The Thunderbolts party had gone on way longer than Val intended — which probably meant someone had unplugged her mic, and no one cared enough to fix it.

The lights were low, music pulsed through the base, and people were scattered in small groups laughing, drinking, and celebrating like they’d spent the last three months in hell… because they had.

You’d been nursing a drink at the edge of the room when Yelena found you.

Actually — zeroed in on you. Laser-focused. Like a predator who’d already chosen her target.

She leaned against the table next to you, brushing your arm as she reached for a bottle of vodka.

“You look bored,” she said, teasing, accent thicker from alcohol and exhaustion.

“I’m not bored,” you replied. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” She smirked. “I have cure for that.”

You raised a brow. “And what’s that?”

Yelena stepped closer — way closer — until her breath warmed the side of your neck.

“Dance with me.”

Before you could answer, she grabbed your hand and pulled you into the crowd.

⸻

The Dance

The music was loud, bodies moving everywhere, but nothing existed except the heat of Yelena’s palm against yours and the way she fit herself against you without hesitation.

Her fingers slid up your ribs. Her forehead pressed to yours. Her lips brushed your cheek when she leaned in to speak over the music.

“You are very pretty when you blush,” she whispered.

You flushed harder — which, judging from her smirk, was exactly what she wanted.

Every time you tried to pull back, she reeled you in again.

She didn’t let go. Not once.

Eventually the music slowed, and she turned in your arms, her back to your chest, guiding your hands to her hips like she’d been waiting for this all night.

And when she tilted her head back onto your shoulder, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes…

Your heart stuttered.

And that was it. That was the moment she knew she had you.

⸻

The Hookup

The noise around you blurred — or maybe you just stopped noticing it. Yelena’s lips brushed your jaw, once, twice, testing.

You froze — then leaned into her.

Her hand slid up your neck, fingers curling behind it.

“That’s it…” she breathed. “Come with me.”

You didn’t remember walking. You only remembered her pulling you by the front of your shirt, stumbling together into a dim hallway, laughing under her breath as she pressed you against the wall long enough to fumble with the door behind her.

The room was dark when she pulled you inside, kicking it shut.

For a moment, you just stared at each other.

Then she muttered, “Finally,” grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you like she’d wanted to for months.

Your back hit the bed. Her knee slid between your legs. Heat, breathless laughter, tangled sheets —

And then the world dissolved into warmth, hands, mouths, and her whispering your name like it was something sacred.