frustration explode all at once. The Avengers start forward. Steve shouts something. Natasha curses. Wandaâs eyes begin glowing red. None of it matters. Not until one particularly large wolf crashes into you and the two of you roll dangerously close to Morganâs position. That is the moment Wanda finally intervenes.
Chaos simply stops.
Scarlet energy erupts across the field.
Every werewolf is ripped apart from the fight and suspended in midair before they can react. You included. One moment youâre snarling at a pack member. The next youâre floating several feet above the ground, completely immobilised by Wandaâs magic.
The field falls silent except for heavy breathing. Wanda stands in the centre of it all. Her eyes glow brightly. Her expression is impossible to read. Natasha steps forward beside her. Neither woman looks angry. Somehow that makes it worse.
They look hurt. Genuinely hurt. Wandaâs gaze settles on you first. Then on the collar around your neck. Then back to your eyes. âYou understood us,â she says quietly. It isnât really a question. Natasha folds her arms. âMonths.â The word hangs heavily in the air.
Around you, the rest of your pack remains trapped in scarlet energy while the Avengers stare in stunned silence. Nobody seems entirely sure what to do next. Least of all you. Because for the first time since arriving at the compound, there is no hiding behind being a wolf. No pretending. No misunderstandings. The truth has finally arrived. And judging by the expressions on Wanda and Natashaâs faces, it may have cost far more than you ever intended.
Nobody says anything for a long time after Wanda stops the fight.
The field remains frozen in an uncomfortable silence broken only by heavy breathing and the distant rustling of leaves. Scarlet energy still glows around every member of your pack, holding them suspended several feet above the ground. The anger that had fuelled the confrontation has long since faded, leaving behind something much worse. Embarrassment. Regret. Uncertainty.
You remain trapped amongst Wandaâs magic as her gaze moves across the assembled werewolves. Some glare back defiantly. Others avoid her eyes entirely. The sheer power radiating from her is impossible to ignore. Even your pack seems to understand that pushing things further would be a very bad idea. Eventually Wanda takes a slow breath and lowers her hands slightly.
One by one, every member of your pack is released. Boots hit grass. Paws hit dirt. Nobody immediately moves. For several tense seconds it seems like another fight might break out. Then the broad-shouldered man who had spoken first glances toward you. His expression softens slightly, though not by much. âCome on,â he says quietly to the others. The woman beside him gives one final look toward the compound before turning away.
Gradually the rest of the pack follows. Human forms disappear back toward the tree line. Wolves melt into the shadows between the trees. Within moments the forest begins swallowing them once more. They leave without another word. Without another accusation. Without looking back. Everyone is released except you. Scarlet magic continues holding you motionless above the grass while Wanda watches the last traces of your former life disappear into the woods.
The moment the final pack member vanishes from sight, Wandaâs attention returns entirely to you. Natashaâs does too. Somehow that feels significantly more intimidating. Neither woman appears angry. You almost wish they were. Anger would be easier. Simpler. Instead they simply look at you. Really look at you. As though theyâre trying to reconcile the wolf theyâve spent months caring for with the person they now know has been hiding behind those golden eyes the entire time.
Natashaâs expression remains unreadable, though the hurt is obvious if you know where to look. Wanda doesnât even attempt to hide hers. Confusion flickers across her face. Questions. Doubt. She opens her mouth as if to say something. Then closes it again. Whatever words she had donât seem sufficient. For several more seconds nobody moves.
Then, without warning, the magic disappears. You drop back onto all four paws. The impact barely registers. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing before you. Wanda studies you one final time before turning away. No dramatic speech. No confrontation. No shouting. She simply turns and begins walking toward the compound. Natasha hesitates slightly longer. For a brief moment it almost looks like she wants to say something. Instead she follows Wanda. Together they disappear through the glass doors and leave you standing alone on the lawn.
One by one, the others eventually follow. Steve offers you a sympathetic look before heading inside. Bruce looks concerned. Clint awkwardly pretends not to be staring. Sam gives a small nod before leaving as well. Nobody knows what to say. How could they?
The wolf theyâve been living with for months apparently isnât a wolf at all. Eventually the field empties entirely. The baseball game is forgotten. The equipment remains scattered across the grass. The afternoon sunlight gradually shifts toward evening. Through it all, you donât move. You simply stand there.
The compoundâs enormous glass walls make it impossible to avoid looking inside. Every room seems brighter now. More distant. More unreachable. Occasionally you catch glimpses of Wanda moving through the common room. Natasha appears beside her. Sometimes theyâre talking. Sometimes theyâre simply sitting together. Every so often one of them glances toward the window. Toward you.
The looks arenât angry. Thatâs what hurts the most. They arenât glaring. They arenât avoiding you. They just look thoughtful. Processing. Trying to understand. Hours pass this way. The sun sinks lower. Shadows stretch across the grounds. Inside, life continues. Outside, you remain exactly where they left you.
As darkness begins creeping across the compound, a strange realisation slowly settles over you. You have spent months building a life here. Months becoming part of something. You learned routines. Earned trust. Found a place within a new pack. Yet standing alone in the grass, watching the people you care about through a wall of glass, youâve never felt further away from them.
The truth is finally out. The secret youâve carried since the day you collapsed outside the compound no longer exists. And somehow everything feels worse now than it did when nobody knew.
Your eyes find Wanda one final time. Sheâs sitting beside Natasha on the couch. Neither woman is looking outside at the moment. For the first time all day, you finally break your stare away from the compound. Slowly, you turn around. The forest waits silently beyond the edge of the property. Familiar. Dark. Home. Or at least it used to be.
You take a step toward it. Then another. Nobody notices. Nobody stops you. The grass gives way to dirt beneath your paws. Trees begin surrounding you once again. Within minutes the compound is hidden behind trunks and leaves. The lights disappear. The voices vanish. Soon there is nothing left except the forest stretching endlessly ahead. And without allowing yourself a chance to look back, you continue walking deeper into the darkness.
The compound feels wrong that night.
Not quieter. Not emptier. Wrong.
The difference is subtle enough that neither Wanda nor Natasha notices it immediately. After everything that happened outside, after the pack, the revelations, the fight and the silence that followed, neither woman has much energy left for analysing why the atmosphere feels off. They simply move through the evening together.
Natasha makes coffee she never drinks. Wanda spends almost an hour staring at a book without turning a single page. Neither brings up you. Neither brings up the fact that the wolf theyâve spent months caring for apparently understood every conversation, every argument and every embarrassing nickname theyâd ever used around you. Neither mentions the look on your face when you realised they were hurt.
Eventually exhaustion wins over confusion and they make their way upstairs. The routine is automatic by now. Natasha brushes her teeth. Wanda changes into pyjamas. Lights are switched off. Curtains are drawn. The bedroom settles into darkness.
For a few moments both women simply stand there staring at their bed. The bed that suddenly seems much larger than it did yesterday. Wanda climbs in first, pulling the blankets over herself before instinctively leaving a gap near the foot of the mattress. Natasha notices immediately. Neither comments on it.
A few seconds later Natasha slides beneath the covers as well. Silence settles between them. The room should feel familiar. Comfortable. Safe. Instead there is a strange absence hanging over everything. An absence both women are becoming increasingly aware of.
Wanda is the first to suffer from it. Sleep refuses to come. She shifts onto one side. Then the other. Pulls the blankets higher. Kicks them lower. Every position feels wrong. More than once her foot drifts toward the bottom of the bed without conscious thought, searching for a familiar bundle of fur that should be curled there.
Every single time she remembers halfway through the movement and immediately stills. The first few times itâs merely frustrating. After the fifth or sixth attempt it starts becoming painful. Beside her, Natasha remains motionless. At least outwardly. Her hands rest behind her head while she stares up at the ceiling as though it contains some secret answer she hasnât found yet. It doesnât. The ceiling remains spectacularly unhelpful.
Hours seem to pass with neither woman speaking. Eventually Wanda lets out a quiet huff and rolls onto her back again. âStop looking at the ceiling.â Natasha doesnât move. âIâm thinking.â âThe ceiling isnât helping.â âI know.â Another silence follows. Longer this time. âDo you think she left?â Wanda finally asks. Natasha closes her eyes briefly.
The question hangs heavily in the darkness. âNo.â The answer comes immediately. Certain. Confident. Wanda turns her head. âYou donât?â âNo.â Natasha stares upward again. âSheâs stubborn.â Despite everything, a tiny smile briefly appears on Wandaâs face. It disappears just as quickly.
Eventually they both drift asleep. Not properly. Not deeply. The sort of sleep people fall into when their minds refuse to fully switch off. Every few hours one of them wakes. Sometimes itâs Natasha checking the time. Sometimes itâs Wanda reaching toward the foot of the bed before remembering why itâs empty. Neither sleeps for longer than an hour or two at a time.
By the time morning finally arrives, both women feel exhausted. The pale sunlight creeping through the curtains drags them awake properly. Neither moves for several moments. They simply lie there staring at opposite walls. Thinking. Processing. Wondering. Finally Wanda sits up. Natasha does the same. No discussion takes place. None is necessary.
One look passes between them and an entire conversation somehow happens without words. They both know exactly what the other is thinking. Whatever happened yesterday, whatever conversations need to happen later, whatever questions remain unanswered, the first thing they need to do is find you.
Wanda is already climbing out of bed by the time Natasha stands. Within minutes theyâre dressed and heading downstairs together. Neither heads toward the kitchen. Neither stops for coffee. They walk straight through the compound and out onto the grounds where theyâd last seen you standing.
The morning air is cool. Dew clings to the grass. The field remains exactly as it was left yesterday. A few forgotten pieces of baseball equipment still lie scattered near the edge of the lawn. Wanda scans the area immediately. Natasha does the same. Neither sees what theyâre looking for.
For several seconds they continue walking forward anyway, as though expecting you to appear from behind a tree or emerge from somewhere nearby. Nothing happens. The patch of grass where youâd stood for hours is empty. Wandaâs pace slows. Natashaâs expression tightens slightly. Together they reach the edge of the property and stop. Beyond them, the forest stretches endlessly in every direction. Dense. Silent. Unfamiliar. The same forest youâd disappeared into the night before.
Wanda studies the tree line for a long moment. Then another. Then another. Eventually she lowers her gaze. Natasha follows the direction of her stare. There, pressed into the damp earth at the forestâs edge, are a set of pawprints leading away from the compound. Deep. Clear. Fresh enough that neither woman has any trouble recognising them.
Neither speaks. Neither needs to. Because for the first time since finding an injured wolf bleeding on their lawn all those months ago, there is no sign of you anywhere.
The panic begins approximately thirty seconds after Wanda and Natasha reach the tree line.
At first neither of them says the word out loud. Neither woman is particularly eager to admit that theyâre worried. Wanda keeps insisting there must be a reasonable explanation. Natasha keeps insisting that if you wanted to leave permanently, you would have done so months ago. Both arguments sound increasingly hollow with every passing minute. The pawprints leading into the forest are impossible to miss. Fresh enough to follow. Clear enough to confirm exactly where youâd gone.
Before long theyâre gathering supplies and heading into the woods themselves. Steve attempts to convince them to bring backup. Natasha refuses. Tony suggests drones. Wanda ignores him entirely. Within an hour theyâre moving between the trees, following the trail deeper than either of them has ever travelled before. The forest surrounding the compound is enormous. Larger than most people realise. The Avengers have mapped sections closest to the facility, primarily for security purposes, but nobody has ever found much reason to venture further.
As the hours pass, even those familiar landmarks disappear. Cell signals fade. Marked routes vanish. The terrain becomes rougher and less travelled. More natural. More wild. Wanda occasionally spots broken branches or faint traces of movement through the undergrowth. Natasha finds tracks. Neither says much. Both remain focused entirely on finding you.
By the third hour of walking, even Natasha is beginning to look concerned. âHow far out does this forest go?â Wanda asks quietly. Natasha studies the endless trees ahead. âApparently further than we thought.â
Eventually the landscape begins changing. The signs are subtle at first. A narrow path that clearly didnât form naturally. Cut logs stacked neatly beside a stream. Marks on trees. Evidence that people live here. Both women immediately become more alert.
They continue following the trail until the forest finally opens into a small clearing. Nestled amongst the trees sits a structure that looks somewhere between a cabin and a hunting lodge. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney. The building itself appears handmade, weathered by years of exposure.
Natasha and Wanda exchange a look. Neither says anything. They simply continue forward. A few minutes later another building appears. Then another. Then two more. Some are little more than huts. Others are larger communal structures. Children dart between them. A few wolves nap lazily beneath shaded trees.
Human voices drift through the air. The entire settlement seems to emerge naturally from the forest itself, hidden so effectively that it would be almost impossible to locate without knowing exactly where to look. âThis has to be it,â Wanda murmurs. Natasha nods slowly. âPack territory.â The words feel strange to say aloud. Until yesterday werewolves had been something neither of them believed existed. Now theyâre standing in the middle of an entire village filled with them.
The pack notices them almost immediately.
Conversations gradually stop as heads turn toward the newcomers. Several adults rise from where theyâd been sitting. None appear particularly alarmed. Curious, perhaps. Wary. But not hostile. Many of the faces are familiar from the confrontation outside the compound. The broad-shouldered man stands near one of the larger buildings speaking with a younger wolf. The woman who had mocked your collar the day before sits sharpening a knife near a fire pit. Several pups in wolf form immediately stop playing to stare openly at the strangers.
Natasha instinctively scans the area. Wanda does the same. Both searching for the same thing. Brown fur. Golden eyes. Any sign of you. They find neither. Instead Wanda suddenly stops walking altogether. Natasha notices immediately. âWhat?â Wanda doesnât answer. She simply points.
Standing beside one of the largest huts in the settlement is a carved wooden post.
And hanging from that post is your collar.
The thick padded leather is unmistakable. Wanda recognises it instantly because she spent almost forty minutes choosing it. Natasha recognises it because she spent twenty arguing over which design looked least ridiculous. The metal tag glints softly in the sunlight. Wandaâs symbol on one side. Natashaâs on the other.
Seeing it hanging there feels strangely wrong. Too final. Too deliberate. For several seconds neither woman moves. The sight creates an uncomfortable knot somewhere deep in Wandaâs chest. Natashaâs jaw tightens slightly. The collar had become part of you. As ridiculous as that sounds. Seeing it removed and abandoned here feels like a message neither of them particularly enjoys receiving. âWell,â Natasha says carefully. âSheâs definitely been here.â
âObviously.â
âNot helping.â
Wanda doesnât respond.
Because a much larger problem has just occurred to her.
Every werewolf in sight appears human.
Every single one.
The adults standing nearby. The children. The people moving between buildings. None of them resemble the wolf theyâve spent months living with. Not because you arenât here.
Because they have absolutely no idea what you actually look like.
The realisation arrives simultaneously for both women.
Months.
Theyâve known you for months.
They know your favourite sleeping spot. Your favourite food. The exact way your ears twitch when youâre annoyed. They know you secretly like being brushed despite pretending otherwise. They know you steal Wandaâs side of the bed whenever given the opportunity.
Yet they donât know the simplest thing of all.
Your face.
Natasha slowly looks around the settlement again.
âDo you know which one she is?â
Wanda opens her mouth.
Then closes it.
Because she doesnât.
Neither of them do.
Somewhere amongst the dozens of werewolves moving through the village is the person theyâve spent months caring about. And they have absolutely no idea who theyâre looking for.
You catch their scent long before you actually see them.
Even amongst dozens of pack members, countless overlapping smells and the constant presence of the forest itself, their scents remain unmistakable. Wandaâs carries traces of coffee, old books and something warm that has always reminded you of home. Natashaâs carries leather, gunpowder and the faintest hint of whatever shampoo she stubbornly refuses to admit she uses.
The moment those scents reach you, every muscle in your body locks. Youâd spent the entire night convincing yourself they wouldnât come. That theyâd be angry. That theyâd be relieved to finally be rid of the giant wolf that had apparently lied to them for months. Yet somehow, despite all logic, theyâd followed you. Followed you further into the forest than any human should reasonably be willing to travel.
Now, standing amongst your pack in a half-shifted form, you find yourself wishing youâd had more time to prepare. Thirty feet separates you from them. Thirty feet and an entire world of uncertainty. Around you, other pack members continue watching the strangers cautiously. Some are openly suspicious. Others merely curious. You barely notice any of them. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing near the central huts.
Seeing them here makes everything hurt far worse than it did yesterday. Guilt twists painfully inside your chest. Every memory seems determined to replay itself at once. Wanda sneaking you treats when Bruce said no. Natasha pretending she didnât enjoy your company while secretly building you a blanket nest. Movie nights. Training sessions. Sleeping curled at their feet before eventually earning a place on the actual bed. Youâd never meant to deceive them. Not really. Yet looking at them now, you can suddenly understand exactly why they felt betrayed.
Unfortunately, your body chooses this exact moment to completely betray you as well.
Specifically, your tail.
At first itâs only a slight movement behind you. Barely noticeable. Then Natasha shifts her weight slightly and your tail immediately starts wagging. You freeze. It freezes. Wanda turns her head and your tail starts wagging again. Mortified, you attempt to force it still. The effort lasts approximately three seconds. Because despite everything that happened yesterday, despite the guilt currently eating you alive, despite being surrounded by your actual pack, seeing them again fills you with an embarrassing amount of happiness.
Your ears flatten slightly as you realise exactly what this means. Somewhere along the way, entirely against your better judgement, youâve become hopelessly attached. Across the clearing, Natashaâs eyes narrow. You know that look. It is the look of a predator noticing something important. The same look she gets during missions. The same look she gets whenever Clint attempts to lie.
Your tail continues wagging. âTraitor,â you mutter under your breath. The tail does not care. Natashaâs gaze moves across you carefully. Not threatening. Not judgemental. Just observant. She notices your eyes repeatedly flicking toward the collar hanging from the wooden post. She notices how quickly your attention returns to her and Wanda every time you try looking elsewhere. She notices the obvious guilt written all over your face.
Most importantly, she notices that every other werewolf in the clearing is looking at her and Wanda like outsiders. Potential threats. Strangers. Youâre looking at them like youâve just found something important that you thought youâd lost.
The problem, unfortunately, is that Natasha Romanoff is very, very good at noticing things.
âYou see that?â she asks quietly.
Wanda follows her gaze.
For several seconds she doesnât seem to understand what Natasha means.
Then she notices your tail.
A tiny, unwilling smile immediately appears before she quickly suppresses it.
âOh.â
âYep.â
The smile almost returns.
Meanwhile, neither woman seems particularly prepared for finally discovering what you actually look like. Back at the compound, every image theyâd ever formed of you had been filtered through fur, paws and golden eyes. The reality standing before them is⌠different. Your half-shifted form leaves the wolf traits obvious enough. Brown ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues its humiliating display behind you. Yet the rest of you is undeniably human. Or close enough.
Like most of the pack, your clothing consists primarily of practical materials gathered from the forest itself. Leather wraps around your waist. Woven vines and natural fibres cover your chest and shoulders. Functional. Traditional. Entirely normal by pack standards. The arrangement leaves your arms and much of your skin exposed, revealing years of hunting, climbing and surviving in the wilderness. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-bronzed skin every time you move.
Yet somehow the intimidating image is completely ruined by the fact your tail refuses to stop wagging. Natasha notices that too. In fact, she notices everything. Her expression slowly becomes more complicated with every passing second. Wanda seems equally distracted. Neither woman had expected this. Not really. Theyâd imagined meeting you eventually. Theyâd wondered about it countless times without realising it. But now that the moment has actually arrived, neither seems entirely certain what to do.
The silence stretches.
You donât approach them.
They donât approach you.
The distance remains exactly the same.
Yet somehow it feels far smaller than it did a few minutes ago.
Around the clearing, several pack members are beginning to notice the strange exchange taking place. The broad-shouldered man whoâd confronted you outside the compound folds his arms. A few of the younger wolves openly watch with interest. One of the elders looks suspiciously amused.
You wish the ground would swallow you whole. Your tail is still wagging. Natasha is still watching. Wandaâs gaze keeps softening every time your eyes meet hers. Everything is becoming increasingly unbearable. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Wanda finally takes a small step forward. Not enough to invade your space. Not enough to force anything. Just one step. The sort of step someone takes when approaching a frightened animal. Or perhaps someone they care about.
Your tail somehow wags even harder. Natasha immediately notices. Of course she does. And for the first time since arriving at the pack grounds, a faint smirk appears on her face.
âOh,â she says quietly.
âWhat?â Wanda asks.
Natasha never takes her eyes off you.
âI think we found her.â
And despite everything, your stupid tail practically confirms it for her.
The moment Natasha says it, every survival instinct you possess immediately takes over.
Run.
The command slams through your brain with enough force to make your ears flatten against your head.
You donât wait to see what happens next. The second Wanda takes another step forward, you turn and bolt. Straight into the forest. Branches whip past as you sprint between trees, heart hammering violently against your ribs. Behind you, voices erupt from the clearing. You donât stay long enough to hear what theyâre saying. Shame burns through every inch of you. Embarrassment. Guilt. Relief. All twisted together into something impossible to untangle. Youâd spent months imagining what would happen if Wanda and Natasha discovered the truth. Somehow every scenario had been less humiliating than this one.
Because now they knew. They knew you understood every conversation. Every argument. Every movie night. Every time Natasha secretly let you onto the bed after pretending not to want you there. Every time Wanda called you pet names when she thought nobody was listening. And worst of all, they knew exactly how attached youâd become.
Your tail had made absolutely sure of that. You hear movement behind you. Not footsteps. Something much worse. Red magic.
âOh come on,â you groan.
A second later scarlet energy wraps around your waist. The forest disappears beneath your feet. You immediately find yourself suspended several feet in the air.
âReally?â you call.
âReally,â Wandaâs voice replies.
The world moves alarmingly fast as the magic carries you backwards through the trees. Several branches narrowly miss your face. One doesnât. âOw.â
âYou ran.â
âI panicked.â
âYou always panic.â
âI do not always panic.â
âYou literally turned around and sprinted away.â
Unfortunately, she has a point.
The clearing comes back into view moments later. Several amused pack members are openly watching the entire thing. One of the elders is laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.
You decide you hate everyone. Especially Wanda. Mostly because sheâs right. The magic finally lowers you back onto solid ground a few feet from the two women.
For a moment nobody moves. You stare at the grass. Wanda stares at you. Natasha stares at you. The silence stretches.
Then suddenly both women are moving. Before you can react, Wandaâs arms are around your shoulders. At almost the exact same moment Natasha wraps her arms around your waist. The impact nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.
âWhatââ
Wanda hugs tighter. Natasha somehow hugs tighter than that. The result is less a hug and more a coordinated assault.
âYou idiot,â Natasha mutters.
You blink. That isnât the response you expected.
âWe thought you were gone,â Wanda says quietly.
Her voice sounds suspiciously emotional. Your confusion only deepens.
âYou left.â
âYou left us first.â
âI thought you hated me.â
Both women immediately pull back just enough to stare at you. The looks on their faces are almost offended.
âHate you?â Wanda repeats.
âYou lied to us,â Natasha says. âThatâs not the same thing. We were confused. We were hurt. But we didnât hate you.â
Wandaâs arms tighten again.
âIf anything,â she admits quietly, âwe were more upset with ourselves.â
You frown.
âWhat?â
The women exchange a glance. Then Natasha sighs.
âWe shouldnât have left you out there.â
Your ears twitch.
âWhat?â
âYesterday,â Wanda says softly. âAfter the fight.â
The guilt returns immediately.
âWe found out this huge secret and instead of talking to youâŚâ Her expression falls slightly. âWe just walked away.â
âYou were hurt.â
âSo were you.â
The simple response steals every argument from your mouth.
For several moments nobody says anything. The forest around you feels strangely distant. Eventually you lower your gaze.
âI didnât know how to tell you.â
Wanda and Natasha remain silent. Waiting. So you continue.
âAt first I couldnât.â
Your tail lowers slightly behind you.
âThen after I healedâŚâ You swallow. âYou already thought I was a wolf.â
Natasha nods slowly.
âAnd every day that passed made it harder.â
You laugh weakly.
âHow do you even start that conversation?â
Neither woman interrupts.
ââHey, thanks for rescuing me. Also Iâve secretly understood every word youâve said for six months.ââ
To your immense relief, Natasha snorts. Wanda covers her mouth. Encouraged, you continue.
âThen I got scared.â
Their expressions soften immediately.
âIf I told you, everything wouldâve changed.â
Your eyes finally lift to meet theirs.
âAnd I liked it.â
The admission leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You immediately regret it. Your tail, however, begins wagging. Traitor.
âI liked being there.â
Wandaâs eyes soften even further.
âThe compound felt like home.â
Your throat tightens.
âYou felt like home.â
Silence follows. A dangerous silence. The sort that makes your heart beat significantly faster. Especially when Natasha keeps looking at you like that. You try very hard not to notice. Really. You do. Unfortunately, Natasha Romanoff has spent the last several minutes finally getting a proper look at you.
A very proper look.
Your half-shifted form leaves very little to the imagination compared to the giant wolf sheâd become accustomed to. Years of hunting and surviving in the wilderness are obvious in every movement. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-warmed skin. Wolf ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues wagging with absolutely no regard for your dignity whatsoever.
Natasha notices all of it. Every single bit. You pretend not to. Desperately. The problem is that pretending becomes significantly harder when her gaze briefly drops before returning to your face. Then does it again. Your tail somehow wags harder. Mortified, you immediately focus on literally anything else. Trees. Clouds. The ground. A random squirrel. Anything.
Across from you, Natashaâs lips twitch suspiciously. Wanda notices both your tail and Natashaâs expression at the exact same moment.
âOh my god,â Wanda says.
âWhat?â you ask instantly.
âNothing.â
Natasha looks away far too quickly. Your tail continues wagging. The elder watching nearby starts laughing again. And for the first time since everything fell apart outside the compound, Wanda and Natasha are smiling.
The conversation with your pack takes far longer than expected. Not because anyone is actively trying to stop you from leaving, but because the entire settlement seems fascinated by the fact that two Avengers have wandered several hours into werewolf territory just to find you.
By the time the sun begins dipping lower through the trees, youâve endured enough teasing to last a lifetime. The elder who had laughed at your tail earlier somehow finds even more reasons to do so. The broad-shouldered man apologises, in his own gruff way, for causing problems at the compound. Several of the younger wolves openly ask Natasha questions about fighting. Through all of it, Wanda remains close enough that her shoulder occasionally brushes yours, while Natasha hovers nearby with the casual protectiveness of somebody pretending not to be protective at all.
Eventually the topic everyone has been carefully avoiding finally comes up. âSo,â Wanda says softly, glancing toward the path leading back through the forest. âAre you coming home?â The simple question immediately steals your attention. Home. Not the compound. Not the Avengers facility. Home.
Your ears twitch slightly. Natasha notices. Of course she does. âYouâre not getting rid of us that easily,â she adds. âBesides.â A faint smirk appears on her face. âYouâre our girl.â Heat immediately rises into your cheeks. Wanda smiles. âOur best girl.â Your tail begins wagging before you can stop it.
Around you, several pack members groan dramatically. One of them pretends to gag. You completely ignore them. Because despite everything that happened, despite the confusion and hurt and misunderstandings, the thought of returning with Wanda and Natasha fills your chest with a warmth you havenât felt since leaving the compound. The decision becomes surprisingly easy after that.
The journey back feels very different from the journey out. Nobody is rushing this time. Nobody is desperately following tracks or searching for signs. Instead, the three of you walk together through the forest, gradually leaving the hidden settlement behind. Conversation comes slowly at first. Then more naturally. Wanda asks questions about your pack. Natasha asks questions about shifting.
You answer what you can. Some things make sense to them. Some clearly donât. More than once Natasha has to stop herself from reaching out to touch your ears when they twitch. More than once Wanda fails entirely. By the time the compound finally comes into view through the trees, the tension that had lingered since the confrontation outside has largely disappeared.
Unfortunately, a new problem immediately presents itself. Namely: the rest of the Avengers. âAbsolutely not,â Natasha says the second the building comes into view. âAbsolutely not what?â you ask. âIf Clint sees you first, weâre never hearing the end of it.â Wanda immediately agrees. âOr Tony.â âDefinitely Tony.â âEspecially Tony.â Before you can question their logic further, youâre being ushered around the side of the compound like part of some highly classified operation.
