Wanda Maximoff (G!P Magic induced) x Fem Reader (Dark Wanda)
by summer2224
18+ Smut
Content: Smut 18+
SHIELD sends you to infiltrate a Hydra cell in Berlin. But the intel wasnât the mission, Wanda Maximoff was. Now you're chained in a secret facility, Wanda interrogating you with her mouth, her magic, and the brutal edge of power she wields like a weapon.
You swore you'd never break.
You didnât expect to beg.
Written July 12-14th, 2024
Enemies to Lovers | Power Play | Dark Wanda | Degradation | Magic-induced pleasure
---------------------------------------------
Your wrists are bound.
Thick leather straps bite into your skin, arms pinned behind the steel chair bolted to the floor. Your lip is split. Blood, yours, trickles down your chin, thick and metallic. You can taste it when you breathe through your mouth.
The room smells like rust and ozone.
The lights flicker overhead, one buzzing faintly with every surge of magic lingering in the walls. Sigils burn low and red along the perimeter, glowing faintly like dying embers. You recognize the language, they're in Sokovian. Not for protection.
Control.
She's close.
You keep your posture straight, even if your back aches from the blow that dropped you earlier. You don't know how long you've been in this place. Hours? Days? SHIELD protocol demands silence. No matter what she does, you don't break. But the truth is: she hasn't even touched you. Not yet.
Because she doesn't need to.
The door hisses open.
She walks in without fanfare, without armor. No red leather. No crown. Just Wanda Maximoff in a black shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands bare.
And that's somehow worse.
You watch her circle the room like a lioness in slow motion. She doesn't look at you at first. Just drags a finger across the dusty table in the corner, brushes nonexistent dirt from her cuff.
Her voice cuts the silence. "I thought they'd send someone... bigger."
You smile with bloody teeth. "Disappointed?"
Wanda finally turns her gaze on you.
It's a punch to the gut. Her eyes are unreadable, green, gold, red, all at once, and she tilts her head just slightly as if reading you. The way a surgeon sizes up the patient before making the first cut.
"No," she says. "You're exactly who I wanted."
You lean back in your restraints, feigning comfort. "Funny. I didn't know I was so popular with terrorists."
Her jaw twitches. Just a flicker. Then she walks toward you, slow and controlled. Her boots echo on the concrete floor like a metronome winding down.
"You think I'm a terrorist," she repeats softly.
"You kidnapped an entire town."
"I freed them. Eventually."
"You killed people."
"And you've never pulled a trigger in your life?"
You glare. Her smile deepens, not warm. Not even cruel. Just fascinated.
"They told me you were smart. They didn't say you were pretty."
She stops in front of you. The heat radiating from her body coils around your skin. Her power hums just beneath the surface.
"I read your file," she murmurs. "Y/n L/n. SHIELD infiltration specialist. No psychic sensitivity. Resistant to telepathic suggestion. Advanced interrogation resistance training."
You smirk. "Enjoy the reading material?"
"I always enjoy learning how to break things."
Her fingers brush your jaw.
You flinch, but don't look away.
"Tell me what SHIELD wants from me," she says.
"Why not dig it out of my mind? Isn't that your thing?"
Her thumb wipes a smear of blood from your lip. Then she brings it to her mouth. Licks it clean.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Your thighs clench.
She notices.
Her mouth twitches.
"You're not afraid of me," she says, curious now.
"I know exactly what you are."
She leans in. Her breath hits your neck, warm and slow.
"Then why are you shaking?"
You're not.
Or... maybe you are.
You hate her. You want her dead. You want her closer.
"You're wasting time," you bite out. "You won't break me."
Wanda hums thoughtfully. Her hand slides to your throat, not squeezing. Just holding. Feeling the pulse. The vulnerability. The trust she knows you don't give.
"Maybe not with questions," she says. "Maybe not with pain."
You hold her gaze.
"Then what?"
She leans closer, her lips a breath from yours.
"Maybe I'll just make you beg."
Your heart slams against your ribs.
The lights flicker again.
This isn't about information anymore.
And you don't want it to stop.
She moves like shadow and flame, a slow burn with sharp edges. Her fingers drift from your throat, trailing down to your collarbone, and for a second, you swear, she hesitates. Just long enough for you to feel it.
"What's the matter, Maximoff?" you rasp. "Losing your nerve?"
Her power flares.
Red tendrils lick up your arms, not quite touching your skin but burning close. The restraints tighten with a creaking groan. She steps between your thighs, gaze locked to yours, and her expression has cooled into something dangerous.
"You want pain?"
You bare your teeth. "I want you to pick a side. Monster or martyr."
She laughs once, low and sharp. "Always so black and white with SHIELD."
Her hand glides over your sternum, then lower, slow and intentional.
"Let me show you the gray."
The magic binds your chest, curling like silk ribbon and iron wire all at once. It's not tight enough to suffocate, but it's enough to remind you that you're utterly at her mercy.
You inhale through your nose, exhale slowly. You won't give her the sound she wants. Not yet.
Her lips brush the shell of your ear.
"Tell me, agent..." Her voice is a whisper of heat. "When I finally crawl inside your mind, will you fight me the same way your body does?"
"You'll have to get in first."
Wanda chuckles, and it's dark this time. Not amused. A sound filled with hunger and warning.
"Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs. "I already am."
You twist in your restraints, testing them, not out of panic, but calculation.
Wanda watches every twitch of your muscles like she's memorizing you. Her hand finally settles at your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to bruise.
You hate how your body responds.
But you don't hide it.
You meet her eyes and say nothing.
She tilts her head. "Still so quiet. That training must be exhausting."
You lean forward the inch your bindings allow. "Try harder."
Something dark flashes in her expression, not anger.
Arousal. Her magic ignites.
And the room begins to burn.
"Let's talk about your last mission," Wanda says, voice rich with mock curiosity as she pulls a chair from the corner and drags it across the floor. She flips it around and straddles it backwards, arms resting over the top, her posture casual in a way that drips with power.
You narrow your eyes. "You already know everything."
"Humor me."
Her fingers flex and suddenly a red wisp tightens the strap across your chest. Not choking, but closer. More intimate. Like a hand curling possessively beneath your ribs.
"You were embedded in Berlin," she begins. "Tracking an asset I happen to value. You made contact with one of my allies. Fed them false intel. Sabotaged a weapons exchange."
You offer a bloodstained grin. "You left your back door wide open. Rookie mistake."
Wanda leans forward. "And now here you are, caught in my cage, mouthing off like you're not minutes away from falling apart."
She reaches out and rests a finger against your knee. Just a single point of touch, but it's enough.
A pulse of magic climbs your thigh, slow, deliberate.
Your breath catches, and you hate that she hears it.
"There it is," she murmurs.
You bare your teeth. "You're going to have to do better than foreplay."
"Oh, I intend to."
The chair scrapes as she rises, her expression unreadable again. Her magic pulls at the restraints around your thighs, spreading them slightly. Just enough.
"You're still in control," she says softly, as if it's a kindness. "I haven't taken anything you haven't already given."
You know she's lying.
And yet your pulse is already racing, breath shallowing with the tension.
"Tell me what SHIELD sent you to find," she says. "And I'll make it good."
You tilt your head. "And if I don't?"
Her smile is razor sharp. "Then I make it better."
She steps forward.
And her hands go to your thighs.
You open your mouth to fire another quip, but Wanda is already moving.
A sickening crack echoes through the chamber as her knuckles collide with your jaw. Not a slap. A punch. It splits the inside of your cheek and rocks your head to the side. Blood drips from your lip to your chin, thick and hot.
You taste iron. You taste her power humming around you like the static before a storm.
The room falls silent.
Her footsteps are slow, methodical. When she grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back, there's no tenderness, only cold precision.
"You think this is a game?"
You glare at her. Smile with blood streaked teeth. "Looks like you're losing."
Her hand tightens in your hair. The other lifts, glowing red.
A needle-thin thread of energy snakes toward your temple. You feel it trying to push, in, but it doesn't get far. The resistance burns. You scream, just once, involuntarily.
She stops. Withdraws. Smiles.
"Interesting," she says. "You're harder to crack than most."
She leans in, nose nearly touching yours.
"But everything breaks. Eventually."
She conjures a blade of scarlet light, thin and elegant like a scalpel. She presses it just beneath your collarbone, slicing shallowly. You flinch. Blood wells and trails downward.
"Pain is honest," she murmurs. "It doesn't lie like your mouth does."
You pant through clenched teeth. "You're enjoying this."
"No," Wanda says. "I need this."
She drags the blade lower. Not enough to kill, never that, but enough to leave you bleeding, twitching. Open.
Then, she cups your cheek with the same bloodied hand.
"Now," she whispers. "Let's try again. What did SHIELD send you to find?"
You spit blood at her feet.
Wanda wipes it from her boot with a flick of magic, eyes never leaving yours.
"Fine," she says. "We'll start with something simpler."
Chains of red wrap tighter around your wrists, ankles, chest.
"Your pain tolerance."
She steps back, lifts her hand, and the screaming begins anew.
The red magic lashes through your nerves like fire and ice, biting into your skin, your bones, your thoughts. It's not just pain. It's sensation, overwhelming and precise. She calibrates it like a scientist, like a witch, like a lover who knows every threshold you refuse to name.
You shake in the chair, biting down on your tongue hard enough to reopen the wound in your cheek. The blood fills your mouth again. You choke on it. Swallow it. Gasp.
She watches.
"You don't scream like they do," Wanda muses aloud, as if she's observing a specimen under glass. "Most of them break here. Men. Agents. Super soldiers. They cry. They beg. But not you."
She steps forward. Her fingers trail down your arm with false gentleness, her voice like poison in silk.
"Is it pride that keeps you quiet? Or is it something darker?"
You force your eyes open, meet her stare. Your lips curl despite the blood. "You like it when I take it."
She exhales slowly, nostrils flaring. Her nails dig into your thigh.
"Masochist," she whispers.
You grin. "Takes one to know one."
And for the first time, she laughs. Quiet, genuine, cracked around the edges. Then her smile fades.
"You're going to bleed for me," she says. "But you're also going to give me what I want."
She flicks her fingers. The chains around your legs snap tighter. You groan, pain, pressure, heat. You don't beg. You won't.
"Why were you in Berlin? What was your real target?" she demands.
You spit again, slower this time. "I was watching you."
That catches her breath. Just a hitch. She covers it with violence, a blast of magic slamming into your ribs, then spreading into heat, crawling lower.
"Then watch me," Wanda hisses, stepping close.
She rips your shirt open with a flash of power. Her hand presses flat against your bare abdomen, the skin hot where she touches. Her lips are at your ear.
"You want pain? You want to prove how much you can take? Then you're going to take me."
And the interrogation becomes something else entirely.
She leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear, her voice a silk-wrapped blade. "You break so beautifully."
The chains don't loosen, but shift, pressing you down, forcing your legs wider, your back flush to the cold steel. You don't resist. You can't. You wouldn't.
Her mouth brushes your jaw. "Let me hear the truth now. Not for SHIELD. Not for your cause. For me."
Her hand trails lower, between your thighs, knuckles grazing the sensitive heat she's been drawing out of you with every calculated word, every electric moment of pain.
"You're soaked," she murmurs, her tone colder now, like disappointment wrapped in silk. "And you're still pretending this is about loyalty."
You choke on breath. You want to curse her. You want to beg.
You do neither.
"Say it," she commands.
You shake your head.
Her fingers tighten around your throat just slightly, just enough to remind you.
"Say who you belong to."
You bare your teeth, defiant.
She smiles. Not kindly.
"Then I'll carve the answer into you."
And when her fingers slip inside your waistband and inside you, it's not tender. It's a claim.
Every movement is control. Every breath she lets you take is permission.
And she doesn't let you look away.
"Keep your eyes on me," she says, low. "You want to take me? Prove it. Show me how good you suffer."
You do.
And for the first time, you wonder if surrendering might feel like victory.
But you don't give her silence.
You laugh.
It's sharp, cracked, ugly, and it makes her pause.
"You think this proves something?" you rasp, voice raw. "You think your little throne of red light makes you a god? You're just a girl who couldn't control her grief, and now you're playing warlord because you're too afraid to be alone."
The change in her is instant.
Her hand snaps to your throat again, this time harder, pressing you back into the chair with brutal force. Not enough to cut air, yet. Just enough to remind you who owns the space between breaths.
"You don't get to talk to me like that."
You choke out another bloody grin. "Then make me stop."
She leans down until her forehead presses to yours, eyes glowing like twin furnaces.
"You think SHIELD will come for you? That anyone is coming? I've buried better agents than you beneath the bones of empires. I unmade gods for less."
She punctuates the word with a thrust of her fingers inside you, rough, deep. Your body jolts, but your smirk doesn't falter.
"Still just a scared little girl under all that power," you whisper.
She groans.
The magic flares so violently that the lights above burst, glass raining down behind her in slow motion.
"I am everything you fear in the dark," she breathes, slamming her hips forward, pressing into you with her whole body now, her voice a growl in your ear. "And the only reason you're still alive is because I like the way you sound when you break."
You gasp, shuddering, your voice shaking now. Not from fear.
