Chapter 3: The Morning After
The scent of lavender and sleep clung to Hannah’s skin as she woke. Pale, watery dawn light seeped around the edges of the deep emerald curtains, painting Natasha’s features in muted silver. She looked younger in sleep, the sharp lines of her face softened, her lips slightly parted. Hannah watched her breathe for a long, tender moment, the events of the night before settling around her like a warm, heavy cloak.
Carefully, she extricated herself from the circle of Natasha’s arm, the sheets whispering as she slid out. Her clothes were a forgotten pile by the bed. She dressed quietly, her movements deliberate in the hushed room. Her eyes caught a small memo pad and a pen on the sleek black nightstand, next to Natasha’s silenced phone.She hesitated, then picked them up. The pen felt decisive in her hand. In her loopy, rounded handwriting, she wrote:
I had fun, mommy <3
She stared at the word, her heart hammering. It looked bold and true on the paper. She tore off the sheet, folded it once, and tucked it halfway under Natasha’s phone, a little white flag planted in the dark.
She padded out of the room, closing the door with a silence born of long practice. The compound’s hallway was a tunnel of cool, recycled air.Her own room felt like a museum of a past life.She bypassed it. The walk to Wanda’s wing was automatic, a muscle memory of longing.
The door was slightly ajar.A sliver of muted light from the window cut across the corridor floor. Hannah stopped.She heard a soft, sleepy sigh.Not her own.
Her hand rose, not to push, but to hover.She leaned forward, peering through the gap.
The room was a disaster of discarded clothing.Wanda’s dark robes were a pool on the floor. A flash of red and blue—Captain Marvel’s suit—was tangled with them. In the bed, two forms were entwined. Carol Danvers’s short, blonde hair was a bright shock against the pillow. Wanda lay sprawled halfway on top of her, an arm draped possessively over Carol’s waist, her face buried in the curve of her neck.Both were naked. The sheets were rucked low on Carol’s hips.
Hannah’s stomach turned to ice, then to molten lead.She watched.One second.Two. She saw Wanda’s fingers flex against Carol’s hipbone in sleep.A gesture of casual ownership.
Natasha’s words, factual in the dark, crystallized: “With a telepath from Madripoor.” Wrong telepath.Right betrayal.
A cold, clean fury scalded Hannah’s veins, burning away the last of her hurt.It was a clarifying rage. She backed away from the door, her steps soundless on the polished floor. The image was seared into her mind: the intimacy of it, the lazy comfort of their bodies.It wasn’t a frantic, secret screw. It was a shared morning.
She turned and walked, not back to her own empty room, but with a purpose that straightened her spine.The compound was stirring.Somewhere, a coffee machine hissed. She ignored it.She found Natasha in the kitchen. She was at the counter, wearing soft black leggings and a tank top, her hair pulled into a messy knot. She was scanning a holographic news feed with one hand while the other held a mug. The note was visible, poking from the pocket of her leggings.Natasha looked up as Hannah entered. Her eyes, always assessing, tracked Hannah’s face—the pallor, the hard set of her mouth, the electric anger in her stance.She dismissed the hologram with a swipe.“You saw,” Natasha stated. It wasn’t a question.“It was Carol,” Hannah said, her voice strangely flat. “In our bed.Asleep.”
Natasha’s lips thinned. A flicker of something moved behind her eyes.Not surprise.Calculation. “I see.”
“I need to…” Hannah started, then shook her head. “I don’t know what I need.”
“Toast.” Natasha turned to the sleek stainless steel toaster.“You need toast.And peanut butter. The crunchy kind.” She spoke with a quiet authority that brooked no argument. It was a anchor in the storm of Hannah’s rage.Hannah slumped onto a stool at the island. She watched Natasha’s efficient movements: the click of the toaster lever, the unscrewing of the jar, the clatter of a knife.It was so domestic.So normal. It made the roaring in her ears recede a fraction.Natasha slid a plate towards her. Two perfect rectangles of golden-brown toast, lavishly spread. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re shaking.It’s low blood sugar and righteous indignation. Eat the damn toast.”