Thankfully, the boys appear distracted elsewhere. Within minutes youâve been successfully smuggled through side corridors, up elevators and into Wanda and Natashaâs room without a single person spotting you. Natasha actually looks proud of herself afterwards. âSee?â she says. âPerfect.â âWeâre literally sneaking a werewolf into our bedroom,â Wanda points out. âExactly.â
The moment the door closes behind you, however, both women suddenly seem to notice something theyâd previously been too distracted to fully process. Specifically, your clothing situation. Or lack thereof, compared to normal human standards. You immediately become aware of it the second Wandaâs eyes flick downward. Then Natashaâs do. The woven vines across your chest. The leather around your waist. The practical attire of someone who grew up in the wilderness rather than modern civilisation. Perfectly normal amongst your pack. Significantly less normal standing in a high-tech Avengers compound.
âRight,â Wanda says after a moment. âWe should probably fix that.â You glance down at yourself. âWhatâs wrong with it?â Natasha makes a small choking noise that suspiciously resembles laughter. Wanda immediately elbows her. âNothingâs wrong with it.â âYou just might be more comfortable in actual clothes.â âActual clothes are overrated.â
Both women stare at you. âActual clothes,â Natasha says firmly, âare happening.â Wanda disappears toward the wardrobe while Natasha remains where she is. For several moments neither speaks. Wanda begins sorting through drawers. Natasha watches her. Wanda glances back. Natasha watches her a little more. A completely silent conversation seems to pass between them.
One youâve seen countless times over the months. Tiny expressions. Small looks. Entire discussions occurring without a single word. This one feels different somehow. More nervous. More deliberate. When Wanda finally turns back around holding a bundle of clothes, neither woman immediately moves to hand them over.
Instead, the room grows unexpectedly quiet.
You glance between them.
Then back again.
Your heart begins beating a little faster.
Natasha takes a single step forward.
Then another.
Close enough now that you can see every tiny detail in her expression. Every flicker of uncertainty. Every trace of affection she isnât bothering to hide anymore. Her hand rises slowly, brushing lightly against your cheek. For a moment she simply looks at you. Really looks at you. Not the wolf sheâd rescued months ago. Not the mystery sheâd spent weeks trying to understand. Just you.
Then she leans forward.
The kiss is soft.
Gentle.
Almost hesitant.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing demanding.
Just Natashaâs lips meeting yours as though sheâs trying to memorise the feeling for the first time. The contact lasts only a few seconds before she slowly pulls away again. Yet somehow those few seconds leave your heart attempting to escape your chest entirely. Your tail is wagging. Obviously. Because apparently it has completely abandoned all loyalty to your dignity. Natashaâs forehead briefly rests against yours before she finally steps back.
And then Wanda is there.
Warm fingers finding your jaw.
A smile so soft it almost hurts.
She waits just long enough for you to look at her.
Then her lips meet yours too.
The kiss is every bit as gentle as Natashaâs had been.
Careful.
Affectionate.
Like sheâs been wanting to do it for far longer than sheâs willing to admit.
When she finally pulls away, the three of you remain standing there for a moment in complete silence.
The clothes are still forgotten in Wandaâs hands.
Your tail refuses to stop wagging.
And neither woman seems particularly interested in pretending they donât find that adorable.
The room remains quiet after the kisses, though it feels like an entirely different kind of silence now. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Heavy. Warm. The sort of silence that settles between people when something important has finally been acknowledged.
Wanda is still holding the clothes sheâd pulled from the wardrobe, though judging by the way her fingers have gone still against the fabric, sheâd completely forgotten about them. Natasha remains standing close enough that you can feel her body heat, her attention fixed entirely on you with an intensity that makes it difficult to think straight. You become painfully aware of every little thing all at once. The way your heart is hammering against your ribs. The way your tail continues sweeping behind you despite your desperate attempts to stop it. The way both women keep looking at you differently now. Not because youâve changed. Not because youâve suddenly become someone else.
But because for the first time there are no misunderstandings left between you. No pretending. No secrets. Just you. Standing in front of them. And somehow that feels far more exposing than running around the compound covered in fur ever did.
A faint smile tugs at Natashaâs mouth as she watches your increasingly failed attempts to force your tail still. âYou know,â she says, voice lower than before, âfor somebody who spent months hiding the fact she understood everything we said, youâre actually terrible at keeping secrets.â Heat immediately rushes into your cheeks. Wanda lets out a soft laugh beside her. âShe really is.â You groan and look away, only for Wanda to immediately reach out and guide your attention back toward them with a gentle hand beneath your chin.
The movement isnât forceful. If anything, itâs almost unfairly tender. âDonât hide now,â she murmurs. Her thumb brushes lightly across your cheek as she speaks, and the simple contact nearly short-circuits your brain. Natasha notices instantly. Of course she does. You see the amusement flicker across her expression before something softer replaces it. Something that makes your stomach perform an alarming number of somersaults. âLook at her,â Natasha says quietly. âSheâs still trying to run.â âI am not.â âYou literally ran into a forest earlier.â âThat was different.â âWas it?â Natasha asks. âBecause this looks exactly the same.â
Wanda laughs again, shaking her head fondly before finally setting the clothes down somewhere behind her. The action feels oddly significant. Like sheâs consciously choosing not to interrupt whatever this moment has become. You swallow hard as both women remain close. Too close to ignore.
Then Natashaâs lips connect with yours again, hungrier this time. Like sheâs a starved woman. Wanda appears behind. Her arms wrap around your waist and her lips connect with the side of your neck. If it werenât for them holding you up, youâre sure you wouldâve turned into mush on the floor by now.
Natasha finally parts from you, only to sink her teeth down into the side of your neck. A whimper escaped your mouth before you can stop it. You didnât even realise when they started pulling your clothes off, and their own, until they were pulling you back towards the bed.
Wanda moves to sit against the headboard and pulls you down into her lap, your eyes immediately find her breasts. Theyâre bigger than yours, fuller. Her nipples stood hardened against the cold breeze and the arousal coursing through her body. Wanda follows your gaze and a soft smirk graces her lips. âYou can touch, Detka. I donât bite.â She murmurs as her hands find yours, pulling them up to her soft mounds.
Your tail wags even harder, if that was even possible at this point, as you squeeze her. Wanda watches as literal drool forms on your lips whilst you obsess over her body like a teenage boy seeing a bare woman for the first time. Her thumb absentmindedly wipes it away, even as her chest begins to heave from your touches. Then without warning, the digit moves into your mouth and your lips wrap around it like second nature.
Youâd almost forgotten about Natasha at this point. Almost being the keyword. Then her hands wrap around your neck from behind and the familiar sound of your collar buckling sounds out as she attaches the thick leather back around your neck with a sultry whisper of: âYouâre ours, pretty girlâ
Wandaâs thumb, the one in your mouth, moves to press down on your tongue and a little whine escapes you. Natashaâs hands move from your neck and down to your own breasts, her large hands easily cup both of them before she rolls your nipples between her fingers. A broken moan slips from around Wandaâs thumb in your mouth.
Her eyes flicker red for a brief moment, and you feel something pressing against your core that wasnât there before. You try to look down, but unfortunately Natasha keeps your head raised.
Wandaâs free hand moves down to the dick sheâs enchanted into her body, guiding it to your entrance that is soaked by now. In one movement she bottoms out, causing you to cry out. Your teeth clamp down around her thumb but she doesnât care or at least react to it.
Natashaâs hands find your hips and start moving you to grind against Wandaâs cock. Every movement of her inside you hits deep and hard, cries turn into moans as you get used to the feeling of her. Her thumb slides out of your mouth only to rub up and down your sides, occasionally squeezing your breasts.
One of Natashaâs hands moves from your hip to press hard circles against your throbbing clit, each one making your hips buck against her hand.
âYouâre doing so good, pup⌠so good.â The praise comes from one of the girls, you canât exactly tell which one, too lost in the pleasure of Wanda hitting every wall inside of you.
Her eyes glow red again, you barely pick it up this time. And before you know it, Natasha is rubbing, an admittedly smaller, cock against your ass. She uses the arousal from between your legs as makeshift lubricant before pushing the cock into your ass. That completely wrecks you. You collapse against Wandaâs bare chest, hands clutching the bedsheets beneath her as both your holes are fucked by the two most attractive women youâve ever seen.
âBreathe baby, your okay⌠your doing amazing.â Wanda says, now rolling her own hips up into you since you stopped when you collapsed against her. She presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and guides your lips to wrap around her nipple. You easily take the hardened bud into your mouth, the skin muffled your cries and absorbs your tears. Wanda revels in this, her baby girl crying whilst taking two cocks at one. She couldnât be prouder honestly.
Natashaâs hand on your hip moves to wrap around your waist, her movements are a lot more juttery and uncontrolled compared to Wandaâs. Sheâs also a lot louder than Wanda is, soft groans leaving her as she pressed her lips between your shoulder blades.
The feeling of being so full eventually pushes you over the edge, your back arches up and toes curl against nothing. You mouth opens but no sound comes out. Then like clockwork, both of the cocks inside you begin to twitch as the women let their loads sink into each of your holes.
The room gradually settles into a comfortable silence.
Not the awkward sort.
Not the uncertain sort.
The kind of silence that only exists between people who feel completely safe around one another.
You barely have enough energy left to move. Every muscle in your body feels heavy, your thoughts pleasantly slow and fuzzy as you remain curled against Wandaâs side beneath the blankets. At some point sheâd pulled you fully against her chest, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while her fingers drift lazily through your hair. The motion is absent-minded. Instinctive. The same way sheâd stroked your fur countless times when she thought you were just a wolf. Somehow the familiarity of it makes your chest ache.
Home. The word keeps returning. Home.
Natasha eventually slips out of bed with a quiet groan, disappearing into the bathroom for a few moments before returning with a damp cloth, a glass of water and an entire armful of snacks sheâd apparently stolen from somewhere. You watch her approach through half-lidded eyes, your ears twitching lazily when she sits back down beside you.
âWere those already in here?â you mumble.
âNo.â
âDid you go downstairs?â
âMaybe.â
âNatasha.â
âWhat?â
âYou robbed the kitchen.â
âIt wasnât robbery.â
Wanda doesnât even open her eyes.
âIt was absolutely robbery.â
âI live here.â
âYou stole my crackers.â
âI stole our crackers.â
Wanda finally peeks one eye open.
âThat isnât better.â
Natasha looks deeply offended.
You let out a tired laugh and immediately regret it because it uses far too much energy.
âThere she is,â Wanda murmurs softly.
One of her hands leaves your hair long enough to gently cup your cheek.
âYou okay, Detka?â
The concern in her voice immediately melts something inside your chest. You nod. Then, after a momentâs consideration, shake your head. Then nod again. Both women laugh.
âIâm taking that as a yes.â
âIt means sheâs tired,â Natasha says knowingly.
âI am not.â
âYou once fell asleep standing up.â
âThat happened one time.â
âIt happened three times.â
You glare weakly. Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself.
The glass of water is gently pushed into your hands before you can continue arguing. Both women watch until youâve taken several proper drinks. Only then does Natasha seem satisfied. The crackers are next. You take one mostly because refusing seems like too much effort. Then another. Then another.
âYou were prepared for this,â you realise.
Natasha shrugs. âI know you.â
Wanda hums in agreement. âShe does.â
Your tail immediately thumps beneath the blankets.
Traitor.
The movement earns a smile from both women.
âYou did good today, pup.â
The praise catches you completely off guard.
Your ears twitch.
Natasha reaches over and scratches lightly behind one of them.
âYou came back.â
Something unexpectedly emotional tightens in your chest.
You lower your gaze. âI almost didnât.â
The admission slips out quietly. Immediately both women go still. Wandaâs arm tightens around your shoulders. Natashaâs expression softens.
âHey.â
You glance up. Natasha is looking directly at you now.
âYou came back.â
The words are simple. Matter-of-fact. Yet somehow they hit harder than anything else could have. Because sheâs right. You did. And they came looking for you. The thought settles warmly somewhere beneath your ribs.
Before the room can become too emotional, Wanda reaches for another cracker and immediately discovers Natasha has already eaten half the packet.
Her eyes narrow.
âNatasha.â
âWhat?â
âYou ate all the cheese ones.â
âNo I didnât.â
âThere are literally none left.â
Natasha glances into the packet.
âOh.â
âNatasha.â
âI didnât realise.â
âYou absolutely realised.â
âIt happened accidentally.â
âYou sorted them.â
âI was organising.â
âYou organised them into your mouth.â
You bury your face against Wandaâs shoulder as laughter threatens to escape.
Natasha points accusingly.
âDonât encourage her.â
âIâm not encouraging anything.â
âYou are smiling.â
âBecause youâre ridiculous.â
âYou love me.â
Wandaâs entire expression softens instantly.
âUnfortunately.â
âSee?â
âThat wasnât a compliment.â
âIt was close enough.â
The argument continues for another ten minutes. It isnât really an argument. Just the familiar back-and-forth that youâve spent months listening to from various corners of the compound. The same bickering that always ends with one of them laughing and the other pretending they arenât.
Somewhere during it, your eyes begin drifting closed. Wanda notices first. Of course she does. Her fingers never stop moving through your hair. Natasha notices a few moments later when your head slowly slides further onto Wandaâs shoulder.
âOh, sheâs gone.â
âIâm not gone.â
âYou answered that three seconds late.â
You choose not to respond. Mostly because you are, in fact, nearly asleep.
A warm blanket is pulled higher around you. Someone presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another to the top of your head. You arenât entirely sure who does which.
By the time the girls finally stop bickering and settle down themselves, youâre practically glued to Wandaâs side, your tail loosely wrapped around both of their legs beneath the blankets.
Safe. Warm. Loved.
The last thing you hear before sleep finally wins is Natashaâs quiet voice from somewhere beside you.
âOur girl.â
Wanda immediately hums in agreement.
âOur best girl.â
Your tail gives one final sleepy wag.
Then everything fades into darkness.
:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:
Masterlist
A/N: I started writing this as âwhat if Wanda and Natasha found a wolf?â and somehow ended up 16.8k words deep into a story about them accidentally adopting a werewolf. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fluff, the angst, the possessive girlfriends, and Natasha discovering that she has absolutely no authority in a relationship where Wanda exists.
I don't know why, but Best Girl doesn't appear under any of the tags you have used. That is a shame because the story is incredible and every should read it
Oh thatâs really weird⌠𤨠I was thinking something mightâve been happening with it because usually my longer fics get a lot of interactions in the first like 24-48 hours.
Iâll have a look at it through my alt account to check before I decide if I want to reupload or anything. đŤŠ
A/N: All of the works in this collection are entirely fictional and created for storytelling purposes only. They explore obsessive and unhealthy dynamics, and are not meant to reflect or romanticise real-life relationships. Please read with that understanding in mind.
âď¸ď¸ Summary: You think Wanda barely notices you. Meanwhile she has an entire folder of videos proving otherwise.
Time Loop Devotion
âď¸ď¸ Word Count: 4.7k
âď¸ď¸ Summary: Youâre stuck in a time loopâbut youâre the only one who forgets. Wanda remembers every reset, guiding you through it⌠a little too perfectly. The more time you spend with her, the more it starts to feel like sheâs not just helping you survive the loopâsheâs shaping it. And somehow, she always knows exactly how to make you stay.
Summary: The Avengers rescue an injured wolf from the woods surrounding the Compound. Keeping her is supposed to be temporary. Weeks turn into months, the wolf refuses to leave, and somehow Wanda and Natasha end up far more attached than either of them intended. Unfortunately, secrets donât stay buried foreverâand neither does the past sheâs been running from.
The new Avengers Compound still doesnât quite feel lived in yet.
The building itself is enormous, gleaming glass and steel rising out of the countryside like something pulled straight from a science fiction film, but there are still boxes in hallways, equipment waiting to be unpacked, and entire sections of the facility that remain eerily quiet. The team is settling in, finding routines, claiming rooms, learning which elevators are the fastest and which kitchens are stocked with the good coffee. For the first time in a long time, things feel almost peaceful.
Outside, the late afternoon sun paints the grass in shades of gold.
Tony sits on a blanket spread across one of the open lawns surrounding the compound, watching Morgan run through the grass with the endless energy only a child seems capable of possessing. She laughs as she chases a butterfly, tiny sneakers kicking up dirt behind her while Tony pretends not to be smiling.
âYou know,â he calls out, leaning back on his hands, âI personally think that butterfly is cheating.â
Morgan gasps dramatically. âDaddy! Butterflies donât cheat!â
âSays who?â
âSays science.â
Tony snorts. âIâve made a career out of arguing with science.â
The little girl simply sticks her tongue out before continuing her pursuit.
For a while, everything is normal.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
The forest bordering the compound sways gently in the breeze, leaves rustling softly overhead. Birds sing somewhere beyond the tree line. The distant sounds of construction and moving equipment drift from the compound itself.
Then Tonyâs phone buzzes.
One of the technicians inside needs a security code.
âOne minute,â he tells Morgan, standing up. âDonât go anywhere.â
She nods absentmindedly, completely focused on the insect sheâs following.
Tony walks inside.
It should take less than sixty seconds.
Back in the forest, far beyond the compoundâs sensors and surveillance systems, you move silently through the undergrowth.
The woods belong to your pack.
Humans rarely come this deep into the territory, and when they do, they almost never notice the wolves watching from the shadows. Your kind has survived that way for generations. Hidden. Careful. Unseen.
The breeze shifts.
Your ears twitch.
A strange scent drifts through the trees.
Human.
Several humans.
You pause.
The scent isnât unfamiliar anymore. Ever since the massive compound appeared on the edge of the forest months ago, humans have become a constant presence. Loud machines, strange smells, bright lights.
Usually, you stay away. Today should be no different.
Then another scent reaches you.
Predator. Your head immediately lifts. Bear. Large. Close.
Far too close to the humans.
You break into a run.
Back at the compound, Morgan finally notices the silence. The butterfly has disappeared. The breeze has changed. Something feels wrong. Slowly, she turns. The enormous brown bear stands at the edge of the lawn.
For a moment, neither moves.
Morgan freezes.
The bear stares.
Then the little girl screams.
The sound rips through the countryside.
Inside the compound, Tonyâs heart nearly stops.
He drops everything and sprints.
Outside, the bear begins moving forward. Not charging. Not attacking. Just advancing.
But to a frightened child, the difference means nothing.
Morgan stumbles backward.
Tears immediately spring into her eyes.
The bear huffs.
And then a brown blur explodes from the forest.
You hit the animal with enough force to throw both of you sideways across the grass.
The bear roars.
Morgan gasps.
The lawn erupts into chaos.
You land on your feet first, placing yourself directly between the predator and the child. Fur bristles along your spine as a deep growl tears from your chest.
The bear answers with one of its own.
Neither backs down.
The size difference is obvious.
The bear is massive.
But you donât move.
Behind you, Morgan cries.
The sound only hardens your resolve.
The bear lunges. You dodge.
Teeth snap inches from your face.
You retaliate instantly, slamming into its shoulder hard enough to stagger it. The two of you crash across the lawn, tearing up grass and dirt as claws and teeth flash.
The bear recovers first.
A powerful paw swings.
You try to evade.
Almost.
The claws rake across your side.
Agony explodes through your body. A strangled yelp escapes before you can stop it. Warm blood immediately begins soaking into your fur.
The smell fills the air.
But you remain standing.
The bear advances again.
You bare every tooth you have - growling, threatening. Refusing to yield. The predator hesitates.
You take one step forward. Then another. Ignoring the blood. Ignoring the pain. Ignoring the way your legs are beginning to shake beneath you.
Something changes.
The bear decides you arenât worth it.
With one final warning growl, it begins backing away.
Then it turns.
Then it disappears into the forest.
Only then do you allow yourself to breathe. Tony bursts out of the compound.
âMorgan!â
He reaches her in seconds, dropping to his knees and pulling her against his chest. She immediately buries her face against him, sobbing as he frantically checks for injuries.
âDadâdadâthe wolfââ
âIâm here,â he says quickly. âYouâre okay. Youâre okay.â Only then does he finally look up.
And see you.
The wolf standing twenty feet away.
Covered in blood. Swaying unsteadily. Your breathing is ragged. Your legs threaten to buckle beneath you.
For a second, Tony simply stares. Because wolves donât protect humans. They certainly donât throw themselves at bears for them.
And then, right before his eyes, your body finally gives out. You collapse into the grass. And everything goes black.
Consciousness returns slowly, surfacing through layers of exhaustion and pain that seem determined to drag you back under every time you try to fight your way awake. Your entire body feels heavy, your limbs sluggish and weak, and the deep burning ache radiating from your side makes it painfully obvious that whatever happened before you blacked out was not some strange dream.
The first thing you notice is the smell. Sterile. Artificial. Clean in a way no forest ever is. Beneath it are dozens of other scents layered togetherâmetal, electronics, unfamiliar cleaning products, coffee, humans. Lots of humans. Your eyes slowly open and immediately narrow against the bright overhead lighting. White ceiling. White walls. Medical equipment. Panic sparks through your chest almost instantly.
You try to sit up only to discover something restraining you. Thick rope is looped securely around your torso and forelegs, keeping you anchored to a reinforced medical bed, while an uncomfortable muzzle wraps around your snout. A low sound rumbles in your throat before you can stop it. The movement pulls painfully at your injured side and your gaze drops to find your entire flank wrapped beneath layers of thick bandages. Even through them, you can smell dried blood.
Across the room, three men stand talking. One of them you recognise immediately from countless distant observations near the compoundâs perimeter. Tony. Beside him stands the broad-shouldered blond man youâve seen training outside before, and another dark-haired man wearing glasses.
None of them notice youâre awake at first, too focused on their conversation. âIâm serious,â Tony is saying, arms folded tightly across his chest. âWeâre putting up fencing. Big fencing. Electric fencing if we have to. I step inside for sixty seconds and a bear shows up. A bear. Do you know how insane that sounds?â The blond man sighs. âTony, wildlife exists. We built this place practically next to a forest.â
âGreat. Then wildlife can stay in the wildlife section and my daughter can stay in the not-being-eaten-by-bears section.â The man with glasses pinches the bridge of his nose. âMorgan wasnât hurt. Thatâs the important thing.â âBecause of her,â Tony immediately replies, pointing directly at you. âOr him. Her. Whatever. The wolf. If that animal hadnât intervenedâŚâ His voice trails off slightly, and for the first time you hear genuine gratitude beneath the protective frustration. âMorgan keeps asking if the wolf is okay.â
The movement of your head finally catches Steveâs attention. His posture immediately straightens and his eyes widen slightly. âGuys.â Tony and Bruce turn at the same time. For several seconds none of them say anything as they realise youâre conscious and staring directly back at them.
The room becomes strangely quiet. You can practically smell their uncertainty. Tony takes a cautious step forward first, not fearful exactly, but wary in the way anyone would be standing this close to a predator. âWell, hey there.â His voice softens unexpectedly. âGood to see youâre still with us.â You stare back without blinking.
The muzzle makes it impossible to communicate anything beyond a low frustrated huff. Bruce glances between you and the restraints. âSheâs calmer than I expected.â âShe just woke up,â Steve points out. âGive it a minute.â Tony studies you for a long moment before exhaling. âSo what exactly do we do now?â Nobody answers immediately because they all know itâs a complicated question. In every practical sense, youâre a wild animal. An unusually large wild animal, but a wild animal nonetheless. Wild animals belong in the wild. Thatâs the obvious answer. The problem is that every single person in the room knows what would happen if they released you right now.
You can barely move without pain. The deep claw wounds across your side would leave you vulnerable to infection, other predators, or simply collapsing somewhere in the forest where nobody would find you. Steve seems to reach the conclusion first. âWe canât release her like this.â Bruce nods almost immediately. âAgreed. Medically speaking, sheâs nowhere near healed enough.â Tony looks at you again, meeting your gaze directly. âAnd considering she basically saved my kidâs life, dumping her back into the woods half-dead feels like a pretty terrible thank you.â He rubs a hand over his face before letting out a long breath. âAlright. Fine. We keep her here. Temporary arrangement. We treat the injuries, make sure sheâs recovered, then we release her back into the forest when sheâs healthy enough to survive on her own.â
Steve folds his arms. âYou realise youâre talking about keeping a wolf inside the Avengers Compound.â âTrust me,â Tony mutters, looking directly at you. âI am painfully aware of how ridiculous that sounds.â Despite the conversation being about you, none of them notice the strange intelligence lingering behind your eyes as you watch every word, every movement, every decision being made. Because as far as the Avengers know, lying restrained in that medical bed is nothing more than an injured wolf.
The discussion about your future inside the compound is interrupted by the sudden crackle of a radio sitting on one of the nearby counters. The burst of static immediately draws everyoneâs attention before a familiar female voice comes through the speaker. âControl, this is Romanoff. Requesting clearance to land.â Steve reaches over without hesitation, pressing the response button. âYouâre clear. Padâs open.â A brief pause follows before Natashaâs amused voice returns. âGood. Because weâre landing whether itâs clear or not.â
The transmission clicks off, earning a tired sigh from Steve and an eye roll from Tony. âSheâs been spending too much time around you,â Steve comments. âExcuse you,â Tony replies. âThat level of confidence is a gift.â Despite the conversation, your ears have already perked up. Two unfamiliar scents drift faintly through the building, carried in through ventilation systems and opening doors. Human. Female. One carrying traces of smoke, leather and gunpowder. The other carrying something warmer. Something strange. Something that almost reminds you of standing in sunlight during winter. Before you can properly identify it, distant engines rumble somewhere outside the compound. Even through the walls you can hear the unmistakable sound of a Quinjet settling onto the landing platform.
Several minutes later the medbay doors slide open and both women walk inside. The first thing you notice is that every scent in the room immediately changes. The dark-haired woman enters first, dressed in a partially damaged tactical suit with several shallow cuts visible along her arms and one across her cheek. Nothing serious from the smell of it, but enough to explain the dried blood. Beside her walks the redhead. Unlike the other woman, she appears mostly unharmed apart from a split lip and a few smudges of dirt lingering across her uniform.
The moment your eyes land on them, something strange happens. Your tail immediately begins thumping lightly against the medical bed. Once. Twice. Then continuously. You donât even realise youâre doing it at first. Every instinct in your body suddenly seems focused on the two newcomers.
They are, quite simply, the prettiest women you have ever seen. The dark-haired one carries herself with effortless confidence while the redhead seems to possess an almost unnatural kind of beauty that makes it difficult to look away. Your tail continues its rhythmic tapping against the mattress despite the pain in your side. Natasha notices first. âWell thatâs either adorable or concerning.â Tony turns. âOh great. Now sheâs happy.â âMaybe sheâs happy to see me,â Natasha says with a grin. âMost creatures are.â âMost creatures donât have teeth the size of steak knives.â
Bruce immediately shifts into doctor mode the second he spots the cuts on Natashaâs arms. âSit.â Natasha glances at the medical bed beside yours. âYou know, every mission I come back from, you somehow find a way to make this place look more ridiculous.â Bruce points firmly at the bed. âSit.â âBossy.â âNatasha.â âFine.â
She drops onto the mattress with exaggerated suffering while Bruce begins gathering supplies. Wanda remains standing instead, her attention entirely focused on you. Unlike the others, she isnât studying you with caution. Sheâs simply watching. Curious. Interested. Your tail somehow starts wagging harder under her gaze.
The movement finally draws a laugh from Steve. âSee? Thatâs what I mean.â Natasha glances between you and Wanda before smirking. âLooks like somebody has a favourite already.â Wanda doesnât respond immediately. Her eyes remain fixed on you, lingering on the muzzle wrapped around your snout, the ropes binding you to the bed and the thick bandages covering your side.
Something about the sight clearly bothers her. âWhat happened?â she finally asks. Tony launches into the story while Bruce works on Natashaâs injuries. By the time heâs finished explaining the bear attack, Morganâs involvement and the rescue, both women are staring at you with entirely different expressions than when they entered. Natasha looks impressed. Wanda looks heartbroken. âPoor thing,â Wanda murmurs softly. âShe saved Morgan?â Steve nods. âPretty much.â âAnd now sheâs tied to a bed.â âBecause sheâs still a wolf,â Tony immediately replies. âA very large wolf. A very injured wolf. But still a wolf.â
The conversation continues for several minutes as the men explain the situation. They explain how releasing you would almost certainly be a death sentence in your current condition. They explain how keeping you permanently isnât realistic either. They explain that despite everything youâve done, youâre still a wild animal and they canât simply start treating you like a domesticated pet.