"Then break me properly."
She does.
With a flick of her fingers, the physical restraints snap open, metal clattering to the ground like discarded rules. But you're not free.
Scarlet bands of power seize your limbs before you can even move. Your body is yanked upright, suspended for a heartbeat, before she slams you face-first into the cold concrete floor.
Pain blossoms across your cheekbone and shoulder. The breath leaves your lungs in a single stunned exhale.
You barely register the sound of her boots pacing behind you, slow and deliberate.
"On your knees for me now," Wanda murmurs. "You want to fight? Then crawl."
You try to push up, only for the magic to shove you back down. Her power pins you by the neck, spine arched, hips raised. Your dignity shatters one inch at a time, and she watches.
Her voice turns cruel. "You look better like this. Not so smug now, are you? A trained little agent without her leash."
Your pants vanish with a hiss of heat and red. The cold air hits you, and her hand follows, dragging across your bare skin like a brand.
"So wet," she sneers, voice thick with power-laced venom.Â
You groan, humiliated, furious, turned on in ways you refuse to name.
She crouches behind you, one hand pressed hard between your shoulder blades, the other trailing fire between your legs.
"Now tell me," she groans, mouth hot at your ear. "What was the objective in Berlin? What did SHIELD want from me?"
You grit your teeth. "Go to hell."
Her fingers thrust deep without warning.
You scream.
She moans.
"That's more like it," she purrs. "You'll scream all my answers eventually. And if not, I'll just fuck them out of you."
She begins to move, slow and devastating, every thrust forcing your knees to scrape against the floor, her power keeping you exactly where she wants you.
"Say it," she demands. "Say who you belong to."
You hiss. You curse. You don't say it.
Her magic tightens again.
"Louder, agent," she snarls, her voice low and vibrating with cruel hunger. "I want the world to hear the moan you choke down. Let them know exactly what happens when they send one of their best to kneel before a goddess."
You bite down a sob, but what escapes is worse. A moan. Raw, guttural, defiant.
It cracks the silence open like glass.
Wanda stills.
Then she laughs, low, slow, cruel. The sound crawls down your spine like cold fire.
"You moan for me like that and still pretend you have control?" Her fingers twist in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck strains. "Pathetic. You think this is strength? It's submission in disguise."
Her grip tightens. Her magic burns hotter.
"SHIELD trained your body to endure," she hisses against your ear, voice thick with venom and desire, "but they forgot your mind. They forgot what happens when you beg without words."
Her fingers slam into you again, sharp, punishing.
"No one is coming for you. Not SHIELD. Not your handlers. You are mine now. You're ruined for anything but this."
She releases your hair just to shove your face down into the cold floor, your cheek scraping stone.
"I want you to remember this position. Every time you try to be brave, every time you pretend you're not aching for me to take you apart again."
Still, you don't give her the answer.
Then she stills.
You hear her breath, slow, deliberate, as her hands leave you, and the warmth of her body steps away. Your heart pounds, chest heaving. You almost speak, but then....
Cloth rustles behind you.
You dare to look.
Wanda strips with a terrifying calm, peeling her black shirt up over her head like she's shedding a skin. Her body is all sharp lines and soft curves and power humming beneath her skin like a second pulse. She steps out of her pants, slow, deliberate. Not for show. For dominance.
And when she kneels behind you again, bare and burning with magic, she doesn't touch you at first.
She presses her chest to your back, her skin scorching against your spine, her breath hot against your ear.
"Masochist," she purrs, voice like venom-laced silk. "That's what you are. You like being used. Hurt. Fucked raw until your name doesn't matter anymore."
You shudder.
She grinds her hips into you, slick and bare and hard with want, magic still wrapped around your wrists, your thighs, your throat.
"Say it," she whispers. "Say yes to me. Say who you want."
Your mouth moves before your mind can stop it.
"Yes," you moan. "Yes, Wanda."
She groans into your ear, voice guttural.
"Good," she growls. "So am I."
And then she takes you. Not with fingers this time.
You feel it when the magic surges, low and bright and crackling, reshaping her body into something not quite human, not quite divine, but built to ruin you. You cry out as the thick head of something new presses against you, slick and pulsing with red-hot energy. Her hands brace your hips. Her mouth hovers at your ear.
"Do you feel that? That's mine. All of it. Made for you."
You gasp as she pushes in, inch by devastating inch, her breath ragged now, low groans vibrating straight into your spine. Your nails claw at the floor, scraping across stone. Your mouth falls open. No sound. Just raw, wordless pleasure twisted with submission.
She bottoms out and doesn't move.
Her hand slides up your back, curls around your throat. Holds you there.
"Give me the truth," she hisses. "Tell me what SHIELD was after. Tell me who you serve."
You moan instead, neck straining, back arching, walls clenching helplessly around the thick magic she's buried deep inside you.
She thrusts once. Hard. Deliberate. Cruel.
"Say it, agent. Give me the mission, or I'll tear it out of your cunt."
You bite your lip until it splits, your fingers clawing grooves into the stone. Your body betrays you, every nerve alight.
She grabs your hair, yanks your head back, her lips at your ear.
"Tell me why you were really in Berlin," she growls. "Whose blood were you after?"
You whimper through gritted teeth. "You..."
Another thrust, sharper. Deeper.
"What was your extraction plan? What asset did you plant? Don't make me ask again."
You gasp, jaw dropping, unable to form the words fast enough.
She fucks into you again, her magic pulsing through every thrust.
"Tell me who gave the order, agent. Say their name. Say it while I ruin you."
You shake under her, a moan escaping before you can swallow it down.
"That's right," Wanda hisses. "You're not holding out. You're holding back. Because deep down, you want this. You want to give everything to me. And I'm going to take it. All of it."
She slams into you again, and you break.
"You," you sob. "You. You."
Her moan is primal, dark, triumphant.
"Good girl," she breathes. "Now scream it until they hear you in whatever grave SHIELD buried your backup in."
And when you do, loud, wrecked, pleading, she groans low in her throat, hips stuttering before she regains her rhythm with punishing force.
"That's it," she hisses. "You beg so pretty. But I want more. Give me the fucking intel or I pull out and leave you empty."
You cry out, body rocking beneath her, words spilling from your mouth like surrender. "Don't stop. Pleaseâdon't stopâ"
Her laugh is dark, amused, merciless.
"Then give me a name. Say who sent you. Or I stop right now and make you finish with your own fingers while I watch."
You shake, gasping, desperate. She pulls back halfway. The threat is real.
Your voice cracks as you plead. "NoâWanda, pleaseâ"
She presses back in, hard enough to bruise.
"That's better. Keep begging. Keep giving. Or I take my cock and my mercy and leave you in this hole to remember what it felt like to be full of me."
You scream for her again. Not in pain. In total, broken, blissed-out need.
And Wanda? She moans against your ear like she's finally home.
Your face twists, eyelids fluttering, mouth slack, sweat and tears mixing as you writhe beneath her. Your voice is no longer defiant, it's raw, pleading, desperate.
Her groan is vicious, satisfied, dragging against your spine. She doesn't stop. She moves harder.
"There she is," Wanda hisses. "The obedient little mouth I've been waiting for. Give it to me. Now."
Your moans break around the words. "It was coded intelâdrop point under the checkpoint in Berlin. They wanted your extraction patternâyour weaknessesâ"
"None," she snaps, biting your shoulder. "I have none."
"I know," you sob, gasping. "I knowâpleaseâ"
She fucks you deeper, like reward, like punishment.
"Say it again. Who do you belong to?"
"You," you moan, eyes rolling back. "Only you."
She groals in your ear, dark and ravenous.
"That's right. And you'll never belong to anyone else again."
You whimper beneath her, barely able to breathe between moans. "They have files," you gasp. "Everything on you. Enhanced surveillance. Power pattern analysis. Emergency strike plans in case you went rogueâ"
Wanda snarls, driving her hips forward with sudden fury. "They planned for this? For me?"
"Yes!" you sob. "But nothingânothing that could stop you. Pleaseâ"
Her hand wraps around your waist and she shifts position, dragging your body up with hers. She presses your back to her chest, spreading your legs wider with her knees, fucking you at a new angle that sends lightning down your spine.
You throw your head back against her shoulder, moaning openly now.
"Then keep talking," she commands. Her voice is a growl against your ear. "Tell me what else they know. Tell me what they fear."
You babble through tears and broken gasps. "They know you're unstableâthey think grief is your weaknessâbut it's not, it's notâ"
"No," Wanda breathes, her pace brutal, delicious. "Grief made me free."
She shifts again, slamming into you harder from behind, forcing your palms flat to the floor as you sob beneath her.
"Say it again," she growls. "Say whose name you scream for."
"Wandaâ" you cry. "Yoursâonly yoursâ"
And she rewards you with everything.
Her hips snap. Her power sears. Her mouth is a weapon pressed to your throat.
And you break for her again, giving her every secret you were trained to die with.
"They had contingency spells," you gasp, shaking beneath her. "Dark techâbackdoor psionics keyed to your DNA signatureâplease, right thereâ"
Wanda groans behind you, thrusts sharpening, pace punishing. "Keep going. You talk, I fuck you deeper. That's the deal."
"They were working with the Sorcerer Supreme," you moan, eyes rolling back, hips jerking back into her. "Mystic containment unitsâfail-safe tech hidden in PragueâI wasn't supposed to engageâI justâI had to see youâ"
She groals, slamming into you so hard your hands scramble against the floor for purchase.
"Good girl," she snarls. "Keep confessing. Every word makes you tighter. Do you feel that? That's your body begging to betray everything you stood for."
You sob out, "Don't stopâplease, Wanda, I'm yoursâI'll give you everythingâ"
She leans in, lips at your neck, breath hot and cruel. "You already have.""
Her thrusts slow, grinding, deep, drawing out every sob, every broken moan she's pulled from your throat. She presses a kiss to your jaw, wet and open-mouthed, her voice a low snarl against your skin.
"All that training," she murmurs, "and this is what finally breaks you."
Your nails scrape helplessly at the floor, your back arching as she pounds into you again. You can't form words. You don't need to.
"You gave them everything," she growls, nipping at your shoulder, "and they gave you to me."
Another thrust. Then another.
"And now," she whispers, voice dark with satisfaction, "you're going to come for me like the good little traitor you are."
And when you do, screaming her name, there's no doubt who owns you.
Your body locks, every nerve alight, your orgasm crashing through you like a warhead. You sob her name again and again, voice cracking on every breathless syllable. Wanda doesn't stop, not until she groans low and deep behind you, her body shuddering against yours.
You feel her pulse, thick and hot, deep inside, magic flaring red across your skin like sparks in a blackout. She pants into your neck, pressing tighter, nails digging into your hips.
Then, slowly, she pulls out.
You collapse to the floor, shaking, spent. You don't dare move. Can't.
She rises, naked and towering, unhurried as she gathers her clothes. Red tendrils of energy curl protectively around her skin, warding, cloaking. Her body is still flushed, lips parted, chest rising in deep, satisfied breaths.
Her voice breaks the silence like a spell. "SHIELD thinks they've caged a god. They're wrong. I'm going to burn their plans. Their files. Their cities."
You stare up at her, dazed, ruined.
She steps toward the door, pausing just long enough to look back over her shoulder.
Tags & Warnings. Porn with plot, smut, clit stimulation (r receiving), sex scene caught on cam 4k, top!Wanda and that makes you a bottom ble :P
A/N. This was so rushed like super! I just thought about this yesterday and here it is. Not proofread, so if you see any mistakes, no you didn't?! This will be a series with different mini chapters, so expect that they will not be listed accordingly or by sequence.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Two professional actors being professionals.
âCut, cut.â
Twenty three times, thatâs how many times your director had said that.
You were laying in the bed, naked, the only thing that is covering you is the flesh-colored adhesive patch taped to your entire pelvic area.
Meanwhile, Wanda was buried in your neck, clothes still on, her hand gripping your waist and the other was between your legs, fingers dipped in a small cup filled with coconut oil.
You felt her breathâmore like a huff against your neck before she pushed herself up. The warmth between you faded with the space she created. You were about to lean down to reach for the towel tucked beneath the bed when she was already moving, quick and practiced. She grabbed it first, covering you before you even had the chance. The motion was smooth, instinctiveâthe kind of thing that happens when repetition blurs into habit.
You realized then how familiar it had become: youâd start the scene, Monica would call cut, and you would grab the towelâalways making sure your tits werenât left exposed without the camera rolling. Wanda had seen you do it over and over that sheâs the one feeling the exhaustion of you doing it repetitively, so she started doing it for you.
But now, you are starting to get embarrassedâespecially to her. Not only is it your fault why you couldnât get the scene right but also despite that, Wanda still chose to make you comfortable.
She has been in the industry for a long time, youâve seen her grow up in television. Sheâs an amateur, a professional, an award-winning actress.
While you are just a fledglingâa starlet.
Twenty-three takes. You donât know what it is you couldnât do right. You didnât know what to do either. Youâve had intimacy directors, they have been nothing but great instructors. Everything was planned, choreographed, nothing was improvised. They briefed you about the boundaries, comfort levels, they also watched closely for signs of emotional distress and discomfort which they can see both in you and Wanda.