A startled laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped Hannah.She picked up a slice. The crunch was loud in the quiet kitchen.The peanut butter was salty and rich.She took another bite.
“What are you going to do?” Natasha asked, leaning against the opposite counter with her own mug.
“Confront her.”
“Good.”
“I’m scared.”
“Also good. It means you’re taking it seriously.” Natasha sipped her tea. “Do you want me there?”
The question hung in the air.Hannah chewed, considering.“No,” she said finally.“This is mine. But… can I come back?After? Regardless of how it goes?”
Natasha’s gaze was unwavering.“My door is open. For you, it’s open.”
The simple declaration fortified Hannah.She finished the toast, wiped her hands on a napkin, and stood up. The fury had settled into a hard, cold lump in her chest.A determinator.
“Okay,” Hannah said, more to herself than to Natasha. “Okay.”
She walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps firmer now.Natasha didn’t follow. She just watched her go, then pulled the folded note from her pocket. She smoothed it open on the black countertop, her thumb tracing the loopy letters.A slow, private smile touched her lips. Then she folded it again, carefully, and tucked it back into her pocket, right over her heart.Hannah didn’t knock. She pushed Wanda’s door open.The scene was unchanged. The scent of sex and sleep and Carol’s particular ozone-sharp perfume filled the room.Carol stirred first. Her blue eyes snapped open, instantly alert. She saw Hannah standing there, took in her expression, and then glanced at the still-sleeping Wanda beside her. A complex look—regret, apology, defiance—flitted across her face.Without a word, Carol began extracting herself from Wanda’s grasp.
Wanda murmured, reaching out for the warmth leaving her side.Her eyes fluttered open. She saw Carol sitting up, then followed her gaze to the doorway.
“Hannah.” Wanda’s voice was thick with sleep.She didn’t jolt.She didn’t even look guilty. She just looked… inconvenienced. “What are you doing here?”
Carol stood, gathering sheets around herself. “I’ll, uh… I’ll give you two a minute.” She moved quickly, scooping up her suit and slipping past Hannah with a silent, sympathetic glance.
The door clicked shut.Wanda sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist.She rubbed her eyes.“Well? Are you just going to stand there?”
The cold lump in Hannah’s chest liquefied into words. “You’re cheating on me.”
Wanda sighed, a long-suffering sound. “Is that what this is about?Hannah, we have an open arrangement. You know that.”
“We have a don’t ask, don’t tell arrangement you invented after you started fucking other people.And it’s not ‘other people.’ It’s my teammate. In my bed.”
“It’s my bed,” Wanda corrected, her voice gaining an edge. “In my room. You have your own space.”
“You told me it was a telepath from Madripoor.”
A flicker of genuine surprise, then annoyance. “Have you been spying on me?Talking to Romanoff?That witch loves drama.”
“She told me the truth. Which is more than you ever do.” Hannah’s voice shook, but not from fear.From intensity. “You humiliate me in this bed.You call it a game. You make me feel small and broken.And then you bring Carol here for… for whatever this is.Comfort? Were you gentle with her?Did you hold her hand?”
Wanda’s face darkened. “That is none of your business.”
“It became my business when I walked in!”
“Then you shouldn’t have walked in!” Wanda snapped, throwing the sheets aside and standing up. The morning light carved her nude form, powerful and unashamed.“This is who I am, Hannah. I am not a… a mommy.I don’t do soft. I thought you could handle it.Clearly, I was wrong.”
The words were meant to cut.They did. But they also cut the last tether.Hannah felt it snap.
“You’re right,” Hannah said, her voice suddenly calm.“I can’t handle it. I don’t want to handle it.I don’t want your games, or your contempt, or your secrets. I don’t want you.”
Wanda blinked, thrown by the directness. “So that’s it?After everything?”
“Yes.” Hannah turned toward the door.
“Where will you go?” The question was laced with a faint, mocking curiosity.
Hannah paused, her hand on the doorknob.She didn’t look back.“Somewhere I’m treasured. Not tolerated.”