Wanda listens quietly throughout the explanation, though itâs obvious she dislikes almost every part of it. âSheâs scared,â Wanda says at one point. âAnybody would be scared.â Tony gestures toward the muzzle. âAnybody with those teeth gets the muzzle until further notice.â Natasha snorts. âFair.â Despite the teasing, even she seems reluctant to argue with the precautions.
Eventually the discussion reaches the same conclusion Steve, Bruce and Tony had already reached earlier. You stay. You heal. Then youâre released once youâre healthy enough to survive. Bruce finishes patching Natasha up, Steve gets called away to deal with something involving training schedules, and Tony leaves shortly afterwards after reminding everyone at least twice that he intends to install enough fencing to make the compound look like a small country. Before long the room falls quiet again. Bruce eventually departs as well, leaving only two occupants besides yourself.
Natasha leans back against her bed while Wanda slowly pulls a chair over beside yours. Neither woman seems in any particular hurry to leave. The silence that settles over the room feels strangely comfortable. Your tail has finally slowed, though it still occasionally taps against the mattress whenever either of them looks your way. Wanda reaches forward carefully, stopping her hand several inches from your head. Giving you the choice. Giving you space. âHi there,â she says softly. Her voice is warm enough to make your ears immediately tilt forward.
Natasha watches the interaction with an amused expression. âThatâs it. Youâve adopted the giant wolf already.â Wanda doesnât look away from you. âI havenât adopted her.â âYouâve got the voice on.â âI do not have a voice.â âYou absolutely have a voice.â For the first time since waking up, something almost resembling contentment settles through your chest. Youâre still injured. Still restrained. Still trapped inside a building full of humans. But as Wanda continues speaking softly to you while Natasha teases her from across the room, you find yourself thinking that maybe staying here until you heal wonât be quite as terrible as you first imagined.
By the end of the evening, Tony has somehow managed to do what only Tony Stark could accomplish. Instead of simply discussing solutions, he has apparently purchased an entire reinforced animal enclosure online, paid an obscene amount of money for immediate delivery, and had it assembled inside the common room before dinner. Nobody is entirely sure how he managed it so quickly. Nobody is particularly surprised either. The temporary enclosure occupies one corner of the large living space, significantly bigger than any normal dog crate but still undeniably a cage. Thick metal bars form the walls while several blankets have been piled inside alongside a large padded bed that Bruce insisted on providing.
You were less than thrilled when they moved you from the medbay. The journey had pulled painfully at your injuries, and despite everyoneâs best intentions, being carried through hallways and elevators by a collection of superheroes had done very little to improve your mood. Still, once settled inside the enclosure, you had begrudgingly accepted that this arrangement was better than being tied to a medical bed.
The common room itself is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the darkening forest beyond the compound, soft lighting illuminates the space, and several large couches surround a television that currently occupies most of the roomâs attention. The rest of the team drifts in and out throughout the evening, some stopping to stare at the giant wolf now living in their headquarters, others barely reacting at all because after alien invasions, killer robots and Norse gods, an injured wolf somehow doesnât seem that strange. Eventually, however, most of them disappear to their own rooms, leaving the common area quieter and considerably more peaceful.
Natasha and Wanda remain. Apparently, post-mission takeaway has become a sacred tradition between them, one neither injury nor exhaustion is allowed to interrupt. Several containers are spread across the coffee table while a movie plays on the television. Natasha has already changed into comfortable clothes and sits stretched out across one end of the couch. Wanda occupies the other, though only briefly before Natasha hooks an arm around her waist and effortlessly pulls her closer. Wanda rolls her eyes but doesnât resist for even a second, immediately settling against her side with the kind of casual familiarity that only comes from years together.
From inside your enclosure, you watch the interaction with far more interest than the film currently playing. Earlier, after what felt like an unfair amount of debate from the men, Wanda had finally convinced them to remove the muzzle. More specifically, she had waited until Tony left the room, spent twenty minutes researching what wolves could safely eat, then used her powers to float a plate through the bars while giving everybody a look that clearly dared them to argue.
The meal itself sits mostly untouched beside you now. Youâd eaten enough to stop Wanda worrying, but your appetite remains limited by pain, exhaustion and confusion. Your head rests against the cool metal bars instead, chin propped between two of them as you quietly observe the women across the room. The scent of food fills the air alongside the steady rhythm of their conversation, occasional laughter and the comforting knowledge that neither of them seems remotely bothered by your presence.
You tell yourself youâre watching because theyâre interesting. Humans are fascinating creatures, after all. These particular humans even more so. They possess extraordinary abilities, live inside a futuristic fortress, and somehow spend their evenings arguing about which takeaway restaurant is superior. That should be enough to justify your attention.
Unfortunately, even you know thatâs not entirely true. The reality is significantly more embarrassing. You simply canât stop looking at them. Every time Natasha presses a kiss against Wandaâs temple while pretending to focus on the movie, your ears twitch. Every time Wanda unconsciously leans closer to Natasha while reaching for food, your eyes follow the movement. They fit together so naturally it almost seems effortless. Comfortable. Safe. Familiar. The sort of bond most people spend their entire lives searching for. A small, unhappy feeling settles somewhere in your chest.
You donât fully understand it. Maybe itâs loneliness. Maybe itâs homesickness. Maybe itâs simply the knowledge that while they sit together surrounded by warmth and companionship, youâre currently occupying a cage in the corner of the room. Whatever the reason, you find yourself lowering your head further onto the bars and staring quietly at the pair.
Across the room, Wanda notices first. Her expression immediately softens. âSheâs not eating much.â Natasha glances over. âSheâs eaten enough.â âShe looks sad.â âSheâs a wolf.â âShe still looks sad.â Natasha studies you for several seconds before shrugging. âOkay. Slightly sad wolf.â
Wandaâs attention remains fixed on you long after the conversation ends. Every few minutes you catch her looking over. Not out of caution. Not out of concern that youâll suddenly become aggressive. Just checking on you. Making sure youâre comfortable. Making sure youâre okay.
Itâs a level of care youâre entirely unprepared for. Back home, your pack looks after one another because youâre family. Protection is expected. Support is expected. Here, however, these people owe you nothing. They barely know you exist beyond being the wolf that saved Morgan. Yet Wanda still worries when you donât finish your dinner. Natasha still casually points out that your water bowl needs refilling before getting up to do it herself. The entire situation feels bizarre. The movie continues playing in the background while darkness settles fully beyond the windows.
Eventually Natasha stretches, pulling Wanda even closer until the redhead is practically curled against her side. âYou know,â Natasha says, glancing toward your enclosure again, âfor something thatâs technically a giant predator, sheâs ridiculously well behaved.â Wanda smiles faintly. âMaybe she knows weâre helping her.â
You lower your gaze before either woman can notice how intently youâve been watching them. The truth is that you donât know what tomorrow will bring. You donât know how long your injuries will take to heal. You donât know how youâre supposed to eventually explain being a werewolf when that particular problem inevitably arrives.
Right now, however, none of that feels especially important. The television flickers softly across the room, the compound remains peaceful around you, and for the first time since waking up inside a building full of strangers, you slowly close your eyes and begin drifting toward sleep while listening to Wanda and Natasha quietly talking on the couch.
The movie eventually ends sometime after midnight. The takeaway containers are cleared away, the television is switched off, and the compound gradually settles into the quiet stillness that only arrives when dozens of people finally go to sleep.
Before leaving, Wanda kneels beside your enclosure one last time. Her expression softens as she studies you resting amongst the blankets, though she still reaches for caution over sentiment. With a small wave of her hand, red magic surrounds the muzzle resting nearby and gently secures it back around your snout. You immediately huff your displeasure.
Wanda offers an apologetic smile. âIâm sorry, detka. Just for tonight.â Natasha snorts from behind her. âThe giant predator is judging you.â âI know.â âHarshly.â Wanda reaches through the bars to scratch lightly behind one of your ears before standing. âGoodnight.â
The simple word shouldnât matter. Humans tell each other goodnight all the time. Yet somehow, as you watch the two women disappear toward the elevators together, the common room immediately feels emptier than before. Much emptier. Soon the sound of their footsteps disappears entirely, leaving only silence, distant ventilation systems and the occasional hum of electronics somewhere deeper within the compound.
For a while you remain curled amongst the blankets, trying to settle back down. You close your eyes. Open them again. Shift positions. Try another position. Nothing helps. The common room is comfortable enough. Youâre safe. Warm. Fed. Your injuries are being treated. Rationally, there is absolutely no reason for the uncomfortable feeling sitting heavily inside your chest. Yet it refuses to go away.
Several hours pass before the loneliness finally wins. It begins with a small sound escaping your throat. Barely noticeable. A quiet whine. Then another. Then another. You donât entirely understand why youâre making the noise. Back home, wolves are rarely alone. Pack members sleep together, hunt together, exist together. Solitude is unusual. Wrong, almost. The compound is filled with people, yet none of them are here. The common room feels too large. Too quiet. Too empty. Before long, soft whining begins slipping from your muzzle every few minutes despite your best efforts to stop.
Unfortunately, the architects responsible for designing the compound made one critical mistake. Directly above the common room sits Wanda and Natashaâs bedroom. Every single sound carries upward with remarkable efficiency. Upstairs, Natasha is the first to recognise what sheâs hearing. She groans into her pillow. âIgnore it.â Beside her, Wanda lifts her head immediately. âSheâs upset.â âSheâs a wolf.â âSheâs whining.â âSheâs dramatic.â Another muffled whine drifts through the floorboards. Wandaâs eyes narrow.
Natasha immediately recognises the expression. âNo.â âNatasha.â âNo.â âWhat if sheâs scared?â âWhat if she wants attention?â Wanda pulls the blankets aside. âThen sheâs getting attention.â Natasha falls backwards onto the mattress with all the suffering of somebody deeply wronged by the universe. âThis is how it starts. One minute youâre checking on the wolf. Next minute sheâs paying rent.â
By the time the elevator doors open, Wanda is already halfway across the common room wearing oversized pyjamas and fluffy socks. Natasha follows several steps behind, muttering complaints she clearly doesnât mean. The moment you spot them emerging into view, the change is immediate. Your ears perk up. The whining stops entirely. Your tail begins thumping against the blankets.
Wanda pauses beside the enclosure and immediately points triumphantly toward you. âSee?â Natasha folds her arms. âTraitor.â Wanda crouches beside the bars. âWere you lonely?â The question is ridiculous. You cannot answer. Yet your tail somehow starts wagging even harder. Natasha notices.
âDonât encourage her.â âLook at her.â âI am looking at her.â âSheâs sad.â âShe was sad.â Wanda studies you for another few moments before standing again. A thoughtful expression appears on her face. Natasha immediately looks concerned. âDonât.â âWhat?â âWhatever youâre thinking.â âIâm not thinking anything.â âWanda.â The redhead glances between you and the elevator. Then back to Natasha. Then back to you. âShe can come upstairs.â
Natasha stares at her. âAbsolutely not.â âWhy?â âBecause sheâs a giant wolf.â âSheâs injured.â âSheâs still a giant wolf.â âNatasha.â âNo.â Wanda doesnât even argue. Instead, red energy immediately begins surrounding your enclosure. Natasha closes her eyes. âYouâre not listening to me.â âI listened.â âYou ignored me.â âThatâs different.â
The journey upstairs is probably one of the strangest experiences of your life. One moment youâre inside a cage in the common room. The next youâre floating through hallways suspended in glowing red magic while several night-shift agents openly stare. Wanda ignores them entirely. Natasha follows behind carrying armfuls of blankets while continuing her entirely unsuccessful campaign against the idea.
When you finally arrive at their bedroom, you discover it is significantly less intimidating than expected. Large bed. Soft lighting. Bookshelves. Personal photographs. Comfortable furniture. It feels lived in. Safe. Familiar. Wanda immediately directs your enclosure toward an empty corner of the room before finally lowering it onto the floor.
Natasha drops the blankets beside it with a dramatic sigh. âThis is ridiculous.â âYouâre helping.â âIâm helping because if youâre doing this, weâre doing it safely.â Despite her complaints, she begins arranging the blankets anyway.
Within minutes she has constructed what can only be described as a wolf-sized nest. Additional blankets line the floor. Extra cushions are added for comfort. Water is placed nearby. Then comes the final precaution. Natasha disappears briefly before returning with a length of sturdy rope from one of the roomâs drawers (đ). âThere.â She secures it carefully to create a boundary between your corner and their bed. âPerfect.â
Wanda raises an eyebrow. âReally?â Natasha points directly at you. âThat wolf could probably bite through steel if she wanted to. The last thing I need is waking up to discover sheâs decided two in the morning is cuddle time.â Wanda laughs despite herself. âSheâs not going to maul us.â âYou donât know that.â âI do.â âYou absolutely do not.â The argument continues as they prepare for bed, but it grows softer with each passing minute.
Eventually both women settle beneath the blankets. The room darkens. Silence returns. This time, however, it feels entirely different. Because instead of being alone several floors below them, youâre only a few metres away. You can hear Natasha turning pages of a book. You can hear Wanda quietly speaking to her. You can smell both of them nearby. The loneliness that had twisted uncomfortably in your chest earlier disappears almost instantly.
As sleep finally begins pulling at your consciousness once more, you curl deeper into the blanket nest Natasha built for you and listen to the gentle sound of the women talking until their voices gradually fade and the room falls completely silent.
The arrangement that began that night somehow became permanent. Not officially, at least not at first, but nobody seems capable of stopping it. Your injuries heal steadily over the following weeks. The angry wounds across your side gradually close. The bandages disappear. The limp fades. Bruce declares you healthy enough to return to the wild on at least three separate occasions. Unfortunately, nobody ever accounted for the fact that you had absolutely no intention of cooperating.
Somewhere along the way, the blanket nest in Wanda and Natashaâs room becomes your blanket nest. The common room enclosure is quietly dismantled and removed. The muzzle disappears entirely after several weeks without a single incident, much to the visible horror of the male members of the team.
Tony claims it is reckless. Clint claims theyâre all going to die. Sam insists he wants written documentation proving the decision wasnât his idea. Wanda ignores all of them. Natasha occasionally joins in solely because she enjoys watching them suffer.
You, meanwhile, spend most of your days following the two women around the compound with the determination of a particularly oversized shadow. Training room? Youâre there. Kitchen? There. Movie night? There. If Wanda gets up to refill her coffee, you immediately lift your head to make sure sheâs coming back. If Natasha disappears for a mission briefing, youâre waiting outside the room by the time she emerges.
Steve attempts to bond with you several times. Bruce brings treats. Clint tries bribery. Thor enthusiastically declares you a warrior beast worthy of Asgard. None of it works. The only people you consistently choose are Wanda and Natasha. It becomes such an established fact that nobody even questions it anymore.
Morgan, however, quickly becomes a special exception. The young girl absolutely adores you. Every time she visits the compound, she immediately seeks you out. It starts with cautious petting and nervous excitement but rapidly develops into complete confidence. She sits beside you during movie nights, reads stories aloud while leaning against your side, and occasionally attempts conversations that make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
One afternoon she discovers that you enjoy licking the cheese powder from her fingers after sheâs been eating Cheetos. From that moment onward, the behaviour becomes a tradition. Tony nearly has an aneurysm the first time he witnesses it. âMorgan!â he practically shouts. âStop feeding the giant wolf your fingers.â âSheâs not eating my fingers.â âThatâs not the point.â âShe likes the Cheeto dust.â
You do, in fact, like the Cheeto dust. Morgan giggles every time your tongue cleans the orange powder from her hands while Tony watches with the exhausted expression of a father who has long since accepted that nobody listens to him. Wanda finds the entire thing adorable. Natasha takes photographs specifically to annoy Tony later. Life settles into a comfortable routine. A surprisingly normal one considering it involves superheroes and a wolf living inside a high-security compound. For the first time since being dragged from the forest, everything feels stable.
Naturally, that is precisely when Secretary Ross arrives to ruin it. The disruption begins on an otherwise ordinary afternoon when a government vehicle pulls up outside the compound. Nobody is particularly happy to see him.
Ross spends the first fifteen minutes arguing with Tony, the second fifteen arguing with Steve, and then somehow finds time to annoy everybody else as well. You pay little attention until your nameâor rather, your speciesâenters the conversation.
The moment the word wolf reaches your ears, you immediately become interested. Unfortunately, the news is not encouraging. According to Ross, there are laws regarding wildlife. Lots of laws. Apparently keeping a wolf inside an Avengers facility falls into several extremely complicated legal categories.
Tony argues that they didnât capture you. Bruce argues that they rescued you. Steve argues that releasing you while injured would have been irresponsible. Ross agrees with all of them. Unfortunately, the law does not particularly care. The solution seems obvious at first. Release the wolf. End of discussion.
The team actually attempts it. Once. Bruce drives you back toward the forest. Steve walks you to the tree line. Everybody says their goodbyes. You wait until theyâre halfway back to the compound before sprinting directly past them and returning home. The second attempt lasts even less time. The third attempt ends with you somehow arriving back before Bruceâs vehicle does. By then even Ross appears irritated.
Several days of phone calls, paperwork and governmental nonsense follow. Eventually a compromise is reached. A legal exception. A special permit. Some absurd mountain of documents that only bureaucrats could create.
The conclusion is simple enough. You may remain at the compound. However, somebody must legally assume responsibility for you. Any damage, incidents or accidents become that personâs liability. Technically the responsibility could belong to anyone.
Practically speaking, everybody already knows how the vote would go. You spend approximately ninety percent of your time attached to either Wanda or Natasha. Nobody else even comes close. âThis is ridiculous,â Sam says during the discussion. âThe wolf already chose.â Clint nods. âSheâs basically their kid at this point.â Natasha immediately points at him. âDonât call her our kid.â âYour giant wolf daughter.â âClint.â âFurry daughter.â Wanda is trying very hard not to laugh.
By the end of the meeting, the paperwork is signed. Wanda signs. Natasha signs. Just like that, they become your official owners in the eyes of the government. The entire concept feels deeply insulting from your perspective. You are a werewolf. A member of a pack. A fully capable person. Yet all anybody else sees is a very large animal. Still, there is something unexpectedly comforting about the way neither woman hesitates before accepting responsibility.
A few days later, Wanda and Natasha return from town carrying several shopping bags. The moment they enter the compound, you immediately investigate. Natasha attempts to stop you. You ignore her. Wanda laughs. Inside one of the bags is a collar. Not the cheap kind found in ordinary pet stores.
This one is clearly custom-made. Thick padded leather. Soft lining. Durable metal fittings. It smells new. Expensive. Natasha holds it while Wanda kneels beside you. âBefore you get offended,â Natasha says, as though you can somehow understand every word, âthis was not my idea.â âYou helped choose it,â Wanda immediately points out. âI helped stop you buying the one covered in stars.â âThe stars were pretty.â âThe stars were ridiculous.â
While they argue, Wanda carefully fastens the collar around your neck. It fits perfectly. Not restrictive. Not uncomfortable. Just secure enough to stay in place. Hanging from the front is a custom metal tag. On one side is Wandaâs symbol. On the other is Natashaâs. The metal catches the light as it settles against your chest.
For several seconds, neither woman says anything. Then Wanda reaches forward to smooth the fur beneath it. Natasha scratches behind one of your ears. âThere,â Natasha says quietly. âOfficial.â You should probably hate it. You should definitely hate the entire concept. Instead, standing between the two women while they admire the collar theyâd chosen together, you find yourself doing something deeply embarrassing. Your tail starts wagging.
The collar somehow marks the beginning of an entirely new phase of your life at the compound. Once the novelty wears off and everybody accepts that you are, apparently, staying forever, the team gradually stops treating you like a rescued animal and starts treating you like part of the household. It begins innocently enough.
Wanda teaches you basic commands, mostly because she thinks itâs funny. Sit. Stay. Come here. Spin. The first time she asks you to shake her hand, you stare at her in complete disbelief. You are a werewolf. A hunter. A member of an ancient pack. Yet five minutes later youâre placing your paw into her hand because the look of excitement on her face makes refusing impossible.
Natasha finds the entire thing hilarious. She begins inventing increasingly ridiculous tricks solely to see if youâll do them. Bruce walks into the common room one afternoon to discover you balancing a biscuit on your nose while Wanda counts down dramatically. Sam nearly falls over laughing. Clint records the entire thing.
The problem is that youâre embarrassingly good at all of it. You understand what they want almost immediately. Your intelligence is significantly higher than any normal wolfâs, and years of pack communication have made interpreting body language second nature. Within a matter of weeks youâve mastered every trick either woman can think of.
Eventually Natasha narrows her eyes at you one evening after watching you flawlessly follow a complicated chain of commands. âOkay,â she says. âI have an idea.â Wanda immediately looks concerned. âThatâs never good.â Natasha ignores her. âI wonder if she can do tactical commands.â
What begins as curiosity rapidly evolves into training. Real training. Natasha starts small. She hides objects around the compound and teaches you to locate them. Then she begins using volunteers. Usually Clint. Sometimes Sam. Once Tony, who spends the entire exercise loudly protesting that billionaires shouldnât be hunted for sport.
Natasha teaches you hand signals. Silent directions. Ways to circle around a target without being noticed. Methods for steering people exactly where you want them without ever physically touching them. The first time she points toward a fleeing agent during a training exercise and signals for you to intercept, you understand instantly.
Instead of tackling him, you cut off every escape route until he unknowingly moves exactly where Natasha wants him. The look on her face afterwards is almost alarming. âOh no,â Clint says from nearby. âDonât make that face.â âWhat face?â Natasha asks. âThe face that means youâve discovered something.â âIâve discovered something.â Clint groans.
Over the following weeks the exercises become more advanced. Tracking scents through forests. Locating hidden individuals. Moving quietly through difficult terrain. Working alongside Wandaâs powers. The entire thing feels so natural that it barely registers as training. Youâve hunted with a pack your entire life. Coordinating movements. Anticipating teammates. Understanding positioning. Reading body language. None of it is new. The only difference is that your packmates now happen to be a telekinetic witch and one of the deadliest spies on the planet.
Eventually Natasha decides thereâs only one way to find out if the training works. âAbsolutely not,â Steve says the moment she suggests it. âAbsolutely yes,â Natasha replies. âSheâs not going on a mission.â âSheâs more qualified than half the people Clint recruits.â Clint immediately points at her. âLeave me out of this.â
The argument somehow continues for three days. Tony sides with Steve. Wanda sides with Natasha. Bruce attempts neutrality. Thor enthusiastically supports bringing the giant wolf warrior into battle. Nobody is surprised. In the end Natasha wins, mostly because the mission in question is relatively straightforward.
A small HYDRA facility operating deep within a remote forest. Limited personnel. Minimal risk. The objective is simple. Get inside. Gather intelligence. Shut the operation down from the inside. The plan relies heavily on stealth, tracking and coordinated movement.
In other words, exactly the things youâve been doing for months. Even so, the atmosphere inside the Quinjet feels different on the day of the mission. Steve looks like heâs preparing for disaster. Tony keeps finding reasons to repeat safety instructions. Wanda spends most of the flight scratching behind your ears while Natasha reviews the operation for the tenth time. âSheâs going to be fine,â Natasha eventually says. âYou donât know that,â Steve replies. Natasha gestures toward you. âLook at her.â Everyone does. Youâre currently asleep.
The mission itself begins just after nightfall. The HYDRA facility sits hidden amongst dense woodland, isolated from nearby towns and protected by layers of security designed to detect approaching humans. Humans being the important word.
You move through the trees almost effortlessly. Every scent. Every sound. Every vibration beneath your paws paints a picture of the environment around you. Long before the others spot the first patrol, youâve already identified three separate guard routes and two concealed entrances. Wanda and Natasha follow close behind while communicating through earpieces.
The coordination feels effortless. Familiar. Comfortable. Natasha gives a silent signal and immediately you move. One guard notices movement in the trees and leaves his assigned position to investigate. Exactly as intended. Another follows. Then another. By the time they realise something is wrong, Natasha has already guided them directly into an ambush.
Further inside the facility the pattern repeats. Guards are distracted. Patrols separated. Escape routes quietly eliminated. Whenever Natasha points, you understand. Whenever Wanda shifts position, you adjust automatically. The three of you move through the operation with a level of coordination that surprises even yourselves. At one point Wanda glances toward Natasha after watching you flawlessly herd two fleeing agents directly into her line of sight. âYou trained her too well.â Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself. âI know.â
By the time the facility finally falls, most of the fighting is already over. SHIELD teams move in to secure prisoners while agents begin collecting intelligence. The mission is declared an overwhelming success. Steve congratulates everybody over the comms. Tony reluctantly admits the operation went smoothly. Natasha spends the entire return flight looking unbearably smug. You curl up on the floor of the Quinjet, exhausted but content, while Wanda absentmindedly runs her fingers through the fur around your collar.
For the first time since arriving at the compound, it truly feels like youâve found your place. Not as a rescued animal. Not as a guest. Not even as Wanda and Natashaâs oversized shadow. Out there in the forest, moving beside them through the darkness, working together without needing words, everything had felt instinctive. Natural. Like slipping back into a role youâd been born for. The only difference was that this pack looked very different from the one youâd left behind.
For a while after the HYDRA mission, everything seems perfect. The teamâs concerns about bringing a giant wolf into active operations disappear almost overnight after seeing how effectively you work alongside Wanda and Natasha. Training becomes less about teaching you and more about refining what already comes naturally.
You spend mornings following Natasha through obstacle courses and afternoons stretched across the common room floor while Wanda reads with her feet resting against your side. Life settles back into its familiar rhythm.
On the afternoon everything changes, the team has gathered outside to enjoy one of the rare warm days where nobody is actively saving the world. Someone has produced a baseball bat. Someone else has produced enough enthusiasm to convince half the team to participate.
Natasha is currently standing in the middle of the makeshift field arguing with Clint about rules that neither of them are actually following. Sam is laughing. Steve is trying unsuccessfully to keep things organised. Tony is insisting that technology should be allowed in sports. Morgan is cheering for whichever team happens to be winning at any given moment.
You lie comfortably in the grass nearby with your head resting across Wandaâs lap while her fingers move absentmindedly through the fur around your neck. The collar sits comfortably against your throat now, so familiar you barely notice it anymore. Every now and then Wanda scratches behind your ears and you find yourself leaning into it without thinking.
Across the field Natasha glances over and catches the sight. âSpoiled,â she calls. Wanda doesnât even look up from her book. âSheâs earned it.â You close your eyes, content to simply enjoy the moment. The smell of freshly cut grass fills the air. Laughter drifts across the compound grounds. Everything feels peaceful.
Then the wind changes.
Your eyes snap open instantly.
The scent hits you before anything else.
Wolf.
Not one.
Many.
Every muscle in your body immediately locks.
Wanda notices the change at once. Her hand stills against your fur. âDetka?â she asks quietly. Across the field Natasha turns as well. Years of experience make her notice danger the same way you do. The laughter gradually dies as the team picks up on the tension spreading through both of you.
The bushes bordering the compound begin to shake. Once. Twice. Then violently. Steve straightens immediately. Natasha lowers the baseball bat. Wanda stands. For several long seconds, nobody moves.
Then figures begin emerging from the tree line. One after another. And another. And another. Some appear fully human. Others remain in wolf form. Every single one carries themselves with the same confidence as an apex predator. They are large. Powerful. Scarred by years of survival. Several of the wolves are nearly your size. One is larger. The atmosphere changes instantly. Even the Avengers look unsettled.
The newcomers donât appear frightened by the heavily armed superheroes standing between them and the compound. If anything, they barely seem interested. Their eyes pass over the team entirely. Their focus settles on only one person. You.
By now youâve already risen to your feet. Your tail is rigid. Your ears flattened. A low growl vibrates through your chest. The wolves spread slightly as they approach. Not threatening the Avengers. Not even acknowledging them. Their attention remains fixed entirely on you.