The brunette steps out of the bed, placing the oily cup on the night stand. You swallowed a lump on your throat you didnât know at what, at the sight of her so frustrated to wipe off the grease off her ring and middle fingers or because sheâs probably getting pissed at you.
Satisfied, she grabs her soft robe, usually sheâd stay on top of you and wait for Monica to come in and brief you again on what to improve on the next take but it has been a minute and the director was still not here. Instead, you two heard a call out.
âGuys, letâs break for an hour. Wanda, letâs talk for a bit and y/n, you rest and relax.â
That was it. Even though this set has been nothing but professional, used to situations like this, you knew it was your fault.
Your assistant comes in and you immediately ask for your phone. âPlease dial Kate.â
Wandaâs ears perked up when she heard the name, she turned to look at you but you were already outside the set walking towards your trailer. Kate was your ex, she was an actress too, a daughter of a four time academy awards director.
Before Wanda ever worked with you, she did her homeworkânot just the script, but you. She spent nights watching your interviews, studying the way you spoke, laughed, and carried yourself on screen.
Definitely not obsession. Thatâs what she kept telling herself as she clicked on yet another interview, one sheâd probably already seen twice.
Definitely not obsessionâjust research. Just preparation. Just getting to know her scene partner, understanding her rhythm, her mannerisms, her tells. Thatâs what good actors do, right?
Then she came across an interview from a Sapphic production where you were asked about your sexual life and your giddy, ever so honest self had blurted out that you were a virgin. The interviewer was so surprised as if it offended her, she brought up Kateâyour girlfriend at that time who was known as the Hollywood rebel.
Kate has a very strong charisma and striking personality. She had histories of dating girls here and there, paparazzi shots of her grabbing and hooking up with different girls in the streets, probably another starlet or an extra from her motherâs next upcoming film.
So it was shocking when the news broke that you and Kate had started dating. The internet exploded with different headlines.
âGod has lost another angel.â
âVirgin girl no more?â
And the one that dominated every trending tagâ
âI can change her.â
So how in hell you were still a virgin when you were dating the Hollywoodâs fuck girl?
You just told the interviewer what people wouldnât expect to hearâthat Kate has been nothing but a respectful and supportive partner to you. That despite what they see or their photos caught on the street about your girlfriend, itâs her past. And that was it, no more explanations like you were trained to do. You only said what you could, you said it with all your honesty and the reactions and words that will come out after that is something that is out of your control anymore.
So what probably is the reason youâd be calling your ex right now?
Definitely, to get fucked. To be fucked. To get that specific reaction Monica wanted to achieve for the sex scene you and Wanda have been trying to film. Because you didnât understand it, even when you drowned yourself watching lesbian porn before filming getting all hazy and tingly still, all you heard was countless of âCUT!â
And Wanda knew that the moment she heard you say your exâs name. And she needed to act on it before anything happens.
âI just want the scene right. I need your help with this, Wands.â Monica sighs, definitely depending everything on her actress friend. âYour fingers fine?â
If she was fucking a real pussy instead of a fucking cup maybe her fingers wouldnât be sore and tired.
âGive me another hour. Iâll give it to you.â Wanda said firmly and resolutely. The way she said it made Monica hopeful and at the same time she felt something offâscary even. But she didnât mind, she just wanted her scene.
âCan you inform the guards not to accept any visitors?â Wanda asks, which Monica immediately agreed on. She had to make sure that your ex wonât be able to step on the set or even pass the gate. âAlso, I want no one inside the set but the camera.â
That made Monica frown. If she was understanding all this correctlyâŚ
âAnd that includes you.â
Welp, sheâs right.
âWandaâŚâ Monica started, already knowing this conversation was about to take a turn. The brunette sensed it immediatelyâthe tension, like she had been caught on what she was about to doâand braced herself for what was coming next.
âDo you want your scene or what?â Wanda snapped, her voice cutting through the air like glass.
Monica froze.
The brunetteâs frustration was palpable now, her shoulders stiff, her jaw locked tight since the moment sheâd stepped into the roomâsince that moment she heard you call your ex. Wanda really tried to calm herself, she immediately felt guilty about how she acted with her friend because sheâs still the director, sheâs still the boss here.
But clearly, she was frustrated and pissed.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating.
âI justâŚâ Monica started, unsure whether to calm her down or defend herself. âI just didnât think youâdââ
âMy way or the highway.â Wanda interrupted, she eyes her like sheâs got a chance to choose but really, she doesnât. She was calm, firm but intimidating. âYou asked me to make it real, Monica. Thatâs what Iâm doing. Strictly professional.â
The director breathes, not like she had another choice. âWell, then. Youâll get what you asked but I better get my scene. One take, Wanda. Only one take is all I am giving you.â
âDeal, one take.â
⨞ŕźó ş
You cannot stop thinking at all. The number of cuts were all in your head, the thought of how Wanda sees you during those twenty-fucking-three takes? Do you look ugly? Do you look pathetic? While you were fakingly writhing beneath her? You even worry about how you smelled, but when you tried smelling yourself, all you can smell is herâWanda.
Please, you have been overthinking a lot of things and you donât want to burden your brain even more with the thought of the older woman. But fuck, you canât help it. Your brain and heart just do what theyâre functioned to do when the Wanda is around.
Short-circuit and flutter.
You have been checking your phone over and over, waiting for Kate to call back when you hear the knock outside of your trailer. Are they calling you back on set? Is the 1 hour break over? But itâs just been 15 minutes, you still have 45 minutes to wait for your ex and get fucked.
âWanda, hey.â
As always, your brain short-circuited and your heart fluttered, skipping a lot of beats.
You lowered your head to the ground, ashamed of the actress. Wanda looks inside your trailer.
âAnyone around?â She asks and you immediately shake your head no as if youâre caught about something. Well, your visitor is not here yet. âCan I come in? I wanna talk.â
âOh, yeah sure. My bad I am sorry for not offering.â
âItâs okay pretty girl.â
You wanted to combust. To melt into a puddle and evaporate. Anything that will work at this point.
Wanda made herself comfortable on the mini sofabed that you had, she spread her legs like she was the one who brought it. âCan we talk about the scene?â
âYeah,â your nostrils flare slightly, your breath hitching as you try to hold it in. âWanda, look I am really sorryâŚâ when you whimpered, that is when the dam brokeâyou started crying. âI am sorry. I donât even know, I canât even-I canât even say how sorry I am because I am super embarrassedââ
âHoney, enough of that.â
One phrase, only one phrase, only one command that made you hold your tears back up again.
She tapped her thigh and you blinked, then hiccuped. âCâmere.â
When she sensed your hesitation, she reached your hand and guided you to her lap herself. She wiped the tears out of your face and you burned from embarrassment even harder. You started turning your head to the side to avoid her touch.
âStop that.â
You whimpered. You felt it again, that familiar feeling in your chest when you feel like you disappointed the older woman. Your lips tremble; your nose feels full, as if emotion itself has clogged your breathing.
âHey, Iâm sorry.â She caressed your cheek, looking at you like you were the most fragile thing sheâs ever touched. She wiped your tears away and smiled, you gave her a small tug at the corner of your mouth. âI was just frustrated and tired.â
âThatâs because of me.â You muttered immediately, taking the blame.
âNo. You were just tired as well. Weâre all tired but hey you were still trying.â
You bite your lip, trying to hold the tears back and nod, accepting her comfort. You actually wanted to push over and blame yourself more because you still feel it. But you know youâll never win against Wanda. Plus, you wouldnât want to disappoint and make her frustrated even more.
âDo you wanna get the scene?â
You nod again, eagerly this time. Toying with the tie of your robe.
âWell then, I suggest making it real.â
You frown. âWhat do you mean?â
âThe sex scene, we make it real.â
You tense, instinctively wanting to remove yourself away from her lap and Wanda who had already imagined different scenarios of how you would react with her offer, grips your thighs and holds you firmly against her.
âHoney, you gotta listen to me.â
Her voice was calmâtoo calm.
âItâsâŚitâs not right. Itâs not ethical!â You said, heart pounding.
âPorn actors have done this.â
Your breath hitched. âBut weâre not making porn! Weâre-weâre not pornstars!â
âYes! Weâre not!â Fuck, she snapped, that was totally out of character. She breathes to calm herself down because if she needs to get your consent to allow this whole thing to happen, she needs to be calm. She needs to be gentle. âIâm sorry.â She breathes again and you watch her chest heave up and down. âLook, I've done this before. A lot of actors did.â
âWhat? With who?â Your question hit you harder than expected. It made you look desperate and jealous.
ButâŚyou are!
Wanda wanted to smirk. Fuck, she badly wants to. But she needs to be gentle, not like a pervert so she stabbed that reminder in her brain over and over until it bled through her skull.
She needs to be soft, she needs to look like an angel.
When in reality, she is a demon whoâs trying to corrupt.
âBut Wanda, Iâm a virgin.â You say, lips trembling like you were ashamed.
âYouâŚyou are perfect. And youâll stay that way.â Wanda cups your face, âIâll take care of you. I promise. Strictly professional.â
Her words arenât actually enough. Because fuck, you are the type of person whoâll say I love you during sex so there is no fucking way it would be professional. But you were already sitting again in the bed on set, itâs just the two of you. No crews, no cameraman, not even Monica, the director of this film.
You had already taken the adhesive patch that is solely covering your body, the air was hitting your bare pussy.
âLay in the bed, take your robe out and cover it up to your waist first.â Wanda commands, she was behind the camera, she has been in the industry for so long she knows how they work. She angled it in the way that it wouldnât look evident that she was really fucking youânot choreographedânot fake.
But raw and real.
âWeâre rolling now,â Monica announced through the megaphone that was heard from where you are right now. She wasnât here but they still had control over the camera, meaning they could still see you.
Wandaâs eyes locked onto you. You started laying yourself in the bed and started rethinking about the situation you got yourself into.
But she was already dipping her knees to the bed, making sure that her angle was covering you, she removed your robe, her eyes immediately dropping to your hidden pussy. She bit her lip, knowing she was the only one who got to see it like thisâunshaven and only for her to touch.
No crews, cameraman, or even your fucking ex.
She smiles at you for the last time and kisses your forehead before getting to the action.
The scene began with Wandaâs character, Hyacinth, slowly kissing down your neck, her hands roaming your sides possessively. But instead of just kissing your breasts, she suddenly sucked one entire nipple into her mouth, making you gasp loudly. The camera captured your arching back beautifully.
She sucked your skin and you felt like it left marks
As the scene progresses. Her hand now started to move south. Wanda briefed you on what she will do, she said Monica just needs the right reactionsâthe right depiction of pleasure from you. She promised not to penetrate you with her fingers, she will only stimulate your clit so that youâd stay a virgin.
Her thumb began to rub slow circles around your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm. Her other hand held your thigh folded as she focused solely on that sensitive nub.
You cannot help but whimper, âHyaâŚâ
The words and sounds that come out of you just makes Wandaâs clit throb. Finally, it was not a cup she was fucking but your fucking cunt.
You held to her tightly, feeling so many different things all out once.
The actress stopped, bringing her fingers to her mouth before spitting on itâstill a part of the script except that it should not be bought between your legs. Suddenly, without thinking, you reach out and pull Wanda into a kissâone that wasnât part of the script. But she responded immediately, her tongue sliding against yours deeply
And that also wasnât part of the script by the way.
And then you started to feel it, something below your stomachâin your clit where you were being rubbed right now wetter than before with Wanda's spit. Your face contorted in pleasure, the feeling was so good you had to break from kissing Wanda, you moaned against her mouth and stared right through her forest eyes.
You arched your back, as if to escape her finger only to be pressed harder against the bed. âWanda-WandaâŚâ you mewled not realizing it was her real name you were crying.
You werenât wearing any microphones so good luck if the camera picked up on that.
âJust let go baby, thatâs it.â She whispered against your earâher head was on the other side of your face so the angle was not visible to the camera.
She kissed your cheek over and over.
Her fingers rubbed faster and faster.
The feeling was so close that itâs becoming painful. You feel like you are going to explode. You stopped breathing, everything held against your throat.
Then the feeling that was building reached its peak.
Thereâs a blinding light. A sound like an explosion fills your earsâa white noise that drowns out everything elseâŚ
Your legs shake before clamping close as if to trap the feeling that throb in your core.
âCut!â
Wanda immediately stood. She blinks at the sight of you. You were on your side, your ass full view of the camera, too fucked out, eyes closed and catching your breath. She doesnât know what to do but immediately grabs your robe to cover you.
âWands?â You called for her, you wanted to feel her close but she was out of reach.
The brunette didnât respond, she just watched you. Face pale, uneasy look.
Suddenly, she wasnât sure about what she just did. The reality of what sheâs done was starting to sink in.
She offered to make things realistic, now she gets it.
She has to hold you right now. She knows. She knows that ruleâof course. Acting or not, after sex requires after care. But she stayed glued to the ground while the crew starts filing the room and she is being pushed back from the scene, your team rushing inside to check on you, treating you like youâve been violated.
