London night

London, June 1945 – One month after VE Day

The soft London rain beat against the windows of the old mansion in Chelsea, where the Allies had converted it into a temporary home for war heroes. The war was over, but the wounds were still fresh. The streets were full of celebration, but in this house, seven captains – the Amazons – had gathered in silence to face each other for the first time, without a mission, without an enemy, only themselves.

Femke de Wit, the tulip captain, sat on the leather sofa, turning a cup of Dutch tea with her long, powerful fingers – now, thanks to the head, hands that could lift a heavy machine gun like a toy – at 193 centimetres tall, she looked like a Greek statue in the small room. Her blond hair was tied back, and her blue eyes stared out the window. She was the youngest, 23, and she still saw war as a deadly but thrilling game. But tonight, there was something in the air—something softer than explosions, warmer than artillery fire.

Peggy Carter, the British captain, strode into the room. She had changed her uniform for a simple white blouse, but there was still that commanding authority in her movements. She looked at Femke and smiled—a smile that had been rare during the war. “Still awake, Tulip? I thought the Dutch went to bed early.”

Femke laughed, her voice deep and frank. “Sleep? After the Nazis bombed Rotterdam, sleep is a luxury for me. What about you, Peggy? London is liberated, but you still act like a soldier.”

Peggy moved closer and sat down next to her. She placed her hand on Femke’s shoulder—a shoulder that was now muscular and firm, but beneath the skin, it still held human warmth. “Maybe because I’m used to fighting. But now… now it’s time to rest.” Peggy’s fingers slid over Femke’s arm, unconsciously, as if her newfound power had captivated

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](http://her.At) that moment, the door opened and Deide Ducasse, the Belgian captain, entered. Deide, of average height (about 185 centimeters taller than me) but with a lithe, dancing body, looked like a wildcat. Her dark hair was wet from the rain, and her brown eyes were full of mischief. She came from Belgium, where the underground resistance was legendary. “Ah, the French say London is always rainy, but I love it. Like tears of joy after liberation.”

Deide set a bottle of Belgian wine on the table and came over to them. “Are you two having tea? Let’s celebrate!” She filled the glasses and handed one to Femke. Her hand lingered on Femke’s for a moment—longer than necessary. Femke felt a warmth spread through her body, not from the wine but from Deide’s touch. During the war, they had been on dangerous missions together: Femke had blown up fortifications, Deide had infiltrated, and Peggy had commanded. But now, without the enemy, this closeness was something else.

Peggy tasted the wine and looked at Deide. “Are you always so energetic, Deide? After all those guerrilla nights in Brussels?”

Deide laughed and sat down on the floor in front of the sofa, stretching her legs out. “Energy? This scumbag talking. Or maybe… you two.” She winked and placed her hand on Femke’s knee. Femke flushed—not from embarrassment, but from long-suppressed excitement. War was not a time for love, but now...

"I... I always thought that after the war, I would go back to Rotterdam, rebuild the trenches," Femke said, her voice trembling a little. "But now, with this body, with you... I feel like something more."

Peggy leaned forward and took Femke's face in her hands. Their eyes met—Femke's fearless blue with Peggy's deep brown. "You are our strongest, Femke. Not just your body. Your heart." And then, a soft, tentative kiss. Peggy's lips were warm and confident, like a commander now giving the orders of love.

Deedee watched, a mischievous smile. Then she rose and sat behind Femke, wrapping her arms around his muscular waist. "Let the Belgians participate too." Her lips landed on Femke's neck, kisses light and playful. Femke gasped, her body—huge and powerful now—trembling under the touch of the two women. Deide’s hands moved lower, over Femke’s firm breasts, and Peggy kissed deeper, her tongue playing with Femke’s.

The room grew warm. The rain outside intensified, but inside, wine spilled, clothes fell off one by one. Femke, with his newfound strength, lifted Pegke like a feather, and set her down on the couch. Deide laughed and joined them, her body sliding between them. Hands intertwined, lips probing, bodies pressed together. Deide felt her head tingle with not just power, but deeper sensations—every touch like an explosion, every moan like victory.

“We are the Amazons,” Peggy whispered. “Strong, free… and now, mine.”

“And this,” Deide added, “is the best mission since the war.”

The night was long, filled with Rak Femke's hearty laughter, Peggy's gentle commands, and Deedee's mischief. The Cold War had begun outside, but in this room, there was only warmth—the warmth of three women who had saved the world, and now each other.