The first voice comes from a broad-shouldered man standing at the front of the group. âThere you are.â The words immediately freeze half the team. Because wolves arenât supposed to talk. Behind him, a woman folds her arms and openly scoffs. âUnbelievable.â Her gaze drifts over your collar. Over Wanda. Over Natasha. Disgust twists across her face. âLook at you.â Nobody says anything. Even Tony appears too stunned to interrupt. The man steps closer. âWeâve been looking for months.â Your growl deepens. âAnd this is what we find?â another pack member asks. âLiving with humans?â âWearing a collar?â âSleeping in their house?â
The accusations come one after another. Natasha slowly moves toward your side. Wanda does the same. Neither woman takes their eyes off the strangers. âCare to explain whatâs happening?â Natasha asks quietly. You canât answer. Not without revealing everything.
Unfortunately, the pack has no such concerns. The broad-shouldered man laughs harshly. âYou didnât tell them?â Wandaâs expression shifts. âTell us what?â The woman beside him gestures directly toward you. âThat sheâs one of us.â Silence falls across the field. You feel it immediately. The confusion. The disbelief. Wandaâs gaze snaps toward you. Natashaâs follows a second later. âOne of you?â Steve asks carefully. The man smirks. âA werewolf.â The word lands like a grenade.
For several seconds nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Then all at once the carefully controlled situation collapses. âYouâre kidding,â Tony says. âYouâre not kidding.â Clint looks personally offended. âThe wolf was a person this entire time?â âTechnically,â Sam mutters. Natasha still hasnât looked away from you. Neither has Wanda. The emotions flickering across their faces are impossible to ignore. Confusion. Shock. Hurt.
Not because youâre a werewolf. Because youâve apparently been capable of understanding everything for months without ever being able to tell them. The pack continues speaking. âYou abandoned us.â âFor them.â âYou traded your pack for humans.â âFor a collar.â
The last comment finally snaps something inside you. Before anyone can react, youâre moving. The nearest wolf barely has time to dodge before you slam into him. The impact sends both of you tumbling through the grass. Another pack member lunges. You meet her head-on.
The fight erupts instantly. Growls tear through the air. Teeth flash. Bodies collide. Years of resentment and frustration explode all at once. The Avengers start forward. Steve shouts something. Natasha curses. Wandaâs eyes begin glowing red. None of it matters. Not until one particularly large wolf crashes into you and the two of you roll dangerously close to Morganâs position. That is the moment Wanda finally intervenes.
Chaos simply stops.
Scarlet energy erupts across the field.
Every werewolf is ripped apart from the fight and suspended in midair before they can react. You included. One moment youâre snarling at a pack member. The next youâre floating several feet above the ground, completely immobilised by Wandaâs magic.
The field falls silent except for heavy breathing. Wanda stands in the centre of it all. Her eyes glow brightly. Her expression is impossible to read. Natasha steps forward beside her. Neither woman looks angry. Somehow that makes it worse.
They look hurt. Genuinely hurt. Wandaâs gaze settles on you first. Then on the collar around your neck. Then back to your eyes. âYou understood us,â she says quietly. It isnât really a question. Natasha folds her arms. âMonths.â The word hangs heavily in the air.
Around you, the rest of your pack remains trapped in scarlet energy while the Avengers stare in stunned silence. Nobody seems entirely sure what to do next. Least of all you. Because for the first time since arriving at the compound, there is no hiding behind being a wolf. No pretending. No misunderstandings. The truth has finally arrived. And judging by the expressions on Wanda and Natashaâs faces, it may have cost far more than you ever intended.
Nobody says anything for a long time after Wanda stops the fight.
The field remains frozen in an uncomfortable silence broken only by heavy breathing and the distant rustling of leaves. Scarlet energy still glows around every member of your pack, holding them suspended several feet above the ground. The anger that had fuelled the confrontation has long since faded, leaving behind something much worse. Embarrassment. Regret. Uncertainty.
You remain trapped amongst Wandaâs magic as her gaze moves across the assembled werewolves. Some glare back defiantly. Others avoid her eyes entirely. The sheer power radiating from her is impossible to ignore. Even your pack seems to understand that pushing things further would be a very bad idea. Eventually Wanda takes a slow breath and lowers her hands slightly.
One by one, every member of your pack is released. Boots hit grass. Paws hit dirt. Nobody immediately moves. For several tense seconds it seems like another fight might break out. Then the broad-shouldered man who had spoken first glances toward you. His expression softens slightly, though not by much. âCome on,â he says quietly to the others. The woman beside him gives one final look toward the compound before turning away.
Gradually the rest of the pack follows. Human forms disappear back toward the tree line. Wolves melt into the shadows between the trees. Within moments the forest begins swallowing them once more. They leave without another word. Without another accusation. Without looking back. Everyone is released except you. Scarlet magic continues holding you motionless above the grass while Wanda watches the last traces of your former life disappear into the woods.
The moment the final pack member vanishes from sight, Wandaâs attention returns entirely to you. Natashaâs does too. Somehow that feels significantly more intimidating. Neither woman appears angry. You almost wish they were. Anger would be easier. Simpler. Instead they simply look at you. Really look at you. As though theyâre trying to reconcile the wolf theyâve spent months caring for with the person they now know has been hiding behind those golden eyes the entire time.
Natashaâs expression remains unreadable, though the hurt is obvious if you know where to look. Wanda doesnât even attempt to hide hers. Confusion flickers across her face. Questions. Doubt. She opens her mouth as if to say something. Then closes it again. Whatever words she had donât seem sufficient. For several more seconds nobody moves.
Then, without warning, the magic disappears. You drop back onto all four paws. The impact barely registers. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing before you. Wanda studies you one final time before turning away. No dramatic speech. No confrontation. No shouting. She simply turns and begins walking toward the compound. Natasha hesitates slightly longer. For a brief moment it almost looks like she wants to say something. Instead she follows Wanda. Together they disappear through the glass doors and leave you standing alone on the lawn.
One by one, the others eventually follow. Steve offers you a sympathetic look before heading inside. Bruce looks concerned. Clint awkwardly pretends not to be staring. Sam gives a small nod before leaving as well. Nobody knows what to say. How could they?
The wolf theyâve been living with for months apparently isnât a wolf at all. Eventually the field empties entirely. The baseball game is forgotten. The equipment remains scattered across the grass. The afternoon sunlight gradually shifts toward evening. Through it all, you donât move. You simply stand there.
The compoundâs enormous glass walls make it impossible to avoid looking inside. Every room seems brighter now. More distant. More unreachable. Occasionally you catch glimpses of Wanda moving through the common room. Natasha appears beside her. Sometimes theyâre talking. Sometimes theyâre simply sitting together. Every so often one of them glances toward the window. Toward you.
The looks arenât angry. Thatâs what hurts the most. They arenât glaring. They arenât avoiding you. They just look thoughtful. Processing. Trying to understand. Hours pass this way. The sun sinks lower. Shadows stretch across the grounds. Inside, life continues. Outside, you remain exactly where they left you.
As darkness begins creeping across the compound, a strange realisation slowly settles over you. You have spent months building a life here. Months becoming part of something. You learned routines. Earned trust. Found a place within a new pack. Yet standing alone in the grass, watching the people you care about through a wall of glass, youâve never felt further away from them.
The truth is finally out. The secret youâve carried since the day you collapsed outside the compound no longer exists. And somehow everything feels worse now than it did when nobody knew.
Your eyes find Wanda one final time. Sheâs sitting beside Natasha on the couch. Neither woman is looking outside at the moment. For the first time all day, you finally break your stare away from the compound. Slowly, you turn around. The forest waits silently beyond the edge of the property. Familiar. Dark. Home. Or at least it used to be.
You take a step toward it. Then another. Nobody notices. Nobody stops you. The grass gives way to dirt beneath your paws. Trees begin surrounding you once again. Within minutes the compound is hidden behind trunks and leaves. The lights disappear. The voices vanish. Soon there is nothing left except the forest stretching endlessly ahead. And without allowing yourself a chance to look back, you continue walking deeper into the darkness.
The compound feels wrong that night.
Not quieter. Not emptier. Wrong.
The difference is subtle enough that neither Wanda nor Natasha notices it immediately. After everything that happened outside, after the pack, the revelations, the fight and the silence that followed, neither woman has much energy left for analysing why the atmosphere feels off. They simply move through the evening together.
Natasha makes coffee she never drinks. Wanda spends almost an hour staring at a book without turning a single page. Neither brings up you. Neither brings up the fact that the wolf theyâve spent months caring for apparently understood every conversation, every argument and every embarrassing nickname theyâd ever used around you. Neither mentions the look on your face when you realised they were hurt.
Eventually exhaustion wins over confusion and they make their way upstairs. The routine is automatic by now. Natasha brushes her teeth. Wanda changes into pyjamas. Lights are switched off. Curtains are drawn. The bedroom settles into darkness.
For a few moments both women simply stand there staring at their bed. The bed that suddenly seems much larger than it did yesterday. Wanda climbs in first, pulling the blankets over herself before instinctively leaving a gap near the foot of the mattress. Natasha notices immediately. Neither comments on it.
A few seconds later Natasha slides beneath the covers as well. Silence settles between them. The room should feel familiar. Comfortable. Safe. Instead there is a strange absence hanging over everything. An absence both women are becoming increasingly aware of.
Wanda is the first to suffer from it. Sleep refuses to come. She shifts onto one side. Then the other. Pulls the blankets higher. Kicks them lower. Every position feels wrong. More than once her foot drifts toward the bottom of the bed without conscious thought, searching for a familiar bundle of fur that should be curled there.
Every single time she remembers halfway through the movement and immediately stills. The first few times itâs merely frustrating. After the fifth or sixth attempt it starts becoming painful. Beside her, Natasha remains motionless. At least outwardly. Her hands rest behind her head while she stares up at the ceiling as though it contains some secret answer she hasnât found yet. It doesnât. The ceiling remains spectacularly unhelpful.
Hours seem to pass with neither woman speaking. Eventually Wanda lets out a quiet huff and rolls onto her back again. âStop looking at the ceiling.â Natasha doesnât move. âIâm thinking.â âThe ceiling isnât helping.â âI know.â Another silence follows. Longer this time. âDo you think she left?â Wanda finally asks. Natasha closes her eyes briefly.
The question hangs heavily in the darkness. âNo.â The answer comes immediately. Certain. Confident. Wanda turns her head. âYou donât?â âNo.â Natasha stares upward again. âSheâs stubborn.â Despite everything, a tiny smile briefly appears on Wandaâs face. It disappears just as quickly.
Eventually they both drift asleep. Not properly. Not deeply. The sort of sleep people fall into when their minds refuse to fully switch off. Every few hours one of them wakes. Sometimes itâs Natasha checking the time. Sometimes itâs Wanda reaching toward the foot of the bed before remembering why itâs empty. Neither sleeps for longer than an hour or two at a time.
By the time morning finally arrives, both women feel exhausted. The pale sunlight creeping through the curtains drags them awake properly. Neither moves for several moments. They simply lie there staring at opposite walls. Thinking. Processing. Wondering. Finally Wanda sits up. Natasha does the same. No discussion takes place. None is necessary.
One look passes between them and an entire conversation somehow happens without words. They both know exactly what the other is thinking. Whatever happened yesterday, whatever conversations need to happen later, whatever questions remain unanswered, the first thing they need to do is find you.
Wanda is already climbing out of bed by the time Natasha stands. Within minutes theyâre dressed and heading downstairs together. Neither heads toward the kitchen. Neither stops for coffee. They walk straight through the compound and out onto the grounds where theyâd last seen you standing.
The morning air is cool. Dew clings to the grass. The field remains exactly as it was left yesterday. A few forgotten pieces of baseball equipment still lie scattered near the edge of the lawn. Wanda scans the area immediately. Natasha does the same. Neither sees what theyâre looking for.
For several seconds they continue walking forward anyway, as though expecting you to appear from behind a tree or emerge from somewhere nearby. Nothing happens. The patch of grass where youâd stood for hours is empty. Wandaâs pace slows. Natashaâs expression tightens slightly. Together they reach the edge of the property and stop. Beyond them, the forest stretches endlessly in every direction. Dense. Silent. Unfamiliar. The same forest youâd disappeared into the night before.
Wanda studies the tree line for a long moment. Then another. Then another. Eventually she lowers her gaze. Natasha follows the direction of her stare. There, pressed into the damp earth at the forestâs edge, are a set of pawprints leading away from the compound. Deep. Clear. Fresh enough that neither woman has any trouble recognising them.
Neither speaks. Neither needs to. Because for the first time since finding an injured wolf bleeding on their lawn all those months ago, there is no sign of you anywhere.
The panic begins approximately thirty seconds after Wanda and Natasha reach the tree line.
At first neither of them says the word out loud. Neither woman is particularly eager to admit that theyâre worried. Wanda keeps insisting there must be a reasonable explanation. Natasha keeps insisting that if you wanted to leave permanently, you would have done so months ago. Both arguments sound increasingly hollow with every passing minute. The pawprints leading into the forest are impossible to miss. Fresh enough to follow. Clear enough to confirm exactly where youâd gone.
Before long theyâre gathering supplies and heading into the woods themselves. Steve attempts to convince them to bring backup. Natasha refuses. Tony suggests drones. Wanda ignores him entirely. Within an hour theyâre moving between the trees, following the trail deeper than either of them has ever travelled before. The forest surrounding the compound is enormous. Larger than most people realise. The Avengers have mapped sections closest to the facility, primarily for security purposes, but nobody has ever found much reason to venture further.
As the hours pass, even those familiar landmarks disappear. Cell signals fade. Marked routes vanish. The terrain becomes rougher and less travelled. More natural. More wild. Wanda occasionally spots broken branches or faint traces of movement through the undergrowth. Natasha finds tracks. Neither says much. Both remain focused entirely on finding you.
By the third hour of walking, even Natasha is beginning to look concerned. âHow far out does this forest go?â Wanda asks quietly. Natasha studies the endless trees ahead. âApparently further than we thought.â
Eventually the landscape begins changing. The signs are subtle at first. A narrow path that clearly didnât form naturally. Cut logs stacked neatly beside a stream. Marks on trees. Evidence that people live here. Both women immediately become more alert.
They continue following the trail until the forest finally opens into a small clearing. Nestled amongst the trees sits a structure that looks somewhere between a cabin and a hunting lodge. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney. The building itself appears handmade, weathered by years of exposure.
Natasha and Wanda exchange a look. Neither says anything. They simply continue forward. A few minutes later another building appears. Then another. Then two more. Some are little more than huts. Others are larger communal structures. Children dart between them. A few wolves nap lazily beneath shaded trees.
Human voices drift through the air. The entire settlement seems to emerge naturally from the forest itself, hidden so effectively that it would be almost impossible to locate without knowing exactly where to look. âThis has to be it,â Wanda murmurs. Natasha nods slowly. âPack territory.â The words feel strange to say aloud. Until yesterday werewolves had been something neither of them believed existed. Now theyâre standing in the middle of an entire village filled with them.
The pack notices them almost immediately.
Conversations gradually stop as heads turn toward the newcomers. Several adults rise from where theyâd been sitting. None appear particularly alarmed. Curious, perhaps. Wary. But not hostile. Many of the faces are familiar from the confrontation outside the compound. The broad-shouldered man stands near one of the larger buildings speaking with a younger wolf. The woman who had mocked your collar the day before sits sharpening a knife near a fire pit. Several pups in wolf form immediately stop playing to stare openly at the strangers.
Natasha instinctively scans the area. Wanda does the same. Both searching for the same thing. Brown fur. Golden eyes. Any sign of you. They find neither. Instead Wanda suddenly stops walking altogether. Natasha notices immediately. âWhat?â Wanda doesnât answer. She simply points.
Standing beside one of the largest huts in the settlement is a carved wooden post.
And hanging from that post is your collar.
The thick padded leather is unmistakable. Wanda recognises it instantly because she spent almost forty minutes choosing it. Natasha recognises it because she spent twenty arguing over which design looked least ridiculous. The metal tag glints softly in the sunlight. Wandaâs symbol on one side. Natashaâs on the other.
Seeing it hanging there feels strangely wrong. Too final. Too deliberate. For several seconds neither woman moves. The sight creates an uncomfortable knot somewhere deep in Wandaâs chest. Natashaâs jaw tightens slightly. The collar had become part of you. As ridiculous as that sounds. Seeing it removed and abandoned here feels like a message neither of them particularly enjoys receiving. âWell,â Natasha says carefully. âSheâs definitely been here.â
âObviously.â
âNot helping.â
Wanda doesnât respond.
Because a much larger problem has just occurred to her.
Every werewolf in sight appears human.
Every single one.
The adults standing nearby. The children. The people moving between buildings. None of them resemble the wolf theyâve spent months living with. Not because you arenât here.
Because they have absolutely no idea what you actually look like.
The realisation arrives simultaneously for both women.
Months.
Theyâve known you for months.
They know your favourite sleeping spot. Your favourite food. The exact way your ears twitch when youâre annoyed. They know you secretly like being brushed despite pretending otherwise. They know you steal Wandaâs side of the bed whenever given the opportunity.
Yet they donât know the simplest thing of all.
Your face.
Natasha slowly looks around the settlement again.
âDo you know which one she is?â
Wanda opens her mouth.
Then closes it.
Because she doesnât.
Neither of them do.
Somewhere amongst the dozens of werewolves moving through the village is the person theyâve spent months caring about. And they have absolutely no idea who theyâre looking for.
You catch their scent long before you actually see them.
Even amongst dozens of pack members, countless overlapping smells and the constant presence of the forest itself, their scents remain unmistakable. Wandaâs carries traces of coffee, old books and something warm that has always reminded you of home. Natashaâs carries leather, gunpowder and the faintest hint of whatever shampoo she stubbornly refuses to admit she uses.
The moment those scents reach you, every muscle in your body locks. Youâd spent the entire night convincing yourself they wouldnât come. That theyâd be angry. That theyâd be relieved to finally be rid of the giant wolf that had apparently lied to them for months. Yet somehow, despite all logic, theyâd followed you. Followed you further into the forest than any human should reasonably be willing to travel.
Now, standing amongst your pack in a half-shifted form, you find yourself wishing youâd had more time to prepare. Thirty feet separates you from them. Thirty feet and an entire world of uncertainty. Around you, other pack members continue watching the strangers cautiously. Some are openly suspicious. Others merely curious. You barely notice any of them. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing near the central huts.
Seeing them here makes everything hurt far worse than it did yesterday. Guilt twists painfully inside your chest. Every memory seems determined to replay itself at once. Wanda sneaking you treats when Bruce said no. Natasha pretending she didnât enjoy your company while secretly building you a blanket nest. Movie nights. Training sessions. Sleeping curled at their feet before eventually earning a place on the actual bed. Youâd never meant to deceive them. Not really. Yet looking at them now, you can suddenly understand exactly why they felt betrayed.
Unfortunately, your body chooses this exact moment to completely betray you as well.
Specifically, your tail.
At first itâs only a slight movement behind you. Barely noticeable. Then Natasha shifts her weight slightly and your tail immediately starts wagging. You freeze. It freezes. Wanda turns her head and your tail starts wagging again. Mortified, you attempt to force it still. The effort lasts approximately three seconds. Because despite everything that happened yesterday, despite the guilt currently eating you alive, despite being surrounded by your actual pack, seeing them again fills you with an embarrassing amount of happiness.
Your ears flatten slightly as you realise exactly what this means. Somewhere along the way, entirely against your better judgement, youâve become hopelessly attached. Across the clearing, Natashaâs eyes narrow. You know that look. It is the look of a predator noticing something important. The same look she gets during missions. The same look she gets whenever Clint attempts to lie.
Your tail continues wagging. âTraitor,â you mutter under your breath. The tail does not care. Natashaâs gaze moves across you carefully. Not threatening. Not judgemental. Just observant. She notices your eyes repeatedly flicking toward the collar hanging from the wooden post. She notices how quickly your attention returns to her and Wanda every time you try looking elsewhere. She notices the obvious guilt written all over your face.
Most importantly, she notices that every other werewolf in the clearing is looking at her and Wanda like outsiders. Potential threats. Strangers. Youâre looking at them like youâve just found something important that you thought youâd lost.
The problem, unfortunately, is that Natasha Romanoff is very, very good at noticing things.
âYou see that?â she asks quietly.
Wanda follows her gaze.
For several seconds she doesnât seem to understand what Natasha means.
Then she notices your tail.
A tiny, unwilling smile immediately appears before she quickly suppresses it.
âOh.â
âYep.â
The smile almost returns.
Meanwhile, neither woman seems particularly prepared for finally discovering what you actually look like. Back at the compound, every image theyâd ever formed of you had been filtered through fur, paws and golden eyes. The reality standing before them is⌠different. Your half-shifted form leaves the wolf traits obvious enough. Brown ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues its humiliating display behind you. Yet the rest of you is undeniably human. Or close enough.
Like most of the pack, your clothing consists primarily of practical materials gathered from the forest itself. Leather wraps around your waist. Woven vines and natural fibres cover your chest and shoulders. Functional. Traditional. Entirely normal by pack standards. The arrangement leaves your arms and much of your skin exposed, revealing years of hunting, climbing and surviving in the wilderness. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-bronzed skin every time you move.
Yet somehow the intimidating image is completely ruined by the fact your tail refuses to stop wagging. Natasha notices that too. In fact, she notices everything. Her expression slowly becomes more complicated with every passing second. Wanda seems equally distracted. Neither woman had expected this. Not really. Theyâd imagined meeting you eventually. Theyâd wondered about it countless times without realising it. But now that the moment has actually arrived, neither seems entirely certain what to do.
The silence stretches.
You donât approach them.
They donât approach you.
The distance remains exactly the same.
Yet somehow it feels far smaller than it did a few minutes ago.
Around the clearing, several pack members are beginning to notice the strange exchange taking place. The broad-shouldered man whoâd confronted you outside the compound folds his arms. A few of the younger wolves openly watch with interest. One of the elders looks suspiciously amused.
You wish the ground would swallow you whole. Your tail is still wagging. Natasha is still watching. Wandaâs gaze keeps softening every time your eyes meet hers. Everything is becoming increasingly unbearable. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Wanda finally takes a small step forward. Not enough to invade your space. Not enough to force anything. Just one step. The sort of step someone takes when approaching a frightened animal. Or perhaps someone they care about.
Your tail somehow wags even harder. Natasha immediately notices. Of course she does. And for the first time since arriving at the pack grounds, a faint smirk appears on her face.
âOh,â she says quietly.
âWhat?â Wanda asks.
Natasha never takes her eyes off you.
âI think we found her.â
And despite everything, your stupid tail practically confirms it for her.
The moment Natasha says it, every survival instinct you possess immediately takes over.
Run.
The command slams through your brain with enough force to make your ears flatten against your head.
You donât wait to see what happens next. The second Wanda takes another step forward, you turn and bolt. Straight into the forest. Branches whip past as you sprint between trees, heart hammering violently against your ribs. Behind you, voices erupt from the clearing. You donât stay long enough to hear what theyâre saying. Shame burns through every inch of you. Embarrassment. Guilt. Relief. All twisted together into something impossible to untangle. Youâd spent months imagining what would happen if Wanda and Natasha discovered the truth. Somehow every scenario had been less humiliating than this one.
Because now they knew. They knew you understood every conversation. Every argument. Every movie night. Every time Natasha secretly let you onto the bed after pretending not to want you there. Every time Wanda called you pet names when she thought nobody was listening. And worst of all, they knew exactly how attached youâd become.
Your tail had made absolutely sure of that. You hear movement behind you. Not footsteps. Something much worse. Red magic.
âOh come on,â you groan.
A second later scarlet energy wraps around your waist. The forest disappears beneath your feet. You immediately find yourself suspended several feet in the air.
âReally?â you call.
âReally,â Wandaâs voice replies.
The world moves alarmingly fast as the magic carries you backwards through the trees. Several branches narrowly miss your face. One doesnât. âOw.â
âYou ran.â
âI panicked.â
âYou always panic.â
âI do not always panic.â
âYou literally turned around and sprinted away.â
Unfortunately, she has a point.
The clearing comes back into view moments later. Several amused pack members are openly watching the entire thing. One of the elders is laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.
You decide you hate everyone. Especially Wanda. Mostly because sheâs right. The magic finally lowers you back onto solid ground a few feet from the two women.
For a moment nobody moves. You stare at the grass. Wanda stares at you. Natasha stares at you. The silence stretches.
Then suddenly both women are moving. Before you can react, Wandaâs arms are around your shoulders. At almost the exact same moment Natasha wraps her arms around your waist. The impact nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.
âWhatââ
Wanda hugs tighter. Natasha somehow hugs tighter than that. The result is less a hug and more a coordinated assault.
âYou idiot,â Natasha mutters.
You blink. That isnât the response you expected.
âWe thought you were gone,â Wanda says quietly.
Her voice sounds suspiciously emotional. Your confusion only deepens.
âYou left.â
âYou left us first.â
âI thought you hated me.â
Both women immediately pull back just enough to stare at you. The looks on their faces are almost offended.
âHate you?â Wanda repeats.
âYou lied to us,â Natasha says. âThatâs not the same thing. We were confused. We were hurt. But we didnât hate you.â
Wandaâs arms tighten again.
âIf anything,â she admits quietly, âwe were more upset with ourselves.â
You frown.
âWhat?â
The women exchange a glance. Then Natasha sighs.
âWe shouldnât have left you out there.â
Your ears twitch.
âWhat?â
âYesterday,â Wanda says softly. âAfter the fight.â
The guilt returns immediately.
âWe found out this huge secret and instead of talking to youâŚâ Her expression falls slightly. âWe just walked away.â
âYou were hurt.â
âSo were you.â
The simple response steals every argument from your mouth.
For several moments nobody says anything. The forest around you feels strangely distant. Eventually you lower your gaze.
âI didnât know how to tell you.â
Wanda and Natasha remain silent. Waiting. So you continue.
âAt first I couldnât.â
Your tail lowers slightly behind you.
âThen after I healedâŚâ You swallow. âYou already thought I was a wolf.â
Natasha nods slowly.
âAnd every day that passed made it harder.â
You laugh weakly.
âHow do you even start that conversation?â
Neither woman interrupts.
ââHey, thanks for rescuing me. Also Iâve secretly understood every word youâve said for six months.ââ
To your immense relief, Natasha snorts. Wanda covers her mouth. Encouraged, you continue.
âThen I got scared.â
Their expressions soften immediately.
âIf I told you, everything wouldâve changed.â
Your eyes finally lift to meet theirs.
âAnd I liked it.â
The admission leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You immediately regret it. Your tail, however, begins wagging. Traitor.
âI liked being there.â
Wandaâs eyes soften even further.
âThe compound felt like home.â
Your throat tightens.
âYou felt like home.â
Silence follows. A dangerous silence. The sort that makes your heart beat significantly faster. Especially when Natasha keeps looking at you like that. You try very hard not to notice. Really. You do. Unfortunately, Natasha Romanoff has spent the last several minutes finally getting a proper look at you.
A very proper look.
Your half-shifted form leaves very little to the imagination compared to the giant wolf sheâd become accustomed to. Years of hunting and surviving in the wilderness are obvious in every movement. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-warmed skin. Wolf ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues wagging with absolutely no regard for your dignity whatsoever.
Natasha notices all of it. Every single bit. You pretend not to. Desperately. The problem is that pretending becomes significantly harder when her gaze briefly drops before returning to your face. Then does it again. Your tail somehow wags harder. Mortified, you immediately focus on literally anything else. Trees. Clouds. The ground. A random squirrel. Anything.
Across from you, Natashaâs lips twitch suspiciously. Wanda notices both your tail and Natashaâs expression at the exact same moment.
âOh my god,â Wanda says.
âWhat?â you ask instantly.
âNothing.â
Natasha looks away far too quickly. Your tail continues wagging. The elder watching nearby starts laughing again. And for the first time since everything fell apart outside the compound, Wanda and Natasha are smiling.
The conversation with your pack takes far longer than expected. Not because anyone is actively trying to stop you from leaving, but because the entire settlement seems fascinated by the fact that two Avengers have wandered several hours into werewolf territory just to find you.
By the time the sun begins dipping lower through the trees, youâve endured enough teasing to last a lifetime. The elder who had laughed at your tail earlier somehow finds even more reasons to do so. The broad-shouldered man apologises, in his own gruff way, for causing problems at the compound. Several of the younger wolves openly ask Natasha questions about fighting. Through all of it, Wanda remains close enough that her shoulder occasionally brushes yours, while Natasha hovers nearby with the casual protectiveness of somebody pretending not to be protective at all.