Then, youâre being led out of the set, shoulders hunched, your team surrounding you. For a moment, your eyes seem to search the roomâfor her and she almost calls for you. Almost.
The last thing she sees is you throwing your body off to someone she recognizes as your ex and the tall woman holding you close.
Because though Wanda knows, sheâs afraid that if she held you just a bit longer that moment...
The elevator ride up to the penthouse feels like champagne fizz in your veins -- the expensive kind. Youâre still flushed from the gala, heels dangling from your fingers, dress clinging to the heat of your skin. Your laugh echoes through the hallway as you unlock the penthouse door, still replaying something stupid someone said near the bar.
You step inside, smiling.
Wanda doesnât smile back.
She stands in the dim light of the foyer like sheâs carved from something ancient -- auburn hair cascading over her bare shoulders, green eyes striking even in the shadowed apartment, her long legs framed by a deep emerald dress slit high enough to make you forget your own name.
You stop breathing because she does.
Not a blink.
Not a sound.
Not even a rise in her chest.
âWanda?â you ask, half-laughing.
âYou know whatâs funny?â Her voice is silk stretched too tight, a thread threatening to snap. âThat she still looks at you like she remembers the way you sounded.â
Your stomach flips. âWandaââ
âDonât.â
Her heels click once on the marble.
And again.
Then again.
Each step sounds like a countdown.
She comes closer, and you can smell her perfume -- something warm, spicy, expensive, something that always makes your knees weak. Her dress hugs her waist and flares at her hips, moving with every slow, lethal step she takes toward you.
âYou think I didnât see it?â she asks, tilting her head. Her auburn curls fall over her collarbone in a way that should be illegal. âThe way she touched your waist? The way she leaned in like she used to fuck you?â
You freeze.
Half from guilt.
Half from the sheer gravity of her.
âThat was years ago,â you whisper. âIt meant nothing.â
âOh, I know it meant nothing.â Wanda steps close enough that her breath brushes your cheek. âBut she doesnât.â
Her green eyes glow softly -- not with magic, just with emotion.
Jealousy looks gorgeous on her.
Dangerous.
Ground shaking.
You take a shaky breath. âYouâre overreacting.â
Her lips curl -- a slow, sharp, incredulous smile that hits you low in your stomach.
âSay it again.â
You lift your chin, pretending youâre braver than you feel. âYouâre overreacting.â
Wandaâs laugh is quiet.
Slow.
Furious.
Before you can blink, your back hits the floor to ceiling window. Cool glass against overheated skin.
She cages you in with her body -- toned legs, bare shoulders, that dress that shouldnât be legal. Her hand slides to your hip, squeezing like she owns it. Her thigh pushes between yours, forcing you slightly up the glass.
âAttitude,â she murmurs, eyes dropping to your mouth, âis a very dangerous choice tonight.â
âWanda--â
âNo.â
Her voice is velvet and threat. âYou donât get to say my name like that. Not when you were letting her stand that close to you.â
âI wasnâtââ
âReally?â Her fingers wrap around your throat -- not tight, just claiming, her thumb brushing your pulse. âBecause all I saw was someone who used to have you looking at you like she wanted seconds.â
Her other hand slides down your waist, tracing the curve of your dress-- the one she helped you zip before the gala, the one that made her mutter something sinful in Sokovian under her breath.
âShe looked at you,â Wanda whispers, lips grazing your jaw, âlike she remembered every inch of your body.â
You inhale sharply. âShe barely talked to me.â
âBarely,â Wanda repeats, the word low and mocking. âBarely was enough for you to smile at her?â
âI wasnât-- I just--â
âYou just what?â Wanda leans in closer, green eyes blazing. âYou just let her touch you?â
âShe didnât touch--â
âShe touched your waist.â Wandaâs voice dips, dark and quiet. âI saw her hand. I saw you freeze. I saw the way she looked at you like she was remembering the taste of you.â
Your breath stutters. âI didnât let her do anything.â
Something shifts in Wanda then -- something dangerous, hungry, protective in a way that makes your heart slam against your ribs.
Wanda smiles.
Not sweet.
Not soft.
Possession, pure and carved in fire.
Her hands slide to the backs of your thighs, lifting you without warning. A low groan leaves her throat -- not animalistic, just jealous in a way that sends heat curling down your spine.
Your hands fly to her shoulders automatically, gripping the smooth skin there, fingers curling into the hard muscle of her arms. Her dress brushes your legs as she carries you across the room, her stride slow, commanding, like sheâs reclaiming something stolen.
âWrap your legs around me,â she orders.
You do -- instantly, instinctively.
Wandaâs lips drag down your throat, leaving warmth and electricity in their wake. You swear you can feel her pulse in every place she touches.
She drops you gently on the bed -- but before you can even gasp, her hands grab your wrists and pin them above your head. Her hair falls around you like a curtain of auburn silk, her breath hot on your lips.
âYouâre mine,â she whispers. âNot hers. Not anyoneâs.â
Your defiance sparks one last time. âYou donât get to decide--â
Wandaâs eyes flicker, dark and hungry. She leans down, breath brushing your mouth.
âBaby,â she murmurs, voice sinful and low,
âIâm not asking.â
Her knee pushes between your thighs, spreading you just enough to pull a soft sound from your throat.
âThatâs better,â she breathes. âNow do it for me.â
âDo what?â you whisper.
Her lips almost touch yours.
âSpread your legs.â
Your breath catches.
âWanda--â
She smiles. Fire. Promise. Possession wrapped in silk.
âI said,â her voice dropping to something wicked and velvet-smooth,
âspread them.â
Your legs fall open without your brain's consent. Wanda's smile widens, satisfaction and hunger clear in her green eyes.Â
She moves between your thighs like a goddess--confident, beautiful, deadly.Â
Her dress rides up higher, revealing more skin, more muscle tone.Â
"That's my girl," she murmurs, releasing your wrists to trail her hands down your arms.Â
Her knees push your legs further apart. "So pretty," she whispers, looking at your spread legs, your underwear visible thanks to the high slit of your dress.
She leans over you, her green eyes locked onto yours, a possessive glint in their depths. "Keep your hands there," she orders softly, her breath warm against your lips.Â
Her hands then trail down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, until they reach the hem of your dress.
Without breaking eye contact, Wanda slowly lifts your dress, revealing your legs, your hips, the black lace underwear underneath. She bites her lip, clearly appreciating the view.Â
"God," she whispers, her hands tracing your thighs, your hips, your waist.Â
She then hooks her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls them down your legs. "Lift your hips," she commands. You do, and she pulls them off completely, tossing them aside. "Spread your legs wider,"
Wanda's eyes darken with desire as you comply, spreading your legs wider for her.Â
She takes a moment to appreciate the view, her gaze roaming over your bare pussy before meeting your eyes again.Â
"So fucking pretty," she murmurs, her hands gripping your inner thighs, keeping your legs spread open. She leans down, her face hovering just inches above your center.Â
"And all mine," she adds possessively before pressing a soft kiss to your clit.
"Mmm..." you whisper, your hips jerking slightly at the sudden contact. "Wanda..." your voice is soft, almost pleading. "Please..."
Without waiting for further invitation, Wanda dives in, her tongue pressing flat against your clit, making slow circles.Â
She groans softly, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body.Â
"Fuck, you taste good," she murmurs, her hands gripping your thighs tighter, keeping your legs spread open for her.
"Oh god..." you moan, your hands flying to her hair, tangling in the soft auburn strands. "Don't stop..."
Wanda smiles against your core, the motion making you shudder.Â
She looks up at you from between your legs, her green eyes dark with arousal, her lips and chin wet with your arousal. "Not stopping," she promises before diving back in, sucking your clit gently into her mouth.
"Yes, yes, yes..." you chant, your hips starting to move slightly, chasing the pleasure Wanda's skilled mouth is providing. "Right there..."Â
Wanda nods slightly, continuing her onslaught with her mouth and tongue.Â
One of her hands slides up your thigh, finding your entrance wet and ready. Without hesitation, she slips two fingers inside you, curling them upward to press against that sweet spot that makes you see stars.Â
"Oh fuck!" you cry out, your inner muscles clamping down around her fingers. "Please please please..."
As she continues to work her fingers and mouth on you, Wanda's free hand slides down her own body, mirroring your position.Â
She spreads her legs wider, her own hand disappearing beneath her dress.Â
You can hear the wet sounds of her fingers sliding through her folds as she pleasures herself while eating you out.Â
"Mmm... fuck, you're so tight," she murmurs, her fingers curling inside you again.Â
"And so fucking sweet..." Her own hips start moving slightly against her hand. "Come on, baby.. tell me who you belong toâŚ"
"You..." you gasp out, your hips bucking against her hand and face. "I belong to you... only you, Wanda..."
Wanda's eyes light up with satisfaction and possessiveness at your words.Â
She doubles her efforts, her fingers pistoning in and out of you rapidly as she sucks hard on your clit.Â
"That's right..." she murmurs against you. "Only mine..." Her own hips move faster against her hand, her breath coming out in short pants against your wet heat.
Wanda's relentless pace sends you careening towards the edge.Â
Your legs shake, your breath comes in short gasps, and your walls clench tightly around her fingers. "I'm... I'm gonna..." you manage to choke out between moans.Â
Wanda looks up at you, her green eyes burning with intensity.Â
"Come for me," she commands, her fingers curling hard against that spot inside you as she sucks your clit between her teeth. "Come all over my face and fingers, baby. Show me who you belong to."
You scream as you shatter apart âWANDA!" as you come hard against her face and fingers.Â
She groans against you, "Fuck yes..." she whispers against your sensitive flesh.
Her own hand moves faster between her legs as she watches you fall apart for her, until she's crying out muffled sounds against you too -- coming simultaneously with making you comeÂ
Wanda continues to lick and suck gently until your orgasm subsides into shivering aftershocks.Â
She removes her fingers slowly, bringing them to her mouth and sucking them clean with a satisfied groan.Â
"Mmm... you taste so good," she says softly before crawling up your body, her dress clinging to her curves.Â
She presses gentle kisses to your lips, chin, jawline--anywhere she can reach without lifting her head off you.
"Mine," she repeats possessively against every inch of skin she kisses. "Mine mine mine..."
With a final possessive kiss to your forehead, Wanda rests her head on your chest, her heart pounding in sync with yours. "And no one else gets to look at you like that," she murmurs, her voice laced with jealousy and love. "Not even for a second."Â
And in that moment, wrapped up in each other's arms and hearts, you know without a doubt that you belong completely and utterly to Wanda Maximoff.
fucking her in missionary with my hand around her neck, thumb pressing down against her pulse point. thrusting in and out in time with her heartbeat, no faster, no slower. feeling her pulse speed up as she realizes what i'm doing, moaning underneath me as my thrusts speed up to match it.
i soooo want to be filled with someone's strap... slowly fucking myself on it and whimpering into their shoulder about how good they're making me feel... messily kissing up their neck and across their jaw and meeting their lips panting and crying out as i cum around them
Summary: Between vows and betrayal, lace and ruin, they tear each other apart one last timeâdesire and grief tangled so tight neither can breathe. Because some goodbyes don't sound like words. They sound like moans. They taste like tears. Then craves for something sweet.
Pairings: Stepsister Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader
Author's note: Commissioned. IF THIS ISN'T YOUR THING, YOU ARE FREE TO SCROLL AWAY. I think this is a timing for kinktober.
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Wanda was only five when her father remarried.
Even then, she felt the weight of change pressing from the moment her mother was rushed to the hospitalânever realizing it would be the last time she'd see her alive.
One quiet evening, Wanda peeked around the corner of the living room. Her wide, innocent eyes froze at the sight of her father kissing another woman. A stranger who's got a little huge tummy. Not her motherâher mother who still lay sleeping in the white "pencil case" as Wanda, in her child's mind, had come to call it.
Wanda's confusion deepened even more when one day, the stranger woman leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, just like her real mom used to do. She felt even more bewildered when the woman helped her into a pretty dress and handed her a basket of flower petals. The woman's soft voice broke through Wanda's maze of thoughts as she began talking about her father. "I love your daddy," she said with a sweet smile, "and I'm gonna give you a good life. I'm gonna take care of you." She paused, looking down at her stomach. "Both of you," the woman clarified with a gentle caress on Wanda's cheek, "You won't understand yet, and your real mama may be gone now, but I promise you somethingâI will love you like she would have."
The only thing Wanda could clearly remember from that day was walking down the aisle, her tiny hands clutching a tiny basket as she threw petal flowers like she was instructed to.
At first, the change was terrifying. But as days turned into weeks, then months, Wanda began to find comfort. Her new mama's tummy grew bigger, and with it, so did Wanda's attachment. There were tea parties in the garden, endless plates of cookies, crocheted dolls and scarves, and warm arms that smelled faintly of lavender.
For Wanda, it was as if nothing really had changed. When her real mother passed away, the love of a mother quickly surrounded her again because that's how quick a new mama came to the rescue.
One day, while playing in the living room, Wanda noticed that her mama's stomach had grown significantly. "Are you sick, mama?" Wanda asked, her small hands gently touching her mama's belly. Her brows furrowed in confusion and worry. "Why is your tummy so big? Does it hurt?" She looked up at your mother with glossy teary eyes that made it sting.