She left Wanda standing naked in the wreckage of the bed, closing the door softly behind her.The hallway air felt cleaner.Lighter. She walked, not with the weight of shattered things, but with the nervous, thrilling lightness of a step into empty space.
She walked, not with the weight of shattered things, but with the nervous, thrilling lightness of a step into empty space. The adrenaline of the confrontation buzzed in her veins, sharp and electric. She needed to move, to displace the charged air clinging to her skin.The compound’s corridors stretched before her, a maze of polished floors and silent doors. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—Wanda’s dismissive face, Carol’s quick exit, the silent support in Natasha’s kitchen. A jagged need to see Natasha, to plant herself in that green-walled sanctuary, overtook her. She picked up her pace, her soft soles slapping lightly on the tile.
She turned a corner toward the gym, the rhythmic thud of a heavy bag pulling her forward. The doors were open, revealing Steve Rogers bathed in sweat-drenched morning light. He moved with a precise, controlled violence, each strike echoing in the cavernous room.“Steve,” she called out, her voice tighter than she intended.
He caught the bag, steadying it, and turned.“Hannah. You okay?” He took in her flushed cheeks, her too-bright eyes.
“Have you seen Natasha?”
He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist.“She left about an hour ago. Said she had to pick something up.” He watched her face fall. “Everything alright?”
Her shoulders sagged, the vibrant energy draining out and leaving a hollow chill.“No.Not really.” She hugged her arms around herself. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”
Steve nodded, a flicker of concern deepening the lines around his eyes.“I will. You sure you don’t want to talk?”
“I’m sure. Thanks, Steve.”
She retreated before he could ask more, the echo of his punches fading behind her. The walk to Natasha’s quarters felt longer now, the emptiness more pronounced. She keyed in the code she’d watched Natasha use, the lock disengaging with a soft click.
The scent of lavender and whiskey enveloped her the moment she crossed the threshold, a balm on her raw nerves. The room was exactly as they’d left it, the crimson sheets a tangled mess from their night. She closed the door and leaned against it, shutting her eyes.Silence pressed in, thick and comforting. She pushed off the door and went to the bed, climbing onto the rumpled silk. She buried her face in Natasha’s pillow, inhaling deeply. The smell was Natasha entirely—clean linen, sharp bergamot, the faint, warm musk of her skin.A deep, trembling ache opened up within her chest. She rolled over and fetched her bag from where she’d dropped it last night. From an interior zippered pocket, she retrieved a single, clean pacifier.It was silicone, a soft dusky pink.
She clicked it into her mouth, the familiar, rounded silicone shape a immediate relief to her jaw she hadn’t realized was clenched. She curled onto her side, drawing Natasha’s pillow close, and pulled the heavy duvet up over her shoulders. The pacifier moved gently as she sucked, a rhythmic, calming pulse.
Here, in the lingering scent of the woman who had seen her fractures and offered not a cage, but a harbor, Hannah let the silence hold her. Her eyes grew heavy, the furious pounding of her heart slowing to match the quiet rhythm of her breathing. She floated in the warmth of the bed, seeking comfort in the phantom imprint of safety.
She floated in the warmth of the bed, seeking comfort in the phantom imprint of safety. The deep quiet of the room pressed in, a blanket against the raw, shouted echoes of Wanda’s voice still bouncing in her skull.She needed to feel something real, something hers.
Slowly, she peeled off her shirt, then her leggings and underwear. The cool air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps. She pulled Natasha’s pillow close, the dark crimson silk cool against her cheek, and tucked a second pillow firmly between her bare thighs.
She rocked her hips, a gentle, seeking friction against the soft bulk.The pillow absorbed the motion, a silent, yielding pressure. She buried her face deeper into the scent of bergamot and Natasha, the pink pacifier a comforting weight on her tongue.Her breathing hitched, the rhythm of her hips becoming more intentional. A low, wanting heat coiled tight in her belly. She thought of green eyes watching her in the dawn light, of a steady voice saying “good girl,” of hands that traced her cheek with a reverence Wanda’s grip never possessed.