Eventually the topic everyone has been carefully avoiding finally comes up. âSo,â Wanda says softly, glancing toward the path leading back through the forest. âAre you coming home?â The simple question immediately steals your attention. Home. Not the compound. Not the Avengers facility. Home.
Your ears twitch slightly. Natasha notices. Of course she does. âYouâre not getting rid of us that easily,â she adds. âBesides.â A faint smirk appears on her face. âYouâre our girl.â Heat immediately rises into your cheeks. Wanda smiles. âOur best girl.â Your tail begins wagging before you can stop it.
Around you, several pack members groan dramatically. One of them pretends to gag. You completely ignore them. Because despite everything that happened, despite the confusion and hurt and misunderstandings, the thought of returning with Wanda and Natasha fills your chest with a warmth you havenât felt since leaving the compound. The decision becomes surprisingly easy after that.
The journey back feels very different from the journey out. Nobody is rushing this time. Nobody is desperately following tracks or searching for signs. Instead, the three of you walk together through the forest, gradually leaving the hidden settlement behind. Conversation comes slowly at first. Then more naturally. Wanda asks questions about your pack. Natasha asks questions about shifting.
You answer what you can. Some things make sense to them. Some clearly donât. More than once Natasha has to stop herself from reaching out to touch your ears when they twitch. More than once Wanda fails entirely. By the time the compound finally comes into view through the trees, the tension that had lingered since the confrontation outside has largely disappeared.
Unfortunately, a new problem immediately presents itself. Namely: the rest of the Avengers. âAbsolutely not,â Natasha says the second the building comes into view. âAbsolutely not what?â you ask. âIf Clint sees you first, weâre never hearing the end of it.â Wanda immediately agrees. âOr Tony.â âDefinitely Tony.â âEspecially Tony.â Before you can question their logic further, youâre being ushered around the side of the compound like part of some highly classified operation.
Thankfully, the boys appear distracted elsewhere. Within minutes youâve been successfully smuggled through side corridors, up elevators and into Wanda and Natashaâs room without a single person spotting you. Natasha actually looks proud of herself afterwards. âSee?â she says. âPerfect.â âWeâre literally sneaking a werewolf into our bedroom,â Wanda points out. âExactly.â
The moment the door closes behind you, however, both women suddenly seem to notice something theyâd previously been too distracted to fully process. Specifically, your clothing situation. Or lack thereof, compared to normal human standards. You immediately become aware of it the second Wandaâs eyes flick downward. Then Natashaâs do. The woven vines across your chest. The leather around your waist. The practical attire of someone who grew up in the wilderness rather than modern civilisation. Perfectly normal amongst your pack. Significantly less normal standing in a high-tech Avengers compound.
âRight,â Wanda says after a moment. âWe should probably fix that.â You glance down at yourself. âWhatâs wrong with it?â Natasha makes a small choking noise that suspiciously resembles laughter. Wanda immediately elbows her. âNothingâs wrong with it.â âYou just might be more comfortable in actual clothes.â âActual clothes are overrated.â
Both women stare at you. âActual clothes,â Natasha says firmly, âare happening.â Wanda disappears toward the wardrobe while Natasha remains where she is. For several moments neither speaks. Wanda begins sorting through drawers. Natasha watches her. Wanda glances back. Natasha watches her a little more. A completely silent conversation seems to pass between them.
One youâve seen countless times over the months. Tiny expressions. Small looks. Entire discussions occurring without a single word. This one feels different somehow. More nervous. More deliberate. When Wanda finally turns back around holding a bundle of clothes, neither woman immediately moves to hand them over.
Instead, the room grows unexpectedly quiet.
You glance between them.
Then back again.
Your heart begins beating a little faster.
Natasha takes a single step forward.
Then another.
Close enough now that you can see every tiny detail in her expression. Every flicker of uncertainty. Every trace of affection she isnât bothering to hide anymore. Her hand rises slowly, brushing lightly against your cheek. For a moment she simply looks at you. Really looks at you. Not the wolf sheâd rescued months ago. Not the mystery sheâd spent weeks trying to understand. Just you.
Then she leans forward.
The kiss is soft.
Gentle.
Almost hesitant.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing demanding.
Just Natashaâs lips meeting yours as though sheâs trying to memorise the feeling for the first time. The contact lasts only a few seconds before she slowly pulls away again. Yet somehow those few seconds leave your heart attempting to escape your chest entirely. Your tail is wagging. Obviously. Because apparently it has completely abandoned all loyalty to your dignity. Natashaâs forehead briefly rests against yours before she finally steps back.
And then Wanda is there.
Warm fingers finding your jaw.
A smile so soft it almost hurts.
She waits just long enough for you to look at her.
Then her lips meet yours too.
The kiss is every bit as gentle as Natashaâs had been.
Careful.
Affectionate.
Like sheâs been wanting to do it for far longer than sheâs willing to admit.
When she finally pulls away, the three of you remain standing there for a moment in complete silence.
The clothes are still forgotten in Wandaâs hands.
Your tail refuses to stop wagging.
And neither woman seems particularly interested in pretending they donât find that adorable.
The room remains quiet after the kisses, though it feels like an entirely different kind of silence now. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Heavy. Warm. The sort of silence that settles between people when something important has finally been acknowledged.
Wanda is still holding the clothes sheâd pulled from the wardrobe, though judging by the way her fingers have gone still against the fabric, sheâd completely forgotten about them. Natasha remains standing close enough that you can feel her body heat, her attention fixed entirely on you with an intensity that makes it difficult to think straight. You become painfully aware of every little thing all at once. The way your heart is hammering against your ribs. The way your tail continues sweeping behind you despite your desperate attempts to stop it. The way both women keep looking at you differently now. Not because youâve changed. Not because youâve suddenly become someone else.
But because for the first time there are no misunderstandings left between you. No pretending. No secrets. Just you. Standing in front of them. And somehow that feels far more exposing than running around the compound covered in fur ever did.
A faint smile tugs at Natashaâs mouth as she watches your increasingly failed attempts to force your tail still. âYou know,â she says, voice lower than before, âfor somebody who spent months hiding the fact she understood everything we said, youâre actually terrible at keeping secrets.â Heat immediately rushes into your cheeks. Wanda lets out a soft laugh beside her. âShe really is.â You groan and look away, only for Wanda to immediately reach out and guide your attention back toward them with a gentle hand beneath your chin.
The movement isnât forceful. If anything, itâs almost unfairly tender. âDonât hide now,â she murmurs. Her thumb brushes lightly across your cheek as she speaks, and the simple contact nearly short-circuits your brain. Natasha notices instantly. Of course she does. You see the amusement flicker across her expression before something softer replaces it. Something that makes your stomach perform an alarming number of somersaults. âLook at her,â Natasha says quietly. âSheâs still trying to run.â âI am not.â âYou literally ran into a forest earlier.â âThat was different.â âWas it?â Natasha asks. âBecause this looks exactly the same.â
Wanda laughs again, shaking her head fondly before finally setting the clothes down somewhere behind her. The action feels oddly significant. Like sheâs consciously choosing not to interrupt whatever this moment has become. You swallow hard as both women remain close. Too close to ignore.
Then Natashaâs lips connect with yours again, hungrier this time. Like sheâs a starved woman. Wanda appears behind. Her arms wrap around your waist and her lips connect with the side of your neck. If it werenât for them holding you up, youâre sure you wouldâve turned into mush on the floor by now.
Natasha finally parts from you, only to sink her teeth down into the side of your neck. A whimper escaped your mouth before you can stop it. You didnât even realise when they started pulling your clothes off, and their own, until they were pulling you back towards the bed.
Wanda moves to sit against the headboard and pulls you down into her lap, your eyes immediately find her breasts. Theyâre bigger than yours, fuller. Her nipples stood hardened against the cold breeze and the arousal coursing through her body. Wanda follows your gaze and a soft smirk graces her lips. âYou can touch, Detka. I donât bite.â She murmurs as her hands find yours, pulling them up to her soft mounds.
Your tail wags even harder, if that was even possible at this point, as you squeeze her. Wanda watches as literal drool forms on your lips whilst you obsess over her body like a teenage boy seeing a bare woman for the first time. Her thumb absentmindedly wipes it away, even as her chest begins to heave from your touches. Then without warning, the digit moves into your mouth and your lips wrap around it like second nature.
Youâd almost forgotten about Natasha at this point. Almost being the keyword. Then her hands wrap around your neck from behind and the familiar sound of your collar buckling sounds out as she attaches the thick leather back around your neck with a sultry whisper of: âYouâre ours, pretty girlâ
Wandaâs thumb, the one in your mouth, moves to press down on your tongue and a little whine escapes you. Natashaâs hands move from your neck and down to your own breasts, her large hands easily cup both of them before she rolls your nipples between her fingers. A broken moan slips from around Wandaâs thumb in your mouth.
Her eyes flicker red for a brief moment, and you feel something pressing against your core that wasnât there before. You try to look down, but unfortunately Natasha keeps your head raised.
Wandaâs free hand moves down to the dick sheâs enchanted into her body, guiding it to your entrance that is soaked by now. In one movement she bottoms out, causing you to cry out. Your teeth clamp down around her thumb but she doesnât care or at least react to it.
Natashaâs hands find your hips and start moving you to grind against Wandaâs cock. Every movement of her inside you hits deep and hard, cries turn into moans as you get used to the feeling of her. Her thumb slides out of your mouth only to rub up and down your sides, occasionally squeezing your breasts.
One of Natashaâs hands moves from your hip to press hard circles against your throbbing clit, each one making your hips buck against her hand.
âYouâre doing so good, pup⌠so good.â The praise comes from one of the girls, you canât exactly tell which one, too lost in the pleasure of Wanda hitting every wall inside of you.
Her eyes glow red again, you barely pick it up this time. And before you know it, Natasha is rubbing, an admittedly smaller, cock against your ass. She uses the arousal from between your legs as makeshift lubricant before pushing the cock into your ass. That completely wrecks you. You collapse against Wandaâs bare chest, hands clutching the bedsheets beneath her as both your holes are fucked by the two most attractive women youâve ever seen.
âBreathe baby, your okay⌠your doing amazing.â Wanda says, now rolling her own hips up into you since you stopped when you collapsed against her. She presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and guides your lips to wrap around her nipple. You easily take the hardened bud into your mouth, the skin muffled your cries and absorbs your tears. Wanda revels in this, her baby girl crying whilst taking two cocks at one. She couldnât be prouder honestly.
Natashaâs hand on your hip moves to wrap around your waist, her movements are a lot more juttery and uncontrolled compared to Wandaâs. Sheâs also a lot louder than Wanda is, soft groans leaving her as she pressed her lips between your shoulder blades.
The feeling of being so full eventually pushes you over the edge, your back arches up and toes curl against nothing. You mouth opens but no sound comes out. Then like clockwork, both of the cocks inside you begin to twitch as the women let their loads sink into each of your holes.
The room gradually settles into a comfortable silence.
Not the awkward sort.
Not the uncertain sort.
The kind of silence that only exists between people who feel completely safe around one another.
You barely have enough energy left to move. Every muscle in your body feels heavy, your thoughts pleasantly slow and fuzzy as you remain curled against Wandaâs side beneath the blankets. At some point sheâd pulled you fully against her chest, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while her fingers drift lazily through your hair. The motion is absent-minded. Instinctive. The same way sheâd stroked your fur countless times when she thought you were just a wolf. Somehow the familiarity of it makes your chest ache.
Home. The word keeps returning. Home.
Natasha eventually slips out of bed with a quiet groan, disappearing into the bathroom for a few moments before returning with a damp cloth, a glass of water and an entire armful of snacks sheâd apparently stolen from somewhere. You watch her approach through half-lidded eyes, your ears twitching lazily when she sits back down beside you.
âWere those already in here?â you mumble.
âNo.â
âDid you go downstairs?â
âMaybe.â
âNatasha.â
âWhat?â
âYou robbed the kitchen.â
âIt wasnât robbery.â
Wanda doesnât even open her eyes.
âIt was absolutely robbery.â
âI live here.â
âYou stole my crackers.â
âI stole our crackers.â
Wanda finally peeks one eye open.
âThat isnât better.â
Natasha looks deeply offended.
You let out a tired laugh and immediately regret it because it uses far too much energy.
âThere she is,â Wanda murmurs softly.
One of her hands leaves your hair long enough to gently cup your cheek.
âYou okay, Detka?â
The concern in her voice immediately melts something inside your chest. You nod. Then, after a momentâs consideration, shake your head. Then nod again. Both women laugh.
âIâm taking that as a yes.â
âIt means sheâs tired,â Natasha says knowingly.
âI am not.â
âYou once fell asleep standing up.â
âThat happened one time.â
âIt happened three times.â
You glare weakly. Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself.
The glass of water is gently pushed into your hands before you can continue arguing. Both women watch until youâve taken several proper drinks. Only then does Natasha seem satisfied. The crackers are next. You take one mostly because refusing seems like too much effort. Then another. Then another.
âYou were prepared for this,â you realise.
Natasha shrugs. âI know you.â
Wanda hums in agreement. âShe does.â
Your tail immediately thumps beneath the blankets.
Traitor.
The movement earns a smile from both women.
âYou did good today, pup.â
The praise catches you completely off guard.
Your ears twitch.
Natasha reaches over and scratches lightly behind one of them.
âYou came back.â
Something unexpectedly emotional tightens in your chest.
You lower your gaze. âI almost didnât.â
The admission slips out quietly. Immediately both women go still. Wandaâs arm tightens around your shoulders. Natashaâs expression softens.
âHey.â
You glance up. Natasha is looking directly at you now.
âYou came back.â
The words are simple. Matter-of-fact. Yet somehow they hit harder than anything else could have. Because sheâs right. You did. And they came looking for you. The thought settles warmly somewhere beneath your ribs.
Before the room can become too emotional, Wanda reaches for another cracker and immediately discovers Natasha has already eaten half the packet.
Her eyes narrow.
âNatasha.â
âWhat?â
âYou ate all the cheese ones.â
âNo I didnât.â
âThere are literally none left.â
Natasha glances into the packet.
âOh.â
âNatasha.â
âI didnât realise.â
âYou absolutely realised.â
âIt happened accidentally.â
âYou sorted them.â
âI was organising.â
âYou organised them into your mouth.â
You bury your face against Wandaâs shoulder as laughter threatens to escape.
Natasha points accusingly.
âDonât encourage her.â
âIâm not encouraging anything.â
âYou are smiling.â
âBecause youâre ridiculous.â
âYou love me.â
Wandaâs entire expression softens instantly.
âUnfortunately.â
âSee?â
âThat wasnât a compliment.â
âIt was close enough.â
The argument continues for another ten minutes. It isnât really an argument. Just the familiar back-and-forth that youâve spent months listening to from various corners of the compound. The same bickering that always ends with one of them laughing and the other pretending they arenât.
Somewhere during it, your eyes begin drifting closed. Wanda notices first. Of course she does. Her fingers never stop moving through your hair. Natasha notices a few moments later when your head slowly slides further onto Wandaâs shoulder.
âOh, sheâs gone.â
âIâm not gone.â
âYou answered that three seconds late.â
You choose not to respond. Mostly because you are, in fact, nearly asleep.
A warm blanket is pulled higher around you. Someone presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another to the top of your head. You arenât entirely sure who does which.
By the time the girls finally stop bickering and settle down themselves, youâre practically glued to Wandaâs side, your tail loosely wrapped around both of their legs beneath the blankets.
Safe. Warm. Loved.
The last thing you hear before sleep finally wins is Natashaâs quiet voice from somewhere beside you.
âOur girl.â
Wanda immediately hums in agreement.
âOur best girl.â
Your tail gives one final sleepy wag.
Then everything fades into darkness.
:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:â˘â˘:Ű:
Masterlist
A/N: I started writing this as âwhat if Wanda and Natasha found a wolf?â and somehow ended up 16.8k words deep into a story about them accidentally adopting a werewolf. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fluff, the angst, the possessive girlfriends, and Natasha discovering that she has absolutely no authority in a relationship where Wanda exists.
A/N: All of the works in this collection are entirely fictional and created for storytelling purposes only. They explore obsessive and unhealthy dynamics, and are not meant to reflect or romanticise real-life relationships. Please read with that understanding in mind.
âď¸ď¸ Summary: You think Wanda barely notices you. Meanwhile she has an entire folder of videos proving otherwise.
Time Loop Devotion
âď¸ď¸ Word Count: 4.7k
âď¸ď¸ Summary: Youâre stuck in a time loopâbut youâre the only one who forgets. Wanda remembers every reset, guiding you through it⌠a little too perfectly. The more time you spend with her, the more it starts to feel like sheâs not just helping you survive the loopâsheâs shaping it. And somehow, she always knows exactly how to make you stay.
Summary: Youâre stuck in a time loopâbut youâre the only one who forgets. Wanda remembers every reset, guiding you through it⌠a little too perfectly. The more time you spend with her, the more it starts to feel like sheâs not just helping you survive the loopâsheâs shaping it. And somehow, she always knows exactly how to make you stay.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
The first time you notice it, it feels like dĂŠjĂ vu stretched just a little too thin.
Not the usual kindâwhere something is vaguely familiar, like a dream slipping through your fingersâbut something sharper. Precise. The way the barista at the cafĂŠ smiles at you before you even speak, already reaching for the exact drink you were about to order. The way a stranger on the street sidesteps you before you even move. The way the same song hums faintly from passing cars at the exact same point in its chorus, over and over.
You brush it off at first. People do that. Your brain fills in patterns where there are none. Thatâs what you tell yourself.
Until you meet her.
Sheâs standing outside your building like sheâs been waiting. Not pacing, not checking her phoneâjust there, still and composed, like a fixed point in everything that feels slightly off. Her eyes find yours immediately, like theyâve done it a hundred times before. Maybe they have. Thereâs something about the way she looks at you that makes your chest tighten, like recognition without memory.
âHi,â she says softly, as if sheâs careful not to startle you.
You hesitate. âDo I know you?â
Thereâs the smallest flicker across her face. Not surpriseâsomething closer to disappointment, quickly masked. âNot yet.â
You should walk away. Every instinct tells you that this is strange, that something about her presence doesnât line up with reality the way it should. But thereâs a calmness in her voice that settles over your nerves like a weighted blanket.
She steps closer, slow enough to give you time to retreat. You donât.
âIâm Wanda,â she says. âAnd youâre⌠stuck.â
You blink. âStuck?â
âIn a loop.â Her gaze searches yours, intense but not unkind. âSame day. It resets. Over and over.â
You laugh, because what else are you supposed to do with that? âRight. And you just decided to tell me that outside my building?â
âIâve told you before,â she replies gently.
The laughter dies in your throat.
Thereâs no mockery in her tone. No hint that this is a joke. Just quiet certainty, like sheâs stating something as obvious as the sky being blue.
âI think Iâd remember that,â you say, but it comes out weaker than you intend.
Wanda tilts her head slightly, studying you. âYou donât. Thatâs part of it. You reset too. Your memories go with it.â
âAnd yours donât?â you ask.
Her lips press together briefly. âNo.â
Something in your chest tightens again. You donât know why you believe herâbut you do. Not completely, not blindly, but enough that the world feels like itâs shifted under your feet.
âIf this is a jokeââ
âItâs not,â she interrupts, still soft, still careful. âI can prove it.â
And she does.
She tells you what youâll say before you say it. Finishes your sentences like sheâs memorised them. Points out things that happen seconds before they doâa car honking, someone dropping their bag, the flicker of a faulty streetlight. Each time, it lands with a quiet, devastating precision.
By the time the day ends, youâre not laughing anymore.
By the time the day resets you understand.
â
Itâs not immediate, the way you adjust to it.
At first, itâs panic. Every time the clock strikes midnight and the world snaps back to morning, it feels like drowning. You wake up in the same bed, the same light filtering through your curtains, the same dull hum of routineâbut now you know.
Or at least, you remember until you donât.
Because you forget.
Thatâs the cruelest part. You donât get to carry it with you. Each reset strips you back to ignorance, leaves you wandering through the same day like itâs new.
Except Wanda is always there.
Always waiting.
Always remembering.
And every time you meet her, she tells you again.
At first, she keeps it simple. Gentle. She helps you navigate the confusion, grounds you when it starts to spiral. She shows you how to test the loop, how to recognise the patterns, how to hold onto the knowledge for as long as you can before it inevitably slips away.
âYouâll forget me,â she says once, her voice quieter than usual as you sit together in a quiet park, the world frozen in its endless repetition. âBut I wonât forget you.â
Thereâs something heavy in the way she says it. Something that lingers even after the day resets and your memory wipes clean.
You donât notice it then.
Not properly.
But something starts to shift.
â
It takes longer than it should for you to realise that Wanda isnât just guiding you through the loop.
Sheâs⌠adjusting it.
At first, itâs subtle. Barely noticeable. A conversation that goes slightly differently. A person who isnât where they should be. A missed moment that should have happened but didnât.
You only catch it because, somehow, fragments stick. Not full memoriesâjust impressions. Echoes. Like trying to recall a dream and only grasping the feeling it left behind.
And the feeling is⌠wrong.
You start paying attention.
Watching her.
Wanda doesnât always approach you the same way. Sometimes sheâs waiting outside your building. Sometimes she âbumpsâ into you at the cafĂŠ. Sometimes she doesnât appear until later, like sheâs testing how long it takes before you start noticing the loop on your own.
Each time, her approach is different.
Each time, you are different.
More open. More guarded. More curious. More distant.
It takes a while for the realisation to settle in, slow and sickening.
Sheâs experimenting.
You donât know how many times sheâs done this. You donât know how many versions of this day have existed, how many variations of you sheâs met, guided, adjusted.
But you know one thing.
None of it is accidental.
â
âWhy do you always find me?â you ask one evening, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
Wanda stills.
Itâs a small reaction, almost imperceptibleâbut you catch it.
âI told you,â she says carefully. âBecause youâre stuck. And I remember.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
Silence stretches between you.
Thereâs something different about this loop. You can feel it. The air is heavier, the space between your words more fragile. Like youâve stepped slightly off the path she expects.
Wanda studies you, her gaze sharper now. Assessing.
âYouâre not supposed to notice this early,â she murmurs.
A chill crawls up your spine. âNotice what?â
She doesnât answer immediately.
And thatâs when you know.
Something cracks open in your chest, a quiet, creeping horror that settles deep in your bones.
âHow many times?â you ask, your voice unsteady. âHow many times has this happened?â
Her expression shifts. Not guiltânot quite. Something more complicated. Something almost⌠conflicted.
âA lot,â she admits.
The simplicity of it makes your stomach drop.
âA lot?â you repeat. âThatâs not an answer.â
âItâs the only one I have,â she says softly.
You shake your head, stepping back. âNo, thatâsâno. You donât get to justâwhat are you doing, Wanda?â
Her eyes flicker with something intense. Desperate, almost. âIâm trying to get it right.â
âGet what right?â
A pause.
And thenâ
âYou.â
The word lands like a blow.
You stare at her, your mind scrambling to make sense of it. âMe?â
âIâve tried different approaches,â she continues, her voice steadier now, like sheâs already said this before. Maybe she has. âDifferent ways of telling you. Different ways of⌠interacting with you. Some work better than others.â
âWork better for what?â you demand.
She hesitates.
And that hesitation tells you everything.
Your chest tightens. âNo.â
Wanda steps closer. âListen to meââ
âNo, you listen,â you snap, something sharp breaking through the confusion. âYouâre not just helping me. Youâreâwhat, running trials? On me?â
âItâs not like that.â
âThen what is it like?â
Silence.
Your heart pounds.
âSay it,â you push. âJust say it.â
Her gaze locks onto yours, unflinching now. Certain.
âIâm trying to make you fall in love with me.â
The world tilts.
For a second, everything goes quiet. Like the loop itself has paused to let the weight of her words settle.
âYouâre joking,â you say, but it comes out hollow.
âIâm not.â
âYouâre resetting the dayâover and overâjust to test how to make me fall for you?â
Her jaw tightens. âItâs more complicated than that.â
âHow?â
âBecause you do,â she says, her voice suddenly fierce. âIn some loops, you do. You choose me. Youââ She cuts herself off, her expression twisting with something raw. âBut it never lasts. It always resets. And then you forget.â
Your breath catches.
âAnd you donât,â you whisper.
âNo.â
The weight of that single word is unbearable.
âSo you just⌠keep trying?â you ask. âUntil what? Until you find the perfect version of me?â
âIâm not changing you,â she insists.
âArenât you?â you shoot back. âYouâre changing everything else around me!â
Her silence is answer enough.
A cold, sinking realisation settles in your chest.
âHow many times have I said no?â you ask quietly.
Wanda doesnât respond.
Your throat tightens. âHow many times have I rejected you?â
Still nothing.
âWanda.â
Her voice is barely audible when she finally speaks.
âEnough.â
The word echoes in your mind, heavy and suffocating.
You take another step back, shaking your head. âThatâs not okay. Thatâsâthatâs not okay.â
âI know.â
âThen why are you still doing it?â
Because she can.
Because there are no consequences.
Because the day will reset, and none of this will matterâexcept to her.
Wanda looks at you like sheâs memorising every detail, every reaction. Like this moment is just another variation to catalogue.
And maybe it is.
âBecause I love you,â she says.
Itâs not dramatic. Not loud. Just quiet, certain, immovable.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
âYou donât get to do this,â you whisper.
Her expression softens, something almost pleading slipping through. âI donât have a choice.â
âYou always have a choice.â
âNot if I want to keep you.â
The words send a sharp, icy fear down your spine.
âKeep me?â you repeat.
The air feels thinner now. Harder to breathe.
Wanda steps closer again, slow and deliberate, like approaching a frightened animal. âYou donât understand. Every time the loop resets, I lose you. Every version of you. Everyâeverything we build, it just disappears. Iâm the only one who remembers it ever existed.â
âThat doesnât give you the right to control it,â you snap.
âIâm not controlling you.â
âYou literally are!â
Her eyes flash, something dangerous flickering beneath the surface. âIâm giving us a chance.â
âAt the cost of my choice?â
âYou still have a choice.â
âDo I?â you challenge. âIf I say no, you just reset the day until I say yes. Thatâs not a choice, Wanda. Thatâsââ
You stop, the word catching in your throat.
Manipulation.
Control.
Something darker.
Wandaâs gaze doesnât waver.
âYouâll understand,â she says quietly.
âNo,â you reply, your voice firm despite the fear curling in your chest. âI wonât.â
A beat of silence.
And thenâ
âOkay.â
The word is soft. Almost gentle.
Too gentle.
Something in your gut twists.
âOkay?â you repeat.
She nods slowly, her expression unreadable now. Calm. Resolved.
âWeâll try a different approach.â
Your stomach drops.
âWhat does that mean?â
Wanda smiles.
And thereâs something about itâsomething just slightly offâthat makes your blood run cold.
âIt means,â she says, her voice smooth and certain, âthis version didnât work.â
The world flickers.
Just for a second.
But itâs enough.
Your breath catches, panic surging as the edges of reality seem to blur, like a glitch in something thatâs not as stable as it should be.
âWaitâWandaââ
But sheâs already stepping back, her gaze still locked onto yours.
Memorising.
Evaluating.
Deciding.
âIâll see you again,â she says softly.
And thenâ
everything resets.
â
You wake up.
Same bed. Same light. Same day.
No memory of what came before.
But across the room, standing in the doorway like sheâs always been thereâ
Wanda watches you open your eyes.
This time, she doesnât smile.
This time, she looks⌠certain.
Like sheâs finally figured something out.
âGood morning,â she says gently.
And something deep inside youâsomething you donât remember earningâfills with a quiet, unexplainable dread.
Because somehowâ
you feel like this is the loop where she gets it right.
â
You donât know why you trust her so quickly this time.
Thatâs the first thing that feels wrong.
It settles into you without resistance, like itâs always been there, like sheâs always been someone you can lean on. Thereâs no hesitation when she explains the loop, no disbelief, no frantic questioning. Just a strange, calm acceptance that sinks into your bones like it was placed there deliberately.
Wanda notices.
Of course she does.
You can see it in the way her shoulders relax, in the way her voice softens when she speaks to you, like sheâs handling something fragile but precious. Like sheâs finally holding something sheâs been reaching for.