Your mother smiled gently at her daughter's concern and handed her a small box. "Open it, sweetheart," she said softly. Wanda took the box, her tiny hands carefully opening it to reveal a crocheted top inside. "Big Sister" was written in sparkly letters on the front.
Days turned into weeks, and Wanda still didn't fully understand what the shirt said and what her mama said.
"We're gonna have a baby. You're going to have a baby sister. That means you're going to be a big sister."
But even then, Wanda kept caring for her mama and the growing tummy she carried. She trailed after her through the house, making sure mama sat down whenever she looked tired, bringing her water or little snacks without being asked with little flowers she personally handpicked in the garden. If her mama so much as winced, Wanda would hurry over, her face etched with worry, asking softly what was wrong. Her mama would reassure herâit was just the tummyâand Wanda would lean in to place a gentle kiss on it. She even tried to imitate her father, wrapping her small arms around her mama's belly from behind, as if she too could help ease the weight.
But then, all of a sudden, her mama was being rushed to the hospital. This time, Wanda's little heart filled with terror as she watched her mama disappear in the huge white door of the emergency room.
In her mind, everything replayed like a horror movie. She remembered her first mamaâher real momânever coming out the same door. The memories of that day were etched deeply into her little mind, and now she was terrified that it was happening again.
She didn't understand why her first mama never came back, but now she understood that her second mamaâthe one who loved her and took care of herâwas in the hospital and might not come out either.
But much to her surprise, her mama did, she came out from the same door where she was rushed in, with a tiny human wrapped in a thick cloth.
That was the only thing Wanda remembered happening that day.
The day when you came into her life.
Wanda had been the only little one before you came along, and adjusting to another small human was confusing for herâeverything was confusing through the eyes of a five year old. The attention that once belonged solely to her was now shared with the tiny being who demanded constant care. But Wanda soon realized something important: with the arrival of this new little one, she was no longer just a "tiny being" herselfâshe is now a part of the "big ones" like mama and dad. And because she understood that tiny beings needed more attention than huge ones, she did her part. She cared for you, she tried to helpâdoing whatever her small hands and big heart could manage.
Your first word wasn't "Mama." It was "Wanda."
She had you in her arms, bouncing you like a doll when it slipped out of your mouth. The syllables were clumsy, broken by baby teeth and spit, but unmistakable. "Wan-da."
She refused to let anyone else touch you for the rest of the day. You were hers. Her shadow. Her responsibility. Her babyâeven though she was barely past babyhood herself.
From then on, she was always there.
She bathed with you. Fed you off her own plate. Propped you on her hip while watching cartoons. She even learned how to balance a bottle with her chin when her hands got tired.
If you cried, Wanda cried too. If you laughed, she laughed harder.
And when you made mistakes, Wanda carried the blame.
"Who spilled the juice?" Mama asked.
"It was me," Wanda would say, even when the evidence was still dripping down your chin.
And when Wanda made mistakes, you covered for her tooâŚthough always with a price.
One afternoon, you found her rifling through mama's purse. She froze, caught red-handed, her reflection wide-eyed in the vanity mirror. Slowly, she turned to you, lips parting in a guilty panic.
"Don't tell Mama," she whispered. Then her voice softened, coaxing, "I'll buy you ice cream."
You didn't really know what it is to tell mama. But ice cream? That was enough to seal the deal. You nodded enthusiastically.
When you turned five, Wanda was ten.
By then, Wanda had learned to notice things. She would watch from the window of your shared room as a mysterious man carried you away every weekend. He was tall and a bit young, Wanda remembered seeing that same man on the day you were born. Sometimes she would eavesdrop, listening in on the brief and straightforward exchanges between her mama and the man as they arranged the details of your pickup.
"When I married your dad, I already had your sister. AndâŚthat's her father, Wanda."
Wanda didn't say anything right away, but she studied your face the night you came back, when you were asleep. The resemblance was undeniable. You had his eyes, his mouth, his stubborn chin. Different from hers. Different from Wanda's.
It didn't change how she felt, though. If anything, it made her hold onto you tighter. Maybe you had another father somewhere else, but to Wanda, you were still hers.
When you were thirteen, Wanda was eighteen.
That was the year she began sneaking girls into your shared bedroom at night. You would wake to the sound of the window sliding open, the faint creak of the frame straining against its hinges, followed by the hushed shuffle of footsteps. There was always a quick exchange of giggles, nervous and sharp, swallowed by the dark before mama or dad could catch wind of them.
The ritual became so familiar you could almost time itâthe scrape of shoes against the floor, the whisper of fabric being tugged loose, the sudden, electric silence when Wanda realized you were awake.
She'd sit down on the bed beside you, her weight dipping the mattress, her presence warm and heavy in the dark. Then she would pat her thighsâthe unspoken signal. By then, you knew what to do. You climbed on, caging her legs with yours, but you never looked her in the eyes. Something about it felt dangerous, like the truth of everything would spill out if your gazes locked too long.
"Don't tell mama and dad," she would whisper, her voice threaded with a soft, deliberate threat but softened by those pleading eyes. It wasn't just a warningâit was a request, almost a confession.
You hesitated, biting your lip. You didn't know whether to nod or protest.
Then she leaned closer, her breath brushing your ear, her tone coaxing now, playful, sweet. "I'll buy you ice cream."
You picked at your nails, staring down at your own legs straddling hers. A lump stuck in your throat. "For a week," you finally bargained, voice cracking in the quiet.
Her smirk bloomed in the dim light, sharp and triumphant. "Deal." She tilted your chin up with practiced ease, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before carefully shifting you aside, removing you from her lap. She tucked you back under the blanket, smoothing the covers as if nothing had happened. Then she kissed your forehead before slipping out the window with the girl she had smuggled in.
And just like that, your silence was bought. Not by fear but by the promise of sweetnessâa cone of ice cream, cold and temporary, melting fast on your tongue, making the secret easier to swallow.
But time does what it always does.
Your weekends with your father began to stretch into entire weeks, then whole summers. You were gone more often than you were home. And when you returned, the house felt smaller, your shared room more suffocating than comforting.
As people do, you begin to change. Wanda noticed it first in little ways. You asked mama for your own roomânot because you disliked sharing with your sister, but because privacy had started to matter, especially when her nighttime visits grew more frequent, when girls seemed to come and go through your window more than the breeze itself.
You stopped sneaking bites of her food, stopped sipping from her tumbler like you used to. You turned down her casual invitations to shower together, when once you would throw tantrums if she said no. You stopped sprawling on her side of the bed, stopped demanding her attention in the loud, childish ways you once did.
And when Wanda leaned close, trying to kiss you the way she always hadâon the lips, the innocent ritual of childhoodâyou avoided her. At first, you offered your cheek instead, a compromise, an attempt to soften the rejection. But even the cheek-kisses became rare. Eventually, they disappeared altogether.
The bond that once felt unshakable began to loosen thread by thread.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you drifted away.
And Wanda, though she never admitted it, felt the loss like a phantom limbâsomething that should still be there, something she reached for in the dark, only to find empty space.
When you turned sixteen, Wanda was twenty-one.
Everything about you had shifted. The baby-soft frame she used to carry everywhere had vanished, replaced by a body that demanded to be noticedâcurves that pulled eyes whether you wanted them to or not. Your clothes, skimpy tops and low-cut bras, seemed chosen to test limits, and you carried yourself with a confidence that both unsettled and angered her.
You were no longer the little sister who clung to her every chance you get or cried when she left the room. Instead, you spent your days barricaded in your bedroom, only emerging when hunger forced you to the kitchen or mama called you to join the family. And even then, you came out sharp-edged. Your words cut. You bit back with sarcasm whenever mama gave you gentle reminders, rolled your eyes at your stepdad.
One evening, when your temper spilled over and you snapped at your mom again, Wanda finally stepped in. She could see you were upset about something and she didn't want to judge, she tried to reason with you even though she knows you went overboard with how you acted, "Are you okay, baby?"
But you only glared, the venom in your tone surprising her. "Why do you care?"
Wanda froze, her heart lurching at the bite in your words. Still, she tried. "Because you're my sister. Of course I care."
Your laugh was sharp, hollow. "Why?! You're not really my sister, Wandaâso stop pretending like you are!"
The silence that followed was brutal. For a moment, it felt like the entire house was holding its breath. Wanda stood there, stunned, the sting of your words ringing louder than anything else. In her hand, the ice cream cone she had bought for you earlier sagged, melting into a sticky mess.
The sweet girl who once begged to sleep in her arms, who used to sneak bites from her plate, who kissed her lips without hesitationâwas gone. In her place stood someone colder, sharper, a stranger in your skin. And Wanda hated it. Not because she despised who you were becoming but because she missed who you used to be.
Now you slipped further from her with every passing day, and Wanda didn't know how to stop it. All she knew was that losing youâeven in this quiet, gradual wayâfelt unbearable.
When you were nineteen, Wanda was twenty-four.
The holiday season had rolled around again, but this year felt different. You hadn't planned on coming homeâyour father had been insistent that you spend Christmas with him instead, and you had promised him you would. It stung a little, knowing Mama would spend the holidays without you, but you had told yourself there would always be next year. There would always be more time.
But time is cruel.
A sudden, brutal twist of fate shattered everything you thought was certain.
Your family home became a crime scene. The lights that once glowed warm in the windows were replaced by the cold flicker of police sirens, washing the walls in red and blue. Neighbors huddled on the sidewalks, their whispers thick with shock and pity. Yellow tape stretched across the porch where you had once sat eating ice cream with Wanda on hot summer nights.
Inside, nothing was the same.
Your mama and stepfatherâgone in an instant. A robbery, the officers said. A senseless act of violence. Two lives stolen before the season of giving could even begin.
And Wanda, scarred, traumatized.
You? Lost.
After the funeral, the silence was unbearable. The air still reeked of melted candles and smoke, the wilted flowers drooped in their vases, and the mourners had long since disappeared. All that remained was the suffocating weight of absence.
You stood in the corner, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to disappear into the shadows. That was when Wanda moved.
She had been quiet for daysâdidn't speak to anyone, even to you. But now, she came toward you with no hesitation in her steps, no room for you to retreat.
Before you could form a thought, she was on you. Her hands gripped your arms, making you whine because it hurts. You could feel her breath against your neck, uneven and hot, her chest trembling as if holding back a storm.
"You're coming home with me." She whispered, but it wasn't soft. It wasn't a request. It was a vow, a command, a claim.
Now you're back home for the first time since you had left for the holidays before the incident. There's this heavy weight settled over you, the house was empty but you feel like it was crowded the way your chest constricts. You're not being welcomed by mama's hug anymore or the aroma of her dish. No more dad to ask you if you wanted to go shopping.
You tried not to imagine how it happenedâhow it endedâbut the thought lingered anyway. Stepping inside, Wanda was already walking past the kitchen, unable to face the place where your mother and stepdad had been shot. The sight hollowed you, and your heart ached with a grief too vast to name.
When you went upstairs, you peek into your sister's room, which was your shared room, you find her standing, her back away from you, she was breathing heavily. She was tense, on edge even though you cannot see her face. And when she felt your presence, she turned towards you and spoke firmly, "You'll sleep here tonight, with me." Before you could protestânot like you will, you were inside and she was already closing the door behind her, sealing the two of you in the room together.
Your sister needs you.
And you do too.
Not in the way you used toânot with childhood giggles or demands for attention. No, this was different. This was raw, desperate, clinging to the only person left who understoodâwho rememberedâwho saw it all. The house felt cavernous with loss, and without her close? You'd drown in it alone and so will she.
So when she locked that door behind her and told you where you'd sleep tonight? It wasn't a request, it was survival. Two broken souls trying to stitch themselves back together through proximity because what else did either of you have now except each other? And maybe, just maybe, if she could keep one small piece of routine intactâlike sharing this bed like always before everything shattered apart, at least something might still make sense again.
Neither of you bothered to change out of your funeral clothes, the weight of the day too heavy, exhaustion sinking deep into your bones. The black fabric wrinkled as you both collapsed onto the bed, Wanda immediately curling her body around yours.
Her arm wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush against her chestâlike if she held on hard enough, she could keep any more pieces from breaking loose. Then her voice came low over your shoulder in the dark.
"I promised mamaâŚto take care of you."
Simple words loaded with everything unspoken between grief and guilt and duty all tangled together inside her ribs until breathing hurt just as much as gunshot wounds ever could've. And then silence fell except for shared breaths slowing down toward sleep neither wanted but desperately needed after days spent drowning awake.
The pale morning light filtered through the curtains as you woke up still tangled in Wanda's arms. Your faces were inches apart, her breath warm against your skin. Without thinking, your fingertips traced the scar on her cheekâa jagged reminder of what happened that night.
Wanda didn't flinch at your touch. Instead, she gave you a soft smile, she still looks tired, she's pale and had dark circles under her eyes even though she just woke up from a long sleep.
Her hand came up to cover yours where it rested against her scarred face for just a moment. Then suddenly, soft fingertips tilted your chin up before her lips pressed against yours so lightly, just like when you were kids, whenever you asked her for a kiss. It lasts barely seconds but lingers heavy in quiet air between shared breaths.