“Mommy,” she whimpered into the pillow, the silicone pacifier muffling the word into a soft, desperate sigh. Her body clenched, a sharp, sweet wave breaking over her.She shuddered, curling around the pillow, her release quiet and shuddering against the fabric. Her breaths evened out into soft, cute pants, then deepened. Stillness followed, heavy and complete.The pacifier stayed put as she drifted, finally asleep.
The click of the door lock was soft, deliberate. Natasha shouldered her way in, a small, discreet paper bag in one hand. She moved on trained, silent feet into the dim room, her eyes adjusting from the hallway’s glare.She placed the bag on her dresser, her back to the bed. The quiet hum of the climate control was the only sound. Then she heard it—a soft, sleepy sigh, the rustle of silk against skin.She turned.
Hannah lay curled on her side, the duvet slipped down to her waist. She was naked, one arm clutching the pillow to her chest, her face peaceful. The morning light from a crack in the curtains fell across her body, illuminating a roadmap of evidence.
Fresh, violet bruises stood out on the pale skin of her neck, stark fingerprints left by Wanda’s anger.The small heart tattoo looked vulnerable beside them. And there, against her parted lips, was the soft pink pacifier.Natasha felt her heart sting. The contrast was a physical blow: violence and innocence sharing the same small canvas. She stood there, a statue in the half-light, just watching Hannah breathe.
She unclipped her leather jacket, let it drop to the floor.Her black tank and leggings followed, folded neatly over a chair. She kept only her black cotton panties on, the fabric practical and simple against her skin.
The bed dipped as she slid in behind Hannah. She curled her body around the smaller woman’s, fitting their forms together like nested shells. Her arm came over Hannah’s waist, her hand splayed warm on her stomach.Hannah stirred with a drowsy murmur, her body instinctively pressing back into the warmth. Natasha pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Hey, sleepy girl.”
Hannah’s eyes fluttered open.Disorientation, then recognition, then a swift, hot flood of embarrassment. Her hand flew to her mouth, fingers clumsily pulling the pacifier free. She clenched it in her fist, hiding it against her chest.
“S’nothing,” Hannah mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and shame.She tried to burrow away.Natasha’s heart squeezed. It was one of the most unbearably adorable things she’d ever witnessed. “It’s just me,” she whispered, her lips close to Hannah’s ear. “You don’t have to hide.”
Hannah shook her head, hiding her face in the pillow she’d been holding. Her body was rigid with humiliation.“I saw them,” she said, the words muffled.“Carol was there. In our bed. She didn’t even… she just looked sorry for me.”
The ache in her voice was a tangible thing.Natasha tightened her hold, feeling Hannah’s breath hitch. “I told her it was over. I walked out.”
“My brave girl,” Natasha murmured, her praise flowing easily. “You did so good.”
Hannah trembled, turning in Natasha’s arms until they were face to face in the shadows.Her eyes were wide and wet. “It hurts so much,” she confessed, a raw whisper. “Can you just… hold me, mommy?”
The word slipped out, unguarded and soft.It hung in the space between their lips.
Natasha melted. Hearing it spoken aloud, in Hannah’s shaky, wanting voice, unlocked something deep and protective in her chest.All the sharp edges inside her softened at once.
“Shh, baby,” she cooed, drawing Hannah completely into her embrace.“It’s okay. Mommy’s here now.”
She guided Hannah’s head to her chest, cradling it there. Hannah let out a shuddering sigh, her body going pliant. Her small hand came up, fingertips gently kneading at the soft weight of Natasha’s breast through the cotton of her bra, a seeking, comforted gesture. Natasha just held her closer, her chin resting on Hannah’s hair, staring into the dark of the room and feeling a fierce, new territory open up inside her, quiet and claiming.
Natasha just held her closer, her chin resting on Hannah’s hair, staring into the dark of the room and feeling a fierce, new territory open up inside her, quiet and claiming.Minutes bled together, marked only by the slowing cadence of their breathing. The distant hum of the compound’s systems was a faint backdrop to the warmth of their bodies.
“Hmm.” Natasha shifted just enough to brush her lips against Hannah’s temple. Her voice was a low murmur in the stillness. “Your heartbeat is finally slowing down.”