âDoesnât it scare you?â she asks at one point, her eyes searching yours carefully.
You pause, considering it.
âIt should,â you admit slowly. âBut⌠it doesnât feel new.â
Her breath catches.
Just slightly.
And you donât know why, but that tiny reaction sends something uneasy curling in your chest.
âWhat do you mean?â she asks.
You frown, trying to put it into words. âItâs like⌠Iâve already been through the panic part. Like I already know how this goes.â
Wandaâs gaze softens, something almost relieved flickering through it. âMaybe you do. In a way.â
You nod, accepting that answer far too easily.
Thatâs the second thing thatâs wrong.
Because somewhere, deep down, something is screaming at you that you shouldnât be this okay with it.
That something has been⌠adjusted.
You just donât know what yet.
And Wandaâ
Wanda knows exactly what she changed.
She watches you closely, tracking every reaction, every word, every subtle shift in your expression. Not with the anxious trial-and-error of before, but with quiet, careful precision. Like sheâs already narrowed it down. Like sheâs refining something instead of searching for it.
âDo you trust me?â she asks later, her voice softer than youâve ever heard it.
The question lingers in the air, heavier than it should be.
And without thinkingâ
âYes,â you say.
Wanda exhales, something deep and long-held loosening in her chest.
And thatâs when it clicks.
Not fully. Not clearly. But enough.
A flicker of something ŃŃĐś breaks through the calm in your mind, sharp and dissonant.
Too easy.
That was too easy.
Your brow furrows slightly, confusion threading through the haze. âWaitââ
Wandaâs expression shifts instantly.
Just a fraction.
But you see it.
The calculation.
The readiness.
âWhat is it?â she asks gently, stepping closer.
âI justââ You hesitate, the feeling slipping through your fingers like sand. âThat didnât feel like⌠me.â
Her gaze sharpens.
Dangerously subtle.
âWhat didnât?â she presses.
âTrusting you,â you say, the words slow, uncertain. âI meanâI do, but⌠I donât know why.â
Silence.
Wanda studies you, her mind moving faster than you can track.
Adjusting.
Recalculating.
Because this wasnât supposed to happen.
Not this soon.
Not in this version.
âYouâve trusted me before,â she says carefully. âMaybe that feeling just⌠stayed with you.â
Maybe.
Itâs a reasonable explanation.
Too reasonable.
You nod slowly, but the unease doesnât go away this time. It lingers, faint but persistent, like a crack forming beneath the surface.
And Wanda sees it.
She always sees it.
Which means she also knowsâ
this loop isnât perfect.
Not yet.
But itâs closer.
Closer than any of the others.
And sheâs not going to lose it now.
Not when youâre finally looking at her the way sheâs always wanted.
Not when youâre this close to staying.
So when you hesitateâ
when that flicker of doubt threatens to growâ
Wanda makes a decision.
A small one.
A precise one.
Barely noticeable.
She reaches out, her fingers brushing against yoursâ
and the world shifts, just slightly.
Just enough.
Your thoughts settle instantly, the unease dissolving like it was never there. The tension in your chest eases, replaced with something warm. Familiar. Safe.
Wanda watches it happen in real time.
Watches you relax.
Watches you smile, soft and unguarded, like nothing was ever wrong.
And this timeâ
this time, you donât question it.
You just look at her like sheâs the only constant in a world that refuses to stay still.
Like sheâs the only thing that makes sense.
And Wandaâ
Wanda finally smiles back, something victorious and quietly possessive settling behind it as she realisesâ
sheâs getting closer.
So, so close.
And if she has to bend reality just a little more to keep you thereâ
well.
You wonât remember it anyway.
The day will reset.
And sheâll try again.
And again.
And again until thereâs no version of you left that could ever think to leave her. and the terrifying part is, you donât feel trapped.
Not at first.
Itâs subtle, the way it settles into you. The comfort. The ease. The way Wandaâs presence starts to feel like the only stable thing in a world that quietly resets itself over and over again. You stop questioning the repetition. Stop resisting the strange, hazy gaps in your memory. Because every time something feels like it might be wrongâlike a thought just slightly out of placeâsheâs there.
Grounding you.
Soft voice, steady hands, eyes that hold yours just long enough to pull you back under.
âYouâre okay,â she murmurs one afternoon, her thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles against your wrist. âItâs just the loop. It can make things feel⌠disjointed.â
You nod, even though the word doesnât quite fit.
Disjointed implies something broken.
But this doesnât feel broken.
It feels⌠guided.
Thatâs what it is. Thatâs what sheâs made it.
Your days begin to blur together in a different way nowânot as a chaotic spiral of confusion, but as something smoother. Curated. There are no sharp edges anymore, no moments of panic that spike too high, no lingering dread that stays long enough to take root.
Wanda doesnât let it.
And the more time you spend with her, the more natural it becomes to follow her lead. To let her decide where you go, what you do, how the day unfolds. Because every time you donâtâevery time you drift even slightly off the path sheâs nudging you downâsomething feels off.
Not wrong.
Just⌠less right.
Like youâve missed a step in something you were supposed to know by heart.
Itâs easier not to fight it.
Easier to stay close to her.
Easier to let her guide you back.
â
âYouâre happier like this.â
The words slip out of Wanda one evening, quiet but certain, like sheâs been holding onto them for a long time.
You glance at her, a small smile already forming before you can think about it. âLike what?â
âLike this,â she repeats, her gaze soft as it traces your face. âWith me.â
Thereâs no pressure in the statement. No demand.
Just⌠truth.
And thatâs what makes it so easy to accept.
âI am,â you admit.
Because you are.
Thatâs the part that should scare you.
But it doesnât.
Wandaâs smile deepens slightly, something satisfied flickering behind it. Not smugânever that. Just⌠relieved. Like sheâs finally seeing something fall into place.
âI knew you would be,â she says.
Of course she did.
She always does.
â
The cracks donât disappear.
They just⌠change.
Instead of loud, jarring breaks in your awareness, they become quieter things. Fleeting inconsistencies. Moments that almost slip by unnoticed if youâre not paying close enough attention.
A phrase Wanda repeats exactly the same way, down to the smallest inflection, hours apart.
A stranger who reacts to you like theyâve met you beforeâbefore quickly correcting themselves.
A song that restarts halfway through, like reality itself lost its place.
Each time, your mind brushes against itâjust for a second.
Each time, Wanda is there before the thought can fully form.
âFocus on me,â she says gently, drawing your attention back, anchoring you before the unease can spread.
And you do.
You always do.
Because focusing on her feels⌠right.
Because every time you donât the world feels like it might slip out from under you.
â
âYou trust me, donât you?â
Itâs not the first time sheâs asked.
But it feels different this time.
Heavier.
More important.
You look at her, really look this time, and for a split secondâjust a split secondâyou see something beneath the surface. Something tightly controlled. Something waiting.
Waiting for your answer.
âYes,â you say.
And itâs true.
But this time you know it didnât start that way.
The thought hits you like a glitch in your own mind, sharp and sudden.
It didnât start like this.
Your breath catches.
Wanda notices instantly.
Her entire body stills, eyes locking onto yours with laser focus. âWhat is it?â
You shake your head slightly, the feeling already slipping, already fading. âNothing, I justââ
No.
Not nothing.
Something is wrong.
Not with the world.
With you.
âI didnât used to trust you,â you say slowly, the words dragging themselves into existence through resistance you donât understand. âDid I?â
Silence.
And that silence is deafening.
Wanda doesnât answer.
Which is an answer.
Your chest tightens. âWanda.â
Her jaw clenches, just for a second.
Then she steps closer, her voice softer now, carefully measured. âIt doesnât matter how it started.â
âIt does to me.â
âYou trust me now,â she counters, like thatâs the only point that should exist.
âThatâs not the same thing.â
Her expression shifts, something sharper breaking through the calm. âWhy does it have to be?â
Because itâs not real.
The thought slams into you, sudden and overwhelming.
Because she made it this way.
Your head spins, fragments pushing to the surfaceâfeelings that donât belong to this version of you. Fear. Resistance. Anger.
Rejection.
You stagger back slightly, your breathing uneven. âYou changed something.â
Wandaâs eyes darken.
âBe careful,â she says quietly.
The warning sends a cold spike down your spine.
âYou did,â you press, the words coming faster now, stronger, like something inside you is finally breaking through whatever sheâs done. âThatâs why it feels so easy now. Thatâs why Iâm not questioning anythingâyou made me like this.â
âI didnât make you anything,â she snaps, and thereâs something raw in it now, something dangerously close to unraveling. âI just⌠helped you see what was already there.â
âNo,â you shake your head, your heart pounding. âNo, thatâs notâthis isnât real.â
Her composure cracks.
Just a little.
But itâs enough.
âDefine real,â Wanda shoots back, her voice tightening. âBecause from where Iâm standing, this is the most real thing either of us has.â
âYouâre controlling it!â
âIâm stabilising it!â
âYouâre manipulating me!â
âIâm saving us!â
The words echo between you, sharp and desperate.
Silence follows.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Your chest rises and falls too quickly, your thoughts spiraling as the pieces start to click together in ways you canât ignore anymore.
Every reset.
Every change.
Every version of you that ever said no.
âTheyâre all gone, arenât they?â you whisper.
Wanda freezes.
âAll the versions of me that didnât want this,â you continue, your voice quieter now, but steadier. âYou just⌠erased them.â
âI didnât erase them,â she says quickly, but thereâs a crack in her voice now. âThey reset. Thatâs how the loop works.â
âBut you chose not to keep them.â
Her silence confirms it.
Something in your chest breaks.
âI donât even know if anything Iâm feeling is mine anymore,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
Wandaâs expression falters, something almost pained flashing across it. âIt is.â
âHow do you know?â
âBecause Iâve seen every version of you,â she says, stepping closer again, slower this time. Careful. âIâve seen the ones that hate me. The ones that fear me. The ones that walk away without looking back.â Her voice tightens, emotion bleeding through despite her control. âAnd Iâve seen the ones that love me.â
Your breath catches.
âAnd this?â you ask, your voice trembling. âWhich one is this?â
Wanda reaches out, her fingers hovering just inches from your face.
âThis,â she says softly, âis the one that stays.â
The words settle over you like a weight.
Heavy.
Final.
And for a moment you almost believe her.
Because it would be so easy.
So easy to let go of the doubt, to sink back into the warmth sheâs built around you, to let her be the constant that holds everything together.
You can feel it pulling at you.
Inviting you.
All you have to do is stop questioning.
All you have to do is let her.
But thenâ
a flicker.
A memory that isnât yours.
Or maybe it is.
A version of you, standing exactly where you are now, looking at Wanda with the same fear, the same realisationâ
saying no.
Your breath sharpens.
âNo,â you whisper.
Wandaâs hand freezes mid-air.
âI donât want this,â you say, louder now, the clarity cutting through everything sheâs tried to smooth over. âNot like this.â
Something shatters behind Wandaâs eyes. Not surprise. Not even anger. Something worse.
Understanding.
Because sheâs seen this before. Heard these words before.
Watched this version of you slip through her fingers â
again.
The air shifts.
You feel it instantly.
That subtle, unnatural distortion, like reality itself holding its breath.
âNo,â Wanda says quietly.
The word is firm this time.
Unyielding.
âWeâre not doing this again.â
Your stomach drops. âWandaââ
âI got it right,â she insists, her voice tightening, something desperate creeping in. âThis time, I got it right. You were happy.â
âI wasnât free.â
âI can fix that.â
âYou canât fix this!â
Her composure cracks completely.
âI CAN!â she shouts, and the world jerks violently around you, like something just snapped under the strain.
Silence slams down after it.
Wandaâs breathing is uneven now, her control slipping in a way youâve never seen before.
âI can make it better,â she says again, softer this time. Pleading. âI can adjust it. Just a little. You wonât even notice.â
Thatâs the problem.
You wonât.
And that terrifies you more than anything else.
âOr,â she continues, her voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous, âI can reset.â
Your blood runs cold.
âWandaâdonâtââ
âItâll be easier next time,â she says, like sheâs convincing herself as much as you. âIâll start earlier. Change less. Keep more of you intactââ
âNo!â you step forward, grabbing her wrist before she can pull away. âStop. Justâstop.â
The contact sends something sharp through both of you.
Wanda goes still.
Completely still.
Her eyes flicker down to where youâre holding her, something unreadable flashing across her face.
âYouâve never done that before,â she whispers.
Your grip tightens slightly. âDone what?â
âStopped me.â
The weight of that settles in your chest.
Because sheâs right.
Every other version of you every other loop you never got this far. You never pushed back like this. Which means this moment is new. Wanda feels it too.
You can see it in the way her expression shifts, something uncertain breaking through the desperation for the first time.
A variable she didnât account for. A version of you she hasnât seen yet.
And for the first time Wanda doesnât know what happens next. The loop trembles around you, unstable, like itâs waiting for her decision.
Reset. Or donât. Her entire world hangs on that choice. And so does yours.
Her gaze lifts back to yours, searching, conflicted, something raw and unguarded bleeding through all the control sheâs been holding onto for so long.
âIf I donât reset,â she says quietly, âthis is it.â
No more adjustments. No more retries. No more different versions of you. Just this one. This choice. Your heart pounds, but you donât let go of her.
âThen let it be it,â you say.
Wandaâs breath catches.
And for the first time since you met her - since any version of you has ever met her - she hesitates.
Not calculating.
Not adjusting.
Just⌠feeling it.
The risk.
The uncertainty.
The possibility that this might not end the way she wants it to.
Her fingers twitch slightly in your grip.
The world flickers.
Once.
Twice.
On the edge of collapse.
And Wandaâ
Wanda closes her eyes.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Masterlist
A/N: Starting a collection of obsessive/stalker Wanda fics đ If youâve got any specific ideas or tropes you want to see, send them through my asks or message me!
Summary: Your first showing was stressful, being bought by two alphas who canât stop looking at you - it should make you uncomfortable, but it doesnât. From first cuddles to your first time, you find out what itâs like to really be owned and loved.
Your first showing feels like a dream you havenât quite woken up from â too bright around the edges, too loud, too scented with the pheromones of alphas who stare like they already own you. The velvet curtains are heavy behind you, pressing that reality into place.
You swallow hard, stepping out into the auction hall. Everything quiets in a strange, unnerving wave, like your scent reached the crowd before you did.
But among the rows of alphas assessing you with greedy or bored eyes, two figures stand out immediately.
Not because theyâre famous.â¨Not because theyâre powerful.
But because the moment they look at you, something inside your chest answers.
Wanda Maximoff â her gaze warm, soft, and startlingly gentle.â¨Natasha Romanoff â sharp-eyed, leaning back with a half-smirk like she already knows exactly how this ends.
You tell yourself to look away, but you canât.
Natasha nudges Wanda with her elbow, murmuring something you canât hear. Wanda doesnât laugh â but her lips curl into a smile so tender it nearly knocks the breath out of you.
Theyâre already focused on you.â¨Like theyâve seen hundreds of omegas walk across this stage and not one of them mattered until now.
You inhale shakily, and Wandaâs eyes soften further, as if she can sense the spike of nerves.
You have to speak, you remind yourself when the auctioneer asks if youâre ready.
âI⌠yes,â you manage, voice barely above a whisper.
Natashaâs eyes light up at the sound, like your voice is a gift.
âââ
The numbers start low. They always do.
âTwenty thousand.ââ¨âForty.â
Then Natashaâs voice cuts through the murmuring crowd, smooth and lazy:
âFifty.â
A collective shift of attention. Even the auctioneer hesitates.
Then the hostile alpha â the one whose scent reeks of bitterness and frustrated dominance â snaps:
âSeventy.â
Your breath stutters. Something about his gaze makes your stomach knot.
Wandaâs expression changes. Her eyes narrow, protective in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest.
âOne hundred,â she says.
The hall reacts with shock. The couple never bids. Never competes.
The not-so-nice alpha stands, glaring at you like youâre spoiling something for him.
âTwo hundred.â
Natasha laughs under her breath and leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on yours.
âThree-fifty.â
The crowd gasps.
The hostile alpha snarls. âFive hundred.â
Wanda barely waits a beat. âSix.â
Silence.
The man sits down, jaw clenched, scent souring the air.
Sold.
Your knees nearly give out.
âââ
You were held in a back room at first. Then after ten minutes, the two alphas walked in with a natural air of dominance it made you do a double take.
They didnât look at you like theyâd won a prize, or like you were some sort of prey animal. If anything they looked at you as if youâre something worth looking at.
Natasha opens the door of the sleek black car for you herself, which immediately feels wrong, someone with her status doesnât do that.
But she only wiggles her eyebrows and says, âAfter you, sweetheart.â
Youâre startled into a tiny laugh, and Natasha looks disproportionately pleased with herself.
You slide into the plush seat, letting out a slow breath as the door closes and soft light fills the interior. Wanda slips in beside you with elegant ease, her presence warm and comforting.
She waits a moment before speaking, giving you time to breathe.
âIf youâd like the window down,â she says gently, âor extra space, or water â you just ask. Your comfort matters.â
You blink at her, taken aback by the sincerity. âThank you. I⌠Iâm okay. Just overwhelmed.â
Natasha clicks her tongue playfully as she settles on your other side. âOf course you are. That room was full of idiots.â
Wanda nudges her. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being considerate.â She turns back to you. âYou handled it better than most omegas Iâve seen.â
Your cheeks heat. ââŚReally?â
âReally,â they answer in unison.
Wandaâs hand hovers near yours. She doesnât touch â she waits.
âMay I?â she asks softly.
You nod before you even think about it. Her fingers lace with yours gently, like youâre something precious.
Natasha watches the contact, her playful smile softening into something warmer. âWe meant what we said back there. You feel⌠different.â
You swallow. âDifferent how?â
Natasha leans her head on the seat, eyes tracing your face. âThe kind of different that makes my heart do weird things.â
Wanda adds, quieter, âThe kind that feels like coming home.â
Your breath catches. âBut you donât even know me yet.â
âNot yet,â Wanda agrees, curling her thumb against the back of your hand. âBut we will.â
Natasha winks. âUnless you decide you hate us. Then weâll drop you off somewhere nice with a very expensive gift basket.â
You laugh, genuinely this time. âI donât think Iâm going to hate you.â
The two alphas exchange a look that is nothing short of radiant.
âââ
The elevator doors open into a breathtaking open-layout home with windows stretching floor to ceiling, the city glittering below.
You take one step inside and freeze.
âItâs okay,â Wanda murmurs, her hand still in yours. âNew spaces can be overwhelming for omegas after a showing. Take your time.â
Natasha crouches beside the bags she picked up from the concierge desk. âWe got you a few things. Essentials. Some clothes. Snacks. Wanda went overboard.â
Wanda glares at her mate, flushing. âI didnât know what sheâd like.â
Your heart twists. âThatâs⌠really thoughtful. Thank you. Both of you.â
Wanda beams at the praise, and Natasha laughs under her breath. âYou just made her whole week.â
Wanda mutters, âNatasha,â and you canât help but smile again.
âââ
They donât just feed you.â¨They dote on you.
Wanda cooks, actual homemade food that smells like comfort and warmth and everything good. Natasha hovers around you, bringing water, adjusting the lights, making sure youâre not too hot or too cold.
At one point you murmur, âYou donât have to do all this.â
Wanda sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. âWe want to. Youâre ours now⌠not anyone elseâs. And we take care of what we own.â The words are soft, yet the possessiveness undertone is hard to ignore.
Natasha leans her cheek into her palm and grins at you. âPlus, youâre cute when you eat.â
You nearly choke, the slightest hint of pink tints your cheeks and you muffle something unintelligible that made the two alphas smirk.
âââ
Then, they both led you to the bathroom. Wandaâs fingers laced with yours like it was natural, Natashaâs hand pressed against your lower back like a silent promise.
They donât join you, they donât even offer. Instead, they run the bath, test the water, and set fluffy towels within reach.
Wandaâs voice is soft at the doorframe. âIf you want privacy, weâll be down the hall. If you need help with anything, anything at all, just call.â
Natasha adds, âAnd if the scents from earlier are sticking to you, the soaps in there will help.â
You look between them, feeling awkward and warm and safe all at once.
âThank you,â you say quietly. âReally. I⌠didnât expect any of this.â
Natashaâs smile softens. âThatâs okay. Weâll show you.â
Wanda finishes, âThereâs no rush for anything. Tonight is about you resting.â
When they leave and you sink into the warm water, something inside you unwinds in a way you canât remember feeling before.
Afterwards, wrapped in a robe Wanda insisted on warming for you, you wander into the living room. The alphas are lounging on the couch, space between them deliberately kept open.
Wanda pats the spot. âIf you want to join us?â
Your voice comes out shy. âCan I?â
Natasha snorts. âWe were hoping you would.â
You settle between them, shoulders brushing. Their scents are calm, soothing, protective â and you feel yourself relax so fully you almost melt into the couch.
A long moment passes.
Then, softly, you say, âI⌠think I like being here.â
Wandaâs fingers gently brush your arm. âWe like you here too.â
Natasha shifts just enough for her thigh to touch yours. âGet some rest, sweetheart. Weâve got you.â
Your eyes flutter shut.
Their scents wrap around you like a blanket as the city lights glow outside.
And for the first time in a long time you feel safe.
The morning after the showing, you wake slowly in a room you donât recognize. The bed is soft, the sheets warm, and sunlight pours in gently through gauzy curtains. It takes a moment for the memories to collect â the auction, the bidding war, Wandaâs soothing voice, Natashaâs teasing confidence. The car ride. The way their scents made your pulse slow instead of spike.
On the nightstand beside you is a small folded note. Wandaâs handwriting curls neatly across the page.
We let you sleep in. Thereâs food waiting whenever youâre ready.â¨Come find us. No rush.â¨â W & N
The simple kindness of it makes your throat tighten.
When you drift out into the open kitchen, Natasha lifts both arms like sheâs spotted a long-lost friend. âThere she is! Our sleeping beauty.â
Wanda gives her a look, though sheâs smiling softly as she plates food. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being welcoming.â
You sit down, cheeks warm. âI, um⌠good morning.â
Wanda slides a plate in front of you with the gentleness of someone placing something fragile. âEat as much or as little as you want. I wasnât sure what you liked, so I made a few things.â
âA few?â Natasha snorts, waving a hand at the absurd spread of dishes. âThis is a diplomatic buffet.â
You laugh quietly â and Wanda glows as if you handed her a gift.
Those first few days settle into a careful rhythm. You stay in the guest room without pressure to move. Wanda always knocks softly before entering. Natasha announces herself loudly enough that you hear her halfway down the hall.
They never crowd you, never loom the way some alphas do. You realize quickly that Wandaâs patience is bone-deep â she asks before every touch, every closeness. Natasha is bold, but she reins herself in beautifully, offering light teasing taps to your shoulder or a wink across the room but waiting for you to initiate anything more.
It doesnât take long for you to start gravitating toward them on your own.
One lazy afternoon, youâre curled on the couch reading. Wanda sits beside you with a gardening book, her knee barely brushing yours. Every now and then, she glances at you with that soft maternal fondness that makes your cheeks warm. Natasha lounges on the opposite end, feet propped up, pretending not to watch you even though she absolutely is.
You close your book with a sigh. âI⌠like it here.â
Wandaâs face softens. âWeâre glad. Truly.â
Over the next while â not days, not even weeks, just time thick and warm and steady, the penthouse becomes familiar. Comforting.
Wanda teaches you how to care for the balcony plants. She names each one like old friends and beams when you remember them. Sheâs patient, always guiding your hands lightly, her scent warm like cinnamon and hearthfire.
Natasha shows you her workout routine, exaggerating her flexing until youâre doubled over laughing. She jumps to your side the moment you wobble on a machine, steadying you with large warm hands but stepping back as soon as youâre stable again.
Once, she scoops you up bridal-style simply because âyou looked like you needed elevation.â You shriek and cling to her shoulders, and she laughs, bright and smug, while Wanda sighs in the background but fails to hide her smile.
Dinner becomes a shared ritual. Wanda cooks tender, aromatic meals that fill the whole penthouse with warmth. Natasha steals ingredients when Wanda isnât looking. You stir a pot, bumping elbows with them, and their scents mix in the air â not overwhelming, just present. Familiar.
One evening, you pause mid-stir and say, half-joking but not really, âYou two are trying to domesticate me.â
Natasha grins like sheâs been caught. âMaybe we are.â
Wanda flushes so sweetly it makes your stomach flutter.
You grow more comfortable with their scents as time passes. It starts with you sitting between them during a movie because âyou smell nice,â you admit without thinking. Natasha nearly drops the bowl of popcorn. Wanda goes pink to the tips of her ears.
Another night, a wave of leftover fear hits you out of nowhere â the memory of the auction room, the hostile alpha, the feeling of being on display. You sit on the couch and try to breathe through it, but your hands shake.
âHey,â Natasha murmurs gently, crouching in front of you. âWhat do you need?â
You swallow. âI⌠Wanda? Could IâŚ?â
Wanda is beside you instantly. âYou can always ask. May I hold you?â
Your nod is tiny but certain.
She gathers you slowly, her arms warm and secure. Her scent blooms, enveloping you in a soothing, maternal wave that eases the tremor in your chest. Natasha joins on your other side, rubbing slow circles on your back, her voice low and steady as she says, âWeâve got you, omega.â
And you believe them.
You fall asleep there again â tucked safely between them. When you wake much later with your cheek on Wandaâs shoulder and Natashaâs hand resting lightly on your knee, neither alpha pretends it was inconvenient. Wanda only smiles sleepily and whispers, âGood morning, honey,â while Natasha yawns and says, âBest nap ever.â
The shift in the air after that is subtle but undeniable.
You start seeking them out on purpose â leaning into Wandaâs side when she reads, poking Natasha in the ribs when she teases you, curling between them during lazy evenings without hesitation.
One rainy night, the three of you sit under a shared blanket on the couch, the city smudged behind fogged-up windows. Wanda strokes your hair absentmindedly. Natasha twirls a loose thread on your sleeve.
Quiet settles thick and warm, until you whisper, almost too softly to hear:
âI think⌠I think Iâm starting to feel like I belong here.â
Both alphas freeze â but not in fear.
Wandaâs hand cups your cheek gently, her thumb brushing your skin like you might vanish. Her voice shakes just a little. âWe want you to belong here. Truly.â
Natasha leans closer, her expression more earnest than youâve ever seen it. âWe want you, sweetheart. Not because of the bidding. Not because of obligation. Because⌠you fit with us.â
Your breath stutters. Your scent wavers, shy and warm.
Wanda inhales sharply. Natashaâs fingers curl in the blanket. You can feel tension tightening between them â hopeful, restrained, desperate to be patient for you.
ââŚNot tonight,â Wanda whispers, though her eyes are dark with emotion. âWe wonât rush you.â
Natasha nods slowly, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. âBut when youâre ready â fully ready â just tell us. And weâll show you exactly how wanted you are.â
Your heartbeat hammers.
ââŚI think Iâll be ready soon,â you murmur.
Both alphas inhale at the same moment, a sound you feel deep in your bones.
But Wanda only presses her forehead to yours, breathing in your scent with aching tenderness.
âWeâll wait,â she promises.
Natasha leans in, voice low, delighted, almost trembling. âFor you? Weâd wait forever.â
And between them â warm, safe, wanted â you finally let your eyes close.
The moment is coming. But right now is soft. Right now is home.
âââ
Though, they didnât have to wait that long.
Youâd been quiet all week, avoiding their eyes, their scents, rooms that you knew theyâd be in.
The alphas didnât quite understand. Sure, theyâd never had an omega before you. Werenât exactly sure what this behaviour was and definitely didnât know how to ask without sounding like fools.
Some random nature documentary was playing on the television, youâd fell asleep on the couch hours ago, but the couple didnât leave your side nor did they attempt to move you.
Wanda was reading a book sheâd bought months ago, Natasha was playing a game on her phone that she was only half paying attention too. Everything was quiet, until a low unmistakable whine escaped your sleeping throat.
They thought theyâd imagined it at first, even stared at you for a solid minute just to make sure that you were okay. But the beads of sweat that was collecting on your head, and the way your body seemed to be tremble on a microscopic scale caught their attention.