And you let her. Because why wouldn't you?
You didn't even think you were crossing lines; it's like clawing back at scraps of normalcy buried under the wreckage of what used to be simple. A ritual unearthed from beforeâbefore the blood on kitchen tiles, before your parents left a hollowed-out space in this house and in your life.
So when Wanda kisses you againâa peckâbefore burrowing her face on your chest. You don't question it.
Not when she needs this.
Not when part of you does too.
Wanda broke away slowly, her forehead resting against yours for a moment before she spoke softly, "Shower with me?" She asked casually, just like the old times. "We can go get ice cream after."
You can only remember the feeling of your wet naked bodies pressed together that morning, under the falling water as your sister held you tighter, her fingers digging gently into your sides like she's going to lose you tooâand of course, the drive to the ice cream store.
When you were twenty-one, Wanda was twenty-six.
It had been two years since that night changed everything.
"Good morningâŚ" Wanda's voice broke the silence of the kitchen.
Before you could even murmur a reply, her hand was already at your chin, tilting it up. Her lips brushed against yoursâbrief, almost habitual, as if the motion had been etched into her like muscle memory. It had become a rhythm between you two, quiet and unquestioned. No fumbling, no words. Just a kiss in greeting, as simple as breathing.
"I made breakfast," she whispered, softer this time, her eyes studying your face as though checking for approval. "Pancakes. Your favorite."
You smiled, nodding gently, moving toward the table. But as you reached for a glass of water, your fingers slipped.
The crash of shattering glass against tile ripped through the air.
In an instant, Wanda jumped, her body jerking like she'd been struck. Her breath hitched, panic flashing across her face so raw it froze you in place. The sound of broken glass wasn't just a sound to her anymoreâit was danger, loss, violence. It was a memory.
"Can you be careful?!" she snapped, her voice sharp, trembling more from fear than anger. Her hands clenched at her sides as though resisting the urge to snatch you away from the shards.
Your heart thudded as guilt curled inside your chest. "I'm sorry," you whispered, dropping to your knees, gathering the jagged pieces one by one with cautious fingers.
She let out a long, shaky sighâone that carried more weight than words ever could. Without looking at you, she turned and walked toward the stairs. Her bare feet made the faintest sounds against the wood, but to you, every step felt like a door closing.
You stayed frozen in place, kneeling on the cold tile with your hands still damp from wiping the floor. Your eyes followed her retreating figure, the curve of her back stiff, her head slightly bowed as if she were carrying something too heavy for her age. Your throat tightened. You wanted to call after her, to run up and make sure she was okay, but your body wouldn't move. All you could do was sit there in the silence, worry gnawing at your chest, watching the space she left behind like she might reappear if you just stared long enough.
It is not the first time something like this happened to Wanda. It had started with something smallâtoo small to make sense to anyone else. The sharp slam of a cabinet door, the clatter of a spoon hitting the floor. But for Wanda, it was enough. The sound ripped her wide open, dragging her back to that night, and suddenly she wasn't here anymore.
The first time it happened, you didn't know what to do. Her hands shook violently, frozen in place, her wide eyes glassy and unfocused. She wasn't looking at you, wasn't looking at anything. Just staringâpast the walls, past the roomâinto some place only she could see.
Her chest hitched, her breath stuttered in shallow gasps before the tears came. First silently, then in broken waves that wracked her whole body. She didn't speak, didn't yell, didn't make a single sound beyond the sobs that poured out of her.
"WandaâŚhey, it's me. You're safe," you whispered, as softly as you could, approaching her with slow steps. You reached for her hand, but she pulled away without even looking at you, like she wasn't really there.
You tried again, desperate. "I'm here. I've got you."
But nothing, she just turned and fled into her room, shutting her door.
You pressed your forehead to the wood, heart pounding, whispering through the barrier, "PleaseâŚdon't do this alone." But there was no answer.
Your fear grew heavier the longer the silence stretched, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. What if she hurt herself? What if she didn't come back out?
So you reached up and turned the knob gently, half afraid it's locked.
It opened.
Inside, Wanda sat on the corner of her room, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her trembling hands. She looked so small, so breakable.
"Wands?" you whispered, careful not to startle her. She didn't respond, but her sobs deepened, her whole body folding in on itself.
You crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, until you were right in front of her. Your heart raced, but your hands moved gently, instinctively. You reached out, brushing her damp hair away from her face, and cupped her cheek. Her skin was hot with tears, her breath uneven, but she leaned into your touchâfragile, desperate, like she had no strength left to resist. Her glassy eyes flicked up, scanning you with such raw intensity it made your throat tighten. She studied you as though grounding herself, your eyes, your nose, your lips.
Then, she surged forward and kissed you.
It wasn't graceful, it wasn't thought outâit was trembling and messy, a collision of salt and tears, her breath hitching against your mouth. It was as though kissing you was the only thing tethering her to reality.
You froze for a heartbeat, overwhelmed, then softened into it, holding her face carefully, terrified she might shatter if you pressed too hard. Wanda clung to you like she was drowning, her tears streaking down between you both, but still she didn't let go.
Now, you hesitated at her doorway, unlike before, she now always leaves her door open. You watched as Wanda stood with her back to you. Her arms were crossed, her shoulders rising and falling with deep, deliberate breathsâlike she was trying to steady herself, to force calm into her trembling body. The silence hung heavy, fragile, as if one wrong word might shatter her all over again.
"HeyâŚ" you said softly, your voice careful, almost a whisper.
Her head tilted, not sharply, but slow. When her eyes found you, you made the kind of face you always did when you were scaredâa little pout, your brows furrowed, lips pulled down.
For a second, she just stared at you, unreadable. Then the faintest smile touched her lips. She lifted one hand and beckoned you closer, her fingers curling slowly in invitation.
You didn't hesitate.
Your head was bowed as you walked over, unable to meet her eyes. The guilt sat heavy on your chest, pressing down until your breath trembled. As soon as you reached her, your body moved on its own, you stepped into her space and hugged her tightly, burying your face in the warm crook of her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," you mumbled into her skin, your voice muffled and breaking.
Her arms tightened around you, her chin pressing lightly against your hair. She let out a long, shaky sigh, and then you felt itâa soft kiss placed on the crown of your head.
"It's alright," she murmured, her voice low but steady this time. "It's alright, baby."
You sniffled against her shoulder, your arms holding her just as tightly, like letting go might undo the fragile peace you'd just rebuilt. She stroked your back slowly, grounding you in that small rhythm.
After a long pause, she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your skin.
"Do I still need to drive you to uni?" she asked softly, her tone lighter, testing the weight of the moment.
You still feel that something is off though, but you nodded slowly, lips pouting, eyes still downcast.
Her faint smile returned, and she leaned forward to press another kiss to your temple. "Okay. Then I'll drive you."
University kept you occupiedârecitations here and there, case digests piling up on your desk, group reports that stretched late into the night. You got used to the shuffle of student life, to burying yourself in books, to blending into the chatter of classrooms where no one knew the weight you carried at home.
You should've trusted your gut. That gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that whispered something's still not right with Wanda.
That evening, you came home drained from university, your bag heavy with thick reprinted cases. But the moment you stepped inside, your breath hitched. The house was a messâshattered glass glinting on the floor, books scattered across the living room as if thrown in a fit of rage, the coffee table knocked askew. Your heart plummeted.
"Wanda?" you called out, panic threading through your voice as you dropped your bag and rushed deeper into the living room.
You found her in the dining, standing rigid, her hands splayed apart, gripping the edges of the table, her chest rising and falling too fast. She wasn't cryingânot this time. Instead, she looked like she was holding herself together with fraying threads, her lips parted, breath trembling as though she was trying to calm a storm inside.
Your steps softened as you approached her, afraid to startle her further. "WandaâŚ"
She didn't look at you right away, her eyes fixed on some invisible point, her jaw clenched tight. Only when you were close enough to touch did she finally glance at you, and in that flicker of eye contact you saw itâthat same heaviness, that same fragile balance between breaking apart and forcing control.
"Let's go for a driveâŚwe can get ice cream."
The words caught you off guard, almost surreal against the mess of the roomâthe shattered glass, the overturned books. But it was Wanda, reaching for normalcy the only way she knew how.
You nodded quickly, almost desperately. "Okay," you murmured, as if agreeing too fast would keep her from slipping away again.
She brushed past you, her fingers grazing your arm in passing, and grabbed her keys. You trailed behind her, watching the way her shoulders stayed tense, but her pace was steady.
You slid into the passenger seat then Wanda drove in silence, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. The hum of the car and the occasional flicker of passing streetlights were the only things filling the space between you.
When she finally pulled into the empty parking lot of a half-lit shopping center, confusion curled in your stomach. The grocery store sign flickered, but you knew it was well past closing time. The ice cream shop was blocks away, yet Wanda parked here, in the shadows, where no one lingered.
"Wanda? Why are we here?" you asked softly, but your voice cracked, betraying your unease.
She didn't answer. Instead, she turned to you, eyes gleaming with something you couldn't nameâfear? longing? desperation? Before you could press her, she leaned over the console and kissed you hard. The force of it stole your breath, her desperation pouring into you like she needed to consume you, like she was trying to swallow you whole, to absorb your calm into her storm.
The kiss was different, it wasn't the usual peck you do every morning or as kids. She shoves her tongue inside your mouth, and guides your inexperienced lips to move along hers.
Your heart pounded, torn between the instinct to push her back and the ache of pity at the way she trembled.
Shaky but slowly. Her hands tore at your clothes, buttons popping off and fabric ripping. Her hands were everywhereârough and demanding with need. One moment they were forcing you down, undressing you, the next they were pulling your underwear aside. A choked sound escaped you as she pushed two fingers inside you without warning, pumping harshly.
You clung to her in terror as she took her time with you, feeling things the first timeâthe pain and pleasure. Tears streamed down your face but she kissed them away. She whispered how perfect you were, how her love for you was beyond comprehension, that she will always protect and love you forever. And the way her eyes looked at you convinced you it was true.
Wanda consumed you, slowly and tenderly.
The drive home was thick with silence. Wanda leans closer, her voice a soft hush against your ear whenever she hears you sob, then, she presses a gentle kiss to your temple. It was intended to soothe you, but that wasn't what you feltâyour skin prickled with fear, every touch just reminded you how blurred the lines had become.
You struggled against your hiccupping sobs. But the tears are something you cannot hold backâthey kept spillingâjust like the ice cream dripping helplessly in your hand.
It lingered, it went through. Whenever Wanda wanted it, you'd give up.
Every hesitant touch, every whispered hush, unsettled you at firstâbut the need buried beneath your fear grew. Wanda would claim you with quiet certainty, and in that claiming, you found yourself craving itâneeding it in ways you couldn't name. The fear that once pricked at your skin blurred into desire, and the routine of her possession became something your body recognized, something your mind silently demanded.
"Wanda...Wanda please..." you whimpered brokenly.
Your fingers dug into her back desperately as her hips jerked forward mercilessly. The strap-on hit a particularly sensitive spot and you cried out, clinging to her like she was your only lifeline, breath coming in shattered gasps against her mouth.
"I love you more than anything."
Each time she spoke it, her voice vibrated through you, lodged itself in the space behind your ribs, and left a heat lingering on your skin long after she had made you come apart. The way she held youâsometimes protective, sometimes demandingâmade the words feel like both a comfort and a warning, a tether you couldn't ignore.
You loved her too, undeniably, but the love you felt had begun to twist, to curl into shapes you fear to recognize. It wasn't the simple, pure adoration of a sister anymore. There was an ache that pulsed through your chest, a pull toward her that made your skin tingle and your mind reel. It makes your stomach churn with shame, your thoughts race with guilt. To admit itâto respond with the same wordsâis wrong, disgusting. Even if you truly and cruelly felt it and wanted to tell her, to reach across the tangled space between need and fear and simply let it outâyou couldn't. Not now. Not ever. So you stayed silent, swallowed the words like bitter medicine, and let her love press against you anyway, each claim of hers carving deeper into your heart and to your cunt. Leaving you trembling, wanting, and afraid all at once.
She was your anchor, your mirrorâyour sister. And yet, in the same breath, she became the forbidden, the dangerous, the need you couldn't understand but couldn't escape.
Sooner or later, this had to stop.
The way your sister claims you, the way her hands lingered where they shouldn't, the way she beckoned you over her bed and did whatever she needed in youâit consumed you, pulled you under, blurred every line you'd ever known. But it has to end. No matter how much you responded, how much you let yourself be drawn in, it had to end. The hold she had over you, the intoxicating feelings of fear, need, and something forbidden, could not last forever.
It has to stop before it destroys you both.
You were now twenty-nine, and Wanda was thirty-four.
It had been eight long years since you'd run away and never looked back. From everything that had once been your world, twisted into a memory both tender and forbidden.
From her.
Now, you live in Japan. Your father had a business here, but he sadly passed two years after you migrated in.
The streets were unfamiliar, the language foreign, but every new corner, every new sound, reminded you that you were building a life that belonged only to you. You had made friends, carved out routines, and for the first time in years, you felt the quiet security of independence.