She let her hand drift from Hannah’s stomach, tracing a path over her hip. Her fingers brushed the edge of the pillow still tucked firmly between Hannah’s thighs.Natasha stilled. A slow, knowing smile touched her mouth.“Baby girl,” she whispered, her tone shifting into something playful and intimate. “Did you use my pillow for something while I was gone?”
Hannah’s entire body stiffened. A hot, scarlet blush flooded her cheeks, visible even in the dim light. She made a small, distressed noise and tried to burrow her face completely into Natasha’s chest, hiding.
Natasha actually giggled—a light, unfamiliarly warm sound that seemed to surprise even her. She hooked a finger under the duvet and gently lifted it. The dark crimson pillow was right there, clamped tight, the fabric slightly darkened in the center.
“Oh, you did.” Natasha’s smile was audible.“You absolutely did.”She gave the pillow a little, teasing tug. Hannah whined, a high-pitched sound of pure embarrassment, and tightened her legs around it.“No,” Hannah protested, her voice muffled against Natasha’s skin. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.” Natasha’s voice softened, but it held a clear, gentle command.“Let me see. I want to watch you.”
“Mommy, no,” Hannah whined again, squirming.
“Shhh.” Natasha reached for the pacifier, still clutched in Hannah’s fist.She pried it loose and brought it to Hannah’s lips. “Open.” Hannah obeyed, letting the silicone nipple press past her lips. The familiar weight calmed her instantly, her protests dissolving into soft, nasal breaths.“There’s my good girl. Now, move for me.Slow. Just like you were.”
Hannah hesitated, her eyes wide and vulnerable over the ring of the pacifier.She released her death-grip on the pillow slightly. Her free hand fumbled until it found Natasha’s, lacing their fingers together. She squeezed tightly, a silent plea.“Guide me?” she asked, the words distorted around the pacifier. “Please? Tell me… tell me exactly what to do.”
“Of course I will.” Natasha brought their joined hands to her mouth and kissed Hannah’s knuckles. “I’ll take care of everything.Just listen to my voice.”
She settled back, her gaze intent. “Start by just rocking your hips, sweetheart.Don’t think.Just feel the silk against you. Yes… just like that.”
Hannah obeyed, a faint, tentative motion.The pacifier bobbed gently.
“More, now.A little faster.Use your thighs, baby.Press down into it. Good.God, look at you.” Natasha’s praise was a continuous, warm stream. “So pretty like this.So perfect for me. Taking your pleasure so sweetly.”
With each whispered affirmation, Hannah’s movements grew less hesitant, more fluid. A soft, wet sound joined the rustle of sheets.Natasha watched, entranced, as Hannah’s eyelids fluttered.
“You’re getting so wet for me, aren’t you? Letting the pillow feel how good you are.That’s it.Now a little circle with your hips.Yes. Exactly.”
Hannah moaned around the pacifier, her grip tightening on Natasha’s hand. Her back arched slightly, seeking more pressure.“You’re doing so beautifully.My perfect, perfect girl. Just chasing that feeling. Let it build.” Natasha’s own breath hitched, watching Hannah’s abandon.“I can see it, honey.You’re so close. Give it to me.Come for mommy. Now.”
Hannah’s body locked, a sharp, silent gasp caught behind the pacifier. She shuddered violently, her hips stilling then pulsing against the pillow, wave after wave washing through her. She collapsed, spent, a fine tremor running through her limbs.Natasha gently withdrew the damp pillow and tossed it to the floor. She gathered Hannah close, pressing kisses to her damp forehead.“So good. You feel so much better now, don’t you? All that noise is gone.”
Hannah could only nod, nuzzling into Natasha’s neck, completely boneless and pliant. The pacifier remained secure, a gentle, rhythmic suction the only sign of her awakefulness.
Natasha held her, one hand stroking her hair, and stared at the ceiling with a look of quiet wonder. The paper bag from her earlier errand sat on the dresser, forgotten for now, its contents—a small, soft stuffie and a bottle designed for adult use—waiting for another moment. This one was full enough.