Carefully, Natasha lifted you from the couch - your body overheated and clammy, your scent releasing a sweetness the pair have never smelt before. Wanda carefully turned off all the lights before following Natasha and your still sleeping form to the shared master bedroom.
The scent hit them properly the moment they crossed the bedroom threshold.
Both alphas slowed, instincts snapping sharp and immediate. Heat. Full, undeniable, textbook heat. Wandaâs grip on the doorframe tightened just slightly, Natashaâs spine going rigid as she adjusted her hold on you without even thinking about it.
You woke up naturally, the two alphas sat by your side - nose deep against your scent glands. A pitiful whimper escaping your lips as you instinctively spread you legs, looking at them both with a desperate glint in your soft eyes. âPlease..â You whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.
Both of the Alphasâ eyes nearly turn completely black at your small plea and request, a growl building in both of their chests.
âOh, baby girlâŚâ Natasha practically purrs, her hand finding your hip.
âWe got you.â Wanda assures, giving you a little squeeze.
Both Alphas are on you, their hands everywhere they can reach. They leave kisses all over you, from your neck to your chest.
âYouâve got us for the next few days, little pup.â Wanda whispers softly into your ear.
âWeâll make sure youâre completely looked after by the end of it.â Natasha promises, beginning to help disrobe you along with Wanda.
The two girls made quick work of your clothes before they had you lying on the bed. They both waste not a moment removing their own clothes. Both of them stand near you on either side of the bed as they do so, their eyes raking over every inch of your bare form. And from the hungry looks on their faces, thereâs no question how little theyâre willing to share you.
Wanda is the first one back onto the bed, climbing onto it and straddling your waist as she looks down at you with lust-filled eyes. Natasha follows closely behind, slotting behind your head and running her fingers through your hair and over the soft skin of your neck.
âYouâre already whining so muchâŚâ
Natasha notes, her fingers ghosting down your cheek and stopping to hold your jaw in place.
Wanda, meanwhile, is working her way down your body, leaving small little marks on your skin as she goes. She stops at your chest, taking one of your nipples in her mouth, which earns a moan from deep in your throat. Behind you, Natashaâs fingers go down to your neck and press lightly against your neck where your mating mark from both Alphaâs soon will be.
Wandaâs hand slide down your sides as she flicks her tongue over your nipple and Natashaâs fingers brush against your neck, pressing lightly into your mating gland. A shiver runs down your spine at all the attention your most sensitive spots are receiving. Beneath them you begin to squirm desperately, clenching around nothing and aching to be filled.
âNeedy little girl, huh?â
Wanda releases your nipple with an audible pop before she continues further down, spreading your legs as she goes and settling between them. Natasha moves to your neck, grazing her teeth against your mating gland
âThatâs it, babyâŚâ she murmurs, her fingers still dancing across your neck as she holds you in place.
Down between your legs, Wanda inhales deeply, closing her eyes and moaning as your scent hits her. She looks back up at you with a hungry look in her eyes.
Before you can even get out a sound, one of Wandaâs fingers slide inside of you, already sliding in so easily thanks to your slick. Almost simultaneously, Natashaâs fingers press harder against your neck.
âSo wet and open.â Wanda purrs under her breath.
âYouâre already so willing and ready for us.â adds Natasha, her fingers pressing harder against your neck, her Alpha pheromones filling the room.
Between your heat and the sheer amount of Alpha pheromones now filling the room, your head feels like itâs swimming at the intensity. Wanda slides another finger inside of you, pumping in and out as her tongue swirls around your clit. Youâre practically writhing beneath both Alphaâs, struggling not to move your neck too much to stop Natasha from holding it in place. Youâre whining and trying to speak.
âPleaseâŚâ
Wanda and Natasha both smirk simultaneously at your desperate pleas.
âPlease what, pup?â Natasha asks, her fingers suddenly squeezing around your neck once more, cutting off your airways for a moment.
Wandaâs fingers press against one of your inner walls, making you see white spots for a moment.
âUse your words.â Wanda purrs. It was all you could do not to start whimpering and mewling at both their actions.
You try to get a word out but canât seem to get anything but incoherent moans to come from your mouth. So, instead, you try to use your body to speak for you. Your hips try desperately to grind against Wandaâs fingers.
âI think sheâs desperate to be filled⌠isnât that right, little puppy?â Natasha croons.
Wanda and Natasha both let out a breathy chuckle at your attempts to speak when all you can do is desperately whine. Natashaâs hand stays around your neck as Wanda picks up the pace.
âI think youâre right, TashaâŚâ Wandaâs voice is barely louder than a whisper, already knowing youâre well beyond the point of being able to hold a normal conversation.
Behind your head, Natasha suddenly removes her fingers from your neck, allowing you to breathe properly again. Her hand slides around to your mouth and you let out a gasp, only to be cut off as two fingers make their way into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, stifling your moans.
âSuch a needy little thing..â *Natasha mumbles. Beneath you, Wanda slides a third finger inside your core.
The stretch of your pussy around Wandaâs fingers has you whining around Natashaâs. Youâre trying desperately to speak against her but it just comes out as garbled words. Your hands are gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles are turning white, your breathing is shallow and the pressure building inside you is becoming unbearable.
âYouâre doing so well, pup.â Wanda assures, speeding up the movements of her fingers slightly.
You feel Natasha pull her fingers out of your mouth and sit back a little. She slides her thumb across your bottom lip before turning her attention on Wanda. She runs her fingers through her mates hair and cups her jaw in her palm.
âWandsâŚâ
âI know..â
The two of them share a look that could only be known by the other. You feel Wandaâs fingers leave your core and her body remove itself from between your legs.
You try to take a gulp of air in at the sudden emptiness and try to sit up but Natasha pushes you back down. This time her hand is on your chest, pinning you to the bed. Natasha moves herself between your legs, pressing her hips up against your core and you whine at the feeling of her hard, leaking cock against you.
âSuch a needy little puppy.â Natasha hums.
Just as you start to try and move your hips to create some sort of friction, Natashaâs hands grip your hips and still them. A growl rises from her chest at your movements.
âNo. Stop being a brat.â She scolds. Before you can protest even more, sheâs lining up the tip of her cock with your wet hole. You whine again, trying to squirm in her grip and try to get her inside you.
But Natasha is holding onto you tightly, keeping you where she wants you. Slowly, she starts to push in, inch by inch, making your head go blank as your fingers grip the sheets tighter.
âThatâs it.â She grumbles, keeping track in until her pelvis is pressed up against you.
You try to speak but your words turn into an incoherent moans. Wanda sits beside you on the bed, stroking your hair as you squirm a little.
âJust focus on feeling it.â Wanda instructs, giving you a comforting smile. âCan you do that for me, puppy?â
Before you can even try to reply, Natasha slides almost all the way out and then quickly back in, making you moan loudly.
âThere there⌠good girl.â Wanda murmurs, running her fingers through your hair in a soothing manner.
Natasha sets a rough pace, filling you to the brim with each brutal thrust. Sheâs growling and panting as she uses you, her fingers digging into your hips and her nails just barely break skin.
âSuch a good girlâŚâ she moans. âTaking my cock like a good little puppy..â
Wanda nods in agreement. âSheâs a good girl. Isnât she, Nat?â She asks, glancing over at her wife.
âSuch a good girl.â Natasha grumbles. âSo obedient..â
Wanda leans down, leaving soft kisses all over your face, down your neck and onto your chest. Her hands are still stroking your hair, trying to sooth you. Natasha is still pounding into you, her movements becoming harder but a little less coordinated.
âDonât you want to come, pup?â She asks. âIs that what you want?â
âJust ask..â Wanda instructs.
Your head is spinning and your brain feels fuzzy. You tried to form any coherent thought but they just wonât come out. So, instead, you nod
âPlease..â You manage to whine.
Wanda nods and turns back to Natasha. âLet her come.â Her voice is authoritative enough to make your brain focus for a brief moment before a particular harsh thrust makes you cry out.
âGood girl.â Natasha grunts. She gives a few more rougher thrusts, her fingernails practically drawing blood on your hips now. Then, when sheâs just on the edge, she gives a few final hard thrusts, pressing herself as far into you as possible and moaning your name loudly as she finally comes.
A moment of satisfaction washes over Natashaâs face as her she pants for a second, holding herself still as her cum paints the inside of your puffy cunt.
But then, before sheâs even had a moment to recover, she starts to grow inside you. You can still feeling her length twitching as it continues to throb, but it quickly starts to swell up as her knot starts to swell. âOh fuuuuck⌠you feel that little omegaâŚ?â She groans whilst her hips twitch.
The sudden growing pressure inside you has your hands reaching up to grab onto Natashaâs shoulders. Youâre gripping onto her tightly as she grows locked inside you.
âSshhhâŚâ Wanda soothes, noticing your face contorting at the feeling. âSshh⌠breatheâŚâ she instructs in an almost motherly tone.
Despite you whining and clenching around her knot, Natasha leans over you, her teeth grazing over your mating gland. You feel her breath against it as you wait for a moment.
âYouâre such a good girl,â she murmurs, nipping at the skin just enough to make you whimper.
After another moment and a particularly hard twitch from Natashaâs knot, she gives your mating gland a vicious bite and breaks the skin. A rush of pleasure and ecstasy washes over you as your first bond mark is planted.
âSuch a brave little girl..â Wanda coos.
Wanda had moved so sheâs sat against the headboard of the bed. Youâre still sandwiched between the two Alphaâs. Natasha is still tied to you but sheâs able to keep you spread open for Wanda.
âStay still, pup.â Wanda instructs. âLet momma look after you too..â
Wanda strokes your hair once more before one of her hands slides up your thigh. You feel her fingers spread open your ass before sheâs pressing up against your already occupied cunt. A yelp slips from your mouth, making Natasha growl and bite down on your neck to shut you up.
Wanda slides into you slowly, filling you even more than before. You whine and grip onto Natasha even harder. The brunette alpha lets out a groan of satisfaction as she bottoms out.
âJesus ChristâŚâ she breathes out. Natasha pulls her mouth away from your neck.
âSheâs tight, right?â
âGod, so tight.â Wanda grunts, her hands gripping your hips.
Natasha nods, her eyes shutting and a moan escaping her. âI think sheâs still so sensitive⌠from before.â
The two Alphaâs begin to slowly move.
The two Alphaâs move together, their movements in practiced sync as they keep you impaled on their cocks. Youâre panting and moaning, their names mixing together in your mouth.
âCan you take it, pup?â Wanda asks between her heavy breaths.
Natasha presses her hand onto your abdomen, feeling her own cock pushing up against the skin. You nod, trying to speak, but all you can get out is one word. âY-yes.â
âGood girl..â Natasha purrs. âSuch a good puppy.â Wandaâs hands tighten their hold on your hips, holding you in place as the two of them pick up the pace.
The two Alphaâs are growing rougher with their pace now, their hips smacking into your skin as the bed starts to creak beneath them. Your breaths and moans are getting shorter and more needy with every thrust.
Wanda wraps her hand around your neck again, her fingers applying a little pressure, making you see little white spots again. Natashaâs fingers are grazing your mating mark, making it burn and tingle. âYouâre doing so good, little puppy.â Natasha praises.
Your whole body seems to be on fire with pleasure. Your brain is fuzzy again and your stomach is clenching tighter and tighter.
âSo good, momma.â You manage to whine.
At the little honorific, the Alphaâs seem to take that as a praise, their movements getting rougher. Theyâre both panting and groaning heavily. Natashaâs fingers dig into your skin as she holds you steady while Wandaâs grip on your neck tightens even more.
Youâre getting closer and closer to the edge. Your moans are getting louder and needier as you try to speak.
âPlease. PleaseâŚâ You practically beg.
Both of the Alphaâs nod at you, understanding exactly what youâre trying to say. They pick up the pace even more. Wanda tightens her fingers around your neck, cutting off your breathing for a moment.
âCome, pup.â She instructs.
Wandaâs words and the pressure on your neck from both Alphaâsâ hands is all it takes, sending you over the edge. A strangled cry comes from you and you squeeze your eyes shut as you come.
The two Alphaâs keep working through your orgasm, continuing to chase their own. Theyâre getting sloppy and rougher now. Natashaâs fingers still gripping onto your hip and holding you in place. Wandaâs hand holds your neck tighter.
âWeâre almost there.â Natasha moans.
Wanda lets out a long groan right after, her hips snapping up into you. Her face is flushed a dark pink, her lips parted as she pants. Behind you, Natasha is the last to come. Her whole body tenses up as her knot starts to swell in you.
âOh- Oh, f-fuck.â She moans and pants against your neck. Sheâs panting your scent in like itâs the last breath sheâll ever take.
After what feels like forever, both Alphaâs collapse down on the bed with themselves and you. All three of you are panting and trying to catch your breaths. Wanda is still holding your neck while Natasha is still holding your hip.
âSuch a good puppy.â Natasha praises.
You let out a shaky laugh, your chest rising and falling as the world slowly stops spinning. Wanda presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, murmuring softly, âShh⌠youâre okay. Youâre safe. Right here with us.â
Natashaâs hand never leaves your hip, rubbing soothing circles, grounding you. âLook at you,â she whispers, voice low and calm. âYou did so well. So, so well.â
Wanda shifts slightly, draping a soft blanket over all three of you, tucking you snugly between them. You feel the warmth seep into your bones, the weight of the blanket like a soft shield from the world. Natasha adjusts your position, nudging your head closer to Wandaâs chest. âThere, right there,â she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. âThatâs better, little one. Safe.â
Your muscles tremble slightly from the adrenaline, and Wanda brushes her fingers along your arms, slow, gentle strokes that feel like theyâre melting the tension out of you. âYouâre ours,â she whispers, âand weâre never letting go.â
Natasha hums softly in agreement, a quiet, steady vibration that travels through your chest. She moves her hand from your hip to your side, thumb brushing soothing circles across your ribs. âWeâll take care of you,â she murmurs. âEverything you need, whenever you need it.â
You nuzzle into Wandaâs chest, listening to her heartbeat, the steady rhythm like a lullaby. She runs her fingers through your hair, untangling stray strands, brushing the sweat from your forehead, tucking hair behind your ears with gentle precision. âSuch a good little omega,â she coos, voice thick with affection. âWeâve got every piece of you.â
Natasha slides a hand under your shoulders, giving a small supportive lift so youâre nestled perfectly between them. âYou can rest now,â she whispers, pressing her cheek to yours. âJust breathe. Youâre safe. Weâve got you.â
Wanda shifts again, adjusting the blanket so it covers your feet, pulling it up over your shoulders without breaking the gentle hold on your neck. She brushes her thumb along your jawline, tracing little circles. âWant some water?â she asks softly. âOr maybe a little snack?â
Natasha reaches for a water bottle from the nightstand and holds it to your lips. âThere,â she says, guiding it so you can sip without straining. âTake your time. Weâre not going anywhere.â She watches you carefully, eyes soft, her hand never leaving yours. âThatâs it. Good. Easy.â
You take a few slow sips, feeling the cool water slide down your throat, every swallow grounding you more. Wanda leans down, pressing her lips to your forehead, murmuring, âSee? Youâre safe. Right here, right now. Thatâs all that matters.â
Natasha hums again, running a finger along your arm and down to hold your hand. âWeâre proud of you,â she says softly. âEvery little bit of you. You were amazing.â
Wanda lifts your chin gently, brushing your hair away from your face. âDo you want me to brush your hair?â she asks, already reaching for a soft brush. You nod slightly, too tired to speak. She kneels behind your head and starts brushing slowly, deliberately, the bristles gliding through tangles, each stroke grounding you further.
Natasha leans close, pressing kisses to the top of your head, your temple, your shoulder. âSo good,â she whispers. âSo loved. So safe.â Her hands move to adjust the blanket around your body, making sure youâre fully cocooned in warmth.
Wanda hums a quiet tune, brushing your hair and letting her fingers trail down your arms, over your shoulders, across your back in calming strokes. âShh⌠just rest,â she murmurs. âWeâll stay right here. Always.â
You feel yourself start to drift, heavy with sleep and safety. Natasha notices and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. âGo on,â she says softly. âDream. Rest. Weâve got all of you.â
Wandaâs hand slides to hold yours, thumbs tracing soothing patterns across your knuckles. âWeâll keep you warm,â she whispers. âWeâll keep you safe. And when you wake, weâll still be here. Every time.â
Natasha brushes a finger along your cheek. âWeâre yours, little one. All of us. Every part of you. Never alone.â
You nestle fully between them, letting the exhaustion finally win. Their warmth, their soft touches, their steady breaths⌠everything melts together into a cocoon that feels unbreakable. Every little worry drifts away, replaced with safety, love, and an almost dizzying sense of being completely cherished.
Wanda presses one last kiss to the top of your head as you drift off, whispering, âSleep, little one. Weâll be right here.â
Natasha hums softly, holding your hand and stroking your back. âAlways,â she murmurs. âAlways here.â
And finally, with both Alphas holding you, soothing you, keeping you safe, you let yourself sink fully into sleep, into warmth, into love, knowing that nothing could ever reach you here.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Won by Youam
ABO AU
Alpha WandaNat x Omega Fem!Reader
Word Count: 6.2k
Summary: Your first showing was stressful, being bought by two alphas who canât stop looking at you - it should make you uncomfortable, but it doesnât. From first cuddles to your first time, you find out what itâs like to really be owned and loved.
Your first showing feels like a dream you havenât quite woken up from â too bright around the edges, too loud, too scented with the pheromones of alphas who stare like they already own you. The velvet curtains are heavy behind you, pressing that reality into place.
You swallow hard, stepping out into the auction hall. Everything quiets in a strange, unnerving wave, like your scent reached the crowd before you did.
But among the rows of alphas assessing you with greedy or bored eyes, two figures stand out immediately.
Not because theyâre famous.â¨Not because theyâre powerful.
But because the moment they look at you, something inside your chest answers.
Wanda Maximoff â her gaze warm, soft, and startlingly gentle.â¨Natasha Romanoff â sharp-eyed, leaning back with a half-smirk like she already knows exactly how this ends.
You tell yourself to look away, but you canât.
Natasha nudges Wanda with her elbow, murmuring something you canât hear. Wanda doesnât laugh â but her lips curl into a smile so tender it nearly knocks the breath out of you.
Theyâre already focused on you.â¨Like theyâve seen hundreds of omegas walk across this stage and not one of them mattered until now.
You inhale shakily, and Wandaâs eyes soften further, as if she can sense the spike of nerves.
You have to speak, you remind yourself when the auctioneer asks if youâre ready.
âI⌠yes,â you manage, voice barely above a whisper.
Natashaâs eyes light up at the sound, like your voice is a gift.
âââ
The numbers start low. They always do.
âTwenty thousand.ââ¨âForty.â
Then Natashaâs voice cuts through the murmuring crowd, smooth and lazy:
âFifty.â
A collective shift of attention. Even the auctioneer hesitates.
Then the hostile alpha â the one whose scent reeks of bitterness and frustrated dominance â snaps:
âSeventy.â
Your breath stutters. Something about his gaze makes your stomach knot.
Wandaâs expression changes. Her eyes narrow, protective in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest.
âOne hundred,â she says.
The hall reacts with shock. The couple never bids. Never competes.
The not-so-nice alpha stands, glaring at you like youâre spoiling something for him.
âTwo hundred.â
Natasha laughs under her breath and leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on yours.
âThree-fifty.â
The crowd gasps.
The hostile alpha snarls. âFive hundred.â
Wanda barely waits a beat. âSix.â
Silence.
The man sits down, jaw clenched, scent souring the air.
Sold.
Your knees nearly give out.
âââ
You were held in a back room at first. Then after ten minutes, the two alphas walked in with a natural air of dominance it made you do a double take.
They didnât look at you like theyâd won a prize, or like you were some sort of prey animal. If anything they looked at you as if youâre something worth looking at.
Natasha opens the door of the sleek black car for you herself, which immediately feels wrong, someone with her status doesnât do that.
But she only wiggles her eyebrows and says, âAfter you, sweetheart.â
Youâre startled into a tiny laugh, and Natasha looks disproportionately pleased with herself.
You slide into the plush seat, letting out a slow breath as the door closes and soft light fills the interior. Wanda slips in beside you with elegant ease, her presence warm and comforting.
She waits a moment before speaking, giving you time to breathe.
âIf youâd like the window down,â she says gently, âor extra space, or water â you just ask. Your comfort matters.â
You blink at her, taken aback by the sincerity. âThank you. I⌠Iâm okay. Just overwhelmed.â
Natasha clicks her tongue playfully as she settles on your other side. âOf course you are. That room was full of idiots.â
Wanda nudges her. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being considerate.â She turns back to you. âYou handled it better than most omegas Iâve seen.â
Your cheeks heat. ââŚReally?â
âReally,â they answer in unison.
Wandaâs hand hovers near yours. She doesnât touch â she waits.
âMay I?â she asks softly.
You nod before you even think about it. Her fingers lace with yours gently, like youâre something precious.
Natasha watches the contact, her playful smile softening into something warmer. âWe meant what we said back there. You feel⌠different.â
You swallow. âDifferent how?â
Natasha leans her head on the seat, eyes tracing your face. âThe kind of different that makes my heart do weird things.â
Wanda adds, quieter, âThe kind that feels like coming home.â
Your breath catches. âBut you donât even know me yet.â
âNot yet,â Wanda agrees, curling her thumb against the back of your hand. âBut we will.â
Natasha winks. âUnless you decide you hate us. Then weâll drop you off somewhere nice with a very expensive gift basket.â
You laugh, genuinely this time. âI donât think Iâm going to hate you.â
The two alphas exchange a look that is nothing short of radiant.
âââ
The elevator doors open into a breathtaking open-layout home with windows stretching floor to ceiling, the city glittering below.
You take one step inside and freeze.
âItâs okay,â Wanda murmurs, her hand still in yours. âNew spaces can be overwhelming for omegas after a showing. Take your time.â
Natasha crouches beside the bags she picked up from the concierge desk. âWe got you a few things. Essentials. Some clothes. Snacks. Wanda went overboard.â
Wanda glares at her mate, flushing. âI didnât know what sheâd like.â
Your heart twists. âThatâs⌠really thoughtful. Thank you. Both of you.â
Wanda beams at the praise, and Natasha laughs under her breath. âYou just made her whole week.â
Wanda mutters, âNatasha,â and you canât help but smile again.
âââ
They donât just feed you.â¨They dote on you.
Wanda cooks, actual homemade food that smells like comfort and warmth and everything good. Natasha hovers around you, bringing water, adjusting the lights, making sure youâre not too hot or too cold.
At one point you murmur, âYou donât have to do all this.â
Wanda sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. âWe want to. Youâre ours now⌠not anyone elseâs. And we take care of what we own.â The words are soft, yet the possessiveness undertone is hard to ignore.
Natasha leans her cheek into her palm and grins at you. âPlus, youâre cute when you eat.â
You nearly choke, the slightest hint of pink tints your cheeks and you muffle something unintelligible that made the two alphas smirk.
âââ
Then, they both led you to the bathroom. Wandaâs fingers laced with yours like it was natural, Natashaâs hand pressed against your lower back like a silent promise.
They donât join you, they donât even offer. Instead, they run the bath, test the water, and set fluffy towels within reach.
Wandaâs voice is soft at the doorframe. âIf you want privacy, weâll be down the hall. If you need help with anything, anything at all, just call.â
Natasha adds, âAnd if the scents from earlier are sticking to you, the soaps in there will help.â
You look between them, feeling awkward and warm and safe all at once.
âThank you,â you say quietly. âReally. I⌠didnât expect any of this.â
Natashaâs smile softens. âThatâs okay. Weâll show you.â
Wanda finishes, âThereâs no rush for anything. Tonight is about you resting.â
When they leave and you sink into the warm water, something inside you unwinds in a way you canât remember feeling before.
Afterwards, wrapped in a robe Wanda insisted on warming for you, you wander into the living room. The alphas are lounging on the couch, space between them deliberately kept open.
Wanda pats the spot. âIf you want to join us?â
Your voice comes out shy. âCan I?â
Natasha snorts. âWe were hoping you would.â
You settle between them, shoulders brushing. Their scents are calm, soothing, protective â and you feel yourself relax so fully you almost melt into the couch.
A long moment passes.
Then, softly, you say, âI⌠think I like being here.â
Wandaâs fingers gently brush your arm. âWe like you here too.â
Natasha shifts just enough for her thigh to touch yours. âGet some rest, sweetheart. Weâve got you.â
Your eyes flutter shut.
Their scents wrap around you like a blanket as the city lights glow outside.
And for the first time in a long time you feel safe.
The morning after the showing, you wake slowly in a room you donât recognize. The bed is soft, the sheets warm, and sunlight pours in gently through gauzy curtains. It takes a moment for the memories to collect â the auction, the bidding war, Wandaâs soothing voice, Natashaâs teasing confidence. The car ride. The way their scents made your pulse slow instead of spike.
On the nightstand beside you is a small folded note. Wandaâs handwriting curls neatly across the page.
We let you sleep in. Thereâs food waiting whenever youâre ready.â¨Come find us. No rush.â¨â W & N
The simple kindness of it makes your throat tighten.
When you drift out into the open kitchen, Natasha lifts both arms like sheâs spotted a long-lost friend. âThere she is! Our sleeping beauty.â
Wanda gives her a look, though sheâs smiling softly as she plates food. âNatasha.â
âWhat? Iâm being welcoming.â
You sit down, cheeks warm. âI, um⌠good morning.â
Wanda slides a plate in front of you with the gentleness of someone placing something fragile. âEat as much or as little as you want. I wasnât sure what you liked, so I made a few things.â
âA few?â Natasha snorts, waving a hand at the absurd spread of dishes. âThis is a diplomatic buffet.â
You laugh quietly â and Wanda glows as if you handed her a gift.
Those first few days settle into a careful rhythm. You stay in the guest room without pressure to move. Wanda always knocks softly before entering. Natasha announces herself loudly enough that you hear her halfway down the hall.
They never crowd you, never loom the way some alphas do. You realize quickly that Wandaâs patience is bone-deep â she asks before every touch, every closeness. Natasha is bold, but she reins herself in beautifully, offering light teasing taps to your shoulder or a wink across the room but waiting for you to initiate anything more.
It doesnât take long for you to start gravitating toward them on your own.
One lazy afternoon, youâre curled on the couch reading. Wanda sits beside you with a gardening book, her knee barely brushing yours. Every now and then, she glances at you with that soft maternal fondness that makes your cheeks warm. Natasha lounges on the opposite end, feet propped up, pretending not to watch you even though she absolutely is.
You close your book with a sigh. âI⌠like it here.â
Wandaâs face softens. âWeâre glad. Truly.â
Over the next while â not days, not even weeks, just time thick and warm and steady, the penthouse becomes familiar. Comforting.
Wanda teaches you how to care for the balcony plants. She names each one like old friends and beams when you remember them. Sheâs patient, always guiding your hands lightly, her scent warm like cinnamon and hearthfire.
Natasha shows you her workout routine, exaggerating her flexing until youâre doubled over laughing. She jumps to your side the moment you wobble on a machine, steadying you with large warm hands but stepping back as soon as youâre stable again.
Once, she scoops you up bridal-style simply because âyou looked like you needed elevation.â You shriek and cling to her shoulders, and she laughs, bright and smug, while Wanda sighs in the background but fails to hide her smile.
Dinner becomes a shared ritual. Wanda cooks tender, aromatic meals that fill the whole penthouse with warmth. Natasha steals ingredients when Wanda isnât looking. You stir a pot, bumping elbows with them, and their scents mix in the air â not overwhelming, just present. Familiar.
One evening, you pause mid-stir and say, half-joking but not really, âYou two are trying to domesticate me.â
Natasha grins like sheâs been caught. âMaybe we are.â
Wanda flushes so sweetly it makes your stomach flutter.
You grow more comfortable with their scents as time passes. It starts with you sitting between them during a movie because âyou smell nice,â you admit without thinking. Natasha nearly drops the bowl of popcorn. Wanda goes pink to the tips of her ears.
Another night, a wave of leftover fear hits you out of nowhere â the memory of the auction room, the hostile alpha, the feeling of being on display. You sit on the couch and try to breathe through it, but your hands shake.
âHey,â Natasha murmurs gently, crouching in front of you. âWhat do you need?â
You swallow. âI⌠Wanda? Could IâŚ?â
Wanda is beside you instantly. âYou can always ask. May I hold you?â
Your nod is tiny but certain.