And more than that, you were engaged. Davidâyour handsome pilot fiancĂŠ. He is patient, endlessly considerate and silly in all the right ways.
The wedding is coming up soon. You and David are down to the final detailsâthe guest list, the venue, the catering. Everything!
He kissed your temple gently as you scrolled through the guest list. "Why don't you invite your sister?"
The words made you freeze. Your sister. Just hearing the term made your chest tighten.
You had thought about it, more than once actuallyâinviting her, seeing her again, maybe even reconciling after all these years. Because it had been eight years. For you, everything was over, neatly buried in the past. You have moved on. Life had moved on. And now, with David, with your engagement, the thought of opening that chapter again stirred something that was better left untouched.
Everything around you became a blurâthe terminal lights, the rolling luggage, the strangers moving pastânone of it mattered. Eight years without her, and now, suddenly, she was back. Right there, in your line of sight.
You hardly recognized the exact moment she appeared at the gate; it was like your world had slowed down, and yet everything else sped past. Her green eyesâsharp, familiar, impossible to forgetâmet yours for a fleeting second, and your chest tightened. Her hair is now black but still the same length you remembered, maybe trimmed here and there, framed her face just like it always had. She looked a little older now, more refined, but unmistakably her.
You swallowed hard, the words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. "HeyâŚ" you finally managed, your voice small, uneven, carrying the weight of guilt, unease, and all the years of distance.
She looked at you for a heartbeat, eyes searching yours, and something unspoken passed between you. Without thinking, almost instinctively, you stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.
Your arms wrapped around her, tentative at first. She stiffened slightly, but then relaxed against you, her body yielding just enough to let you hold her.
Slowly, you pulled back, keeping your hands on her shoulders just a moment longer, letting your eyes meet hers.
"IâŚthis is David," you said softly, but shaky. "My fiancĂŠ."
David stepped forward with a warm smile, extending his hand. "It's really great to finally meet you," he said, light and easy, the kind of presence that made the air feel a little lighter.
She hesitated for a second, then smiled back, "It's great to meet you too." As she shook David's hand, you noticed somethingâjust a flickerâin Wanda's eyes. You blinked, and it was gone, replaced by her easy smile.
So much time had really passed you couldn't read her anymore.
The drive home was quiet and Wanda had insisted on staying at a hotelâ"I have a budget for it," she said softly, "I don't want to be a trouble."
David glanced at you from the driver's seat with a mischievous grin. "But Y/N already fixed your room."
You blushed shyly and swatted at him, pinching his arm lightly then tickling the back of neck. It made him laugh, it was his weakness.
Wanda watched quietly, a sad smile tugging at her lips, something she couldn't understand. Yet, beneath the twinge of something unplaceable, one thing was certainâyou looked really happy. It was the kind of happiness that made her chest tighten, a relief and something else she couldn't put into words, as if seeing you content was both a comfort and a quiet ache all at once.
At home, after settling in, you turned to David, "I'll just show her to the room."
"Alright," he said warmly, stepping close to pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "Tell me if you need help, okay? I'll start dinner."
You nodded, a little shy, the gesture grounding you before you picked up one of Wanda's bags and led her down the hall.
Upstairs, you led Wanda toward the spare room, the hallway felt unusually long, every creak of the floorboards louder than it should've been. When you finally pushed open the door, the air between you seemed to grow heavierâawkward, uncertain. You set her bag down gently by the bed, glancing at her only to find her eyes already on you, unreadable.
"He seems really sweet," Wanda tried to divert the tension. Her voice is gentle, almost careful.
"He is," you replied quietly. "He really is." You gave her a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. Wanda noticed, thoughâshe always noticed. Her gaze dropped to your hands, catching the way you'd started picking at your fingers, an old nervous habit you never outgrew after all these years.
That was enough for her. She forced her voice gently. "David might be looking for you now and thank youâŚfor the welcome." She said, as if shifting the weight of the air between you to something lighter, something safer for you.
You nodded quickly, grateful for the out. She gave you a small smile, but her eyes betrayed herâshe wanted to keep talking, to hold you there in that room for just a little longer. But she let you go. She still has another time for that.
It was four days before the wedding, and the house was buzzing with preparations. Flowers, last-minute fittings, caterer callsâeverything seemed to blur together in the countdown.
Wanda has been staying with you for two nights now. Her suitcase sat neatly tucked in the spare room, though she hardly unpacked, she wasn't sure how long she truly belonged there. The second night felt less awkward than the first, the sharp edges of reunion softening into something that almost felt normalâalmost.
The next morning, over breakfast, David had been scrolling through his phone, half-listening to your nervous chatter about schedules and checklists. Then, without looking up, he asked casually,
"Why isn't Wanda your maid of honor?"
The question hit you harder than he knew. Your fingers stilled on the pen you were using to tick boxes off the list. You blinked at him, your mouth opening, then closing again, searching for words that wouldn't sound as jumbled as your thoughts.
Across the room, Wanda was quietly flipping through a book she brought with her, but you could feel the weight of her presence even without looking.
You forced a small smile. "It's⌠complicated, babe. I just contacted her recently. The roles were already set long before that. And you know Monica would tantrum because before you even asked me out for our first date I already promised her that position."
He was supposed to ask why, why you only contacted your sister just recently and did not keep in touch, but your boyfriend with a puppy mind leaned back in his chair, his mind already chasing another funny memory about how your love story started.
While to you, the thought crept in before you could stop it, sharp and bitter, like a whisper you weren't supposed to hear.
Maybe because you don't want your maid of honor to be your sisterâyour sister whose name was your first word. The one who bathed you, the one who brushed your hair and tied your laces, who sat cross-legged beside you with dripping ice cream cones on humid summer nights. The one who saw you stumble through childhood, who wiped your tears, who laughed until her sides ached when you made silly faces just to cheer her up.
And she was also the one who fucked you first. To make you fall apart with her mouth and fingersâŚ
The first one to touch you in ways that left your body confused, your heart racing, your mind torn between comfort and alarm. She was the first to stir feelings you didn't yet have words for, emotions that blurred the line between love and something far more dangerous. She made you feel wanted, chosenâŚand at the same time, she made you feel wrong, guiltyâdirty.
You gave your head the slightest shake, as if you could rattle those thoughts out of place and bury them where they belonged. Eight years had passedâeight long, deliberate years. That life was gone. You had moved on and David was proof of that, the life you built was proof of that. Everything was finally right, finally in place. You couldn't let old shadows stain what you had built.
David had the whole evening mapped outâpizza on the coffee table, some little alcohol, and a card game he bought called Who Knows Me Better? He grinned as he shuffled through the stack, insisting it would be "fun practice" for married life.
When it was your turn, you pulled a card and read the question aloud.
"How many moles do I have?"
David pretended to think hard that made you laugh that you forgot Wanda was in the same room with you. She froze. Her eyes darted to your arm, then to your neck, then away entirely.
"Easy," your fiance said, grinning with the confidence of a man who believed he knew you best. He pointed at you with a flourish, like he was announcing an answer on a game show. "Four. One on your shoulder, one on your arm, and oneâŚ" he leaned in, lowering his voice just slightly, "âŚright in the middle of your neck."
His words earned more laughter from you, but before you could even tease him for the theatrics, he added, softer this time, "I love kissing your neck." And he proved it right there, brushing his lips over the spot where the tiny mole rested.
The gesture was sweet, familiarâsomething he's done countless timesâbut tonight, with the alcohol stirring in your veins and the feel of Wanda's sharp green eyes fixed on the two of you, the kiss felt heavier.
"You have six."
The words made you freeze. Both you and David turned to her. He was tipsy, flushed with drink, while you were a little drunk yourselfâthe edges of everything fuzzy, but this moment sharp as glass.
"What he first said were all correct but you also got one on your side," Wanda continued, her gaze lingering just a little too long, "just under your left boob."
"Oh yeah." David looked amused, he was nodding as if he was learning. But Wanda's voice faltered then, her tongue hesitating against the next truth.
"And the last one isâŚ" she trailed off, her lips pressing together as if the words were too dangerous to speak. A beat of silence hung between you. Then she forced a faint shrug. "âŚBut yeah. You've got six."
Your stomach twisted, heat crawling up your neck as you stared at her. It was such a simple thing, it's just a game but the way she said it left you undone. Because she wasn't guessing. She knew.
You've got one, on your pubic mound.
David smiled, completely unfazed, and raised his glass in Wanda's direction. "Sister's thing," he chuckled, like it explained everything away. "And those are something I was about to find out after our wedding." He grins, before kissing your shoulder.
And you forced a laugh, hollow in your throat, like it is enough to cover the sharp crackle of tension running through you. Wanda didn't laugh, thoughâshe only gave a small smile, jaw tight, eyes dropping to her drink as if that was safer than seeing how close David was to you.
"Yeah, Wanda's right," you said, forcing your voice into something playful. "Six. Next question?"
The game went on, laughter weaving through the dimly lit room, cards piling up between you. Every so often, the momentum would pause, and David would reach for the remote. An episode of Alice in Borderland would flicker onto the screen. Then, almost as naturally, you'd circle back to the game. Another question. Another round of teasing guesses.
By then, you were completely drunkâyour cheeks warm, your head light, your words slipping slower than you intended. You picked up the next card, squinting to make the words stop swimming.
"DoâŚI want kids?"
The room stilled for a moment. David's smile curved, soft but shadowed, almost like he was bracing himself for something he didn't want to admit out loud. He answered before you could even think.
"You don't," he said gently, almost matter-of-fact.
It wasn't sharp, but it lingered heavily in the air. You remembered the night you told him whyâthat him being a pilot meant too many absences, too many takeoffs and landings that would leave you alone with a child and you fear that. He also didn't want that, to put that weight on you. He said he didn't want to start a family that he couldn't always be there for.
And even now, tipsy as he was, his words carried the same sadness, the same quiet conviction.
Before the silence could settle too long, Wanda's voice cut through, soft but steady.
"You do."
Your head turned slowly toward her, lids heavy, eyes squinting as if she were a blur you needed to sharpen. You searched her face, then searched your own memory, chasing back to the moment you must've told her that.
"I think I said that when I was a kid, right?" you asked, pointing the question toward her.
But Wanda didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on her glass instead.
You sighed lightly, filling the silence yourself. "Because, admit it or notâthere's always one point we planned on having our own kids."
She examined you, a look in her eyes, like she remembered exactly when and how you said it but you were so drunk to even notice it.
"I feel dizzy," you admitted, words slightly slurred.
David was on you in an instant, his arm looping around your shoulders as he steadied you against him. "We should call it a night," he said gently, his voice warm and laced with amusement. He laughed softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
Before he could move further, Wanda's voice cut in, calm but certain. "I got her."
Her words lingered in the air, carrying a quiet insistence.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, shifting his hold so Wanda could take you. "I'll just clean this up and fix things here. You two go on ahead." He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head before letting go, "And Wanda, maybe you can go with her tomorrow in her final fitting?"
"Yeah, sure." She nods at him before her hand settles at your waist, steadying you. Her touch was firm, supportive, but it lingered in a way that made your skin prickle with heat. "Come on," she murmured, her voice low, almost gentle. She guided you toward the stairs, her grip tightening just enough whenever you wobbled. It looked like careâlike a sister making sure you didn't stumble, like how she guided you in your first steps.
Wanda eased you onto the bed you shared with David, careful not to jostle you too much. The sheets were cool against your skin, the faint scent of your sister's same cologne after eight years lingering in your senses. Your eyes were closed now, but you weren't asleepâyour chest rose and fell too sharply.
"When did I say I wanted kids?" you slurred, eyes half-opened, lips forming a pout like you were genuinely curious.
Wanda froze by the bedside. She hesitated before lowering herself down to the bed. "It wasâŚeight years ago. You went to a club and you were wasted like this with your friends." Wanda murmured, her face so close you could feel the warmth of her breath. "I was so angry and you feel so sorry you said you'd do anything." Her thumb brushed against your cheek, tender in a way that made your chest ache. "And when I was deep inside youâŚ"
Your breath hitches. Something inside you throbbedâan ache you couldn't name, threading through your chest and sinking lower to your clit. Her voice was soft, deliberate, something that you hated and you missed.
"You said you want to know how it feels like if I cum inside you," she whispered, voice low and heavy, the memory hanging between you like smoke. "Even if it was impossible for me to get you pregnant, you wanted it because it was me. You said we can be a happy family."
A sound escaped youâsoft, broken somewhere between a sob and a moan. Wanda looked tempted, her gaze heavy, her thumb brushing along your parted lips like you were beckoning her in and fuck, she wanted to slip it inside. Her control was fraying, and she felt the faintest shift of your hips against the sheets, a silent pull that nearly made her growl.
But instead, she drew in a sharp breath, forced herself back and left a kiss to your forehead.
"Good night, Y/N," she whispered, the words trembling with everything she couldn't do.
The morning after was a blur. Your head was heavy, your thoughts tangled, but none of it seemed to matter. Whatever haze lingered from the night before, you were certainâconfidentâthat nothing had happened.
Today was your final fitting. The gown, the veil, the heelsâeverything had to be perfect, because tomorrow you were getting married.
Tomorrow.
Everything needed to be perfect, every detail tucked into place. No room for doubts, no space for strange blurs in memory. Only the certainty of the life you were about to walk into.
But fuck, did something happen last night?
So you pushed it down, smoothed it over with smiles and lists and plans. This was your day. Your future. And nothingâcertainly nothing you couldn't rememberâwas going to get in the way.
You padded down the stairs, hair damp from the shower. Wanda was already dressed, sitting quietly at the couch, her green eyes following every step you took.
David was by the door, adjusting his watch, that familiar smile tugging at his lips when he saw you. He walked towards you and reached your hand, pulling you into his arms, warm and easy. For a second, the world felt right in his embrace.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Wanda watching, her expression unreadable.
"Wanda will help you for the final fitting," David said, brushing his thumb over your cheek before stepping back. "And Monica and the girls will pick you up tonight, aight?"
The front door shut behind him, and the quiet that followed felt heavier than it should have. His cologne still lingered in the air, warm and familiar, but his absence left a strange hollow in the room. You stood there for a moment, staring at the space he had just occupied, before forcing a small laugh to break the silence.
"I, uh⌠let's go?" you said, grabbing your bag a little too quickly. You turned to Wanda with a smile, the kind meant to lighten the air between you. "I'll drive."
For a second, her eyes lingered on youâsharp, searchingâbut then she smiled. "Alright. If you're ready."
The drive passed in a haze of half-played songs on the radio. By the time you pulled into the boutique's parking lot, the sun was hanging lower, streaking the glass windows in soft amber light.
You exhaled slowly, hands tightening on the steering wheel before letting go. The weight of the moment settled inâit wasn't just another fitting. It was the final one. Tomorrow, you'd be walking down the aisle wearing it.
Wanda noticed your pause. She wanted to reach over, her fingers twitching but chose not to. "Ready?"
You forced a smile, nodding.
The assistant greeted you with a, ushering you toward the private fitting room before she left again. When she returned she brought along a long, elegant boxâsleek white with gilded edges and the designer's name embossed across the lid. It looked more like a treasure chest than packaging.
With careful hands, she set it down on the velvet stool and unfastened the gold clasp. The lid lifted, and inside lay your gown, folded delicately in layers of tissue paper, every pleat and curve protected as though it were too fragile for the world outside.
"Well, you can try it on now, ma'am. If you need any help, there's a small bell here, just ring it, and I'll come right away."
You nodded, thanking her, before she left you alone with your sister.
The room suddenly felt quieter, the air heavier. The gown sat in the box like it was waiting for you to make the first move.
You glanced at Wanda, who hadn't spoken since the assistant left. Her eyes were fixed on the box, but when she noticed you looking, she lifted her gaze, giving you a small, almost reassuring smile.
"Go on," she said softly, her voice carrying both encouragement and something harder to read.
You nodded meekly, fingers brushing the edge of the box as if it might crumble under your touch. Wanda caught the hesitation in your movements, her voice breaking the quiet.
"If you need anything⌠just call me," she said, gentle but steady, her green eyes holding yours for a beat longer than necessary.
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a faint smile in response. "Okay."
You went to another room, carefully lifting the gown from its box. Taking a steadying breath, you stripped your clothes and slipped it from your feet, fingers trembling as you tugged the gown upward.
It wasn't extravagantânothing with glittering beads or heavy lace. Instead, it was a simple satin dress, smooth and plain, its elegance lying in the way it flowed with every movement.
Your heart raced, not because of the fabric brushing your skin, but because of the sudden worry. What if it doesn't fit? What if you gained weight? What if it clings wrong, or worse, won't close at all? Because it had been a month since your last fittingâjust enough time for doubt to creep in. You glanced at the mirror with wide eyes, shoulders stiff as if bracing for disappointment.
For a long moment, you couldn't tell if it was right. You smoothed the gown nervously, your palms damp against the delicate fabric, lips caught between your teeth as you waited for the reflection to tell you something reassuring. Finally, with one last deep breath, you pushed the dressing room door open and stepped out. The soft sound of the gown brushing the floor followed you, the faint sparkle of its details catching in the boutique's warm light.
Wanda's eyes lifted immediately. For a moment, she said nothingâher lips parted slightly, her breath caught. She looked at you like she was seeing something fragile and untouchable, something she couldn't quite believe stood in front of her.
Her gaze traveled slowly, reverently, from the neckline down to the hem, then back up again, locking on your face.
You shifted slightly in front of the mirror, smoothing the satin down your sides again, and caught itâthe small gap at the back where the zipper still hung open. You sighed under your breath. Of course you couldn't reach it yourself.
In the reflection, you saw her rise from her seat. Wanda didn't speak; she only moved closer behind you.
Her breath ghosted hot across your bare shoulder as the zipper crept upward, each slow inch making your skin prickle. She didn't have to steady you, but her hands did anywayâsliding down, fingers tightening around your hips in a way that made the satin strain faintly under her grip.
"You've grown so much." She whispered, sending chills down your spine. "You look so beautiful."
Your eyes snapped to her reflection in the mirror. "WandaâŚ"
She opens her mouth but closes it, her grip loosening instantly. A shameful look on her face as she stepped back, putting space between you again.
"I'mâŚI'm sorry."
You blinked, her words echoing longer than they should. The air felt heavier, thicker enough to choke, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at her again. Without another word, you turned back toward the fitting room. Inside, you braced against the door, chest rising and falling. Your breath came sharp, uneven, like you'd been holding back more than just tears. For a moment, you wanted to cry, to let it spill outâbut you didn't. You couldn't.
By the time you'd changed and stepped back outâthe silence between you, your gownâboth had folded neatly into place, as if nothing had happened.
Soon enough, you were back in the car. Hands firm on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, the world outside the windows blurred by. Wanda sat quietly beside you, and though nothing was said, the air still carried the weight of everything left unsaid.
You ignored Wanda the rest of the day intentionally. But every glance you caught of her made your chest tighten. You busied yourselfâfixing things that didn't need fixing, the flowers that had been confirmed, the seating chart finalized, the catering checked and double-checked. Still, you hovered over the lists, crossing and re-crossing things, moving items around on the table like the weight of the paper could keep your hands from trembling.
The air was uneasy, stretched thin. Every time Wanda tried to catch your eyes, you turned away. Every time she shifted, as if about to speak, you found a reason to move, to leave the room, to shut her out.
It was awkward. Stifling. Wrong.
And she knew. She knew she had crossed a line.
The words she had let slip earlierâthe ones that had felt natural as they left her mouthâechoed in her mind now, raw and shameful. She had tried so hard to hold them back, to keep herself in check, to be just the sister that she was. But something had slipped. Something irreversible.
When the night came, you didn't ask Wanda if she wanted to come along when your friend, Monica picked you up. You purposely didn't. You couldn'tânot right now. The thought of her presence, the way she made everything feel heavier, made you pause. Maybe part of it was anger, maybe part of it was confusion, but mostly you needed spaceâa little breathing room without her ghosting every corner of your night.
Then, the day came. Your wedding day.
Sunlight spilled through the windows, soft and golden, catching on the lace of your veil and the satin of your gown. Everything felt surreal, as if you were walking through someone else's dream.
The wedding was small and private, just the closest peopleâDavid's parents, a few friends, and people who truly mattered. Counting everyone, including you and David, there were only twenty-five.
Your friends hovered around, giving your final touchesâadjusting the veil, smoothing the gown, fixing stray strands of hair. Each of them planted a quick, warm kiss on your cheek, whispering little words of encouragement.
"Looking perfect," Monica said.
"You're glowing," Carol added.
Maria gave your hand a gentle squeeze, smiling.
One by one, they left the room, leaving you alone for a moment of quiet.
You turned slowly toward the mirror, your eyes tracing every curve and line reflected back at you. You closed your eyes, letting the quiet fill the room. You thought of your mother, your father, and your stepfather. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment, and let your thoughts drift to them. You spoke silently, especially to your mother and stepfather, telling them how much you wished you could've visited their graves before this day. You apologized for not doing so.
Then suddenly, during your peace alone with your parents. Someone knocks in your room, "Y/N? Your sister!" A voice called behind the door.
You squint your eyes before standing to walk towards the door. You found Maria behind who was was practically fumbling over herself, panic written all over her face. "Your sister⌠I-I don't even know what happened! Carol accidentally knocked over the vase, the one David gifted you! Gosh, I'm so sorry!" She flailed, words tumbling out in a frantic mess. "And then she started freaking outâI don't even know, girl! I justâŚ" her voice cracked, hands flying as she tried to explain, making the chaos in the room almost tangible.
Without thinking, you grabbed the hem of your gown, dragging it along the floor as you rushed toward the source of the panic.
There, you found Wanda, kneeling on the floor, hands pressed tightly over her ears, her body trembling. Your two friends hovered around her, hesitant, unsure of how to help.
You calmly walked towards her, calling her name. Dropping to your knees in front of her, you reached out gently. "Wanda."
Her head lifted slowly, eyes locking with yours, swollen and filled with tears. You gave her a nod and whispered, "I've got you," before guiding her back toward the room. Once inside, you looked at your friends with a knowing look that says you got it. You also gave them the green light to formally start the event.
Wanda sank into the chair, still trembling, her hands shaking as tears streamed down her face. You knelt in front of her, taking her hands gently in yours, trying to anchor her.
Part of you wanted to be angryâfuck, you did. It was your day, your wedding, and here she was, falling apart. But beneath that frustration, something dangerously deep surfaced.
It was wrong bringing Wanda here. It was wrong and you knew that before you brought her here.
Wanda's sobs slowed into shaky gasps, her gaze locking with yours. Before you could think, her lips pressed against yours, urgent, desperate, searching. You felt the heat of her need, the tremble in her hands as they clutched at your veil.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that kissâthe chaos, the guilt, the wedding day all fading into a blur. And, almost against reason, you let her.
She pulled back just slightly, breath ragged, tears streaking her face. "You left meâŚyou left meâŚ" she sobbed, pressing her forehead against yours. Her lips found yours again, desperate, trembling, smearing your lipstick across hers, mingling her salty tears with the taste of you. Every kiss was an ache, a claim, a memory she refused to let go. "And you're gonna leave me againâŚ"
You could only shake your head, lips quivering as you whispered, "I'm-I'm sorryâŚI'm so sorryâŚ" over and over. Tears streamed freely down both your faces, mixing and blurring, as you clung to each other.
"Why? Why'd you leave me?" Her voice was eerily calm now, but the words cut sharper than any scream. Tears carved trails down her soft skin as she repeated, voice trembling, "Why did you?"
"You knew whyâŚyou know, Wanda," you stammered, voice barely above a whisper, trying to tame the storm in front of you. "WeâŚ" you shake your head, your breath hitching, heart pounding. "We can't," you sobbed, the weight of it pressing down on both of you, heavy and unavoidable. What would your parents say if their souls are here, watching you right now?
You can only shake your head, your face now a mess from all the tears that never stopped carving its path down until they fall on your gown.
"Why did you?" She pressed even further, firmly dangerous. Like a warning. She needed answers, after all these years, she needed that. She needed to know why she didn't find you beside her the morning after when the night before you promised you'd never leave each other. She needed to know why you never called, never reached out. Because it made her crazy. It ruined her.
It's only you that she has, and you disappeared. And now, she is losing you forever.
"Why?"
"I was falling in love with you! And fuck, we can't, Wanda. You're my..." you whimpered, disgusted by the next words, but you said it anyway. "You're my sister, we-we can't..."
You said it yourself. We can't.
The words that only lived in your head in the past, now echoed out loud.
You said it a hundred times in your head. The first time the night she first took you, when your body trembled with nothing but fear. The morning after, when the sheets still smelled of her and your thighs still ached from the way she held you down. The days that followed, when it happened again and againâher fingers inside you, her strap pushing deeper until you forgot your own name and who she was with her mouth hot and relentless on your skin like she meant to claim every inch.
You said it when you started seeking it out too. Loving it. Needing it.
And now, out loud. You kept saying it.
We can't.
"Don't marry him," Wanda begs, her voice raw, forehead pressed hard to yours like she could fuse you together by sheer will. "Don't walk out there. Don't let him take you away from me."
We can't.
You crush your mouth to hers, greedy, gasping, breathing her in like oxygenâlike if you let go, you'll die. Maybe you already did.
"I can't. I have to," you whisper, but the lie breaks in your throat.
We can't.
But you were already shoving your panties aside, already arching into her hand. And she's already pushing her fingers inside you, desperate and trembling. Her thumb circles your clit, rough, insistent, desperate to pull you over the edge. She muffles your sobs with her mouth, swallowing every sound, refusing to let anyone hear but her.
Both of you cannot stop crying.
Not when her fingers work you open and you choke on her name.
Not when release shatters you, body convulsing around her fingers.
Not even when your chosen wedding song started playing and your name is called, the world waiting for you to walk down the aisle.
Because the world is waiting for a bride. But all you are, at this moment, is hers.
"Let's go for a drive." Wanda whispered against your mouth, "We'll get ice cream."
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