She gathers you slowly, her arms warm and secure. Her scent blooms, enveloping you in a soothing, maternal wave that eases the tremor in your chest. Natasha joins on your other side, rubbing slow circles on your back, her voice low and steady as she says, âWeâve got you, omega.â
And you believe them.
You fall asleep there again â tucked safely between them. When you wake much later with your cheek on Wandaâs shoulder and Natashaâs hand resting lightly on your knee, neither alpha pretends it was inconvenient. Wanda only smiles sleepily and whispers, âGood morning, honey,â while Natasha yawns and says, âBest nap ever.â
The shift in the air after that is subtle but undeniable.
You start seeking them out on purpose â leaning into Wandaâs side when she reads, poking Natasha in the ribs when she teases you, curling between them during lazy evenings without hesitation.
One rainy night, the three of you sit under a shared blanket on the couch, the city smudged behind fogged-up windows. Wanda strokes your hair absentmindedly. Natasha twirls a loose thread on your sleeve.
Quiet settles thick and warm, until you whisper, almost too softly to hear:
âI think⌠I think Iâm starting to feel like I belong here.â
Both alphas freeze â but not in fear.
Wandaâs hand cups your cheek gently, her thumb brushing your skin like you might vanish. Her voice shakes just a little. âWe want you to belong here. Truly.â
Natasha leans closer, her expression more earnest than youâve ever seen it. âWe want you, sweetheart. Not because of the bidding. Not because of obligation. Because⌠you fit with us.â
Your breath stutters. Your scent wavers, shy and warm.
Wanda inhales sharply. Natashaâs fingers curl in the blanket. You can feel tension tightening between them â hopeful, restrained, desperate to be patient for you.
ââŚNot tonight,â Wanda whispers, though her eyes are dark with emotion. âWe wonât rush you.â
Natasha nods slowly, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. âBut when youâre ready â fully ready â just tell us. And weâll show you exactly how wanted you are.â
Your heartbeat hammers.
ââŚI think Iâll be ready soon,â you murmur.
Both alphas inhale at the same moment, a sound you feel deep in your bones.
But Wanda only presses her forehead to yours, breathing in your scent with aching tenderness.
âWeâll wait,â she promises.
Natasha leans in, voice low, delighted, almost trembling. âFor you? Weâd wait forever.â
And between them â warm, safe, wanted â you finally let your eyes close.
The moment is coming. But right now is soft. Right now is home.
âââ
Though, they didnât have to wait that long.
Youâd been quiet all week, avoiding their eyes, their scents, rooms that you knew theyâd be in.
The alphas didnât quite understand. Sure, theyâd never had an omega before you. Werenât exactly sure what this behaviour was and definitely didnât know how to ask without sounding like fools.
Some random nature documentary was playing on the television, youâd fell asleep on the couch hours ago, but the couple didnât leave your side nor did they attempt to move you.
Wanda was reading a book sheâd bought months ago, Natasha was playing a game on her phone that she was only half paying attention too. Everything was quiet, until a low unmistakable whine escaped your sleeping throat.
They thought theyâd imagined it at first, even stared at you for a solid minute just to make sure that you were okay. But the beads of sweat that was collecting on your head, and the way your body seemed to be tremble on a microscopic scale caught their attention.
Carefully, Natasha lifted you from the couch - your body overheated and clammy, your scent releasing a sweetness the pair have never smelt before. Wanda carefully turned off all the lights before following Natasha and your still sleeping form to the shared master bedroom.
The scent hit them properly the moment they crossed the bedroom threshold.
Both alphas slowed, instincts snapping sharp and immediate. Heat. Full, undeniable, textbook heat. Wandaâs grip on the doorframe tightened just slightly, Natashaâs spine going rigid as she adjusted her hold on you without even thinking about it.
You woke up naturally, the two alphas sat by your side - nose deep against your scent glands. A pitiful whimper escaping your lips as you instinctively spread you legs, looking at them both with a desperate glint in your soft eyes. âPlease..â You whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.
Both of the Alphasâ eyes nearly turn completely black at your small plea and request, a growl building in both of their chests.
âOh, baby girlâŚâ Natasha practically purrs, her hand finding your hip.
âWe got you.â Wanda assures, giving you a little squeeze.
Both Alphas are on you, their hands everywhere they can reach. They leave kisses all over you, from your neck to your chest.
âYouâve got us for the next few days, little pup.â Wanda whispers softly into your ear.
âWeâll make sure youâre completely looked after by the end of it.â Natasha promises, beginning to help disrobe you along with Wanda.
The two girls made quick work of your clothes before they had you lying on the bed. They both waste not a moment removing their own clothes. Both of them stand near you on either side of the bed as they do so, their eyes raking over every inch of your bare form. And from the hungry looks on their faces, thereâs no question how little theyâre willing to share you.
Wanda is the first one back onto the bed, climbing onto it and straddling your waist as she looks down at you with lust-filled eyes. Natasha follows closely behind, slotting behind your head and running her fingers through your hair and over the soft skin of your neck.
âYouâre already whining so muchâŚâ
Natasha notes, her fingers ghosting down your cheek and stopping to hold your jaw in place.
Wanda, meanwhile, is working her way down your body, leaving small little marks on your skin as she goes. She stops at your chest, taking one of your nipples in her mouth, which earns a moan from deep in your throat. Behind you, Natashaâs fingers go down to your neck and press lightly against your neck where your mating mark from both Alphaâs soon will be.
Wandaâs hand slide down your sides as she flicks her tongue over your nipple and Natashaâs fingers brush against your neck, pressing lightly into your mating gland. A shiver runs down your spine at all the attention your most sensitive spots are receiving. Beneath them you begin to squirm desperately, clenching around nothing and aching to be filled.
âNeedy little girl, huh?â
Wanda releases your nipple with an audible pop before she continues further down, spreading your legs as she goes and settling between them. Natasha moves to your neck, grazing her teeth against your mating gland
âThatâs it, babyâŚâ she murmurs, her fingers still dancing across your neck as she holds you in place.
Down between your legs, Wanda inhales deeply, closing her eyes and moaning as your scent hits her. She looks back up at you with a hungry look in her eyes.
Before you can even get out a sound, one of Wandaâs fingers slide inside of you, already sliding in so easily thanks to your slick. Almost simultaneously, Natashaâs fingers press harder against your neck.
âSo wet and open.â Wanda purrs under her breath.
âYouâre already so willing and ready for us.â adds Natasha, her fingers pressing harder against your neck, her Alpha pheromones filling the room.
Between your heat and the sheer amount of Alpha pheromones now filling the room, your head feels like itâs swimming at the intensity. Wanda slides another finger inside of you, pumping in and out as her tongue swirls around your clit. Youâre practically writhing beneath both Alphaâs, struggling not to move your neck too much to stop Natasha from holding it in place. Youâre whining and trying to speak.
âPleaseâŚâ
Wanda and Natasha both smirk simultaneously at your desperate pleas.
âPlease what, pup?â Natasha asks, her fingers suddenly squeezing around your neck once more, cutting off your airways for a moment.
Wandaâs fingers press against one of your inner walls, making you see white spots for a moment.
âUse your words.â Wanda purrs. It was all you could do not to start whimpering and mewling at both their actions.
You try to get a word out but canât seem to get anything but incoherent moans to come from your mouth. So, instead, you try to use your body to speak for you. Your hips try desperately to grind against Wandaâs fingers.
âI think sheâs desperate to be filled⌠isnât that right, little puppy?â Natasha croons.
Wanda and Natasha both let out a breathy chuckle at your attempts to speak when all you can do is desperately whine. Natashaâs hand stays around your neck as Wanda picks up the pace.
âI think youâre right, TashaâŚâ Wandaâs voice is barely louder than a whisper, already knowing youâre well beyond the point of being able to hold a normal conversation.
Behind your head, Natasha suddenly removes her fingers from your neck, allowing you to breathe properly again. Her hand slides around to your mouth and you let out a gasp, only to be cut off as two fingers make their way into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, stifling your moans.
âSuch a needy little thing..â *Natasha mumbles. Beneath you, Wanda slides a third finger inside your core.
The stretch of your pussy around Wandaâs fingers has you whining around Natashaâs. Youâre trying desperately to speak against her but it just comes out as garbled words. Your hands are gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles are turning white, your breathing is shallow and the pressure building inside you is becoming unbearable.
âYouâre doing so well, pup.â Wanda assures, speeding up the movements of her fingers slightly.
You feel Natasha pull her fingers out of your mouth and sit back a little. She slides her thumb across your bottom lip before turning her attention on Wanda. She runs her fingers through her mates hair and cups her jaw in her palm.
âWandsâŚâ
âI know..â
The two of them share a look that could only be known by the other. You feel Wandaâs fingers leave your core and her body remove itself from between your legs.
You try to take a gulp of air in at the sudden emptiness and try to sit up but Natasha pushes you back down. This time her hand is on your chest, pinning you to the bed. Natasha moves herself between your legs, pressing her hips up against your core and you whine at the feeling of her hard, leaking cock against you.
âSuch a needy little puppy.â Natasha hums.
Just as you start to try and move your hips to create some sort of friction, Natashaâs hands grip your hips and still them. A growl rises from her chest at your movements.
âNo. Stop being a brat.â She scolds. Before you can protest even more, sheâs lining up the tip of her cock with your wet hole. You whine again, trying to squirm in her grip and try to get her inside you.
But Natasha is holding onto you tightly, keeping you where she wants you. Slowly, she starts to push in, inch by inch, making your head go blank as your fingers grip the sheets tighter.
âThatâs it.â She grumbles, keeping track in until her pelvis is pressed up against you.
You try to speak but your words turn into an incoherent moans. Wanda sits beside you on the bed, stroking your hair as you squirm a little.
âJust focus on feeling it.â Wanda instructs, giving you a comforting smile. âCan you do that for me, puppy?â
Before you can even try to reply, Natasha slides almost all the way out and then quickly back in, making you moan loudly.
âThere there⌠good girl.â Wanda murmurs, running her fingers through your hair in a soothing manner.
Natasha sets a rough pace, filling you to the brim with each brutal thrust. Sheâs growling and panting as she uses you, her fingers digging into your hips and her nails just barely break skin.
âSuch a good girlâŚâ she moans. âTaking my cock like a good little puppy..â
Wanda nods in agreement. âSheâs a good girl. Isnât she, Nat?â She asks, glancing over at her wife.
âSuch a good girl.â Natasha grumbles. âSo obedient..â
Wanda leans down, leaving soft kisses all over your face, down your neck and onto your chest. Her hands are still stroking your hair, trying to sooth you. Natasha is still pounding into you, her movements becoming harder but a little less coordinated.
âDonât you want to come, pup?â She asks. âIs that what you want?â
âJust ask..â Wanda instructs.
Your head is spinning and your brain feels fuzzy. You tried to form any coherent thought but they just wonât come out. So, instead, you nod
âPlease..â You manage to whine.
Wanda nods and turns back to Natasha. âLet her come.â Her voice is authoritative enough to make your brain focus for a brief moment before a particular harsh thrust makes you cry out.
âGood girl.â Natasha grunts. She gives a few more rougher thrusts, her fingernails practically drawing blood on your hips now. Then, when sheâs just on the edge, she gives a few final hard thrusts, pressing herself as far into you as possible and moaning your name loudly as she finally comes.
A moment of satisfaction washes over Natashaâs face as her she pants for a second, holding herself still as her cum paints the inside of your puffy cunt.
But then, before sheâs even had a moment to recover, she starts to grow inside you. You can still feeling her length twitching as it continues to throb, but it quickly starts to swell up as her knot starts to swell. âOh fuuuuck⌠you feel that little omegaâŚ?â She groans whilst her hips twitch.
The sudden growing pressure inside you has your hands reaching up to grab onto Natashaâs shoulders. Youâre gripping onto her tightly as she grows locked inside you.
âSshhhâŚâ Wanda soothes, noticing your face contorting at the feeling. âSshh⌠breatheâŚâ she instructs in an almost motherly tone.
Despite you whining and clenching around her knot, Natasha leans over you, her teeth grazing over your mating gland. You feel her breath against it as you wait for a moment.
âYouâre such a good girl,â she murmurs, nipping at the skin just enough to make you whimper.
After another moment and a particularly hard twitch from Natashaâs knot, she gives your mating gland a vicious bite and breaks the skin. A rush of pleasure and ecstasy washes over you as your first bond mark is planted.
âSuch a brave little girl..â Wanda coos.
Wanda had moved so sheâs sat against the headboard of the bed. Youâre still sandwiched between the two Alphaâs. Natasha is still tied to you but sheâs able to keep you spread open for Wanda.
âStay still, pup.â Wanda instructs. âLet momma look after you too..â
Wanda strokes your hair once more before one of her hands slides up your thigh. You feel her fingers spread open your ass before sheâs pressing up against your already occupied cunt. A yelp slips from your mouth, making Natasha growl and bite down on your neck to shut you up.
Wanda slides into you slowly, filling you even more than before. You whine and grip onto Natasha even harder. The brunette alpha lets out a groan of satisfaction as she bottoms out.
âJesus ChristâŚâ she breathes out. Natasha pulls her mouth away from your neck.
âSheâs tight, right?â
âGod, so tight.â Wanda grunts, her hands gripping your hips.
Natasha nods, her eyes shutting and a moan escaping her. âI think sheâs still so sensitive⌠from before.â
The two Alphaâs begin to slowly move.
The two Alphaâs move together, their movements in practiced sync as they keep you impaled on their cocks. Youâre panting and moaning, their names mixing together in your mouth.
âCan you take it, pup?â Wanda asks between her heavy breaths.
Natasha presses her hand onto your abdomen, feeling her own cock pushing up against the skin. You nod, trying to speak, but all you can get out is one word. âY-yes.â
âGood girl..â Natasha purrs. âSuch a good puppy.â Wandaâs hands tighten their hold on your hips, holding you in place as the two of them pick up the pace.
The two Alphaâs are growing rougher with their pace now, their hips smacking into your skin as the bed starts to creak beneath them. Your breaths and moans are getting shorter and more needy with every thrust.
Wanda wraps her hand around your neck again, her fingers applying a little pressure, making you see little white spots again. Natashaâs fingers are grazing your mating mark, making it burn and tingle. âYouâre doing so good, little puppy.â Natasha praises.
Your whole body seems to be on fire with pleasure. Your brain is fuzzy again and your stomach is clenching tighter and tighter.
âSo good, momma.â You manage to whine.
At the little honorific, the Alphaâs seem to take that as a praise, their movements getting rougher. Theyâre both panting and groaning heavily. Natashaâs fingers dig into your skin as she holds you steady while Wandaâs grip on your neck tightens even more.
Youâre getting closer and closer to the edge. Your moans are getting louder and needier as you try to speak.
âPlease. PleaseâŚâ You practically beg.
Both of the Alphaâs nod at you, understanding exactly what youâre trying to say. They pick up the pace even more. Wanda tightens her fingers around your neck, cutting off your breathing for a moment.
âCome, pup.â She instructs.
Wandaâs words and the pressure on your neck from both Alphaâsâ hands is all it takes, sending you over the edge. A strangled cry comes from you and you squeeze your eyes shut as you come.
The two Alphaâs keep working through your orgasm, continuing to chase their own. Theyâre getting sloppy and rougher now. Natashaâs fingers still gripping onto your hip and holding you in place. Wandaâs hand holds your neck tighter.
âWeâre almost there.â Natasha moans.
Wanda lets out a long groan right after, her hips snapping up into you. Her face is flushed a dark pink, her lips parted as she pants. Behind you, Natasha is the last to come. Her whole body tenses up as her knot starts to swell in you.
âOh- Oh, f-fuck.â She moans and pants against your neck. Sheâs panting your scent in like itâs the last breath sheâll ever take.
After what feels like forever, both Alphaâs collapse down on the bed with themselves and you. All three of you are panting and trying to catch your breaths. Wanda is still holding your neck while Natasha is still holding your hip.
âSuch a good puppy.â Natasha praises.
You let out a shaky laugh, your chest rising and falling as the world slowly stops spinning. Wanda presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, murmuring softly, âShh⌠youâre okay. Youâre safe. Right here with us.â
Natashaâs hand never leaves your hip, rubbing soothing circles, grounding you. âLook at you,â she whispers, voice low and calm. âYou did so well. So, so well.â
Wanda shifts slightly, draping a soft blanket over all three of you, tucking you snugly between them. You feel the warmth seep into your bones, the weight of the blanket like a soft shield from the world. Natasha adjusts your position, nudging your head closer to Wandaâs chest. âThere, right there,â she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. âThatâs better, little one. Safe.â
Your muscles tremble slightly from the adrenaline, and Wanda brushes her fingers along your arms, slow, gentle strokes that feel like theyâre melting the tension out of you. âYouâre ours,â she whispers, âand weâre never letting go.â
Natasha hums softly in agreement, a quiet, steady vibration that travels through your chest. She moves her hand from your hip to your side, thumb brushing soothing circles across your ribs. âWeâll take care of you,â she murmurs. âEverything you need, whenever you need it.â
You nuzzle into Wandaâs chest, listening to her heartbeat, the steady rhythm like a lullaby. She runs her fingers through your hair, untangling stray strands, brushing the sweat from your forehead, tucking hair behind your ears with gentle precision. âSuch a good little omega,â she coos, voice thick with affection. âWeâve got every piece of you.â
Natasha slides a hand under your shoulders, giving a small supportive lift so youâre nestled perfectly between them. âYou can rest now,â she whispers, pressing her cheek to yours. âJust breathe. Youâre safe. Weâve got you.â
Wanda shifts again, adjusting the blanket so it covers your feet, pulling it up over your shoulders without breaking the gentle hold on your neck. She brushes her thumb along your jawline, tracing little circles. âWant some water?â she asks softly. âOr maybe a little snack?â
Natasha reaches for a water bottle from the nightstand and holds it to your lips. âThere,â she says, guiding it so you can sip without straining. âTake your time. Weâre not going anywhere.â She watches you carefully, eyes soft, her hand never leaving yours. âThatâs it. Good. Easy.â
You take a few slow sips, feeling the cool water slide down your throat, every swallow grounding you more. Wanda leans down, pressing her lips to your forehead, murmuring, âSee? Youâre safe. Right here, right now. Thatâs all that matters.â
Natasha hums again, running a finger along your arm and down to hold your hand. âWeâre proud of you,â she says softly. âEvery little bit of you. You were amazing.â
Wanda lifts your chin gently, brushing your hair away from your face. âDo you want me to brush your hair?â she asks, already reaching for a soft brush. You nod slightly, too tired to speak. She kneels behind your head and starts brushing slowly, deliberately, the bristles gliding through tangles, each stroke grounding you further.
Natasha leans close, pressing kisses to the top of your head, your temple, your shoulder. âSo good,â she whispers. âSo loved. So safe.â Her hands move to adjust the blanket around your body, making sure youâre fully cocooned in warmth.
Wanda hums a quiet tune, brushing your hair and letting her fingers trail down your arms, over your shoulders, across your back in calming strokes. âShh⌠just rest,â she murmurs. âWeâll stay right here. Always.â
You feel yourself start to drift, heavy with sleep and safety. Natasha notices and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. âGo on,â she says softly. âDream. Rest. Weâve got all of you.â
Wandaâs hand slides to hold yours, thumbs tracing soothing patterns across your knuckles. âWeâll keep you warm,â she whispers. âWeâll keep you safe. And when you wake, weâll still be here. Every time.â
Natasha brushes a finger along your cheek. âWeâre yours, little one. All of us. Every part of you. Never alone.â
You nestle fully between them, letting the exhaustion finally win. Their warmth, their soft touches, their steady breaths⌠everything melts together into a cocoon that feels unbreakable. Every little worry drifts away, replaced with safety, love, and an almost dizzying sense of being completely cherished.
Wanda presses one last kiss to the top of your head as you drift off, whispering, âSleep, little one. Weâll be right here.â
Natasha hums softly, holding your hand and stroking your back. âAlways,â she murmurs. âAlways here.â
And finally, with both Alphas holding you, soothing you, keeping you safe, you let yourself sink fully into sleep, into warmth, into love, knowing that nothing could ever reach you here.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Masterlist
A/N: so⌠I actually buckled down last night and finished this (go me), erm⌠not sure if I like every part of it, I think I could have written the smut a bit better but I donât really have that much practice in writing it. I also wrote this over the span of like⌠a month ish, so if some things repeat/happen twice, then Iâm sorry!
The compound at night always feels different. During the day it is loud in that chaotic, comfortable way that comes with too many strong personalities sharing the same building. Someone is always sparring in the training room, someone is always arguing in the kitchen, and Tonyâs lab is always humming like the walls themselves are alive. But when the night settles in, the noise disappears until the place feels cavernous and hollow, long corridors lit only by dim strips of light along the floor and the quiet ventilation system whispering through the walls.
At the end of one of those corridors, a thin line of light slips beneath a bedroom door that should have been dark hours ago. Inside the room, Wanda sits curled slightly forward on the edge of her bed, her laptop balanced on her thighs and casting a pale glow over her face. Her hair is messy, falling around her shoulders in dark waves, and she hasnât noticed how long sheâs been sitting there. The video on the screen reflects in her eyes while she watches with a stillness that borders on unnatural focus, the kind of attention someone gives when they are afraid to blink and miss something.
On the screen, itâs you.
The footage is clearly recorded from a distance, the frame slightly shaky like the phone had been held carefully but not perfectly steady. Youâre in the training room, standing in front of the heavy punching bag with your hair pulled back and your shirt damp with sweat from a long session. Every strike you throw makes the chain above the bag creak softly, and the force of your hits sends the bag swinging away before snapping back toward you again. Your breathing is heavy but controlled, shoulders tense with effort as you reset your stance and throw another punch.
Wanda doesnât move.
Her eyes track every movement you make, every shift of your body, every small habit you probably donât even realize you have. The way you roll your shoulders when your muscles tighten. The way you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist instead of stopping to grab a towel. The way your jaw tightens slightly when you get frustrated with yourself.
She has watched this exact video so many times she could probably recreate every frame from memory.
Still, she drags the cursor back to the beginning and presses play again.
Your first punch lands again with the same dull thud, and Wanda leans slightly closer to the screen without even noticing sheâs doing it. Her fingers rest lightly against the laptop near the edge of the frame, almost close enough to touch the image of you frozen in motion when she pauses it for a moment. Her lips part just slightly while she studies your face on the screen, her eyes moving slowly across the shape of it like sheâs committing it to memory again even though she already knows it better than she should.
âYou look even better angry,â she murmurs quietly to herself, her voice soft and almost breathless in the empty room. The words arenât ashamed or hesitant, just thoughtful in the way someone might admire a painting theyâve seen a hundred times but still canât stop looking at. Her fingers tap lightly against the trackpad before the video begins moving again, and her gaze sharpens with the same intensity it always does whenever youâre on the screen.
Her laptop is full of these videos.
Not just one or two.
Dozens.
Clips she recorded without you ever noticing. Moments she caught when no one else was paying attention. Little fragments of your life inside the compound that she collected slowly over weeks until the folder filled itself without her even realizing how much she had gathered.
Thereâs one of you asleep on the couch in the common room during movie night, your head tipped back slightly and your arm hanging lazily over the edge while everyone else argued about what film to watch next. Thereâs another where youâre sitting at the kitchen island early in the morning, half-awake while you drink coffee and stare blankly at nothing like your brain hasnât fully started working yet. Thereâs a clip from a mission where youâre shouting instructions over the chaos while civilians run behind you, your voice calm and steady in the middle of absolute disaster.
Wanda opens that one next.
The street in the video is loud and messy with dust and smoke curling through the air, distant sirens wailing somewhere behind the buildings. The camera angle is high up from a rooftop where she had been standing earlier that day, far enough away that no one noticed she had pulled her phone out for a moment. She watches the footage with the same quiet intensity while your figure runs into frame below, your boots splashing through a shallow puddle as you move toward the fight with your weapon in hand.
âYou didnât even hesitate,â she says softly, almost admiringly, as the video continues playing in front of her. Her thumb traces lightly along the edge of the screen while she watches you crouch behind a car and shout something toward Steve across the street. Your expression is sharp and focused, your attention completely locked on the mission like the chaos around you barely even registers.
That was the moment she started recording you more often.
Because she realized something then.
She realized she could watch you whenever she wanted.
All she had to do was keep the moments.
Her laptop shifts slightly when she moves it closer, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark room while she scrolls through the folder again. Each file name is meaningless and random, but she knows exactly what each one contains without needing to check. Her memory for anything related to you is perfect in a way that almost surprises her sometimes.
She clicks another video.
The common room appears this time, warm lighting filling the space while the team relaxes after a long day. Sam is sprawled across the floor with snacks scattered around him, Clint is half-asleep in an armchair, and someone is talking loudly near the kitchen entrance about something that clearly isnât important.
But Wanda barely notices any of them.
Because youâre sitting on the couch.
And next to you is Natasha.
Wandaâs gaze sharpens immediately, her attention locking onto the screen with an intensity that makes her shoulders tense slightly. The video had been recorded casually like the others, her phone angled from the hallway where she had been standing unnoticed while everyone relaxed inside the room.
Youâre laughing at something Natasha says, leaning back against the couch cushions while you shove her shoulder lightly in playful protest. Natasha smiles in that small knowing way she has, her body turning slightly toward you as the conversation continues.
Wandaâs fingers tighten against the laptop.
She watches carefully.
Every second.
Every small shift of your posture.
Natasha leans closer to say something quieter.
And then you kiss her.
Itâs quick. Soft. Casual in a way that makes it clear it wasnât the first time.
But itâs enough.
The moment it happens, Wanda goes completely still.
Her breathing stops.
Her eyes lock onto the screen like the image might change if she stares hard enough.
The video keeps playing, but she isnât hearing the voices anymore. The only thing she can see is the way Natasha smiles against your lips before you pull away, the two of you continuing to talk like the kiss meant nothing at all.
Wandaâs chest tightens in a sharp, sudden way that makes something inside her snap.
The laptop slams shut.
The sound echoes sharply through the room.
For a single second the silence hangs heavy in the air.
Then the room erupts.
Scarlet energy bursts from Wanda in a violent wave that rattles the walls, the desk across the room lifting into the air before smashing sideways into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood. Papers scatter everywhere as the lamp shatters against the floor, glass exploding across the carpet in glittering shards.
Her breathing becomes uneven as another pulse of power ripples through the room, sending a chair flying into the door with a
heavy metallic bang that dents the surface.
âShe doesnât get to touch you,â Wanda says under her breath, her voice low and shaking with something darker than anger. The red glow around her hands flickers violently while the mirror above her dresser cracks straight down the center, splintering outward into jagged lines.
âYou donât even look at me,â she mutters, almost like sheâs thinking the words out loud rather than saying them intentionally. Her gaze drifts toward the fallen laptop on the floor across the room, her chest rising and falling sharply while the faint scarlet glow around her fingers continues pulsing with restless energy.
Another surge of power rattles the walls again before finally beginning to fade, the red light slowly dimming until the room falls back into silence. The destruction left behind is scattered everywhere, broken furniture and glass littering the floor while Wanda kneels in the middle of the wreckage with her hands resting loosely against her thighs.
Her eyes stay fixed on the laptop.
Because it still has the video on it.
The moment with you.
The moment that should have been hers.
And thenâ
Thereâs a knock on the door.
The sound freezes her instantly.
ââŚWanda?â your voice calls gently from the other side, muffled through the metal but unmistakable.
Her heart slams violently against her ribs.
âI heard something crash,â you continue, concern threading through your voice as your hand touches the handle. âAre you okay in there?â
Wanda doesnât move.
Her gaze drifts slowly toward the door.
Because youâre standing right outside it.
And suddenly the distance that had always existed between youâthe safety of watching from hallways, from rooftops, from the glow of a laptop screenâis gone.
Now youâre here.
Only a door between you.
And Wanda has been watching you for far too long to pretend she doesnât want it opened.
â§ââââ§âżâżâżâ§ââââ§
Masterlist
A/N: My favourite song rn is Hysteria, and I just thought about Emo Wanda having that obsession over something she canât have, and I also thought that emo Wanda would love Muse in general (Her best era fr)
